#leverage fanfic

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The crew swoops in to save a family-owned beauty salon from being bought out by a mega conglomerate. The owner hasn't had a real job in a while, so to boost her self esteem, they send Eliot in as a customer. He thinks he's going in for a trim. She thinks (because Hardison and Sophie told her) that he's there for a makeover before a big charity gala. He gets the full package: manicure, scalp massage, deep conditioning, keratin treatment, blowout. It's glorious. He loves it and spends the whole time complaining.

Sophie takes advantage of the situation to buy him an outfit for the gala. The salon owner attends as well (in a gown also chosen by Sophie). Nate acts as their chauffeur. Hardison goes in as a competitor talks up the gala donors while Eliot glares at the ex-military security detail the conglomerate CEO brings. CEO orders his goons to kidnap the salon owner. Eliot loses a boot roundhouse kicking a bad guy and has to finish the job without it. Parker pickpockets the CEO's phone while Sophie is distracting him, and the crew exposes the conglomerate's misdeeds in front of everyone. Even after the fight, Eliot is a walking billboard for the salon's services, so the owner gets a ton of new clients.

When everything is over, Parker returns Eliot's boot and calls him Cindereliot.

'“Good God Woman!” Hardison screams, horrified, from the backseat–holding on for dear life as Parker slams down the gas pedal of Lucille.

Beside her, Eliot whiteknuckle grips onto the handle above the passenger seat. Despite having seen him in, what she would call, worse situations™, Eliot’s mouth is flattened in a straight line, brows furrowed, and forehead creased.

Hi!

I made this post a week ago, and with the results of that in, I've decided that I will in fact be doing this!

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Distracted

Eliot Spencer x Reader

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Eliot Spencer was a man of contradictions. He had killed more people than you could count, and yet he despised guns. He was capable of murdering a man with a paperclip, and yet he was so gentle at times, imagining him hurting a fly was impossible. He was a professional hitter, and yet he was an incredible home cook.

These incongruencies were impossible to ignore, at least to you. You thought about how Eliot became the man he was often, even while discussing thieving techniques with Parker or playing World of Warcraft with Hardison. You thought about it the most when Eliot was around you; when you patched him up after a particularly tough fight, or when you visited his apartment in the city to watch a movie.

You thought about him, just him, pretty often as well, if you were being honest; his soft-looking hair, his kind eyes, his strong arms. Your crush on him was something you tried to deny at first, but even Parker eventually started asking why you were so distant when he was around.

You look forward to each and every interaction with him.

It was during one of those visits to his apartment that Eliot was the one who got distracted for once. He was telling you a story about one of the jobs Leverage took before you joined as the resident medic. As he regaled you with how he took out three security guards at once, he kneaded some dough on his kitchen counter.

His button-down’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the muscles of his forearms stretched and strained as he rolled and moved the dough around. When you realized you were staring, you looked up quickly, only to realize Eliot was already looking at you, a smirk on his face.

“You alright, Sweetheart? You seem… distracted.”

You feel your face flush.

“Yeah! Yeah I’m good.” You flounder with finding a change of subject, and you see his smile widen out of the corner of your eye.

“You're, uh. You're making bread, right? What kind?”

He lets you off the hook, but his eyes are still twinkling with mirth as he says, “Sourdough.”

You nod. There is silence for a moment before Eliot is heading towards you, flour-covered hand outstretched.

“Here, let me show you.” At your excited yet apprehensive face, he laughs. “C’mon, Sweetheart. I’ve seen you sew up a bullet wound in the back of a speeding car. I am positive you can knead a little bread.”

At that, you smile and take his hand. He leads to the counter and scoops up some flour from the bag nearby. He pours the flour into your open palms, gently spreading it over your hands. When he’s sure your hands are covered, he places them palms down on the dough.

“Now, just push the dough down and out.”

You do as instructed, and he shakes his head a bit. “You can push harder than that, Darlin’, it’s not made of glass.”

You apply more pressure, and hear Eliot mutter a quiet, “Atta girl,” before reaching out, working the dough into a new fold. His hands brush yours, and the flame in your face feels more like a bonfire.

“And… repeat steps one and two.” he says. You work in tandem for a few minutes in comfortable silence, you kneading and him folding, before he deems the dough ready. He reaches out and places his hands on yours to stop you. He takes out a bread knife and cuts the dough in half, giving you one and keeping one for himself.

“Now, we roll them each into a ball.” His voice is softer now, as if afraid to break the peace that has fallen between you. He shows you what he means, and you follow carefully. When you’re done, you place the halves into bread pans. He wraps them in plastic wrap and places them to the side.

You look up to ask what you’re supposed to do next, but your voice stops working when you notice he is already looking at you with an unreadable expression. He’s very close, you realize, close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

You take a breath to say something, anything to break the tension, and Eliot’s eyes shoot down to your lips before meeting yours again. Your breath is caught in your throat as he raises a hand toward your face. He stops just shy of touching you, hesitating before letting his hand drop again.

“The dough has to rise, now,” his voice is no more than a whisper.

You nod, your voice similarly quiet. “Thank you for teaching me.”

Eliot smiles and gives a slight nod before backing away to wash his hands in the sink. The spell hovering over you both breaks, and you feel as if you can breathe again.

After cleaning the kitchen, you both move to the couch in Eliot’s living room. It’s comfortable, large enough for both of you to stretch out without touching. He puts on an action film, but you don’t pay much attention, thoughts consumed by what happened minutes before.

He’d looked as if… as if he wanted to… no. You must have imagined it.

The rest of the night is spent in subdued silence. When the movie ends, Eliot walks you to your car. He opens his mouth to say something as you open the door, but ends up deciding against it. As you drive away, you see him stuck standing there in your rearview mirror, that same indiscernible look on his face.

In the weeks that follow, Eliot changes. Or, at least, the way he interacted with you does. While before you could sneak looks at him without being caught, he now was looking at you already every time you glanced his way. Each time, his smile would soften, and he would send a wink your way. While before he would only touch when he needed to, he now found reasons to touch you as often as he could. He places a hand on you back to guide you each time you go to meet a client, and slides a palm across your shoulders every time he passes you to take his seat in the meeting room. You try your best not to think anything of it. The feelings you had were one-sided, he was just being friendly.

Yet, you cannot deny that something has changed between you. He’s more protective on missions, more attentive at the office. He finds as many chances as possible to talk to you, whether it's about the weather or about a new horse he had just bought. The tension seems to grow with every secret wink, every subtle touch, every “Sweetheart” and “Darlin’,” until it finally breaks over a game of chess.

You’re losing, as you always are against Eliot. The headquarters are empty except for you two, the rest of the team retreating to their separate homes almost an hour ago. You’re analyzing your pieces and his, trying to choose your next move. You, again, know you’re going to lose, but you want to take out as many of his pieces as you can before you go. You reach up to nibble on a nail as you study the board.

When Eliot notices, he reaches out, pulling your hand away from your mouth and onto the table. You expect him to let go, but he doesn’t, instead holding your hand in his, thumb brushing back and forth on the back.

“Nasty habit, Sweetheart.” His tone is teasing, but you barely register his words, thoughts consumed by the gentle rubbing of his thumb against your hand. When you don’t respond, Eliot’s hand squeezes yours.

“Darlin’? You alright?”

“Oh!” you gasp and look up, meeting his smiling eyes. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just a little” you glance at your joined hands, then back at Eliot, “distracted.”

Eliot’s smile widens, and he squeezes your hand again.

“In a good way or a bad way?”

You shyly look down. “Good.”

He gives a sigh of relief. “Good. I was worried about that. I’m being as obvious as I can and yet getting absolutely nothing in return.”

You shake your head, confused.

“Obvious about what?”

Eliot leans back, then, and lets out a laugh, face tilted toward the ceiling.

“Okay, the Old Fashioned Way, then.”

He gets up and rounds the table to where you’re sitting, kneeling in front of you. He takes your hand in his, this time lifting it to press a kiss on the back, eyes never leaving yours.

“I like you, Sweetheart, quite a bit, actually,” he reaches up with his free hand, taking hold of your chin in his fingers gently. “Ever since that night in my apartment, you have been a thorn in my side; I can’t stop thinking about you.” His eyes are earnest as they search yours.

“Please, tell me I distract you at least a fraction of the amount you distract me.”

At this, you can’t help but let out a joyous laugh, hand raising to rest on his bicep.

“Eliot… you’ve distracted me since the day I met you.”

His smile turns blinding, and he leans forward so he can rest his forehead on yours. He glances down at your lips, and this time you don’t second guess it. You tilt your head up, and he meets you halfway in a chaste kiss. The hand on you chin slides up onto your cheek, and the hand on his bicep slides up into his hair.

When you break away, you both let out breathless laughs, eyes filled with contentment.

hihihi!!!! there's been a rise in fandom zines that ive seen and so i wanted to do an interest check for a leverage zine !!! no theme as of right now, but would you be interested in working on one?

once this poll is finished ill do a second one to figure out what time works best !!

An: just a lil silly fic, not proof read

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Florida. The job has to be in Florida during the hottest month of the year. The kind of heat that makes you irritable and constantly sweaty.

For @thepromptfoundry's Trope Fl!p Fest day 11 'blorbo in the real world', I'm having Parker and the Leverage gang watching the news!

Parker POV, Leverage ot3 Parker/Hardison/Eliot, team as a family, <1k words, rated G, no warnings apply

Cross-posted to Ao3!

~

Parker flops down onto the couch between Hardison and Eliot even though they're already sitting closely next to each other and there's really not enough space for her between her partners, getting comfortable against Eliot's chest and tangling her legs with Hardison's.

"Turn on the news. Please." Sophie always says you have to be friendly in a romantic relationship, so Parker is trying to remember her please-es and thank-yous. She thinks Hardison and Eliot might even notice. Sometimes.

Hardison obligingly switched the channel. A TV crew in France is standing around discussing a break-in into the Louvre, being badly translated and overly dramatified by the American news anchor in the corner image. 

"Oh, are they showing the jewel theft?" Sophie leans over the couch, abandoning Nate to their game of checkers or whatever they were playing. Parker wouldn't dare let an in-progress game out of her sight like that, Nate's a cheat and she knows it. Well, they're all cheats when they can get away with it. 

"There's been a break-in? Into the Louvre?!" Hardison gapes at the screen. "How'd they do it? Haven't they got top notch security in there?"

Parker snorts. Hardison can be so naive sometimes. Half the place doesn't even have cameras. 

"They're pretty bad thieves," she judges as the report goes on. "They just smashed everything when they could have carefully broken into the display cases and avoided the alarm going off. And when the alarm did go off, they lost some of the shiniest parts of the loot!" 

"Not very professional, I agree," Sophie nods along. "Although I can appreciate a good 'pretending we're supposed to be here' grift in the way they just walked right in, practically invisible in their high vis vests..."

"They could've done that and then still broken in properly," Parker argues, although she still thinks they could've easily stayed hidden completely. Sophie keeps trying to get them all to appreciate the finer points of a good grift, but Parker will always prefer hiding in vents and dark corners over pretending to be something she's not. 

"They got caught at the airport?" Eliot suddenly exclaims, still watching the news report. "Who tries to fly commercial after a gig like that?"  

"You think they got paid by someone else?" Hardison tilts his head. 

Eliot just shrugs. "The loot wasn't caught with them, so either they hid it or they already passed it on to someone else, and there's no way to easily sell so quickly after the fact without having a private buyer already lined up beforehand. Someone wanted something for their personal collection, maybe they took whatever else they could get their hands on in the vicinity for extra cash..." 

"They got caught because their DNA was on the things they lost on the way out," Parker pouts at the TV in professional outrage. "They didn't know what they were doing at all." 

"Whoever hired them didn't know what they were doing," Nate gripes from somewhere behind the couch.

"Are we still not acknowledging that you can apparently just walk into the Louvre and walk out with a bunch of jewels like it's nothing?!" Hardison is nearly hyperventilating. That's bad, right? Like when he really didn't want to go bungee-jumping. Parker pats his hand.

"I think you're the only one this is news to," Eliot rolls his eyes at him. 

Hardison reaches over Parker and pokes him. "Maybe I should improve their security for them," he muses. "We could break in, install some more cameras in their blind spots..." 

Parker frowns. "Why would we stop thieves? We are thieves." 

"If we keep all the shiny jewels in one place in a museum, you can get to them much more easily than when they're split up into lots of privately hidden away collections," Sophie suggests, like Parker can't tell that Sophie just likes museums and wants to talk Parker into helping Hardison with the breaking and entering part of updating the security.

Still, she isn't exactly wrong...