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ginnsbaker · 6 months

Text

what comes of telling the truth (or even part of it)

Summary: The guilt, more than anything, is what Yelena wishes she could wash away. She wishes she could stop the cycle, stop using Kate as a balm for her wounds. She wishes she could face her head-on, with honesty. But in this very moment, all she can do is rinse, lather, and hope that someday, she finds the strength to break free from her own destructive patterns.

Word count: 10.7K+ | Pairing: Yelena x Kate, Past Yelena x Reader | Tags: Light angst, fluff-ish

A/N: This is for all of my ILGOSS readers. Requested by anon:

Wait may I ask for a short story or one-shot on how Yelena and Kate ended up together? I'm still kinda curious tbh lol. Kate's patience is applaudable, but I can't help but think what if Kate is just a rebound

I had fun writing this oneshot because I have a soft spot for the sex-first-feelings-later trope :P

Masterlist

It's not stalking if you just happen to be in the same row of seats at the same event. Even if, for instance, you're based in New York and the event is in Chicago, and attending isn't exactly obligatory.

Right?

Kate Bishop insists it's not. She's read numerous discussions on Reddit about stalking, and none seemed to describe a situation like hers.

The thing is, she didn't exactly think it all through. Just like any rich girl prone to making impulsive decisions when money isn't an issue, she snagged the first flight to Chicago upon hearing about a chance to see Yelena again.

She didn't factor in that Yelena had upped and left with only a text as a goodbye. She didn't ponder over the fact that Yelena seldom replied to her messages since moving to a different state, if she even did at all. Had Kate truly heeded these signs, she wouldn't be anywhere near the front row where Yelena sits, nonchalant with a passive countenance. She wouldn't have spent the last half hour or so ruminating on how to approach her. Instead, she'd be back in the Hamptons, sipping on Piña Coladas without a concern, because that's what Bishops customarily do on their weekends.

Except, reading the situation has never been her strong suit. She's always been forthright with her feelings and actions. It's what Yelena claimed to like about her, so here she is, simply being herself.

Kate glances towards Yelena from the corner of her eye, trying to discern any signs of emotion. For anyone else in the room, Yelena appears unmoved, but Kate, with her intimate knowledge of the girl, can see the minute shift in her posture, the almost imperceptible crease in her brow. She's always been good at noticing the subtleties in people, especially when it came to Yelena. But perhaps this is where the problem began.

They never labeled what they had. It started off as casual. Friends with benefits, they'd joked in the beginning, no strings attached. Yet Kate, somewhere along the way, had tied a rope around her own heart. Her mistake was entering the arrangement already having fallen for the girl. And it didn't even begin when they started sleeping together. It happened way before Kate got to know the taste of her skin, the way a smile would sneak onto her lips with a contented sigh after she climaxed, or the way she'd clutch at Kate's shirt when Kate did something just right—too right.

Kate had believed she was okay with it, that she could handle being just a detour in Yelena’s life. But then she saw it—the way Yelena's walls crumbled when you came into the picture. It was a poignant twist of irony, watching Yelena fall unapologetically in love when she’d always been so cautious, so guarded around Kate. The woman who had so adamantly refused to be ensnared by love was openly enthralled by it when it came from someone else. Kate would listen, forcing a smile, as Yelena talked about you, and it would eat away at her insides. She tried to be supportive. But that didn't work out either. In the end, Kate still lost her.

And now, sitting mere feet away yet worlds apart, Kate grapples with truths that are lodged in her throat. She wonders if Yelena will ever see her as more than just a diversion, a temporary harbor. It's a cruel thought, and one that Kate can't shake off. But she knows herself. She won't run from the situation. Instead, she'll face it, no matter how much it tears at her. Because, for better or worse, that's just who she is.

She only gathers enough courage by the end of the seminar.

When the final speaker steps off the stage, and the flurry of applause begins to die down, Kate takes a steadying breath. She tells herself it's just Yelena—even though everything has changed. Her heart pummels against her ribs, a restless plea, as she forces her legs to move in Yelena’s direction.

“Yelena,” she calls out softly when she's a few steps behind her.

Yelena turns, and for a moment, there’s no recognition in her eyes. Then, something flickers—surprise, confusion, a touch of alarm.

“Kate?”

Kate nods, her palms sweaty. “Yeah, hey. It's been a while.”

Yelena’s eyes scrutinize her, searching for something. Perhaps a reason for why Kate would be here, in Chicago, after all this time and after everything that's happened.

“What are you doing here?” The question isn’t accusatory or harsh. Just curious.

“I…uh, I wanted to see you,” Kate admits, more to herself than to Yelena. “I mean, I was already here for this convention, saw you walk by, and thought I'd drop in to say hi.”

Yelena’s smile is a little too tight for Kate’s liking. This isn't unfolding anywhere near how she had hoped.

“Hi,” Yelena utters nonchalantly, her gaze skimming over Kate's shoulder to whatever holds her attention beyond.

Kate swallows the lump in her throat, trying to push past the frosty reception. “I was going to ask if you wanted to grab coffee or something, you know, catch up,” Kate says, offering a lopsided smile that she hopes might charm Yelena into agreeing.

But Yelena merely offers a tepid one in return, her eyes hard and unyielding. “I appreciate it, but I have plans,” she replies.

“Oh, okay,” Kate responds, doing her best to conceal the sting of rejection that pierces through her. She fumbles for a moment before managing to continue, “Well, if you ever change your mind, I’m staying at the Evergreen Hotel for a couple more days. I'm on the 32nd floor, room 3206. Not that...uh, you need to know...but just in case.”

Yelena’s green eyes remain inscrutable. “It was nice seeing you, Kate,” she finally murmurs. “Enjoy your time in Chicago.”

And just like that, she's walking away, leaving Kate standing amidst the dissipating crowd, trying to make sense of the chasm that has seemingly formed between them.

Someone rings her hotel room at 11:45 in the evening.

Kate, snug in her pajamas and reading a brochure about the local Chicago sights, isn't expecting visitors. She moves to the peephole and is caught off guard when she recognizes the eyes staring back. Yelena's pupils are dilated, clearly indicating she's made several stops before her feet brought her here.

Opening the door hesitantly, Kate takes in Yelena's entire demeanor: the set of her jaw, the tightness in her posture, the fiery look in her eyes that seems to oscillate between anger and something that immediately shoots a jolt of desire down her core. “Yelena?” she whispers, a hint of trepidation in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

Yelena doesn’t answer. Her breathing is ragged and uneven, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on Kate's.

“Look,” Kate says, her voice shaky, “if you could just give me a moment to change out of my pajamas, maybe we can get coffee in the hotel lobby or—”

“Why did you tell me you were staying here?” Yelena questions, her voice dangerously low.

Taken aback, Kate blinks a few times, panic bubbling up in her throat. “I-I don't—”

Without a word, Yelena steps forward, closing the distance between them. Her hands cradle Kate’s face, and she crashes into her in a kiss that’s hard and desperate. Kate is momentarily stunned, her thoughts obliterated by the sudden onslaught of lips and tongue. But then she reacts, wrapping her arms around Yelena’s waist and nearly lifting her as they move deeper into the living room. She uses her foot to kick the door shut behind them as Yelena takes command of the kiss, pushing into Kate with an urgency.

It’s been too long. But still—

But still, it feels instinctual, the way Kate's lips gravitate to that spot just below Yelena's ear, applying just the right amount of pressure to elicit that familiar sigh from her. Yelena's hand finds its way to the nape of Kate's neck, fingers intertwining with her hair before pulling roughly to break the kiss.

“Yelena…”

But Yelena pins her with a look, a surprisingly vulnerable one. “No talking, please,” she breathes. “No talking.”

Yelena's never begged her before. To Kate's embarrassment, it's usually been the other way around. It's only hitting Kate now that their months of estrangement have deeper repercussions than she initially realized.

But before she can process the thought further, Yelena’s fingers are impatient as they fumble with the buttons of Kate's shirt, all while her lips never leave Kate's, each kiss deepening in urgency. Kate's hands, equally fervent, roam over Yelena's back, gripping at her shirt and pulling her even closer. They maneuver around the space, half-stumbling, half-guiding each other towards the bedroom. With a soft thud, Kate is gently pushed back onto the plush mattress, Yelena hovering above her.

The ritual is as familiar to Kate as the back of her hand, yet a feeling stirs within her that this time might stand apart from the rest—perhaps the moment when her dreams finally bleed into reality.

So she gives Yelena everything she has to offer—and then some.

When it's all done and Kate is lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, with Yelena softly snoring beside her, a thin sheet loosely covering her bare torso, Kate's mind spins erratically.

Yelena’s proximity, so desperately craved for months, now feels like an intrusion into a grief that she’s scarcely begun to comprehend. She acknowledges that her sudden appearance in Chicago, after everything that transpired, may now seem more self-serving than she'd intended.

She hadn't fully grasped the depth of Yelena's pain—pain so consuming that Yelena felt the need to flee to another state just to find a semblance of peace.

Morning light seeps through the curtains as Kate busies herself in the hotel kitchenette. She tries to make breakfast, aiming for familiarity in a situation that's anything but. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla fills the hotel room as she meticulously flips pieces of golden-brown french toast, trying to keep herself focused on the task.

Then, the muted sound of a door draws her attention. Yelena steps out of the bedroom, dressed and seemingly ready for the day. Her appearance, so sudden and unexpected, makes Kate's heart race. She becomes acutely aware of her own state: clad in nothing but an oversized shirt that barely reaches her thighs, exposing her legs and the curve of her panties.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Kate offers meekly.

Yelena gives a slight nod. “Thanks, but I think I'm going to head out.”

Her eyes momentarily drop to the floor. Then, with deliberate steps, she closes the distance between them. Leaning in, she places an awkward kiss on Kate's cheek, then sidesteps her and makes her way to the door.

Kate remains still, eyes locked on the french toast that's now charring at the edges. With a sigh, she turns off the stove and contemplates what other sights Chicago might offer beyond the iconic bean.

Kate has her dinner early in the evening and waits by the door, just in case Yelena decides to show up again.

She doesn’t.

After spending another 48 hours sequestered in her hotel room, she packs her bags to head back to New York.

As soon as Yelena arrives at her apartment after her night with Kate, she heads directly to the shower.

The hot water cascades over her, but it does little to soothe the turmoil roiling inside her. Each droplet feels like a sting of reality, a reminder of the choices she’s made. She rubs the soap with more force than necessary, the lather not just cleansing her skin but also representing her desperate attempt to wash away the guilt.

It's not Kate she's trying to forget. It's her own actions, her own reasons for going to that hotel room. She’s aware she’s used Kate’s affection for her own comfort far too many times, each encounter chipping away at what little integrity she feels she has left. She hates herself for it. For taking refuge in Kate's warmth, for using her time and time again, and then leaving her in the cold morning light.

The guilt, more than anything, is what Yelena wishes she could wash away. She wishes she could stop the cycle, stop using Kate as a balm for her wounds. She wishes she could face her head-on, with honesty. But in this very moment, all she can do is rinse, lather, and hope that someday, she finds the strength to break free from her own destructive patterns.

Months pass without them seeing each other until Yelena returns to New York. Her media company sent her back for training, placing her under the guidance of someone who, in Yelena’s opinion, was a “complete unknown”. It's only a matter of time before she runs into Kate Bishop.

That happens sooner than Yelena expected when three days after her arrival, they bump into each other at a more upscale gathering. Yelena's attendance was mandated even before her first official workday, with the primary goal of extensive networking. She wears a sleek black strapless gown that reveals a fair amount of cleavage, but even that doesn't catch Kate’s attention. Instead, Kate's focus is clearly on the date accompanying her, arm-in-arm. Yelena’s hand is clutching the arm of another man, but he's just a work friend of hers who, coincidentally, is also gay. Clearly, she's not the one with the upper hand in this situation. Not that she—

Yelena is taken by surprise, not noticing Kate's approach until she's almost beside her. “Yelena, hi,” Kate says softly, standing just centimeters away. She looks stunning in her three-piece suit, her hair pulled back with a few curly waves framing her oceanic eyes.

Yelena manages a, “Kate,” in reply, before turning to her companion and saying, “You said you wanted to talk to the chief?” Her friend appears confused for a brief moment but then nods in eager agreement. She excuses herself quickly, not catching the brief, tight smile that graces Kate’s lips.

“Chief? Really?” her friend teases as soon as they're safely distant from her current source of distress.

Yelena rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitch upwards. “I needed a quick exit strategy.”

Chuckling, her friend replies, “From Kate Bishop? Come on, Yel. You two have history. Ducking away like she's the plague isn't the mature way to handle things.”

Yelena lets out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. “I know, I know. It's just... the last time we met, the morning after was... less than ideal.”

“The morning after?” His eyes widen in realization. “You slept with her again?”

Yelena bites her lower lip and nods. His gaze sweeps the room, likely searching for Kate, before settling on her attempting to subtly look in their direction. “Well, that complicates things,” he muses.

“Tell me about it,” Yelena mutters, taking a sip from her champagne glass.

“Why don’t you just talk to her. Set things straight—”

She arches an eyebrow, “You think one casual chat is going to fix things?”

“Reminding her that you don’t have feelings for her and never will might just do the trick,” he says with an amused grin. “You don’t have feelings for her right?”

Yelena hesitates for just a moment, her eyes not meeting his, “Of course not,” she replies, her voice not as steady as she'd hoped.

He studies her, a knowing look in his eyes. Just as he's about to comment on her poor lying skills, Kate approaches again, this time without her date.

Kate's eyes are fixed on Yelena as she draws closer. “Mind if I steal her for a second?” she asks, not really waiting for an answer as her hand gently wraps around Yelena's elbow. Her touch sends a chill through Yelena, an electrifying jolt that she’s been trying to forget for months.

He simply nods, giving Yelena a sympathetic glance before prancing towards the bar.

Kate guides Yelena slightly away from the crowd, not to a secluded corner but just a few steps away to offer a modicum of privacy. Yelena finally extricates her arm from Kate's grip, building a wall with her posture. “What do you want, Kate?”

“I want to talk,” Kate simply says.

Yelena lets out a sigh, her jawline tensing. “Go on.”

Kate takes a moment, ensuring her words would be precise, “I'm not here to rekindle anything or chase after you. I'm not that naive anymore. You don't have to avoid me or disappear when I'm around. I'm over you. And I just... I want us to be able to coexist, especially in circles like these.”

Yelena's lips slightly part in surprise, the slightest quiver of something akin to pain shadowing her features upon absorbing Kate's frank words. Kate, with her perpetual, unfiltered candor, always did have a way of stripping a situation down to its stark, naked truth. But isn’t this precisely what Yelena wanted? To be free of the guilt, of the heavy, choking shroud that's been her constant companion since she left that hotel room months ago? Kate doesn't want her anymore. This should ease things, shouldn't it?

Yet, why does a peculiar tightness settle in her chest, a subtle ache that she dare not explore? Yelena swallows hard, facing the blunt force of Kate's liberation with a brittle nod.

“If that’s what you want,” Yelena manages to say.

Kate tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as they scrutinize Yelena's face, seeking, probing. A ghost of a smile curls on her lips, devoid of genuine mirth as she observes the other woman’s discomfort, palpable even amidst the high-society glitter surrounding them.

“What I want?” she echoes, voice imbued with a tempered steeliness, “Yelena, I'm handing you exactly what you've shown you want.”

Yelena’s eyes flutter away from Kate’s, uneasy, yet a stony facade refuses to let her susceptibility bleed into view.

“You’ve always made it abundantly clear where I stand,” Kate murmurs. “And I’ve been nothing but annoyingly stubborn about it.”

“Kate, I never intended to—”

“It’s okay,” Kate interrupts softly. “I kept coming to you with these expectations, but you were clear from the start. You said it was just about sex—nothing more. I just hoped... maybe that could change with time.”

Yelena's throat constricts, the words she needs to say lodged firmly behind a barrier of guilt and self-reproach. “I’m sorry,” Kate adds, her voice thin and fragile, yet it reverberates loudly in Yelena’s ears.

“I—” Yelena begins, but the words falter, the apology sticking in her throat. It was her who owed Kate apologies—a sea of them, for every late-night encounter, every hurried departure in the dawn light.

She inhales sharply, fingers twitching at her side. “Kate, if there's anyone who should be apologizing, it’s me,” she finally says. “I’ve been selfish and unfair, and I took advantage of your feelings because it was convenient for me, and it allowed me to ignore my own.”

“I'm not blameless here either,” Kate says.

“It's not the same," Yelena persists, “I knew what I was doing each time I—”

“But so did I, Yelena,” Kate breaks in, her steadiness unwavering. “Every time I came to you, I knew what it was and what it wasn't. I chose to stay, each time. That’s on me.”

It feels like they’ve reached an impasse, neither knowing what comes after telling the truth—or even a part of it.

“So, what do we do now?” Yelena murmurs.

Before Kate can muster an answer, the sound of footsteps draws their attention. Kate's date slides smoothly into view, holding two glasses filled with a bubbling amber liquid. Upon seeing her for the second time, Yelena notices that she's an incredibly attractive woman who carries an air of elegance about her with effortless grace.

“There you are!” she exclaims to Kate with a smile. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Kate, her eyes still lingering on Yelena, slowly pivots towards her, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips. She gives her date a brief smile before glancing back at Yelena one last time.

“It was nice seeing you, Yelena,” she says, mirroring the same words Yelena had used months ago, before turning away to enjoy the rest of the night with someone else.

As the noise of the event surrounds them, Yelena's friend returns, looking between her and the departing figure of Kate and her beautiful date.

“Is it over?” he asks cautiously.

Yelena's gaze is distant, her eyes unfocused, but she finally blinks, pulling herself back to the present.

Her voice is a little shaky when she replies, “I need a drink.”

Kate was the first person she felt a connection to when she first came back to New York. The city's crowded streets and glaring lights felt foreign, like a twisted mockery of a place she once called home. The skyscrapers towered, the taxis honked, and the people bustled about, but none of that felt familiar to her—as if the welcome banner had been replaced with a glaring message that this was not the same place she had left eight years ago.

The airport had been a blur of faces, each one more indifferent to her existence than the last. She half-expected, perhaps even hoped, to see her sister's familiar face waiting for her among the crowd, but all she was met with were strangers hurrying past, engrossed in their own worlds. Natasha was continents away, in places she couldn’t know about, shouldn’t know about.

And then there was you—the only other person she considered family, the only other face she yearned to see upon her return. Yelena could've called you if she wanted. Natasha handed her your number, with the faint hope that Yelena might muster the will to congratulate you over the phone. But she never did, aware that she wouldn't genuinely mean it if she said she was happy for you.

Her fingers itched to grab her phone and dial your number, knowing you'd come to pick her up. Not necessarily because you missed her in the same way, but because you were always the kind of person who'd pick up a friend from the airport—and it wouldn’t matter to you that you hadn’t spoken a word to each other in years.

Yet, as much as Yelena yearned to see you, your image was interwoven with the pain of unattainable desire. She didn't want to see your face, so happy and fulfilled without her in it. Because the memories would flood back: your smile, the scent of your skin, the way your voice would tenderly wrap around her name. You were married—have been married for quite some time now. And that simple fact was a barrier, insurmountable and cruel.

“Need a ride?”

Yelena quickly turned to her left, where a woman about her age stood with dark hair and soft blue eyes.

“Cabs are pretty scarce around this time,” the woman explained, adjusting the strap of her leather bag on her shoulder. “I mean, you could try booking one, but…”

Yelena's cheeks flushed. It was one thing to come back to a city after so long and feel lost; it was another entirely to admit it. She hesitated, wrestling with the unfamiliar interface of the rideshare app on her phone. “ll just wait,” she said defensively, trying to hide her discomfort.

The woman gave her a skeptical look but seemed more amused than annoyed. “I'm Kate,” she said, extending her hand with a warm smile. “Kate Bishop.”

Yelena took a moment before she accepted it. “Yelena.”

“Well, now that we're not strangers, how about that ride? My car's right outside.”

Yelena paused, studying Kate. The offer was tempting. There was something disarmingly genuine about Kate, and Yelena couldn't detect any malice or ulterior motives in her eyes. Still, she was guarded, her defenses up.

“Why would you offer me—a stranger—a ride?” Yelena asked.

“You're not entirely a stranger, Yelena,” Kate replied with a chuckle.

Their eyes locked, and in that brief moment, Yelena felt an odd sense of kinship. A sigh escaped her lips. “Okay, fine,” she conceded, “But just to Manhattan.”

Kate's smile grew, reaching her eyes. “Just to Manhattan.”

Yelena steps into the high-rise building, an architectural masterpiece of glass and steel, shimmering under the vibrant New York sun. It’s her first day on this temporary assignment, and her stomach churns with a blend of anticipation and anxiety.

She catches snippets of dialogue as she goes: project timelines, deadlines, and weekend plans. Yelena keeps her gaze forward, absorbing the understated opulence of the work environment. It’s a world she recognizes with every fiber of her being, and she’s ready to play her part.

As she steps into the elevator, ascending towards the upper levels of the corporate tower, Yelena takes a deep breath, bracing herself for the introductions, handshakes, and the performative exchange of pleasantries. The first day in a new environment is always a bit disconcerting, but she’s not new to adapting, to molding herself into whatever shape a situation requires.

“Yelena, right?”

The elevator door opens to reveal a woman Yelena recognizes from the previous night. It's not just any woman she encountered during her diligent networking; it's the very woman who was on Kate's arm, that Yelena begrudgingly recalls she paraded around like some kind of trophy throughout the evening.

Yelena nods, maintaining a neutral expression, as she exits the elevator and the woman steps in, effectively switching places.

“I'd love to chat more when I return. Just need my coffee fix,” the woman says, winking at Yelena just before the elevator doors close between them.

Yelena lets out an exasperated sigh as she searches for her cubicle. She doesn't anticipate having that chat and silently hopes that today's encounter is the last time she'll see that woman, or if possible, for the duration of her time in this office.

The next several moments don't go the way Yelena expected. Especially the part where she discovers Kate's date is her new boss.

Yelena feels a slight pressure in her temples as she hears the name. “Georgia Thompson.” The friendly demeanor and confident handshake of the woman in front of her sharply contrasts the casual, almost indifferent demeanor she exhibited at the gala.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Thompson,” she replies, trying to sound as composed as possible.

Georgia offers a polite smile, her eyes assessing Yelena for a moment longer than she’s comfortable with. “Likewise. And please, call me Georgia.” It's only now that she picks up on the accent and realizes she's British.

Blonde, British, her boss, and apparently Kate’s new girlfriend. Just great. The universe couldn't be clearer about how much it enjoys playing tricks on her.

Yelena nods, pushing down the nerves bubbling inside her. She mentally kicks herself for not doing a thorough background check on her new employers, but how was she supposed to foresee this twist?

“I've heard great things about your work, Yelena. I'm looking forward to seeing what you can bring to our team,” Georgia says.

“Thank you. I'll do my best.”

Georgia leans back in her chair, the slight quirk of her eyebrow revealing she’s perhaps more perceptive than Yelena initially gave her credit for. “I hope you find the environment here conducive to your work. Everyone is very supportive, and we like to think of ourselves as a family.”

Yelena wonders if the emphasis is deliberate, a subtle hint at the glaring elephant in the room. Neither has acknowledged their encounter from the other night.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Yelena responds, trying to steer the conversation back to professional matters. “I've already been given some assignments, and I'm eager to delve into them.”

Georgia nods approvingly. “Good. If you have any questions or need any support, don't hesitate to ask.”

Are you aware of my history with Kate? Do you plan on making my life a living hell for the next several months?

None of these questions escape her lips. Like every job, this one comes with complexities and trade-offs that she has no choice but to endure. She believes she can manage. After all, enduring seems to be all she's doing these days.

Kate eventually drops by the office one evening. It's just a week later, and with everyone gone, Yelena is saddled with another article destined for the fluff column for the following day.

Kate's unexpected entrance startles Yelena, her fingers slipping from the keyboard and sending a disjointed string of characters cascading across her screen, a stark contrast to the meticulously formulated words she had previously been weaving together. A sigh escapes Yelena as she straightens in her chair, muscles tensing, her gaze fixating on the other woman’s reflection in the darkened computer screen next to hers.

Thankfully, it’s who Kate speaks up first. “Working late?”

“Deadlines,” Yelena mutters, rubbing her forehead and trying not to sound as exasperated as she feels. “And what brings you here?”

“Was in the neighborhood and thought I'd surprise Georgia,” Kate replies with a nonchalant shrug, though her eyes are searching Yelena's for any reaction. “But I guess she left already.”

“Seems so. You just missed her by maybe half an hour.”

Kate hums, letting her gaze wander around the mostly empty office. “This place hasn't changed much since I interned here,” she muses.

“You interned here?” Yelena's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“Yeah. Before everything,” Kate says with a faint smile. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

Her eyes roam the open workspace before settling on Yelena's and the stack of papers next to her. “Looks like you’ve made yourself at home quickly.”

Yelena shrugs, fingers lightly drumming against the edge of her desk. “Work doesn't do itself.”

The semblance of casual conversation can't veil the tension that simmers just beneath the surface. Kate’s next words are a soft, cautious probe, “How have things been with Georgia?”

She’s testing the waters, Yelena observes.

“Professional,” Yelena replies curtly.

A small, almost rueful smile grazes Kate’s lips. “She’s good at what she does. Keeps things running smoothly.”

“She seems to,” Yelena agrees, resisting the urge to delve into whatever Kate is aiming at. “Is there something you needed, Kate? I'm on a tight deadline here.”

Kate’s eyes, instead of responding immediately, drop to the takeout bag in her hands, then flick back to Yelena’s face. It's as if she’s doing a calculus of how far to press, of how much of Yelena's abruptness to overlook.

“Actually,” she starts, her tone light and easy, “I came bearing food. It's way too much for one person.” She tilts her head, hoisting up a slightly crumpled brown bag. “Care to join me?”

Yelena is on the verge of formulating a polite refusal when her stomach, as if on cue, betrays her with a telling growl. She winces, slightly mortified, realizing her last meal was hours ago.

“Sounds like someone's hungry,” Kate teases, her grin infectious.

Yelena considers the offer, her resolve wobbling precariously on the edge between pragmatic hunger and the need to maintain an emotional distance.

“I don't think—” she starts, but Kate, undeterred, strides closer, placing the bag on a nearby empty desk.

“No strings, Yelena,” she says, an undertone of sincerity seeping through. “Just dinner. It’s been a long day, and it looks like you haven’t moved from this spot for hours.”

A small fortress of skepticism still guards Yelena’s expression, but she doesn’t stop Kate as she begins unpacking the containers from the bag. The rich, fragrant scents of stir-fried noodles and spicy broth waft through the air, momentarily making the whole room feel a bit warmer, a bit friendlier. It reminds her of the countless nights they shared meals at the office, back when they worked for the same company, a time when their friendship flourished alongside their physical hunger for one another.

Silently, Yelena concedes, rolling her chair over to join Kate, who’s already begun dividing the food into two portions. They eat in relative silence for a few moments, when Yelena then, prompted by a momentary surge of curiosity, asks, “Where did you guys meet?”

“We were seated next to each other on my flight back to New York,” Kate says after a thoughtful pause. “From Chicago. When I… when we attended that convention.”

She's torn between laughing or pressing her lips together upon learning that Kate met her new love on a plane, at an airport, echoing their own initial encounter.

“Does Georgia know about…”

Kate raises her eyebrows inquisitively. Yelena just motions between the two of them, drawing a soft chuckle from Kate.

“Right. Yes, she's aware. I told her the moment she said you’d be working under her,” Kate says.

Yelena's heart pulses an erratic rhythm at Kate's words. She fiddles with her fork, twirling it aimlessly between her fingers.

“And she was okay with it?” Yelena asks.

“Georgia is...different. She believes in leaving the past where it belongs,” Kate says. Yelena knows she probably doesn’t mean anything by it, yet it subtly pricks at her own propensity to keep one foot persistently anchored in the past.

“I'm glad,” Yelena finally murmurs. “I just... I didn't want it to be a problem.”

Kate reaches across the table, placing a reassuring hand over Yelena's for a fleeting second. “It won't be. We're all adults here. Just... make sure you're okay, alright?”

Yelena nods slowly, taking a deep breath. It's obvious to her now, more than ever, that some bridges aren't burned but simply left to weather the passage of time.

Yelena tries to get back into the dating scene. She registers on three distinct dating apps, uniformly using the same profile photo and an unvarnished bio that reads: Female. Twenty-nine. Single.

Her inbox becomes a conveyor belt of recycled greetings: “Hey”, “You're cute”, and “What are you doing tonight?” It's an endless cascade of faces and screen names, none of which pierce through the monotony of singledom.

She swipes through profiles, a sea of faces belonging to people she will never meet, let alone speak to. There’s the overly chiseled man with a bio that hints at a penchant for arrogance. The vivacious woman with wild curls, a quote from Virginia Woolf emblazoned on her profile. The musician, shrouded in a cloud of recreational smoke, guitar in hand, always accompanied by a loyal puppy—because, of course, there's always that magnetism of a puppy. And then there's the corporate maven, every strand of hair in place, an entire life airbrushed into LinkedIn perfection.

But Yelena is searching for something else—though what exactly, she is not certain. Yelena’s fingers hover over her phone, frozen mid-swipe, as Georgia and Kate emerge from the former’s office. Dressed less formally than usual, with Kate in a chic blazer and jeans combo and Georgia in a strikingly simple dress, it’s evident that the office is not their final destination for the evening.

Yelena inadvertently becomes a secret spectator to their private moment, and she ducks her head back down, suddenly intensely interested in the glowing screen before her. But her attention strays, her ears fine-tuning to the whisper of their voices as they linger by the office door.

“...really looking forward to tonight,” Georgia is saying, her slightly husky with an intimate inflection.

“Me too,” Kate replies.

Yelena feels an involuntary lump form in her throat, and she realizes she’s holding her breath. Why the sight of them, so blissfully unaware of her prying eyes, should stir this maelstrom within her, she isn’t quite sure. It’s not jealousy, she tries to reassure herself. But what is it then? Resignation? Loneliness?

Regret?

They depart, leaving behind Yelena’s questions unanswered. A notification pings—a message from a woman whose profile Yelena doesn’t remember viewing. She clicks on it in a semi-distracted state, reads a greeting that is refreshingly devoid of clichés or overtly sexual overtones, and something, just something, flickers within her.

Twenty minutes over their agreed time, and her date is nowhere in sight. She had replayed their messages in her head, made certain she got the place and time right. Had even arrived a little early to ensure she wouldn’t keep her date waiting. But as the minutes tick by, Yelena’s optimism dwindles.

Her hand flutters to the hem of her dress, pulling it down nervously. She had chosen it with such care earlier, wanting to make the right impression. Now, she just feels stupid for even trying.

Yelena glances out, her mood sinking further as she realizes she's been stood up, and now she's trapped by the rain without an umbrella. Taking a deep breath, Yelena signals the waiter, requesting her bill with a tilt of her head and a brief but curt nod. Just as she's slipping her phone back into her purse, her focus inadvertently drifts towards the entrance of the restaurant.

And there you are.

How could she not notice you? She could pick you out from any crowd. Your jaw, sharply defined, always gave way to the tender curvatures of your facial features in a manner that she found endlessly fascinating. Your ear, peculiarly unique in its shape, partially covered by wet strands that have escaped your messy ponytail.

She watches, a strange tightness forming in her chest, as you speak to the bartender, presumably ordering something to alleviate the chill from your damp clothes. Yelena’s voice, when it finds its way out, bears a semblance of leniency that was lacking the last time they saw each other.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes hesitantly veer towards her, interlacing surprise and something else she can’t quite discern. There’s a beat of silence where you simply regard each other, before you navigate through the tight arrangement of tables and subdued chatter to join her.

“Hi,” you murmur, a tentative smile on your lips as you hover near her table, waiting for an invitation to sit across from her.

She nods, eyes minutely tracing the droplets of rain as they adhere to your eyelashes, “You’re soaked.”

You glance down, surveying the damage of the moody weather this afternoon. “It seems so.”

Before she can think about whether she'll regret this later or not, Yelena motions, inviting you to take a seat across from her.

Later that night, as she walks back to her apartment, she comes to two realizations.

First, that she’s no longer in love with you. When she asked you about Wanda, she detected a shift in your expression, a subtle hardening of your features. You had explained, sipping on that hastily ordered whiskey, that you and Wanda spent a year apart, and you didn't return to her on the day you had promised to reunite. You’d been in Montauk for the better part of a year, caring for your ailing mother. It's a noble thing, to put one's life on hold and step up for family. It’s endearing and also a bit tragic. Your brief time today in Manhattan was to check in on Wanda, having boarded a three and a half hour train just for a mere five seconds of her.

She remembers your slight smile, a tad rueful, when you mentioned passing by the café. “Wanted a glimpse of her, you know? Just to see how she's doing. Then, the rain,” you'd said, rolling your eyes at the unexpected twist nature had thrown your way.

The irony wasn’t lost on her, that this could have been her third chance, her third window to potentially be with you. You were there, and you were single, and you were still the person she used to love. But there was no stirring of old romantic sentiments, no lit flame of rekindling feelings. She was touched, not tempted, by your vulnerable predicament.

Like a raging inferno that had burned brightly, fiercely, and then reduced to warm, comforting embers. It wasn’t gone, and she knew it never truly would be, but it had transformed into something else. She thinks love works in that way; never diminishing, but perhaps always changing. Her memories with you, sharp and painful, have softened around the edges, allowing her to accept things as they are, not as they could have been.

Her keys jingle in hand as she unlocks her apartment door, step inside, and decides that she is ready to take the next step with you and be your friend.

As she closes the door behind her, Yelena is hit with a second insight: she longs to fall in love again. She realizes she's kept her heart guarded for a long time ever since you took up residence there and then left.

With a slow exhale, she leans back against the door, allowing the coolness of the wood to seep through her blouse, grounding her in the present moment. She allows a laugh, letting it envelop her to her heart’s content. She's weary of being the Yelena that left you, the one that wasn’t chosen by you. More than anything, she wants to be reborn. To become a Yelena who no longer clings to the misguided notion that love, to be real, must come with an undercurrent of hurt.

Her hand presses against her heart, feeling its steady beat beneath her palm, affirming her presence, her life, her capacity to heal and be whole again. Yelena realizes that she wants to fall in love where it does not require her to fragment herself, to withhold pieces in safeguard against an inevitable heartache. Love should be able to exist, she thinks, without the persistent ache of sacrifice, without the constant dread of its impermanence looming overhead.

Finally, as Yelena drifts into the embrace of her bed, she imagines that future, feels the potential of it thrumming in the space around her. A face lingers in her thoughts—perhaps, if circumstances change and she offers Yelena a second chance to reciprocate all she's given, that face might belong to the future she yearns for.

Yelena's documents fly everywhere as Georgia slams them down onto her desk.

“This is not up to our standards, Yelena. You can do better,” Georgia snaps.

Taken aback, Yelena tries to form a response, but is cut off. “I need this revised and on my desk by the end of the day,” Georgia orders.

Throughout the day, it doesn't get any better. Every time their paths cross, Georgia finds something to pick at, each criticism more biting than the last.

Desperate for a semblance of understanding, Yelena decides to shoot Kate a text during her lunch break. With a forced lightness, she types, What did you put in my boss’ coffee today? 😂 She's tearing through everything I submit!

Send.

The little ‘delivered’ sign morphs into ‘read’, yet the response she half-hopes for, half-dreads never comes. Yelena stares at her phone, then back to her computer screen, the cursor blinking accusingly at her. A deep sigh unfurls from her as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and refocuses on the draft. She can't help but be bothered that Kate leaves her on read, especially since Kate used to reply to Yelena immediately before.

This inattention is, paradoxically, an attention to the details Yelena wishes she could ignore. She had wanted to step out of this, out of feeling sidelined, unimportant.

However, Yelena squares her shoulders.

If Georgia desires perfection, Yelena will morph her work into an epitome of immaculate journalism, and she will do it without riding on Kate’s coattails. Biting down gently on her lower lip, Yelena delves back into the article, rephrasing and refining. But even then, as she polishes each sentence, part of her is attentive, waiting for the buzz of her phone, indicating Kate has replied. Yet, the only sound accompanying her through the ensuing hours is the rhythmic clack of her keyboard.

She doesn't hear from Kate for the rest of the day.

Two days later, the entire atmosphere of the office seems to have undergone a transformation. This is especially evident with the heady scent of lilies and roses filling the open space. Yelena, having arrived early, watches from her cubicle as coworkers trickle in, all casting appreciative or curious glances toward the opulent floral arrangement in Georgia’s office.

When her boss arrives, she’s an entirely different persona from the tempest of the day before. There's a different air about her today—lighter, tender, almost apologetic.

Georgia, making her way to Yelena’s desk, clears her throat, a barely-perceptible flush gracing her cheeks.

As Yelena makes her way to her workstation, Georgia calls out to her. “Yelena, a moment?”

Cautiously, Yelena approaches her desk. “Yes, Georgia?”

Georgia stands up, her posture relaxed and her face apologetic. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It wasn't professional or warranted. I had a lot on my mind, and it was wrong to take it out on you.”

Yelena nods, her relief merely presented as a tight smile on her lips. “Thank you for saying that, Georgia.”

Georgia smiles faintly. “It's the least I can do.”

Late in the afternoon, Yelena hears the unmistakable sound of Kate's voice, its playful timbre unmistakable even from her desk. She's arrived to pick up her girlfriend. She’s greeted by Georgia's lit-up face, and they exchange a quick, affectionate kiss which Yelena pretends not to notice, even though it plays at the edges of her peripheral vision.

But then, Georgia pauses, pulling her phone from her bag with a look of mild annoyance. “Damn, I forgot about this call. Give me a minute, okay?��

Kate nods, shooting Georgia an understanding smile. “Take your time.”

Kate nods, a small but genuine smile playing on her lips as Georgia steps away, phone already at her ear. Yelena, sensing an opportunity, doesn’t let herself overthink it. She rises from her desk and approaches Kate with measured steps, her heart pulsing a bit harder in her chest.

“Hey,” Yelena begins nervously, hands slipping into her back pockets, unsure why she feels this way. “How’s it going?” Small talk doesn’t come naturally to her, but she hasn’t heard from Kate, and a small voice in her head is screaming that she probably did something wrong.

Kate, slightly startled, turns to face Yelena, her expression neutral. “Yelena.”

The exchange is awkward, stilted, but Yelena is not giving up just yet. “The flowers look beautiful. You picked perfectly,” she says genuinely.

For a fraction of a second, Kate's demeanor seems to soften, but it's fleeting. “Georgia likes lilies,” she states flatly.

Yelena swallows, pressing on despite the stonewall response. “Kate, is everything alright?”

“Fine,” Kate responds, the single word sharp and clipped, her gaze darting elsewhere, anywhere but Yelena.

Yelena's patience wears thin, and she scoffs, “Clearly, it's not.” Taking a deep breath, she admits, “Look, if I did something wrong, I'm sorry.”

“It’s not you,” Kate cuts her off, voice cold, eyes finally meeting Yelena’s with a veiled hardness. “It’s not about you.”

Yelena, taken aback by the frigidity in Kate’s words, hesitates but doesn’t back down. “Then what is it about? We can talk—”

“No,” Kate retorts, an unsettling firmness in her voice. “We can’t.”

But before Yelena can argue, before she can claw at the barriers Kate's erected, Georgia re-emerges from her office. She has finished her call and strides over, her arm sliding through Kate's with an intimacy that seems second nature.

“Oh! Yelena, you’re still here. Working late again?” Georgia asks.

Kate, without offering Yelena another glance, merely nods in Georgia's direction. “Ready to go?”

Georgia beams at Kate. “Yes, let’s.” Then she turns her attention back to Yelena. “Good night, Yelena. And thank you for the hard work. I’ll see your draft on my desk first thing tomorrow?”

Yelena nods, though her focus is still on Kate. “Of course, Georgia. Good night,” she murmurs, stepping aside to let the pair pass by her.

She clenches the Broadway ticket in her hand, the one she had intended to give Kate if she'd been allowed to apologize for... well, for whatever she evidently did wrong. Because to Yelena, that distant demeanor doesn’t resemble 'nothing' at all. Kate has never shut her out like this, not even when Yelena repeatedly broke her heart.

She can't remember the last time she and Natasha hung out alone together. Oh, actually, she does remember. The memory just makes her cringe now, to the point where she wishes she could crawl into a cave and never come out. It was at Natasha's apartment, the morning she decided she was leaving you, with only enough clothes for the night.

Yelena plays with the olive in her martini, stirring it idly. Her sister smirks behind her own drink—the usual on the rocks—and says, “You're doing that thing again.”

Her reference is obvious, even without the specifics. But still, Yelena looks up, an innocent look on her face, the corners of her lips quirking in a half-smile. “What thing?”

“That deep-in-thought look. The same one you wore when you first came home, trying hard not to ask about her.”

Yelena sighs, her gaze dropping to her drink. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me? Always.” Natasha gives a knowing smile.

Rubbing her forehead, Yelena nods slowly. “I ran into Y/N the other week. And then there’s this awkward situation with Kate and her girlfriend... who also happens to be my boss.”

Natasha’s eyebrows lift subtly at the mention of Kate—at how Yelena said her name. “I see,” she says cautiously.

“And Y/N…” Yelena’s voice trails off as she momentarily loses herself in thought, the stirred feelings forming a tight ball in her stomach.

After a pause, Natasha gently prompts, “What about Y/N?”

Yelena sighs, fiddling with the stem of her glass. “I miss her. I partly blame myself for, sort of, pushing her to be in a relationship with me—”

“You didn't, Yelena. You can't force anyone to do anything.”

“Perhaps,” Yelena interjects, raising a finger. “But I'm not going to ignore my own faults in everything that transpired between us. She wasn’t ready to be with anyone, and I should have been a better friend instead of stepping into the role of a girlfriend.”

“Alright, alright,” Natasha says, leaning back, trying not to roll her eyes. “So what happened next?”

“And we talked about her current situation with Wanda. Did you know about that?”

Natasha nods. “It’s complicated.”

Yelena snorts, “When is it not?” Taking a pause, she adds, “But that’s not why I brought her up. I had an epiphany.”

“Oh?”

“I finally moved on. Like, truly moved on from her.”

Natasha smiles. “Yelena, that’s… I’m happy for you.”

Yelena takes a breath, preparing herself for what she’s going to say next. “And that revelation led to another—”

But Natasha smoothly beats her to it. “You’re in love with Kate.”

Yelena's laughter is louder than she expects, as she quickly responds, “No, I’m not.”

“Okay, maybe you’re not in love with her. But I’m pretty sure you more than like her.”

Yelena's grin fades a bit. She sips on her martini, trying to buy herself some time. “What makes you say that?”

“That slightly panicked look you have right now? Classic.”

“It’s not…” Yelena starts, then stops, searching for the right words. “It’s not like that. We're friends. Good friends. And it's complicated.”

“Nothing worth having ever comes easy, you know?” Natasha says, signaling the bartender for another drink.

Worth having. Kate has always been worth it, Yelena realizes now. What she isn't sure of is whether she's worthy of Kate. But it shouldn’t matter if she is right?

Kate has Georgia.

Natasha reaches over, placing her hand over Yelena's, like she can read every thought that’s going inside Yelena’s head right now. “You won’t know until you try. And whatever you decide, remember that it’s okay to be happy. It’s also okay to have wishes and regrets. We’re all human, after all.”

Maybe time is yet to be on Yelena’s side. Still, she silently bargains with the universe, or whoever might be listening, for another chance to try.

Yelena walks through the low-lit ambiance of the pub. A corner has been reserved for the surprise party. Colorful balloons float above tables and a banner reading, Happy Birthday, Georgia! is draped across the exposed brick wall. She struggles a little to carry the collective gift from the office on a reserved table, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Kate. The brunette is across the room, arranging last-minute decorations. She recalls her own birthdays this very woman made special for her, from surprise parties to intimate evenings with just wine, cake, and conversations that stretched till sunrise.

Taking a deep breath, Yelena approaches her, hoping to clear the air between them.

“Hey,” she says, holding up the gift. “I brought the present from everyone.”

Kate looks up, her eyes cold and distant. “You can put it on the table.”

The curt response irks Yelena, and she finally lets out her frustration. “What's your deal?”

Kate looks around, seemingly trying to avoid the confrontation, but Yelena’s gaze stubbornly follows her every move, keeping her grounded. “I saw you,” Kate finally admits with a sigh. “With Y/N.”

Yelena sets her jaw at the mention of your name. She hadn’t realized Kate knew about that. How did she know? Albeit defensively, she responds, “So? We're friends.”

“Why is it so easy for you to be friends with her?” Kate's voice notches higher, catching the glances of a few restaurant staff nearby. “To make an effort to be in her life? Why do you make it so hard for me to stay in yours? Why do you push me away?”

She should’ve anticipated that Kate wouldn’t beat around the bush when confronted, but it still didn’t prepare her for how hard Kate’s words hit her. In a split second, Yelena grabs Kate's arm, gently yet with urgency, pulling her towards the restroom. Inside, she locks the door behind them, making sure they wouldn't be disturbed. But even as they are locked away from the prying eyes of the outside world, Yelena tightly holds onto Kate's wrist, her heart pounding against her ribcage. But Kate retreats from her personal space and leans against the cold tiled wall, her breaths uneven.

“You need to start from the beginning,” Yelena says firmly. “How did you know I saw Y/N?”

Kate’s gaze drops, “I was nearby that day, getting a gift for Georgia. I saw you two together.”

Yelena, feeling cornered, repeats, “We're just friends. Can't I have friends?”

“It's not about you having friends. With Y/N, it seems effortless. But with me? It feels like pulling teeth,” Kate's voice cracks.

“What—I don’t know what you’re—”

“Don't, Yelena. Don’t pretend you don’t know why this is happening,” Kate huffs. “I talked myself into being okay with how easily you coast through our friendship, as if we didn’t sleep together in Chicago and you didn’t avoid me for months.”

Yelena blinks rapidly, memories of that trip to Chicago flooding her mind. The hotel room, the smell of the cologne Kate wore, the way Kate's lips had felt against hers. The guilt she felt afterwards, causing her to distance herself. Her chest constricts, eyes welling up as Kate's words cut through her defenses. Chicago was a sore spot, a turning point that she hadn’t allowed herself to examine closely since it happened.

“I can’t justify my actions after Chicago,” Yelena whispers, even if the slightest hitch in her breath can be heard in the small confines of the bathroom. “And I can’t even begin to explain why I did what I did. Just that…” She sighs, grappling with the words. “I felt horrible. Not just about Chicago, but about feeling like I used you for a long time.”

“I have never resented you for not returning my feelings,” Kate says with a small, sad smile. She's never overtly asked Yelena for more, even though it was clear she wanted it. Yet, it still hurts her how easily Yelena seems to let her go when things get tough between them.

“T-That's just it, Kate. With Y/N, it’s s-safe. Safe in a way I knew what to expect. I knew she could hurt me, and I knew I could handle it, survive it. But with you...” Yelena hesitates, turning to grip the edge of a sink. “With you, it’s not safe. It’s terrifying because you could break me so easily.”

Kate's eyes soften even as her chin trembles. “I would never want to break you, Yelena,” she says just when the image of her girlfriend comes to mind—her girlfriend who’s arriving in half an hour to celebrate her birthday, the very one she organized. “Georgia... she was there. She wanted to be with me and didn’t make me feel like I was hard to love.”

“I never thought you were hard to love,” she confesses quietly, “I just—I wasn’t—”

“What?” Kate all but screams.

Yelena closes her eyes as she allows the words to finally fall from her trembling lips. “I just thought I wasn't good enough to love you.”

Kate steps closer, her smile edged with a hint of madness, her eyes glistening as they catch every veiled truth in Yelena’s carefully shielded confession. “What the hell are you talking about? You were always enough, Yelena. You were always more than enough.”

In that split-second, Yelena closes the distance between them, lips angling towards Kate's, driven by a longing that has simmered below the surface for too long. But just as their lips are about to meet, Kate abruptly pulls back.

Clearing her throat and breaking eye contact, Kate mutters, “I-I need to check if Georgia's already on her way here.”

Yelena feels as if a bucket of ice-cold water has been dumped over her. She feels her cheeks warming with shame. She takes a step back, forcing herself to breathe steadily.

“I... I'm sorry,” she says. “I shouldn't have done that.”

Kate runs a hand through her hair, looking just as frazzled.

“Go,” Yelena urges softly. “You should go see her.”

For a moment, Kate seems torn, caught between staying and leaving. But then, she nods slowly and exits the bathroom, leaving Yelena still reeling from the almost kiss.

The door clicks softly behind Kate, and Yelena lets out a long-held breath. She turns the tap on, letting the cold water run over her fingers before she splashes water onto her face, the coolness of it a brief respite from the burning behind her eyes.

Minutes feel like hours, but eventually, Yelena gathers the courage to exit the bathroom. The room outside is livelier now. Among the new arrivals, Georgia stands out, her laughter echoing as she wraps her arms around Kate from behind. Some people wave at Yelena in greeting. She musters a weak smile in return, but her focus is on leaving.

Without looking back, she immerses herself into the evening, letting the city lights guide her away.

She's not masochistic enough to complete her temporary assignment in New York, enduring the sight of Kate with Georgia at least three times a week, and hands in her resignation the following Monday.

On her last day, Georgia squeezes her hand as she thanks Yelena for all her hard work. When she offhandedly asks Yelena about her future plans, Yelena simply shakes her head, replying, “Back to Chicago, but beyond that, I'm not sure.”

She thinks about what’s next for her the entire plane ride back to Chicago. But mostly, she thinks about Kate, about what-ifs and once-weres. She wonders how long this person will haunt her, just as you once did.

However, she's blindsided when she discovers Kate sitting on the floor next to her apartment door.

Yelena freezes, keys in hand, as her gaze settles on Kate. The hallway lighting softly caresses Kate's face, highlighting the weariness in her eyes and the strands of hair that fall out of place. She's cradling a coffee cup, and her coat is wrapped tightly around her, but Yelena can still see the trembling in her hands.

“K-Kate?” Yelena blinks several times, attempting to make sense of Kate here in Chicago, right outside of her apartment. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“A few... hours,” Kate says, stifling a yawn.

“Why didn't you call or text me?”

Kate shakes her head, a faint, melancholy smile touching her lips. “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”

Confusion clouds Yelena's features. “A surprise?”

Kate sighs, looking down at the coffee cup she's clutching, “I mean... a romantic surprise.”

Yelena feels her heart skip a beat. “What are you saying?”

“Georgia and I... we're over.”

“Since when?”

“Since the morning after her birthday party,” Kate reveals grimly, not with regret but with sadness. It’s quiet for a while, neither of them saying anything until Kate looks up, and her eyes aren’t sad anymore, just hopeful. “I realized I had to end it the moment I felt how strongly I wanted to reach out and kiss you that day in the bathroom. When you tried... I couldn't ignore what that meant for me.”

Yelena takes a moment before she slowly lowers herself to sit beside Kate on the cold floor. The two of them side by side, shoulders nearly touching.

“So, you've been camped outside my door for hours because of... feelings?” Yelena teases, barely restraining a foolish grin, still acclimating to the sensation of allowing herself to be happy.

Kate leans back, her head hitting the wall with a rather loud thud and Yelena can no longer hold back a chuckle from escaping her. “When you put it like that, it sounds rather silly, doesn't it?”

“A bit,” Yelena teases, but her eyes are kind. “You could've just called.”

“I didn’t want to call,” Kate murmurs. “I needed to see you.”

“And where have you been this past month, after breaking up with Georgia?”

“Waiting for you to finish your stint working under her.”

Yelena quirks an eyebrow.

Kate grins and tenderly tucks a strand of Yelena’s hair behind her ear. “I want to do everything right with you.”

Yelena covers Kate's hand with her own, holding it in her lap. “I’m sorry about Georgia,” she says.

Kate narrows her eyes and half-smiles. “You’re not, but thanks.”

Yelena lets out a breathy laugh, her thumb tracing circles on Kate's hand. “I’m sincere about that,” she says. “I thought she was good for you, and I am truly sorry if I ruined things for you.”

“No, Yelena, you didn’t complicate things. You just...” Kate pauses, swallowing dryly, “It's always been you I've wanted. I’m not used to lying to myself. I couldn't be with someone else knowing there was even a sliver of hope you might feel the same.”

“Kate, I—”

Kate tilts her head, waiting, a hopeful expectancy hanging in the air.

“I feel the same,” Yelena breathes out, so softly that Kate leans in to catch every syllable.

Kate's lips curl into a smile, and it grows and grows to its brightest, and Yelena thinks about how she wants to be the one to cause it, over and over again.

“You do?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry it took me this long to realize it, to admit it. I'm not used to...this.”

“To what?” Kate asks.

“To being loved first,” Yelena confesses with a shrug. “I’m always the one who cares more, the one who waits, who tries harder. I didn't recognize it when it was given to me without having to fight for it.”

Kate cups Yelena's cheek, her thumb brushing against her skin tenderly. “Well,” she whispers. “You better get used to it then.”

Tears form in Yelena's eyes, but she brushes them away quickly. “It's going to take some time,” she admits. “To trust, to believe that this is real and not just another heartbreak waiting to happen.”

“I promise to be patient,” Kate says, and Yelena finds it so easy and natural to believe her every word. “So, what happens now?”

“Dinner,” Yelena says, nodding towards her apartment. “And then we figure it out together.”

With a nod, Kate leans in and Yelena meets her half way.

They kiss for the first time after laying all their cards on the table.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova #yelena belova fanfiction #marvel #marvel wlw #my fics #my writing #ILGOSS #yelena x reader #yelena x female reader #ilgoss oneshot #yelena x kate #yelena belova x kate bishop #kate bishop #natasha romanoff

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wyvernquill · 7 months

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Finally some more Dreamling Anastasia AU!

(Obligatory link to the masterpost with all the other posts in this AU - it's also pinned at the top of my blog!)

So, it's been... a while... but I've recently finally got some motivation to write a bit more of this. Apologies to everyone really looking forward to the finale/resolution - I've decided to go all the way back to the start of the story, instead. I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless!

(Tag list: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-kingdom - since it's been a, uh, really long time, please let me know if you're no longer interested in this AU/fandom and don't want to be tagged anymore, I won't mind! On the other hand, if someone else would like to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!)

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“Sister… it’s me.”

The man on the dilapidated theatre’s stage shrugs a heavy, moth-eaten velvet coat off his narrow shoulders. It crumples into a dark semi-circle around him, releasing a dramatic cloud of dust.

“Dream… of the Endless~”

“Ah. Hm.” A somewhat fussy older gentleman in the empty space usually reserved for the audience adjusts the small circular glasses on his nose, grimacing in a polite and distinctly English way - which he has, once, after first coming to this realm and taking this form, spent hours practising in the mirror - while checking a long list in front of him. “Mr… Carter, was it…?”

“Oh, please.” The man on stage flicks back his white-streaked bangs. “Call me Hal.”

“Yes. Of course, Mr. Hal.” The gentleman purses his lips. “That was… not, er. Not terrible, I suppose. And we’re pleased to note that you appear to have… brought your own cloak.”

“Don’t get used to it. Zelda and Chantal only let me borrow it for the audition.”

“Well, it is a lovely cloak. Only, ah, while Dream of the Endless was known to have quite striking eyes, I do think that, perhaps a little less eyeliner…”

“I could tone it down, I suppose, but I really think the performance would lose something without the makeup.” Hal sighs melodramatically. “I can sing and dance too, if you need it for your… what is this audition for, actually? Play? Music hall show? Ooo, one of those moving pictures?”

“Er.” The gentleman fidgets with his cane, grass-green eyes flickering around the empty theatre. “Well-”

“Thank you, Hal.” The younger man beside him interrupts with a winning smile that only barely covers the boredom and frustration lining a rather ruggedly handsome face. “We’ll let you know.”

“Hm.” Hal, clearly enough of an old hand in the acting business to know a polite “you’re not getting the role, piss off” when he hears one, frowns, and bends down to gather up the borrowed cloak, stalking off towards stage exit right with his head held high, not deigning either of the two men with even one more look.

“...I really do not think this will work, young Robert.” The older man mutters, decisively striking through Hal Carter’s name on his list. It is the last. “None of them look even remotely like him. And the voice-”

“I know, Gil. I know.” The younger man, Hob - only Gilbert is proper and precise enough to call him Robert - rubs at his temples, as if to stave off a headache. “They never manage to get the voice right, do they.”

“Ah, if it were only that…” Gilbert sighs, setting the list down. His eyes are soft and unfocused, seeing far into a past that has long since been razed to the ground. “His Lordship, he… he had a certain air about him, you understand. An otherworldly strangeness. He was the dream-maker, and dream-made, and to look at him was to gaze upon infinity.”

A soft scoff.

“Even if we claim that he has been greatly reduced by being turned into a meagre human - no offence, dear friend - as long as he does not have some spark of endlessness about him, nobody who has ever met him would fall for the ruse. And we are attempting to con his family. I simply cannot see any viable path to success.”

Hob does not respond, for a moment, picking up one of the flyers on their table.

It reads:

SEEKING Actor, slender, pale, tall, dark-haired, in the 20-40 age range to play the role of Dream of the Endless (method actors preferred). Generous pay and further benefits await. Auditions each weekday at 6pm at the Old Whickber Street Theatre, Soho. Ask for Hob and Gil.

“We’ll find him.” Hob insists. “The perfect pretender. He’s out there, I just know it.”

“We are not the first fools who have attempted a, a caper of this sort.” Gil points out, almost gently. “None of the others ever succeeded.”

“Yes. Well. None of the others managed to find and correctly identify the late Dream’s own pouch of genuine dream-sand on sale at the black market.” Hob shoots back, gesturing at the cord just barely peeking out from under Gil’s collar. (They’ve decided it would be safer if Hob comes into contact with the sand as little as possible, and Gilbert has taken to carrying it as closely to his heart as he can manage.) “It’s hard evidence, Gil, it’s a sign, it’s our chance - and it might just be enough. The trick with a good con is really making it look like you’re giving the mark exactly what they desperately want… and there’s nothing in the world Death of the Endless wants more than to have her brother back.”

(She wants it so desperately, in fact, that she’s offering immortality to any sentient being who manages to procure Dream for her.

And, well.

There’s nothing in the world Hob wants more than to live forever…)

“Your word in- or, well, kept out of Destiny’s ears, young friend.” Gil sighs, collecting his lists and notes and the remaining flyers, tucking them into his coat and reaching for his cane. “In the meantime, how about we go down to the public house and have a bit of a snifter to wash away the memories of all those atrocious performances, eh, my lad?”

“Best idea you had all day, Gil.” Hob grins, clapping a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “Are you buying?”

Gilbert raises one grey brow. “At the risk of provoking a joke regarding my non-human status: in your dreams, Robert.”

Hob laughs; and, together, they step out into the winter night, old snow crunching under their shoes and new flakes beginning to drift, gradually, down from the sky.

It has been a decade since the end of the Endless’ reign.

Ten years since humanity tore Destiny’s book from his hands and burned it.

Ten years since Destruction abandoned his siblings, hiding away in his own, separate exile.

Ten years since Despair’s first aspect was killed, and another took her place.

Ten years since Delight went mad with grief and became Delirium…

And ten years since Dream of the Endless was captured, bound, turned human, and killed.

People still whisper about it. Still speculate, trade gossip and hearsay back and forth. Some insist that the Dream King yet lives, hidden away, turned human, just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to return to his siblings.

It’s a lovely legend, Hob supposes. A fitting end and non-end, for the Lord of Stories, to live on in one… but that’s all it is. A pretty tale, which will breathe new life into a myth only for as long as it’s being told. It isn’t true…

…but now, ten years later, Hob and Gil will damn well make it so.

Ten years is also, coincidentally, all that a man a few streets down from the old theatre can remember of his life.

Ten years since he was found, naked and emaciated and bleeding, in a ditch next to some countryside road in East Sussex.

Ten years of fighting his way through a life in poverty, with no family, no friends, no-one to care for him, except perhaps the birds.

Ten years of strange and haunting dreams, blurred faces calling out to him with names he can never remember later but knows are his; ten years of waking every morning with tears on his face and a longing for someplace - and someones - he wishes he could remember; ten years of a woman’s voice begging him night after night to come home to her, to them.

Ten years of being much too busy starving and freezing and barely surviving to spare even a single thought to the dying legends of the Endless.

This man turns his face up to the sky, snowflakes catching in his dark hair and on his coat like stars glinting in the night; and he shivers, his breath clouding mist-white in the air, curling thin arms around a narrow torso.

(For a moment, just a moment, his eyes glow dark and infinite, a mirror to the night sky and the endless universe beyond.)

And then, he ducks his head down into his scarf, shivers again, and continues on through the snow.

Ten hard years have taught this man better than to waste his time standing about and daydreaming.

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #it's been 84 years......#i've got a rough draft of a scene or two after this too #endlessly busy with uni of course #and getting back into Good Omens my old love #but i've been feeling like dabbling with this au again lately so why not #and i just HAD to give you Hal doing the iconic coat drop scene #he would have been iconic as drag Dream of the Endless just saying #Hob and Gil are missing out #and the first glimpse of Murphy... I can see it in my mind's eye so clearly #him looking up at the sky with the stars in his eyes and the snow in his hair #and Death forever calling out to him in her sleep #gosh have i missed this au #can't guarantee too much more #but a few more bits are definitely in the works!

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chaifootsteps · 8 months

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Hey there!

Sorry if this is random, but I found you through the Vivsiepop Critical tag, and I noticed a post where you mentioned something about Viv being like "Glitched Puppet"

Sorry if I'm out of the loop, but who/what is "Glitched Puppet"?

I'm just curious, but feel free not to answer

(On anon because I've already been harassed by hardcore Viv fans and I don't want to be found again. It's just exhausting to deal with them.)

(CW: WARNING FOR BEASTIALITY, PEDOPHILIA)

Nah, I'm happy to answer!

Glitchedpuppet is an artist who got their start on DeviantArt, ran a Pokemon group and then a webcomic (one SFW, one NSFW), and like Vivzie, seemed to have everything going for them. They were friends with at least a couple of people in the industry, did guest comics, had merchandising runs. Personality-wise they were very similar to Vivzie, deeply allergic to criticism, but people liked their art and their content.

Then it came out that their husband, Marl, tried to groom kids into fucking the family dog on camera.

Glip and their other partner (who had gained some notoriety for saying child porn shouldn't be illegal) defended Marl at every turn, calling the accusers sluts and liars. They defended him until they couldn't anymore, at which point they changed tactics. Glip divorced Marl, moved away with their other partner, and started painting a picture of themselves as Marl's victim, all the while refusing to divulge information that could lead to Marl facing justice. Their merchandising partner pulled out.

Things have devolved over the years, and long story short, Glip's been caught in scandal after scandal (they admitted to having sex with a dog), incriminating lie after incriminating lie. They now spend all of their time on their discord server, an absolute hot bed of pedophiles, where they regularly engage in ritualistic attack sessions on members. It recently came to light that they actually had sex with multiple dogs and let their cat eat them out.

Here's their Kiwi Farms thread, obligatory warning for all of that, although it's also one of the most left-leaning threads on the farms. If you'd rather not breathe Kiwi Farms air, here's an excellent blog devoted to Glip.

#Anonymous #glitchedpuppet #actual blog post

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plumbogs · 3 months

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I made it back to a new round. I swear all this guy does is clean the bathroom

probably wise, because it's Tiffani's birthday!!! Dina threw the party and all of her friends were invited (teleported in using god powers because Dina isn't friends with neighborhood children). They ran around playing tag :)

Brandi did the most spectacular hot dog flipping just to turn around and put the plate directly on the ground. what a fucking queen honestly

birthday shenanigans :) it was a great day so they moved the table and cake outside instead of cramming into the tiny house. everyone got to run around and have fun and become best friends with each other

during the first half of the party Beau left to take his driving test and now he's licensed!! yay!!!

bottom found a fascinating new way to play guitar. fairy magic at work again...

and since everyone was home now she finally was able to blow out her candles. she is literally so cute I'm crying...... she didn't age up into the worlds most questionable outfit this time eitehr. and she's the first of this generation to become a teenager. i am going to scream

brandi took a picture of her for the wall :) yayyyyy

and the obligatory brandina image. i love them all so much

#sims 2 gameplay #brandi broke #dina caliente #beau broke #tiffani broke #your honor i love them they are my children. i care them so much

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protect-namine · 2 years

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Opinion on ness? _aesterblaster

omg I don't talk about him much but I actually really love satellite characters and ness is totally kaiser's satellite

since I don't talk about ness that much I'm pouring everything into this one post lol, so brushing everything under the cut to spare everyone the long essay. also, obligatory disclaimer that my thoughts on him will probably change once we get his backstory.

I think ness is an interesting character to have in the germany team because BM is all about rationality and the rational part here is to rely on and support kaiser to score. if blue lock shakes up that system, is ness "rational" enough to support other players if it's the logical thing to do, even if (especially if) it's against kaiser, or will he stick by kaiser anyway? tbh I don't know enough about him to say, but I'm willing to bet he's actually more loyal than logical, but that loyalty didn't come from nothing! maybe he truly believes kaiser is better than everyone and he is the best strategy, or maybe his loyalty just happens to coincide with what is the best strategy right now. but I'm really betting his loyalty trumps "rationality" because just look at his eyes here after isagi steals the ball and assist kunigami

he's such a smiley, cheery person usually. I wonder what his backstory is...

we already know that the chain designs are deliberately drawn in ways that say something about the character (like sae's broken and golden chains, kaiser's clear chain, etc). ness's chain having blue roses is kinda a given since he makes it his goal to direct the plays around kaiser and it's probably also holding him back since he doesn't cultivate his own "ego" outside of it. what is ness outside of kaiser? how do we define him without kaiser in the picture?

I would love to get a ness arc to explore the implications of this picture!!

we already know plenty of characters like him with similar roles/skills but they can stand on their own (tabito, hiori, heck even isagi himself) and/or are growing past their need to be defined as a shadow of someone else's talents (reo). he's a nice contrast to all of that. I don't necessarily think he needs to get rid of or surpass kaiser for growth (like how nagi and reo broke up), but maybe their relationship dynamics can change. like how bachira didn't necessarily move on from isagi to surpass him, but their relationship changed to one where they constantly challenge each other to be better. as much as ness is defined around kaiser, kaiser is also only able to prop himself up because of ness and that doesn't have to change. I mean, rose thorn imagery aside, their relationship seems (for now) waaay healthier than reonagi and even rin and sae back when rin was just as obsessed with being sae's right hand man (see the post's tags for more on this topic).

(tangent: tbh I think the reason why isagi can't beat kaiser yet despite learning to do meta vision at will is because he forgets that kaiser is relying on two sets of eyes... ness is right there with probably the same vision skills so together they consume less energy to control the field unlike isagi who just solos it)

idk if we'll ever see it but I would love to see some story moments that contrasts him with kurona (who, in order to stay in the team, chose to be isagi's satellite), hiori (the OG isagi satellite and cheerleader!! but currently benched...), and reo (who is trying to move on from being nagi's satellite but damn the reonagisagi thing just keeps getting messier and messier. I really feel bad for the guy). I think there's potential in exploring ness's character with these other three as foils.

(another tangent: I've been wondering why his chain becomes transparent at the back but I saw someone point out that it could be because it connects to kaiser's. super neat detail!!)

I think ness has more control over the team than is apparent, he's just not loud about it like kaiser is. it's like... if kaiser is the director of a play, ness is the stage manager that makes it all happen, y'know? kaiser might be the star but I think they both know and understand that ness holds just as much power here. but he's a super chill guy who's got a handle on things so I'd love to see what makes him mad. this is blue lock! we deserve to see a truly pissed off ness!!

outside of plot, and more into fanon territory: I think he holds 90% of kaiser's impulse control; he would make a great mom friend (how come no one thought of giving the blue lock kids the magical mikage translation earbuds until he arrived?? also he probably knows how to calm down a Kasier Tantrum if it happens); he would probably be down for a karaoke/hangout chapter with the blue lock kids; he either has anger management issues deep inside OR he already took care of that in therapy and is now just living his mostly-chill but pretty-obsessed happy life being the stage magician for kaiser

further fanon delusions: I hope they turn out to be childhood friends. omg wait, even better: I hope the twist is that kaiser actually got a blue rose tattoo because of ness............. because ness genuinely thinks he can "attain the impossible" (one of the things a blue rose symbolizes) and kaiser got that tattoo'd as a reminder to himself. oh man, that would be nice I think. I think it would be fun to flip the script and make ness the hidden reason for kaiser's existence even though on the outside it seems like the other way around.

but lol maybe kaiser really is just a dramatic person that likes blue roses and maybe ness really is just a super big kaiser fan. I have no problem with that too!! these two are just theater kids playing football tbh!!

#ask me stuff #anon #or i guess it's #aesterblaster #blue lock #liveblogging bllk #of all the egotistic star x person obsessed with egotistic star pairings in this manga #sae and shidou are like. way too out there just because of shidou being... shidou #past rin and sae was so bad they traumatized each other #reo and nagi was also pretty bad though less traumatizing but we're wading through that mess right now with no end in sight #pre monster bachira was like this to isagi BUT they handled it pretty well all things considered!!#so i kinda liken ness and kaiser to them because they're only unlikeable if you (general you) dislike their individual personalities #which is also not hard to do because they have personalities that can REALLY annoy some readers (understandable; i love them though)#but them together as a pair... so far i think they're doing pretty well relative to all the other examples #then again with reonagi and past rinsae to compare to...... the bar cannot be fucking lower lmao

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thistleflower-sims · 1 year

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Obligatory end of the year post!

Wasn't quite as active as I would've liked to be, and I definitely do wanna post more consistently in 2023 (I even have all the pictures taken for the next couple decades posts in my drafts!! Been a while, huh?) But since I'm planning on moving and finding a full time job I don't think I can promise it (at least not later in the spring/summer/whenever that gets done lol). ANYWAY I'm gonna reblog some of my favorite stuff from this year and just tag them with 2022 faves :)

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selyular · 3 years

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isn't this how the cattaur episode went

#centaurworld #centaurworld netflix #zulius #zulius centaurworld #splendib #splendib centaurworld #zulius x splendib #someone tell me if there's a proper ship name for these two yeah?#i cannot DRAW zulius right ffs #EDIT: S2 GUYS. GUYS. LOVE WINS #stripes on stripes #obligatory moving pictures tag

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swan-shaped-scones · 3 years

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Gorillaz Headcanon - Drunk, High, or Sober? Edited 10.02.2021

Whenever the band goes out on tour, to the grocery store, to the bar, or generally out in public, Russel, 2D, and Noodle like to amuse themselves with a game Russel invented called "Drunk or Sober".

Murdoc doesn't know about the game because he's the person the game is about.

The game begins when Murdoc starts, well, being Murdoc. Russel, Noodle, and 2D each sit back and quietly place a bet on whether Murdoc is drunk (or high,) or not. It's not as easy to guess as it sounds because Murdoc in general acts weird.

Russel invented the game after one of their North American tours. After a successful show in one of the southern States, the band had gone out to a local bar, which was in the obligatory "cowboy/western" theme.

After a few drinks, the band was relaxing and having fun with some fans, watching as a few brave patrons tried their luck with the mechanical bull.

Russel was torn from helping Noodle and 2D tell stories of their adventures to a group of fans by a sudden storm of excited cheering. He looked up and noticed Murdoc was gone.

Noodle muttered an irritated expletive, and Russel, dread settling in the pit of his stomach, followed her line of sight just in time to see Murdoc climb up on the mechanical bull, putting on a cowboy hat someone in the crowd tossed him.

2D cringed in embarrassment as the DJ started blasting "Cotton Eye Joe". Murdoc had purposefully picked that song because he knew 2D hated it.

Russel panicked as the bull started up, picturing the newspaper headline "Gorillaz Bassist Breaks Neck on Mechanical Bull Ride in Unfortunate Drunken Accident". He ended up utterly baffled as Murdoc, making his Suggestive Murdoc Noises the entire time, stood up and went full "guy dancing on mechanical bull" (he would later claim that the guy had copied him.)

Russel, 2D, and Noodle alternately watched nervously (waiting for the inevitable calamity to happen), and argued over whether Murdoc was drunk, high, or sober (or relatively sober).

Noodle and 2D argued that no drunk person was that coordinated, while Russel argued that no sober person was stupid enough to try to dance on a moving mechanical bull.

Miraculously, the little show ended with the crowd cheering wildly as Murdoc dismounted, triumphant and unharmed.

He received a free souvenir t-shirt, lifetime free admission and drinks, and several propositions, then spent an hour posing for pictures in his borrowed Stetson.

He would remember nothing the following morning, proving Russel right, and his social media pages would be bombarded by fans tagging him in a certain video that made it on the internet. And of course Drunk, High, or Sober was born.

#gorillaz #gorillaz headcanons #murdoc gorillaz #noodle gorillaz #2d gorillaz #russel gorillaz #murdoc niccals #murdoc faust niccals #stuart pot #stu pot #stuart harold pot #russel hobbs #family #found family

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pettyprocrastination · 4 years

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Introductions Hc for Catfish x CamGirl!Reader

Just some basic hc on how you two met. Also yes the cam girl in this is a goth babe because I love goth women so so much.

Warnings: uhhh poor descriptions of light smut?? sex work. We support sex workers in this house baby!!! Also sweet sweet frankie who we all need a hug from during these trying times.

Taglist: @cinewhore i honestly can’t remember who’s on my perm tag list im gonna have to do a post for that as well fuck SORRY

I actually had a lot of fun writing these so if you want to know more about frankie and BB (which will be her nickname for now) please hmu!!!

You and frankie don’t meet in person at first. He meets you through your (side)job, Which is doing online shows using (insert obligatory porn site here or onlyfans idk)

It’s late at night, frankie is home alone and scrolling through a site using the incognito mode on his phone. Nothing is doing it for him that night. Not that he’s particularly desensitized to sex, no. It’s quite the opposite. He’s so sick and tired of seeing the words “stepdaddy” and “unsuspecting” in the same sentence so many times it’s causing him to lose not only his hard-on but also his faith in humanity.

He sees the option for live shows, thinks about it for a moment before saying fuck it why not and clicking the link that brings him to a page with photos covers of multiple scantily clad (if covered at all) women that were live.

His own username was something simple, nothing with his name or nickname. Just Pilot368, because lord knows he wasn’t about to be one of the studs who had usernames like Pussydestroyer or CockKing6000.

He’d never watched live shows before, that brought a different element into it all. The sort of...welcomed voyeurism that he wasn’t sure how he felt about. Maybe he was overthinking it all, or maybe it just wasn’t his cup of tea until you showed up just under a girl wearing a pink dog collar.

You were….not his usual tastes, to put it simply.

The picture promoting your page was you sitting in a lacy black set up, thin lace frills framing your soft thighs and the slope of your breasts. You sat with your legs spread and tongue slipping past your black-painted lips. Between your legs sat a (he was assuming fake) skull that you held with curled fingers.

Your Username was 🖤🦇BabyBat🦇🖤and frankie felt like a pervert for the way his cock throbbed.

But he was alone, and he was horny. So he swallowed that self-loathing if only long enough for him to wrap his hand around his cock while your stream played.

He thought you were pretty in the picture, but on live video? Watching you move yourself up and down on a toy while throwing your head back with breathless little whimpers and moans? Oh he’s a dead man.

Comments came in a steady stream, many of which were calling you derogatory terms or telling you to move a certain way and some even suggested you alter certain things about your body.

The first time he himself commented he over analyzed it for about five minutes. He didn’t want to say anything too lewd, even as you fucked yourself on a toy right before his eyes, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or insecure. So, God bless his heart, frankie left a comment on a live video of you literally fucking yourself about how he thought your tattoo was “very cool.”

The moment he pressed enter he immediately wanted to shoot himself. “Very cool”? THAT’S the best he could come up with? He could just hear pope flaming his ass for it.

But he saw your face as you read the comment, and the smile that grew at it.

You laughed, one that reached your eyes and made frankie feel filthy about stroking his cock to it. “Oh thank you!” You let one hand trail down your stomach until your fingers found your clit and you arched your back, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you looked at the camera.

“You're too sweet to me honey.”

Maybe it was the slight shake in your thighs as you rode the toy, or the way you never look away from the camera, and in turn from him, or maybe the way your voice, rich and dark and smooth, would raise into a little whine as you neared your end, but it pushed him over the edge, falling into hot waves of pleasure that ebbed and flowed as he came into his fist and imagined that it was you.

The moment he sobered up, and realized it wasn’t in fact you, but he was simply alone in his room, late at night, he huffed.

Boy, he really is a charmer.

Frankie made haste to clean himself up and exit the browser without a second thought before trudging into bed and letting his eyes shut. When he woke up your moans echoed in his head while he made coffee. The sight of your soft, bare chest flashed in his mind while he had a pleasant conversation with the mailman about how the weather had been sweltering all week. The image of your sweet smile at his words played through his head all day at work like a sick taunt.

That night after dinner he lays in bed, scrolling through page after page of results on his phone in frustration because he can’t remember your goddamn username.

It’s almost an hour of searching when he almost gives up because now the search is just getting a little sad.

It shouldn’t matter that much to him. You're just a cam girl. Not somebody he knew personally, not a lover or a girlfriend. He’s about to close out when he sees your username and doesn’t think before he clicks on it.

Your shirt is pushed up your chest and your hand is sliding under the elastic band of your panties when you see his username pop up and you smile.

“Happy to see you back flyboy! I was starting to miss you.”

Frankie swears he won’t make a habit of watching you, but he breaks that promise when he clicks the follow button before falling asleep.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #catfish x reader #catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #x reader #imagine #Frankie & BB

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

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Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 7 | Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?

A/N: This will update every Thursday. There are 13 chapters. There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships. This is the one I choose to write this time.

MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship. When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian. Which is the one thing he never knew he needed. Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship. But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: Vivian meets Luke and they decide to take their relationship public via a trip to Centre Court.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Tag Lists Are Open! Let me know if you want to be added. Thank you for reading!

Vivian made plans to pick up Tom at his house on Friday night and go to see a movie. He did pretty well with the protocols, although he needed prompting to send Vivian text about his meals. Tom answered the door in just his jeans.

“Ma’am.” He held at his hand to Vivian.

“Sunshine.” She kissed, hand on his neck.

“I’ll finish getting dressed.” She followed him through the house and into the master bedroom. Vivian stopped as she took into the scene. Clothes everywhere. In piles on the floor and on a chair.

“Sunshine. Is this how this always looks?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “More or less, ma’am.” He dug through the closet for a shirt to wear.

“Clean it up now, please.”

“But we’re going to the movies. I can do it when we get back.”

“No, you’re doing it now.” She dropped her purse.

“It can really wait until after the movie. We’ll be late.” Tom continued to protest. He realized his mistake too late, spying the frown on Vivian’s face. “Sorry, ma’am.” His eyes cast downward.

“Get your hamper.” She sat down on the edge of the armchair in the room. Tom disappeared into the bathroom and brought out a large hamper.

“Put the clothes into the hamper.” She crossed her arms as Tom scoffed. With a sigh, he gathered all the clothes, not sure which were clean and which were dirty, not that it mattered at this point.

He smiled as he put all the clothes in the hamper and shut the lid.

“Now take them out.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open but complied reluctantly, pulling the clothes out into a pile.

“Now repeat that twenty times.”

“But the movie, ma’am.”

“Then I suggest you hurry, sunshine. And count it out loud.”

Tom grumbled as he repeated the task, counting it out. As Vivian tapped her foot, staring down at her phone. He picked up his pace as he could sense her irritation growing.

“Twenty.” He worked up a bit of a sweat and closed the lid to the hamper.

Vivian stood and kissed his cheek. “Good job, sunshine. Keep the place picked up. Now let’s go to the movie, we can still make it if we hurry.”

Tom threw on a pair of shoes and grabbed his phone and wallet while Vivian walked to the front door. They made it to the movie in time to grab concessions, but they missed a few previews. Vivian selected seats at the back with her hand on the inside of Tom’s thigh the entire time. Her fingers grazing his cock, causing Tom to jump.

“Do I distract you, sunshine?” Vivian whispered into his ear, nibbling behind the lobe.

“A bit, ma’am.” Tom hissed, squirming in his seat.

“If you stay still for the rest of the movie, you can have a reward when we return home.”

“What kind of reward, ma’am?” He smirked at her in the dark.

She squeezed his leg tight. “The kind that uses my mouth.”

Tom hissed. “Yes ma’am.”

Vivian’s interest in the movie waned as she found it much more entertaining to tease Tom. He did a much better job than she expected him to do so. Tom impressed her.

They waited until everyone else left the theater, in part to allow them some privacy and in part for Tom to cool down.

“Did I earn a reward, darling?” He wore a smug smile on his face.

Vivian sized him up as though turning the decision over in her head, before squeezing his arm. “Yes you did, darling. Now let’s head home.”

Tom didn’t let go of Vivian’s hand as they walked up the front steps to his house. He may or may not have dropped his keys trying to open the door in excitement.

“Living room, sunshine. Strip, hands behind your head.”

She swore Tom skipped into the living room and stripped off his pants, shirt and underpants, cock already semi-hard in anticipation. He folded them and put them on the same table as that first night.

“Good boy, sunshine.” Tom’s chest puffed. Her nail ran along his chest, trailing down his torso until running along his shaft. He inhaled sharply. “Very good boy.”

Vivian pulled off her own dress and panties and unhooked her bra. She folded them and handed them to Tom, who placed them on the same table as his own clothes.

Vivian lowered in front of him. “You will not move or touch me. If you do, I stop.”

“Yes ma’am.” Tom shifted his feet.

“Now for your reward.”

She licked the tip of his cock and he moaned. Vivian kissed along his shaft and cupped his balls, heavy in her palm.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom hummed, his head falling back.

Tom’s moan made Vivian’s own arousal grow. She took him into her mouth and sucked hard. His hands clenched at his sides. Vivian hollowed her cheeks and sucked off Tom, sliding her lips and tongue along him while fondling him with her other hand. Tom grew close, his balls tightening in Vivian’s hand, and she popped off his cock and jerked his cock until he came in spurts on her chest.

Tom stood still and gazed down at Vivian, covered in him. It was beautiful.

“May I, ma’am?” Tom raised a knowing eyebrow.

Vivian nodded and laid back onto the floor. Tom crawled towards her. He nipped along her inner thigh, her hand grabbing the back of his head, steering him toward her core. His tongue licked along her, already wet.

“That’s it, sunshine.” She moaned.

Tom’s nose nudged along her clit and he pushed her legs wider. He pushed two fingers into Vivian. As he thrusted into her, Tom licked and sucked her clit. She tugged at his hair, sending jabs of pain through him, her nails digging into his scalp. Vivian ground against Tom’s face. The slight stubble rubbing against the delicate skin of her thighs.

“Yes, fuck your mouth, sunshine. So good!” Vivian moaned.

Tom pressed and rubbed against her clit and she came, shuddering against Tom’s mouth, which did not stop. Vivian pulled him away from her. Tom curled up against her leg, hugging it tight. She sat up and petted his hair. Tom hummed.

“I need to go home, sunshine.” Vivian cooed.

“I wish you would stay, ma’am. It is better when you stay.”

Vivian chuckled. “But I have nothing with me.”

Tom stood up. “One moment, ma’am.”

He hustled away and Vivian giggled at how his bare ass swayed as he walked away. He came back with a cosmetic bag and a pair of pajamas, identical to her favorites. Inside the bag were twins of the toiletries in her shower.

“How did you—”

“I took pictures one morning while you slept and then of the label of your pajamas. These seemed to be your favorites. I wanted you to be comfortable.”

She pulled him into a passionate kiss. “That is the sweetest thing, sunshine. You are so thoughtful.” Tom blushed. “Help me up, please.” He extended his hand to her and helped her to her feet.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

They both showered and slipped into pajamas and then tucked under the sheets, Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist.

Tom woke up to Vivian draped across his torso, her hair tickling along his jaw. He ran his fingers up and down her back and she nuzzled into his neck. Tom realized the relationship was still new. Hell, there hadn’t even been paparazzi photos yet or the obligatory Daily Mail article filled with innuendo and gossip. But everything felt right, like home. He appreciated how Vivian looked after him, not because it was her job, but because she genuinely cared.

Tom closed his eyes and enjoyed the heavy weight of her body on his chest until his stomach growled. He tapped on Vivian’s shoulder.

“Ma’am, what would you like for breakfast?” he whispered, drawing circles on her back.

“Hmmmm?” Vivian moaned, rolling onto her side. “Coffee…”

“Anything else?” He kissed her head.

“Food.” she grumbled.

“I think I can oblige. I am going to get up now.”

“Okay…”

Tom took care to lift Vivian’s head up and place it back on the pillow and cover her with the duvet, before tugging on a pair of boxer briefs and heading to the kitchen. He cooked up a quick breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast while the coffee brewed. Once everything was ready, Tom placed two plates on a tray along with coffee.

“Ma’am…” He leaned down and kissed behind her ear. “Breakfast is ready.”

Vivan stretched and sat up with a smile. Tom set the tray down and adjusted the pillows behind Vivian. He placed the tray over her lap and she inhaled the aroma of coffee and eggs.

“Smells divine, sunshine. Thank you.”

She handed him a cup of coffee before sipping her own. Made sweet just how she liked it. Tom sipped his own coffee. Vivian grabbed a piece of toast and held it out for Tom. He bit down on the corner, the crispy bread and butter coating his mouth. She followed with a piece of bacon.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He offered her a piece of toast and she snapped at it. They laughed and ate the entire breakfast. Tom moved the tray out of the way and curled next to Vivian.

“So what are your plans today?” She petted his head.

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.” He gazed up at her. “Luke wants to meet sometime this week with you and me.”

Vivian frowned. “Did he say why?”

Tom stood to clear the dishes. “He mentioned something about going over what to expect at Wimbledon. The pictures, the fallout, what not.” He ducked out of the room.

Vivian furrowed her brow and tugged on one of Tom’s shirts and followed him. “Fallout?”

“I am sure once I show up on the arm of a stunningly beautiful woman at Centre Court, people will talk.”

Vivian raised an eyebrow. She was well aware of the notoriety of Tom’s relationships in the press. She did her research before jumping into the relationship.

“To be honest, I am surprised there haven’t been photos already.” She hopped onto the counter while Tom washed the dishes.

“I am as well, ma’am. Should I have Luke call you?”

“Hand me your phone, sunshine.”

Tom hesitantly reached across the counter and handed Vivian his mobile. She scrolled through his contacts and pushed one.

“Why are you calling me on a Saturday morning? What kind of problem did you create and now I have to solve, you tit?”

“Do you talk to all your clients so callously, or is Tom special?” Vivian snapped back. Tom reached for his mobile, but Vivian waved him off and smirked.

“Who is this and why do you have Tom’s mobile?” Luke questioned back.

“It’s Vivian Swann and I have his mobile because he gave it to me.”

“Well… I… I…” Luke sputtered.

“I don’t need your apologies. You wanted to meet with me this week. I’m available Monday at 10 a.m. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Luke snapped.

“I’ll see you then. I hope you have a lovely weekend, Mr. Windsor.”

“You too. Give my hellos to Tom.”

Vivian glanced over at Tom, who had a look of absolute horror on his face as his publicist talked with his domme girlfriend.

“I will, thank you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Vivian grabbed his hand and pulled Tom close, kissing his lips. “Luke gives his hellos.” She purred at him.

Tom chuckled, his arms wrapping around her waist. His lips curled into a smile while he kissed her back. “Wow, Luke is really forward today. I must have a talk with him.”

“I have taken some liberties.” Vivian collapsed into giggles, peppering kisses on Tom’s face. “What do you say we have a lazy weekend, sunshine? Lie on the couch watching movies, ordering takeaway and just being lumps?”

“I like this plan, ma’am. May I suggest we start with a leisurely shower for two?”

“You read my mind.”

The two of them didn’t leave Tom’s house for the next two days. They made love on the couch, the bed and even the kitchen counter, when Tom waylaid Vivian as she put away the leftovers from lunch on Sunday.

“I can’t get enough of you, ma’am.” he growled as he thrusted into her.

“Me too, sunshine.” Her nails dug into the skin on his shoulders, leaving red crescent marks. Tom came and slumped against her after Vivian orgasmed.

Vivian should have gone home on Sunday night so she could get ready for work, but she didn’t want to leave Tom. She didn’t want to leave the comfort of his arms or the view of his boyish smile. So instead set her alarm to an obscene time and slipped under the covers to curl over Tom’s back.

Vivian needed three cups of coffee on Monday morning and was still a grump arriving at the office. Mary shooed away any unnecessary appointments and screened all Vivian’s phone calls.

“Ms. Swann.” Mary popped her head in at 9:30.

“Yes, Mary?” Vivian groaned, the coffee kicking in.

“You have that personal meeting at 10 a.m. and you emailed me on Saturday to remind you…”

Vivian jumped up and grabbed her suit jacket and purse. “Thank you, Mary.” She hustled out of the building, hoping traffic wouldn’t be too bad.

Tom paced inside Luke’s office, waiting for Vivian to arrive. Luke sat behind his enormous glass and steel desk, his eyes following Tom’s path.

“Are you nervous?” Tom jumped at the noise and laughed nervously. He ran his hands through his hair.

“What? No! Just hoping she didn’t get caught in traffic, that’s all.” His closed lip smile doing nothing to dissuade Luke.

“New suit?” Tom glanced down. Vivian had picked it out for him during a shopping trip. He had other suits, but he wanted to wear this one today.

“Yes, I believe it is.” Tom smiled.

“Bit fancy for a meeting with me. You usually turn up in that same fucking sweater and jeans. Trying to impress the girl?”

“No. I have other meetings today.” Tom lied. “And she is not “the girl” or “a girl” she is a woman, my girlfriend, and her name is Vivian. And I would expect you to speak about her in the tone and respect she deserves.”

“Lord, I hope he would.” Vivian kissed Tom’s cheek. “I like the suit, darling.”

Tom blushed. “I like your suit too.” He returned the kiss. Luke rolled his eyes.

“Okay, lovebirds take a seat.” He gestured at the two chairs in front of the desk.” Vivian sat, and then Tom. She reached out to touch his arm.

“So Mr. Windsor, I imagine this meeting has several purposes…”

“Well, actually—”

Vivian cut him off. “Please don’t patronize me with any spin talk. I’m a lawyer, bullshit is my business. Now I believe you wanted this meeting to discuss our upcoming outing to Wimbledon. Which is all fine and good, but I suspect you have also called this meeting to suss me out?”

Luke sat silently for a moment. “Yes, that’s correct. I’d rather know about any potential pitfalls ahead of time. You can’t be too careful.”

Vivian smiled. “I can assure you, I only have Tom’s best interests at heart. In fact, I even offered to sign a NDA, but he refused.”

Luke’s mouth dropped open, and he narrowed his eyes at Tom. “You—”

“It was rather romantic.” Vivian squeezed Tom’s arm. “Wasn’t it, darling?”

Tom sat dumbstruck. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he was in no position to argue. “It was, darling.”

Vivian returned her gaze to Luke. “I am a junior partner at Watkins, Price, and Forbes, I graduated with my law degree from Oxford, attended Wycombe Abbey on scholarship, grew up in Sheffield, lost the accent. I have been sued three times, all due to work. Every time I prevailed. But you knew all of that, Mr. Windsor, because you do your job and do it well. So ask me what you want to ask?”

Luke blinked, his gaze darting between Tom and Vivian. “I like her, Thomas.” He wagged his finger at Vivian. “I like her a lot.” Tom beamed with pride. “You’re right. Now tell me what a basic Google search won’t. Tell what your best mate from Oxford might say to a reporter if offered enough money to clear her overdraft. Those dark secrets no one knows.”

Vivian gazed at Tom, looking for the silent assent to proceed. “Tell him everything, darling.” Tom reached out and squeezed her hand. “He’ll need to know sooner or later.”

“So I kissed a girl a few times at Oxford, no pictures and I can’t even remember her name. I had an ex who I needed to get a restraining order against about seven years ago. He is now in prison for assaulting another woman. I’ve had a few online dating profiles that are now deactivated. And…” She glanced at Tom one more time and he nodded. “… Tom and I engage in a D/s lifestyle relationship.”

“Well, that is not all that bad… Wait, what? A D/s lifestyle relationship? Tom would you like to explain?” Luke glared, nostrils flaring.

“I only brought it up because I have had a couple of similar relationships in the past. They all ended amicably, but you never know.” Vivian interjected. “D/s is dominant/submissive.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, processing the information. “Do the two, use like whips and masks and that sort of thing? Because Tom, your sex life is really…”

Tom and Vivian burst into laughter. “Luke, if you could see your face. Not yet.” He winked at Vivian. “But I will be certain to take photos.” Luke shot up. “Kidding! It just means an exchange of power. I have given the power to Vivian and in return she takes care of me.” Tom’s face softened. “Quite well I may so.”

“And you of me, darling.” They leaned over and kissed. Luke gagged in the background.

“Ok, enough, please stop making out in my office. I would like to keep my breakfast in my stomach. Now this D/s does it interfere with Tom’s job?” He directed his questions towards Vivian.

“Nope, I stay completely out of his work. It is imperative he remain autonomous in that regard. I do pick out his clothes for events and what not, but whether or not he chooses to attend something or film a project or not is entirely his purview. Just as he wouldn’t tell me how to prepare for trial.”

“And otherwise, you do what?” Luke asked. “I’m not talking in bed, but you said lifestyle. What else do you do for Tom?”

“Make sure he is eating properly, getting enough, keeping to his schedule.”

“That makes two of us.” Luke interjected.

“If you share his schedule with me, I am more than happy to help. He…” she pinched Tom’s side. “… has refused to share his calendar with me thus far. I’m stuck with the schedule he emails me on Sunday.” Tom glanced away.

“Done. Tom. I take it back.” Luke commented, straightfaced. “I don’t like her. I love her. In fact, if you screw this up, I might date her myself.”

Vivian blushed. She appreciated her efforts being valued but someone other than Tom, although it wasn’t necessary. She cleared her throat.

“So now that all the dirty laundry is out for all to see, let’s talk tennis.”

Luke slammed his hands on the desk. “Right, so the two of you will definitely be photographed. We have two options, deny a relationship or be honest about the two of you dating. If you want to deny, I can’t have the two of you kissing at the event. We can spin you two as just good friends until you are ready to reveal. But regardless, the papers are likely to post something. Vivian, I would tell you not to read the comments.”

“I would support that.” Tom piped in.

Vivian nodded. “Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of. I would like your email and phone number in case I need to get a hold of you or Boy Wonder over here.” Tom grinned.

“I like that nickname.” Vivian fished out a business card and wrote on the back. “There is my business information and my personal information is on the back.” Luke set the card down by his monitor.

“Luke…” Tom extended his hand. The two shook hands and embraced before Luke extended his hand to Vivian.

“I don’t know where he found you, but I’m glad he did.” Luke pulled Vivian into a hug. “If you break his heart, I will kill you.” he whispered in her ear.

“The same goes for you, Luke, old boy.” she smiled back, she squeezed his hand hard.

“You have some grip.” Luke commented, shaking out his hand.

“Thanks. Now if you don’t mind, I have some paperwork that needs my attention back at the office.” She grabbed her purse.

“I’ll walk you out.” Tom followed her. They walked in silence to the elevator, waiting for the doors to close behind them.

Once they did, Vivian grabbed the back of Tom’s neck and kissed him. “I do love you in that suit.”

“I wore it for you.” Tom tugged at her lower lip. “Do you have to get back to the office right now?” His hands teased along her side.

“What did you have in mind, sunshine?”

“Lunch.” Tom wiggled his eyebrows.

Vivian burst into laughter. “Are you ever not hungry?”

“Not when I am around you.”

“You’re wearing the tennis racquet tie?” Vivian called out from the living room. She leaned against a chair and fiddled with her swan necklace. She was nervous. This was a big deal. And after today, everything would change.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tom’s voice rang out. He stepped into the living room in his dark blue pinstriped suit and light blue shirt. His brown oxfords shining in the light.

“Has anyone ever told you how sexy you look in a suit, sunshine?” Vivian straightened his tie and picked off a piece of lint from the lapel.

“Ever heard of Tumblr?” He grabbed her purse. “We’ll be late, ma’am.”

Vivian wasn’t used to seeing so many celebrities. She did her best to not gawk. She clung to Tom as he smiled on his way into the stadium. Tom leaned to whisper into her ear.

“You are going to put holes into my jacket with your nails, darling. Relax and smile. You are doing great.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thank you, darling.” She kissed his cheek back.

“I hope the photographers got that.” Tom chuckled.

They made their way to their seats at the Centre Court. “You didn’t say Sophie and Ben would be here.” Vivian nudged Tom’s arm.

“Huh?” His head snapped toward Vivian’s hand to see Benedict and Sophie making their way to them.

“Sophie!” Vivian stood up to envelope Sophie into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Sophie frowned. “I told Ben to have Tom tell you.”

“I may have forgotten to text Tom.” Ben shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

Sophie smacked Benedict hard on the arm. “Ow! Do you mind, there are cameras everywhere?” he hissed.

“Good, then they’ll know I’m mad at you. You are looking dapper, Thomas.” Sophie smiled.

“Vivian picked out at the outfit.”

“So sweet. And Vivian. that dress is divine.”

Vivian blushed. “Tom bought it for me.”

“Way to make me look bad, mate.” Benedict commented, still rubbing his shoulder. “You know you can tone down the perfect gentleman, Disney prince routine every once in the while? Give us mere mortals a chance.”

Tom smirked. “Now why would I do that?”

“I like him just fine the way he is.” Vivian piped up. Tom’s arm wrapped around Vivian’s waist as he tilted his head to kiss her. She reached up to cup his face.

“That goes double for me, darling.” Tom beamed down at her.

“I see the two of you have decided to go public. I heard camera shutters from here.” Sophie commented. “We’ll be back.” Sophie tugged Ben away.

Tom and Vivian settled into their seats to watch Nadal and Djokovic play in the finals. Vivian’s hand lighted on the back of Tom’s neck and shoulders. His knees tilted towards her, touching against her bare skin. Tom described the play in animated gestures, causing Vivian to laugh.

“I love when you get excited like this.” she commented.

“Like a puppy?” Tom offered.

“No, like an excited child. It is beyond sweet how your face lights up.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“When we get home,” Vivian leaned over to whisper in Tom’s ear, her voice low so the surrounding spectators couldn’t hear. “I’m going to blindfold you with that tie and spank your cute little ass with a tennis racquet. Is that understood?”

Tom crossed his legs, no easy feat in the cramped seating area and covered his mouth with his hand in case the paparazzi were watching. He bit his lower lip and leaned over to whisper back. “Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian smiled as she rubbed Tom’s shoulders and neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, darling. Now let’s enjoy the game.”

Tom shifted in his seat.

“Miss anything?” Benedict asked.

Vivian smiled up at Ben and Sophie. “Just making plans for later tonight.”

Sophie sat down next to Vivian. “Can we join in?” she asked innocently. Tom coughed.

“Darling,” Vivian turned her attention back to Tom, rubbing his back. “Are you alright? Have some water.” She handed him a water bottle. Tom took a long swig.

“I don’t see why not? I was trying to decide where to go for dinner. Unless the two of you need to get back home to the kids?”

Sophie grabbed Vivian’s arm. “I know a delightful little place not too far away.”

“Sounds delicious.” Vivian glanced over at Tom, whose face was an uncomely shade of white. “What do you say, boys? Want to join us?”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Benedict commented.

“Of course, darling.”

Vivian chuckled. “Isn’t it lovely when people just do what we want, Sophie?”

“Indeed it is.”

The rest of the match was torture for Tom. Vivian kept squeezing his knee and rubbing his neck which caused blood to rush to body parts he would rather not in public. She was doing it on purpose and there wasn’t much Tom could do to stop it.

“You’re teasing me, darling.” Tom hissed into her ear.

“Yes I am, darling. It’s not my fault, your mind is in the gutter.”

“Who put it there?”

Vivian shrugged her shoulders. “Guilty. But you know you love it.”

The match dragged on and Tom wanted nothing more than to beg off dinner and returned Vivians’ apartment but he knew she would never let him. She was enjoying torturing him too much.

Vivian made a point of ordering not only an appetizer and entrée but dessert and coffee. Tom picked at their dessert.

“Tom, are you okay?” Benedict asked as he sipped a decaf coffee. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Not going to lie, Ben. I am rather eager to get home.” He stretched and yawned for effect. He shot a glare over at Benedict while Vivian chatted with Sophie about her necklace.

“Right. Sophs…. we really should be going.”

“But I was—”

“I mean we should be going.” Benedict leaned over and whispered in his wife’s ear.

“Right, dear. The boys will need us. Vivian….” The women hugged. “… a delight as always. Tom…” Tom reached over the table to hug Sophie and Benedict.

“Love you, Soph. You too, Ben.” The couple quickly left the restaurant giving their goodbyes and promises to get together soon.

Vivian turned to Tom. “Did you just shoo away our friends so that you can get home sooner?”

“Yes, darling.” Tom smirked. “I am….” He tugged on his tie. “…. looking forward to the evening’s activities.”

Vivian’s hand grazed Tom’s crotch, and she noticed his cock already semi-hard.

“It would appear you are.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston smut #follow my lead #sub!tom

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sweetsubharry · 4 years

Note

Do you know any Larry fics with relationship during or post the band

yes I do! ^-^ (As a forewarning, under the read more is 47 fics! So this is quite a long post! I just couldn’t narrow them down!) I’ve split them into three sections; x factor, during the band, and ‘hiatus’ :)

In case no one gets to the bottom of the page I’ll say it again here too! Please make sure to stay safe and read the tags!!

X factor era

I'd give up forever to touch you by blankiehxrry

just your typical xfactor fic with a bit of a twist

Just Ask Me To by TellMeThisIsNotLove

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers.

“Of course I’m telling the truth!” Harry doesn’t even care that he sounds exasperated.

“Oh my god.” Louis grabs the wall behind him as if looking for support. His body slides down against it until he’s sitting crouched on the floor.

He mumbles something but Harry can’t really figure out what it is. He crouches down, and looks desperately at the breaking boy in front of him.

“You’re telling the truth,” Louis whispers. “You were not supposed to–”

“I was not supposed to do what? Tell me please,” Harry urges, taking Louis’ hands gently in his.

Or the X Factor era canon fic where they learn how to be a couple and that not everyone is going to be on their sides especially those with plain white t-shirts and saccharine smiles.

horizontal like a quarter to three by orphan_account

The worst part is that Louis just wants to get really rough with him. He's wanted it right from the start, and it doesn't make sense, because Harry's always been so gentle and understanding and sweet, and yet all Louis wants to do is fuck him up.

nonstop earthquake dreams of you by lumineres

And there's heat behind it, blazing, plasmatic, like stars crashing together, like an explosion in space, like a supernova, like a black hole--everything else sucked out of existence. There's no bed and there's no pillow and they're not lying down, just floating somewhere, somehow, and there's no room and there's no X Factor house and there's no Niall snuffling or Liam's deep, even breathing and there's no wind or traffic outside and there's no hum of the heating unit and it's all just Louis. All encompassingly Louis.

or, harry falls hard and finds louis already at the bottom

Could you love me anyway by SadaVeniren

Dear Mistress Lorin: I’ve been reading your blog for a couple weeks now and was hoping you’d give me some advice for something that happened with me and my boyfriend. I’m really worried that I hurt him.

aka Harry and Louis begin playing ping pong during the X-Factor Tour. It quickly gets out of hand.

no we're not friends, nor have we ever been by blankiehxrry

louis and harry get frisky in the xfactor house

give you my fever by beautlouis

And he’s wanted it even more since he met Louis, it's driven him insane, he spends 90% of his life turned on because of Louis and he’s had no relief at all. He’ll wake up at night too hot and itchy, with Louis warm and sweet smelling next to him, and unable to do anything but wank unsuccessfully, with no release. “I can try,” Louis says, close enough that Harry’s eyes cross a little trying to look at him. “I want to, I’ve never been with anybody, like, I’ve snogged people, lots of people, but I’ve never—touched anyone.” He clears his throat. “I’d touch you, Hazza.”

Harry’s breathing picks up. “Yes.” He doesn’t think there was a question but he’s a little overwhelmed. “Yes,” he repeats, dizzy.

*x-factor era. harry's never had an orgasm before, louis gives him his first

During the band

Sweet Baby by jishler

“Haz,” he said, “do you like being held down?”

Drawing a shaky breath, Harry finally looked Louis in the eyes. “I think so.”

Nothing You Can Do (But You Can Learn How To Be You In Time) by Teumessian

A Canon Compliant Semi-AU. Louis braids Harry’s hair. There are good times, bad times, fancy houses, supportive bandmates, secret boyfriends, small rebellions, bigger revolutions, some nail varnish, ribbons, cute clothing, and a Pinterest.

make me feel like i am breathing by crybaby

His eyes are already looking a hint distant as Louis gets comfortable on his knees, running a hand up the hairless expanse of Harry's milky thigh. Harry always starts dipping at the sight of his vibrator, bubblegum plastic with flecks of glitter in the pink. His cheeks pink to match the colour and his eyes go wide, his lips chewing.

(Prompt: how about louis fucking harry with a vibrator backstage before they go on?)

take me into your loving arms by blankiehxrry

twas the night of the brit awards

Just Give Me a Reason by Mr_Stylinson

"Why do people hate me?" is a question Harry is more than desperate to figure out the answer to after reading through negative comments on Twitter about his "What Makes You Beautiful" performance on Red or Black. But this new addiction could potentially decide his fate as a part of One Direction unless the other boys are able to convince their youngest member that his value is defined by far more than a bunch of dumb online comments.

The Pedal's Down, My Eyes are Closed by dancingontheceiling

Louis and Harry bang it out in the dressing room after performing "18" and "No Control" for the first time at OTRA Brussels.

i'm missing half of me when we're apart by orphan_account

Louis can just picture what he looks like right now. Curled up on the big bed in their LA house, wrapped up in one of Louis' sweatshirts, crying his heart out, face red and blotchy, eyes sore, fingers twisted in the blankets as his chest tightens up.

Fallingforyou by gayilystrong

Harry's sick on Tour, which leads to naps in Louis' bunk. Louis of course needs to take care of his baby.

vocal rest remedy by tippytoetomlinstyles

Harry is sick and sad and on vocal rest. Louis helps him get over his sadness by cheering him up the only way he knows how.

Push You Over The Edge (So I Can Pull You Back) by orphan_account

It’s after a long two weeks of interviews and non-stop appearances that have got Harry stressed to the limit of yanking his hair out and throwing a fit and crying that Louis shows it to him, walks in the door with a sleek black bag in his left hand and inconspicuous brown one in his right.

It Feels Right When The Pink Matches His Lips by orphan_account

He adores pink, and pretty colors. He likes deciding what color his nails should be and whether or not this lipstick matches his shirt. He likes rummaging through Jade or Leigh's closets to try on the pretty clothes they have or their make-up drawer out of curiosity.

But the media doesn't. They call him awful names, spewing out article after article. So, he stops. He stops wearing pink, stops painting his nails, stops experimenting with make-up, and Louis notices.

[Featuring Harry as the unconfident member of the biggest boy band in the world and Louis as his very supportive boyfriend.]

Every Move You Make by sunniskies

After the debacle at the Brits, Louis decides he needs to keep better track of Harry.

Obligatory Sickfic by WhoopsImASinner

Harry gets off stage after the Live Lounge and is more than a little upset about how sick he is. Louis takes it upon himself to get his boy home and cheer him up.

Do Not Disturb (kiss me beneath the milky twilight) by SadaVeniren

“I was talking with Nick a couple months back and he was saying how our sex life seemed boring and we’d need to keep doing new and interesting things to keep it exciting or else we’d become boring and heterosexual and I defended us of course but then work picked up and we started living off of studio handjobs and missionary position sex in the dark and so I panicked. I googled BDSM and after looking into it I really want to try some of it because I think we’d enjoy it but we just don’t have the time.”

aka Harry doesn't want to become a boring old married couple a year into their relationship and tries to spice up their sex life.

But I'm Only Human (And I Bleed When I Fall Down). by brooklynbis

Harry wasn't an idiot. He wasn't gullible enough to believe that everyone was going to love him, hell, he was expecting for people to not like him. But a few tweets from Twitter really can be enough to trigger a whole bucket load of emotions.

_______________________

AKA Harry has a lot of emotions, management (particularly Simon) are pieces of shit, Louis is an amazing boyfriend as per, and Liam, Niall and Zayn are all very protective over the youngest member of the group.

You Like Playing Games by orphan_account

Louis knows Harry likes to flirt and tease. Louis knows that he doesn’t particularly like when Harry flirts and teases. Louis knows that Harry knows that Louis doesn’t particularly like it.

But what Louis doesn’t quite know is why, despite that, Harry’s decided to grind against 5 Seconds of Summer’s Luke Hemmings during “Teenage Dirtbag” in the last show in Melbourne.

Basically pure smut.

Make Tea, Not War by adventuring, howdoyouwhisk (popsongdelusional)

"Is he the messiest?"

"Yes."

"Does he do the washing up?"

"Never."

"Does he make his bed?"

"Never."

"Hopeless, hopeless flatmate. Would you rather be with one of these guys?"

"Nope!"

Or: Louis attempts to become a better flatmate, much to Harry's dismay.

Are We In The Clear Yet? by highlinson

The thing is, it’s not anything new. He’s gone through it a dozen times, at least. It shouldn’t scare him, still. Should never have scared him in the first place. Yet he’s trembling as he makes his way through the crowds.

You and Me by louisgrindsonharry

Harry and Louis have dabbled in the idea of BDSM but Harry finally wants to take it farther and Louis has to figure out how to take care of his boy.

We'll All Float On Alright by dancingbean

Harry has a really bad day. Louis is there with cuddles and kisses and scented candles.

You live in my heart by styleztomlinson

As soon as they’re done with their set, Louis only has one thing on his mind and that’s to get out of there as soon as possible.

or,

Harry is sick during their performance at the iHeartRadio festival. Afterwards, Louis takes cares of his baby, and dotes on his husband.

Cause If You Let Me, Here's What I'll Do by stylesforstiles

Five times where Harry is Louis' baby

When the Points Add Up by iwillpaintasongforlou

Louis is physically incapable of following the rules, and Management is smart enough to know his weak spot: Harry. One stunt too many leaves Harry exiled to a room by himself all night and Louis rallies the others to devise a plan to get Harry his cuddles tonight no matter what Management says.

There's a Hole In My Soul, Can You Fill It? by stylesforstiles

Sometimes Harry is so tired. Louis always wants to fix it.

Susceptible to Getting Hurt by page394

"I've always wanted to be one of those people who didn't really care that much about what people thought about them... But I just don't think I am." - Harry

Just What The Doctor Ordered by everyroad

A short little thing about a sick Harry who really just needs his Louis.

Baby, I'm perfect for you by nancy01

Harry broke down in tears. Like loud, ugly, fat tears that made his shoulders shake and his hands come up to hide his face. He made Louis worry, he made Louis scared, he made Louis angry and worst of all now Louis' going to be disappointed in him and think he's being childish and pathetic. well done, have you made yourself proud?. now even louis isn't going to like you, you've pushed him away to.

Louis sighed."Sweetheart, come here." He called with wide opening arms.

Harry doesn't think he's ever moved faster in his entire life. Louis arms wrap around Harry's shoulders, pulling him in close, as Harry buries his neck into Louis' shoulder to try and source maximum comfort.

Paps become to much for Haz, cue protective boyfriend Louis

Never Let You Fall by iwillpaintasongforlou

Harry slips on stage and gets a minor concussion, and Louis insists that he spend the night in the hospital just in case. He then turns into a protective baby lion because that is his Harry and he'll be damned if anything happens to him on Louis' watch. Harry rolls his eyes a lot but doesn't really mind.

Breathe by dontlietomehoney

Harry has an asthma attack and Louis is scared to death. What follows after though, scares both boys, pulling them apart and bringing them together.

Your Reason To Be by KellanCougar

The X Factor was only the start. With their management willing to do anything for headlines, including manipulation that could threaten Harry's very life, Louis fears he will lose everything he loves and be powerless to stop it.

And We Linger On by stylesforstiles

Harry is pouting. Louis takes care of him

don't let nobody touch it (unless that somebody's me) by stylescantstop

written for this prompt:

"louis knows Harry gets handsy when he's drunk, but that doesn't stop him from showing harry who he belongs to."

or the one where harry dances with other men and a jealous louis reminds him he's the only one who can make him come completely apart.

that boy's got my heart in a silver cage by orphan_account

The whole thing is addictive somehow, and not just because of the way that it makes Louis feel, like Harry is his and he'll do anything he says—but because of the way Harry reacts to it, even in public, twisting in his seat and tripping over his words and once even briefly hiding his face in Louis's shoulder because he's so flustered, causing the girls in the audience to squeal and shout.

if we got nothing, we got us by tumsa

Harry is Louis' baby and he's sick as well.

Okay by JustAnotherShadow503

Harry is frustrated.

It's been almost two years since he and Louis got back together, and nothing has changed. Well, they have changed, and their situation has gotten a lot better, but their sex life? Vanilla. Completely and utterly vanilla.

Harry really thought that after Louis' dirty talk when they got back together, they would get into some kinkier shit, but nope. Louis still makes love to him and calls him sweet names, and that's nice, Harry absolutely loves it, but sometimes, he gets this itch that making love can't scratch.

Or, the one where Harry and Louis try to start a dom/sub BDSM relationship, and nothing goes according to plan.

Gentle Sin by userkant

Harry gasps. He gasps at what must be a sudden pain, or maybe at his sudden orgasm that has him tightening around Louis, forcing Louis’ own release, or maybe all of these things are connected.

Or, Louis discovers a few things about Harry.

A fic about kink exploration and pleasure-pain featuring baby boyfriends, tenderness, and gentle dom Louis.

I'll Look After You by stylesforstiles, TrynaGetStylinson

Harry's had enough with the mobs. He just needs someone to tell him it will all be ok.

Let Me Be Good For You by onlyhuman

His distress over the bun is nothing compared to the thrill Louis feels shoot up his spine at the outfit Harry’s donned. He’s changed into leather jeans that cling to his legs, hugging his thighs snugly. On top of it, a floaty, black sheer shirt is contouring his frame, doing absolutely nothing to hide his puffy nipples or the endless array of tattoos scattered across his torso. It’s Louis’ favourite outfit in the entire world.

Or, Niall's only birthday wish is to go clubbing with his boys in Vegas. Harry ruins it all by wearing that god forsaken black sheer shirt.

leave you drowning until you reach for my hand by orphan_account

If Louis told him to do something that he really didn't want to do, it would be different, but Louis's never done that, never asked anything of Harry that he couldn't handle. Except—except maybe this; to obey him without praise, reward, approval, or even mere acknowledgement.

Beneath the Suits by someonethatsfunny

Harry and Louis had a bit of a ritual when it came to award shows. And that ritual didn’t lend itself very well to after parties or being around other people in general. Nope. They were much better off alone where they could have their own private celebration. So what happened after the AMAs then when Niall and Liam head to an after party and Harry and Louis were nowhere to be found? Well, obviously we can't be sure, but it was probably something along the lines of ....

During ‘hiatus’

Mon Petit by coffinofachimera

Harry wears the 'Mon Petit' sweater while Louis records them on their private plane.

Things Are Pretty Good From Here by ItIsWhatItIs9194, Teddy1008

Harry's just released "Sign of the Times," and of course, Louis can't help but want to let his sub know how proud he is of him with more than just words.

They basically fuck.

head head heart by turnyourankle

After Dunkirk has wrapped filming, Harry struggles with his inability to reach subspace. He tries taking the matter in his own hands before Louis intervenes with a plan of his own.

Model's Own by Domeaspreadsheet

Harry hadn’t wanted him to see the Another Man shoot until it dropped, wanted it to be a surprise. He’d already come home with his hair chopped off, how many surprises could there be?

Louis pulls up Harry’s instagram, the notifications for three posts coming through right after the other. Harry was off at a spin class, and here Louis sits, staring at Harry’s face, the three covers forming a neat line, all so different, yet all so very Harry. He zooms in on one, knows he must be seeing it wrong, but no. Harry is wearing a collar. On the cover of a fucking magazine.

Beside Me Like a Silhouette by Domeaspreadsheet

“Quite the ruckus from someone who thought they were coming home to a sleeping household,” Louis says on an exhale of smoke.

Oh. Harry has been set up.

“Well, maybe if I hadn’t thought you were bailing on me I would have tried harder to be quiet,” he huffs.

Louis levels his gaze at him. “Is that so?”

Harry nods.

“Very well. You have fifteen minutes to shower and put in the plug I left on the bathroom counter. No need to dress afterward. When you come back, kneel next to the chair on my right. You may go.”

redder than the devil by mercutionotromeo

It's half past 9, and all Harry wants is for Louis to touch him. Preferably after a good spanking.

If you combine a lazy Saturday afternoon with a distracting, pouty Harry, you'll end up with Louis spanking his baby over his knee in the middle of a paused FIFA match.

i'll be your sunflower by scagnetism

“What do you think’s gonna stop us now?” Harry says cheekily, laughter in his voice as he looks up at Louis. “Something’s gotta get in our way like always, doesn’t it?”

“Ha,” Louis grins, kissing his cheek and holding open the door for him as they make their way toward the car. “Nothing’s gonna interrupt us this time. ‘S gonna be perfect, just like Pumpkin.”

Or, a few interruptions aren't going to stop Harry from having a perfect pregnancy and having the family he and Louis have always dreamed of.

Take Me for a Spin by QuickedWeen

The night of the Pride of Britain Awards 2016. Louis goes to the ceremony and out to the club afterwards, but what is Harry up to?

Baby, Honey by lovelarry10

Harry's been talking about sex and babies on stage too much for Louis' liking, so he decides to give him what he wants...

Or the one with the aftermath of Harry's Detroit concert...

Half Fragment by coffinofachimera

Louis and Harry share a night together through the phone.

As always I hope you enjoy these! Make sure you read the tags and stay safe lovelies ❤

#sub harry #bottom harry #dom louis #top louis #larry stylinson #larry #fanfiction #fic rec #larry fic #larry fic rec #larry stylinson fanfiction #larry fanfiction #larry fanfic rec #Lottie fic rec #ask lots

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wordynerdygurl · 4 years

Text

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Author’s Note: Well hello my friends! Since hitting 1000 Followers in July (WHAT?! STILL UNBELIEVABLE!!!) I’ve been working on the requests sent in by my amazing troop of readers! This is another one of those stories which I’m pleased to share. As always, help my unending need for validation but re-blogging or liking the story! Also, you can send asks, make your own request, follow me, or be added to my tag-list! Last, @sammy-jo1977 is my beta... and my ride or die home girl! Thanks lady! Pairing: Loki x Female Reader, appearances from most of the Avengers

Summary/ Request: @queenofmischief asked for a story where “Loki and you guys are friends growing up and you realize you like him and try to hide it but somehow at a party or something or another, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven is involved, it comes out and really hot smut ensues?”

I used some of the ideas you gave me, dear reader, but made it a little more mature, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Lots of 80′s references... music, movies, clothes, etc. References of smut, heavy petting and kissing

ENJOY!

"But, like, I really don't want to go." Your cellphone, pinned between your ear and shoulder, pushed your earring into the tender flesh behind your lobe. It probably didn't help that the jewelry in question was a pair of huge hoops, fluorescent in color and hard plastic.

You heard Wanda sigh, "Yea… I know. It's just, we all are… and you know it'll be worse if you don't show up."

"I really hate it." Using a sing-song voice didn't change the feelings behind your words. Going up to the main floor of The Avengers Tower for a theme party was not a thrilling idea.

"I know you do-", pulling open the door between your room and hers, you palmed your phone, frowning at your friend, "-But you look great!"

"Radical… or wicked… or tubular would be more 80's appropriate." Still, her compliment made you smile. It really was a great outfit, totally encapsulating the MTV generation's vibe, complete with hot lime colored leg warmers.

Your cropped REO Speedwagon t-shirt was cut off at the neck, dripping low enough to expose one whole shoulder, and a wide stripe of the magenta colored tank top underneath. Having tucked the camisole into your acid washed denim micro miniskirt, you finished the ensemble with a pair of black pumps, and the obligatory scrunchie of cheap yellow satin. It pulled your hair into a low, side ponytail.

For makeup you'd painted your eye-shadow on, bright turquoise with pink under your brows. Lipstick in a shimmery rosy hue brought extra attention to your lips. And you stored your cell phone, lip gloss and keys in your iridescent fanny pack.

Wanda couldn't help giggling at the sight of you and your collection of clashing colors. For her look tonight she'd dawned a pair of skin tight leggings, an over-sized button down shirt with a stretchy black belt that was about four inches wide. Ballet flats, teased out hair and stark makeup had Wanda looking like a video vixen. It was impressive.

"See, you went sexy… and I went silly." Pouting now, you flopped onto your bed, "Can I just not?"

Sitting down next to you, patting your knee, "You don’t look silly, but you do look like you could be a hair band groupie! That’s sexy!” Shrugging your shoulders, unconvinced, Wanda added, “Besides, tonight… It may be fun. And, worse case? You get blitzed like a teenager on prom night."

"No… that's not the worst case. Worst case? He's there."

Sighing, Wanda shook her head, "He does still rub you the wrong way, huh? And, yes, he may be there… but-" standing, taking you with her, "-it would be a shame to waste all your wicked cool work!"

Hearing her use the dated vernacular made you grin. She was right. Tonight could be a blast, if you were able to get out of your head. Jumping off the bed, unsettling one of those fashionable leg warmers, you hugged your friend tightly. You could do this. You wouldn't be alone. And if Loki was there, he'd just have to get over it. You weren't going to pay him any attention.

---

"Mr. Loki… can we please go? We're already stupid late."

Bending to straighten his red suspenders, Loki smirked at himself, "Greed is good."

Sighing, exasperated and edging into anger, Peter pulled open the front door, "I don't know what that means, but you look… greasy."

"Like I could steal your company in a corporate take over? Maybe steal your woman too", Loki questioned, excited at the idea.

Crossing his arms over the red puffy vest he had bought specifically for tonight, Peter grunted, "Uh… I… I guess. I meant more like one of the assholes in Wolf of Wall Street."

God, you had better be there tonight. Loki was putting a lot of hope on Stark’s little shindig and he wanted to make sure that all of the little details were absolutely perfect, giving him every advantage. Standing now, slicking back his long dark hair, "That, my young spider friend, is exactly what I am going for… Evil 80′s CEO."

"Great."

Loki heard the frustration in the young man’s voice. Someday he would understand, Loki thought, turning to the youthful Avenger beside him, "You certainly make a dashing Marty McFly, Peter. Truly."

"Aw! Really, Mr. Loki? Ya mean it?" That made the Spider Boy preen, popping his collar, and standing a little straighter.

"I do! Now-" flashing a rakish smile to his reflection as he passed, "-let's get upstairs and see how everyone else is doing!"

---

Everyone else was ready to party. The last mission, a particularly difficult one, involved Hydra agents banging it out against our heroes along the rough terrain of the polar ice cap. Draining the physical and emotional resources of everyone, including you and Loki, Tony had planned a little party to kick off a period of rest and relaxation.

As soon as the elevator opened you knew it was going to be an insane night. Everything was brightly lit. Paper streamers were strung up haphazardly along the walls and ceiling. Big plastic buckets of chips and cheese curls were put out on the counter along with a huge punch bowl that reeked of rum and sugary fruit juice. On the floor in the kitchenette was a garbage can, freezing, full of ice, only the keg tap visible. A stack of red plastic cups was at the ready.

Someone had ordered pizza. Well, dozens of pizzas. The boxes were piled along the table already crammed with pretzel bags and Doritos.

Steve was being instructed on the basics of Beer Pong and, you decided, definitely being hustled by Sam. Bucky looked on with curiosity, quietly sneaking closer to the chips and dip, hoping no one would notice. Rhodey was watching them both through the reflective lenses of his aviator shades, doing a great job of looking like a Top Gun cadet, including the tight jeans and broken-in bomber jacket. Grinning as he drank down a bottle of beer, Rhodes shouted, "Hey Stank! Is all of this really necessary?"

"Don't come for me Rhodey!" Wearing a pair of neon leopard spotted knit pants, a green polo shirt and white sneakers, Tony was clutching a glass bowl filled with little slips of paper to his chest. No one had managed to figure out what they were or why he held them. Drinking two beers from his plastic, can holding helmet, Tony would answer only with a slightly slurred, "It's my trashy 80′s party and I do what I want!"

And Tony had thought of everything. Sounding like a mixed tape pulled from the radio, the tunes didn't let up! Ratt, Foreigner, Cindi Lauper, Madonna and Tom Petty all took turns blasting through the room. So many hits from the past pumped through the sound system, getting people on their feet and keeping them there. You were swinging and swaying along, having a blast, but when Bon Jovi hit the group of Intergalactic Warriors went wild.

Clint, rocking a mullet wig and a vest with no shirt, jumped onto a table making the motions of an air guitar champion. Singing into a beer bottle like it was his microphone, "Whoooooaaaa we're halfway there…"

Guffawing, you hid behind your Bud Light filled cup, already red cheeked from the non-stop laughing and alcohol in your system. At some point you had given up Wanda to Vision in a varsity jacket, doing his best jerk-off jock impression, and not quite pulling it off. It wasn't his fault that he was too polite to put people down in the way of Eighties movie bad guys. Alone, feeling flushed, but happy, you needed a break and some quiet. Flinging yourself onto the soft sofa, watching the frat house style antics unfold all around, you couldn’t help laughing. Tony always found a way to knock the group out of their post mission funk. Sometimes that meant week long Caribbean vacations and sometimes that meant dressing up in retro attire and scream singing with a cold beer in your hands. Either way, it seemed to bring everyone closer together, and the pictures were certainly worth framing. The couch dipped as someone joined you. Swiveling, not quite drunk but not quite sober, you couldn’t help the groan that left you. “Oh. It’s you.”

Not exactly the response Loki wanted, he was just grateful that you spoke to him at all. Lately you seemed to flee any room he entered, a hurt and heavy sigh escaping you before you'd make your exit, never looking back. Loki couldn't understand why.

After all, it had been two months since that night. The one where he'd stumbled on you, glowing blue in the light of the television set, alone and in the darkness. You asked him to join you, he had accepted.

The movie was called "Say Anything" and Loki had to admit, as far as romance on film went, this story was very moving. But that was an unexpected bonus to being so near to you. Before the credits rolled, you had burrowed against him, snuggled under his arm with your head on his chest.

Stroking your hair, Loki pressed a kiss to your forehead, thoughtlessly, naturally. Pushing away, looking up at him through hooded lashes, "You… you kissed me?"

Words failed the silver tongued devil, something he still pondered all these weeks later, so a nod was all you got for a response. Kneeling, your sleep shirt riding over your thighs, Loki watched your small hand rising to cup his cheek. Feeling your lips against his own was the beginning of the best night of his life.

And then, nothing. It was like a switch had been thrown and no matter how many ways he tried to reach out for you, Loki wasn't able to connect. Not like that night.

So, he was going against his nature tonight. Joining the group, drinking a bit of his brother's mead, wearing a dated but pristine business suit. All done in the vain hope that something would shift in his favor.

He had already lost too many nights to memories of you. Soft, full skin under his broad palms. The tiny moan you exhaled when Loki’s tongue met your own. How your wet, willing body accepted him, without question or stipulation. And in the afterglow, when your head rested in the crook of his neck and your cherry cola scented breath circled him, you let Loki hold you close.

But he buried it all. Tonight he was the embodiment of all things slick. Nothing could stick to him; not when he had a goal in mind and this much gel in his hair. Loki Odinson would be taking you home tonight, come hell or high water. Wolfish, Loki’s grin was wicked, “Yes. Your dream has come true.” Sitting back, he crossed his designer suit covered knee at the ankle, exposing socks with little golfers on them. He let his right arm rest along the back of the sofa, not around you… not yet, but inching closer. “What is that cologne you’re wearing?” “Don’t you like it? I’m told Drakkar Noir was quite the scent of the 80′s. I did my research.” Twisting, you looked him over, impressed despite yourself. The suit was totally of its time. Black, pinstriped and you were sure the jacket that came with it was draped somewhere safe. His shirt was shiny but soft and bright, blinding white. Suspenders of red matched the tie that draped down the center of his chest. With his hair combed straight back and held in place with some kind of product, Loki looked like he was capable of eating a six course lunch at Sardi’s, complete with dirty martinis, then jetting back to the office in time to defraud a corporate spending account. The kind of executive that blackmails a co-worker with pictures of a mistress. The kind of douche bag that tries to take over a rec center to build a mall. In short, an avarice little asshole. So, why was it so hot? “It’s… overpowering.”, boy, was that an understatement. Loki’s whole aesthetic was overpowering right now. And, was he moving closer? His bent knee brushed against your own as he leaned near enough to be heard at a whisper, “You look adorable, you know that?” Scrunching into the corner of the couch, eyeing him suspiciously, “Oh? Really?” “Really.”, his hand brushed over your exposed shoulder, making you jump at his touch.

Uh uh. No way. You would not be so easy to seduce this time around. Even if those wide hands sent goosebumps growing all over your body, Loki would not charm his way into your panties again. Not like last time.

It had been spontaneous. Genuine, at least for you. And in the moment, it felt like Loki had given you a little piece of himself, a tenderness that no one else ever saw in the far flung Frost Giant.

Maybe that's why Clint's words hurt so much. He had told you so casually, holding up a spoonful of Cheerios, "Loki said his last girl was a drag. Basic bitch? Is that what the kids say?"

Thinking about it now made your heart hurt. You had given yourself to someone who thought you were beneath him. Loki couldn't want you. You would never be good enough.

But that night haunted you. His soulful kisses that stole your breath. The drag of Loki’s hands over the swell of your bottom as you straddled his hips. His solid chest under your own hands, dark head curved against the couch cushion, but those burning eyes never leaving your face. “I thought you said I was plain. Simple. Boring.”

Leveling his own words back at him made Loki straighten in his seat. How could you think that? Unbalanced, stammering, “Uh… I… I’d never…” “Never expected me to find out? I believe that. And, let me tell you this-” Pushing yourself up with the help of the couch’s arm, you rose on unsteady legs, “-I’m not nearly drunk enough to fall into your arms again.” Spinning away, you made a dash towards the people in the kitchen, without looking back. Watching you go, Loki could do nothing but stare after your retreating form, flummoxed.

“That was… painful.”

He knew that voice well enough, frustrated, confused and unfit for company, “Go away, Tony.”

“I don’t think I will. In fact-” sitting down in your empty spot, patting Loki’s knee, “-I’m going to make myself comfortable. Now, tell Uncle Tony all about it.”

Rolling his eyes, unable to find you in the crowd, Loki risked a sideways glance at his replacement companion. Was he really going to indulge in this? Tell his almost friend about you… about your one night together? Loki raked his hands through the pomade in his hair, growling low, “If you breathe a word of it Tony, I’ll-” Lowering his wrap around sunglasses, peering at Loki, Tony smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.” ---

Thinking less and less about Loki as the night went on should have been a relief but it seemed like the scent of him followed you everywhere. Unable to get free of him, you busied yourself with drinks, dancing, and munching like you were a kid again. Anything to keep your mind from wandering.

It's not like the party was boring. Not at all! There was plenty to distract you and you let it. Natasha made you her partner for beer pong and somehow you successfully won against Rhodey and Sam.

Next, Wanda needed you, which is how you wound up sitting on the bathroom sink listening to her go on about Vision in that wistful, loving way that made your own heart ache. Being a little drunk, you had to fight the urge to cry because you were lonely and hurting. “I saw you talking to Loki… what was that about?” She was reapplying ruby red lipstick, studying herself in the mirror, not looking directly at you.

Wanda's voice cut through your self doubt spiral though, something you were thankful for, and with a casual tone you countered, “He was trying to get something started, I think.” Eyebrows lifting, Wanda’s interested piqued, “Really? Loki was hitting on you?” “Yea… I mean, I think so. Was coming on awfully strong too. But… he’s been a jerk, right?”

Wanda cleaned up her eye make-up taking a minute, after washing her hands she looked at you, “I mean, he is here.” “So?” “So, you know he’s not really a joiner. More of a lone wolf. In fact, I think this may be the first of these little parties he’s come to. Maybe he’s changed… grown a bit? And, honestly, you never asked him about-”

Hopping off the counter, cutting her off, more than a little huffy at her good sense, “No, I didn’t and I don’t plan to. Loki thinks I’m a bore? Too basic for him? Fine. I have better things to do with my time.” Laying her hand on your shoulder, Wanda stopped you, eyeing you in the mirror once more, “I know his words hurt… but you’re going to have to clear the air eventually. Especially if we’re all going to work together.”

Shrugging, you offered your friend a small smile. There was truth in her sentiment, even if your slightly drunken brain rebelled against hearing it, “Yea, you're right… plus-” looking around the small washroom, just to make sure no one could hear the pair of you, “- he looks really hot tonight!”

Giggling, Wanda hugged you close, “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yea he does!” The pair of you were still laughing together, standing at the back of the crowd as Tony turned down the music, announcing, “Gather round children, Uncle Tony needs your attention!” There were a few groans, mostly from the beer pong table, as apparently Bucky was unhappy about forfeiting his winning match. Everyone else, in all their high haired glory, were congregating near their host, curious and more than a little drunk.

“Tony, what the hell, man? You killed the tunes!”, Clint shouted, spilling Bud Light foam as he joined the tightening circle. “Patience, my drunk friend. You all remember this?” From the table nearby, Tony picked up his glass bowl, triumphant, “Our Destiny!”

Pepper, sighing with a smile, “So dramatic!” Shaking the bowl in her direction Tony smirked, “Ok smarty, then you pick first. Go on… Pick!” There were oohs and ahhs from the assembled Avengers. Rolling her eyes, Pepper reached in, grabbing the first slip her fingers found. Pulling it free, she grinned, eyeing Tony, “It says ‘Loki’...” Hearing his name, Loki snapped his head up, surprise registering on his face, “Excuse me?” Holding it up for his examination, Pepper waved the slip under the regal nose of the junior Odinson, “See… your name.” “Yes, but why?”

Butting in, Tony snatched the scrap from the hand of his lovely fiance, practically dancing with glee. Turning to Loki, “Now you, Gordon Gecko, pull a slip.” Aware of all eyes locked on him, Loki reached into the jar, digging around a little more than necessary. Finally satisfied, the thin paper pinched between his fingers, Loki opened the folded note. When his fierce gaze met yours, you knew without a doubt. It was your name he had grabbed. Throwing a thick arm across Loki’s broad shoulders, Tony hugged him close, “Well? What’s it say?” It all made sense in that moment. The tacky costumes, flat beer and endless music. A drunken moment of clarity had descended. Tony, waving his arms, eating up the crowd’s reactions, heads turning to gauge your response. Swallowing hard, your hearing failing you, you just faked a smile. You and Loki were going into the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. Only there was no way you were going to do that. Not after what he’d said. Not after your one night together, right? But you felt a gentle hand pushing your forward, into the center of your circle of friends and for some reason, your feet followed.

Refusing didn't enter your mind. With everyone ogling you and Loki, making a scene would only cause more speculation, something you weren't keen to do. Instead, you stepped next to Tony, outwardly eager to play along.

You just shouldn't have dared to look at your proposed make out partner. Laser focused, Loki’s lusty look hadn’t wavered. No, the light in those thundering blue eyes was carnal, darker than you had ever seen, matching your own. Against your better judgement, you wanted Loki, too.

Whatever Tony was saying was a blur, merely sounds, because you were utterly stunned by the nearness of Loki. The roaring laughs of the rest of the group were drowned out by your pounding heart. A door opened to a dim room, the pantry maybe? You didn’t know and in that moment you didn’t really care.

With a small smile, Loki ducked into the cupboard, lacing his fingers with yours, offering a bit of his strength. Dragging you inside, your body pinned between a shelf of snacks and the hard body of your frenemy, a whimper of want passed your lips. Loki still smelled so good and now he was so close. “Have fun you two!”, Tony’s words were accompanied by the door shutting you and Loki inside, in the dark. Surrounded by silence, Loki’s sharp pants were the only sound louder than your racing pulse, which was saying something. Afraid to move, afraid of spooking you, Loki struggled to search your stare in the low light. He had already experienced your angry dismissal of his attention tonight. It wasn't something he wanted to relive, not when you were so close with sweet and speedy breath, your chest brushing against his own at each exhale.

Lifting a hand, grazing over your uncovered shoulder, Loki's touch was electric. You moved towards it, towards him, needing more of his energy. Craving it.

Bold in the dark, you grabbed at Loki’s suspenders, tugging him closer. Rising on your toes, covering some of the distance between your mouth and his, you pressed a hot kiss to those soft, pink lips. Under your fluttering fingers Loki shivered, "Darling-"

"Shut up. I… I don't care."

"But I never…"

"I told you. I don't care. Now kiss me like you mean it, because we only have about six more minutes!"

Not needing any more encouragement, Loki found the flare of your hips in the shadows, molding your curves to the rigid planes of his body. Desperate, needy, you felt his tongue move against your own. Want, plain and simple, led your own fingers to the collar of Loki’s starched shirt and the tangle of his raven hair. Fisting it, tugging against those luscious locks, you couldn’t seem to get close enough to the tall God sharing your cupboard. Whining, his name on your lips, you drew Loki tight enough that the press of your breasts was edging towards pain. Demanding, true to your word, with every pass of Loki’s magical mouth over your own the last few weeks were forgotten. Hungry for more, Loki roughly squeezed the flesh of your ass, grinding you against his wool blend covered crotch. Stuttering, his arousal was so stiff, for a minute Loki worried about making a mess. But that feeling was replaced with unbridled ecstasy when your lips found the tender skin below his ear.

A nip, enough to make Loki hiss, was soon soothed by your sucking on the same spot. Resting your butt on the nearest shelf, you didn’t have to stand on tip-toe to reach the soft, sweet sections of Loki where you longed to lavish attention. He took advantage of your new position by sliding a free hand along the swell of your separated thighs. “I just need to feel you, dove. I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.” It was a husky whisper, directly into your ear, and it sent an arc of icy fire to your core. When his long fingers skimmed over the silky slick of your panties you moaned in unison, bucking into Loki’s touch, lost in the moment. Stepping between your legs, Loki took one of your hands into each of his own, pinning you wide open against the boxes of cereal and granola bars that lined the pantry walls. Devouring you slowly, Loki kissed along the column of muscles at your throat, across the exposed line of your clavicle. You could do little more than take his delicious torment as more and more of your sweat dappled skin was serviced by his silver tongue. “Yes… Loki…”, tumbling out of you, just like the night when you first came together, you crooned his name in delight. Breathless, boneless and broken with need. CLICK! The sound made you both freeze. Snapping swiftly, Loki’s head swung towards the door where the bright light and noisy crowd of the party was intruding into your private pantry. “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA! What do we have here?” Swinging into the tight space, Tony’s shrewd look took in the scene in seconds, “What were you two doing in here? It was a very quiet seven minutes!” Straightening to standing, Loki stood, blocking you from sight as you readjusted your clothes. Smoothing down his tangled strands, sarcasm dripping, “Talking. Very quietly.” When he was sure you were decent, Loki offered you his hand, and blinking you stepped back into the wild and raucous party still in full swing. Tony, flashing a knowing grin your way, nodded, “I hope you didn’t smush the chips! We still need those!” Giggling, you locked onto Loki’s arm, letting him lead you towards the keg and away from the shouted questions of your friends. You knew there was no mystery about what happened in those seven minutes. Hair mused, makeup smudged, lips swollen and shirts twisted, the pair of you were walking neon signs for getting to third base.

Silently Loki poured you a beer, taking a small glass of Asgardian mead for himself, before raising his glass your way. Returning his gesture, you downed the frothy ale fast, feeling a little parched after your spit swapping time in the hall closet. Boring into you, his eyes followed each of your movements, searching for a sign of your feelings. Dropping your empty cup on the counter, you turned and jumped onto the marble ledge, feet dangling. “Loki?” Placing his own glass down gently, Loki took his position between your bent knees, looking down at your darling face, “Yes?” “Did you say those things? That I was… boring? Basic?” Shaking his dark waves no, Loki bit into his bottom lip, “Never. What I said was, my last girl, ages ago, was those things… but my new lady-” tracing along your jaw, tipping your chin his way, “-she is everything I could ever want.”

“Am I… am I your new lady, then?” With a fierce flicker of fire in his eyes, Loki nodded yes this time, “Absolutely.” Leaning into him, arms around his neck, you tugged him down to meet your waiting lips. “Good. Good to know. Because I think I’m going to watch a movie tonight.” “Really? I recall really enjoying the last one.” “Hmm… me too.” Sliding off the counter, ducking under Loki’s long arms, you turned back to face him, “My room… say, an hour?”

Snapping his suspenders, smirking, “I’ll be there.” Watching you skip away made Loki’s pulse pound in anticipation. Pouring himself another glass of clear liquor, he chuckled, amazed at the change seven minutes had created.

“You’re welcome.” “Ah! Yes, many thanks Tony.”

Leaning against the counter, Tony knocked into Loki’s shoulder, “You’re cute together, Rock of Ages, but don’t make me regret helping you tonight! Treat her right.”

“Of course. I... truly, thank you.”, sincerity seeped from Loki at the favor from Tony. “No worries! No worries!” Waving away any additional gratitude, Tony looked over the group of half cocked, and totally cocked heroes before him, “Of course the real bitch was getting Pepper to pull your name from the bowl…”

My Marvelous Minxes tag-list: @queenofmischief @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @sammy-jo1977 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @is-it-madness @jenjen8675309 @alexakeyloveloki @poetic-fiasco

#loki x reader #loki x you #hot loki #loki smut #loki love #1000followers #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #80's #80's loki #80's mcu

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max-is-tired · 3 years

Text

They can tell you that it’s righteous

Fandom: Dream SMP

Prompt: Kidnapping ( @badthingshappenbingo )

A/N: Aaand I’m back on my writing bullshit, let’s go. I started plotting this fic back in January, so it only follows canon up until Doomsday/Techno and Phil finding the portal room, but at least it’s finally done!

Obligatory tags of people who asked: @deadonmercury @littlecatninja

Warnings: hostage situation, blood, violence, mention of skin melting off, antagonist Quackity, drowning, temporary character death (gotta love respawning), near death experience, beheading.

Read on AO3!!

It had started like such a good day for Ranboo. The sun was shining bright in the sky, the SMP seemed to be at relative peace for once, and there were plenty of grass blocks lying around and waiting to be picked up. So yeah, great day!

Ranboo knew this peace probably wouldn't last long, not with these lands' track record of starting conflicts and trying to kill people on a weekly basis. But when the afternoon rolled around and random explosions had yet to start filling the sky with smoke, the hybrid felt pretty confident that, at least for that day, things were looking up.

The problem was that, by thinking on those lines, Ranboo ended up forgetting the most important rule of the server, the one rule he'd promised himself he would not break, no matter what.

Never, ever lower your guard, especially in times of peace.

He didn't even notice the person sneaking up on him until the very last second. One moment, he was crouching down, happily patting the grass block he'd just placed on the ground and the next, there was a shadow looming over him, the familiar shape of small, feathered wings being the only thing he managed to discern before a sudden, excruciating pain in the back of his head made his vision go white.

Ranboo groaned, stumbling on the ground while his vision wobbled and filled with dark spots. Dark, dirty sneakers stopped just in front of his head, but try as he might, the hybrid couldn't bring himself to move his head enough to look up, the mere thought of it making him wince.

"Sorry Ranboo, nothing personal," a familiar voice muttered, drawing a confused whine out of the kid. After that, everything went black.

+++

Technoblade had been feeling on edge all day -which, by itself, wasn't such a strange occurrence. Being on edge was a given for him, what with the voices in his head constantly chanting for blood and half of the server seemingly having a personal vendetta against him.

Listen, okay, he did blow up their precious country -but only after they decided that a corrupt government was the way to go and, you know, tracked him down while he was in retirement to try and execute him. He felt like the retaliation was kind of deserved.

Still, Techno didn't give much weight to the feeling. He'd learned to never let his guard down after the butcher army, and if someone decided to be stupid enough to attack him in his own home, they'd have to deal with him, Philza, and the small army of hounds living in the pen outside, plus the polar bears. The entirety of the SMP could attack them and he'd be able to at least hold them off enough to get away.

So, Techno spent most of the day chilling, for once, sitting on his couch with a book and Steve curled up nearby while Phil worked on some blueprints for a project of his.

"You keep that up, you're going to end up building a whole city down in that abandoned fortress," he commented, huffing in amusement as the older looked up from the table to glare at him.

"Oh, you shut up," Phil retorted, pointing at him with the quill in his hand. "Do you want the syndicate room to look decent or not? Because if you prefer I can just wing it-" chat cackled at the unintentional pun, much to Techno's dismay- "and have it turn out whatever."

Techno squinted at his friend. "You wouldn't."

"You sure about that, mate?" Phil grinned back, the picture of innocence. Which, when it came to him, meant he absolutely would, the fucker.

"Alright, alright," Techno huffed, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, "leave the old man to his planning, got it."

Phil snorted, pushing his chair back as he stood up. "Now you listen here, you little shit-"

The sound of tapping on glass distracted them from the discussion, attracting their attention to the kitchen window. There, perched on the windowsill, stood one of Phil's crows, holding something in its beak.

After exchanging a curious glance with Techno, the older went to retrieve the bird, opening the window enough to let it hop in. Giving the crow a few pats on the head, he reached for the object, raising an eyebrow when he realized it was, in fact, a folded piece of paper.

Intrigued, Techno watched as Phil opened the message, his eyes quickly scanning the paper before widening slightly in alarm. Well, that wasn't good.

"Mate, I think you might want to take a look at this," Phil called, urgency obvious in his voice and that really, really wasn't good.

Techno sighed, slipping the bookmark back in his book before standing up. Guess he could say goodbye to his plans for a chill afternoon.

Hello, Technoblade,

heard you guys took in a little stray -should have known, traitors tend to stick together, don't they? Well, jokes on you, I've got him now. Get to the coordinates listed at the bottom of this note, alone and unarmed, before sundown, or Ranboo gets it. An eye for an eye, that's how the saying goes, right?

See you soon,

+++

Techno had been already halfway out of the house the second he finished reading the note, Phil hot on his heels.

"I'm not letting you go alone," the older stated, already reaching for his coat.

"Well, you'll have to," Techno countered.

"You can't go in without backup, especially unarmed and not knowing what to expect!"

"Oh trust me, I'll be anything but unarmed," Techno huffed, letting the axe Ranboo had gifted him slide in his inventory. "I can use the element of surprise, I'll be fine. But the second Quackity sees you, Ranboo is going to be in hot shit, and we don't even know where he's keeping him."

Phil glared, his lips pursed in a displeased frown before sighing in defeat. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Techno sent him an apologetic glance, quickly fastening his coat on before stepping down the porch.

"I'll keep my communicator on the whole time," he promised, walking towards the stasis chamber and reaching for one of his ender pearls, "I'll get there, grab Ranboo, kill Quackity if I can and the second I text you you're gonna teleport us back."

"Sounds like a plan," Philza sighed. "Be careful, okay mate?"

"When am I ever not?" Techno smirked. "we'll be back before you know it, old man."

"Fuck off and go save our neighbor, you ass!"

Techno cackled, shaking his head as he set off towards the Nether portal.

Save Ranboo!

Protectiveblade

Blood for the blood god

Techno shook his head, pushing the voices back as he forced himself to keep a clear head. He was pissed, sure, but he knew men like Quackity -he'd met a lot of them in his life, and all of them had fallen under his sword. He would be no different.

The Nether travel didn't take that long, and after that, all he had to do was follow his compass towards the coordinates he'd been given. Techno found himself feeling glad the place wasn't all too far away, seeing how the sun had just started dipping below the horizon when he finally stepped out of the forest.

"Man, look who is here, our guest of honor!" Quackity exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he turned to look at him. "Technoblade, how nice of you to join us, I was starting to think you wouldn't come, after all."

Distantly, Techno could hear the ocean waves crashing against the rocks under them, the occasional droplets of water reaching the top of the cliff they were currently on. Quackity was standing just near the edge, gusts of wind ruffling the feathers of his duck wings and trying to slip the beanie off his head -all it would take was a misstep, a small push, and he would plummet towards the unforgiving water below.

But what actually got the piglin's attention was the small structure he could see just behind the man, a small, locked cage rigged with redstone dangling well over the edge and above the crashing waves. And just inside of it, slumped against the metal bars, laid an unconscious Ranboo, left with no armor on but his clothes.

"What did you do to him," he demanded, not even bothering to tear his gaze away from the cage that reminded him too much of the day the butcher army had come for him.

"Ah, watch your tone, Blade," Quackity tutted, a smirk evident in his voice, "all I need is pull this lever, and the kid falls down into the ocean. I heard he doesn't do well in water without his armor… we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Techno snapped his head towards Quackity, baring his tusks in a silent threat.

"I'm here, I followed your stupid directions," he growled, barely able to keep himself from cutting Quackity's head clean off like the voices wanted him to, "now let Ranboo go."

The duck hybrid tilted his head to the side, feigning confusion. "And why would I do that, Technoblade? He's a traitor, he needs to be punished as one."

"A traitor to what?!" Techno asked, bewildered. "L'Manburg is gone, Quackity!"

"And whose fault is that?!" Quackity shouted. "Uh? Remind me, oh great Technoblade, who here razed an entire country to the ground not once, but fucking twice? Please, enlighten me!"

"Government corrupts," Techno answered, his voice low and dangerous, "L'Manburg was rotten to its core, look at what it did to you, to Tubbo, to Tommy! It needed to go."

Quackity laughed, throwing his head back as the wind kept howling around them.

"Oh, yeah?" he grinned, throwing his arms open. "Well, that's my old home you're talking about. And if it was rotten, well, then so am I."

Before Techno could even react, Quackity reached to his side, wrapping his hand around the lever connected to the redstone of the cage. And then, still grinning from ear to ear, he pulled.

"Ranboo!" Techno shouted, watching helplessly as the kid plummeted down towards the ocean water. Quackity's laughter mixed with the howling wind, crazed and high-pitched and making Techno's blood boil.

Ruby red eyes settled on the laughing man, filling with bloodlust as the familiar weight of an axe appeared in his hand.

The voices were growing louder by the second, feeding on his fury and chanting for blood. And this time, Technoblade didn't bother holding them back.

+++

Ranboo woke up to muffled voices, yelling from somewhere in front of him. He didn't know what was happening, or where he was -the voices were somewhat familiar, yes, but he couldn't place them for the life of him and as it was, he could barely even catch a word every four, with how loud the wind was.

Normally, something like this wouldn't have failed to send him spiraling into a panic -he hated not knowing, not being aware of his own surroundings or how he got there in the first place. But his brain felt fuzzy, off-kilter, the only thing he could focus on being the dull throbbing coming from the back of his head. Ender, it hurt.

Fighting down a small whine, Ranboo pried his eyes open, pushing against the sluggishness to try and at least make some sense out of the situation he'd found himself in. His vision was fuzzy, but he could somewhat make out two figures standing somewhere in front of him.

One was standing with his back on him, decked in the familiar iridescent purple of an enchanted netherite armor. The other was a little farther away, enough so that to Ranboo, they looked like nothing more than a blurred blob of amassed colors. Pink was very prominent, followed by something red flowing on their back -they felt familiar, safe, causing Ranboo to relax almost on instinct.

"Technoblade...?" he slurred, confused. What was Techno doing there? They weren't in the Antarctic, there was no snow around them.

Before he could properly think of a reason, however, Ranboo felt the floor suddenly disappear from under him, fear shooting up his spine as he started plummeting down into the abyss. He didn't even have the time to make a sound before something dark and cold enveloped him, shocking him awake as he got twirled and smacked around.

A few seconds of shocked bliss passed, and then everything started burning.

It felt like he'd fallen in a pit of fire, the flames licking at every ounce of his skin as if trying to melt it directly off his body. Ranboo opened his mouth, trying to scream as the pain overwhelmed him in the worst way possible, only for something to fill his mouth and throat, choking him and only strengthening his growing panic.

He was going to die. He was going to die, alone in this darkness, he needed to get out, out, out-

Ranboo crashed on the hard, unforgiving ground, coughing harshly as water rushed out of his airways. Cold, frigid air hit his skin, soothing the burns and making the pain a little more bearable. He could breathe. He could breathe.

Ranboo slumped to the floor, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to get his racing heartbeat under control. He had to fight even just to keep his eyes open, exhaustion weighing him down until he could barely move his head, let alone think about standing up.

A white, furry snout filled his vision, curiously sniffing at his face. Ranboo blinked, a startled sound escaping his lips. The dog blinked back, tilting its head to the side.

"What…?" he whispered, wincing at how hoarse his voice came out. Ender, his throat hurt.

Another snout appeared above his head. And then another, and another, the sound of barking finally reaching his ears. Where- where was he, exactly?

Before he could try and come up with an answer, Ranboo heard the sound of a door opening, followed by a sharp gasp and hurried footsteps.

"Ranboo?"

The hybrid squinted in confusion, immediately recognizing the voice.

"Phil?"

+++

No matter what tricks he might have had up his sleeve, Quackity couldn't stand a chance against an angry, vengeful Technoblade. It took him barely minutes to sink his axe through the other's neck, slicing his head clean off and sending it rolling on the ground under their feet. Techno barely watched as the lifeless body slumped down, ignoring his communicator vibrating with the death message as he raced to the cliff. He knew, he knew there was no way Ranboo had survived a fall like that, but he had to check, had to make sure.

Crashing waves and wet, glistening rocks were the only things staring back, destroying whatever hope he might have had. Someone more impulsive would have jumped off, in a desperate hope to find the kid still struggling against the current, but Techno knew better.

The ocean was unforgiving, and for someone like Ranboo, even more so.

He sighed, stepping back from the edge and turning around. Quackity's body wasn't there anymore, having disappeared as the respawn mechanics worked their magic -if the man was smart, he wouldn't dare bother Techno again, not unless he wanted to lose his last life and find out how permadeath felt like.

In theory, Techno knew that Ranboo's death wasn't permanent. The kid still had all of his lives, at least before this, and the SMP would bring him back soon enough. Respawning sucked, though -it left you aching and in pain for days on end as your body stitched itself back together after whatever trauma had taken away one of your lives. It was a painful process, gruesome at times, and one Techno wished Ranboo didn't have to go through.

Especially not when it was his fault.

Ignoring the guilt pooling heavily in his gut, Technoblade reached for his communicator, intending to text Phil to bring him back. As it turned out, however, his friend had beat him to it, blowing up his notifications with hurried messages. Guilt now replaced with worry, Techno tapped the screen, reading through the chat.

[Philza] Techno

[Philza] Techno what the fuck

[Philza] Ranboo is here, he's in the dog pen

[Philza] Jesus christ he's covered in burns what the fuck happened

[Philza] Technoblade you better answer your fucking communicator right now or so help me god I will fly there, find you, and drag your ass home myself

[Philza] I saw the kill message where the fuck are you

Techno blinked, staring at the messages with wide eyes. What?

[Philza] Techno, I know you're reading these, answer me right now

[Technoblade] im omw

+++

When Techno slammed the door of his cabin open, he didn't know what he was expecting. A dead body in the middle of respawning, maybe, with Phil watching over it like a silent guardian angel.

He certainly wasn't expecting to walk in on Phil wrapping gauze around what looked like the entirety of Ranboo's body, the bandages visible for the world to see with the simple shirt and pants the kid was now wearing.

Techno barely spared a glance to the pile of soaked clothes lying on his floor, raking his eyes over the enderman hybrid as he tried to work the surprise out of his system. Fine is the farthest adjective the piglin would use to describe Ranboo right at that moment, seeing how his entire body was covered in gauze and he was holding a pack of ice to the back of his head, but he was alive and breathing and for once in his life, Techno had no fucking clue about how that was possible.

"Fucking hell, kid," he groaned, letting his cloak fall to the floor as he trudged inside the house. "You'll give me a heart attack, one of these days."

Ranboo winced as Technoblade slumped on the couch, still a little dazed from the hit to his head.

"Sorry," he muttered, breaking into a coughing fit immediately after.

"Don't force your throat, mate, you gotta let it rest," Phil scolded gently, sending Techno a small glare. "We're just glad you're okay -or, well, as okay as you can be right now."

Ranboo hesitantly looked up, looking at Philza and then at Techno. The piglin nodded in silent agreement and watched as the kid seemed to slump on himself in relief, the tension leaving his body at once. Was it really that surprising, that they'd grown to care for him enough to be worried about his well-being?

The two men exchanged a worried glance, silent words passing between them. Then, Phil nodded to himself, tying up the last of the gauze around Ranboo's forearm before heading to the kitchen.

"How do you guys feel about some tea?" he asked, pulling down a kettle and three mugs. "I'd say we could all do with something warm right now."

Techno made a noise of affirmation, watching with amusement as Ranboo snorted and nodded in agreement.

Maybe things weren't okay just yet, but this? This was a start.

#dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #ranboo #technoblade #philza #philza minecraft #quackity #blood #temporary character death #near death experience #antagonist quackity #protective technoblade #angst with a happy ending #bad things happen bingo #maxiswriting

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