#Sports trader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

estapa-edwards · 7 months ago

Note

can you do something with ryan leonard. like best friend to lover. something with angst maybe because ryan or trader is seeing somebody else. with slight smut maybe. thank youuu!

YOU BELONG WITH ME - R. LEONARD

Ryan leonard x reader

word count: 5.9k

requested? yes

warnings: use of y/n. slight smut

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

It was one of those brisk autumn days when the leaves crunched underfoot and the sky was a clear, piercing blue. The Boston College campus buzzed with activity, students rushing to classes, laughter echoing across the quad. Y/N made her way to Conte Forum, where the Eagles were set to have their afternoon practice. She pulled her jacket tighter against the chill, her mind racing as it always did when she was about to see Ryan Leonard.

Ryan and Y/N had been best friends since freshman year, a bond forged over late-night study sessions, endless coffee runs, and a mutual love for hockey. Ryan, with his boyish grin and effortless charm, was the star forward for the BC Eagles, while Y/N was pursuing a degree in sports medicine, often helping out the team with injuries and recovery.

Their friendship had always been easy, natural, and unforced. They shared everything, from their hopes and dreams to their fears and insecurities. But lately, things had begun to change. Y/N found herself drawn to Ryan in ways that went beyond friendship, her heart fluttering whenever he was near. She tried to push these feelings aside, convincing herself that it was just a phase, a crush that would eventually fade. But the more time she spent with Ryan, the stronger her feelings grew.

There was just one problem. Ryan was seeing someone.

--- --- ---

Practice was in full swing by the time Y/N arrived. She stood by the boards, watching as Ryan skated across the ice with a grace that never failed to take her breath away. He was completely in his element, the puck seemingly glued to his stick as he weaved in and out of his teammates. The coach barked orders, the sound echoing through the arena, but Ryan was focused, determined.

As practice wrapped up, Ryan skated over to where Y/N was standing. He flashed her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. "Hey, Y/N. What brings you here today?"

Y/N shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Just wanted to see my favorite hockey player in action. Plus, I have some new tape for your ankle. Thought you might need it."

Ryan's eyes lit up. "You're the best, you know that?" He hopped over the boards, landing lightly on his feet. "I could use a break anyway. Want to grab some coffee?"

"Sure," Y/N replied, her heart doing somersaults. "Coffee sounds great."

They made their way to the campus coffee shop, falling into an easy conversation about classes, upcoming games, and everything in between. But there was a tension simmering beneath the surface, an unspoken question that hung in the air.

"So," Ryan said, breaking the silence as they sat down with their drinks. "I wanted to tell you something."

Y/N's stomach twisted. She had a feeling she knew what was coming, but she forced herself to smile. "What's up?"

"It's about Jenna," Ryan began, referring to the girl he had been seeing for the past few months. "Things are starting to get serious between us."

Y/N felt a pang of jealousy but masked it with a nod. "That's great, Ryan. I'm happy for you."

Ryan studied her for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure? You don't seem that happy."

Y/N forced a laugh. "Of course, I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

Ryan reached across the table, his hand covering hers. "Y/N, you're my best friend. I need you to be honest with me."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she squeezed his hand and forced another smile. "I'm fine, really."

--- --- ---

As the weeks went by, Y/N couldn't help but notice how Jenna seemed to be everywhere she used to be. It started small—little things like seeing Ryan and Jenna studying together at the library, where she and Ryan used to spend countless hours. But it grew more significant, and with each passing day, Y/N felt her presence in Ryan's life being overshadowed by Jenna.

One afternoon, Y/N made her way to Conte Forum, her usual spot to catch Ryan after practice. But instead of finding him alone or with his teammates, she saw Jenna sitting in the stands, waving and smiling as Ryan skated over to her. Y/N's stomach twisted, a familiar pang of jealousy gnawing at her insides. She forced a smile and waved back, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Hey, Y/N!" Ryan called out, his face lighting up when he saw her. "Come join us!"

Y/N walked over, trying to hide the unease that threatened to overwhelm her. "Hey, guys. How was practice?"

"Great, but exhausting," Ryan replied, taking a seat next to Jenna and draping an arm around her shoulders. "Jenna brought me some snacks to refuel."

Y/N's smile wavered. "That's nice of you, Jenna."

Jenna beamed, leaning into Ryan. "I know how hard he works. Just wanted to show my support."

Y/N nodded, feeling like an outsider in a space that used to feel like home. "Well, that's great. I just came to drop off the new tape for your ankle, Ryan."

"You're a lifesaver, Y/N," Ryan said, standing up to give her a quick hug. But as he pulled away, his attention immediately shifted back to Jenna.

"Thanks, Y/N," Jenna said, her smile polite but distant. "We'll see you later, okay?"

Y/N nodded, her throat tight. "Yeah, sure. See you guys later."

--- --- ---

The pattern continued. Y/N found herself increasingly excluded from the moments she had once cherished with Ryan. Jenna was there at every turn—at their favorite coffee shop, at study sessions, even at the casual hangouts with the team. Y/N tried to tell herself that it was natural for Ryan to spend more time with his girlfriend, but the jealousy gnawed at her, a constant reminder of what she was losing.

One evening, as Y/N was heading to the library, she saw Ryan and Jenna sitting in the corner booth that had always been her and Ryan's spot. They were laughing, their heads close together, and Y/N felt a sharp stab of jealousy. She turned to leave, not wanting to intrude, but Ryan spotted her.

"Y/N! Over here!" he called out, waving her over.

Y/N forced a smile and walked over, her heart heavy. "Hey, you two. What's up?"

"We're just studying for the upcoming exams," Ryan said, pulling out a chair for her. "Join us?"

Y/N hesitated, feeling like an intruder. "I don't want to interrupt. You guys look busy."

"Nonsense," Jenna said, her tone cheerful but with an edge that Y/N couldn't ignore. "There's always room for you, Y/N."

Y/N sat down, but the dynamic was different. The easy rapport she shared with Ryan was strained, replaced by Jenna's presence. Y/N tried to focus on her work, but her mind kept wandering, the jealousy festering like an open wound.

As the evening wore on, Y/N felt more and more like a third wheel. Jenna and Ryan had their own inside jokes, their own rhythm that Y/N couldn't penetrate. She watched them, feeling a mix of sadness and anger. She wanted to say something, to reclaim her place in Ryan's life, but fear held her back.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Ryan asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

Y/N forced a smile, her heart aching. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess."

"You should get some rest," Jenna said, her voice smooth and reassuring. "We'll catch up later."

Y/N nodded, gathering her things. "Yeah, I think I'll do that. See you later."

As she walked away, Y/N felt a tear slip down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, not wanting anyone to see. The jealousy burned inside her, but she didn't know how to confront it, how to tell Ryan that she felt like she was losing him.

She made her way back to her dorm, the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her. She loved Ryan, but she was terrified of ruining their friendship, of pushing him away even further. So, she kept her jealousy hidden, burying it deep inside, and hoped that somehow, things would go back to the way they used to be.

But deep down, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

--- --- ---

Y/N sat on her bed, staring blankly at her open textbook. The words blurred together, her mind unable to focus. The past few weeks had been torture, watching Jenna slip into every corner of Ryan's life, replacing her. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but every time she tried, the words caught in her throat.

A sudden knock on her door jolted her out of her thoughts. She wasn't expecting anyone, but she had a sinking feeling she knew who it was. She opened the door to find Ryan standing there, his face a mix of concern and frustration.

"Ryan? What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"Can I come in?" he asked quietly.

Y/N stepped aside, letting him in. The tension in the room was palpable as they stood there, neither of them knowing how to begin.

"Y/N, what's going on?" Ryan finally asked, his eyes searching hers. "You've been acting so strange lately. Are you okay?"

Y/N forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside her. "I'm fine, Ryan. Just busy with school, that's all."

Ryan shook his head, his frustration evident. "No, it's more than that. You're my best friend. I can tell when something's bothering you. Please, just talk to me."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of her unspoken feelings pressing down on her. She turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "There's nothing to talk about, Ryan."

Ryan stepped closer, his voice soft but insistent. "Y/N, you're shutting me out. I need to know what's wrong. Did I do something to upset you?"

The question pierced her heart, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She wanted to tell him everything, to pour out her heart, but the fear of losing him held her back. Anger and frustration bubbled to the surface, and she couldn't hold back any longer.

"Oh, I'm shutting you out?" Y/N snapped, her voice rising. "Please, Ryan. I haven't even seen you without Jenna in weeks. And I don't want to third wheel."

Ryan's eyes widened in shock. "Y/N, that's not fair. Jenna's my girlfriend. Of course, I spend time with her."

"But what about us?" Y/N shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. "We used to do everything together. Now it feels like I don't exist to you unless she's around."

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, looking conflicted. "Y/N, I didn't mean for it to be like this. Jenna's important to me, but so are you."

Y/N laughed bitterly, wiping away a tear. "It doesn't feel that way. It feels like I'm being replaced, like I don't matter anymore. I miss you, Ryan. I miss us."

Ryan's face softened, and he took a step closer, his voice gentle. "Y/N, I'm so sorry. I never wanted to make you feel this way. You're my best friend, and I care about you so much."

"Do you?" Y/N asked, her voice breaking. "Because it doesn't feel like it. It feels like I'm losing you, like I'm just an afterthought now that Jenna's in the picture."

Ryan reached out, but she pulled away, the pain too raw. "I don't want to lose you, Y/N. You're one of the most important people in my life. I need you to believe that."

"How can I believe that when everything's changed?" Y/N said, her tears falling freely now. "When I'm not the one you turn to anymore?"

Ryan's face crumpled, and he took another step closer, his voice pleading. "Please, Y/N. I don't want to lose you. Tell me what I can do to fix this."

Y/N looked at him, her heart breaking. She wanted to believe him, to trust that things could go back to the way they were, but the fear and jealousy were too strong. "I don't know if you can," she whispered. "I don't know if anything will ever be the same."

Ryan stood there, his eyes filled with sadness and desperation. "Y/N, please. You're my best friend. I can't lose you."

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "I need time, Ryan. I need to figure out how to deal with this. I don't know if I can just pretend everything's okay."

Ryan nodded slowly, his expression pained. "I understand. Just... don't shut me out completely. Please."

Y/N nodded, her heart heavy. "I won't. I promise."

As Ryan left, Y/N sank to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. She had finally told him the truth, but it felt like she had shattered something precious. The weight of her unspoken feelings had been lifted, but the fear of losing him remained, a constant, gnawing ache.

--- --- ---

In the days that followed, Y/N found it increasingly difficult to stick to her promise. Every time she saw Ryan, the pain of their conversation and the rawness of her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. She started avoiding places where she knew he would be, skipping their usual study sessions and avoiding the coffee shop they frequented. She even altered her routes around campus, anything to keep her heart from breaking all over again.

Ryan, for his part, tried to give her space, but his concern for her was evident. He sent her texts, asking how she was and if they could talk, but Y/N couldn't bring herself to respond. Each message felt like a reminder of what she had lost, and she couldn't face the reality of their changed relationship.

One afternoon, Y/N was walking back to her dorm when she saw Ryan and Jenna coming from the opposite direction. Panic surged through her, and she quickly ducked into a nearby building, pressing herself against the wall. She watched as they walked past, Ryan's arm around Jenna's shoulders, both of them laughing about something. The sight was like a punch to the gut, and Y/N had to fight to keep her tears at bay.

She slipped out of the building after they were gone and made her way back to her dorm, her heart heavy with a mixture of jealousy and despair. She knew she was breaking her promise to Ryan, but the thought of seeing him with Jenna was too much to bear. It felt like every time she saw them together, a piece of her heart was being ripped away.

That evening, Y/N was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, when her phone buzzed. It was another text from Ryan.

Ryan: "Y/N, we need to talk. Please."

Y/N stared at the message, her finger hovering over the screen. She wanted to respond, to tell him everything she was feeling, but the fear of losing him completely kept her silent. She turned off her phone and rolled over, tears streaming down her face.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N continued to avoid Ryan at all costs. She threw herself into her studies, hoping to distract herself from the ache in her heart. But no matter how hard she tried, the void left by Ryan's absence was impossible to fill.

One evening, as she was leaving the library, she saw Ryan standing outside, waiting for her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she considered turning back, but it was too late. He had seen her.

"Y/N, wait," he called, his voice filled with a mix of relief and frustration.

She stopped, her body tense, as he approached. "Ryan, I..."

He held up a hand, cutting her off. "Please, just let me talk."

Y/N nodded, her eyes downcast.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Ryan asked, his voice tinged with hurt. "I thought you said you wouldn't shut me out."

Y/N took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she needed to say. She looked up at Ryan, her eyes filled with sorrow. "I'm sorry, Ryan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I can't do this anymore."

Ryan's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Y/N shook her head, tears threatening to spill over. "I mean... I think it's better if we're not friends anymore."

Ryan's expression shifted from confusion to shock. "Y/N, no. You can't mean that."

"I do," Y/N replied, her voice breaking. "It hurts too much, Ryan. Every time I see you with Jenna, it feels like my heart is being torn apart. I can't keep pretending that everything's okay when it's not."

Ryan took a step closer, reaching out to touch her arm, but she flinched away. "Y/N, please. We can work through this. I don't want to lose you."

Y/N's emotions boiled over, her voice rising in desperation. "Please, Ryan, I can't do this!"

"Why are you doing this?" Ryan's voice matched her intensity, a mixture of confusion and frustration.

"Because, Ryan," Y/N yelled back, tears streaming down her face. "Because I love you!"

Ryan froze, his hand dropping to his side as he stared at her in shock. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of unspoken truth.

Y/N wiped angrily at her tears, her chest heaving with emotion. "I've tried to bury it, to ignore it, but I can't pretend anymore. Every time I see you with Jenna, it tears me apart inside."

Ryan stood there in stunned silence, unable to form a coherent response to Y/N's emotional outpouring. Her words echoed in his mind, each one piercing through the confusion and shock that gripped him.

Y/N wiped angrily at her tears, her voice raw with pain. "I never meant for this to happen. I never planned on falling for you, but damn it, you crept into my thoughts, into my dreams, and now you're embedded in my heart like a relentless thorn. I see the way you smile at her, the way you laugh, and it feels like a thousand knives stabbing me in the chest."

Her voice cracked with emotion, but she pushed on, her words pouring out like a floodgate opened. "Do you have any idea how it feels to want someone so much it hurts? To know that every smile you give to Jenna is a stab in my gut because I wish it were for me? I've tried to ignore it, to bury these feelings deep down, but they keep clawing their way back to the surface."

Ryan's chest tightened with guilt and regret as he listened, absorbing the full weight of Y/N's confession. Her pain was palpable, her vulnerability cutting through him like a knife.

"I can't help but remember how it all started — those late-night conversations that stretched into dawn, the way you looked at me with such understanding and kindness. It felt like we were the only two people in the world, like we shared something special."

Y/N's voice trembled now, her words filled with longing and sorrow. "And now? Now you're with her, and I'm left here grappling with this unbearable ache, this longing that won't let me breathe. I hate that I love you this fiercely, this desperately. It's tearing me apart, but I can't turn it off. Every fiber of my being screams your name."

Ryan's throat tightened, his heart breaking for Y/N and the pain he had inadvertently caused. He struggled to find the right words, to offer some solace or explanation, but his mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Unable to bear the weight of her gaze, Ryan turned away, his footsteps heavy and filled with regret. He couldn't face her right now, couldn't confront the truth of what she had laid bare. Leaving was the only thing he could think to do, a temporary reprieve from the intensity of the moment.

Y/N watched him go, her tears falling unchecked now, a mixture of relief and despair washing over her. She had finally spoken her truth, had bared her soul to him, and now she was left alone with the echoes of her own words.

As Ryan disappeared from view, Y/N sank to the ground, her sobs echoing in the empty space around her. She had known this outcome was a possibility, but the reality of it still cut deep. Love had brought her to this precipice, where the only path forward was through the pain.

--- --- ---

After Ryan had abruptly left following their emotional confrontation, Y/N found herself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. She hadn't expected Will and Gabe, Ryan's friends and teammates, to approach her about his absence. They were also her friends, having shared countless moments on and off campus together. Now, they stood before her, concern etched on their faces.

Gabe was the first to speak up, his voice laced with worry. "Hey, Y/N. Have you heard from Ryan? He's been off the grid for a couple of days now, and we're getting a bit worried."

Will nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, he's missed a few practices too. Is everything okay between you two?"

Y/N hesitated, unsure of how much to disclose. She and Ryan had always been close, and his absence was weighing heavily on her conscience. "We... had a disagreement," she finally admitted, choosing her words carefully. "Things got complicated."

Gabe exchanged a glance with Will, both of them sensing the gravity of the situation. "Do you want to talk about it?" Gabe asked gently, his concern palpable.

Y/N shook her head, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. "I wish I could, but... it's between Ryan and me. I think he just needs some space right now."

Will nodded understandingly, though worry lines remained etched on his face. "If you hear from him, could you let us know? We just want to make sure he's okay."

"Of course," Y/N replied softly. "I'll keep an eye out for him."

The three of them stood there for a moment, the unspoken tension hanging in the air. Y/N appreciated their concern, their loyalty to Ryan evident even in this difficult moment.

"Thanks, Y/N," Gabe said finally, offering a supportive smile. "We're here for you too, okay?"

Y/N nodded gratefully, touched by their gesture. "Thank you, both of you."

As Will and Gabe walked away, Y/N couldn't help but feel the weight of their unspoken questions and concerns. She knew she owed it to Ryan to give him the space he needed, but the ache in her heart reminded her of the fragile bond they had once shared.

Days turned into a week, and still, Ryan remained elusive. Y/N focused on her studies and tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, but her thoughts often drifted back to him. She wondered if he was hurting as much as she was, if he regretted their confrontation, if he even cared anymore.

--- --- ---

Late one evening, as she sat alone in her dorm room, Y/N's phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Ryan.

Ryan: "Can we talk?"

Her heart skipped a beat as she read the message, uncertainty and hope warring within her. Without hesitation, she typed out her reply.

Y/N: "Yes. Where are you?"

The reply came almost immediately.

Ryan: "Meet me at our spot?"

Y/N's heart raced as she grabbed her jacket and headed out into the cool night air. She didn't know what would come of their meeting, but she knew she couldn't ignore the pull to see him again, to confront the unresolved feelings between them.

As she walked towards their designated meeting spot, Y/N couldn't help but wonder if this would be the moment everything changed, if they could find a way back to each other despite the heartache that had torn them apart.

As Y/N arrived at their spot, a secluded bench overlooking the campus lake, she found Ryan already waiting there, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of the nearby lamppost. He looked up as she approached, his expression a mix of relief and uncertainty. They sat down side by side, the tension between them palpable.

"Ryan," Y/N began softly, her voice wavering slightly. "What happened? Why did you disappear like that?"

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, his eyes avoiding hers for a moment. "I needed time to think," he admitted quietly. "I... I didn't expect things to escalate the way they did between us."

Y/N nodded, her heart aching with the weight of unspoken words. "I didn't either," she confessed, her gaze fixed on the shimmering water below. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."

Ryan turned towards her, his hand accidentally brushing against her thigh in the process. Y/N flinched slightly at the touch, a jolt of electricity shooting through her body. Ryan quickly withdrew his hand, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Y/N shook her head, trying to steady her racing heart. "It's okay," she managed to say, though her voice was unsteady.

Silence settled between them once more, broken only by the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. Ryan took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts.

"Y/N, I... I've been a mess these past few days," Ryan began, his voice filled with sincerity. "I didn't know how to face you after everything that happened. But I've realized something."

Y/N turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face for answers. "What is it, Ryan?"

Ryan hesitated for a moment, his fingers fidgeting nervously in his lap. "I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted finally, his voice tinged with desperation. "Even when I try to distract myself with hockey or hanging out with friends, you're always there, in the back of my mind."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, a glimmer of hope flickering to life within her. "Ryan..."

"No, please," Ryan interrupted, his hand tentatively reaching out again, this time resting gently on her thigh. "Let me finish."

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity. She nodded silently, urging him to continue.

"You've always been in my mind," Ryan continued, his voice earnest. "I was just confused with my feelings. You mean so much to me, Y/N."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, her heart aching with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. Ryan's touch on her thigh sent a jolt of warmth through her, reminding her of the closeness they had once shared, and the possibility of what could be.

"I know I've hurt you," Ryan whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "And I'm sorry for that. I never wanted to cause you pain."

Y/N took a shaky breath, struggling to contain the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. "Ryan, I... I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've been trying to move on, to accept that maybe we're better off as friends."

"No, Y/N, don't do this to me," Ryan pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. His hand tightened around hers, clinging to the fragile connection between them. "Please, don't shut me out. I can't lose you."

Y/N's heart ached at the anguish in Ryan's voice, the sincerity in his plea cutting through her resolve. She turned to look at him, tears glistening in her eyes as she struggled to find the right words.

"I don't want to shut you out," Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "But I need to know... do you love me, Ryan?"

Ryan froze, his eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and realization. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Y/N's heart sank as she watched him struggle, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

"Dammit, do you love me?" Y/N pressed, her voice breaking with emotion. She needed to hear the truth, to know where they stood.

Ryan closed his eyes briefly, a myriad of emotions crossing his face. When he finally looked at her again, his gaze was intense and unwavering.

"Yes," Ryan said softly, his voice filled with conviction. "Yes, Y/N, I love you."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat at his words, a rush of emotions flooding through her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, the weight of uncertainty lifting off her shoulders.

"From the moment I saw you, god, Y/N, you make me crazy," Ryan continued, his voice filled with raw honesty. "But I love you crazy. You've poisoned me in a way you will never know."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at his confession. She reached out, gently placing her hand over his heart, feeling its steady beat beneath her palm.

"Ryan," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I love you too. More than I ever thought possible."

Ryan closed his eyes briefly, savoring the moment, before opening them to meet her gaze once more. "I don't want to lose you," he admitted softly. "I've been a fool, trying to deny what's been right in front of me all along."

Y/N listened intently, her heart racing with anticipation as she waited for him to continue. Ryan took a deep breath, his voice tinged with relief and vulnerability.

"I broke up with Jenna," Ryan confessed, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "She already knew how I felt about you. She told me to confess, to stop pretending like I could be happy with anyone else."

Y/N felt a surge of emotions at his words, a mixture of surprise, relief, and a profound sense of hope. She reached out, taking his hand in hers, a silent gesture of reassurance and support.

"I'm glad you did," Y/N replied softly, her voice filled with warmth.

Ryan nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I couldn't keep denying how I feel," he admitted. "Not when you've always been the one who's been there for me, who understands me like no one else."

Y/N squeezed his hand gently, overwhelmed by the depth of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. "I've always cared about you, Ryan," she murmured. "More than I ever knew how to say."

Ryan leaned closer, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, "I love you, Y/N. I've loved you for so long."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, her heart overflowing with love and gratitude. "I love you too, Ryan," she whispered back, her voice filled with certainty.

Y/N looked at Ryan, her heart still racing from their emotional conversation under the stars. The weight of their confessions hung in the air, and she felt a surge of courage and longing.

"Ryan," she began softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you want to come back to my apartment?"

Ryan met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a mixture of tenderness and desire. He took a moment to respond, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Yes, Y/N," he said, his tone tinged with certainty. "I want to be with you."

A wave of relief washed over Y/N as she reached out to take his hand. "Let's go," she said, a small smile playing on her lips.

Together, they walked hand in hand through the quiet streets, their footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night. The journey back to Y/N's apartment was filled with a comfortable silence, their hearts beating in sync with the promise of new beginnings.

As they approached her door, Y/N turned to Ryan, her eyes searching his for any lingering doubts. Instead, she found only warmth and affection mirrored back at her.

Ryan leaned in closer, brushing his lips against hers in a tender kiss.

--- --- ---

The air between them crackled with unspoken desire as Y/N and Ryan stood in the dimly lit kitchen of her apartment. The weight of their shared confession hung heavy in the air, igniting a fire that had long smoldered between them.

Y/N leaned against the counter, her heart racing with anticipation. She could feel Ryan's intense gaze on her, his eyes darkened with a hunger that mirrored her own. The tension between them was palpable, a magnetic pull drawing them closer with each passing second.

Ryan closed the distance between them in a single stride, his hand coming to rest on the counter beside her, effectively trapping her against it. His touch sent a shiver down Y/N's spine, awakening a longing she could no longer deny.

"Y/N," Ryan murmured, his voice low and husky, filled with raw desire. "I've wanted this... wanted you... for so long."

Y/N met his gaze, her own eyes smoldering with need. Without a word, she reached up, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. Their lips crashed together in a desperate kiss, a collision of passion and pent-up longing.

Ryan's hands roamed over her body, his touch igniting sparks of electricity wherever it landed. Y/N gasped into his mouth, the sensation sending a rush of heat straight to her core. She arched against him, seeking more of his touch, more of the fire that threatened to consume them both.

Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were trying to convey all their unspoken desires through the meeting of their lips. Ryan's hands traced the curve of Y/N's waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. He tasted of longing and promises, each kiss a declaration of the passion they had kept hidden for far too long.

Y/N's fingers fumbled with the buttons of Ryan's shirt, urgency driving her movements. She needed to feel his skin against hers, to erase any lingering doubts that this was real. Ryan groaned softly against her lips, his own hands moving with purpose as he lifted her up onto the counter, his body pressing intimately against hers.

Their breaths mingled, hot and ragged, as they explored each other with a fervor born of longing and newfound connection. Ryan's lips trailed down Y/N's neck, leaving a blazing trail of kisses that made her head spin. Every touch, every caress, fueled the flames of their desire until they burned brightly, consuming everything in their path.

In that moment, there were no more words, no more doubts. There was only the raw, unbridled passion that had simmered between them for so long, finally unleashed in a torrent of need and belonging.

And as they lost themselves in each other, the rest of the world faded away, leaving only the heat of their bodies and the promise of a love that had waited patiently to be set free.

#hockey #nhl x reader #boston college #ryan leonard #ryan leonard x reader #ryan leonard imagine #Ryan Leonard x y/n

232 notes · View notes

thegettingbyp2 · 6 months ago

Note

Hi, could you do a Feyd-Rautha fluff where he is never soft to anyone except reader? Like maybe trader is having a bad day, and he cheers them up or something. Basically just a bunch of things he does for them that he never does for others. Thanks! (Sorry if this isn’t specific enough, I really don’t know how to do this..🥲)

The One I Love

To most people, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is terrifying. He shows no mercy and he finds enjoyment in killing people for sport in the arena. However, for you, he’s kind, gentle and one of the most considerate people you know and you count yourself stupidly lucky to be loved by him.

Your day had been awful and the only thing that you could think of to make you feel better was to find Feyd. You knew that he was busy all day, in meetings that he thought were tedious but you figured that you just needed to sit next to him for a little while, you had your book in your hand so you wouldn’t listen in on anything that you shouldn’t be, you just wanted to be around him for a while.

Pushing open the heavy door, you couldn’t stop your cheeks flushing when the entire room went silent, not expecting you to walk into the meeting. ‘I’m sorry,’ you apologised quietly, not lifting your gaze from the floor. ‘I won’t disturb you, I was just going to - ’

‘Everyone, leave. Now.’ Feyd’s voice rang through the room, almost instantly making everyone get up and leave, leaving only the two of you. ‘Come here, my love,’ Feyd called out, his voice softer than before as his arm extended out to you.

Grateful, you hurried across the length of the room until your hand settled in Feyd’s and he gently tugged you into his lap, both of his hands coming up to cup your face. ‘What’s wrong, my love?’ he asked, his thumbs smoothing across your cheekbones.

‘Nothing big, it’s just been a bad day, everything’s been going wrong so I thought that I’d come and sit with you for a little bit. I brought my book so that I wouldn’t interrupt anything, I was just going to sit next to you for a while,’ you sighed, setting your book on the table in order to wrap both of your arms around his neck, resting your head just underneath his chin, your cheek pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

‘You never nee d to worry about interrupting, you know that,’ he said, tilting your head up until you were looking into his eyes. ‘You always come first.’

‘I love you so much,’ you replied before a yawn wracked your body and you felt your eyes growing heavy as the stresses of your day began to take its toll on you.

‘I love you too,’ Feyd said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he adjusted your body in his lap until he was essentially cradling you. You felt a content smile slowly pull at your lips as you felt Feyd gently begin to rock you as he began to softly hum a Harkkonen lullaby.

‘How come you don’t let anyone else see this side of you?’ you asked quietly, opening your eyes to marvel at the beauty of your boyfriend.

‘Because this is a side of me that only you can see. It’s reserved for the one I love,’ he responded almost instantly, leaning down to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

#feyd rautha #feyd rauth harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha imagine #austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #dune part two

250 notes · View notes

immortalbumblebee · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 22: Weakest Link

Happy Christmas Eve to all!!

I’m actually writing this on my phone because I left my laptop at home while visiting family…but inspiration hits!

I hope you all enjoy, and have an excellent holiday season, no matter what you celebrate!

Masterlist

One of the traders, a stout man from Shurima, leaned forward, speaking through clenched teeth, a lit cigar dangling from his mouth. Each word was punctuated by a puff of acrid smoke curling around his face like a dragon. “We’re the ones risking our necks here, gents. Sneaking supplies past Piltover’s checkpoints? It ain’t just dangerous—it’s suicidal.” He twisted the cigar to the other side of his mouth, a fresh plume of smoke spilling into the air. “We need more coin up front, or the shipments stop. End of story.”

Sevika was on her feet before anyone else could react, the dull thud of her fist hitting the table echoing in the dimly lit room. “And what? You think we’re swimming in cogs down here?” she snarled, her voice sharp enough to cut steel.

You couldn’t help but groan quietly, the weight of hours spent in this stalemate grinding against your patience. Exhaustion tugged at every muscle, but what else was new? From your spot at the table, you watched the scene unfold, arms crossed, eyes boring into the line of traders opposite you. Next to you, Benzo’s posture was tense, his weariness written as plainly on his face as on his rumpled shirt—usually crisp and professional, now missing a button and sporting deep wrinkles. You move to speak, but Benzo motions for you to stay back.

“Enough,” Benzo snapped, his voice carrying the authority of someone who had been in these trenches too long. Sevika froze, her hand still planted on the table, fingers twitching as if daring someone to challenge her.

Benzo leaned forward, the dim light catching the early creases forming on his forehead. “We all know what’s at stake. If this deal collapses, Zaun suffers—everyone suffers. Your risk is real, Urhak, no one’s denying that. But don’t act like your supply chain doesn’t depend on us just as much as we depend on you. We all bleed when Piltover milks us dry.”

Urhak, the Shuriman trader, removed the cigar from his mouth with a slow, deliberate motion, his narrowed eyes glinting like polished amber. “And we’re just supposed to bleed a little more for your rebellion? Hah.”

“Rebellion?” Another trader, a wiry man from Bilgewater, cut in with a bark of laughter. “We don’ give two shites about yer rebellion. It don’t feed our men. And wit’ Enforcers blockin’ every dock in Piltover, we’re startin’ to wonder if yer deals’r worth the trouble.”

Benzo didn’t flinch, his tone steady but urgent. “We need compromise. Protection for your shipments—more bodies on the ground to make sure they get through. In return, you cut back on the money demands and prioritize essentials: food, medicine, guns. The bare necessities.”

Another trader, a green-haired woman, scoffs. “Protection? Against Piltover? That’s a death sentence.”

“That’s what this revolution’s all about.” Felicia stepped forward, her voice calm but firm, the glint of determination in her eyes unmistakable. “We know what we’re doing. Smaller convoys. Decoys to draw the Enforcers away. It works—we’ve done it before, and you’ve seen the results.”

The Bilgewater trader snorted. “Aye, and look how far it’s gotten ya. Vander and Silco’ve been eatin’ Stillwater slop for what—two years now? Is that the kind of security you’re sellin’ us?”

Alright, you’d had enough.

Before anyone could react, you flicked your wrist, sending a razor-thin shard of metal slicing through the air. Urhak’s cigar split cleanly in two, the lit end tumbling to the floor in a hiss of ash. A tense silence followed as some of the traders instinctively reached for their weapons, but you were faster. A wave of your hands, and their firearms clattered to the floor, skidding out of reach.

You stood, your presence commanding, your voice cutting through the room like a blade. “My associate has been incredibly patient,” you said, the words slow and deliberate. “But I’m done wasting time. Let’s be real—Zaun makes up two-thirds of your trade profits, even with the dock blockades. If you think you can do better elsewhere, go ahead. Pack up your mediocre goods and hawk them to some backwater village. We’ll find traders who don’t waste our gods-damned time.”

The weight of your words settled over the room like a storm cloud. One by one, the traders hesitated, their bravado dimming under your glare.

Benzo turns to you, his movements measured, his eyes narrowing as he leans ever so slightly in your direction. “I thought I told you I had this,” he mutters, voice just loud enough for you to catch.

You meet his gaze briefly and roll your shoulders, the gesture as nonchalant as it was deliberate.

“Urhak breaks the lingering tension, his voice rumbling through the room like distant thunder. “We’ll need guarantees,” he says, his words deliberate. His gaze flickers to his colleagues, who murmur in low tones, their unease palpable. “If the patrols catch us, there won’t be a second chance. No excuses, no do-overs.”

Benzo exhales sharply, but his frustration is aimed squarely at you before he turns back to the table. His composure is a mask, slipping on just long enough to face the traders. “We’ll rotate our people to guard the shipments,” he says, his voice steady. “Small teams, low-profile. No risks we don’t need to take. You hold up your end, and we’ll hold up ours.”

The traders fall into another bout of quiet deliberation, voices hushed but sharp. The Bilgewater representative eventually shrugs. “Don’t be expectin’ miracles. You don’ give us what we need, don’ blame us when it all falls apart.”

Sevika finally lifts her fist from the table, the faint outline of her knuckles still imprinted in the wood. Benzo straightens his shoulders, reclaiming his usual air of authority, and folds his hands in front of him. “Nobody’s blaming anyone,” he says firmly, his businessman tone smooth but grounded. “We’re all in this together. That’s the point.”

The meeting concluded with a fragile patchwork of strained agreements, punctuated by supplementary deals to placate the traders’ endless demands. As they filed out, heading toward the ships that awaited them at the docks, your inner circle lingered. Quiet murmurs filled the air, the tension from the negotiation still simmering in their voices.

You sat apart from the others, your focus buried in your worn notebook. The faint scratch of pencil against paper was a welcome distraction as you tallied the promised inventory of firearms, mentally accounting for time and resources. They’d need inspections, repairs, and modifications—because they never arrived in workable condition.

With a sharp snap, you closed the book and rubbed a hand over your face, dragging your palm down to stifle the mounting frustration. Your new bandana lay limp around your neck, black and distinctly free of bloodstains. You were nearly 25 now… Two years. Two years since they were gone, and it already felt like a lifetime. In their absence, the weight of Zaun had pressed heavier on you than ever.

Piltover’s interference had worsened tenfold. No crossing the bridge without papers. Mandated curfews. Power outages that choked entire districts in darkness. The blockade at the docks was a vice on your trade, tightening every day. And the promenade? A ghost of its former self, crawling with Enforcers. The fighting rings were shut down. Businesses folded under the strain.

Zaunites had always been resilient, but now they were desperate. And desperate people fought back—often recklessly. Without resources, without backup, rebellion wasn’t a fire—it was a spark struggling to catch in the damp.

You adjusted the oversized vest draped over your shoulders. It hung loose, three sizes too big, and though his scent had long since faded, you still found comfort in wearing it. A small fragment of the past. A piece of a world that no longer existed.

“I told you I had this.” Benzo’s voice cut through your thoughts, sharp with annoyance. His frustration lanced through your skull, worsening the pounding ache that had been building all evening. You really needed coffee.

“Do you have any idea how sideways that could’ve gone?” he continued, his tone rising just enough to set your teeth on edge.

You snapped your gaze to him, already irritated. “They still think they can push us around,” you shot back, stepping closer, your voice rising to match his. “And you let them!”

Benzo’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding audibly. “We don’t have the luxury of throwing our weight around without consequences,” he said, his voice low and hard. “And we can’t afford another enemy right now.” He turned abruptly, his eyes landing on Sevika. “Go keep an eye on them. Run security on their ships if you have to.”

Sevika lingered, her gaze flicking between the two of you, as though calculating whether to push back. After a moment, she sighed and turned toward the door. “For what it’s worth, I’m with Min.”

“I don’t recall asking,” Benzo shot after her. His voice was sharper than necessary, and it drew a pointed look from both you and Felicia.

Before tempers could flare further, Connol stepped in, his calm, even tone cutting through the tension. “Fighting between ourselves isn’t fixing a damn thing,” he said firmly, stepping between you and Benzo. His broad hands rested lightly on your shoulders, as if grounding both of you. “In case anyone’s forgotten, we don’t have the manpower to be a divided force right now.”

Benzo exhaled sharply, his shoulders dropping as his anger softened into resignation. He looked at you again, and you met his gaze.

For a long, silent moment, the two of you simply stared at each other. His exhaustion mirrored yours, the weight of Zaun evident in every line of his face. His eyes, usually sharp with purpose, were dull—drained beyond recognition. You understood the feeling all too well.

Neither of you was Vander. Neither of you was Silco. They had been an unstoppable force, even when they were at each other’s throats. You hadn’t fully understood the weight of their positions until they were gone, ripped from Zaun and sent to rot in Piltover’s cells. Now it was on you and Benzo to pick up the pieces, to hold together the tattered remnants of a revolution that sometimes felt like it was bleeding out faster than you could save it.

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words, until Benzo finally looked away. He turned to the others, quietly issuing instructions as Felicia stepped forward to lend her voice to the plan.

And you? You tightened the vest around you again, steeling yourself for what came next. Because there was always something.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly once the others have filtered out, leaving just the two of you. The room feels heavier without the murmured discussions to fill the space. You glance at Benzo, guilt threading through your voice. “You’re right. I was reckless. Stupid.”

Benzo doesn’t respond immediately. He leans against the table, his arms crossed, staring at a spot somewhere past your shoulder. Finally, he exhales and shrugs. “You got the job done,” he says simply, though there’s no accusation in his tone. After a moment, he unfolds his arms and extends a hand toward you. “I know you miss him. I do too.”

“I miss them both,” you admit, your voice cracking as you clasp his hand. But instead of the firm handshake he seems to expect, you use the gesture to pull him into a tight hug.

Benzo doesn’t hesitate. His broad, stocky arms envelop you, grounding you in a way that words never could. He’s thinner now than he used to be, you knew you were too, the stress of the past two years carving its toll into both of you, but his hugs still feel like home. They always had, since that first day in the dump.

You press your face into his shoulder, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this without them, Benz…”

His arms tighten around you, a protective squeeze that’s equal parts comfort and reassurance. “I know, Fishie,” he murmurs.

***

One might imagine that living in a warring nation would be a constant thrill, every day a unique and dangerous adventure. And in some ways, they’d be right. But when every waking moment is consumed by survival, by the relentless grind of uncertainty and danger, the days begin to blur together.

Nights are spent patrolling the crumbling streets, ducking under shadows to avoid the cold, watchful eyes of curfew enforcers. By day, there’s the ceaseless clatter of tools as you work on gun engineering and mechanics in the dim light of your makeshift livingroom workshop. Taking care of your parents took considerable time, even with Mikaels improving health. Not to mention actual shift work at the factories you were still employed at. The bridge barriers made it impossible to continue working at Morichi’s, but you still had to make a living. So you took what you could on this side of the bridge, toiling in the suffocating heat and deafening noise of the factories, each shift bleeding into the next.

The loss of Vander and Silco’s leadership wasn’t the only major impact of their incarceration. The loss of income was a huge hit to your day-to-day lives. You managed to scrape by Mikael’s treatments, but food was steadily more expensive, funds were running dry. Numbers were already tight, but now you almost felt strangled.

And then there was the tunnel.

The one project that felt like you were finally doing something that mattered, something right. In a world that seemed to be crumbling at the seams, the tunnel was your proof that not everything had to fall apart.

Engineering the damn thing had been an endeavour. You and Connol had spent countless sleepless nights over that past 24 months slogging through its damp, claustrophobic depths. Every leak you patched, every weak point you reinforced, felt like a small victory.

The leaks were relentless at first. Water seeped in from all sides, turning the tunnel into a slick, treacherous path. You and Connor worked in knee-deep muck, sealing crack after crack until your arms ached and your fingers felt raw. And then there were the weak points—entire sections that seemed one heavy step away from collapse. You reinforced them with steel sheets that you bent and shaped with your own hands.

Months turned into years as the project evolved. It started as a desperate plan to bypass Piltover’s stranglehold, but it became something greater. A lifeline. A sanctuary. It was Felicia who had the brilliant idea of connecting the tunnel to a long-abandoned mining cavern nearby. She and a few of the older minors had mapped the area, their experience with the mines proving invaluable. The cavern was vast, its winding corridors a maze that could confuse even the most determined enforcer. With the connection established, the tunnel transformed into a network—a hidden artery for Zaun. Connected to the mines, but far enough away as to allow for passage without much air corruption.

Slipping into the manhole that led to the tunnel, the muffled sounds of labor greeted you before your boots even hit the ground. The faint echo of crates scraping against the floor, grunts of effort, and low conversations filled the air. It didn’t surprise you to find Felicia already there, gesturing sharply as she directed a small group maneuvering heavy-looking crates toward the mining hub.

“How’s it looking?” you asked, sliding down the ladder and brushing the grime from your hands. Your eyes quickly scanned the wooden crates stacked against the damp tunnel walls.

Felicia turned to face you, her expression softening the moment she saw you. In her arms, a familiar blue-haired toddler bounced excitedly, letting out a piercing screech when her wide, blue-grey eyes landed on you. Powder squirmed and made grabbing motions with her chubby hands, her little braids bobbing wildly.

“Everything’s going smooth so far,” Felicia replied, her voice heavy with skepticism. She shifted Powder on her hip with practiced ease. “Although, little miss over here has been trying to make mischief. As usual.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Mischief? Her? Nah, not my Pow-Pow,” you said, holding your hands out. Powder immediately launched herself at you with an excited squeal, her tiny arms wrapping tightly around your neck as if she hadn’t seen you in months. You pressed a kiss into her hair, the faint smell of damp tunnel and baby soap filling your nose. “Perfect little angel, you are,” you murmured, gently swaying her in your arms.

Felicia scoffed and rubbed a hand over her face, exhaustion carving lines into her features. “Easy for you to say. She’s been trying to climb the crates all morning. Nearly toppled a stack of rations.”

You chuckled, the sound dry. Powder babbled in your arms, reaching for the pen you always kept tucked into your pocket. You let her grab at it, her tiny fingers closing around the object with triumph. She brought it to her mouth, and you caught her hand before she could start chewing.

“How’s the moving going?” you asked, shifting Powder’s weight onto your hip while you glanced back at the crates.

“The firearms are heading to the mining hub, like you wanted,” Felicia said, motioning to the group lugging the heaviest crates. “I’m splitting the rations and water supply—half near the residential opening so they’re easier to access if things get tight.”

“Smart,” you said, pulling out your notebook one-handed. You jotted a quick note, using Powder’s squirming form as a makeshift desk. Her hand reached for the page, and you tilted it out of her grasp just in time. “And you? How are you holding up?”

Felicia sighed, her shoulders slumping as though the question alone carried weight. “The chem-barons are brutal, Min. You should see the factories down there. People are working longer hours for less pay—and those are the lucky ones who still have jobs.” She ran a tired hand through her hair, her thumb brushing over Powder’s cheek. “It’s hard. Really hard.”

Your chest tightened. You glanced down at Powder, who had abandoned the pen and was now tugging at the frayed edge of your vest. “I know,” you said softly. “You’re not alone in that. If you need a break, come by for meals. Seriously, Fel, we’ll make it work.”

Felicia let out a noise that was half-laugh, half-scoff. “Oh, sure. And when exactly are you finding time to cook for me, Nanny Min? When was the last time you had a proper meal? Or some sleep? No offense, sweetheart, but you look like death.”

You shrugged, the motion heavier than you intended. “What else is new?” you muttered. The exhaustion was bone-deep, clinging to you like the dampness in the air. You weren’t sure you even remembered what it felt like to wake up rested.

Felicia placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Min, I mean it. You can’t keep burning yourself out like this. We need you. Zaun needs you. But you’re no use to anyone if you collapse. After Niya…we can’t lose you too.”

“I’m handling it,” you said, the response automatic and hollow.

“Are you?”

You hesitated, your grip tightening slightly on Powder. The toddler hummed, oblivious to the tension, and grabbed at your face with sticky fingers. Her palm landed on your nose, making you sigh and shake your head.

“Trust me, Fel. You’re not going to say anything I haven’t already heard from Benzo, Sevika, Mikael, Babette, or my mother,” you said, flicking the pen from Powder’s grasp and sliding it back into your pocket. “I’m handling it.”

Felicia didn’t look convinced, but she let out a low sigh and dropped her hand from your shoulder. “Just… don’t let it break you, Min,” she said. Her tone softened, but the concern in her eyes remained sharp.

You didn’t respond, instead watching as she turned back to the crates and started issuing instructions again. The room settled into a familiar rhythm: the scrape of crates, the shuffle of boots, and Powder’s soft babbling filling the space. But Felicia’s words lingered, heavy in the air.

When had you last eaten a real meal? Or slept more than a few hours? The question tugged at the edges of your mind, but you pushed it away. There wasn’t time for that. There was never time.

“Come on, Pow-Pow,” you murmured, brushing a hand over the toddler’s braids. She looked up at you with a toothy grin, and for a moment, her laughter broke through the weight pressing on your chest.

The echoes of shuffling crates and the rhythmic commands of Felicia's voice faded as you continued to sway Powder in your arms, the hum of the tunnel now a steady background. For a fleeting moment, everything felt almost... normal. As if this could be a day not haunted by the weight of survival or the ghosts of lost leaders. But the crackling tension in the air wouldn’t let it last long.

You glance over at Felicia, her tired yet determined expression etched into your memory. As she coordinates the laborers, directing them with a precision that only comes from years of doing what’s needed to keep Zaun's pulse alive, you feel a surge of admiration. She was right—we need to do this, but at what cost?

Suddenly, the muffled clatter of boots approaching breaks the fragile silence. A figure steps into the tunnel’s dim light, the shadows catching on his messenger uniform–like the one Silco used to wear. You recognize him as a regular, one good at his job. His presence shatters the illusion of calm.

“Min,” his eyes lock onto yours and immediately, you set Powder down, although she stays latched onto your leg. “Been trying to track you down for ages.”

You cross your arms, straightening your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“New notice from Topside, get a load of this.” He reached into his vest, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment that he thrust toward you without hesitation.

You took the note, unfolding it with a quick snap of your fingers. The seal was unmistakable—Piltover. Your stomach churned as you scanned the words.

“In light of the escalating unrest within the Undercity, Piltover’s High Council has decided to implement a tax on all businesses operating in the lower sectors of Zaun. The tax will be enforced immediately. Failure to comply will result in fines, asset seizures, and the possibility of further punitive actions. Tax rates will be determined based on business size and output. Enforcers will begin inspections at once.”

“For fuck’s sake!” The words tore out of you, raw and jagged. You hadn’t meant for the rage to bubble over so violently, but once it started, there was no stopping it. The crumpled parchment landed on the ground with a dull thud as you hurled it, your chest heaving.

Your hands shot up, threading through your short-cropped hair, pulling lightly at the strands as if the pain might somehow ground you. You clenched your jaw, trying desperately to keep the flood of frustration from overwhelming you completely. But it wasn’t working. Every breath felt sharp, shallow, like it wasn’t enough to fill your lungs. The metallic hum of the tunnel around you—normally a distant comfort—felt suffocating, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were closing in.

Why does it feel like everything is falling apart?

Your thoughts spiraled, one after another, crashing like waves in a storm. The tax, the factory work, the constant surveillance, the dwindling resources—it was relentless. No matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you sacrificed, it was never enough. Zaun was slipping through your fingers, piece by piece.

Then you felt it—a tiny hand resting gently on your thigh. It was a touch so light, so soft, that it pulled you out of your storm like a lifeline.

You looked down to find Powder gazing up at you, her big, round eyes shimmering with concern. Her expression was earnest, her little brows slightly furrowed as if she could feel the weight pressing on you, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

“Min-Min,” she cooed, her voice soft, almost like a dove’s call. She stretched her arms up toward you, her small fingers opening and closing in that familiar “grabby hands” motion. It was a plea for comfort, but it felt more like she was offering it.

Your heart cracked at the sight. The tightness in your chest, the pounding in your head—all of it eased, just a little, under her gaze. Powder had always had this uncanny ability to cut through the noise, to remind you of the parts of the world still worth fighting for. Still worth protecting.

You glanced at Felicia, who was now carefully unfolding the paper you had crumpled and tossed in frustration. She scanned the words, her lips moving slightly as she read them to herself. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as the weight of the decree sank in.

“Can they do this?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“They’re Pilties,” you spat, the venom in your tone sharp enough to cut. “They think they can do whatever they damn well please.”

Felicia shook her head, slipping the paper into her pocket with a grim expression. “Nobody’s going to be happy about this. The businesses are barely hanging on as it is.”

You turned to the messenger, who shifted nervously under your gaze. “Who knows about this so far?”

The young man shrugged, his wiry frame taut with unease. “Notices are being sent out all over as we speak. Won’t be long before everyone hears.”

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, exhaling sharply. Your hand instinctively found Powder’s head, your fingers ruffling her messy blue-tinted strands. She babbled contentedly, oblivious to the tension simmering around her.

Your eyes stayed on Felicia and the messenger. “Alright. Time to play crowd control. Spread the word that I’ll be on the Promenade if anyone needs to talk. And tell folks that if anyone’s going hungry tonight, I’ll have a soup on by dusk. Empty bellies are welcome.”

You made a move to leave, already thinking ahead, but the messenger stepped forward, his words rushed and urgent. “There’s something else, ma’am.”

You froze, your stomach tightening. “What is it?”

“A barge,” he said quickly. “Big one. Seen docking from Stillwater.”

The mention of the prison made your heart leap into your throat, your mind racing to places you didn’t want it to go.

“Dropping off or receiving?” you asked, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

“Not sure,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Didn’t get close enough to see.”

You clenched your jaw, nodding sharply. “One emergency at a time,” you muttered to yourself before addressing him again. “Keep me updated. The moment you hear anything more, you come find me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the messenger said, giving a quick nod.

Without wasting another second, you turned and headed off. There was no time to dwell on the possibilities—not with a city on the verge of uproar and lives that needed saving. Your boots echoed against the damp tunnel floor as you strode forward, determination hardening your expression. Zaun had always been a place of resilience, and no decree from Piltover—or mysterious barge from Stillwater—was going to change that.

***

“I’m not cut out for this, Benz,” you mumbled, sliding down the door until you were sitting on the floor, your head resting against the cool surface.

The weight of the night pressed down on you as you shut the door behind you, the muffled sounds of the city outside faded into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of the apartment. It was almost dawn, and exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. People had filtered in and out all night, seeking reassurance, venting frustrations, or just looking for a hot meal. Now, a kitchen full of dirty soup bowls and spoons awaited you, each one feeling like another hit to your dwindling energy.

Benzo, sprawled out on the worn couch, was mid-way through unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric hung loose around his frame as he glanced at you, his expression heavy with his own exhaustion. “I know, Fishie,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “But what are you going to do?”

You groaned, rubbing your hands over your face. “…Cry?” The word came out half-serious, half-desperate as you stumbled forward, collapsing onto the dusty carpet. The coffee table—your makeshift workshop—rattled slightly, its surface cluttered with dismantled trinkets and half-repaired pistols. You curled up on your side, feeling the sting of your aching muscles as they protested the movement.

Benzo let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back into the couch. “Nah, not you,” he said, glancing over at you with a faint grin breaking through his exhaustion. “You’re too damn stubborn for that.”

You let out a low groan, flipping over onto your back. The musty ceiling above you stared back, a blank canvas for your frayed thoughts. You didn’t even have the energy for a half-decent clap back. “Says you, asshole,” you muttered, your voice barely more than a grumble.

“Hey.” His tone shifted, drawing your attention. You lifted your head slightly to meet his eyes, finding his expression unexpectedly serious. “You’re doing just fine, Fishie. Honest. We’ve got this. The guys would be proud of you—of us.”

His words hung in the air, filling the silence that followed. You stared at him for a long moment before letting out a loud sigh, letting your head fall back against the floor. The ache in your body felt heavier, but his words planted something small—a flicker of hope you didn’t have the energy to acknowledge just yet.

Instead, you turned your gaze back to the ceiling, letting the stillness settle over you both. You didn’t respond, but Benzo didn’t push. The quiet understanding between you spoke louder than words ever could.

“You ever wonder,” you begin, your voice uncertain, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “What would’ve happened if we hadn’t met that day? Back in the trash pit?”

Benzo pauses, his hand instinctively digging into his pocket for a cigar. “Not really,” he says, voice casual as he fishes it out. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug, drawing your knees to your chest as you sit on the carpet. “I mean…it completely changed my life. I was a nobody, some Bilgewater rat fresh off the boat. And now…”

The soft click of his lighter cuts through the stillness as he lights the cigar, the faint glow flickering in the dim room. He takes a long drag, exhaling a ribbon of smoke that curls lazily into the air. The familiar scent fills the space, oddly comforting.

“You’re on our island of misfit toys. Closest thing our people have to a council.” His voice is steady, almost teasing, but there’s a weight behind it. He hums thoughtfully, the cigar bobbing slightly between his fingers. “You should be proud, Fishie. This revolution wouldn’t be the same without you.”

You frown, resting your chin on your knees. “I don’t know about that,” you murmur.

Benzo’s gaze sharpens as he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re the smartest out of all of us, Fishie,” he says firmly. “Even with my charm and Silco’s head for strategy. You think any of us have anything close to that engineering brain of yours?”

“I’m good with gears,” you reply, shrugging again. “But…I don’t think I’m supposed to be a leader. All this responsibility? Everyone relying on me, looking to me for answers…I don’t know how Vander and Silco do it. They make it look so…effortless.”

Benzo leans back again, taking another drag from his cigar. He watches the smoke swirl for a long moment, as if searching for the right words. Then, he reaches out, extending the cigar to you.

“Well then,” he hums, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I guess it’s a good thing you’ll always have one of us to help you along the way, right? We’re in this together, Min. I can promise you that much.”

You stare at the offered cigar for a moment before taking it, holding it delicately between your fingers. The warmth of the ember radiates against your skin, grounding you. You look at him, his steady presence like a lifeline in the chaos, and for the first time that night, you allow yourself to breathe.

“Thanks, Benz,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he nods anyway. It’s a quiet understanding, a bond that doesn’t need words to be felt. In this crumbling world, you weren’t alone. And for now, that was enough.

The apartment was silent, save for the faint crackle of Benzo’s cigar and the occasional groan of the pipes in the walls. The world outside was stirring—Zaun never really slept—but for a moment, here in this little bubble of exhaustion and cigarette smoke, everything felt still.

Benzo stretched out on the couch, head tipped back, his eyes half-closed as he murmured, “You’re gonna burn out that brain of yours, Fishie, if you don’t sleep soon.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” you replied automatically, the corner of your mouth twitching into a faint smirk.

“Don’t tempt fate,” he muttered, a hint of humor slipping into his voice.

Just as the quiet began to settle in again, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment. It wasn’t hesitant or unsure like the knocks you’d been getting all night—it was firm, deliberate, almost impatient.

Benzo glanced toward the door, his brow furrowing. “Someone’s got timing, I’ll give them that.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up from the floor with a groan. “It’s probably someone from the Promenade,” you said, brushing off the dust from your trousers. “Maybe they didn’t get the memo I’m done playing soup kitchen for the night.”

Benzo waved a lazy hand, settling deeper into the couch. “Your circus, your monkeys.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to the door, rubbing at your tired eyes. “Alright, alright,” you called as you turned the latch. “I’m here, I’m here—”

The door swung open, and your words caught in your throat.

Standing in the doorway were two figures you thought you’d never see again, not outside of Stillwater’s cold, suffocating grip. Vander, towering and solid as ever, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorframe. And Silco, sharp and composed, his eyes glinting with that calculating gleam you’d never forgotten.

The world seemed to tilt for a moment, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. They weren’t supposed to be here. They couldn’t be here.

“Minerva,” Silco said smoothly, his voice a razor’s edge of familiarity. His lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile as if he was amused by your stunned silence.

But it was Vander who drew your attention, his warm, familiar presence anchoring you to the moment. He stepped forward, just enough for the dim light of the apartment to catch the edges of his worn face. His gaze softened as it met yours, and he smiled down at you, that same reassuring, unshakable smile you’d longed to see for two years.

“Hello, Minnie,” he said, his voice rumbling low and steady like the earth itself. “Miss me?”

57 notes · View notes

eliteseven · 2 months ago

Text

A Healing Session- Drabble

Pairing: (named) F!Tav x Shadowheart

Words: 4.4k

Summary: Set late Act 1/Early Act 2, Shadowheart has been withdrawing emotionally. Tav gets the brilliant idea to injure herself, hoping it'll earn her an intimate healing session, and bring Shadowheart out of her shell.

Rating: T (blood/injury mentions)

Tags: Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort

Sharran as her healing magic might be, Shadowheart’s touch is still tender, like the look in her eyes as she drags a fingertip against Tav's bare ribcage.

Tav can barely breathe, but that’s less to do with the bruised rib she sports from a gnoll attack, and more to do with the breathtaking cleric doing away with her tunic to get a better look.

Here, in the safety and relative darkness of Shadowheart’s own tent, there is a moment of silence between them.

Tav shudders as Shadowheart heals her, with a palm pressed down gently against her skin, setting her entire chest ablaze.

Shadowheart’s eyes wander, occasionally, hungrily, but she schools her expression and leans back, admiring her handiwork.

“Breathe for me?” She instructs, breathy and focused on ensuring the quality of her healing, and it’s all too easy to imagine her saying as much under very different pretenses.

So Serena breathes, filling her lungs with air- perfumed by the sweet floral scent of whatever vial of perfume Shadowheart has bartered off a local trader.

It’s intoxicating.

A flash of green; Shadowheart’s eyes twinkle with mirth when Serena shudders once again on the exhale, though not due to any physical pain.

“Better?” Shadowheart whispers, her voice soft like the breeze that causes the flowers to sway and dance for them, just outside her tent.

Serena rests her hand atop Shadowheart’s own for a moment; a silent but reverent “thank you” for her care.

There’s but a second of hesitation- but they are out of sight of the rest of camp, and Shadowheart graces her with the soft brush of her thumb against her hand.

Serena forgets to answer, what with the way her lips part ever-so-slightly in awe at the pleasant warmth of the contact, and the way her heart races loudly inside her chest.

She’s certain Shadowheart can feel it.

“You’re nervous.” Shadowheart remarks- there is a smirk there, yes, but it isn’t quite smug like Serena has known her expressions to be.

“You’re close.” Serena whispers the truth back to her, not trusting her voice not to break.

Shadowheart traces a single fingertip against the dip of Serena’s chest. Her touch is exceedingly gentle; she seems almost reverent, too, not unlike the way Tav looks at her. She looks as though she wants to say something- perhaps to lean down and kiss Tav, as sweetly as she did the night they celebrated the saving of the Druid’s Grove.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, the sound of footsteps- their campmates returning with food, Serena wagers, and any and all intimacy is suddenly turned to dust and ash before them.

Serena finds herself laying there before her, clothing still riding up her exposed chest, as Shadowheart seemingly loses interest. “There.” She huffs, without any of the tender curiosity she’d showcased a moment prior.

“...I don’t know how to thank you, Shadowheart.” Serena quickly snaps to attention; it’s clear her welcome is worn.

She gets these fleeting moments with the cleric, so genuine and beautiful, and they disappear as quickly as they came, often with Shadowheart clutching her hand and scowling.

“Be more careful. My Lady can only give me so much.” Shadowheart advises with a sniff, looking away, as if she can’t hold Tav’s stare.

Serena nods, and adjusts her clothing, stepping out of the tent without another word.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s not the brightest idea Serena’s ever had.

In the days since leaving the creche behind them and working their way out of the mountain pass, Shadowheart has withdrawn noticeably.

They’re not close, per se- they still bicker and argue on nearly every subject that comes up. That, coupled with their impromptu trip to the Creche, has had Shadowheart scowling for the last tenday or so- but it’s worse, now.

It’s to do with Shar, partially- Serena knows as much.

She doesn’t fully understand what tethers that wretched goddess to Shadowheart beyond faith, but she has an inkling that Shar’s grip on Shadowheart has been loosening, as of late.

In turn, Shadowheart has doubled down on her faith- she withdraws, does not seek Tav’s presence out in the middle of the night as she might have, does not entertain moonlit trysts.

In fact, it seems she’s withdrawn mostly from Tav alone, preferring to eat her meals away from wherever Tav sits, bathe on the opposite end of the river near camp, and pitch her tent as far away from her as possible.

It stings, undoubtedly- as Shadowheart never communicates. She is an enigma, hidden behind sing-song words that could cut into one’s spirit at times, while being violently tender the next moment.

Serena wonders what she might have said, or done, to evoke such a sudden banishment from Shadowheart’s attention and her affections.

It’s become a delicate balance of trying to understand what upsets her so, while avoiding incensing her and crowding her; it’s not something Serena can confront directly- she pulls away each time.

And Serena, being Serena, cannot let the matter rest.

Serena’s mother always used to tell her, quite fondly, that she was just like a hummingbird; restless, but persistent, her determination in the task she’d set forth to accomplish often belying her grace.

Shadowheart is the delicate night orchid that Serena cautiously hovers; she wishes to see her bloom, but she hasn’t the means to get close enough.

Unless, of course, she has a need for their resident healer.

…Again, it’s not the brightest idea she’s ever had.

In fact, sustaining bodily injury is something Serena has striven to avoid, for the entirety of her life, a deep-seated preference any well-adjusted individual might hold.

To seek it out purposefully to win the affections of the beautiful and mysterious cleric of Shar traveling with them?

Asinine.

…Perhaps, just enough to work.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It does not work.

Not the first attempt, anyway.

It’s a fairly simple plan Serena intends to enact; she will charge recklessly into their next battle, at the vanguard, so to speak, and earn herself a simple contusion, a little scratch that might warrant the touch of her favorite cleric.

Simple, really.

…Only, it isn’t.

Their first hostile encounter turns out to be a rather long and drawn out affair, fighting off a pair of Death Shepards (ghastly creatures, even by Serena’s standards), and a pack of ghouls at their disposal.

…In broad daylight, oddly enough.

There are times when Serena’s military training seems to resurface at the forefront of her mind; she can hear her former Cormyrean Lionar, the noble Captain Morand, shouting at her to take a defensive stance.

…It’s good advice, truly. Advice that Serena does not heed.

To be fair, she does manage to fell a ghoul or two by her blade before she’s well and truly swarmed.

It’s something of a shock when the first bout of paralysis hits her, coming off a particularly nasty blow from a nearby ghoul.

She has a fine view of the rest of the battle from the dirt where her head lies.

Lae’zel and Gale clean house together; thanks the Gods that Gale has the foresight to actually stay back enough to lay waste to their enemies in a great blaze of fire. Lae’zel makes short work of the singed survivors; she moves with all the grace and fluidity Serena was supposed to demonstrate.

She can practically hear Lae’zel’s eyeroll when she falls, paired with a biting, “Istik”, to boot.

To make matters worse, it is not the cleric her heart has been yearning for, that scoops Serena into her arms, and whispers healing words to her.

…It’s Halsin.

Serena comes to full consciousness sometime later, blearily trying to gather her bearings as she’s carried effortlessly into camp by the kind-hearted Druid.

When he passes Shadowheart’s tent, Serena does her best to avert her gaze from the cleric who emerges from the flaps with a rather bewildered look. She doesn’t need to see Shadowheart ogling Halsin’s apparent strength, or Lae’zel’s majestic blood-stained form, or anyone else, really. She’s suffered enough, for one day.

“What in Lady Shar’s name happened?”

“This one forgot how to fight, it seems.” Lae’zel grunts as she makes for her own tent.

Serena hears it over her shoulder, and wishes Halsin would simply chuck her off the cliff face at the edge of the camp border.

Instead, he deposits her at her own tent, and recommends a nice herbal tea to combat some lasting effects.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second attempt is marginally better planned than the first.

And really, Serena knows it’s pathetic- with all their concerns, talking to Shadowheart should hardly be the first thing on her mind when she wakes every morning.

But it is; Shadowheart is, and the little persistent hummingbird within Serena’s heart simply cannot let the matter rest.

…So she goes for a spectacle, this time.

Sparring is a daily occurrence in camp; at least for the select few warriors among their ranks.

It is often Lae’zel who initiates the sparring sessions, but Serena is more than happy to continually hone her skills against the whetstone of Lae’zel’s prowess with a blade. Shadowheart might carry a disdain for the Githyanki- something Serena longs to inquire about, as it conflicts directly with the softer nature she’s seen Shadowheart display in fleeting moments. Serena shares no such disillusions about Lae’zel- though her nature is brusque, her intentions are generally honorable, and her no-nonsense mentality has proven more than useful.

Often times, Karlach will join in- and though her focus is less mechanical and more to do with the intensity with which she fights- it proves a challenging workout for Serena, if not an opportunity to understand her companions a little better. Though Karlach risks setting her enemies ablaze; she spars with a unique sense of control, a restraint that Serena can only admire.

Wyll joins in from time to time as well, though he seems to prefer observing and offering invaluable corrections to Serena’s footwork from the side, away from the action. A wise and seasoned ruler he’d make; Serena has thought of the title he carries more than once, and how suited he is to follow his father’s footsteps.

It is the perfect plan, in essence: Serena can spar with her companions as normal- (which, in itself, is a spectacle she foolishly hopes will impress Shadowheart), and then she will drop her guard at the last moment, earning herself a bloody nose or a simple scrape- anything to give her an excuse to find time alone with Shadowheart again, away from prying eyes.

As expected, her request is met with some resistance, when she asks, mid-sparring.

Her chest heaves as she breathes hard, sweat trickling down her forehead, dampening the throwaway clothes she wears- so as not to ruin her only clean set over a simple training session.

Karlach’s own shoulders rise and fall with intensity as she grins, delighted by the adrenaline, the thrill of the sport.

Lae’zel even seems a touch winded from their last bout- but there is an unmistakable glint of delight in her eyes.

All three of them share solidarity in their love of the battle; of bettering themselves every day, forging themselves in the fires (literally, for Karlach) of war.

There is an unspoken air of mutual respect between them.

…Naturally, Serena will ruin it with a single, idiotic question.

“...This time, would you please…try to hit me?” Serena requests, rather awkwardly, and years of lessons in diplomacy seem to fall flat, at this moment.

Karlach wears a dumbfounded expression. “You want me to burn you?” She asks, simply.

Lae’zel rolls her eyes. “Is it not obvious?” She speaks in more of a hiss, but Serena supposes she deserves as much. “She seeks to injure herself.”

Karlach’s expression falls immediately. “Oh, soldier, no…there are ways to-”

“Not like that!” Serena cuts her off mercifully. “I only wish to…” she glances backwards for a moment, at Shadowheart’s tent. “Nevermind, I didn’t-”

“Oh!” Karlach whistles, and Serena makes a “hush” motion with her hands, her eyes going wide. She’s thankful Wyll and the others have made themselves scarce; the last thing she needs is this gossip spreading through the camp like a wildfire.

Shadowheart does value discretion over all else, of course.

“I think I get it.” Karlach nods in an excited, hushed whisper. “ ‘Little bit of a show, and then an unlucky blow to land you in the healer’s tent.”

“Istik.” Lae’zel’s words drip with venom, but her voice does not hold that distinctive, angry quality Serena has sometimes come to associate with it.

No, there is something else here.

Amusement. Buried deep, perhaps, but amusement all the same.

“It’s good.” Karlach rubs her chin, as if deep in thought. “Believable.” She glances around, left and right, before continuing in a whisper. “Okay, soldier, how do you want to do this?”

“...What do you mean?” Serena blinks.

…Okay, so she hasn’t choreographed it, exactly. In truth, she didn’t think she’d get this far.

“Well, we could do a whole bit, right?” Karlach thinks aloud. “If you do a heroic pose- y’know, kind of like this-” she demonstrates, flexing her muscles. “-right? Then Lae’zel might do one of those fancy jumps, yeah?” The excitement in her voice is palpable, and her volume begins to rise. “Ooh, yes! And then, we could-”

Lae’zel scoffs, jabbing forward with the pommel of her sword, cleanly striking Serena’s nose.

A veritable fountain of blood begins to gush from her nose as she gasps in utter shock, pinching her nose with a hiss and glaring at Lae’zel.

“...It is done.” Lae’zel offers wisely, shoving her forward a few feet.

“Oh, shit.” Karlach winces as the shock wears off, her eyes wide. “Could we get a healer out here?” She calls, pointedly, and Serena almost wants to roll her eyes at the lack of subtlety.

No one emerges from their tents.

Karlach blinks, and then shrugs helplessly, cupping her hands around her mouth to help carry the sound of her shout. “I said, can we have a healer out here?” She calls. “Wow, soldier, that’s a lot of blood!” Karlach’s atrocious theatrics earn her nothing more than an eye roll from Lae’zel.

They can hear the sound of passing butterflies flapping their wings, quiet as the camp falls, when they’ve ceased the clanging of their swords.

“...Huh.” Karlach pants with her hands on her hips, glancing around quizzically. “Where is everyone?”

It’s Astarion, who emerges from his tent, with a sort of feral look in his eyes as he regards the utter buffet that Tav seems to be putting on display for him. He makes his way over with a saunter in his walk, slow enough that Serena starts to feel a little dizzy from the blood loss.

“My, all that for me?” He grins, in a most cheshire manner, leaning haphazardly against one of Lae’zel’s training dummies, his arms folded expectantly.

“For Shadowheart, actually.” Karlach corrects, and then withers some under Serena’s incredulous scowl. “...kidding, of course.”

“...Oh.” Astarion loses interest rather quickly, shrugging nonchalantly. “She’s not here. Try not to die before she returns…it would be a waste.” He remarks lazily.

“Not here?” Serena echoes, muffled by the sound of her hand trying to stop the bleeding, pinching her nose and making her sound even more pathetic than she feels.

“On the hunt with our grizzly Druid friend that she abhors so.” Astarion smirks.

“...What?” Serena repeats, rather stupidly. She hadn’t checked to see if Shadowheart was in camp; she imagines there are words far worse than “istik” running through Lae’zel’s mind right about now, judging by the way she’s gaping at her.

“Hm, what are the odds only one of them returns? Or better yet- what if they return quite amicably?” Astarion muses aloud, always one to stir the pot.

“...Right.” Serena grits out. “Well, I’d best find a cloth to stifle this with, then.”

“...Do you mind saving some of the-”

“Astarion.” The single word of warning from Serena, even as funny and nasally as it comes out, seems to do the trick.

“...Truly, what a bore.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Serena’s all but given up on reconnecting with Shadowheart in the way they did the night of the celebration.

Every attempt she’s made has been futile; whether an attempt to injure herself, or an attempt to simply confront the flighty cleric, who hides behind snark and sass when she means to be most vulnerable.

Worse yet; Serena is convinced that whatever attraction Shadowheart might have held for her is well and truly gone.

It’s a loss that aches, and Serena tries not to dwell on it as they continue their journey to the Shadow Cursed lands.

The days are busy enough; filled with movement, conflict, ever-changing circumstances that keep her on her toes, distracted.

The nights are far more difficult; their solitude is inescapable.

So Serena fills her nights in camp with quiet activities to keep her idle hands from burning holes into her pockets.

She finds a seat away from the chatter around the campfire; back towards her own tent. She’s taken to pitching her tent a good distance away from the others now, giving Shadowheart as wide a berth as possible.

It’s where she sits now; perched on the ground outside her own tent, Serena carefully gets to work stitching one of the torn ears back onto Karlach’s favored stuffed bear, Clive.

She works by the candlelight from her tent setup behind her; dark, but just light enough to see. Her hands work deftly, long fingers moving around the sewing and darning needles she keeps at hand, part of a kit gifted to her by her mother, long ago.

It’s peaceful; she can hear the soft trill of the bugs, the gentle trickle of the water running south by the bend, the crackling of the fire and soft laughter emanating from around it.

It’s the sound of shoes crunching upon dirt and gravel, approaching her position, that causes Serena to look up.

When she does, she’s greeted by the sight of Shadowheart, in her cloister suit that she always wears around camp, and her breath catches in her throat.

Serena stabs herself with the tip of the needle before she can realize what she’s doing, and she hisses at the pinprick sensation against her thumb.

Immediately, her cheeks burn with a fierce blush.

Wonderful.

“That looked like it hurt.” Shadowheart remarks, her words dripping with that same flirtatious, playful quality that Serena has come to adore.

“...No more than anything else this past tenday.” Serena mutters, before she can stop herself.

Shadowheart lifts a brow, and Serena realizes her mistake, but it’s too late.

“...So I’ve heard.” Shadowheart comments, inviting herself to take the vacant space beside her. “Gnolls, Death Shepards, Ghouls, and apparently, the pommel of Lae’zel’s sword.” She smirks when she delivers the last bit.

Serena scoffs. “Does anyone in this camp discuss matters of relevance?”

Shadowheart reaches out, boldly cupping Serena’s cheek with one hand. Serena gasps, at her mercy the instant she meets Shadowheart’s touch.

If she leans into it subconsciously, Shadowheart says nothing about it at all.

“This is broken.” She brushes a thumb over the bridge of Serena’s nose, and she hisses at the pain that shoots through it. “How’d you manage this?”

“I think you already know.” Serena huffs, though her heart races, battering itself against her ribcage once more.

“Do I?” Shadowheart’s eyes narrow. “I’ve seen you spar. You pride yourself on never letting Lae’zel get a scratch in.”

Serena’s eyes widen.

So maybe Shadowheart does watch, from time to time.

“Don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been doing all along.” Shadowheart pinches the bridge of her own nose in utter annoyance, scoffing at her own words.

Serena bristles indignantly. “I don’t know what you mean.” She lies, poorly.

“Have you been seeking injury on purpose, just to get my attention?” Shadowheart demands, words barely more than a whisper.

“Well…said like that, it sounds-”

“Ridiculous? Asinine? Reckless?” Shadowheart supplies passionately, and there’s a touch of heat to her whisper, now.

“...Romantic?” Serena offers meekly.

Shadowheart pauses, closing her eyes for a moment.

She laughs.

It’s soft and beautiful and oh-so exasperated, as if she doesn’t know what to do with Serena and all the affection she has to offer.

“...Idiot.” Shadowheart whispers, but she heals Serena’s broken nose anyway, whispering her prayer as the energy seeps from her fingertips into Serena’s very being.

When she opens her eyes, the fondest green gaze meets Serena’s own, and she fears she might stop breathing altogether.

“Better?” Shadowheart asks softly, and the tip of her nose brushes Serena’s, inviting her to come just an inch closer.

Serena closes her eyes when Shadowheart kisses her, so tender and sweet that she almost forgets about Clive, and the needle in her hand.

Serena’s senses are assaulted with Shadowheart; her scent, the soft feel of her lips, the teasing tip of her tongue, the way her fingers find their way to the back of Serena’s neck, scratching softly there.

Kissing Shadowheart is a religious experience; the only kind of which Serena has ever had, being without a deity as she is. When Shadowheart huffs softly, or whines, her heart stutters with affection.

Here, close enough to see each freckle dappling Shadowheart’s nose, close enough to see the candlelight dance in her gaze, Serena sees a different person entirely; the one who yearns to break free from Shar’s wretched hold.

Serena realizes she can never give up on Shadowheart; not just in matters of the heart, but as a friend, as a true and loyal companion, not when she is so close to the surface, yearning to breathe freely.

When they part, Shadowheart’s eyes drop to the bear in Serena’s grasp, and she wears the ghost of a smile, reflected more in her eyes than her lips.

“Doing a little healing of your own, are you?” She asks, her voice smooth like velvet, and Serena nods, her throat dry. “I didn’t know you could.”

“There’s a great deal more about me that you don’t know.” Serena offers, not unkindly. “...I should hope.”

Shadowheart accepts the challenge, tilting her head curiously as she watches Serena’s long fingers set back to work.

“Where’d you learn?”

“A noblewoman wields a needle in the same way a knight wields a blade.” Serena recites dutifully, with an eyeroll of her own, making it easy for Shadowheart to picture her as a disillusioned young noblewoman, with dreams of adventure.

“Look at you.” Shadowheart drawls, almost as if mocking, but not quite. “Now you wield both. I’m surprised no one has taken you all for themselves.”

“I had dreams beyond darning my would-be husband’s trousers. I suppose that made me bad stock.” She laughs softly, and she is oblivious to the way Shadowheart smiles at the melodious sound.

“Seems useful.” Shadowheart remarks, as Serena finishes attaching the ear with a little flourish.

“It makes Karlach happy. Best use I’ve had for it, so far.” Serena smiles, gingerly setting the bear aside on the table outside her tent.

They sit for a moment, knee-to-knee outside of Serena’s tent, brushing against each other slightly as they find support against one another.

Serena sighs aloud, hoping against hope that, come tomorrow, Shadowheart will not withdraw back into herself, to Shar.

Shadowheart, seemingly reading her thoughts, sighs aloud, too. “I’m…sorry, that I’ve been distant lately.” She offers, and it sounds so uncomfortable, Serena might believe she’s never apologized before in her life. “I’m not…accustomed to having companions at every turn.”

“I know.” Serena offers calmly. “This is…more than any of us could have anticipated. You’re overwhelmed.”

“That’s just it…” Shadowheart begins carefully, eyeing the mark on her hand as if she expects it to erupt into a painful flash of light at any given moment. “...It’s not everyone, Serena…it’s you.”

Serena startles at the words, unsure of how to alleviate the doubt that she, evidently, is causing Shadowheart.

“Me?” She whispers.

“You overwhelm me.” Shadowheart finally grits out, as if it’s hard for her to say, physically.

Serena’s heart falls into her gut. This isn’t at all what she wanted to hear. Hastily, she tries to give Shadowheart the space, the comfort that she needs. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to-”

“Do not apologize- Listen.” Shadowheart presses, shaking her head as she takes Serena’s hand within her own. “I’ve…never had a confidant…a friend…like you. If I have, I can’t remember them.” She adds, her eyes sparkling with a sadness that makes Serena want to sob. “You’ve shown me that it’s possible…you’ve shown me that I might…not want…the same things I used to.”

It’s vague, but it’s vulnerable, beautiful- it’s music to Serena’s ears.

Shadowheart is reaching for her, desperately, the only way she knows how, despite the impending wrath of her own goddess.

“That is why I’ve been…pulling away.” Shadowheart admits. “But…I don’t want to. I don’t even think I can, anymore. Whatever my Lady wills of me…I want to find room for us.” Shadowheart explains, almost frantically, and Serena can tell how taxing this is for her. “That is…if you’re still interested.”

Serena laughs softly.

There is no existence in which she will ever lose interest in the enigma that is Shadowheart; though it isn’t exactly what she wishes to hear, it’s far better than the alternative she’d assumed was taking place.

“But…I have a condition.” Shadowheart begins, almost gravely, and Serena glances up at her with a most timid but curious glance. She holds up Serena’s thumb and presses her lips to the spot, healing it with barely a prayer. “Do not injure yourself to seek out my attention again.” She mumbles, pressing an additional peck to her thumb. “..There are other ways, I assure you.”

“Noted, although I wish you’d told me that before Halsin had to carry me on his back for half a day.” Serena mumbles sheepishly, and Shadowheart cannot help but laugh at the beautiful, chivalrous idiot.

“That was amusing.” Shadowheart grins. “Had you been hoping for me?”

Serena fixes her with an incredulous look that screams: really?

“...All that aside…Thank you.” Shadowheart tilts her head softly, wide green eyes wet and sparkling in the candlelight, and Serena feels utter devotion beginning to take hold. “...For trying.” She adds in a gentle whisper.

“...Always.” Serena’s smile, warm and genuine, makes Shadowheart’s very soul float up, weightless, basking in the sun of Serena’s affections.

To be fair, no one has ever tried as much as Serena; no one has ever seen Shadowheart as a worthy cause for such immense effort, until now.

…Even if her methods are utterly idiotic.

#I kinda freestyled on a request here lol but 😁#here’s Tav being dumb and trying to get Shaddy’s attention #there are def typos I wrote this at work lol #shadowheart #shadowheart x tav #nls series #oc: serena tavyndír #bg3 fic #drabble #my writing

77 notes · View notes