#anyway now i have to make buttons that disappear and create other buttons when pressed and i'm very tired

[futuresoon]

coding is terrible. i spent an hour trying to make three buttons and i still don't have it. don't talk to me about imagemaps

#working on the game again i guess #why did i decide to have puzzles. i don't know how to code anything #i only coded a little bit of the first puzzle myself and i am certain if a real programmer looked at it they'd be like 'wtf is this' #It's Something That Works #works ideally? no! but it works! #anyway now i have to make buttons that disappear and create other buttons when pressed and i'm very tired

[super-unpredictable98]

Can you do Vincent being jealous of Lydia's past crush, now friend and blabbering some things in front of him that genuinely embarasses her , probably something that she told him about her past feelings or past incident and then the extra exaggeration?

Tysm ❤️

The Skeleton in Ramona's Closet | The Road Within AU

Pairing: Ramona x Vincent (OC - Exposure Therapy’ Verse)

Word Count: 1,8 k

Warning: Strong language, mental illness stuff

a/n: Thank you so much for your request, that was the first I got to work on, I'll be working on the other ones over the weeks. It says Lydia, but I imagine it was meant to be Mona, the pair I created for Vincent. I hope you like it anyway <3

(Masterlist)

"Do you think he'll like me?" Ramona asked for the millionth time. 

The week before Vincent had told her his father was coming to visit. He knew she wasn't a big fan of surprises and bringing it up on the day of would only stress her out, especially after all the things he had told her about his dad. It was safe to say she was sure the man wouldn't like her and was scared of him from the get-go.

"Of course, he's been a lot nicer lately, ever since he- fuck fuck divorced Monica. And what's there not to like about you? FAT WHORE."

"See?"

"You're not a fat whore! You know that was a tic, I'm sorry."

"I know, what I mean is that you're tics are off the charts! Means you're nervous, means you're scared, means he'll hate me!"

"You know I have a few CUNT days when I'm worse. It's just fucking Tuorette's."

Okay, that part was true, but this time Vincent was actually nervous. It would be the first time introducing a girlfriend to his dad like that. When he met Marie back in the day, they were all running away from him and it was completely different. Now if anything went wrong he would blame himself til the end of his life.

"I can hear your tics all the way from my room, can you tone it down?" Alex stood at the top of the stairs, watching as Vince contorted with spasms. 

"Sorry, I'll just dial my- cunt! My Tourette's down pressing the button up my asshole!" Vince growled.

While it wasn't so apparent, Ramona was just as perturbed. She wasn't able to eat that morning, she felt queasy and she felt her heart beating on the tips of her fingers. She was fighting with all of her willpower not to give into a panic attack or shut down completely, she couldn't just hide in her room while Mr. Rhodes came all this way to visit.

"Hey, let's breathe together, okay?" Mona took her boyfriend's hands and calmly guided him while trying to calm herself down as well. 

"Think about it, it can't be any worse than when I met your mom..." Vincent joked.

That was true, Mona's mom was still traumatized after walking in on them doing it in the shower. Every time she came to visit, Vanessa would knock very loud on the door before walking into any room and even before coming out of them. Initially, she despised Vincent, but after seeing how he managed to bring out the best in her daughter, she ended up coming to terms with their relationship.

Before any of them could say anything else, the doorbell rang. The sound made Vincent tic again and Mona shiver. Alex disappeared back into the guest room to finish cleaning it for Mr. Rhodes. 

"Just breathe and try to relax the most you can," Vincent nodded before opening the door, saying it both to Mona and to himself. "FUCK! CUNT!"

"Always so sweet," Robert taunted. "Hi, Vince."

"Hi, Dad," he looked down, trying to hide his twitching. After all this time and after making amends, he was still embarrassed to tic in front of his father. "Come in, this is Ramona, my-slut whore! My girlfriend."

"Hey, Mr. Rhodes," she waved timidly, trying very hard to look him in the eye and failing miserably. "Vince told me you work with politics, I played Evita Peron in a musical once."

"Oh... That's- interesting, like that movie with Madonna?" Robert asked.

"Yes actually, but Patti LuPone did a much better job with it on Broadway... It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Ramona. Can I shake your hand?"

"Yeah, of course!" She excitedly held out her hand. "I'm not very good at eye contact, but my handshakes are a transcendent experience I've been told."

Robert chuckled, he already liked this one way better than Marie, but he definitely wasn't going to say that. He remembered how crushed his son was when she left and the last thing he wanted was to bring back those memories and trigger another string of violent tics.

"Happy to be back at the madhouse," he joked.

"Madhouse?" Mona repeated, slightly confused about what he meant.

"Yeah, you know... Cause you all have mental illness and disorders and stuff."

"Dad, I don't think that's very politically correct," Vince smacked himself across the face. His girlfriend was very sensitive, he knew that comment would hurt her, even if she didn't say anything. She was a horrible liar, but that never stopped her from trying to hide her feelings when something got under her skin.

"It's fine," Ramona nodded.

"Hello, Mr. Rhodes!" Alex waved from the second floor. "Your room is ready, I just cleaned it up."

"Oh, I'll get settled. How about some ice cream then? You do eat ice cream, right Ramona?" Robert asked.

"Yeah, my autism doesn't stop me from eating ice cream," she laughed. 

Next to Mr. Rhodes, Vincent's tics were so much more violent, almost like he was always on edge, which in turn made Ramona feel on edge and anxious as well. 

When they eventually arrived at the ice cream shop, Robert asked what they would both want to spare them the embarrassment of ordering. The couple was in charge of getting them a table. 

"Does he always do this? He tries to stop you from doing things?" Ramona asked. 

"Yeah... fuck cunt! He's a little embarrassed I think," Vincent murmured in between tics. 

As if the day couldn't get any more awkward, Ramona saw the last face she ever wanted to see leaving the shop. She prayed he wouldn't recognize her, but that would've been too good to be true. 

"Ramona? Ramona Wilson!" A tall guy with a dirty blonde wolf cut approached their table and Vincent started twitching even more. "You look so different!" 

"I- I know... it's been a while, Matt," she mumbled, avoiding his eyes at all costs. 

"Matt? The Matt you told me about?" Vincent whispered. 

"Yeah... this is my boyfriend, Vincent. Vince, this is my friend Matt." It was true, they were friends back in high school, they were drama club colleagues and played romantic interests several times. Of course, along the way, Ramona ended up catching feelings, but never had the nerve to make a move. 

She crushed on this boy for years until she eventually graduated and moved on, but he was an important part of understanding herself and what she liked. That's why she told Vincent the whole story. 

"Nice to meet you!" Matt shook his hand, Vince flipping him off with the other hand. 

"Sorry, I have- fuck! I have tourettes," he explained. 

"Oh, that's alright. Don't worry about it." The most irritating thing to him was how nice this guy was, he was so sweet and probably would've been a way better boyfriend for Ramona if she ever took a chance on him. He hated feeling so inferior, he hated feeling like he wasn't enough...

"Ramona kept the underwear you left at her house under her pillow!" Vincent blurted out. He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it and that only made him more sure that he was a horrible partner. 

"What?" Matt laughed, thinking he was joking. 

"It wasn't under my pillow! It was behind my headboard!" Ramona groaned, not realizing she was just confirming the information. 

Matt's eyes grew and he blushed furiously. Everyone in that conversation wanted to disappear or die or both. "You did? Did you have a crush on me or something?" 

"Y-yeah... I used to, but I never said anything because you were too unattainable and eventually I just forgot and-" Ramona hid her face behind her hands. "I'm so sorry." 

"Hey, no, it's okay. I guess it's better than if you did some sort of cloning ritual with it, right?" Matt joked. "I'm glad you are happy, you really deserve it." 

"Thanks, it means a lot." 

"Sorry, you sick fuck!" Vincent shouted and punched the table. 

"It's cool, it was a nice ego boost, I guess. Ramona used to be the hottest girl in class," Matt admitted. 

"Used to..." those words felt like a pile of bricks to her. 

"Cause she's fat now!" Vincent said and covered his mouth, shaking his head with the most horrified look. "I didn't mean it..." 

"I think she still looks gorgeous. You're a very lucky guy," Matt said sincerely. Ramona felt like he didn't mean it, even if he did, but she nodded anyway. 

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"I'll see you two around, I'm late for work. Have a good day!" Matt waved before he left. 

Vincent was nearly crying when his father brought back their orders. Ramona was just in shock, she couldn't even speak. 

"What the hell happened? Somebody died?" Rober asked. 

"Yes, my dignity," Ramona grumbled. 

"I'm so so sorry, Mona. I love you so much, I hope you know that. I swear on my life!" Vincent cried, the tears finally escaping his eyes. 

"What did you do?" His father asked.

"I had a tic and accidentally told Mona's old crush a secret she trusted me with... then I said something about her weight." 

"Jesus, why don't you kill her dog for a trifecta?" 

"No, it's okay. I know he didn't mean it," Ramona said despite being very sad.

Unable to face any of them, Vincent ran away, Robert was deeply embarrassed and felt for this poor girl having to deal with it. 

"I'll get him, just wait here and-"

"No, it's okay, I know where he is," Ramona took their paper cups and left the store. 

Just as she imagined, Vincent was at the beach, sitting on top of his hands to stop himself from moving and crying as he watched the sea come and go. 

"Hey, you forgot your ice cream," Ramona called, sitting down next to him. "Do you need me to feed you?"

"Stop, don't be nice to me, I don't deserve it," he sniffled. 

"Vince, don't say that. Of course you deserve it, you deserve the world and I'm not angry, I know you couldn't help it."

"Doesn't matter... I- fuck I hurt you anyway."

"What hurts me is seeing you like this. I love you, you're the only one that matters. Who cares what Matt thinks? You're a way better kisser anyway," she joked. 

"Really?" Vincent laughed while he tried to stop crying. 

"Really, no comparison!"

And watching that girl console his kid better than he ever could, Robert took a step back to go into the house again. They would be fine on their own... he trusted Ramona and for the first time in a while, he felt relaxed knowing Vincent was being cared for.

Tag List: @seanfalco @salvador-daley @elliethesuperfruitlover @firstpersonnarrator @badsext

#the road within vincent #the road within fanfic #the road within #vincent rhodes #vincent rhodes x oc #fanfic #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan fanfic #exposure therapy

[gaming-thoughts-by-an-idiot]

Fable 2, may the frustration begin!

"Alrighty, let's go, I've already had a break after crying about Rose and Sparrow and I just named the dog Snape"

"Fuckin hell, there's a hurricane outside haha hope it doesn't take away the power haha"

"Woow, the shirt I'm wearing is -5.0 attractive! That's so mean!"

"I put my wagon up for rent cuz im smart this time"

Game: someone just tried to flirt with you

Me: damn, bad taste

"Theresa just said 'come with me' AND THEN WALKED IN THE WAY. MOVE BITCH MOOOOVE"

Theresa: when you come out from there, you're gonna be stronger-- much stronger

Me: from puberty

"Snape found something... it's a Ball! Thank god, I thought it was gonna be a condom"

"The controllers are a bit awkward, but that's probably more on me since I've been playing more pc lately"

"Old tomb, oh no Snape is scared! My baby:("

Game: this is what the different colour orbs mean

Me, laughing awkwardly: haha yeah I'm not gonna remember that

"Sluuurp it up like bubble tea!... oh ew"

*opens a chest*

*dog barks*

Me: yeah thanks I already found it...

"I think this is actually one of the times I prefer shooting enemies"

*actually uses the melee weapon*

"Oh, no I think I'm still a melee weapon bastard"

"There's some letters on some skeletons and they're all like 'I'm gonna poison my mates' so yeah they all poisoned eachother, brilliant"

"Ya know, the orbs are kinda like bubble tea... I've only had apple, oh or maybe frog eggs... you know what? Nevermind."

"Savin station, gotta love mah savin station"

Game, after I've slurped up the orbs: outstanding work!

Me: thank you! You know, I like this kinda of encouragement

*orbs slurped up and character glowing and stepping back*

Me: iiiiiii don't wanna say what I'm thinking but I'm gonna anyways... she just had an orgasm

"Oh look, a bright light in the middle of the room, that doesn't scream 'sword in the stone' at all"

Theresa: there were many with the hero blood in their veins, then there were none-

Me: cuz someone decided to be asexual

Theresa: now, step into the circle

Me: last time I did that my sister and then myself got shot soooo

"Fine, I'll step into the light"

"Holy shit, I just saw her underwear cuz of the animation"

"Crap she's talking about the orbs"

"Something about Will"

"Ooh, I spot another water dive thing"

"Omg swim faster, what? There's a rock in the way? Well fuck it and swim through it"

"If this is a condom- oh a weapon, nice"

"Ooooh... B is NOT the swim faster.. A is hahaaah oops"

"Ohohoh, a bunny! Ooh I can run?? Ooh I can throw the force? Hehe get back here ya lil shit. Fucking hell, yeah you get away this time! Until I figure out the controls, that is"

"Theres supposed to be a door here, Where's the door"

"Oh there it is, cant do anything about it I'm sure but there is it"

"Oh no, it's the smart door"

"I cant even laugh, the author door wasn't mean about it, unless it was and I'm just stupid"

"Damn, this guard really looked at this teen(?) And went 'yeah you look like a person who can fight, go do our job' like thanks I guess"

"Time to fight a bitch"

"Came a guy by, name Dick, and I had to take the safety off so I could kill him"

"But I'm the good guy I promise"

Game: you inhabit a morally grey area, doing what you feel like, when you feel like it

Me: wow, that is just me in every game ever holy shit

"Some times the sound will just disappear and its the game which makes this annoying, or I think it is..."

"It was the xbox, that decided mid game that switching sound source would be fun, and it was not fun"

"I hope I saved..."

"Almost pressed new character, scared me"

"I should delete the other saves..."

"I'm trying to get a discount with a trader by being funny"

"Hehe 19% off"

"Oh right, heart means they love me... this is gonna be a nightmare"

"Oh my god what have I created, corset, short shorts and long boots oh no I look like a whore"

"Theresa is gonna be so disappointed like 'I left you alone for ONE minute' omg"

"But atleast I'm 20% hot"

"The Y button is NOT inventory!!"

"Omg, her new hair... and make up... jesus"

"So, how attractive am I? 20% for clothes, 10% for hair and 12% for make up, that's pretty good, I mean I look like a slut but ya know"

"Crap, I was gonna go see Theresa"

"I've just been crying while trying to make swords and it's probably horrible, I'm so sweaty from the anxiety but I made 336 coins"

"I changed my name to dumpling and I'm feeling weird about it"

"Earning money so I can buy houses so I can be a horrible landowner to put rent up so I can continue this"

Game: you're now a blacksmith!

Me: jesus christ no

Game: you've successfully made 7 swords

Me: don't @ me like that, I have emotions

Game: this villager is attracted to you-

Me: that's a first

"Heheh, this man loves me, and now I got 25% off"

"I stole something from a chest and it gave me +5 in evil and guess what it is? A fucking condom"

"I got evil for stealing a condom"

"Eeehhh, looks like i gotta play more lute to get that up"

"Hehe"

"Fable is just like stitch, need to get my good-ness level up"

"I've earned 3k and only 82 swords but I also lost like 400years of my lifetime die to stress so"

"I need 400 more to buy a house ugh"

#gaming #funny #relatable gaming thoughts #fable sparrow #fable ii #fable 2 #fable2 #gaming thoughts

[settsunoie]

Jyushimatsu Episode 2 - Time machine - English translation

This was both very fun and a pain to translate, thanks to Jyushimatsu word’s plays (that I translate literaly)

Disclaimer : please don’t take my translation as any kind of shipping material, I hate all ships between the brothers. It’s just siblings being siblings

Translation under the cut~

J : A time machine !? This weird thing !? Deka : Indeed. I hit my head against a corner of a block of tofu and the idea came to my mind This way you can go to the past I would really like it if you would test it, quick climb inside J : Understood ! Deka : However, no matter what happens, you must not meet your past self J : Ehh ? Why ? Deka : It will create a time paradox, destroying the universe J : Really !? This is bad ! Deka : Anyways be careful J : Understood ! Deka : Then your destination is... J : Hmm ? What does this button ? Wah~ So loud~ ! Deka : Huh !? What's this ?! J : When I pressed the button it started shaking ! Deka : T-That's bad ! Get quickly back from there And he disappeared... J : Woooooow~ My head's spinning~ I love it~ Hahaha~ Hurts !? What...? It's pitch black. What's this place ? Guess I really slipped into the past ? ??? : Biroro~n ! Ya~y ! J : Eh...? This voice...? Here, there's a hole... ??? : *Gibberish* Ah~! Brother Choromatsu, you're hiding your erotic books~! J : Uhhhh ! M-M-M-M-Me ! And that smell... This is our attic ! So, the one I'm looking at is... My past self ! Flashback Deka : However, no matter what happens, you must not meet your past self End J : Ha !? Right. The universe might fall apart ! I have to be careful ! J of the past : Hustle, hustle ! Muscle, muscle ! Number 5, Jyshimatsu ! I can do the dolphin ! *dolphin sounds* (not very accurate imo but he's doing his best) J : Aha, ahahaha !! The past me is so funny ! Wait I should sut up ! The other me can't find out I'm here ! I shouldn't laugh like that J of the past : ...? J : (Ha !? He's looking my way !?) J of the past : ...Biron !! J : Ahahahahahaha !! What's up with this face, so funny~~! Wah ! The floor is falling ! J of the past : ......Eh ? J : ...! J of the past : W-What ? Weird. It's all dizzy... J : Euuurgh ! Disgusting ! What's happening ! What ! J of the past : Abababababa ! J : Abababababa ! Waaaaaaaaaaaah !!

Fade

Um, umm ? This place is doctor's...? Deka : Anyways be careful J from before : Understood ! J : Ah ! That's the me from before ! Deka : Then your destination is... J from before : Hmm ? What does this button ? J : Wait ! Don't push it~!

Flash

J : Ha !? This, is our house.. When I look closely, there is indeed a hole in the ceilling But, the me from before is the one that climbed into the machine. Then who is the one standing there... ... Ah, I know ! In those kind of situation, I can ask advice from that person ! Hello, it's Jyushimatsu ! It's sudden but I'm in a time slip. What can I do ?

Choice time

-Try making a funny face (+Ichi/+Jyushi) -Why not close up the hole in the ceilling ? (+Kara/+Choro) -Leave the room (+Oso/+Todo)

Try making a funny face J : Hustle, hustle ! Muscle, muscle ! Good morninget 463 ! Thanks extra-large, goodbye homerun (it's a bunch a word's plays) Boeh !! ..!? It came from the attic...! By any chance...! I : ...What's this ? J : Eh ? Brother Ichimatsu ? Why are you there ? I : You said that you went up and watched the room through a hole in the floor J : Is that so ? Wait a sec, that was probably the me from that time... I : ...What do you mean ? J : Hm ? But if that was the case why the me at that time did that ? Aha~~ I don't understand anymore !! Deka : It's terrible~! J : Ah ! Doctor Dekapan ! Deka : It's a disaster~ I : I understand what terrible means but it's about what ? Deka : The principle of causality has crumbled, in this timeline there is now 14 Jyushimatsus ! I : Wha...? Deka : 12 has already returned to their respective timelines That's why we have to send one back to stop the destruction of the universe Understood ! Let's hurry and find him, doctor Dekapan ! I'm going to look around the park ! Deka : Aaah ! Don't look after him~! I : ...Eh, what ? What was that ?

J : Ah ! There he is ! Found him doctor Dekapan~~~! Deka :...! At this moment, the universe fell apart...

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

Why not close up the hole in the ceilling ? J : Hei ! Doryaaa !! Aah~! This tissue won't fit in the hole~~! K : What's up ? You got troubles brother ? J : Brother Karamatsu ! Can you become a horse for a sec ! K : W-What do you mean ? J : Get on all fours here ! K : Haa !? W-What are you saying !? J : I want to put this tissue in the hole in the celling ! K : I-I see. That was about that. Alright. I will be your stool Jump on brother ! Climb on ! J : Here I goooo ! Doon !! K : Arghh !? M-my back...! W-Well...? Can you reach it !? J : A little more... Just a little more Waaah !! I'm falling~~~! K : Arghhh ! It huuurts !! C : Man you sure are loud. What the hell are you doing ? Eh ? What's this ? K : Choromatsu...? Ahhh ! That's ! Did it fall because of the sudden shock ? C : That reaction... Is it one of your porno magazine ? K : No, t-that's not ! It's, for emergencies ! C : A porno magazine for emergencies you say... J : There are also Totty's in the closet ~! K : Wha-! Do you know all of our hiding spots ? J : Aha, ahahaha K : I get it now ! That's why you were trying to clog the hole on the ceilling ! C : I see. Jyushimatsu is hiding his under the roof J : Ehh ? Wrong, that's wrong ! C : It's sus that you deny it so strongly~ K : Well, let's see J : Ha !? (Maybe the me from before is still inder the roof...) (If that's so, surely like before the universe will...) Wait ! If you go there the universe will fall apart ! C : What ? K : What again ? You have such porno magazines you don't want us to find ? J : Ha !? C : Right now, did a sound came from the attic !? K : It's like something is there ! J : Hey Jyushimatsu ! What in the world are you hiding up there !? J : That's... (I can't. They would never understand that there is one more me) (If I tried to explain it they will be shocked) (But if I keep my mouth shut, at this rythm they will found out what's hiding...) Pchhit~ K : Wow, there is smoke coming out of Jyushimatsu's head !? C : K-Karamatsu...! The a-attic ! Look ! K : What's going on brother !? Ha...! (Choromatsu and I saw something, that was...) (Piled up in the attic, hundreds of billions Jyushimatsus...)

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

Leave the room J : That's right. I have to get out of there ! O : Oh Jyushimatsu. At the right moment T : Want to play Mah-jong with us ? We're searching for one last playmate J : Okay I'm down for it. Since I'm by myself O : Hm~? The usual Jyushimatsu would be more enthusiast T : If you don't wanna then we won't enjoy ourselves as much. What's up ? J : The thing is, I have a baseball match with my trade partner...I have to go soon O : Nah, what a sec. There is no way T : You don't even run a buisness J : I-I have to go otherwise our general meeting of stockholders won't start ! T : Which important position is it ? O : Lying is very ugly you know~? J : Uhh... Waaaah !! T : Ah, he suddendly collapsed O : Is he playing dead ? Let's tickle him Here ya go. Tickle tickle tickle tickle~ J : Pff...P-Pff. Ahahahahahahaha !! (What can I do now~!?) Waaaaaaaaah !! O : Uh !? Jyushimatsu jumped out of the window !?

J : Uhh...hurts... O : Eh...Jyushimatsu ? W-What in the world !? T : It's the unchanging Jyushimatsu mystery~ J :  What are you two talking about in there ? But I managed to go out. I won~! Hustle, hustle ! Muscle, muscle ! ??? : Hustle, hustle ! Muscle, muscle ! J : Ehh ? Was was that voice ? Is it behind me...!? Another J : Eh, This voice is...? J : Ah, ah...! Don't turn back~~~!

Flash

J : Hah !? Ehh...? This is under our roof ? Why I am here... What was i doing ? Hmmm... I can remember Anyways let's go down... O : Eh...Jyushimatsu ? W-What in the world !? T : It's the unchanging Jyushimatsu mystery~ J : Big bro, Todomatsu...? Sopmething's wrong ? O : No nothing... J : (What a weird bunch of brothers...) (Ah, that said, today doctor Dekapan wanted to show me a new invention) Then, I'm out O : Ah, is that so...

Ahh~ The weather is so nice today Hustle, hustle ! Muscle, muscle ! ??? : Ehh ? Was was that voice ? J from before : Is it behind me...!? J : Eh, This voice is...? J from before : Ah, ah...! Don't turn back~~~!

#osomatsu san #mr osomatsu #Osomatsu san psvita game #english translation #english #psvita #translation #jyushimatsu #02

[abelinstudioivb]

The Button

By adapting the painted button into a physical object there are a few things I aim to achieve. In doing so I am creating a link between the world that the painting exists in and ours. I seek to emulate the whiplashing contrast of existing in digital spaces and our own, keeping in mind that they are readily accessible and have tangible effects in the real world, and being aware of that. Like the moment when you realize you’ve spent too much time looking at screens and should probably just stop for now. 

Firstly I want it to carry over some of the qualities of the electric shock button. With that button, the test group knew that there would be harmful consequences for pressing the button, but their desire to break up the monotony of the tests drove them to press it anyway (in some cases multiple times). I don’t want my work to actually hurt people, but the aspect of using the object as something both enticing and uneasy is something I want to preserve. My initial idea was to have it play some blaringly loud pop music, which in a gallery space shared by other work would draw attention to the person pressing the button. Given the typical rigidity of a gallery space, I would want the viewer to feel uneasy by disrupting the atmosphere in such an obnoxious way. By having the button built into the painting as well, I would hope that there would also be some apprehension in interacting with it. It’s punishment done in a playfully heavy-handed manner, which I hope will enhance the overall whimsy. With that though I would have to go through the nightmarish process of securing the rights to said music, which is quite the deterrent for myself, especially if I want to sell them down the line. 

Another idea I had was to cycle through various sounds ranging from the slapstick, obnoxious, and downright weird. When it came to this, I figured that I would probably have time to figure that out during the time I let my paintings dry before I applied the invisible ink. However I have re-evaluated my decision to line up better with my objectives. I started looking into how repeated interaction would apply to human reward systems. I want this interaction to be shocking, which if the sounds were on a cycle I would have less control over depending on the noise produced upon the initial pressing. They would vary in potency. If somebody is engaged enough in the works, I suspect they will have repeated interactions with it nonetheless. There is still the appeal of tactility for all the tutu fingers out there, and still some sort of reward, but I think these would work better if that reward is fleeting, which takes me to reward prediction. 

“The response to the reward itself disappears when the reward is predicted. But if more than the predicted reward occurs, the dopamine neurons show stronger responses. By contrast, their activity decreases if no, or less than predicted, reward occurs. The dopamine response thus reflects a reward prediction error and can be described by the simple difference between obtained and predicted reward (Figure 2). When we look at the time of the reward, more reward than predicted induces a positive dopamine response (excitation or activation, top), as much reward as expected induces no response (middle), and less than predicted reward leads to a negative response (depression of activity, bottom)”    

https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4826767/ 

Excerpt and diagram from “Dopamine reward prediction error coding” - Wolfram Schultz via National Library of Medicine

With repetition yielding diminishing returns the interaction becomes less desirable. So if I want to make this aspect of the interaction unbearable over-time, I should harness monotony. 

This has led me to my last option, which is to equip the paintings with the same alarm. Something droning, something that we can associate with danger, something that other gallery goers are already predisposed to become alerted to. 

This also actively punishes people for engaging with the invisible ink drawings. Curiosity at a cost. By building alarms into both paintings there is the opportunity to instantly capitalize on this. I suspect that people who have interacted with work to hope that the second may be less obnoxious, but even if they do expect the same outcome, it still sucks.  

[parisakamali]

hey bie! for the split text ask: https://rvebennett.tumblr.com/post/682814486372057088 like the student and babel in the first panel? i suddenly can't seem to find any edit for this :(

hiii, no worries!

i'm not sure how coco does it since that's her edit, but it's probably the same as i do it or similar enough so i'll explain that😌

you have your text layer (preferably with the font and colour already decided, but you could change them later too, depends, but i'll let you know when we get there).

the next step would be to decide what part of if you'd like to split and how, exactly. if you want to do it like in coco's edit and just split the text enough to fit a word in between, you can do as follow:

create a layer mask for you text layer

get the rectangular marquee tool and draw a rectangle in the middle (or whatever other part) of you text like this:

sometimes photoshop is nice enough to help you center it, but play around with it if not (i think you can move your selection around with the arrow keys).

the next step is to select your layer mask! then take your eraser and erase the text inside your selection. you'll end up with this (after you deselect (you can use CTRL + D for that)):

now, if you have shadows or any type of styles basically, i would suggest you turn your text into a smart object or rasterize it before this step, because it will get all messed up otherwise. if you choose to rasterize, make sure you use Rasterize Layer Style.

the thing is once you rasterize / turn it into a smart object you won't be able to change the font anymore, so think before you do it, i guess lol (you can still change the color by adding a color overlay, if you want)

anyway, all that's left now is to choose your smaller text and place it in the empty space you just created! and you get this:

now! if you want to make something similar to the first panel in this edit, basically to actually split the text, you will do the following:

once again make sure you have your text with font and color decided. i would suggest you decide everything from the get go and then rasterize your layer. i'm not even sure how would this work if you choose not to (i'm sure it would, but it would also be annoying, i think).

then you'll get your polygonal lasso tool (press L for it) and decide how you wanna split your text. i'll cut it in half on a diagonal, like this:

it doesn't have to be perfect, it's up to you how it will look.

the next step is to add a mask layer. you'll notice that the part of your element which wasn't selected disappeared. don't panic, it's still there haha

you will then copy your "text" layer (with its layer mask ofc). i would suggest you drag the layer onto the create new layer button in the bottom right side, next to the bin:

this way your layer stays exactly in the same position on you canvas.

now that you have two layers, select the layer mask for one of them and press CRTL + i to invert the layer mask selection.

your text is back woo! but you have two different halves of it now, so you can move them around however you want, separately.

i moved mine a little and added a shadow on the layer that's on top to make it look idk,, like it's above the other one lol

you could also use the rectangular marquee tool to select the top half your text, add a mask layer then duplicate your text layer, inverse the mask and separate the two halves. AND then add your smaller text there, like this:

i hope this made sense? but let me know if not ✨

#anonymous #human interaction

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

#deckard shaw #deckard shaw x reader #female reader #fast and furious #hobbs and shaw #deckard shaw fanfiction #hobbs and shaw fanfiction #deckard shaw / reader #jason statham #jason statham imagine #smut #hobbs and shaw smut #deckard shaw reader insert #fast and furious fanfiction

[nebulablakemurphy]

Miss American Pie

Chapter Three: Bye Bye

Warning: This series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader relationship.

Summary: After freeing the widows from chemical subjugation and destroying the red room, you and Yelena finally settle down.

Part 1 & Part 2

The widows welcome you, the ones you trained with and the ones you didn’t. After Dreykov was gone and you had nothing but time. Melina and Alexei go to work on replicating the antidote. Creating enough to free all chemically subjugated agents.

It’ll take time. But the more you free the more are willing to help. Some of the widows just leave once they are given freedom. Ready to wash their hands of all of this and start living. You understand that more than anything. Eventually the operation is running on such a large scale they hardly need you at all.

Natasha hasn’t reached out since you separated after the red room. Probably off with the Avengers trying to save the world again. No one blames her, for her inability to be still. Not even Yelena.

“So,” you plop down on the couch beside Yelena. “What’s the plan now?”

“I don’t know.” She admits, staring up at the ceiling. “To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to make it this far.”

“Yeah.” You tug at a loose strand of her dirty blonde hair. “That makes two of us.”

“We could pretend to be normal.” Yelena offers. “What would a normal person do?”

“Don’t know,” you shrug. “I’ve never been one.”

“Maybe...settle down.” Yelena’s eyes are far away.

“Would you have wanted to-“ You break off, trying to sort out the words. “I mean if you could…would you have a baby?”

She raises her brows, “I never thought about it.” A long pause. “I wouldn’t know how to be a mother.”

Neither would you. You’ll never be right. Whatever that is, was, or might have been. Always a little too guarded and rough around the edges. “You never waste time thinking about things you can’t have.” You sink farther into the cushions, her pinky skates over your own. Taking the invitation you twine your fingers together.

“I thought about you.” She lowers her eyes to the coffee table. “Everyday. Until I couldn’t anymore.”

“I-“

“The red room took that from me too.”

You shake your head at her. “They can never take anything from you or anyone else ever again,” you whisper. “And to be clear you can have me.”

A laugh rumbles out of her chest at the news. “I can?”

“I mean if you still want me.” You tease, “I know that the chase is half the fun for you. So I can keep on running. I’m one foot out the door-“

“I am tired of running.” Yelena murmurs, curling up against your side.

“Me too.” Your chin rests atop her head.

“Then stop doing it!” She scolds, slapping your arm playfully in retaliation.

“I will if you will.” You know why she runs. The same reason you do. Because you’re afraid. That maybe some parts of you are too broken to love.

She mulls it over for a moment. “Truce. I don’t run. You don’t run.”

“Deal.” You give her fingers a squeeze.

“Except into the face of danger.” She clarifies, only half kidding. “Then we run, straight ahead.” Yelena motions with her free hand. “But together.”

“Together.” You agree, with a soft smile.

“We could get a dog.” The tone of her voice tells you that she is invested in the idea.

“I wouldn’t mind a dog.” You prop your feet up on the coffee table.

Yelena hates anything but a straight answer. Still feeling the need to convince you, she presents the facts. “Dogs are really cool! They have special powers.”

You chuckle, “dogs do not have powers.”

“Yes!” Yelena argues, “they can predict natural disasters and judge character.”

“That’s a special power?” You quip, “I can do that too.”

She grumbles under her breath.

“I want one.” You sigh. Feeling all the tension leave her body.

“I knew you did.” She smiles, contently.

———————————————————————

Dogs might have powers, but the only thing your puppy currently seems to posses is the ability to chew up anything in her path.

“Yelena have you seen my-“ you pause, taking in the scene before you, “shoes.”

“Don’t be angry,” Yelena holds up a hand.

The tiny puppy beside her squeaks, not quite a bark yet. Your demolished sneaker tumbling to the ground.

“What happened?” You run both hands over your face.

She sweeps the dog into her arms. “I told Fanny we could go for a walk once you got out of the shower. She was excited, Y/N! She was trying to bring your shoes to you. But she got distracted, only a little.”

“A little?” You can’t help but smile.

“Look at this face,” Yelena waves Fanny’s paw at you. “You can’t be mad at this face. Tell her girl. Say, you can’t be mad at me Mom, I’m trying my best.” She brings the dog closer.

You raise a hand to pet Fanny lightly. Yelena’s right of course, there is no being mad at that face. “Let me find a pair of shoes that isn’t mangled. Then we’ll go for a walk.”

“I’ll wait with Fanny.”

“Of course you will.” You retreat to your bedroom. Rummaging through the closet in search of some sort of footwear. You’d settle for slippers at this point. Fanny joins you after a moment. Nuzzling at your ankle as she whines.

It’s not everyday that she follows you, she is Yelena’s dog and never lets you forget it. “You’re really excited aren’t you?” More whining. You scoop Fanny up. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

You huff, finally locating a pair of sandals. Slipping them on quickly so you can return to Yelena and gloat about being Fanny’s favorite. “Hey baby, I don’t know what you did, but look.” You smile, gazing up as you present the dog…to an empty room. That’s odd. Maybe she’s waiting outside.

You grab the leash Yelena abandoned on the countertop, securing it to Fanny’s collar. “Come on girl. Let’s go find Mama. Where’s Mama?”

Fanny follows you out the door, onto the walkway.

“Yelena?”

Nothing.

You scan the area, no sign of her. “Ok…” Back into the house, you check the bathroom next.

“Yelena!” You shout, knowing you’ll feel stupid once she replies. But she doesn’t.

A buzzing from the cell phone in your back pocket draws your attention. You set Fanny down gently, accepting the call and moving the device up to your ear. “Alexei?”

“Y/N! Oh thank god!” His voice booms through the speaker.

“Are you ok?” You ask immediately. Leaning down to grab the television remote, turning to channel thirteen, still broadcasting it’s usual gameshow.

“I am alone.” He cries through the speaker. “Melina left me with her pigs.”

“What do you mean she left you?” Something is very wrong.

“She disappeared.” He says somberly, “didn’t even say goodbye. I don’t know what I did to deserve this.” The dramatic monologue continues. “I give her back rub every night and then-“

“No,” you cut him off. “Absolutely not.” Under no circumstance is he going to tell you what happens next.

“I have made mistakes, but this! This is cruel.” Alexei, clearly distraught begins cursing in Russian.

“Alexei, I know you’re upset but I need you to listen.”

“What?” He asks. “What is it?”

“Yelena is gone too.” You inform him. Your eyes flicker over the words at the bottom of your tv screen. “People disappeared all over the world.”

You fall back onto the couch, feeling all the air leave your lungs.

More hysteria on the other end of the line. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m gonna find Natasha. Maybe she knows something.” Assuming that Natasha is still here.

“What about me?”

“Come to Ohio. You can dog sit.” You offer, familiar numbness seeps into your limbs.

“I have nine pigs!” Alexei shouts back.

“We have a backyard, don’t worry.” You hang up before he has a chance to argue.

You return to the call screen. Scrolling to find a different contact. Pressing the dial button beside her name.

It rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello.”

“Natasha,” you let out the breath you’ve been holding. “What the hell happened?”

——————————————————————

The Avengers fortress isn’t exactly how you imagined. Not very homey.

You park your car in the lot. Removing your keys from the ignition and stowing them in your back pocket. The clear rectangular keychain with a picture of you and Yelena inside sticks out. Clinking when you round the vehicle to retrieve Fanny from the passenger seat. “Come on, Fanny.”

She wags her tail, waiting expectantly to be carried.

“You’re spoiled, you know.” You sigh, taking the puppy into your arms and closing the door behind you.

The front gate is open but Natasha takes a moment to locate. She cut her hair up to her shoulders, dyed it blonde. “Hello stranger.”

“You got a dog.” She says, in greeting.

“Yeah.” You reply, not in the mood for small talk. “It was Yelena’s idea.”

“I knew she’d sucker you into that.”

“It’s not like she could make me do anything I didn’t want to.” Your finger slides along the edge of the metal table Natasha’s seated behind.

She barks a laugh, “that’s a lie.”

Maybe so. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“It’s not mine.”

“Still cool. I like the hair too,” you motion toward her blonde locks.

“That’s not really mine either, is it?” She remarks.

“Is anything ever really ours?”

“No.” She frowns. “I guess not.”

“What happened?” You ask again.

“It’s a long story,” Nat crosses both arms over her chest. “You might want to take a seat.”

You clear your throat, pulling out the chair beside her. Fanny curls up in your lap, curious eyes darting about every now and then. You tell yourself it’s because she’s in a new place, but part of you knows, she’s looking for Yelena.

Natasha stares down at her hands. “Have you ever heard of infinity stones?”

You shake your head. “Must be an avenger thing.”

“There were six of them, scattered all over the galaxy. If a person has all six they can use them in anyway they choose. Thanos, used them to eliminate half of all living creatures.”

“Are you the only one left?” You lean in.

“No.” She sniffs, blinking away tears. “There’s others.”

“So where are they?” The place looks abandoned. “Why aren’t you charging into battle?”

“Because we lost. Probably the worst we’ve ever lost.” Natasha clenches her jaw. “By the time we found Thanos again he already destroyed the stones.”

“We’ll try again.” You decide immediately. This isn’t over.

“Will we?” Natasha shakes her head with a smirk.

“If she was gone for good I would know it.” You tell her truthfully. “I would feel it, in my heart and I don’t.”

“You didn’t see it happen. I saw him snap his fingers and-“

You lay your hand over hers, squeezing tight.

“Did you see her go?” She asks, voice just above a whisper. “Yelena. Did you see her?”

“No.” You confess, “I didn’t see.”

Natasha closes her eyes. “That’s why you still have hope.”

“Look maybe you’re right.” You shrug, “even so, now seems like a really stupid time to give up.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “What’s the dog’s name?”

“Fanny.” You inform her.

“Come on.” She rolls her blue eyes. “You’re kidding right? Tell me you didn’t actually name a dog after one of those stupid aliases Rick made me.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“I guess a dog’s better than a pig.” Natasha reasons. “Are they still here?”

“Not Melina.” You break the news quickly. Like tearing off a bandage. “But Alexei and all nine of her pigs are on their way to our house in Ohio.”

“Sounds crowded.”

“Always room for one more.”

——————————————————————

You stay like that for a long time. Hopeful. Sure that this was all some nightmare that you could wake up from; fight your way out of.

And then five years passed.

Now you come to see Natasha twice a month, just to check in. Alexei and his pigs have taken up permanent residency in the home you bought with Yelena. As for you, you bounce around. Never staying in one place too long.

“Any news?” You wonder, leaning against the doorframe of Natasha’s meeting room.

“No.” She bites out. Kicking her foot up on the desk. “You should move on.”

“Is that what you call this?” You flick your wrist in her direction. “Crying into a peanut butter sandwich.”

“It’s therapeutic.” She waves the bread at you. Tears welled up in her eyes. “You should try it sometime.”

“Nah.” You take a seat, reaching across to make a sandwich of your own. “It’s not the sandwich’s fault.”

“Am I interrupting the pity party?” Steve says, announcing his presence. Captain America is as self righteous as ever.

“Didn’t you grieve for a century over a girl you kissed one time?” You arch a brow at him, licking wayward peanut butter from the pad of your thumb. “Five years is just a drop in the bucket.”

Steve purses his lips, you have a point. “It wasn’t a century.”

“Close enough.” You mumble around a mouthful of your dinner.

“Want a bite?” Natasha offers half of her sandwich to him.

“No thanks.” He takes a step closer. “I’d offer to make you a real dinner, but already look pretty miserable. Where’s your dog?”

“Visiting her granddad.” Everyone and their mother loves that damn dog.

“Oh yeah, my great adversary.” How could he ever forget. “Is he still wearing that stupid suit?”

“I’m pretty sure the suits are stowed away. But it’s been a while since I’ve been there.” Your mind wanders to the vest. The one Natasha returned to you after Yelena was gone. The one you retired because it doesn’t smell like her anymore. Nothing does.

Most things remain untouched in the Ohio house. Your pictures. Your memories. Your plans. You can’t get rid of them. Can’t stomach being around them either.

Someone, a man, alerts the security cameras, pounding on the front door. “Hello? Is anyone home? Hello! Can you hear me?”

“How old is this video?” Steve asks, cocking his head to the side.

“It’s the front gate.” Natasha breathes, enlarging the image.

“Do we know him?” You squint at the man in question.

“It’s me, Scott Lang, Antman. I met you guys at the airport in Germany a few years ago. I had a mask on, you probably wouldn’t recognize me.” He rambles on.

Natasha presses the access panel, opening the gate.

You straighten yourselves out, before he makes it down the long hallway into the common room.

Scott paces, a lot. Nervously rubbing his hands together.

“Scott.” Steve finally cut in. “Are you ok?”

“Have any of you ever studied quantum physics?”

“Only to make conversation.” Nat says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Ok. Alright so, five years ago. Right before Thanos. I was in the quantum realm. The quantum realm is like it’s own little microscopic universe. To get in there you have to be incredibly small. Hope, she’s my uh-“ he trails off. “She was my…she was- she was supposed to pull me out. And then Thanos happened and I got stuck in there.”

“I’m sorry that must have been a long five years.” Natasha apologies.

“That’s the thing, for me it wasn’t.” Scott replies. “It was five hours.”

“What a trip.” You snort, absently toying with your belt loop.

“The rules of time are different there. See everything is unpredictable.” He explains, getting distracted by the food in your hand. “Are you gonna finish that?”

“I guess not.” You hold it out to him.

He accepts, gratefully stuffing the bread into his mouth.

“Scott! What are you talking about?” Steve demands.

“So what I’m saying is time works differently in the quantum realm. The only problem is we don’t have a way to navigate it. But if we did, if we could somehow control the chaos; to enter the quantum realm at a certain point in time and exit at another point in time…like,” Scott locks eyes with you then. “Like before Thanos.”

You nod.

“Are you talking about a time machine?” Steve sighs, running a hand over his tense forehead.

“No. No of course not. Not like a time machine but like a…yeah.” There’s no other word for it. “Like a time machine. I know it’s crazy. But I can’t stop thinking about it! There gotta be some way.”

“Scott,” Natasha calls his attention. “I get emails from a raccoon. So nothing sounds crazy to me anymore.”

“So who do we talk to about this?” His eyes flicker between the three of you.

“Don’t look at me.” You hold both hands up. “That’s way above my pay grade.”

Part 4

Series Taglist: @3and30aresoultwins

#yelena belova x reader #marvel fanfiction #yelena belova #black widow #black widow fanfiction #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova x y/n #yelena belova x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #yelena belova imagine

[drcalmreid]

the dugout - s.r.

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

summary: smut - post-baseball practice spencer fulfills a fantasy of y/n’s

content warning: NSFW 18+!! pure smut lol

word count: 3.2k

authors notes: so mmmm….chile anyway enjoy ;)

gif credit: @thegifs-queen​

YOUR POV

“Alright kid, you gotta get out of your head,” Morgan says, wiping a hand on the back of his sweatpants. He squats down in front of the pitcher’s mound and grabs the baseball Spencer just tossed back to him,

“Just swing hard and follow through. There’s no mathematical equations, just swing.”

“Okay fine,” Spencer huffs looking down at his converse. “But according to recent studies, most major league teams employ mathematicians in order to pinpoint crucial angles, velocities, distances, and overall mathematical equations that are needed to create the ideal outcome of a baseball game,” Spencer says squinting at Morgan even though his hat shields his eyes from the sun. He stands at home plate with the wooden bat between his legs and his hands resting on the barrel. Derek rolls his eyes at Spencer and gives him an of-course-you-know-that head shake and walks back to the top of the pitcher’s mound. He tosses the ball into the pitching machine and Spencer swings and misses, again.

“We really have to watch this?” Emily leans over to whisper in my ear, “It’s just too painful to watch.”

“I know,” I shrug, pursing my lips together before giving her an empathetic smile. “If you don’t want to stay you don’t have to, I’m sure they’ll be done soon...I can meet you at Garcia’s.”

“Really?” She says in the most excited tone she has had the entire time we’ve been here. “Thank you,” she sighs and reaches for her coat on the bleachers before climbing down them. “You look great out there boys, but Garcia is hounding me to help her set-up! I’ll meet you over there!” Emily smiles one last time and waves to Morgan and Reid before practically running to her car before any of us can stop her.

“See,” Spencer says, taking off his baseball cap and running his hand through his hair. “We’re losing our audience. That’s how bad I am.”

“You need some motivation, Kid.” Morgan says pounding the baseball into his mitt, “It could be those mathematical baseball facts you know, the idea of beating the local PD in this game...” his eyes shift to me in the stands and I perk my head up, “or (y/n)...whatever it is, use it.” His phone rings from his pocket and he reaches inside before picking up, “What’s up, baby girl? We’re almost done here, then--woah woah, slow down. I’ll be right there.”

Morgan hangs up his cell phone and shrugs at Spencer, “it’s your lucky day. Garcia is requesting I come help set up the party tonight for Hotch...which I thought Prentiss was supposed to be doing,” he turns to glare at me.

“I know nothing!” I yell from the stands. I rise from the bleachers and walk closer to the fence.

“Either way, I’m needed ‘urgently, like now’ by Garcia,” Morgan chuckles using air quotes around what I can assume is a panicked Garcia needing her Chocolate Thunder. “So, we can pick this up tomorrow?” Reid presses his lips together in a tight lipped, straight smile before nodding. Just like that, Morgan grabs his bats and glove and disappears into the parking lot, “I’ll see you two over there!”

I climb down from the stands and walk closer towards the dugout. Spencer grabs the spare bat Morgan gave him off the ground and uses it to tap the sand off of his converse. Just as I reach the doorway of the dugout, Spencer enters the other side near the field.

“Hey,” I grin at Spencer as I lean against the cool cement walls.

“Hi,” he smiles back and his eyes quite practically light up when he sees me. To be honest, I’m not sure if he’s more excited to see me or to just be done with Morgan’s baseball practice.

The clay colored dirt collects on the dugout floor, dust raising from it as Spencer steps forward. He sits on the metallic bench against the wall, the bench stretches the length of the dugout and reflects the sunlight from the setting sun. Something about the way Spencer looks sitting down in the dugout, with his hair pushed back in his cap, white button-up loosened around his collar since his tie has been tossed aside since the beginning of practice. His biceps flex slightly as he reaches for his briefcase next to him on the bench (grabbing the hand sanitizer inside the case that he insisted on bringing), his collared shirt rolled up to his elbows exposing his tanned skin....He looks so fucking good.      

“So, on a scale of 1-to-listening to me explaining the newest metabolic engineering studies, how bored were you watching me practice today?” Spencer jokes, leaning forward to brush the dirt off his pants.

“Mmm, I would have to say,” I humm and step forward away from the entrance, sitting down on the bench directly next to Spencer. “Waiting for you to come out of the coffee shop, but I forgot my book at home.”

“That bad, huh?” He laughs and I lean down pressing my head to his shoulder. I shake my head and place a kiss on the top of his shoulder. “Not that bad, anything with you is never bad,” I smile, looking up at him. Spencer turns to look at me, tilting his head to the side to make sure his visor is out of the way. He leans down to kiss me and I sit back, raising a hand to stop him.

“Oh (y/n), I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbles. He shifts uncomfortably on the bench, “I thought-”

“Spence,” I reach forward and flip his hat around, resting the visor on the back of his head. I keep my hands at the back of his head, fingers running through his loose, slightly sweaty curls. “Didn’t want you to knock me in the head with that...plus, I like seeing your pretty eyes.”

“Oh,” Spencer sighs softly and a blush creeps onto his cheeks. His eyes turned away from mine, and I know he’s consciously trying to reduce his red cheeks. No matter how long we’ve been together, Spencer still finds moments to be completely embarrassed or shy around me. He leans down, turning his head back to mine and capturing my lips with his. My hands still rest in his hair and I comb my fingers up through his curls gently. Spencer moans slightly and I lift my leg to straddle the backless-bench without his lips leaving mine.

“Spencer,” I smile while breaking the kiss for a moment, but Spencer moves his lips to my jawline. “Did I ever tell you about my one, umm,” I stumble over my words, now I’m the one who’s nervous… “fantasy?”

“Fantasy?” Spencer grins against my skin and I turn my face away, but he raises a finger pulling my face back to his, “tell me.”

“So, I’ve always had this fantasy of, um, y’know…” I raise my eyebrows, eyes glancing around the dimly lit room. “In a dugout…” My cheeks burn with an even more intense blush than before.

“You want to have sex... in a dugout?” Spencer asks, his fingers still rest on my jaw, his eyes staring into mine intently.

“It’s stupid, never mind.” I say, completely embarrassed and attempt to stand from the bench. Spencer’s strong hand grips my waist and pulls me back down towards him, “Spence, really it’s fine, I- lets just go, we have to get to Garcia-”

His lips crash into mine and I know my resistance is useless.

“Spencer, seriously,” I say completely breathless. His lips work down my jawline as I giggle, “it was a stupid fantasy. Plus it’s dirty in here and I’m—you don’t want to—”

“Shh,” Spencer coos, pulling his face away from my neck. “I’m ready to fulfill your fantasy, as long as you want me to.” He looks up at me, his eyes scan over my face to make sure I’m still comfortable. I practically become putty in his hands. He brushes my fallen hair out of my face and over my shoulder. His smooth fingertips running up and down my arms.

“Fuck,” I mumble, “yeah, I really want you to.”

“Thank God, because…” Spencer trails off and looks down between us. His dress pants have become tight at his waist as he squirms under the tension.

“Oh my sweet boy,” I whisper and kiss his jawline. “Is that from me?” I ask while hovering my lips over his skin and he nods slowly while swallowing hard. Carefully I slide forward onto Spencer’s lap, earning a moan from him in a process, “fuck”. My hands trail up his torso to meet the back of his neck, pulling gently at his curls as my lips continue to leave sloppy kisses on his neck and jaw.

“Baby,” Spencer moans. “C’mere.” His hands wrap around my hips, grinding them down against his own as Spencer groans at the sensation. I move my face away from him to look directly in his eyes. Spencer's head rests against the wall of the dugout, his eyes hooded, but lustful. I bring my lips back down to his neck, hips gently moving against his. My thighs rest on both sides of his, my skirt riding up against my skin. His hands trail up the edge of my skirt, grabbing my thighs gently.

“(y/n)? Wait,” Spencer says breathless.

“Yes, Spence?” I ask, pulling away from him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. I look at him and blink slowly, “you okay? We don’t have to-”

“No, no,” Spencer rushes out. “I just wanted to look at you.”

My heart flutters immediately as I smile at him. I bring my hands up from his chest, tangling them in his hair at the bottom of his baseball cap.  

—

SPENCERS POV

(Y/n)’s eyes stare into mine as we sit tangled on the cool metal bench. Her knees are bent at my sides, our thighs rubbing together every time either one of us moves. I trail my hands up from her skirt and run them through the ends of her hair, slowly making my way up to her scalp. She leans into my touch almost instinctively as her eyes slowly close. I bring her even closer to me to catch her lips with mine.

“Spencer,” she moans against my mouth, her hips rocking back and forth. Fuck. If I could listen to her moan my name all day I would. “I need you.” She pants.

“Where do you need me?” I ask, pulling away with a grin.

“C’mon,” she giggles. “You’re the one with three PhDs...you should know.”

“It’s not that kind of—” before I even get the words out her lips crash into mine. Lustful and hungry for more. My back stretches against the walls still, (y/n) grinding down against our colliding bodies on the bench. My hands move down from her hair, tugging slightly before I completely let go. I trace her sides with my fingers before slipping under her skirt. My thumb presses between her thighs, running along the thin fabric of her underwear. She moans against my mouth, pulling away and throwing her head back, “Spencer, I need you.”

“So impatient today,” I say, raising my eyebrows at her. She rolls her eyes in response, but I hook my fingers underneath her thong and move my fingers along her exposed skin. “What do you need me to do, baby?”

“Spencer,” she moans. “You already know-”

I shake my head at her, moving my hands back from her core, “not the answer I’m looking for.”

“Spence,” she whimpers, looking up at me with the most needy eyes possible. I move my hands onto the sides of the bench, too stubborn to give into her...even though I want to so badly. I tilt my head to the side, waiting on her every word—more specifically waiting for the words…

She brings her lips down to my ear, “I need you to fuck me, Dr. Reid.”

“Your wish is my command.” I smile at her and immediately run my hands back under her skirt. She shifts gently, her hands coming down to my belt. We both fiddle with each other’s bottoms for a moment, lips connected, moving together. (Y/n) unbuckles my belt while I simultaneously loop my fingers under her panties pulling them down her thighs. I swiftly move my hands from between her thighs to under them lifting her up off my lap and onto the bench. She whines sadly as our kiss breaks apart, “hold on, baby.” I tell her while pushing a stray hair away from her cheeks. She puffs her lip out but stays put, I quickly pull my pants down to gather around my ankles, I reach for my boxer waistband but she stops me. Her eyes scan over me before she stands from the bench, thong falling slowly down her legs to her feet. She steps out of it and I catch the underwear before it even reaches the ground.

“Saving those for later?” She asks, cocking her head to the side. I nod eagerly before she straddles my bare legs. Her cool fingertips run along my waist band before pulling them down slowly. I buck my hips up just enough for her to move them down even further. Her hands wrap around my cock slowly, pumping it a few times as I close my eyes mumbling her name over and over. She rises on her knees as she lines herself up with me, both of us hungry for the other. Slowly, (y/n) lowers herself down onto my cock, both of us moaning at the connection. She throws her head back in pleasure and I reach up, hands wrapping around her back pulling her closer to me. I push my lips to hers as she begins to grind herself down into me.

“Fuck-”, I mumble against her mouth. “You’re so tight, baby.”

“You feel so good Spence,” she responds as she moves her mouth down to my neck. I rest my head against the cool wall as she continues to ride me effortlessly. She gains her rhythm quickly, both of us chasing our highs.

“(Y/n),” I say moving my hands up to her face. “Wait.”

“You okay?” She asks, her hips stopping immediately.

“What else was in your fantasy? What else do you want me to do?” I ask, the words fumbling out of my mouth, in between gasps.

“Spencer,” she almost laughs. “This is more than enough. Stop using your big brain,” she leans forward and presses a gentle, sweet kiss to my lips. I rest my hands on her back, lowering them under her legs, lifting her up off of me. She raises her eyebrows at me confused, “I’m not coordinated enough to lift us both.” I respond and (y/n) audibly laughs. I stand from the bench and pull her closer to me. She stands on her toes to reach my mouth and once she does I scoop my arms under her thighs as she jumps into my arms. The kiss gets heated again as I spin us around quickly, but carefully (so I don’t trip over myself and my pants around my ankles) and rest her back against the cool cement walls. The cold bricks chill her instantly as I feel goosebumps rise on her skin. I lower her down onto my cock again and (y/n) gasps at the re-entry. Her legs wrap around my back pulling me closer and balancing herself around my waist. She pulls away from our kiss and looks directly at me, “you can move i'm okay.” I nod quickly and pulse my hips up into her quickly, repeating the action over and over until a rhythm sets in for both of us. (Y/n)’s hands push off my baseball cap, letting the hat hit the floor, as she tangles her finger in my loose curls. I move my mouth from hers and trail down the side of her neck, sucking gently at the connection between her jaw and neck. My hips continue to move in and out of her at a steady pace, our moans echoing throughout the empty dugout. Together, we reach our highs…(y/n) repeating my name over and over, as I say hers back. “I’m close, Spence-” she moans into my ear and I feel her tighten around me. I kiss her hard, pulling her bottom lip between my teeth gently.

“Come on, baby,” I say against her lips. “Let go.”

“Oh fuck, Spencer—fuck, fuck,” she mutters against my neck as she climaxes. Her thighs clench around my waist, her hands clawing down my back over my shirt. “Spencer, you’re so good to me. Cum for me, Dr. Reid.”

Her words bounce off the cement walls and hit me like a ton of bricks. With one more thrust, I release into her my legs trembling. (Y/n) slowly moves her legs down from my waist, as I lower her to the ground. My arms still linger around her back, as I pull out one final time. She stands on her unstable legs, leaning against the wall of the dugout, my hands resting on the wall aside her face. My head hangs in her face, curls falling down in front of my eyes as I try to steady my breathing.

“I’m impressed,” (y/n) comments, pushing my head up to meet her eyeline. “You didn’t trip over yourself and you held me up? The entire time?” She chuckles and a smile pulls at my lips. “My boyfriend is so strong and,”  she reaches down to the floor picking up my baseball cap, placing it on my head, flicking the visor. “Athletic.”

“I’m coordinated when I need to be, especially for you,” I smile at her. “But athletic, not so much.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” she says, squatting down pulling up my boxers and pants. My hands still rest on the wall, head bowed, breath hitching as she works to redress me. She latches the belt around my waist and peers up at me, “I can confidently say, fantasy fulfilled.”

“Yeah?” I ask as she pulls my hands down from the wall, placing them on her hips.

“Yes, Spencer,” she stands on her toes and kisses my forehead. “Thank you.”

—

I raise my hand to Garcia’s front door, knocking twice before the door swings open.

“Spencer! (Y/n)!” Emily smiles and pulls us into a group hug. “Drinks are over there, still waiting on Hotch and JJ!”

“Practice went well?” Garcia asks while grabbing a chip from the bowl.

“Yeah, Spence is definitely improving.” (Y/n) smiles, leaning in against my arm.

“Come,” Emily reaches for (y/n)’s hands. “Let me make you a drink!” (Y/n) laughs and follows Prentiss across the room into the kitchen. Her, Emily, and Penelope laugh while mixing a drink by the counter. I look on from the other side of the room and run my hands through my hair, trying my best to fix it.

“So,” Morgan clasps a hand on my shoulder. “You found your motivation, huh, Kid?”

“Yeah, guess you could say that,” I say, giving him a coy smile.  

— 

so, the weather??? HAHA anyways friends I hope you enjoyed my first Spencer NSFW/18+ writing....had to get it out of my system ;) 

leave requests here! // masterlist

stay safe and wear a mask! -m

#Spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #Spencer reid smut #spencer reid writing #dr spencer reid #dr reid #spence reid #criminal minds #criminal minds writing #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x female!reader #Spencer reid blurb #tw: smut #tw: sex

[redorich]

May I request the aftermath of Cleo learning about the magic restrictions please and thank you.

The unfortunate thing about the Dream SMP is that there is no such thing as neutral ground. Everyone's in a faction, and everyone's got beef with everyone else. The only "neutral ground" is the unsettled wilds. When Philza reports this back to Cleo, who reports it back to Xisuma, Cleo wears a put-upon look and says that her and Joe's castle will do just fine, thank you, so stop worrying about it.

The day of the meeting comes, and though Philza is hesitant to return to the castle that scared Techno half to death and activated Ranboo's main character energy, he didn't spend all that time with Cleo handing out the invitations for nothing. Cleo herself won't be present, but her partner in crime Joe will be.

Inside the castle, past the courtyard teeming with armor stand faux-life, there is a meeting room with a table. There are exits on each of the four walls, so no one feels trapped, and the table is circular so that no one feels less important than anyone else. It's all a very Socratic setup.

At the far end of the room, where the head of the table would be were it rectangular, Xisuma sits calm as can be despite the powder keg of important people with grudges he's invited into his presence. On his right is Joe, whose eyes are lit up bright white, though he's still wearing his glasses. To Xisuma's left is Grian, and to Grian's left is Doc. Continuing around the table, next sits Eret representing the Pride Palace and, to a lesser extent, the Dream SMP as a whole. After them, the next person is Philza representing the Syndicate, then Bad representing the Eggpire.

Given the antagonistic nature of the Eggpire, Bad's neighbors have been chosen very carefully; on his other side sits Ghostbur representing L'Manberg. (Philza had awkwardly told Cleo that inviting a L'Manberg representative wasn't necessary, since the place was gone, but she insisted that it was "the principle of the matter". Ghostbur seems happy enough to be invited, anyway.)

On Ghostbur's left, Sam attends on Dream's behalf. Obviously, no one is going to invite Dream, and as Dream's would-be warden, Sam was nominated to attend in his stead. Next to Sam there's an empty chair for George; Philza and Puffy both warned the Hermits that George was allergic to "lore", whatever that meant, but his place at the table was set nevertheless.

The last person to fill in the table is Tubbo, representing Snowchester. He quietly expresses to Sam that he's wary about how few Hermits there are in proportion to the number of Dream SMP citizens. Sam shrugs, and murmurs back to Tubbo that there's probably more Hermits hiding somewhere nearby. After all, isn't that what the Hermits do?

Xisuma claps his hands together once in a polite bid for everyone's attention. They settle down slowly, and once they do, he stands.

"Right, everyone-- thank you all for coming. Let's get right into it, shall we?" He smiles, though it's hard to see beneath the helmet. "With some help from Puffy and Philza, my friends and I were able to figure out why we were trapped in your server."

Sam crosses his arms. He doesn't give much of a shit about the Hermits, he tells himself, unless they have something to do with Dream-- Sam's greatest failure. (It's a lie. He looks at Doc, the only other creeper-person he's ever met-- the first creeper-person, who fought a god and won the right to live for all mob hybrids who came after him. Doc, whose eyes are fixed solely on Xisuma.)

Clearing his throat to cover up the moment of weakness, Sam speaks up. "That's great and all, but why do we care? No one was living in L'Manberg anyway; it was practically free real estate."

The callous words net Sam a glare from Tubbo and a hurt look from Ghostbur. Before either can protest, Xisuma cuts in smoothly.

"It's an issue with your server," he says, "one that Dream should have fixed. It's the reason for this meeting, actually; if there was a responsible admin in the server, I would have just told them. First, a history lesson-- Doc, if you please?"

Doc nods somberly, savoring the opportunity to ham it up a bit. "For those of you who don't know, there are three Eras. The first is the beginning of time, when Mojang created the world as we know it. Players had infinite respawns, the world was less advanced, and redstone had just been created."

"Don't you think you're going a little too far back in history?" Bad asks skeptically.

"He's getting there," Eret defends.

Doc picks up where he left off. "In the Mojang pantheon, there was a god named Notch who wanted to expand the world's horizons, to give them new biomes and mechanics and blocks they'd never seen before... but you can't make something out of nothing. He needed magic to make his big updates a reality, and he stole it from the players behind the other gods' backs."

Ghostbur gasps, horrified. "He stole magic?"

"And so the gods killed him and gave the magic back, end of story," Sam snaps, then instantly regrets it. He's too on edge.

Thankfully, Doc either doesn't mind it or doesn't notice. "Not quite," he says. "When Notch took the magic from players, they lost the ability to respawn at all, marking the beginning of Era Two-- the Hardcore Era. When the gods found out, they were angry at Notch, so they exiled him to the Void. They tried to give players back their magic, but Notch had already taken too much, and servers and updates kept needing more and more... That's how Era Three started. It's the one you live in now, with the three life system."

"So... why does this matter?" Tubbo asks. "I mean, what does this have to do with why you're stuck in our server?"

"There's a parasite on your server, eating up all the magic," Xisuma says carefully. "Your server needed extra magic to keep up, so when we went through the infinity portal it grabbed us. As a group comprised mostly of Era One players, we have the magic that the server needs to compensate for the parasite."

Most of the Dream SMP citizens look either nauseous or extremely worried at the thought of a parasite. With a furrowed brow and a chewed lip, Eret breaks the silence.

"Do you know who it is?"

They all look around the table with wary gimlet eyes, attempting to suss out the imposter among them.

"A parasite..." Sam snorts derisively. "Sounds like that damn egg."

"Language," Bad snaps, but doesn't resort to violence.

"No no, he's got a point," Grian speaks for the first time. He'd been told to stay silent, but he's not a man who will ever pass up an opportunity to meme.

Bad's face falls, and he takes on a placating tone in an attempt to persuade the Hermits to his side. "Hey, don't be like that, the Egg's never done anything wrong!"

Sam's eyebrows raise practically to the ceiling. He looks at Bad in disbelief. "Never done anything wrong?" he says. "Remember when you--"

"That was me, not the Egg," Bad cuts in with a nervous laugh.

"You tried to kill Puffy over it, then killed Foolish instead," Philza says solely because he wants the Hermits to be mad about the Egg.

"Hm," Joe hums to himself. Up until this point the man everyone knows as Herobrine has been quiet, fading into the background, but now that he's made his presence known they can't help but be wary.

He drums his fingers on the table. "Yeah, I think we need some backup. False, Iskall?"

"On it," Doc grumbles, and reaches under the table to flip a couple trapdoors.

Out of nowhere, as though they'd ender pearled in, a blonde woman and a cyborg man appear behind the Hermits' end of the table. Bad stands up suddenly, knocking his chair backward, but Doc presses another button and all four entrances to the room are shut by pistons.

The woman, False, vaults herself over the table with nothing but upper body strength and tackles Bad to the floor. While the demon is still stunned, Iskall dashes around the circumference of the table to flank him. Doc once again presses a button and the floor opens up to reveal a secret staircase, which False and Iskall drag Bad down kicking and screaming. Once they disappear into the depths of the basement, the floor closes back up and the doors reopen like nothing ever happened.

"Well," Xisuma says with a small smile, lacing his fingers together as he addresses the group.

They stare back at him in horror.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "So, with the removal of the Egg, your server will stabilize and we Hermits will be able to leave you in peace..."

"I'm sensing a but," Eret says tentatively. They take off their sunglasses with a minute sigh, reminding themself that it's because of these Hermits that their curse was removed, that they can take off their sunglasses and have gray eyes again.

Taking a deep breath, Xisuma speaks. "We think we have a way to fix the three-life system."

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #zombiecleo #philza #xisuma #joe hills #grian #docm77 #eret #badboyhalo #ghostbur #awesamdude #tubbo #falsesymmetry #iskall85 #me.cpp #me.txt

[timextoxhajima]

Nevertheless: Wishful Thinking [2]

[completed] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

synopsis: why would the college flirt want anything to do with the innocent heartbreaker? a [somewhat] nevertheless au featuring tbz's eric son young jae

genre [per chapter]: SMUT *this series is a smut series so* please don't read if you're uncomfy. if you're underaged and you still wanna read, i'm not stopping you. i don't care because that's your responsibility to know what's fiction and what's not.

word count: 3.1k, half of which is definitely filth

taglist: @from-xero @taeyongandfree @ten-gift @louvyves @sweetutopia @yyyereum @jung-breadshop

{this is a work of fiction}

it's one of those days that you look at a person and wonder "how did i get into this mess?"

eric's got his back plastered to the lockers, leg perched and his heel hooked onto one of the padlocks as he talks to his friends. he glances about and catches your gaze, the innocent glimmer in his eyes suddenly replaced with a predatorial glare.

everytime he sees you, he sees an opportunity - an opportunity to ruin the only other heartbreaker in school.

which he's already done once.

the sight of him cues the chills down your spine; flashes from some nights before zipping through your head like a fast-forwarded video.

eric brushes his hair out of his eyes, exposing his forehead. with a tiny smirk and his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, he looks down at his phone.

as his fingers fly across the screen and he hits send, yours vibrates in your pocket.

eric son: one night not enough?

you look back up and see him send one more message before shoving it into his pocket.

another message dings across your screen.

eric son: all you have to do is ask, princess

you look up from your phone screen to see eric moving off in his group of friends, giving you one last wink at that before he turns around.

the warmth emitting from your phone heats up in your palm when you tighten your grip around it, frustrated with yourself and frustrated with how easily he's got you wrapped around his finger.

"whew!" a sharp sigh exclaims from behind you, and you immediately attempt to erase the agitation off your face. turning to face your new company, you slide your phone back into your pocket.

"where were you?"

yujeong huffs and rests her weight on her hips, stretching to a side while yawning. "dealing with some girls sobbing over jung wooseok graduating. what about you?"

"what do you mean 'what about me'?" you turn to frown at her, arms crossing over your chest. "I've been here the entire time waiting for you."

"you think i didn't know where you disappeared off to? at wooseok's party?"

your heart stops.

she begins walking, and you follow quietly.

"i know you went home without telling me."

oh.

your lips part to heave a sigh of relief, but you stop yourself and feign surprise instead. "oh!"

"'oh', she says," yujeong rolls her eyes. "you could've at least told me."

yes, because i'd want you to know that i rejected wooseok AND got ruined by eric sohn in the same night.

"sorry," you suck your lips in between your teeth and cling to her arm. "i wasn't feeling well."

"pity," yujeong sniffles. "someone found cum stains on the floor outside wooseok's garage. you should've seen it for yourself."

"huh," you blink, refusing to turn to her. "what were we expecting from wooseok's graduation party?"

"point taken," yujeong shrugs, and you slide off her to comb through your ponytail. "anyway, someone told me you finally got down to talking to eric last night at the party. how did that go?"

"um," the name triggers a fight-or-flight response in you, but you can't have yujeong see right through that.

"yeah, i mean... if you're the 'innocent heartbreaker' and he's the 'vicious' one, then that must've been one hell of a conversation!"

"huh!" with your brows raised, you look at her with wide, surprised eyes. "who the hell coined that?"

"i'on't know, like, everybody?" yujeong frowns, finally turning into the cafeteria. "besides, you never really liked him... nor spoken to him. so it must've been a surprise to anyone to see you talking to him."

the crowd in the cafeteria stirs to life as more people follow in behind you and yujeong, the lunch crowd beginning to create a ruckus in the enclosed space.

"we just... you know, bumped into each other."

"I've always wondered how you guys never bumped into each other before the party," yujeong yawns again, pulling you aside to a table and sitting the both of you down. "i didn't think your dance crew was so well separated."

"we deal with different genres," you sit and rest your forearms on the table. "no reason to mix our teams."

"anyway, i heard new leadership positions are out today so keep a lookout for that."

"oh?" you turn to her. "what about you? did you get anything in baseball?"

"no shit, sherlock. you're looking at the new captain."

"oh!" with a bright squeal, you stand and throw your arms around her. "I'm so proud of you!"

"don't be sappy," yujeong uses her finger to push your forehead away from her. "but thanks."

the stale air of the practice room guts you first, since you associate nothing else with this place except sweat tears and a couple of ankle twists.

the air conditioner whirs to life when you turn on the main control switch of the studio.

usually, you weren't the first one here and so you were more than surprised when you were. placing your bag down and fiddling with the sound system, you plug it into your phone turn up the jazz music since it's supposed to calm you down. the thought of the night before was far too aggressive and violent for you to stomach.

it's okay, you think. the rest will come soon and practise will ensue.

it's alright.

then the door clicks and you look up in the mirror to see eric in the reflection.

the thought zips through your neurons: something's wrong.

he shouldn't be here.

you look back down at your phone and feel your insides twitch at the sight of him. "this isn't your training slot."

"and you don't need to be here," eric smirks, drawing a frown across your face as you look up.

"what do you mean?"

eric smiles at you in the mirror, closing the door and locking it behind him.

now you finally turn around, watching as he strides to you with his hands in his back pockets.

"i cancelled practice."

"what do you mean you cancelled practice?"

"well," then he pauses just about a foot away from you, waves of uneasiness already flooding into your private space as you lean back against the countertop. "you're looking at the new captain."

you scoff, shaking your head in disapproval.

"so the first move you made after becoming captain was to cancel training? very mature of you," with a huff and a smirk of disbelief, you pull out your phone, the jazz music abruptly stopping as you reach down for your bag.

"aren't you gonna congratulate me?"

you glare at him through your lashes as you lift your bag, but he's looking at you with wide, puppy eyes instead.

"congratulations," the wry, insincere remark draws a smile across his face.

"where are you going?"

"home. where else?" you swing your bag over your shoulder and take a step around him.

but of course, he stops you by grabbing your arm and holding you back to the countertop where you were previously leaning on. you yank your arm out of his grip but he finds your waist and hoists you up onto the countertop, the cold surface brushing up your skirt.

goosebumps erupt all over your exposed rear, including the skin on your arms for him to see.

"dance practice is cancelled but that doesn't mean you can't stay and accompany me."

"wait-" the whimper hums through you when his hands find your rear under the material, cupping your flesh in his hot palms. dipping his lips into your jaw, he begins planting soft kisses, deliberately making each and every one of them audible by your ears.

huffing and panting out of frustration, you squirm under him, unable to move due to the pressure he's exerting on your hips.

"it's only the two of us, princess," he whispers into your ear, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand and your lips pull apart in a wince. "and what are you doing... wearing a skirt to dance practice?"

his hands are everywhere.

he's running them up and down your calves and thighs and gently pulling them further and further apart so he can slot himself between your knees.

on top of that, you were staring at your reflections in the mirror across the studio.

"i have an extra pair of leggings in my bag, for gods' sake."

eric chuckles devilishly, reeling backwards to look you in the eye.

"and what were you waiting for before you'd change into them?"

"for training to start?"

eric blinks, running his fingers through his hair again. resting his hands on the countertop's edge by your thighs, he leans in closer to you, eyes slightly hooded and searching yours as if looking for something.

"i heard you rejected wooseok."

the name drives a puncture through a lung, and the guilt surges through you again when you remember whose house it was that you let eric ruin you outside.

"that's none of your business."

a sly smirk stretches his lips apart, and he lifts his finger to pick at the buttons on your shirt. annoyance brings your hand up to his mischief and you grab his hand, holding it in place as you attempt to close your legs.

but he grabs your wrist with his free hand and pries it off his own, taking both your hands and sliding them over the rim of his joggers.

"for someone who's been dubbed the 'innocent heartbreaker', you're kind of feisty."

then he uses your fingers like puppets and pulls apart the drawstrings, loosening the material's hold around his pelvis.

"you wanna know what i think?"

"no."

"i think..." eric throws your arms over his shoulders and pulls you in closer, chest pressed against his with his lips brushing across the arch of your ear. "this 'innocent heartbreaker' image of yours? fake."

he pulls away, a disgustingly innocent smile wide across his face. it makes his eyes shine, and he's got an arrogant glimmer in his pupils as he reaches for your right knee, trailing a single finger up to your inner thigh.

"i think you use it to bait people into thinking that you're just a cute, pretty little girl..."

and he stops and harshly grips your thighs to yank you forward, just enough for most of your butt to remain on the countertop but your crotch to be over the edge.

"but in reality, you're just itching for someone to put you in your place."

he hears the gulp that's forced down your throat, and his hands come up to your jaw to hold your face still.

"isn't that right, princess?"

your mouth is dry.

your lips are dry.

and you open your mouth in a bid to hurl a string of vulgarities at him for coming at your title all too daringly, only for him to drop his hand to your throat and shove his lips between yours.

the pressure around your neck forces a groan up your throat, hands flying up to his shoulders to push him away (it was an attempt).

he releases your neck, lowering his hands to fiddle with your shirt's buttons while he attaches his lips to your jaw. using his nose to tilt your head to the side, you hear him take in your scent with a prolonged inhale.

eyes stuck to the ceiling lights, you're unsure whether the lights were blinding you, or you were just seeing stars.

the cool air finally kisses and blankets your chest when the top few buttons come undone, and before you can respond to the shivers that run through your body, eric's hands slide in between your thighs again.

the sudden, sensitive contact jolts your entire body, so eric anchors you down by grabbing your neck again.

"I'm sure you don't want the school to know that the 'innocent heartbreaker' isn't so innocent now, do you?"

he scoffs at the gulp he can feel in his grip and raises both brows when he pushes your underwear off your core. your pride flushes away when he finds nothing short of what he expected.

"oh, my," his tongue flies out and darts over his canine teeth, eyes locked onto yours as he presses his thumb onto your swollen need. "oh, princess... just ask."

your thighs are aching to close, but his hips are keeping them apart.

your hands are clawing into his arm, but it seems to be fuelling his pride even more.

he leans into you again, placing careful kisses along your collar bone and your jaw whilst resting his palms flat against the countertop.

"i'll give you the chance to watch yourself, hmm?"

and with that he trails his kisses down into your chest, hands sliding from the countertop and onto your thighs to hold them apart.

riling up the cotton of your skirt, his breath hits your core first, then the uneven texture of his tongue brushes across you.

he presses a kiss to your sensitivity first, then plunges his tongue into you. a sharp groan thrums through you, shivers drawing up your spine like sinful whispers.

his hair comes tangled between your fingers, thighs hung over his shoulders as eric moans and hums into you, the vibrations driving you over some edge you had forgotten even existed.

your hips buckle and jerk when he begins flicking his tongue against you, and your blurred vision lands on your reflection in the mirror.

eric son kneeling under you, with his head between your legs.

very quickly, your attention is torn away from the reflection and back down at him when he slides two fingers into you. focusing his tongue on your nub now, he begins pumping his fingers with ease and with a smirk plastered across his face.

you don't realise the mewls and whimpers you're giving him until he breaks off from your under, standing back up and pressing his lips to yours with his fingers still playing with you.

then he pulls away, and removes his fingers, bringing them up between your noses and flips his hand, allowing your neediness to glisten under the lighting.

"enjoying this, aren't you?" and with that smile on his face, he slides his fingers into his mouth, whirling his tongue all over his skin.

the lewd sight makes you cringe and writhe before him, so eric picks you up by your rear and walks the both of you to the mirror, turning you around to face yourself in the reflection.

oh.

no.

"wait-"

"'wait'?" eric bites on his bottom lip, taking your right hand and pressing them into the mirror. "oh, princess... i can wait all day, but can you?"

the question tears through you in waves, your head turning back to the mirror and your eyes watching the fog coat around your fingers in the mirror.

his fingers are interlaced with yours, his palm over yours as he pulls his joggers off with his free hand. smirking and looking up at you, he stops to push your underwear off your core, then slides himself between your folds instead of into you.

the frustration builds up, erupting through your throat in the form of a groan mixed with a mewl, earning a sadistic chuckle from him.

he pulls your left wrist down to your lower back, keeping the other plastered to the mirror as he gently and slowly, teases you, sliding over you.

your heart and stomach are plunging with every slide he gives you, the throbbing down below driving you absolutely nuts.

it's making you tear up, and you cry out in agony as your fist clenches over your lower back.

he leans forward, careful to keep his lips in contact with your lobe as he whispers the words,

"your body's mine, princess."

and with a subtle lean-back, and one swift push, he bottoms out, burying himself entirely inside you.

your chest puffs as you suck in the harshest breath in your life, and your entire body shivers upon the fill.

"look at yourself," his husky voice is low and dangerous in your ear. you swallow your saliva, walls clenching around him as your legs begin to tremble.

he slides out, and pushes back in slowly, careful to make you live through every second and every inch of him as he does it.

'it' meaning drilling the sinful bliss through you.

so he picks up his pace every time he bottoms out, ensuring that your legs wouldn't give out under you.

but soon, the lewd noises of slapping and muffled moaning drowns out your thoughts, your eyes now tearing as you look down at the wooden flooring. multiple whimpers and mewls try to escape your throat but you suck your lips in between your teeth, every thrust jerking you forward.

"good girl," eric reminds you, taking the hand that was previously plastered to the mirror and gathering both your wrists on your lower back.

it forces you to straighten up, back arched away from his chest as he holds you close to the mirror, the bottom half of your ponytail messy over your unbuttoned top.

in the mirror, your skirt was blocking the view where he was fucking all senses out from you.

it was the messy, whored-out look on your face; the marks on your collarbone and the bouncing of your hair with your arms held behind you that made your knees weak.

eric leans over into your neck, locking eyes with you through the reflection as he kisses your jaw.

by some miracle, his hip buckles at an angle, and something explodes inside you. his free arm circles your waist in a bid to keep you upright atop your knees failing you, thighs flexing and trembling against his.

your body nearly goes limp under his hold, and he pulls out just in time to release on the flesh of your rear.

he huffs, sighing and blinking away his own climax. eric releases your wrists and pulls your underwear over your soreness now, still holding onto your waist to keep you from falling over.

eric smiles at you in the mirror when he catches your tired gaze, brushing the little strands of hair out of your eyes.

his palm runs from your waist and up your chest, gently pushing your head back onto his shoulder. nose delving into your jaw again, he side-eyes you in the mirror, pressing his lips onto your neck.

"wear your hair up more often, you look more..."

"fuckable."

he takes your jaw and turns it to face him now, eyes glued to yours as he scans your face.

"oh, by the way... congratulations on becoming vice-captain."

#nevertheless: wishful thinking #eric smut #the boyz smut #tbz smut #eric sohn smut #eric scenarios #eric imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #eric x reader #the boyz x reader #eric x reader smut #eric sohn scenarios #eric sohn imagines

[calpalirwin]

Let The Walls Break Down

Summary: Calum gets over his skepticism

Word Count: 2.7k

And away, and away we go!

__

“It’s almost impossible. Love sucks. Don’t try it. It’s a scam.”

That had been Calum’s general thoughts on relationships since the two of you called it quits. The “almost” bit was in admittance that 1.) your relationship had been amicable from start to finish, in fact the two of you were still close with each other, and 2.) he knew love worked for some people, however he didn’t view himself as one of those some.

Being close to Calum post breakup meant you had a front row seat to the man’s brief stints at romance, which was a nice way of saying “endless stream of one night stands.” The flip side was he had a front row seat to your own count of nameless men. While in the beginning, the others in your friend group joked in hushed tones that it was an act on both your parts to stir up jealousy, the longer it went on without any animosity building up between you and Calum, the more the whispers died down until they disappeared all together. Because the simple truth was that the one night stands were just about sex. After all, you and Calum had learned together that the two of you were too busy for anything more than casual sex. A lesson both of you considered well-learned until Michael got engaged and flipped everything into a new perspective.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love,” you said after Crystal recounted all the details and you stopped squealing in excitement for her. “I mean, anyone who sees you and Michael has to believe it’s real.”

“Aw, Y/N,” Crystal blushed shyly.

You laughed, “I’m serious. You and Michael. Luke and Sierra. Ashton and Kaykay. I’m surrounded with reasons to believe love exists. The real ‘can’t imagine my life without you’ kind of love. But for me?” You waved a hand dismissively. “Pfft, nah.”

“Because you don’t believe he’s out there for you, or because you already had him and the timing was wrong?” she pressed suggestively.

You rolled your eyes. Right person, wrong time was the excuse you had given when asked when you and Calum split, because to you, it was the closest thing to the truth. “Okay…” you started slowly. “Of course I loved Cal. And I still love him now. But when we were together… We were kids who were focused on our careers. And we’re still those career-driven kids. Understanding the balance between professional life and personal life without feeling like we’re sacrificing a piece of it for another was something Cal and I will never master. We tried. I thought if I could find that balance with anyone, it would be with him. But it wasn’t. And that’s okay. I’m fulfilled in other ways.”

“But…” Crystal kept trying to press.

“But nothing,” you laughed. “I’m happy with my life the way it is, Crys. And beyond happy for you and Michael. You’re getting married!”

~~~

Across town in a celebration of their own, Calum was under similar fire. “Happy for ya, mate,” Calum said, clapping Michael on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Cal,” Michael beamed. “I think I’m still in shock from all of it.”

“I think that’s probably a natural feeling,” Ashton told him, playing the voice of reason. “It’s an exciting change that pulls things into sharper focus.”

“Yeah, like all I wanna do now is tell Sierra how much I love her,” Luke put in.

“Oh, you fuckin’ sap,” Calum laughed.

“Just because you’ve never been in love…”

“I have too!” Calum defended.

“Oh, really? Who?”

“Y/N, idiot…” Ashton told Luke with a roll of his eyes.

Luke nodded in a “Oh, yeah!” fashion, before going on, “Is she the only girl you ever loved?”

“Yep.”

“So why aren’t you still with her?”

Calum shrugged. “Timing was off. And we haven’t changed. So why would the timing have suddenly changed?” The question was rhetorical, without the slightest hint of hurt. A simple fact of life, nothing less, nothing more. A fact Calum had made peace with long before.

“So what? You’re fine with the greatest love of your life being over 2 years ago?” they questioned anyway.

He shrugged again. “Have been for a while, in case ya haven’t noticed. And no,” he raised a hand, cutting off any protest, “this isn’t a bitter, ‘oh convince me otherwise’ deal. Y/N and I are both more than happy with the lives we’re living.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I talk with her, and I trust she’s telling me the truth…”

“Alright, alright,” Ashton was willing to let the conversation rest, but he had one last question. “Is there any part of you that would want to try again with Y/N?”

A third and final shrug. “I mean, she was the only one I ever saw a future with aside from the band.”

“That has to mean something, Cal. C’mon. If there was ever a time to give love a chance, it’s now.”

~~~

While Calum’s head raced with his friends' words of encouragement, if he could call it that, yours raced with thoughts of feeling like you somehow failed in life. Sure, your career was everything you wanted it to be and more. You wouldn’t trade a single moment of your life for anything else. But now that your friends were clearly doing more than simple dating, the doubt started to trickle in. Would it be nice to share a life with someone? Absolutely. But not at the risk of your own independence. And the only person who had ever proven that you could maybe have the best of both worlds was Calum. And even that hadn’t worked. But maybe there was something to Crystal’s words about it being a case of bad timing. Maybe it was worth another try.

So that’s where you found yourself, sitting on the edge of your bed, sharing at Calum’s contact, finger hovering over the call icon, trying to figure out where and how to start again with the man. And then your phone was buzzing in your hand, and you gasped. Had you accidentally hit the call button?! No. Calum was calling you. Confused, you hit accept. “Hey, Cal. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just had a quick question for ya.”

“Well I might have a quick answer for ya.”

You heard his soft chuckle and then a brief pause as he cleared his throat, and you knew he was pushing a hand through his hair, stemming whatever nerves this “question” was creating. “You got any dinner plans for Friday?”

“No. Why?”

“There’s this new place I’ve been wanting a try, and you know how I am about eating out alone. And it’s been a minute since just the two of us hung out. So I’ll pick you up at 7?”

You gave a small laugh at the rushed excuse, wondering what he was really up to. “Sure thing, Cal.”

“Cool. Oh, and uh, dress in something nice-ish? The restaurant’s kinda uppity.”

Another small laugh. “Alright, Cal. See you Friday then.”

~~~

“It’s just dinner. It’s just Cal,” you told your reflection as you finished getting ready. “Nothing you haven’t done a million times before,” you kept trying to calm the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. While you had a pretty good idea on what this dinner really was, you didn’t want to get your hopes up that Calum was having the same change of heart that you’d been having. The man really did hate eating alone at restaurants, and if the place was as upscale as he had told you, then it made sense that he’d rather bring you along than Ashton. And he had been right about it being a good while since it was just the two of you spending time together rather than a larger group outing.

But when Calum knocked on your door rather than texting that he was in your driveway, you couldn’t stop the blush coloring your cheeks. And when you opened the door to reveal the man on the other side, dressed sharply with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand, you felt your heart skip a beat. “Oh, Cal,” you breathed. “You didn’t have to do that,” you told him, taking the flowers and moving to put them in a vase of water.

“It’s how you deserve to be treated,” he said simply with a shrug as he leaned against your doorway.

“You’re too sweet to me, Hood,” you teased lightly. “Ready?”

“After you.”

When he went as far as to get the car door for you, you had to laugh. “Okay, Hood. What gives?”

“I told you. I’m treating you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“Nah, there’s more. I can tell. C’mon. Spill it,” you pressed when he got in the driver’s seat. “Flowers. Getting the door. Dinner at a place that requires me to dress like this. You’re up to something.”

“You look stunning, by the way,” he said, reaching over to give your thigh a squeeze.

“Calum Thomas Hood.”

He sighed. “We were good, right? Like when we were together? It’s not my memory playing tricks on me?”

“You were the best boyfriend I ever had,” you answered honestly.

He nodded. “Okay. You’re not allowed to make fun of me. But since Mike got engaged, it’s gotten to me a bit. Almost like I’m missing out on something, but it’s weird because my life is already everything I want it to be. So what could I possibly be missing out on, you know?”

“Why would I make fun of you for that?”

“Because it’s a stupid ass reason to take you on a date.”

“Oh, is that what this is? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ha-ha,” he deadpanned. “Look, I guess what I’m saying is, recent events made me reevaluate things in my life. And I think I’m in a better position than I was a few years ago to be a real partner to someone. And even when I wasn’t that person, you were the only one I could see myself becoming that person for. So… if you’re up for it, I’d really like for us to try again.”

Underneath the streetlight casting him in a soft reddish hue, he turned his head slightly to look over at you, brown eyes hopeful and solemn. When the light turned green, he turned his attention back to the road, but kept stealing glances over at you, still waiting for your response.

“I guess it’s only fair to let you know that I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Really?”

“Really,” you said with a soft smile and a small nod of your head. “I was actually hoping this was more on the date side than the friends grabbing a bite to eat side.”

“Good, because this is definitely a date.”

“Good,” you nodded again before leaning across the center console to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning as warmth spread across his face.

~3 Years Later~

You startled awake at a phone ringing nearby, a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets. “Mmm?” Calum rasped, voice heavy with sleep as he answered the phone, followed by a quick, “Whoa, mate, stop yelling. You did what now?” There was a small pause as whoever was on the other end of the conversation spoke in a rapid flurry that you couldn’t decipher. “You did?!” Calum clarified whatever the news was, sitting up straight in bed, your head falling from his chest to his lap.

“Ow…” you giggled, shifting to sit up against the headboard like Calum was.

“Sorry,” Calum mouthed, listening intently to whoever he was still talking to, raising a finger for you to give him a minute when you raised an eyebrow in silent question. “That’s fuckin’ great, Luke! Congrats to the both of you. Lemme know what the plans are for celebrating and give Sierra a hug from me in the meantime, yeah? Alright. Talk to ya later, mate. Bye.”

“Well?” you demanded.

“Luke and Sierra are getting married. Or he proposed anyway, and she said yes.”

“Oh, that’s great!”

“Yeah, I’m really happy for them. Wow… first Mike, now Luke. We really aren’t the same kids we used to be, are we?”

“I think in some respect you guys still are. You still cling to those roots of who you used to be, the things that shaped you into the people you are now. But you guys are also growing up, too. It happens, Cal.”

“Yeah, no, I just… Wow. It’s not something I really pay much attention to, us growing up, until something like this happens.”

“The last time one of your band members got engaged, you got a case of feeling like you weren’t measuring up somehow. You’re not feeling that way now, are you?”

“No. Not at all. In fact… Luke said something when Mike told us he got engaged. That he wanted to go tell Sierra how much he loved her.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, and at the time I made fun of him for it. But… I dunno… I get it. This type of shit really shifts things into perspective.”

“I mean, yeah. Last time it resulted in both of us thinking we should try being an ‘us’ again. What’s the perspective shifting to this time? You’re not gonna go out, and buy a ring, are you?”

“No, I already have one in my sock drawer.”

You choked. “What?”

He climbed out of bed with a laugh, making his way to the dresser and rummaging around in one of the top drawers. Then, something small was soaring through the air as he tossed whatever it was onto the bed towards you. “Told ya,” he said simply, as you grabbed the small box, popping the lid to find a ring inside.

“How long have you had this?” you asked, your voice a small whisper.

“Uh… 2016 I think,” he said as he rejoined you in bed.

“So, since the first time we dated?”

“Yep.”

“Calum!”

“What?” he laughed. “I told you our entire relationship, both then and now, that you’re the only person I see a future with. Did you think I was lying?”

“No! I- I just didn’t know you went so far as to get a ring, and keep it for 5 bloody years.”

“Well, it would have been a little weird if you had it all these years, considering… ya know.”

You laughed in a mix of disbelief and shock. “You are absolutely crazy.”

“I’m not actually proposing, you know that, yeah? I mean, yes, the ring is yours. But only if you want it to be. I love the life we have together, more so than I thought I could love any other version of my life. I never feel like I’m stuck in place, or missing something when I’m with you. I’ll be just as happy if you never wear that ring, as I would if you wore it every day for the rest of your life. You, me, Duke, and music is all I’m ever gonna need in life. I’ve known it since the first time I said I love you. Even in those years we thought chasing our careers was more important, you were still the only person I’ve ever been in love with.”

“Calum…” you breathed, your lip trembling.

“Shh, if you want the whole deal of the proposal and the picture perfect wedding, I’ll give that to you gladly. That’s what the ring’s for. But if you’re content with what we have now, this will always be enough for me, and that’s a promise.”

“I don’t want a proposal only because Luke and Sierra made you extra sentimental. I don’t want to take their moment away from them either.”

“That ring has been yours far longer than any extra sentiment our friends getting engaged could stir up, but I get what you’re saying. If/when you want it, say the word.”

“Ask me again in a year,” you decided. “And I mean really ask me. The whole deal.”

“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” he murmured as his lips crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face. “I’m so in love with you. Always have been. Always will be.”

__

Tag List

@aquarius-hood1996​ @creator-appreciator​ @philthepegacorn​ @myfavfanficsever​ @cxddlyash​ @youngblood199456​ @stormrider505​ @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof​ @hoodhoran​ @metalandboybands​ @maybeememez​ @major5sosstan @1weekago​

#let the walls break down #calum hood #calum hood fic #calum hood x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

[sserpente]

A/N: Request by @sparxxy. Loved this idea! Enjoy, everyone! ♥

Words: 1409 Warnings: fluff and… falling off the roof I guess?

You should have brought your gloves. It was freezing cold, especially now that you were fiddling around with tiny cables and light bulbs on a wobbly ladder. Hypothetically, Tony could have done this in his suit and hypothetically, he wouldn’t run a risk of suffering from hypothermia in the process covered in layers of metal but if there was one thing you were both naïve and proud about, then it was setting up Christmas decoration all by yourself—and that included colourful holiday lights on the roof.

You could do this. It was fun, even more so with so much snow around you. In that hindsight, you were even okay with numb fingers.

You were so focused on setting up the lights that you never heard someone approaching you, even on the crunchy snow. But then again, Loki usually moved with the grace of a cat. Being around him felt like circling a bomb—you never knew if or when it would explode but overall, you were glad the Avengers and eventually even SHIELD had accepted the God of Mischief sticking around after Asgard was destroyed even though everyone but Thor met him with suspicion or even hostility; even you did, for the most part. With Loki, you just never knew. So while the God of Thunder had begun wearing Christmas sweaters, baking horrible gingerbread and asking every single one of the other Avengers what it was they wanted for Christmas to buy them presents with Tony’s money, Loki appeared utterly irritated by the festive season.

“What in the nine are you doing?” He asked, head tilted slightly.

You flinched, holding on to the gutter frantically to not fall off. “Geez, Loki… clear your throat or something!” The God of Mischief only chuckled. “I’m putting up the holiday lights.”

“Whatever for?” You could practically hear his frown.

“So our headquarters will look more festive?” You suggested. “Actually, can you tell me if this is straight?”

“These quarters are in the middle of nowhere. No one will be able to see it.”

“I will. Now is this straight or not?”

“I suppose it is.”

“That is not reassuring.” You retorted.

“Well, what is it supposed to look like? You are only going to injure yourself. This ladder looks rather unsafe and the rungs are frozen.”

“Yes, I know that, Loki, which is why I’m asking you if they’re straight so I don’t have to climb up here again! Don’t be such a Scrooge.” You had gotten him a present—it was nothing too fancy but you had seen him taking notes on a stack of paper he had presumably stolen from your office a lot. Apparently, Loki was quite the scholar. You usually spotted him surrounded by books whenever the Avengers didn’t make him join life-threatening missions. In this aspect, you were quite glad you were only an assistant.

Anyway, you had decided to buy Loki a beautiful notebook bound in real leather along with a fancy green and gold pen with black ink but if he kept going like that, you might reconsider giving it to him after all.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Loki frowned, making you sigh. You were done anyway. All you had to do now was climb off, switch it on with the little remote and see if you had indeed hung it up straight if Loki wouldn’t give you a proper answer.

“Scrooge is a fictional character in ‘The Christmas Carol’ and he hated Christmas. It’s written by Charles Dickens, one of the greatest—argh!” An ear-piercing scream escaped your lips, heart skipping a beat when you slipped on one of the rungs on the frozen ladder, your hands failing to grasp at the cold metal again in time. You hurtled backwards through the ice-cold air so fast you were hardly able to process you were going to kiss the hard ground and likely break your neck in the process, brazing yourself for a painful impact—which never came. Your eyes flew open when you landed in Loki’s arms instead. The God of Mischief, so you realised, must have darted forward to catch you.

Panting, you looked up at him with wide eyes, not even quite able to catch your breath in return.

“I told you so.” He said quietly. Oddly enough though, there was no scorn in his voice—quite on the contrary; you had never heard Loki speak so softly before. His warm breath ghosted over your lips as he talked, his blue eyes glued on your face, likely reddened from the cold.

“T-thank you…” You whispered. Oh Heavens… Had he always been this handsome?

Neither of you moved. Instead, you remained in your awkward position, with Loki still carrying you bridal style and his face only mere inches from yours until a thundering voice ripped you both from your weird trance.

“Loki, have you seen my gingerbread pop tarts? Oh… oh? Am I interrupting something, brother?” He asked with a sly grin. He was standing in the doorway, right underneath a mistletoe and he was holding up an empty box of pop tarts.

“No,” Loki said quickly all the while sighing and rolling his eyes. You only swallowed, finally managing to move your limbs again and struggle just a little so he would put down again. You did not fail to notice that even once your feet were on the ground again, his left hand lingered on your waist just a little bit longer than absolutely necessary—and you would be lying if you claimed it bothered you.

“If I recall it correctly, you ate them all last night.” He continued, clearly unimpressed.

“I didn’t eat all of them.” Thor raised an eyebrow. “Did you eat them?”

“No,” Loki emphasised. “I may be the God of Mischief, brother but I do not have a death wish. Perhaps you should ask one of your mortal companions. Stark likes to steal food quite regularly as far as I am concerned.”

You smirked when Thor pointed at him in a threatening manner. “I am going to rub snow in your face if I find out you’re lying.”

“You do realise I am a Frost Giant, brother?” Oh, yes, you had almost forgotten about that. That must have been the reason why he wasn’t even wearing a jacket.

“M-hm. I’ll leave you two to… whatever then.” Loki rolled his eyes once more. You could hardly complain about his reaction. Thor could be rather sneaky if only he wanted to be and the fact he had interpreted Loki basically saving your life to be something… something… well… what exactly?

You and Loki? He couldn’t possibly think you would… or would you? You cleared your throat once the God of Thunder had disappeared inside again and closed the door, if anything to not make matters even more awkward than they already were.

Then, to distract from the embarrassing situation, you finally grabbed the remote of the holiday lights and pressed the button. Dozens of little bulbs lit up at once, some green, some red, some blue, some yellow, some purple, all blinking away happily. It was beautiful—and it definitely was straight.

You hummed in silent triumph.

“I admit, it does look rather pretty.” Loki suddenly said.

“Come on, it looks amazing! Is that really the best you can do?”

He gave you languid look. But nothing could have prepared you for what he did next. “Oh, what a masterpiece you have created, my dear. This is a truly marvellous sight. You must be a sorceress to have constructed such beauty for this Midgardian holiday they call Christmas. What would the Avengers do without your talent and your skilled hands?” Sarcasm was dripping from his voice, along with a downright theatrical tone not of mockery but pure amusement and teasing.

“Okay, okay, stop it.” You laughed, wouldn’t admit, however, how your heart jumped when he called you ‘my dear’. It took you quite a while to recover from your laughing fit. And if that wasn’t enough already, Loki was actually smiling too. “I’ve got two others to hang up, one on the balcony and one on the terrace.” You announced then. “Do you… would you help me?”

There it was again. His blue eyes locked with yours, capturing you both in another moment full of tension and… fascination. Eventually, the God of Mischief nodded.

“I might as well.”

Huh. Perhaps, Christmas miracles were real after all.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#loki #loki imagine #loki x you #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fluff #loki odinson #loki odinson imagine #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson fluff #thor #thor imagine #the avengers #the avengers imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #tom hiddleston

[eyrieofsynapses]

i’ll be your god of loss

(from “The God of Loss” by Darlingside, which will make you cry.)

so I was thinking about the trio and kids. Because these people, you know, they adore kids! they’re great with them! And they might not admit to that, they may not believe it, but we know it, we see it with Eliot and Molly, with Hardison and Trevor, with Parker and Josie, with the kids from The Stork Job and The Fairy Godparents Job and their clients’ children and so very many more. 

Most of all we see it with Breanna. We see how they mentor her, how they provide advice, how they encourage her, how they build her up, how they laugh with her and speak of teaching her and telling her stories from the beginning. they unashamedly adore her. And they are so very good with her—they know how she looks up to them, they know they are always watched, and they behave like it. They are truly wonderful with her. 

We know they love kids. We know, too, that they see the foster system’s flaws, and we know they fear for the children they save from bad situations. We see how they instinctively nurture the kids of the clients who have lost a parent. We watch how they will lift up the children of the marks who do not treat them well. 

But they are not meant for white-picket fences. 

These are not the kinds of people who settle down. They do not get tired of what they do one day and say “perhaps we’d best end this now.” They never get tired of it. They adore their work, they adore their life, they cannot imagine anything else. They will never willingly stop.

But there is a point where need eclipses want. There will be a day when they cannot do it anymore. 

This is a known fact, but it is not a loved one. 

The years trickle by. The time of Redemption comes and goes. They raise team after team, create an ever-reaching map of International, help people by the thousands and by the singles. And they are not the management. They leave that to the capable people they have trained, the ones they trust with their lives and more, and they keep doing the jobs, they stay involved, they get their hands dirty. Because there is nothing else for them. They began this doing what they loved, after all, and that love has not faded. If anything it has only grown. 

Parker cannot sit still in an office all day, and Eliot cannot watch others fight and listen to them take the blows that he should, and Hardison will never be able to see all the things his algorithms raise and all the troubles that pass in the media and not do anything about it himself. This is against their very nature. 

But the years go on and on, decades pass, and Hardison realizes one day that this cannot go on forever. 

It is Hardison, because it is him who sits in the headquarters or the van or the discreetly close location with his laptop open and monitoring frequencies. It is Hardison, not Eliot or Parker, who can pay the most attention to the every soft grunt and caught breath and withheld noise of pain. 

It is Hardison who realizes, one fateful day, that those moments increase day by day, job by job, and his injury logs have grown exponentially thicker in the last year. He watches their medical supplies drain away faster and faster even as he replaces them. More and more there are mornings when the other two linger between the sheets for longer than they used to. 

It is he who watches Eliot squint ever more at the files and sees his glasses come out of his pocket with unusual regularity. There is a box full of spares in the bottom drawer of their wardrobe for when they break on the job. Hardison begins tipping the lid more often when he starts hearing the crunch of broken glass in his husband’s jacket pocket. They disappear faster these days. 

(One day Hardison has had enough. He makes the toughest case he can and slips it into Eliot’s jacket pocket the night before a job. Eliot never says anything, but it lays on the bedside table sometimes when they’re off, and the glasses stop disappearing from the box so often.) 

It is he who notices how Parker reinforces her rigs more and more, how ropes and straps support more than they used to and stretch further. The vents don’t thud so often these days. She has hung a hammock high in the rafters of their house, and he sees her less in the harness and more tucked away there. 

(He adds padded bottoms to some of the vents and larger places to rest. Parker never says anything, but the vents rattle a little more often.) 

It is he who observes how Eliot isn’t at the punching bag as regularly anymore, how he wraps his hands so carefully when he is, he who sees how Parker does not stretch quite as far as she used to, how she painstakingly plan jobs where she does not have to do a backbend or a particular contortion. 

It is he who watches every time they step out—not jump out, no, not anymore—of the van, carefully holding on to the sides, and thinks to himself as he watches them walk away— 

Is this the last time I will ever see you?

It’s Hardison who, whenever he finds a new job for them to do, eyes the circumstances and determines whether it’s something he can ship off to another team or not. His algorithms are prioritized now to chances of harm rather than potential jobs, attuned to the ever-growing injury logs. Their jobs begin to skew further to grifts and simpler building plans. But that never stops him wondering: Will this be the last job we ever take? 

Will I send them to their deaths today? 

For it is not his hair that fills with grey streaks faster and faster. It is Parker’s. When he sits behind her on the bed with her brush beside him, carefully separating her hair into strands for braiding, he finds more and more of them silvering. 

(He watches her braid it every day, but some mornings she slips before him anyway. She was delighted when she discovered he could do it, courtesy of too many little sisters and not enough time in busy school mornings. It brings a grin to his face every time he thinks of her sunshine smile.) 

It is Eliot’s, for there are late nights when Hardison finds him stretched out and half-asleep on the couch, and when he comes back with a blanket Eliot will be sitting up and waiting. He always sits beside him. Sometimes, Eliot lays back down with his head in his husband’s lap and lets him card gentle fingers through his hair. Those cherished moments become bittersweet when he finds that it is not so thick nor as deep in color as he remembers (though it is always soft). 

And it is Hardison who bolts awake in the midst of the night with the ringing of the comms in his ears, clutching at the sheets to reassure himself he is not in the van he is not in the headquarters he is not on a job he does not have the earbud in his ear he is not listening to his lovers dying. 

These nightmares plagued him from the beginning. He cannot count the number of times he has dreamt of sucking death-rattle breaths, the crack of spines, the sound of screaming in his ears, cannot count the times he has dreamt of searching and searching for bodies. Sometimes he does find them, staring eyes and crushed ribs and mangled limbs. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes they aren’t dead at all—but those times he never finds them. He can never figure out which is worse. 

But the nightmares have never been so bad as they are now. 

Other nights he does not sleep. Other nights, he sits awake and watches his lovers’ scarred chests rise and fall in deep slumbering breaths, and wonders when will I lose you? A year from now? Two? Or only months, only weeks? 

What if it’s tomorrow? 

He wakes to the others’ weeping often. But he thinks they are the ones comforting him more these days. 

Finally Hardison has had enough. 

They can’t do this any longer. He can’t do this any longer. Hardison cannot live without them, these two lights of his life, his sun and moon and bright diamond stars—but he knows he will die last, should they continue down this path, and he will die alone and many years from now. 

For it is not he who takes punch after punch from men decades younger than himself, who climbs into stories-high elevator shafts where one wrong button-press could end it all, who stares down the barrels of guns without one himself, who hangs off the sides of buildings by his fingertips, who pushes and pushes and pushes his body day in and day out. His husband and wife are resilient. The odds say that they should have been unable to keep doing this a decade ago—and the odds are wrong.

But Eliot and Parker are not the kinds of people who can merely stop. There will never be a day, Hardison knows, when they will sit down with him and say we do not want to do this anymore. They will push and push and push themselves till they break. 

Hardison knows what their breaking will look like. His dreams have told him so. Hardison will not, will never, let that happen on his watch. He will have to stop them. 

If he asked, they would. It would take coercing, it would take shouting and arguing and probably many hours of the two of them off on their own and thinking, but they would. 

But Hardison turns this over in his mind as he forges paintings and writes code and sends out emails to the teams, tries to picture stopping, and it makes him go nearly as cold as the thought of breaking does. 

Stopping means no more jobs. No more jobs means… 

Well, it means a lot of time spent volunteering, he supposes, and overseeing International’s teams. It means a lot more nights spent at home and not hotels. More of Eliot’s home cooked meals, he guesses, and more movie nights, more trips for fun. The medical kit wouldn’t have to be refilled nearly as often. Eliot’s box of glasses would never have to be replenished again. It means fewer days spent watching his partners hobble around and deny that they need to sit. Hardison wouldn’t have to plan jobs around the weather that makes their bones ache, or watch Parker wince as she drops out of a vent, or notice how Eliot needs the volume in his comm brought up higher than he used to. 

There would be no heart monitors that spike and fall on the screens. 

Hardison thinks of this, and then he imagines Parker and Eliot in their house, day in and day out, and it brings a shake to his breath rather than a steadiness. 

Ever-moving Parker and Eliot, his never-stopping always-going wife and husband, for whom he has to fill the house with distractions to keep them from pacing and snapping and looking for trouble. Parker has vents and climbing systems and a room full to the brim of boxes of locks, safes, puzzle-boxes, books of riddles, absolutely anything and everything that could challenge her. 

There’s a small gym for Eliot. Hardison always puts new gadgets and cookbooks in the kitchen, and he’s found that there are indeed some books that Eliot will spend hours reading (assuming he can find his glasses). A guitar found its way into the living room one day, and now books of music pile up on the nearby shelves. He keeps a closet specifically for outdoor gear. 

But there are only so many meals that can be cooked. Parker is already bored of most of the puzzle room. More than that, they both have to move. Challenges from books and puzzles and games have never and will never be enough for them. 

Hardison thinks of them in that house, day in and day out, growing wearier and wearier of what they have, growing tired of what life has to offer, and it sends a racking shudder through him. 

He goes on, day in and day out, and he watches them, and they push themselves, and he worries and he wonders and he dreams and he fears. 

And then, one day, it hits him. 

They’re sending off yet another kid to the foster system. Hardison will track them and make sure they find the right place, but it always aches a little to watch them go. He’s been through that hell. There is nothing he wouldn’t give not to help them. The three of them always see them off, but it never feels like enough. 

This time, though, he’s rushing, running to meet them. The kid is already leaving. Parker and Eliot watch them go, tension laced in their shoulders, and it occurs to him that he rarely ever watches them watch the kid. 

They look with the same love in their eyes he saw so many years ago. In a moment he is struck with memories: listening to Eliot teaching Molly how to hit balloons with a dart in the mirror, Parker putting her hands over Josie’s ears as she taught her to break into a car, the worried love in his husband’s voice as he searched for the girl he had known for mere hours, the outraged passion of his wife’s protectiveness over the teenager she had seen so much of herself in. 

There is the ringing of Parker’s half-choked declaration they’ll wind up like me. There is the way Eliot had spoken of Cory, a boy who still carried his father’s lunchbox while he worked in a mine for his family. There’s the kid from the boxing ring and the kid whose father was killing himself in the ice rink and the children tackling Eliot in the school and, and, and—

—and Hardison remembers teaching bright, precocious Trevor about hacking when they were trying to steal a goddamn potato of all things. And of course Breanna, wonderful, perfect Breanna, who leads International now. Breanna, whom he spent so many long, long days and nights teaching how to hack and how to build software and hardware and engineering and whatever else she asked of him. Breanna, who called even when it was four in the morning for her, just to hear his tales of the crew. She still calls. Half the time it’s only to hear their voices. 

With her comes the loud, bustling noise of Nana’s house, the shouting echoing off the walls, the warmth of his little siblings on his hip, the attention and focus it took to put braid after braid in his sisters’ hair. Nana was forever busy with the kids. He still loves coming over as often as he can to help. One thing never changes—her house is forever noisy. There are always new kids around, and there are always lessons to be taught: how to fold laundry, how to dance along to a song without worrying whether you’re doing it right, how to complete all of your schoolwork for the night, how to speak kindly, how to work together, and the most important one of all: 

Love yourself.

Nana’s work is never done. She is always busy.

Eliot and Parker cannot stand to be still. They need to be doing something. But most of all, they have to be helping someone. 

The puzzle snaps together like a flash of lightning. As the thunder rolls, so does his mind: he knows precisely what he needs to do. 

First there’s the matter of housing. Their house is big, but not that big, and anyway, the only home that matters to them is each other. Nana’s only one person, and she can manage plenty of kids on her own. Between the three of them, Hardison is sure they’ll wind up with quite the brood. 

There are any number of mansions lying around the States. It’s shocking how many there are. They’re not small, either: most of them could fit a whole extended family in them, though most of the time they’re just bought by too-rich people who can’t hope to fill a quarter of the space. Hardison should know. The crew has infiltrated plenty of them. But he knows they’ll find a way to put one to good use. 

He searches for the ones that are unlikely to be bought and only takes up space. There’s a lot of them, half too damaged to be good for anything, but one sticks out: secluded with beautiful grounds, an area with good (but not too good) schools, a half-decent price point, and a bit of a fixer-upper. 

Standing on ladders and driving in nails isn’t not physical, but it’s a lot better than dodging punches or dropping two stories off a building. Giving Eliot and Parker a project right off the bat will help ease the blow of quitting the jobs. 

Then he hunts down research. He already has shelves upon shelves of books on psychology and parenting and foster children and anything else that could be helpful, but there’s always more to read. A refresher course is important. 

While he’s got algorithms searching for that, he sets some to hunting down more details on the local area as well as building renovations, then begins building a plan. He’ll have to introduce the idea slowly. Parker and Eliot won’t be opposed, per say, but getting them to completely agree will be a challenge. 

It takes a few weeks, but it’s going well, and Hardison’s almost ready to present his idea to them. 

Then his world shatters. 

It’s another job, another day, another time when he watches his lovers head out the door and wonders will it be this time? 

Except then will it be this time? changes to oh God, it’s this time. 

Eliot’s breaths choke off at the same time something crunches.

Parker screams his name so loud Hardison’s ears ring. Or maybe that’s him—maybe that’s him screaming so hard that the taste of blood coats his throat—but it doesn’t matter because Parker’s cut off with a jerk and the comms go dead and they are dead dead dead and— 

The world spins and drops out. The next few hours are black but for agonizing pain. 

His only memory is not of sight or sound or hearing. It’s touch, the thready warmth of two pulses flickering under his fingers. 

They tell him later that he found them in the nick of time: two unconscious bodies collapsed side-by-side in a back alley, and him, clutching their wrists with 911’s number still glowing on the phone beside them. Apparently he rode in the ambulance, because they couldn’t get him away from the other two without restraining him. Every time they tried they feared they’d hurt him. 

What he remembers next is this: waking in a plastic chair, head dizzy (with sedatives, he learns later), an ice-cold knife of grief sunk into his heart and tears coating his cheeks, to the steady paired beeping of twin heart monitors. 

They survive. Miraculously, they survive, somehow with only minimal injuries. Hardison knows it’s only because of the advancements made within the last few years. Three days later they’re out of the hospital and back home, Eliot on crutches and unhappy about it, Parker complaining at length over the stitches in her arm. Hardison can’t even be annoyed by it. They’re here and they’re alive and they’re still here. 

He gives them the evening. But the next day he’s up even before them, spreading papers on the table and making breakfast at the stove (because you learn some things when your husband is a world-class cook) when the two of them come to the table. 

When they ask, he doesn’t bother to soften the blow. This is the last time he’s doing that. They’re done. 

Eliot and Parker look at each other, then at him. They nod. 

He blinks. Just like that? he wonders, and then asks it aloud. 

“We don’t want to hurt you again,” they answer, and his heart could break with relief. 

When he presents the plans they answer with all the joy he had hoped for. They’re worried, of course—will they be fit to care for children?—but Hardison only rolls his eyes and reminds them of Breanna and Josie and Molly and Cory and all the rest, and they relent. 

Two months later they move out to the mansion. It’s a difficult project. Even Hardison didn’t anticipate how long it would be (though Eliot grumbled at him about how much harder this would be than it seemed, dammit, Hardison, what have you gotten us into this time?) but it’s good work, hard work, busy work. He doesn’t have to watch them pace in a hotel room with boredom. There is no angry snapping born of too much time spent sitting around. They work and Hardison blasts music and the other teams chat with them over voice calls. 

Some nights Eliot sits in the central hall, the ceiling four stories above them and laced with Parker’s rigs, and plays new songs for them on his guitar. They all sing along when it’s one they know. The acoustics of the room are perfect for echoing and strengthening their voices. 

Other nights they curl up on a pile of king mattresses spread three-wide and two-deep, blankets heaped high, and whisper stories to one another before falling asleep to the songs of morning birds outside the windows. 

Hardison still wakes screaming. Eliot and Parker do too. But it’s not every other night anymore, and now that they aren’t on jobs, his nightmares begin to recede. 

(Of course there’s always the recurring one that did happen. Sometimes he sleeps with their wrists in his hands or his fingers pressed to their necks, just to reassure himself their hearts are still beating. If Eliot and Parker are still awake, one of them will pull him close and press his ear against their chest, and he falls asleep listening to their heartbeat.) 

Some of the International people show up to help. They come with suggestions and ideas that get put to good use. Breanna delights in helping them pick out the tools for a massive workshop. His other siblings come too, and he puts them to work. Nana is too old for traveling these days (though he knows she’ll outlive them all), but she talks to them over video calls and gives them tips on how to make everything work. 

“How on earth are you going to handle so many kids?” some of them ask. “You’re looking at a school’s worth.” 

The three of them just smile. They’re up to the task—and besides that, there’s a number of people from other crews who are also on the brink of retirement. An entire section of the manor is planned for incoming helpers: they won’t be alone for long.

Finally the mansion is done. Or, well, done enough. It’ll always be a project. There will always be a room that needs repainting, or a sink that breaks out of nowhere and needs repairing, or a piece of roof that’s leaking. But it is more than livable—oh, so beautifully livable, the best home Hardison has ever found for them, filled to the brim with all they could ever want. 

There is a library with shelves that stretch two floors up, filled with more books than he could read in a lifetime and skylights flooding the room with sunlight. The gym has endless features: a dance studio, a martial arts room, weights, gymnastic mats and bars, a goddamn ball pit because Parker loved the idea, and slides to go with it. Eliot has the biggest and best kitchen he could have ever dreamed of. There’s even a walk-in fridge and freezer. 

(“The hell do you expect me to be cooking for, an army?” he asks once, and Hardison laughs. 

“Worse. Kids.”)

 They’ve made the bedrooms a little plainer than usual, though they have rooms filled to the brim with furniture and curtains and decorations of all shapes and sizes. It will be the kids’ home too. They deserve to decorate their own rooms, no matter how long they’ll be staying. 

There are movie rooms, and rooms of pillows and couches and blankets, hidey-holes aplenty (Parker knows them all), games, puzzles, music (Hardison’s pretty sure a band could set up shop in there), art, writing spaces, closets and closets waiting to be filled, bathrooms with tubs big enough to be small pools, a real pool both indoors and out, and Hardison sometimes loses track of what else. They make sure all but some reserve rooms are used and functional. None of them will let this space go to waste. 

Getting everything up to code is a job and a half, but there’s plenty of disabled International people (and Hardison’s siblings too) who give them pointers and let them know who the right people to call are. Hardison delights in picking out elevator music. Eliot informs him that programming them to play The Imperial March every time he uses them is not as funny as he thinks. Parker plans little puzzles in Braille and puts them in all sorts of places. 

She, of course, has rigging all over the place. The high ceilings are her dream. There are hammocks everywhere. Eliot adores the greenhouse and gardens, spending hours mulling over plans and determining precisely what will work best. Hardison watches the lawn service mowing the massive yards and mulls over the best use for them. There are paths aplenty for running and walking. Eliot’s got a whole space mapped out for an orchard. Parker’s claimed a not-insignificant section of it for mazes and a high ropes course (which is going to be godawful hard to build, but he can’t wait to watch the kids on it).

Hardison’s read a lot of books and seen a lot of research supporting animal-raising as an excellent activity for kids. And he’s always wanted a dog.

When they visit the local shelter they end up with three (because Eliot’s a softie for them) and two cats. He plans a chicken coop in the back and goes to long-term planning for more farm-type animals. Parker has come to love horses over the years, and he knows Eliot’s fondness has never faded. Maybe a stable or two. 

Their adoption and foster papers process not long before they’re done. (Hardison technically already had them, but they hadn’t been done the legal way, and though the law is pretty stupid about this whole thing he still wants to do it right.) Then it’s time to get to work. 

They’re careful, of course. They begin with two siblings in the summer. Both are teenagers, that age where it’s hard to get them into a foster home, let alone to adopt. (Of course the three of them aren’t looking for adoption unless the kids want it. They’re human beings: they get to choose their own parents.) Both are quiet and wary, looking overwhelmed as they stare up into the manor’s heights. 

Parker and Hardison exchange glances, wincing. They’d known from experience that this might be tricky.

They start small, relegating everything to a single wing. It’s around the size of an ordinary house, maybe a bit bigger, and while the three of them have their own rooms elsewhere they make sure to sleep nearby. (That’s something else the kids look at them strangely for: there aren’t many polycules who foster kids, after all. There aren’t many polyamorous couples visible in the media period, though that’s changing with Breanna’s generation. )

When Eliot loads one kid’s laundry into the machine (and oh, they need to go shopping so badly for these kids), he finds a worn dress at the bottom of a pile of boy’s clothes. The same kid, he recalls, who had shaken their head a little when he had asked them about haircuts, whose hair was already brushing their shoulders. It’s fraying at the edges, obviously well loved. There’s a hole in the skirt. When he brings the laundry up he takes out the sewing kit (well, a piece of it—there is a truly enormous area of the arts room dedicated to material arts) and makes sure to fix the hole before he puts everything in the closet. The dress goes first and foremost, hung delicately on a special hanger. 

The days go by, the kids become more open, and a routine falls into place. They fill closets with dresses and scarves and put boxes of pins with pronouns in their rooms. Eliot teaches them to chop vegetables and shows them basic self-defense. He helps them walk the dogs, and when he offers they let him teach them meditation. 

Parker takes them to therapy (a tricky conversation, but well worth it) and shows the younger one how to climb. The older one is more interested in puzzles, and she happily complies, bringing out a massive box full to the brim with puzzle-boxes. 

Hardison, for his part, puts together movie nights and video gaming sessions. He shows off the library and makes sure they know where to find everything, as well as the rules of the house. When one of them shows an interest in fandom, he makes sure they know where the cosplay stuff is. One day he starts a DnD campaign with all four of his family members. 

Four becomes five, five becomes seven, the school year begins and some choose homeschooling and others choose public. Homework is done, meals are cooked, dogs are fed, cats are befriended, lightsaber battles play out in the yards and Nerf gun fights are had in the halls (Eliot still prefers a shield), pillow fights go down, tears are cried and arguments ring out in the halls, the fridge doors and pin boards and walls are covered in artwork, kids eight, nine, and ten show up, conversations about queerness are had, a Pride parade is attended, there’s therapy and therapy and so much therapy, sports teams are joined, clubs are attended, problems occur and they handle it, they handle it, they handle it all no matter how hard it is.

Hardison isn’t sure he’s ever seen the other two so happy. He, for one, cannot contain his joy. The children are hard but they are wonderful, bright sparks ready to go out into the world with no one to dim them. 

There is a baby one day that International directs to them. The rest of the kids dote on them. The work is hard, but they manage anyway, and there’s three of them to get up when the little one cries. There is nothing more endearing than watching Eliot asleep with a tiny baby crooked in his arm or Parker carefully climbing with them strapped to her chest. 

One day, as he’s sitting on the porch with the other two at his sides and watching the kids play, he glances to the sides and realizes that his partners have gone fully gray. He himself finds his joints creaking more and more these days. 

The International retirees are doing fantastic and Breanna is the perfect heir to their throne, directing teams with all her brilliance while getting her own work in on the side. She’s mentioned she thinks she might hand it off to one of her own proteges, just so she can go back to some of the old work. 

We built a legacy, he thinks, and then, We built a legacy, and we are here now, and they did not die and leave me here alone, and we are happy. 

He realizes Eliot and Parker are looking at him with that we know what you’re thinking expression. They smile at him when he notices. Parker kisses his cheek and Eliot pulls him closer on the porch swing, and though they say nothing at all, he knows they’re all thinking the same thing: 

We got our happy ending, and we made sure everyone else will too.

#leverage #leverage fic #I swear to you this wasn't going to be as long as it turned out to be #leverage redemption #leverage redemption spoilers #tw minor gore #leverage redemption fic #fanfic #synapse writes #synapse fanfic #leverage meta #meta #eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker #parker leverage #leverage ot3 #ot3: hitter hacker thief #eliot spencer/alec hardison/parker #is that all the tags...? #hopefully #anyway this is not beta'd and it's not my usual fic #typically it's more polished #hence: TUMBLR POST #y'all I have so much work #I have SO MANY other things I need to be doing #I do not know WHY I do this to myself #so this is my happy ending for the ot3 #because. them and kids. THEM AND KIDS

[tefilovesreading]

It’s a match! Part. 1

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem!Reader

Word count: +1,7k

Warnings: language, mention of alcohol.

A/N: This is a mini series, I’m not sure how many parts it’s gonna have and there’s gonna be some texts in between. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED. 

Edited by: @theamazingtomholland

MASTERLIST // PART 2 // PART 3

She felt her hands start sweating as she saw the small circle slowly filling up, letting her know that the app was being downloaded. She knew what a dating app was, how it worked and what was its purpose, but never created her account, not that she needed it before because she had a boyfriend. Her roommate, on the other hand, was well acquainted with dating apps, and they’d spent nights swiping through the profiles together. 

Now that she was single for the first time since she graduated from high school, her roommate and best friend had convinced her to download Tinder and have fun.

“You don’t even have to go and meet the guy, Y/N,” Jo had said with a beaming smile to encourage her when they met for coffee earlier that day, “just have a look and see if you find someone you’d want to talk to.”

She nibbled on her lip when the circle filled up entirely and the icon appeared on her screen, bright and inviting. Putting her phone down, she decided she’d create her account later, for now, downloading it was more than enough.

In her sophomore year, she broke up with her boyfriend because they couldn’t find time to be together, too busy with classes, exams, and part-time jobs. But that didn’t last long, ‘cause they got back together after three weeks. 

Those three weeks ignited a spark in her, suddenly things were more exciting to her, and she didn’t feel like she was acting how others expected her to. Y/N felt a kind of freedom that made her go on a date with her co-worker, sure they just went for a coffee together once and decided that they were better off as friends, but that small rejection made her want to make that spark disappear.

Being with Lance made things easier, they knew each other since they were little, and that meant she didn’t have to open up to let him know her flaws and fears, because he knew her like the palm of his hand. Being with him made her feel safe, even when they were apart during his first year of college since she was a year younger than him and was still in high school when he left for college, but that safety net vanished when Lance decided he wanted to spend time overseas after he graduated from college. And it was useless to wait for him if he wasn’t even sure he wanted to come back.

Eight months later, Y/N felt that spark reigniting again, making her feel like she was missing something. Ever since Lance left, she spent too much time afraid to put herself out there. How can you let someone into your life and trust them to not hurt you? After all, she trusted Lance for so long just to get hurt because they didn’t want the same things, and their paths went in different ways. But Y/N knew she couldn’t hide much longer, she wanted to go out, have fun, go on dates and meet new people, she just didn’t know how to start.

Her phone vibrated with a new notification from her best friend, and she snorted at her text.

Jo: Any matches yet heartbreaker???

If only Jo knew she still wasn’t able to bring herself into making an account. Maybe she could choose the pictures first, plan her bio, and then create it. Planning that out was definitely better than staring at the app icon.

Y/N: Not yet, but I’ll let you know ;)

After an hour of scrolling through her photos, Y/N chose five pictures where she looked decent. Hell, she looked really hot in one or two of those, and she wasn’t going to act as if that wasn’t true.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered to herself after her account was finally set up. 

It was a strange feeling swiping through the profiles, reading their bios, and rolling her eyes at some of them. But after a few minutes, she started enjoying it, not even feeling bad if she didn’t match with a guy.

She smiled at the simple bio on her screen and swiped right, not even bothering to go through his other photos. He was cute, he seemed like he liked to have fun, and even though he was cute, he was also hot. A dangerous mix, but a really nice one.

It’s a match!

“Honey I’m home!” her best friend sang, entering  the living room.

“Shit Jo!” Y/N scolded the girl, “you scared me.”

“Why?” Jo faked an offended look, “were you sending dirty messages or something?”

“Oh shut up,” Y/N said, handing her phone over to her friend with a sheepish smile on her face, “check out my last match.”

“Okay, so he likes outdoor activities, he plays the guitar, and he has a cute smile,” her friend listed, swiping through his photos, “what are you waiting for, Y/N? Send him a message!”

“I was actually waiting for him to send one first,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up, “you know I suck with conversations over chat.”

“But what if he’s waiting for you to talk to him, and you don’t do it,” Y/N looked at her friend and knew she was already making up a whole movie in her head, about how they could be soulmates, but they would never know if she didn’t send him a text.

“Fine!” She huffed and took her phone from her friend’s hands, “Do I send him a hello or what?”

“No, that’s too dry,” Jo replied, “you should ask him about where he took that picture, the one where he’s in the snow.”

She bit her bottom lip to distract herself from the fact that she felt as if her stomach was tied up in knots. He was really cute, and she had a good feeling about him, almost as if the universe was telling her to go for it, meet up with him and have fun.

Hesitating at first, she let her finger hover over the little “send” button for a few seconds, before pressing the screen and sending the text.

Y/N: Hey! Where did you take the first pic? The place looks great

“What now?” Jo looked at her with one of her eyebrows arched.

“We wait, you idiot.”

“I need to do something,” Y/N locked her phone and got up, “if I stay on that couch waiting for a reply I’m gonna end up with no nails.”

“I did your nails last night, Y/N, don’t ruin my work,” Jo complained, “why don’t you cook dinner today?, and I’ll wash the dishes, so you can text with that guy if he replies to you by the time we’re done eating.”

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that it was your turn, Jo” she pointed out but made her way to the kitchen anyway, “and you better wash, dry, and put the dishes back in the cabinets.”

Cooking was the perfect distraction, and the glass of wine she drank while they were eating helped her loosen up just enough to check her phone without feeling like she was getting back some important results.

Charlie: It’s in Canada Charlie: Sulphur Mountain Trail! Charlie: I like your smile btw

She smiled with excitement when she opened the app and saw those three messages, and just as she was about to respond, Charlie sent another one.

Charlie: How was your day??  Y/N: It was good, pretty relaxing actually Y/N: Yours?? Charlie: Great! I went hiking with a friend, so now I’m just chilling at home Y/N: I’m assuming you’re into hiking, don’t you??? Charlie: Hahaha yeah you’re right Charlie: I guess I enjoy being outside, it keeps my mind occupied

Y/N: I get it, I’m not really into outdoor activities Y/N: I mean Y/N: I don’t mind going on a hike once in a while, but I prefer reading, painting, or playing some music  Y/N: To keep my mind occupied 

Five texts in a row. Was that too much? She didn’t want to appear intense, but she also didn’t want to send just one massive text and type it for way too long.

Charlie: You play an instrument?? Charlie: I love music Y/N: Yeah I play the piano Y/N: I just don’t have one with me now, so I haven’t played in a while Charlie: Oh! That sucks! Charlie: When I moved here I think I packed my guitars first and then the rest of my stuff

Y/N let out a soft laugh at his text, he did seem like the kind of guy to pack random stuff before things that he might actually need. She should’ve done the same, she missed playing the piano, and now that she was miles away from her parents’ house it wasn’t like she could just go and play. Especially because she didn’t even know how to drive a car.

Y/N: Should’ve done the same if I’m honest Y/N: Where are you from? You said you moved here

After reading his answer to her last question, she groaned in embarrassment because it was the most obvious answer, and yet she didn’t notice it.

Charlie: I’m Canadian

She lost track of time talking to him about things they both enjoyed doing, what was their favorite movie, favorite musician, and to her surprise it was so easy to talk to him about small things like that could help you a lot to get to know another person. Y/N got startled when Jo touched her shoulder to get her attention.

“I’m off to bed, babe,” Y/N dodged when her friend tried to ruffle her hair as if she was a little kid, “don’t go to bed too late.”

“I won’t mom,” she replied jokingly, “sweet dreams, Jo.”

With a heavy sigh, Y/N typed a message, telling him that she needed to get some rest and that she was hoping they could keep talking the next day.

Charlie: Do you mind if I ask you for your number?? Charlie: I’d love to call you or FaceTime with you if you’re okay with that

“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispered, wishing her best friend hadn’t gone to bed already. Of course, she wanted to give him her number, but was she supposed to give her number to the first guy she talked to on Tinder? “fuck it, I’m doing it.”

Y/N sent him her number and after telling him goodnight, she closed the app and got ready for bed. She really had a good feeling about this whole thing, and she couldn’t put her finger on what it was, because the feeling started even before they even matched. 

Maybe it was just fate doing its work.

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie x y/n #charlie gillespie imagine #charlie gillespie fanfic #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie one shot #charlie gillespie fluff #jatp cast imagine #charlie gillespie

[mercurial-madhouse]

@oldbay-on-apples asked, I wish you would write a fic where characters of your choice are spies and trying to escape a facility with the blueprints they need!

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

See my point of view (As someone staring back at you)

“We’re in, Haz.” 

Louis’s voice transmits through his earpiece. The tech relies on sound vibrations, picking up the resonance of Louis’s vocal cords so that, even though they can all hear him clearly, on Louis’s end his words are below a whisper. 

“Surprisingly, I can see that.” Harry scans the multiple video feeds on the screen before him. Louis, Picklock, top left; Niall, Ammunition, bottom left; Liam, Data Encryption, bottom right. 

Top right: blank. Where his feed should be. 

Louis’s face pops into Liam’s camera long enough for him to wiggle his eyebrows. All black looks so damn good on him. “How’m I supposed to know you weren’t mid-kip, old man?”

Harry tears his gaze away from Louis before his attention is compromised. Louis’s only two years older than he is and he’s been arse over tit for the footie player-turned-spy since they met years ago. But feelings cloud judgement, a potentially fatal threat too dangerous to dare in their line of work. He eyes the silver-tipped black cane leaning against the table next to him.

Current mobility status: severely limited.

“Promised Payno he wouldn’t have to babysit you alone,” he mutters without missing a beat.

Louis screws his features up then disappears from Liam’s screen, clearly shoved aside. Light glints off the camera implanted in the thin film of the eye-contact he’s wearing that’s allowing Harry to see their views. The nanotech Liam used to create it and their earpieces is too valuable to risk discovery by foreign governments. Any indication of compromise they must destroy the only lifeline Harry has to them.

Frustration tenses his muscles and tweaks the bulging disc between vertebrae L4 and L5. A lance of pain shoots up his spine. He raps a button on the keyboard. A fourth feed appears, the hijacked surveillance camera on the front gate with views of the Russian security guard manning the video booth.

Niall’s already detached from the other two. He oversees the perimeter. In complete silence he’s setting up remote-controlled explosives, the failsafe to create chaos should the other two need help during the extraction. Liam and Louis are silent. Harry watches like a video game without a controller as they scale the rear wall and infiltrate the building through the massive heating duct. 

As rogue operatives, their only link back to MI6 is a non-existent papertrail: an agent simply known as Z (probably because Q was already taken). The most dangerous jobs go to them, the ones MI6 can’t chance having connected back to the British government if the four of them are compromised on a mission.

If the window of opportunity to sneak into the Kremlin for a specific set of blueprints only known as TMH-11 weren’t closing fast, they might have waited for Harry to heal. All it’d taken was an unfortunate twist on their last mission in Bulgaria and he’d slipped a disc. He’s certain a gunshot to the back would be less painful. Louis had barely kept him on his feet to get to safety.

The silver world surrounding Louis and Liam steadies. For a few seconds Harry can see them both as they look at each other.

Liam glances at his watch. He’s spent months logging the patrols for the building and knows the timing by memory. 

“Six minutes, Tommo. No more.”

Louis nods. A breath, then they lift the ceiling grate aside. Liam finds leverage, planting his feet, gloved hands tight around the rope as Louis hovers towards the ground. The red laser lines criss-crossing the entire area as thin as trip-wires. 

Harry releases a breath when Louis’s feet touch down soundlessly, just before the tiny metal boxes all stacked like mailroom slots at a post office. The grid’s so small Louis’s got to keep his knees locked together. Even then, barely a centimetre separates him from discovery.

He works efficiently on the lock for box TMH-11, tools so tiny they make his slim fingers look even more slender. The miniscule flame of the blowtorch matches the alarm lasers in width. 

“Two minutes, eight seconds,” Liam says, tone even.

Plenty of time.

Louis is silent. He doesn’t answer when he’s concentrating. All of them know he’s heard.

The flame flares once. Louis cuts it off, pocketing the tools. He eases the door open, peering inside.

Motion on the screen catches Harry’s attention. The security guard’s feet have landed flat, squinting at the video monitor in front of him. His hand hovers over a call button, lips moving.

“Possible indeterminate error,” Harry warns. “Lou, get out now.”

Louis slides a cylinder from the box. At least a metre long, he slips it up to Liam.

“I’ve got movement,” Niall reports.

“Tommo, now,” Liam hisses.

Louis clicks the box closed. There’s no time to get the lock back into place. Footsteps fuzz through Liam and Louis’s earpieces. Pain surges through Harry’s back as he lurches forward, staring at Louis’s feed. Louis’s gaze whips over his shoulder towards the closed door of the vault.

“Lou, get out!”

Liam appears on Louis’s screen. Louis’s silent, but whatever he says to Liam with a look has Liam shaking his head.

Harry’s seen this too many times in his nightmares. They know their orders. They know what’s most important. “Lou, you still have time. Go.”

“Get that cache to Niall,” Louis whispers. He detaches the line from his back.

“Lou!” Harry shouts, in time with Liam. “Niall, code one. On my command.”

“Copy this.”

“Payno, go.” In Louis’s feed, Liam looks too far away. It’s not the distance that’s the enemy, it’s getting Louis through the grid without tripping the alarm. It’s precision that can’t be done quickly. The moment they trip the alarm the whole building goes on lockdown, cutting Liam off too.

Liam curses. Louis’s face vanishes in his screen, replaced by the cord Liam’s hauling up, then the descent of darkness as he closes the vent.

Heart racing, Harry splits his attention between Liam and Louis, anxiously tracking Liam’s progress back through the building. Louis doesn’t move except to press his forehead against the wall of metal, completely still. He can’t risk alerting the guards or sounding the alarm before Liam’s far enough out.

“Lou, he’s on the roof.” Harry doesn’t need to whisper, but his voice comes out soft anyway. “It’s only four metres to the door.”

If anyone can get out, it’s Louis. He’s as expert at slipping through tight spaces as he is at picking every lock. Harry refuses to believe he can’t find a way through these.

Louis pushes out a slow breath, loud enough for Harry to hear through the wire. “I won’t make it, Haz. You know I can’t risk it.”

Fuck. Fuck. This possibility isn’t a surprise. They’ve got hundreds of contingency plans and this one is no different. Once Liam successfully drops the cache with Niall, he’ll go back for Louis. 

“Payno, report.”

“Three minutes.”

Three minutes to get to Niall and back. A dangerous gamble.

“Think you could go a mite faster there, Payno?” Louis mutters, voice light despite the tightness.

Another man has joined the security guard. They’re pointing at one of the feeds. Harry’s heart thuds as dread washes over him, pulse pumping in his jugular. 

“Damnit, I should be—”

“Right where the fuck you are,” Louis cuts him off, an edge to his words. They soften. Something indescribable leaks into his tone and slicks Harry’s palms with sweat. “Right where you need to be, Haz.”

“I need to be with you.” The words are out before Harry can stop them, but it’s the truth. If Harry were there this wouldn’t be an issue. He should be getting Louis out while Liam runs the line. They operate in pairs for a reason.

Louis hasn’t moved at all. His control is impressive. Off the clock he’s all manic energy. On a job every move he makes is precise and carefully thought out. None of them could possibly fill his role.

“One minute,” Liam reports. He’s scaling to the roof.

Footsteps echo through the corridor behind Louis. Russian voices, too far for the mic to pick up, so the internal translator won’t work. They stop outside the door. The bleeps of a keypad.

A torpedo of terror surges into Harry’s chest and ruptures.

“Hazza—”

“Niall, now! Liam, go!”

“Haz, I’m sorry... I’m in love with you.”

Niall’s explosives detonate. Louis’s feed goes dark. Harry’s heart gets caught in the blast.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<>*< 

(Ok, I tried so hard to make this a drabble of 500 words. Then 1k. It wasn’t meant to be. This is the story the characters told me. I hope it fits the bill, love! I do enjoy me some spy AUs even though this is my first to write! Love my action and adventure!)

Have something else you’d like to see me write? Go wild! Pairing, situation, feeling… Send me an ask (anon or not) completing the sentence ‘I wish you’d write a fic where…’

Superpowers Drabble

Invisible Drabble

Only one bed (H-POV)

Only one bed (L-POV)

ABO new-omega!Louis drabble that became a fic on AO3.

#trackinghome #hlcreators #hljournal #1dsource #yourlarrysource #tracksintheam #larry drabble #larry fanfiction #spy au