#so I could be a bit less morose

[sourlove]

My In-Laws ~ Part II of 'My Mistake' YANDERE TODOROKI SHOTO

TW: OBSESSION, DELUSION, MENTIONED ARSON, IMPLIED VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF MAFIA AND GANG ACTIVITIES

A/N: This is a quirkless AU so the Todoroki family isn't as fucked up. Touya never left but Enji is still lowkey an asshole. Also sorry this took a while, haven't been feeling very well.

READ PART 1 HERE

You should have gone to law school like your mom wanted you to. You had such a bright future. Now here you were, dressed to the nines, heading to an event you had no business being at, with a man who was convinced the both of you were madly in love.

Some people would consider it a win, especially with how powerful and wealthy the Todoroki name was. However, the circumstances that had led to your situation were less than ideal.

"I'm so glad you decided to match with me, my love," Shoto said, sending a small smile your way.

"You burned all my other clothes," you responded dryly, swatting his hand from your thigh.

The asshole pretended like he didn't even hear you. "It's good for us to present a united front against my family. This might come as a surprise but we aren't exactly a regular family."

You glanced out of the blacked out windows of the chauffer driven car you were in to the convoy that followed in front and behind, filled with armed guards. "You don't say."

Shoto sighed morosely. "It's shocking, I know. I must warn you that some of my family aren't very, how would you say, mentally stable."

"...is that so?" you asked the man who decided he was in love with you as he was tied up in your basement. Honestly, the whole thing was starting to sound like some big, elaborate prank he was pulling. But no, Shoto began his spiel, completely oblivious to your sarcasm.

"Take my eldest brother for example," he began. "We aren't supposed to talk about him, actually. It's...really been very difficult for my family..."

"Oh...did something happen to him?" You asked, feeling kind of bad.

"Hmm? No, we just can't reveal too much information so it won't be used against him in court." Shoto gave you a blank look. "He burnt down a school district. It's been really hard for my family to keep him out of prison so he's on house arrest now."

...of course he was.

The rest of the drive was filled with stories of Shoto's siblings and mother. You weren't sure if you wanted to meet actually them or if you wanted to throw yourself out of the car, but before you could make a decision, the car arrived in front of a large compound. You gaped in awe as the gates swung open to reveal a mansion and grounds even grander than Shoto's.

There was a butler who welcomed you to the mansion, while his eyes tried to communicate with you to run. Now that was a tempting idea. But there was no backing out now. Plus, Shoto had gotten used to your escape attempts and his hand was like a shackle on your wrist. You gazed around the interior of the mansion, your hands itching to pinch some of the smaller but still expensive looking art pieces.

"You're here!" A cheery voice made you turn towards the large grandiose staircase where a beautiful woman stood. She had long white hair, tipped with red, similar to Shoto's half. Must be Fuyumi then, the only 'normal' one in the family according to Shoto.

You smile thinly as she wraps you in a hug. "It's so to finally meet you!" she exclaimed. "Everyone is in the dining room already!"

Shoto snatched you back into his arms before Fuyumi could drag you away but she just chuckled and rolled her eyes at you. "Shoto was always so possessive with his things."

Things? Your smile grew a bit more strained but neither of them seemed to notice or care. The dining room was just as opulent as the rest of the house but you barely got to appreciate it, instead, all you took notice of was the mix of bright blue and grey eyes staring at you.

"This is Y/N. Don't be weird," Shoto introduced, oh so eloquently. The heads of the table were occupied by a giant red haired man and a tiny woman with silver hair flowing down her back. Two young men sat opposite each other and Fuyumi slipped into a chair, patting the seat next to her for you. Shoto ignored her and pulled you to sit next to him.

You nodded at them awkwardly. "Hello. Nice to meet you."

"You're kind of hot." A redhead with an ankle monitor and a disturbingly predatory grin piped up. "Like in a trapped mouse kind of way. I like it."

"Hush, Touya," the older woman said sternly. "He didn't mean that, dear."

"Nah, he has a point." The other young man, Natsuo probably, smiled at you, looking at you slowly from top to bottom. "There's something appealing there."

"I said don't be weird. Keep it in your fucking pants." Shoto glared at the both of them and if it were anyone else, you might have felt worried for them, however, the atmosphere in the room never changed.

"That's enough, all of you." The large man said gruffly. He must be Enji, the generally disliked patriarch. "Y/N, was it? Welcome."

"I'm sure Shoto has told you all about us. But we barely know anything about you, my dear," Rei said kindly. "How did you and our Shoto meet?"

"Oh, um-" You glanced around the room, wide eyed, only to be met with curious gazes from the family. Panicked, you shrank back into your seat. "We- uh, we met by chance, you know, it was like sooo romantic, haha. It was a park-yeah...".

Touya rolled his eyes and Natsuo scoffed into his wine glass. Enji silently raised an eyebrow. "Well, that sounds...nice," Fuyumi laughed awkwardly. "Very romantic..."

Shoto cleared his throat. "Y/N tried to kidnap me the first time that we met."

It was as if the tension just bled out of the room. Rei gasped in delight and smiled at Enji. "Oh, it reminds me of how me met! You remember when I tried to kill you?" He gave his wife a small, fond smile and nodded.

"Oh now, I'm definitely interested," Touya purred. "Looks like we have a little psychopath on out hands."

"You'll fit right in then, pretty," Natsuo added with a laugh. "We're all some kind of fucked up."

"I knew it!" Fuyumi exclaimed, eyes sparkling. "The moment I saw you, I knew you were special!"

Shoto leaned in, whispering, "I think they like you. Not sure if that's a good or bad thing."

Oh you knew what it was. As excited chatter from the Todoroki family began to fill the room, you knew that you had just gotten yourself entangled with one of the most dangerous groups of people in the world.

And that was a very bad thing indeed.

A/N: If you enjoyed this, please leave a like, comment and reblog! I need to sleep and get my shit together lol so this might not be my best work. Thanks for your support either way!

@sky2lar @justabratsworld

#obsessive love #obsessive yandere #yandere #bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfic #mha #my hero academia #yandere boyfriend #writers on tumblr #bnha shouto #bnha shoto todoroki #mha shoto #mha headcanons #mha imagines #yandere x reader #yandere male #male yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere shoto x reader #yandere shoto todoroki #yandere bnha #yandere boy #yandere bf #tw yandere #yandere mha #yandere todoroki

[cuubism]

PLEAAE write dreamling pregnancy crackfic you MUST and PLEASE include Sad Crying I Forgor cat dream

Behold, lovely anons, some nonsense.

---

“Um, Dream,” says Hob, staring at the tiny plastic stick sitting on his bathroom countertop, “what is that.”

Dream comes to stand behind him, peering over his shoulder. “It is a pregnancy test.”

“Yeah, why?” Hob picks it up, squinting down at it. “And why is it negative?”

He realizes a second later that the first question out of his mouth should, in fact, have been why the fuck do you have a pregnancy test? Unless it’s not Dream’s and someone just broke into his flat and left it there, which might actually be less weird.

“Presumably because I am not human,” says Dream.

Hob puts the test down. Turns around, takes Dream by the shoulders, and steers him out of the bathroom. Once they’re back in the living room, he means to say a number of things, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “What.”

“The test does not work because I am not human,” Dream repeats. He’s definitely being deliberately obtuse now, if he wasn’t before.

A million questions swirl in Hob’s mind, and a rising swell of panic. He mentally shakes himself. Forces himself to get it together. He’s not a seventeen-year-old kid who got a girl pregnant. He can handle his shit.

He holds Dream still by the arms. Tilts his head until Dream meets his eyes. “Dream, do you have something that you want to tell me? In words, maybe?”

Unless he doesn’t know. But he’s like, a concept, how could he not know?

Wait, is this why Hob was having random dreams about babies last week? He is going to kill this man.

Well, he’s going to give him a hug first. Then he’s going to kill him.

Dream looks into his eyes. Oh God, he’s serious now. So this wasn’t all just for kicks, not that Dream really does things for kicks, anyway. “Hob, I am—”

Hob hauls him into an embrace before he can finish the sentence. Perhaps he should let Dream say it. But he can’t not hug him.

Dream relaxes into his hold. Hob hadn’t realized how tense he was until he did. Oh, poor thing. Just because they’re not young people floundering about on the precipice of adulthood doesn’t mean it’s not stressful. Especially that in between moment, when he knows, and Hob doesn’t.

“I have known for a few weeks now,” Dream says, face pressed to Hob’s shoulder. “Are you upset?”

“No, of course not.” Upset? He’s having their child and Hob’s upset? He supposes they didn’t exactly plan it, but, when has he ever planned anything when it comes to Dream?

He pulls back at last, kisses Dream’s temple, and steers him over to sit down on the couch. He sits beside him, their knees touching. Takes Dream’s hand and squeezes it. “If you already knew, then why did you bother to use the test?”

“I was curious if it would work,” says Dream.

Somehow, Hob doesn’t think that’s the whole truth. “Please tell me you weren’t just going to leave it somewhere and let me guess?”

“I would have crafted some more dreams as well,” Dream says. Blasted idiot. Why is Hob in love with him? Oh yeah, because he’s even more of an idiot.

“Wasn’t picking up on it,” Hob says. “I didn’t think this was possible, to be honest. We’ve just been recklessly having unprotected sex for how long? And you never thought to mention this was a possibility?”

“I forgot,” Dream says morosely, the most pitiable frown on his face. “It is not as straightforward as it is for humans. But yes, it is possible. Evidently. I suppose I have been caught up in the… joy of our moments together. I have not had a lover in a long time.”

“Oh, love.” Hob holds him close, rubbing a hand up and down his back. “It’s alright. It’s my fault, really. I should have asked. Wrap it before you tap it, Hob.”

Dream wrinkles his nose at the phrasing. Hob kisses him on the tip of his nose.

“Maybe I was thinking about it a little bit,” Hob admits. The thought has definitely… crossed his mind, before. And it’s easy to get drawn in, when Dream is in his bed, when he looks so gorgeous, when Hob makes love to him and fills him and—

Oh, this is his fault. This is absolutely his fault. He’d thought it was a safe fantasy to indulge in, impossible in reality. Meanwhile he was fucking one of the few beings made of both fantasy and reality at once. Hob’s really the king idiot.

“A little bit?” echoes Dream, raising an eyebrow.

Hob cringes. “A lot a bit?”

Unexpectedly, Dream smiles. “You are happy, then.”

Hob goes still, staring at him. “Did I not say?”

“You expressed that you were not upset,” says Dream. “Which is not the same thing as being happy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” Hob holds him closer, kisses his cheek, his brow, the corner of his lips. “I love you so much. I’m so happy.”

“Truly?”

Hob kisses him on the lips this time, long and deep. Takes Dream’s face in his hands and caresses his cheeks. “Truly. Obviously.”

Dream hums, sounding pleased.

“Are you happy?” Hob asks. Though he suspects Dream would have been rather obvious in his displeasure if he wasn’t, he usually is.

“I believe so,” says Dream carefully. “I… would like to be. Only, I have failed before, when I had a child.” Hob pulls far enough away to look at him. Dream’s expression has twisted now. “I do not wish to repeat that.”

“You won’t.” Dream looks unconvinced, so Hob repeats it. “You won’t. You’ve learned from that. So have I.” Hob certainly made many of his own mistakes with Robyn. But he still wants to try again.

“There are many terrible endings to this story,” Dream says. Of course, Hob’s just looking at the beginning of the thing, and Dream’s looking at the whole arc, especially the end.

“And good ones,” Hob says. “I promise. I’ll do everything I can to make it good.”

“I do believe that,” says Dream, finally offering him a small smile. “You have been able to make many things good for me when I thought it impossible.”

That might just be the greatest success of Hob’s life. To make Dream see that things can be good.

“It will be good,” he vows. “You’ll see, darling.” And Dream smiles again.

Hob lays his hand over Dream’s lower belly. He doesn’t know if this pregnancy even has a physical component at all—Dream himself barely has a physical component sometimes—but it’s instinct to hold him there.

Hob can already feel himself wanting to coddle him. He’s going to have to stop himself from doing that, he highly doubts Dream will appreciate it. He has to remind himself that what happened with Eleanor won’t happen again this time, that modern medicine is so much better, and that Dream isn’t even human in the first place. For all he knows, the baby will just be born out of the clouds.

“Hob,” says Dream. “You are drifting.”

Hob shakes himself. “Sorry, love.”

“What were you thinking of?” Dream presses, brow pinching. “I felt the nature of the daydreams turn… darker.”

Hob grimaces. “It’s really nothing. Just me in my head, you know.”

Dream keeps looking at him expectantly.

Hob sighs. “It’s just, it didn’t go so well last time, with Eleanor, you know? And I know this is different, you’re different, so just be patient with me if start being a mother hen, yeah?”

“Hob…” Dream takes his hand, interlacing their fingers. “I’m sorry, I had not considered. Do you not want…?”

“No! I do want this. I just worry, is all.” He kisses Dream’s cheek. “It’s because I love you. Couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

“I must do what I can to make it good, then,” Dream says, and Hob smiles at the turnabout of his words. “You need not worry. There is no danger to me. And the baby is not human, besides.”

"It's not?" Hob supposes it's not that much of a surprise. "What is it, then?"

“I am not quite sure. I expect it will become evident soon.” He rests his hand over Hob’s, which is still on his stomach, and he looks fond now. “Perhaps once I can see its dreams.”

“You can see its dreams?”

Dream casts him an amused look. “I am made up of those dreams. And all others. Why should our baby be different?”

Our baby. It’s so affecting to hear him say it like that.

“Our baby,” Hob repeats, just for the sound of it.

“Yes,” says Dream. He sounds properly happy now, which is so lovely to hear. “Ours.”

“Well, now I’m glad we forgot to talk about magical birth control,” Hob says. “Irresponsible sex for the win! Now I get to meet our magical baby.”

“I have never known you to be a man particularly driven by responsible decision-making,” Dream says solemnly.

Hob gapes at him. “Hey!” It’s true, though. It’s all true. “I’ll be the most responsible parent you ever saw. I’ll only let them have the iPad for twenty-three hours a day instead of twenty-four.”

“I can create fantastic spectacles to which the likes of ‘Cocomelon’ cannot hope to compare,” Dream says indignantly, as if this was really an open question in Hob’s mind.

“You can be in charge of screen time, then,” Hob tells him, and Dream’s scowl shifts into a smile.

“When do I need to be ready for this?” Hob asks. “Is it like a nine months thing, or…?”

“Unclear,” says Dream. Fantastic. Typical. For all Hob knows, Dream will show up with a whole baby in his arms tomorrow. Either that or it’ll be a hundred years from now. “I suspect there will be an element of surprise.”

Of course. Dream’s sense of time passing is pretty bad at the best of times, why would the baby be any different?

“I’ll have to get to the shops, then, seeing as I don’t currently own an iPad,” Hob says.

Dream hands him one that definitely was not in existence a moment ago.

“Did you get that—”

“From a dream, yes.”

Hob stares at it in wonder for a moment, wondering if it even has normal apps, or strange ones only dreamt of, then sets it on the coffee table. “Well, Christmas shopping with you will be a cinch.”

Dream is quiet for a moment. “I would not wish to burden you with these things,” he finally says. “To upend your life when you are already well-occupied.”

“Nope, none of that.” Hob takes Dream’s hands and pulls them close. “First of all, I’m very old and can afford to buy a lot of iPads, so don’t worry about it. But more than that, I love you.” He taps Dream’s belly, though he still doesn’t know exactly how or where this not-human baby is meant to grow. “And you. So don’t think like that. I know I can’t expect a nine-to-five, normal daily schedule from you. I’ve never expected that from you.” As of now, Dream just visits whenever he can, often at odd hours. Hob doesn’t expect he’ll be able to change that much, even now. He is still Dream above all else.

Dream doesn’t deny it, either. He looks down at their joined hands. “Would that it were otherwise.”

Hob rubs his thumb back and forth over his knuckles. “It’s okay. I needed some new excitement in my life anyway. Besides—” he gestures to the dream-iPad—DreamPad? Dream will hate that name, so Hob will definitely have to use it—“even if we can’t always have you, we’ll have your stories, hm?”

Dream smiles, then, a fragile smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Course it is.” Hob kisses his cheek. “We’ll figure it out, love. Don’t worry.”

“That is one skill you certainly do possess,” says Dream—in contrast, Hob supposes, to his lack of rational decision-making. “‘Figuring it out.’”

“My PhD is in Winging It,” Hob agrees. “Speaking of, though, we are going to have to have an actual talk about how not to have another ‘surprise’.”

“Yes,” Dream agrees ruefully. He seems quite embarrassed about it, actually, and Hob can’t help but hug him again, squeezing him tight, kissing his cheek and temple. Despite the shock and confusion, Hob really is happy, powerfully so. A baby, his and Dream’s baby. He can’t even imagine the possibility of it.

Dream squirms under the attention, but hums, seeming pleased deep down.

“A little baby Dream,” Hob sighs. “They will be a terror.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “And you think your influence has no effect on that?”

“I was a delightful child,” Hob protests.

“Do not tempt me to draw proof to the contrary from your dream records,” Dream warns.

“You’ll be a terror,” Hob says. “‘No, Da, I definitely didn’t cheat on that exam,’ ‘Mm, that’s not what your dream at 2:34 am indicates.’”

“Precisely,” says Dream. He sounds quite proud of himself, really. Little nightmare.

Hob kisses him again, on the lips this time. Yes, they will definitely be absolute terrors, the both of them.

But it would be boring otherwise.

#dream communicate in words challenge level impossible #pregnancy storylines are weird for me this was odd to write but i hope it's amusing XD #ask #anonymous #my writing #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #cw pregnancy #cw mpreg

[aurumacadicus]

"Miss Widow, I need you to be my partner in crime," Peter said, dropping from the ceiling. He waited for a beat, expecting a rolling of eyes or an exasperated sigh. When he received nothing but a raised eyebrow, he hesitantly asked, "Aren't you going to correct me, or..."

"It's good that you have some fear of me, Peter," Natasha told him simply. "Has the crime already occurred? If you want a body buried, ask Bruce."

"...Hmm," Peter hummed, deciding he wasn't going to unpack all that. "Mr. Hawkeye said that you're the resident matchmaker."

Natasha sat up straighter. "Oh?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

Peter thrust his phone at her. "I have video evidence of Captain America being totally gone on Mr. Stark."

"Explain," Natasha said, clipped, even as she opened up his phone.

Peter did not ask how she knew his nine-digit code. Instead, he dutifully recounted, "So Mr. Stark decided we should swap playlists, ostensibly so I could listen to 'good music' but I think he wanted to see what the kids are into. I get some of my songs from TikTok and I think one of them is a bit of an ear-worm for him."

Natasha thumbed open his gallery and went directly to his last video, taking only a moment to turn the volume up. In it, she saw Tony in the common kitchen, fixing himself up a cup of coffee. He was swaying slightly like he did when he was humming. Steve was sipping a protein shake at the table, as if he was not glancing at Tony every other shift back-and-forth.

"I, wish I could synthesize, the picture perfect guy," Tony suddenly mumbled out loud, in that way he did when he had no idea his brain-to-mouth filter had stopped working. "Six, feet tall, and super strong--"

Steve perked up, sitting straight from where he'd been leaning on table.

"--We'd always get along--"

Steve flopped back onto the wood surface and took a morose sip from his protein shake.

Natasha felt her mouth drop open in shock as she watched Tony, oblivious, go back to humming and turn to leave the room. Despite Steve's obvious disappointment, it didn't stop him from tipping in his seat to be able to see Tony's ass properly.

"I'm going to kill him," Natasha decided.

"That's not the crime I wanted to be partners for," Peter cut in.

Natasha lifted her gaze to him, scowling. "He will express his feelings for Tony or die."

"...Hmm, " Peter hummed again. If he remembered correctly, both Sam and Bucky had said that Natasha expressed her affection to the people she cared about with cheesy jokes and threats to their lives. Steve would be fine, probably. "He didn't even sing the best part," he sighed instead.

Natasha slanted another sharp look toward him. "Oh yeah?"

"'He'd pick me up at eight, and not a minute later, 'cause I don't like to wait,'" Peter recited. "'Kind, and ain't afraid to cry, or treat his mama right. That's right, that's what I like.' Which, like, Captain America would rather bleed out than cry, but he doesn't sound constipated when he tells other people it's okay. Also I wish he would be less punctual," he added mulishly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Aunt May keeps raising her eyebrows at me when he shows up to pick me up for training and I'm not ready."

Natasha bit back the urge to howl in rage. Of course Tony would get a song basically about Steve stuck in his head and not notice. Of course he wouldn't notice Steve panting after him like a dog. They were both stupid. That's why she was there, though, she supposed. "I will do the actual crimes," she told Peter firmly. "And you will keep your mouth shut."

"There will be actual crime!?" Peter yelped.

Natasha ignored him, instead returning to his phone and scrolling for more blackmail on Steve. He was the weakest link in this chain of idiocy. "Keep that up, Mr. Man."

"Oh boy," Peter sighed, shoulders sagging. There was some regret in his tone.

Good. It would solidify that modicum of fear he should keep about her.

#ideas #team as family #stony

[mamawasatesttube]

Ouuugh so many good options, i suppose 9 or 15 for the prompts

9. "It will be better in the morning."

"I've decided," Tim announces, "that I have a cure for nightmares."

He doesn't look like he's in much of a position to be announcing any kind of breakthrough; he's swaddled in a throw blanket and curled up against Kon's chest, his hair impressively disheveled and his cheeks still a little blotchy from tears. He kind of reminds Kon of one of those baby chicks that've just hatched and are mad about it, with the barely-dried downy fuzz sticking every which way. The yellow lamplight glimmers in his eyes as he peeps up at Kon's face, expectant.

Kon hums. Purrs louder as he keeps rocking the recliner back and forth, slow and gentle. "Is it drinking your hot chocolate and listening to Car Talk until you fall back asleep?"

Tim scoffs. "No." He pauses, wrinkling his nose a little. "I mean. I'll drink the hot chocolate, since you made it for me and all. But no. I'm simply never gonna sleep ever again. Foolproof."

Kon snorts, scrunching his hand through Tim's hair. Tim takes a soft breath, only a little shaky, and then smushes his face into the crook of Kon's neck again. His breath tickles a little against Kon's skin.

"Babe," Kon says. "Sorry to break it to you, but you literally fall asleep on me every single movie night. You're, like, the archetypical dad from every single tweet about dads who fall asleep five minutes into movies. And you aren't even an actual dad."

Tim huffs, a tiny puff of token offense. "I could change." His fingers curl into Kon's shirt. "Can't have a flashback in your sleep if you never sleep again."

"Yeah, you'll just start having sleep deprivation hallucinations." Kon kisses the top of his head. It's late enough it's almost early; he stifles a yawn. The last thing he wants is for Tim to feel guiltier than he already does for keeping him up. "Besides, you love sleeping."

Tim heaves a great, despondent sigh. "I do love sleeping," he admits, a little morose. "Sucks when sleeping doesn't love me back."

"I love you back," Kon coos.

He can feel Tim's lips quirk into a tiny smile against his collarbone. "You're such a giant cheese," Tim mumbles. He doesn't say it back, not with words, but the brush of his lips in the tiniest whisper of a kiss tells Kon everything loud and clear.

Kon purrs a little harder. He likes having Tim here, bundled up in his arms. Likes knowing he makes him feel safer. Likes that he can make him smile after he woke up screaming. "Too bad you're lactose intolerant, huh?"

"I already took my Lactaid to drink the hot chocolate, so shut up." Kon just knows he's rolling his eyes.

"Speaking of which, it's probably a good temperature now," Kon says, and wraps his TTK around the mug to float it over from the side table. "Here."

Tim's hands creep out of the throw blanket to wrap around the mug. He shifts in Kon's arms and sighs again, sitting up to take a tiny sip. His face already looks a little better, cheeks a little less flushed. "Mm. Yeah," he agrees. "...Thanks."

"Always." Kon gives him a gentle squeeze. "Drink up, and then we can just chill before we go back to bed. It'll be better in the morning."

"Mn." Tim makes a noncommittal noise. But he does keep sipping his hot chocolate, and his heart rate is a lot closer to baseline than it was a little while ago. "Guess so."

He twists in Kon's arms suddenly, cups Kon's jaw in one hand, and kisses him. Kon melts like sugar in the rain, the way he always does when Tim kisses him. Tim's lips are a little chapped. He tastes of cocoa and marshmallow fluff.

Tim breaks that kiss, then bumps his nose against Kon's, a silent gesture of gratitude. He blinks at him once, then goes back to his hot chocolate.

Kon smiles and holds him just a bit tighter. The marshmallows on Tim's mouth are definitely sweet, but he can think of something sweeter.

#peacheel #timkon #im not fully satisfied with the premise on this one but it did make me think!!! #sleep flashbacks (slashbacks. if you will) are evil #but also man... today im in such a mood for writing cuddles. why? idk #rimi writes #tim #kon

[why-what-no]

Always Have Me

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

Warnings: Slight depictions of violence. Me being obsessed with this show. Might be idiots in love, idk

Notes: Felt a little odd writing this about teenagers, but the actors are like a lot older than I am (why am i so in love with Lockwood’s actor?? He’s so pretty boy) and it’s totally PG, so I figured it was fine

Summary: When Lockwood’s friend and associate, aka the person he might even love, got injured during a case, he was more scared than he had been in a very long time. Leading to him dealing with his feelings in a less than productive way until the “friend” finally confronts him

Honestly, (Y/N) didn’t even feel it. But they could blame that on the shock.

Later on, when they’d ask George about it, he’d tell him quietly and morosely (like even the memory caused him pain), how dodging a ghost’s outstretched hand had led to the young operative tripping down a flight of stairs and slamming down onto splintered wood.

Wood that had pierced them right in the side. Which admittedly was gruesome, but (Y/N) just counted themself lucky that they had escaped being ghost touched. Lucy had told them about what happened to her old friends, and the thought of leaving behind their housemates terrified them.

All they could hear was the ghost’s shriek as their team neutralized it and…

And Lockwood’s voice - muffled, terrified. “No, no! (Y/N), stay with us. It’ll be okay! George! Call for help!”

***

Lockwood could barely stay focused in his fear. The moment he saw (Y/N) disappear down the stairs, his attention fully left the ghost that they were trying to contain. Bolting after his friend, not even thinking of the possibility of getting touched by the ghost. It didn’t even matter in his mind, if something happened to (Y/N) then it didn’t matter what happened to him.

The horrific sight of his friend - although honestly at that point ‘friend’ sounded like too weak of a word for their attachment - bleeding out send a coldness through his body. Kneeling over them, not knowing what to do, he could only attempt to comfort them as he yelled for George to get help.

Lockwood always felt a bit out of his element around (Y/N). A good kind of awkward, but awkward nonetheless. He’d read the books they’d like so he’d have something to talk about with them, and he’d try to be suave and charming but they’d always tease him about it. A little grin on their face that made it all worth it.

But in this moment. There was no awkwardness, just the knowledge that he completely forget what he was supposed to do. The imagined image of him lowering their casket into the ground imprinted in his mind as he begged (Y/N) to stay awake.

***

(Y/N) woke up in a hospital bed, obviously DEPRAC from the document on the clipboard that the nurse was holding. They let the woman fuss over them for a second, before beginning to push her to let them see their friends.

As Lockwood, George, & Lucy burst into the room, (Y/N) could only grin at how glad they were to see them. Only a few months ago, nobody cared if they were dead or alive. Now, they had a family who cared about them with all their hearts and souls.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asked, her sweet face wide with worry.

“We thought you were gonna die…”

“You were bleeding like mad…”

As George and Lucy talked over each other in their concern, Lockwood finally spoke. “Okay, you lot. Let them take a breath, it’s been a rough go.” He stood back, not getting close to take their hand or pat them on the shoulder. Which wasn’t a good feeling for (Y/N), but he never stopped looking at them, making them feel a little better. “Are you alright?” His brow was knitted in concern, as well as another emotion that (Y/N) couldn’t quite read on his face.

(Y/N) was close to all their housemates, but ever since they met Lockwood there was this pull that they felt for the handsome young operative. He seems to make every room he entered brighter, every joke he told lifted their spirits. They’d never felt so happy to be alive until they moved to 35 Portland Row.

“I’ll live.” They mustered up a smile, not wanting to make their friends more worried than the three of them clearly already were. “Just get me back home as soon as possible.”

They missed the comfort and familiarity already. The old knickknacks and books lining most surfaces, the smell of wood, paper, coffee, and whatever delicious thing George was cooking.

Lockwood smiled back. “I promise.”

And as usual, he kept his promise. It took a couple of days, but soon (Y/N) was healed enough to return to the agency and start getting back to normal. Helping George out around the house and researching new cases.

There was one problem, however. Ever since they had returned, Lockwood was… distant. Never alone in a room with (Y/N), never making excuses to speak to them and spend time with them like he did before they were injured. No, he just acted like they were just some acquaintance.

It broke their heart more than they cared to admit. Having got so used to Lockwood being so important in their life, that the loss of it felt like something had been stolen from (Y/N).

Lucy noticed the disquiet that (Y/N) was feeling. “Go talk to him, yeah? I’m sure it’s fine and you two can sort this out.” She told them comfortingly. “He was so worried about you when you were hurt. Nearly wore a hole in his shoes with his pacing.”

So they did. It took a bit to work up the courage, but eventually they managed to find him in the library.

He looked elegant in the dim light, although he was always beautiful looking. Entirely focused on the book in front of him, his hand on his chin with the curves of his face accentuated by shadows.

It almost felt sacrilegious to ruin this moment, but (Y/N) needed his attention. “Is everything alright?” They asked.

Lockwood jumped a bit as the words broke through the silence. He looked nervous for a second, before masking that emotion behind one of his calm, superiority complex-ridden expressions. “Of course.” He said, putting the book down and standing up. “Why wouldn’t it be? Did something happen?”

“You tell me. You’ve barely spoken to me in days, Lockwood.” Judging by the slight guilt on his face, he knew exactly that they were talking about. “What happened. What did I do?”

That immediately got through to him. “Nothing.” He said quickly. “You didn’t do anything, you’re wonderful.”

“Then why…”

“I was so useless.” He them her off, eyes glancing anywhere but at (Y/N). “You were hurt and I wanted to help and I just… I completely forgot my training.”

They’d rarely seen him this vulnerable before, a strange sort of desperation in his eyes that made them want to pull him close and never let go of him. “I’m fine, I’m going to be fine. You were there, that’s all that matters.” (Y/N) tried to consol him. He always had this need to be the defender, the one to look after everybody. It broke (Y/N)‘s heart sometimes how ragged he’d run himself trying to make that a reality.

“No it’s not all that matters. I’m supposed to protect you, and I couldn’t even do that!”

“That’s not your job, Lockwood.” They reached up to cup his cheek, trying to give him some sort of comfort. Almost immediately he leaned into their touch, raising his hand to lay in on top of theirs and wrap his fingers through theirs.

“It is. I…” He tried to decide best how to say what he needed to. To get across the emotions that he felt whenever he was around (Y/N). “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you here with me.” He finally said, looking down at his feet to avoid seeing their eyes.

But they took matters into their own hands, tilting his face up so that he was looking at them once again. Their eyes slightly watering, but a small smile was playing on their lips.

“You don’t have to do anything.” They told him. “You’ll always have me.”

There was a relief in his eyes as they told him that. “Promise?” He was deathly serious, needing to hear them say it.

And they just leaned forward to kiss him, surprising him at first but thrilling him at the same time. He quickly reciprocated, taking their face in his hands to keep them close to him, never wanting to let go of them now that he finally had them in his arms.

“I promise.” They told him when they finally leaned away to breath. And fully intended to keep that promise. They needed him as much as he needed them

#lockwood and co #lockwoodandco #lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony Lockwood fic #trying to figure out what to tag this #lockwood x reader #Lockwood #Lockwood and co anthony Lockwood #Lockwood and co Lockwood #Lockwood and co Anthony Lockwood x reader #Lockwood and co Lockwood x reader

[gaybananabread]

♪*✧⁠Ramshackle Day Off✧⁠*♪

~It’s official: I’ve gained yet another hyperfixation. I absolutely LOVED the pilot for Ramshackle; the trash goblins grabbed my focus. So, as with all my faves, they’re getting the special treatment. If this is your flavor of interest, I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Stone

Lers: Skipp, Vinnie

Summary: Stone’s having one of his emo moments, feeling down and not even cracking his usual half-smile. Skipp and Vinnie decide to help, using the one method they know will always cheer up their grungy friend. 

Warnings: alcohol/cigarettes mentioned! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

In their slum alley, the three lovable scraps lounged about, enjoying one of the very few days where they didn't have to fight to survive.

Vinnie had hit the motherload that morning in a dumpster: an entire case of Hickory Smoked Beans, just past their expiration date. It was a Ramshackle miracle.

Since they didn't have to forage for money or food, the trio could take a sort of off-day. While Vinnie and Skipp were lounging and making the most of it, Stone couldn't help but feel morose.

Sure, they had enough food for a few days. But what happens after that? What would they do when they ran out and had to go back to their normal pattern? What if they couldn't get enough, and not even shoes could sustain them?

He'd usually just chug a bit of liquor to calm those thoughts, but it didn't seem to be doing much. Life felt…impossibly meaningless. Like no matter how hard they tried, the universe would continue to put them in their place at the very bottom.

Stone had a particular look when he got into those moods. His eyes seemed distant, he sighed more, and a bottle of some cheap, scavenged liquor was always nearby. 

While looking for some fabric to patch his newest jacket hole, Skipp noticed his friend's sullen attitude. It wasn't a rare sight, by any means, but it still worried him to see Stone so upset. 

“Hey…you alright, Stone? You seem kinda out of it.” Skipp kept a respectful distance, not knowing if his friend was in a touch-positive mood or not. He extended a hand to silently ask if touch was okay. Stone shrugged, taking a swig from his mystery bottle. 

“Aren’t we all? ‘re we ever really in it, or are we jus’ waitin’ for death to find us and put us in our final place?”

“Uh…okay?” Skipp patted the emotional man’s head before scooting away, going to find Vinnie. She would know what to do…probably.

Vinnie was lounging on one of their make-shift nests when Skipp found her. She groaned, stretching as she sat up from the pile of ratty blankets and coats.

“What is it now? Today’s supposed to be relaxing,” she whined, running a hand through her unruly hair. Skipp pointed to their drunken, miserable-looking friend. “Stone’s in a sad mood again.”

“Fuckin’...course he is. The one damn day we get off…” Vinnie grumbled, dramatically hauling herself completely out of her semi-comfortable nest. “He okay with touch?”

After the blonde nodded, she marched over to Stone, waving for him to do the same. Instead of greeting him, she straddled the dejected man, squeezing his hips.

“GRK- Vihihinnie! W-whahat the hehell?!” Stone dropped his bottle, hands flying to grab Vinnie’s wrists. He was drunk, though, so his fight wasn’t a very effective one.

Skipp blushed, his eyes widening. Vinnie’s fix was…tickling him? The optimistic guy never could handle watching tickle fights without getting flustered, but now…

It looked fun from both perspectives, and Stone was quite upset. He was pretty sure his mind would behave and let him wreck his friend for one.

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re cheering you up!” Even though his cheeks were still rosy, Skipp joined in, spidering his short nails on Stone’s kneecaps. It would almost certainly come back to haunt him later, but he didn’t really mind; that was a sort of bonus.

“Yep. It’s too good of a day for that depressing bullshit. You need to learn how to smile, ya mopey shit.” Vinnie was a bit less sweet, but there was a kindness in her salty words. She really cared for Stone, even if he was a depressing asshole sometimes.

“Guhuhuys! Fuhuck ohohohoff!” Stone squirmed and twisted under Vinnie, feeling the four evil hands on him. He squeezed Vinnie’s wrists, though he wasn’t exactly trying to shove her off. This wasn't lost on his friends.

“Aww, you like this, don’t you?” Surprisingly, Skipp was the one to tease him. It wasn’t exactly meant to be one, but that’s what it felt like to the giggling man. He groaned through the happy sound, covering his face with one hand. 

“Holy shit, Skipp. I think you’re right!” Vinnie chuckled, though she already knew that was the case. It was hardly the first time she’d used the method to get Stone to quit moping, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He needed to smile more.

“Wonder what happens if I go here…” Vinnie clawed at the back of Stone’s ribs, making him snort and start cackling. It was his worst spot, and she knew it. “Oh. That. How cute!”

Was that a bit mean? Maybe, yeah, but Stone seemed like he was writing gothic poetry that morning. The shithead needed to laugh that Ramshackle sadness off.

“’M NOHOHOT CUHUTE!” Stone was practically losing it at that point. Skipp had decided to move to the undersides of his knees. That combined with the backs of his ribs was almost more than he could handle. Almost.

“VIHIHINNY! GEHE’ OHOHOHOFF’A THEHEHERE!” Stone writhed, arching his back to try and avoid her fingers. He kicked his legs, but that was pretty much useless when she was on his thighs. Skipp had free reign of his lower body, and Vinnie was practically unstoppable up top.

“But I like it here! You look like Maggot with all that squirming, dude.” She mentioned their angelic friend, trying to get him blushing more. His cheeks were pink, but Vinnie wanted more. She knew how red he could get.

“Oh yeah, he does!” Out of Stone’s view, Skipp giggled, making Stone groan. That little ball of sunshine just had to comment on everything, didn’t he? Stone cared for him, of course; he just wanted to lovingly strangle him sometimes.

“You know what eats maggots, Stone?” He flipped the blonde off, but Skipp didn’t mind. The next few seconds would make up for that. “Jumping spiders!”

Skipp clawed his hands, switching spots every few seconds to spider each area on his legs. It was kinda dumb, but scientifically accurate. That, and it tickled like crazy.

“SKIHIHIHPP! IHIHI- PFFAHAHAHA!” All protests died, swallowed up in loud, throaty cackles. His nerves were practically on fire, his thoughts drowned out by his own laughter. It was finally too much.

“EHEHENOHOUGH!” Stone yelled through his mirth, patting Vinnie’s shoulder. She immediately pulled away, Skipp following suit. Vinnie climbed off, giving him a second. 

Stone immediately curled in on himself, turning into a giggly pill bug as he recovered. “F-fuhuhuck youhu guhuhuhuys…” 

Vinnie chuckled, used to his profanities. She knows they usually mean he had fun, but was still a bit salty. Skipp, however, was concerned they’d crossed a line. “Stone? Did we go too far?”

The man huffed, swallowing another bout of giggles. His composure was mostly back, the thin line of his lips showing a ghost of a smile. “Nah, yohou’re fine. Youhu suck, thohough.”

Rolling her eyes, Vinnie nudged the giggly man’s shoulder. “Ah, whatever. You were being a downer, and you know it.” 

Stone lovingly flipped her off and grumbled something under his breath. Skipp pulled both of them into a hug, and for once, Stone didn’t pull away. He’d never admit it, but the embrace felt nice at that moment.

“C’mon, guys. Let’s enjoy our day off!” Skipp’s attitude remained bright as ever. Stone opened his mouth to argue, but huffed and shook his head. 

“Fine. I’m taking Vinnie’s nest.” Stone sauntered over to the pile of cloth, smirking at Vinnie’s near-instant outrage.

“Hey! Get your own rags, Nevermore!” The two started playfully wrestling, fighting over the nest Skipp knew they’d end up sharing. He leaned against the wall of the slum alley, watching his friends and taking in the happiness they both now felt.

Yep. Perfect Ramshackle day off.

#ramshackle tickle #lee!stone #ler!skipp #ler!vinnie #ticklish!stone #sfw tickling community #tickle #tickle fic #ramshackle #sfw tickles

[familyvideostevie]

🐚 SEASHELL: “Can we pretend that we’re good? Just for the night til the morning, I’d take it back if I could, but I’ll never find another you.” With James Potter please and thanks.

omg! you sure can! i was feeling a bit angst in this one, maybe james sticking his foot in his mouth and not realizing it. so here's him doing just that! (it ends nice though, obviously)

--

It's like the entire pub goes quiet when you hear it. James is maybe three paces in front of you, speaking to some girls you think you know. You can't see his face but you bet he's smiling, being kind and handsome and flirty like he always is. You plan to slide under his arm and exhibit a tiny bit of possessiveness as you give him his drink but then you hear one of the girls ask about you.

"Are you two, like, together?"

James shrugs. "Why, are you about to ask me to dinner, Vance?"

In that instant, one of the girls spots you behind James and her eyes go wide. You turn before she can say anything and retreat through the crowd and out the front door, two drinks in hand. The smokers who are chatting seem to see that you're in crisis mode and surrender a bit of the standing room to you.

Frankly, you're embarrassed to be so upset. You and James are not officially together. Some dates, kisses, nights spent together don't amount to exclusivity if you haven't spoken about it. But you know that the boys refer to you as his better half and he calls you on days he doesn't see you and you thought maybe it was going in that direction.

But while James is kind and sweet and lovely, he is also a bit vain and has quite the ego sometimes and he likes to flirt. You know all of this but your chest is aching, even so.

Someone calls your name and then James is in front of you. His face is a mix of emotions you've not seen before on him -- flustered and concerned. "I'm sorry," he says, though you're not sure he knows what he's apologizing for.

"I got you a drink," you say, a bit morosely. A breeze sweeps down the street and you shiver. James whips off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.

He deems the drinks irrelevant, taking them from you and putting them on the ledge of the pub. "I'm sorry," he says again. "The girls in there told me I needed to fix what I did, so here I am."

He rubs his hands up and down your arms, brow furrowed. He really does seem stressed. "I don't know what you're apologizing for," you say quietly. "No need."

"There is," he says, frowning. "I was being daft. I should have said we're together, because we are. No need to joke about it."

"Are we?" you say, hating how small you sound. James huffs.

"I guess we haven't put a label on it, have we?" You shake your head. "Well, no time like the present. We've been together for weeks in my head, honestly," he confesses. "I mean, I've been having dreams about you for months. Remus says I say your name in my sleep when I'm napping on his couch."

"James," you admonish, face heating. "I feel silly," you tell him.

"What, you don't want to be together? Now is the time to tell me, darling." You look at him and he looks less worried now, though his eyes flash behind his lenses.

"No, I do," you say, and he grins. "I just feel silly for being upset."

James tugs you in for a hug. You smush your face into his shoulder and feel his chest vibrate as he laughs. "It's kind of hot," he says in your ear. "Being possessive. Feel free to do it anytime."

You smack his chest with your palm. "You're impossible."

"But I'm your impossible!"

"That doesn't even make sense, James." He puts your hand on his elbow before he grabs your drinks and heads for the door to go back inside, flashing you a grin and a wink.

"Now I get to tell the whole pub we're together," he says. "And you get to take credit for all the dumb shit I say."

join the celebration!

#fvsbeachday #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter fluff #marauders fanfiction

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John | Unsayable Things

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

I banged this out in an hour or two, past midnight, deep in my feels, half chatting with my baby @stylespresleyhearted who put in the initial request for this series and who is now owed a few choice lines herein. If you wanna stew in the pain of Friday’s episode- this is the angst fest for you. With a tiny bit of hope at the end. Tiny. But it’s there.

Summary: months after one drunken letter of horny (and gentlemanly) admiration was sent off by one John Egan to Miss Lana Tierney of Hollywood fame, a written rapport has formed between them, based on a refreshing freedom to be perfectly frank and even trivial in their letters -a tone set by his inarguably appaling initial correspondence. But until today, he’s never dared make use of the number she gave him to dial when he needs to say unspeakable things.

Warnings: angsty as hell? morose and possibly suicidal thought processes? it’s Egan after THAT phone call so, I imagine you can envision that it’s not exactly a stable mentality portrayed here-in.

Masterlist

Date: October 1943

The hotel lobby is as chilled as an ice box with those front doors constantly revolving, letting in gusts of autumn air that’s suddenly turned harsher than he recalled when he stepped out into the daylight this morning. His ride back to East Anglia won’t be here for another two hours and no amount of charm or haggling can get him the petrol to make the journey on his own. It’s a carpool sort of life now, every man, woman and child in Britain knows that but every minute he stays in the great metropolis feels like a betrayal to those boys who just got-

-he will get back in time.

He vowed it, he arranged it, now all there’s left to do is wait until it can be enacted. John was never good at waiting but now all the activities and pastimes he’d once relied upon to fill a slow hour seem intolerable. Imbibe any more booz and he’ll be unfit to fly, seeing the sites could get him more sights than he’d like, polite conversation makes him want to scream in the face of the next passer by that he’s lost something precious today -don’t they know? -and it would be just his luck today of all days to get answered by someone who did know, some parent with a dead child, pulverized to bits while he fucked his demons out.

So John keeps his mouth shut in a stern line and stares venomously ahead at the charming little Renoir hung in the lounge. No one has troubled him yet and by the spooked face of the desk clerk who offered him a menu, he dares to think he won’t be in future.

He is sick to death of it all, of the death itself and the brave faces and the lack of bravery he suddenly feels now and the necessity of it all. He hardly recognizes the hollowed out sinner he’s become with a head full of too many griefs to even formulate a prayer.

He was close to catatonic, eyeball deep in his self abhorrence, when he realized he was spinning round the little lacquered card she had enclosed three letters ago.

“If you ever need to say those unsayables, here’s a private line. Don’t call it if you don’t want me to answer, only you, my mama and my hair stylist have it. Xoxo, Jeanie.” 💋

The unsayable would be to call one of the most successful, desirable and busy women in the world only to admit John Egan has run outta words. But with the mounting desire to do something stupidly productive, and without the kind fist of a friend to dissuade him -he knew walking in front of busses wouldn’t get him any closer to Thorpe Abbots- a starlet’s withering rejection just might do the trick. Just might hurt enough to slice through the fog. His fingers were sweating as he spun the rotary, thumbnail tracing the underside of her extension.

God knows it would be unlikely to get through even the first connection, much less get overseas, much less find her at her home. What time of day was it back there anyway? And this entire conversation would get bugged to hell, he’d have to be careful and this was a terrible idea to start with and-

“Hello you,” the airiest voice he’s ever heard warbles over the static, teasing and warm, “I’ll admit it, that lilac did nothing for my color last night. You win, I’ve got the front page of the Whisper to confirm, please, don’t rub it in.”

John stares out of his little alcove in the lounge with watery eyes, mouthing a silent -what the fuck- to himself before recalling the obvious: only her mother, her hairstylist and him. With this line, Jeanie -or should he call her Lana on the phone?- didn’t expect a stranger. This was an anticipated call and he about hangs up in mortification at not being what she expected.

But then, the hollow idea of one and a half hours of waiting for the ride catches up and John recalls that he had in fact phoned in order to be humiliated and he was a rare sort of chump to take so poorly to a plan gone off to so dazzling a start.

“Can’t imagine a shade that wouldn’t suit you.” he finds himself saying smoothly, the flirtation on autopilot.

He can hear an audible gasp on the other end of the line and a breathy sputter and what might be sheets rustling, or perhaps it’s a dress or paper or-

“JOHNNY?” she all but squeals and he winces at the blare of the receiver in his ear, the flinching crinkle of his blue eyes not without some pleased merriment at her unabashed excitement. “This you? Finally you used it, you silly old thing! Oh gosh, oh gosh say something again, your voice is divine! Oh, I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you. I thought you were my mother! Oh say something! You’re there, aren’t you? Johnny?”

She sounds so pleased he finds his eyes smarting and suddenly this feels like the worst idea in the world. He needed her to be harsh, to fit with every other disillusionment that’s rained down on him this past month, instead he’s met with -care. His stomach roils and not even the mean suspicion that she’s putting on an act can make it calm. “Well, I’m finally somewhere I don’t have to share a line with the whole group.”

“Where’s that, Johnny?” She sounds as eager as if he’s got a lot of options.

“London.”

“Oh!” There’s a waiver to her voice, he’s not sure why, but either way she sounds unsure if she should be merry or sober. “Business or pleasure?” she inquires levelly and it’s got all the sultry teasing he’s read into her scrawled writing hundreds of times, John finds himself flushing despite the morose sentiment that comes up right behind it.

“That, well, uh, that uh“ he picks at the sleek paint on the phone base and questions whether he’s going to use precious time on the phone with the hottest dame on planet earth to throw a pity party, “-I think the intention was a rehabilitation for the nerves. Ironically the guy who suggested it is now toast.”

“Oh John.” she sounds wounded and he bites his lip in savage pleasure at hearing what he wishes he could feel. “Was it -was it someone close?”

“A couple hundred, more like.” he sulks, his jaw ticking so hard he might break a molar if he keeps on. “But yeah. Yeah today was-“ he tries to think of the censors and that makes him laugh at the thought of all their previous filthy correspondence making it through but some slip of the tongue about a dead friend could land them in the hot spot, his following laugh is snotty and he could gag at himself for it.

“Johnny, darling man, are you-“ she shifts course and he holds his breath, depending on her for something, he doesn’t even what, “-does this happen to have something to do with our duet’s harshest critic?”

He smiles at her cleverness, she’s not a complete airhead then. And she recalls Buck. Of course she does, she hasn’t stopped sending him kisses via Egan’s letters even though she didn’t recall meeting either, not even when John had sent back photographs of the both of them to jog it. The flow of correspondence hadn't stalled despite this strike out and neither had the morale boosting glamor shots of certain of her assets which John kept locked in the false bottom of his footlocker and one small one folded in in the hollowed heel of his boot.

_“keeping it handy for the emergency tug off?” Gale had scorned him but Egan liked having her with him._

“Yeah, Shirley Temple- he’s been uh, he’s been traded, ya see.” Egan manages the metaphor once more and winces at the truth it hides.

He hears Je-Lana?-Jeanie?- suck in a breath on the other end. “Gosh. John. Any sign of, of-“ she begins to stammer, “of chut-“

-chutes, she’s going to say. John coughs loudly into the reviver and her voice trails off in recognition of his warning. “This was a mistake.” he decides, “I just -you can see why- I just thought I’d like to hear a-a-a voice, a-“

“A friend!” she replies eagerly, “I’m here, I’m here don’t go, not yet, not unless you have to, Major. Are you waiting? You’ll be wanting to get back, no? Or will you be staying on? In London?”

“I’m not staying.”

“Of course.” she whispers, “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”

His grip on the receiver has turned white. “No,” he decides, “I’m the one who’s sorry. Bringing this up, never even talked to you before and I go and make it this the call. Pretty girl like you doesn’t need this.”

“I told you to call.” she reminds him gently, “And Johnny, I’m ever so happy to hear your voice, I’ve imagined it a million times rereading your letters and looking at your photographs. I can concede that my imagination failed.”

“You reread them?” he is amused.

“Yes. Don’t you reread mine?”

“Mhmm you bet.”

“Gosh your voice gives me shivers.” she whispers into the phone and he feels an odd rising of the hair on the back of his neck. “Are you having to beat the London women off with a baseball bat?”

“I just let ‘em swarm.” he admits and she makes a noise of intrigue, “I was with a widow last night.” He blurts. “Polish. We watched the bombs from my hotel room.”

“How relaxing.” Without missing a beat Jeanie’s soft tease comes through, “Did the one balance the other for the nerves?”

“I’m dehydrated and hungover.”

“And grieving.” she adds.

That’s an unsayable. “I just needed to talk to someone.” he decides.

“Did she not speak English?”

He’s gone this far, he might as well be honest. “She didn’t know Buck.”

“Mm.” She makes a mournful noise of assent.

“I-I’m tryin’ not to do something stupid Jeanie,” he hates how his voice shakes but to her, it sounds more like rage than fear, “and I thought if I could hear your voice I’d -id get some peace. And wait for my ride without bustin’ up the Carleton.”

“Yes, I forbid you to bust up the Carleton without me, Major.” she warns and his pulse leaps at the simple direction, it’s a joke of course but it lodges heavy and wanted in his chest. “Promise me, Johnny, one day we’ll cause a great scandal there, you and I?”

“Miss Tierney,” he bites at his lip, “it’s a kindness for me not to make promises. To girls -to anybody.” She’s got to know that, she’s just being nice. “Especially not to special little ladies with nice long futures ahead of them.”

“It’s Turner, actually, Miss Turner if you’re going to be so formal.” She corrects, not a single part of her name Hollywood hasn’t meddled with. “But you must know, it’s far too late for that John. I miss you like mad.”

“We haven’t even met.” he reasons.

“What, and you don’t miss me?”

He curses under his breath fondly and shrugs. “I adore you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which he thinks he may have blown it by being so gushing but in fact, Jeanie finds herself milking her throat to dislodge the lump of painful glee settling there.

“Then you do whatever you have to, Bucky Egan,” she commands him, imperious but fervent, “you punch and get punched and drink as much as you need and bed as many girls as it takes and go after Buck-“

“-hold up, how’d you kn-“

“-but you come home. It’s much too late to tell me not to get my hopes up. You’re all I dream about anymore. There’s got to be some future for us, there’s got to be, Johnny, I’m not asking you to promise I’m asking you to try. Do what you’re good at.”

The pause is long and heavy and Bucky thinks he hears her sniffling on the other end. Unmoored by the unprecedented honesty he’s receiving and the juxtaposition of being someone’s risky bet for happiness when just this morning he’d come to resign himself to letting go what could only ever be a passing night's comfort- “Hell of a business.” he finds himself repeating.

“But you’re the best at it.” she retorts, “So stay the best.”

Everything certain, everything he thought was a given got blown to hell with Gale’s plane today. “Used to tell him if everybody else went down it’d be just him and me. I believed that.” He mumbles into the phone, turning to tuck his neck into the device like it’s the soft crook of her neck, “Now to be the best- that’s just me, and charred Europe under me and no one else in sight. That’s what you’re asking? ‘Cause that’s how this ends.”

The sun is shining bright and brutal in California, a cheery morning to mock her cocktail hangover and now she thinks it’s to hurt him as well, everything is so far removed an ocean away. Such bleakness is hard to even fathom for her, but the man she’s come to know, to love even, on paper is hoarsely spilling his guts to her over the phone and she’s not sure what one says to such a prediction. Her agent hovers in the doorway, the angry swats of her hand not sufficient to deter him from fretting with the press conference approaching. “So what, this is a suicide note?” she winces as soon as she says it but honesty has always been their currency.

“No.” he replies at long last and her shoulders sag. “I thought- i just wanted to hear your voice once before I go up again, Jeanie.”

“And I’m glad you called.” she swears, “And now I’ll have a voice to go with all the wicked things you do in my dreams.”

“Oh fu- Jeanie that’s unfair.” He balks and she grins at the little victory.

“Alls fair in love and war, Major.” She reminds, “Now tell me, do you want to tell me about him? Buck-“

“No, fuck no!” he hisses, angry at himself, “I wanted to talk to you to forget. I wanted to hear your voice.” He repeats it like an idiot.

“Then tell me,” she soothes, unphased by his outburst, “what would you like to hear in my voice, Major? The latest score? Perhaps the front page of the Times? They brought it in with my toast. Or some dirty line from one of your letters? I’ve got them here under one of Salinger’s books. They’re safe from the fiancé there, he’s a complete ignoramus with a phobia for learning.”

Bucky chuckles at her unabashed derision for her hotel scion intended and grins at the idea of her sleeping so near to his scrawled professions of lo- obsession at the very least.

Love is another unsayable.

“Just -tell me about your day, sweetheart?“ he begs, hoarse with the need to teleport elsewhere for the remaining forty minutes of his wait.

“If you’re sure.” she sounds only mildly skeptical, “It’s been very loungey, rather frilly.”

“Perfect.” he sighs, closing his eyes.

“Well, it’s actually morning here so I haven’t been up to much,” she begins and he feels guilty for just dialing away, damn the timezones, “I’ve not even dressed.”

“What color are you wearing?” he begs before he even realizes it.

“White.”

Hey sucks his teeth and nods approvingly. “White what?”

“A silk top and- no! Go away Herbert, for the last time!” Some interruption seems to occur on her end as a man’s voice comes through in snatches and Jeanie’s raised one drifts through the hand she’s cupped over the receiver, “Herbert, for the love of God, I am talking to one of the men protecting our country, the reporters can wait!”

Jeanie’s snappy loyalty soothes some raw edge he’s felt since watching *her* leave this morning without more than a kiss. “Reporters, huh?” he sympathizes, fully ready to give her an out.

“You’d think they’d have enough to report, there’s a war on.” she seethes and he has to smile again, “Anway, where were we? Oh, my pajama shorts.”

“White.”

“Yes Johnny, white.”

“Send me a picture?”

“Awfully demanding for a man who hasn’t even promised me he’ll try to live and see them in person.”

John puffs out a laugh at being snared so easily. “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Promise?” Her voice sounds so small.

“I promise.” He’s dazed by the shift, how did he end up being the one begged by Miss Hollywood herself? Perhaps he’s still drunker than he thought.

“It’s all any of us can do, Johnny,” she says, “but we’ve gotta try. You got your pinky up?”

“What?”

“For your oath- pinky swear.”

“You're not even here.” he laughs.

“I’ve got mine crooked, come on Major, meet me halfway.”

And so John Egan finds himself sporting a watery, helpless grin as he lifts his finger into thin air and crooks it around her imaginary little digit. Her sigh sounds as if she can feel it a ocean away. Perhaps he’s gone fully looney in the way he thinks he can, too.

He doubts she’ll appreciate his choices in the next few weeks, maybe even doubt his intention to keep his oath, but what matters is he’s going to try. Even if it’s an angry, furious, blind sort of determination, it keeps him firmly out of the London bus lane until Hobbs and his transport arrive and then it’s goodbye Jean Turner, hello again Thorpe Abbots.

Taglist: (I’m sorry for tagging y’all twice in a single day, oops)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

#mota fic #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan #archive #mine #Dear John

[lunar-years]

how would roy and keeley celebrate jamie day

So, Jamie only discovers "Jamie Day" is a thing when he walks into the dressing room and one of the lads (who saw it on twitter or something the morning) brightly wishes him a happy Jamie day.

After that Jamie is immediately, irrationally upset fucking Colin could wish him a happy Jamie Day whilst his own partners didn't say a single word about it that morning (again, mind you, Jamie only found out about the Jamie holiday approx. 10 seconds ago himself). He immediately stomps right over to Roy in his office to confront him about this appalling slight.

Jamie: How could you not acknowledge my holiday :( I thought you loved me :(

Roy, extremely put out that his boyfriend is sad and its apparently his fault but he cannot fathom why: For fuck's sake, what is it now?

*Jamie explains about Jamie Day*

Roy: ...and you knew about this holiday before Colin told you just now, or?

Jamie: ...

Roy: Right. Okay. So you didn't fucking know it was a thing, but I'm supposed to have magically known some idiot created a fake fucking holiday for people named Jamie?

Jamie: *wearing his best face for pouting, arms crossed* I would know if it were Roy Day, you know.

Then he morosely stalks away, leaving Roy to roll his eyes because you've got to be fucking kidding. It is way too early for this shit.

However Roy texts Keeley less than 2 minutes later, telling her they've got to do something special for Jamie tonight because it's Jamie Day. Keeley would be a bit confused but would quickly just go with it, no question asked. She's always down to celebrate and she loves playing up a theme. Tells Roy she'll stop at their favorite bakery on her way home and get a "#1 Jamie" cake.

Roy cooks dinner. He and Keeley tag-team for a very sexy evening focused around their best boy. Jamie gets to sleep in the middle. All is well.

Also, Jamie wakes up the next morning and Roy has added "Jamie Day" to their shared calendar, one year to the day, so that he won't forget next time :)

#royjamiekeeley #ted lasso #insert a lot of silliness and joy #jamie tartt #roy kent #keeley jones #ship post #asks

[tiredtreebranch1]

Oh, What Alcohol Can Reveal

Hero opened the door to the solemn face of Villain. Villain wore a long dark coat paired with a black button up shirt and black pants. It looked like a less Villainy version of their normal outfit.

“Bit morose for a trip to the pub don’t you think?” Hero smirked.

Villain glared, “I think it encompasses my feeling of being forced to go to a pub, no less with you.”

“Like I could force you to do anything.”

Villain smirked and gestured to ask if they could be let in. Hero stepped aside and mockingly opened their arms wide in welcome to the apartment. Villain slowly picked their way through the mess that coated the floor and settled onto the couch, after moving a stack of newspapers.

“I’m nearly finished getting ready, I’ll just be a few minutes,” Hero said before walking away.

Villain nodded and surveyed the apartment. They’d been in here before, but not often. Barely anything had changed since they’d been here a year ago. A new painting has been added to a wall but other than that, nothing. Although, the apartment was a lot messier than it used to be. Piles of clothes sat in corners, magazines covered every surface, dishes were stacked high in the small kitchen, altogether it was kind of gross. Despite themselves, the Villain started to clean the apartment. Just small things like grouping all the magazines together in a few piles, throwing out all the crumpled paper that littered the ground. They avoided the dishes and the piles of clothes, that was too far (and took too long to do).

By the time the Hero emerged the apartment was noticeably more organised even if it was still covered in junk.

“You cleaned?” Hero looked confused.

“Because you obviously no longer know how to,” Villain stated airily.

Hero just raised an eyebrow in scepticism, “if you hid a bomb or something I’m going to be so disappointed.”

“I didn’t hide anything, idiot. I just couldn't bear to sit in this filth for more than a minute.”

Hero just shrugged and headed to the door. Villain shook their head and followed. After locking the apartment door, they headed downstairs.

Since Villain had been vehement against the idea of taking public transport Hero decided they might as well walk. The pub was only about a ten minute walk away after all.

After a silent walk, filled with uncomfortable silence and small glares from Villain, they arrived.

As they entered, they were hit with a wave of hot air that heavily contrasted with the blistering cold outside. Straight away Villain scrunched their nose and looked disgusted at the pub and the people within it.

“Go find a table and I’ll go get us some drinks!” Hero yelled over the noise of the crowd.

Villain just nodded. They found a booth table right in the back of the pub. If they had to be here, they would be as far away from the actual activities of the place as they could. They hated the noise and the pungent alcohol smell paired with the body odour of unwashed alcoholics. They hated how everything was sticky, everything. They felt infested by the very air of the place which surely stored a multitude of diseases and human filth. They suddenly wished they hadn’t worn their favourite coat because now they were going to have to burn it. A true tragedy.

Soon enough Hero found them, holding two pints of some sort of beer in their hands. They sat down and carefully sat the dangerously filled glasses on the table.

“I got to the bar and realised I had no idea what you liked to drink so I just got both of us a beer,” Hero pushed it towards Villain, “don’t ask me what type though.”

Villain looked at them, wondering if this had all been a ruse to poison them. Invite them out for a night and then drug them in a public place where they could conceal their malicious intentions with ease. Villain realised that calling the Hero malicious or evil in any way was a blatant lie no matter the circumstance. They were basically an angel. With that thought they decided to just go for it. They took a gulp of the beer and nearly gagged at the taste. Across the table Hero seemed to be in a similar situation, except they really did gag.

“This is disgusting, Hero.”

“Yea, sorry,” Hero said, taking another sip and immediately regretting it.

Villain just shook their head and went and got them each some more drinks.

After a few hours and, admittedly, a few too many drinks Villain seemed to be relaxing. They were getting louder and more boisterous, seeming to be influenced by the mood that floated throughout the pub. They were chatting and humming to the music. Hero couldn’t help but feel proud that they had coaxed this out of Villain. They were both slumped over the table, exchanging comments and grins.

Suddenly Villain sat up, looking and listening.

“What's wrong?” Hero asked, sitting up as well.

Villain grasped their wrist and pulled them away from the table. Looking around, Hero realised they were now in the middle of the pub, which was used as a makeshift dance floor for the drunk and sober alike. They looked at Villain, questioning.

“I fucking love this song,” Villain said passionately.

Hero grinned openly at Villain. Villain grasped them again, but this time started moving them to the music. It was an upbeat song filled with moments of yelled out lyrics. And Villain proudly sung every lyric while twirling Hero around. Hero couldn’t stop laughing, filled to the brim with a swell of unbridled joy.

Everyone in the pub had joined in by the end of the song, some knowing the lyrics and others not caring and joining in otherwise. It filled the building and was exhilarating. Villain grinned from ear to ear not taking their eyes off of Hero. They both spun and sang and danced until the song ended. They were left panting and sharing grins.

They continued this way until they stumbled their way out of the pub at some point in the early morning. Walking back to Hero’s apartment they hung off of each other. It took a few tries for Hero to unlock the door but eventually they made it home.

Villain cringed at the state of the apartment, “seriously though you need to clean.”

“I’m busy,” Hero collapsed onto the couch.

“With what?”

“Stopping you and your friends from destroying the world.”

“You never used to be too busy.”

“I just am now,” Hero snapped at Villain.

Villain raised their eyebrows. Hero looked away.

“You’re hiding something,” Villain said it matter of factly, no question involved.

“I’m not,” Hero answered anyway.

Villain’s eyes bored into Hero. Hero got uncomfortable and stood up, the alcohol muddling their usually logical responses to Villain’s interrogations. Hero decided it would be best to just walk away. So they did, without a word.

“Hero.”

Hero ignored them collapsing into their bed. Someone collapsed onto the other side.

“Who is it?”

“What?” Hero grunted, confused.

“The person you’re seeing? That’s surely the only reason you no longer have the time to take care of yourself. Are you always over at their place?”

Hero laughed, actually laughed, “I’m not seeing anyone,” at a scoff of disbelief they added; “honestly. It’s too hard in this line of work. Too complicated.”

“Okay who is it you’re crushing on then?”

Villain saw Hero’s ears turn red, and presumably the face hidden in their pillow was just as red.

“No one,” came the muffled reply.

“Bullshit.”

“Fuck off.”

“Not until you tell me who it is,” Villain settled further into the bed.

Hero groaned and raised their head to see how serious Villain was. Villain held their gaze steadily. Hero groaned again and dropped their head.

After a few minutes Hero whispered something.

“What?”

“It’s you,” came a slightly louder whisper.

Villain stared at Hero. They watched as once again the pair of ears turned bright red.

It was cute.

They must have taken too long to respond because Hero shifted and sat up. Their face was blank, and the only sign of any previous embarrassment was the fading red in their cheeks. It was kind of scary.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You don’t have to worry about it,” Hero stood up out of the bed and seemed to be distancing themselves from Villain, “I’ll see you at work then I guess.”

Villain stood up as well.

“I hope we can keep things professional,” Hero rambled on, “nothing has to change. Just pretend like nothing-”

Hero was abruptly cut off by a pair of lips slamming against theirs. Immediately they leaned into the kiss, breath snatched away from them.

Villain had effectively cut off their nervous rambling.

Eventually Hero pulled back gasping for air. Villain pulled back as well but kept their arms around Hero, a smug smirk tugged on their mouth.

“You’re an idiot, but you’re my crush too.”

Hero grinned openly at Villain and Villain couldn’t help but grin back.

“Good.”

#villain x hero #villain/hero #hero x villain #hero/villain #going out #creative writing #short story #so cute #heroes and villains #hero #not a prompt #protagonist x antagonist #love these two #love this so much #writers on tumblr #writing #written by me #fiction #all the tags

[its-time-to-write]

ch. 2 - hustling for the good life

table of contents only reason I had the courage to post this is bc I saw another post that was like “bby you can write whatever you want.” so I did.

dancing is a dangerous game

Natalie comes back with these fluffy silver slides. They’re ridiculously comfortable and you’re not sure how she managed to find them so quick, but hey, that’s Nat for you. Her mantra is, “Comfort first.”

“You have to wear them with me,” she commands. “It’s in my contract. Plus, they go with your dress.”

You scrunch your face at her. “No it is not. I’m wearing my heels. There’s no way you’re getting me in public with those on my feet, much less a party with a bunch of famous people.”

—

“Ohmigod, I fucking love your shoes,” says Keeley Jones an hour later. 

Natalie smiles and points her toe. “Thanks!” she replies, “Had to convince this one that it would be fun. And thanks for getting us the invite, Keeley. Means a lot.”

Keeley shrugs. “Not a problem, babes. I’ve known Stella for a bit, and she hosts the best parties. Her boyfriend’s around here somewhere, and he always invites a bunch of his football friends. They’re pretty hot,” she says as she shoots you a pointed look. “Perfect for getting over a recent breakup?” she says pointedly.

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m not really looking for anything right now,” you admit.

“Or ever,” Natalie coughs.

“Fine,” you concede. “Or ever. I don’t really have time for another relationship between Mango and getting ready for the Blue Glass tour. Too much work.”

Keeley nods and says, “Ah. Last relationship was PR, was it?”

“Try last three,” you sigh. “But don’t tell anyone. They were trying to put out the rumor that I was getting engaged, but I don’t think that I could play with someone’s life like that. It’s just too hard. If I were to date again, I’d want it to be real. And private. But…” you shrug. “I’m me. I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for every ounce of privacy I currently have.”

Keeley shakes her head. “Well babe, they say there’s someone for everyone but for now, enjoy the single life! Go get a drink then meet me on the dance floor, yeah? My boyfriend isn’t here because he’s an old grump, but I promised him I’d have enough fun for the both of us.”

She talks about her boyfriend so affectionately that is stirs something in your chest. You think Keeley Jones must have the rare luxury of real love, and you wonder what that must be like.

“Come on don’t get all morose on me now, we’re getting smashed,” Natalie says as she drags you to the bar. You raise an eyebrow. “Ok, alright, I’m getting smashed,” she amends. “Keeley swore up and down the walls that this party isn’t going to end up on the internet, and I’m going to take full advantage of that.” 

You roll your eyes as Natalie herds you to an in-home bar and pushes her way through tall, muscly men. You admire her faith in Keeley, but you know that you can never be completely in control.

“Do you make espresso martinis?” she shouts above the din. The man behind the counter nods as you give her a strange look. “What?” she asks, “Don’t act like coffee and booze aren’t the best combo since peanut butter and jelly.”

She takes her drink and says, “We should go find Isaac and Stella so you can thank them for having you. You know, meet the hosts and everything.” 

“Alright,” you say, “but then we’re dancing the night away. Don’t need to be buzzed to have a good time.”

“But it’s better if you are,” she replies as she grabs your hand once more, weaving through what you assume are famous footballers, actors, and models. You wave to a couple people you know as she ducks under arms, effortlessly taking sips of her martini. 

Natalie stops in front of two people you’re pretty sure you’ve never met before, and you’re having trouble placing their faces.

She nudges you as she says, “Isaac, Stella, pretty sure you already know who this one is.”

They smile, and Stella leans forward to kiss the air beside each of your cheeks, which are a little flushed from Natalie’s presumption. You introduce yourself anyway, because you’re not going to assume people know who you are, for goodness’ sake. 

“Can’t believe you’re here,” Isaac says. “Fucking mental, you’ve been top of the charts for months now.”

Stella nods in agreement. “Me and the girls have been listening to Mango ever since it came out. I mean come on, Patch is absolutely gorgeous.” She catches your squirm of discomfort and continues, “But you must be tired of talking about all that. Don’t worry, darling, you can dance all your cares away. Everyone here is somebody, so no one cares who you are.”

You give her a small smile, grateful for her perception. “I’ll keep that in mind you say. Oh shit, is that Margaret? I’m going to go say hey. Haven’t seen her in forever.”

You excuse yourself to the other side of the room to grill Margaret about her relationship.

—

The night is sliding by at a glorious pace as you catch glimpses of Natalie flitting back and forth, making new friends and connections that she’s sure to use to your advantage later. 

You’ve passed a pleasant hour dancing with Keeley and Margaret but you get tired of it without the buzz of alcohol in your veins. You decide to slip into a corner and observe, relishing the sheer disinterest that people have you. You’re pretty sure you see a Beckham walk by, as well as an actress with a blockbuster summer movie.

Andrew would’ve loved this, you think and you allow yourself to indulge in a memory of your staged romance with the guitarist.

Andrew used to take you dancing. He’d pull you onto the dance floor and put his hands on your hips to help you move in time with the music. He was the kind of person where a touch never felt threatening, and it was actually enjoyable the way he’d slide a hand down your arm to sway you with the music. He’s the reason you can move as well as you do and can actually enjoy yourself without feeling self-conscious. 

You think of the song you wrote together, Ice, and how you thought your friendship with him might be the closest thing you ever had to love. Maybe you had just conflated admiration with adoration, but if he decided he had real feelings for you, you think you could have made it work.

But he had his own albums to promote, so your breakup was timed to bring in the most hits. You missed him, but still talked every now and then.

You silently thank Natalie for pressuring you into wearing those goddamn slippers because yeah, they’ve been getting comments, but as people get drunker, they stop caring about what other people look like and more about their own comfort.

You can catch bits and pieces of conversation, familiar voices mixing with the unfamiliar, and it’s soothing for a moment until it’s not. 

Without warning, the room is too hot and too stifling, and your skin is tight on your body and you can hear your heart pounding louder than the bass of the music. 

Fuck.

You look around for an exit, maybe a door to the backyard or something where you can panic unnoticed. You push your way to the kitchen and see a sliding door. It’s open and inviting, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s outside so you take a step into the cool night air.

There’s a pool, so you take off the slippers, bunch your dress up to your knees, and dip your feet in.

The shock of the water combined with fresh air begins to slow your breathing and you take a moment to appreciate the relative peace, when a voice breaks the spell.

“Too crowded, innit?” says someone in an accent that’s definitely British, but not in a way that you can place. 

You turn to see someone sitting on one of the recliners. You must have missed him when you first came out.

“Nice shoes,” he says, getting up.

Don’t sit next to me, don’t sit next to me, you silently will him because anyone closer than three feet feels like choking.

He might be telekinetic because he sits three and a half feet away, trousers rolled up.

“Had the same idea,” he continues. “Isaac throws a mad party, but it gets all crowded and shit. And anyway, I still got training tomorrow. Or maybe it’s today.” He frowns. “Got no idea what time it is.”

You note that he seems to be personal friends with Isaac and that he mentioned training, so he must be a footballer. 

He also seems to be perfectly content to fill the silence without your help.

“I’m Jamie, by the way,” he says. “You’re American, ain’t ya? Heard there were a whole bunch of you coming. None of you appreciate good football.” He shakes his head in mock sadness. “Bet you don’t even know who I am, do you?”

You tilt your head to better assess his face in the darkness. You think he might be familiar, but maybe he just has one of those faces.

Jamie obliges your perusal by moving his head to better catch the light. “Don’t matter, love. Stay in Richmond long enough and you’ll see this sexy face all over.”

He studies your face for a moment. “You’re a musician, right? That new one with the album about the fruit.”

You chuckle and say, “I’d hardly say I’m new. That was technically my third album if you don’t count the singles. Did one called Rotary Phone first, but people didn’t pay much attention till the first single on Blue Glass. Turned out pretty good, too. But yeah, my new album has a fruit on it. Not really about mangoes, but…” You trail off. Those are the most words you’ve said to a stranger in a long time but Jamie doesn’t notice.

“Right, yeah, ok,” he says, “I remember your name.”

He pauses before saying it into the night.

You almost shiver.

You’ve never quite heard your name like that before.

It’s a little distorted with his accent, but the way he says it it’s almost- familiar. Like the way a close friend would say it. 

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply quietly. “Big star, or something.”

Jamie nods. “Hm. Oi, you’re best mates with Taylor Swift!”

That makes you laugh. 

“Nah, I’m really not. People just think that because we both play guitar.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before Jamie’s disagreeing with you.

“You have to be good friends. I mean she basically co-wrote half of Blue Glass!”

“Tay was just featured in Creekside. She’s not listed anywhere else.”

“C’mon. Allie Gooding? The bird you have as one of your co-writers? You expect me to believe that’s not Taylor Swift?”

You raise an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Jamie gives you a look. “Allie? Alison? Taylor Alison Swift? It ain’t hard to figure out.”

You scoff as you tell him that he’s reaching. “You sound like a crazy conspiracy theorist.”

Jamie’s still looking at you like he doesn’t believe you, but he changes the subject. “What’s your favorite song you’ve written?”

“Margarita,” you reply without hesitation. “No contest.”

Margarita was on Rotary Phone and is more of a deep cut, but Jamie seems to know it because he nods in approval. 

“Mine’s Tiny,” he says. “I like that the words are about his heart but it’s really about his dick.”

You smile. Tiny was really fun to write. “Wait, hang on, how do you know so much about my music? You were acting like you’d barely heard of me.”

Jamie grins. “Didn’t want to freak you out, did I? A pretty girl’s a pretty girl, no matter the fame.”

You laugh at that and he joins in for a moment before becoming serious.

“Oi, but really, are you alright? Saw you come out here with your hand pressed to your chest, like.”

You take a shallow breath before answering with as much sparkle as you can muster.

“Oh yeah, totally. All good.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow and you raise one right back, but he isn’t backing down.

“I won’t press you, but I know what anxiety looks like. Gaffer- er, coach has it pretty bad.”

You’re saved from responding by Natalie staggering outside with Keeley on one arm. 

“There you are!” she shouts. “Been looking everywhere for you. See that one?” she asks Keeley, pointing in an exaggerated fashion. “That’s my best friend. My famous, gorgeous, single, bestie.” She notices Jamie and smiles. “You want to date her? She could use a boyfriend and maybe a couple laughs.”

You frown as you get up to rescue Keeley from drunk Nat. 

“No, I couldn’t. I’m good. And you should probably get home, young lady.”

That just makes Nat and Keeley giggle. “What is she, your mum?” Keeley gasps.

Jamie gets up too and makes his way toward Keeley. “Oi, Keels, better get you home safe so granddad doesn’t have a fit.”

She peers at his face before patting it and saying, “Jamie? When’d you get here? You trying to get with this one?”

“Nah,” Jamie says, “she wouldn’t be interested in someone like me anyway. Now come on, love, I’ll drive you home.”

He disappears inside with Keeley wobbling on his arm, loudly saying something about how he needs to be nicer to himself.

You sigh and reach for your phone to call the car.

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[somedaylazysomeday]

Misbehaving - Part Four

Cody is finally back in town! Unfortunately, his timing coincides with Mother Nature.

Commander Cody x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors, do not interact.

Word Count: 5,100

Warnings: Discussions of menstrual cycles and accompanying discomfort, dom/sub undertones, period sex, blindfolds, minor dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex.

Previous | Masterlist

---

You liked to consider yourself an optimist. 

Sure, sometimes things happened that didn’t quite match up with the way you thought they should. There were always bad days and missed opportunities, but for the most part, things worked out. 

A grand and ironic exception, of course, was that you had gotten your period just days before your boyfriend would finally be back on the same planet. You were still struggling to put an optimistic spin on that particular situation. 

I’ll be there in ten minutes.

The message was glaring up at you from the screen of your comlink. You hadn’t told Cody what was going on, and you weren’t exactly sure why. He was familiar enough with human biology to know that most females had a menstrual cycle and it wasn’t exactly something he could hold against you. 

Still, some combination of irritation and denial had kept you from telling him outright. It was going to be a terrible surprise, you thought morosely, especially given that he liked to be welcomed home between your thighs. 

Two sharp knocks on the door sounded and you glanced over at the chrono. Yep, ten minutes from the holomessage, almost to the second. You hauled yourself up from the couch, grimacing at the way gravity pulled on everything between your legs. 

When you opened the door, Cody was standing there. He was proper as always, helmet under one arm and warmth filling his dark eyes. “Ma’am. May I come in?” 

It was the typical playacting you did when he came over. Cody had insisted on it for ‘plausible deniability’ reasons. You had tried explaining to him that your neighbors weren’t the kind to watch arrivals through peepholes, but he wouldn’t listen. It was very Cody - when he decided on something, nothing short of a GAR command could make him change his mind. (Even then, he would probably want to debate.)

“Yeah,” you agreed, leaning against the wall. Not only did it move you slightly out of his way, but it also took some pressure off your aching spine. 

It was a less elaborate welcome than you usually offered, and Cody’s brow twitched before he stepped inside. The door slid shut automatically behind him, leaving the two of you in sudden privacy. 

“Good to see you, mesh’la,” Cody greeted, hands sliding around your waist. You still felt bloated, but the warmth of his hands was soothing. “You look beautiful.” 

You snorted before you could help it. You hadn’t felt like putting on anything flattering, especially since you had bled on the last two pairs of pants you had worn. That meant you were dressed in clothes that were one wash away from being tossed into a garbage chute, and at least two sizes too big. 

“I’m a mess right now.” 

Cody smiled at you, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve never seen anything more perfect.” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to reply. He was being nice, painfully nice, but you felt so terrible that being called perfect only made you think about how far from perfect you felt. 

Cody’s eyes searched your face. Whatever he found there made his smile fade, which made you feel even worse. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You look upset.” 

“I’m-” You took a breath, trying not to let yourself cry. “I’m not having a good day.” 

“Tell me what I can do to make it better.” 

It came out like an order, and you bit your lip. You weren’t sure if you would have said something rude or burst out in tears, but neither option were how you wanted the evening to go. 

“Change the laws of nature?” Your suggestion made Cody’s head tilt slightly. You scrubbed at your face. “I’m sorry. I’m on my period right now and it’s not fun. Not your fault and I don’t mean to take it out on you.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about that,” Cody soothed. “Why don’t you sit back down. Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t hurt, not anymore,” you told him. “I had some cramps right before everything started, and the first two days are always awful, but now it’s just blood and bloat and misery.”

Cody urged you back over toward the couch, and you settled into the tangle of blankets you had surrounded yourself with before he got there. The apartment was a mess, now that you took a moment to look around. You were a mess, why would your home be any different? “I’m sorry, Cody.” 

“You’ve already apologized once, and that was one time more than necessary,” he replied, settling onto the couch beside you. “What are you apologizing for, mesh’la?” 

“I just-” Your eyes watered again as you tried to verbalize it. “I know this isn’t how you wanted to spend your leave.” 

“Don’t worry about that.” Cody seemed utterly unbothered, but how could he be? He had been looking forward to this just as much as you were. “We’re on leave for the better part of a week. We have time. Besides, the galaxy isn’t going to fall to pieces just because we won’t have sex tonight.” 

The finality of that made your chest ache. You were tired and your self-esteem was low, but the hormones were also whirling around inside of you. Most of them were going toward making you mildly irrational, but there were enough left over to make you lonely and long to be filled. 

“I was really looking forward to being with you,” you whined, still trying not to cry. “I missed you so much. In more ways than one.” 

Cody smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I know,  sweetheart, and that means everything to me. But I want you happy and comfortable. If that means that we don’t sleep together tonight, I’m fine with that.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” You hiccuped. “It’s that I’m… You know…” 

“Does it hurt?” he asked with a frown. 

“No, but-” You cut off, frowning. Had you missed something? It certainly seemed like you had. “I’m still bleeding. And not just a little bit.” 

Cody paused, eyes searching your expression. Whatever he found there, his brow smoothed. Carefully, he said, “You know, I don’t mind a bit of blood. If you want to be together, I’m happy to-” 

“Ugh,” you interrupted, aghast. “You would want to fuck me on my period?” 

“Not if you don’t want me to. But yes, I want you. Like I said, I’m not worried about a little blood.” 

“What if it’s not just a little?” you asked, heart picking up. “My period isn’t light.” 

Cody shrugged. “And? Point is, mesh’la, my plans don’t need to change if you don’t want them to.” 

You thought about it for a long moment. You didn’t love the idea of having sex on your period, but not because of any real reason. It had always just seemed like a taboo. But if you wanted Cody and Cody wanted you… Well, it seemed silly to turn him away because of some outdated societal norms. 

“And you’re sure it doesn’t bother you?” 

Since he had already said as much in several different ways, you wouldn’t have blamed Cody if he’d gotten impatient or sarcastic with you, but he didn’t. Instead, he was patient and steady as ever as he reassured, “No, it doesn’t bother me. I want to be with you.” 

You melted, leaning in with your face tipped up to his so he could kiss you more easily. And he did, pressing his smiling lips to yours until you were well and truly lost in it. All of your worried and inhibitions had disappeared from your mind… until Cody’s wandering hands crept between your thighs and pressed against the thick pad you were wearing. 

Suddenly, horrified embarrassment filled you. Did he think it was weird that you were wearing a pad instead of a tampon? How long had it been since you’d changed it? What if you smelled bad? What if you had a blood clot when he was trying to fuck you? 

You broke away from him, hiding your face against his shoulder. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

Apparently, Cody understood the muffled question immediately, since he didn’t ask you to repeat yourself. “Why?”

It was a fair question, and you searched yourself to get an honest answer. “The blood might not bother you, but I think it bothers me.” 

Cody was quiet for a moment. “What if I blindfold you?” 

“What?” The question was unexpected enough to jar you out of your self-consciousness, and you pulled back to stare at him. 

Your lover looked calm and helpful, not at all the expression you would have expected from someone who just offered to blindfold you. Granted, you and Cody had done far more adventurous things in your time together… 

“I can blindfold you,” he repeated. “If you want to fuck but don’t like the idea of seeing the blood, a blindfold can make sure we’re good. You can get the relief you want without worrying about the drawbacks. I won’t force you, I’m just saying it’s an option.” 

Your pussy gave a throb at the idea of being stretched by him, and you did your best to ignore the trickle of blood that left you. “I think that would be perfect.” 

Cody’s smile was beatific, and he squeezed your hand as he stood. “Give me a second to get everything set up and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” 

You watched him leave. You didn’t love that he was wearing shoes and full armor in your apartment, but you couldn’t help but admire the way his boots gave a hint of strut to his step. Besides, if he could make you forget about your general misery, you would gladly clean the floor and call it a fair trade. 

While Cody was working in your bedroom, you occupied yourself in straightening up the living room. Food wrappers went in the waste can, your glass of water went in the sink, and you managed to fold two blankets before you decided it wasn’t worth the effort. 

“Cody?” you asked, with a soft knock on the door to your bedroom. “Are you-? Wow.” 

Cody turned to look at you over his own shoulder. He studied the towel he had laid out on the bed, frowning. “Is this not okay? I can choose a different one. I just thought the color-”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. The dark purple towel had seen better days, so even if you couldn’t remove any stains, it was no big loss. Besides, you would sacrifice every towel you owned if Cody would just let you take a holoimage of him like this. 

Your lover had stripped off half of his body glove, leaving it to hang from his waist while his upper body was on full display. The lamp on the bedside table had been turned down low, and the dim light played beautifully against the swells and dips of his muscular arms and torso. He had pulled pillows and additional blankets to surround the towel, clearly intent on making you as comfortable as possible, and a silk scarf from your closet was neatly folded on the bedside table, ready to be used as a blindfold. 

“Everything look okay, mesh’la?” Cody asked. 

You suddenly realized you had been staring, and nodded to break the spell he had unknowingly cast over you. “Looks fine to me.” 

Cody held out a hand, half-kneeling on the bed already. “Then the only thing missing is you. Ready?” 

You had already taken his hand when you balked. “Actually, I should use the ‘fresher…”

“Do you need to use the refresher?” he asked. 

“Well, no…” you hedged. “But I could probably do with a little cleanup before we get started.” 

“If that’s what you need to feel comfortable.”

You retreated to the refresher attached to your room and did what you could to freshen yourself up, but your period was still heavy enough that you weren’t going to stay clean for more than a few minutes at best. 

“Feeling better?” Cody asked when you joined him in the bedroom once more. 

“Nervous.” 

He frowned then. “Nervous? What are you nervous about?” 

“That you’re going to be grossed out,” you answered hesitantly. “If you are, it’s fine. We can just stop. You know that, right?” 

Cody nodded, his mouth pressed into a grim line. It was only when he started speaking that you realized it was held that way to fight back a smile. “Yes, sweet girl. I know that. I can also promise that I know what I’m getting into. This is hardly the first time I’ve been with someone who’s on their cycle.” 

You blinked. That… was something you had never considered. And it did make you feel better. You didn’t love thinking of Cody with other people, but if he had done this before, he probably wasn’t going to run screaming at the first sight of blood. 

Whether or not you would was still up for debate. 

Your shoulders settled. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

Cody nodded. His hand extended out again, and this time, you took it. He drew you gently toward the bed, helping you position yourself when you laid down. Your hips were centered on the towel while your shoulders were well-supported by the pillows Cody had arranged for you. 

When he joined you, Cody was careful not to rest any of his weight on you. Instead, he lay stretched out beside you, supporting himself on one arm as he leaned in to kiss you. You relaxed into that kiss, the tension leaving your muscles even faster than it had before. One hand rose without your permission, cradling Cody’s jaw and toying with the near-invisible stubble you found there. 

Cody gave a satisfied little sigh at the feeling of your fingers on his skin, kissing you deeper. Simultaneously, he let himself explore you with the hand he wasn’t using to support himself. 

You were fine - eager, even - when his touch traced along your collarbone, but you tensed when he reached your sensitive breasts. However, Cody was as gentle as ever. He cradled the weight of each breast in his hand in turn, brushing your nipples with the edge of his thumb. When he continued working downward, however, you found it impossible to stay relaxed. 

His fingers had just crept under the waistband of your pants when you tensed, breaking the kiss. “Cody?” 

“I know, mesh’la,” Cody soothed you. He removed his hand, reaching for the bedside table. When he turned fully back toward you, he was holding your silk scarf. “Are you ready for me to blindfold you, sweet girl?” 

“Yes.” You weren’t, but you trusted Cody with every part of you. Even your sight. 

That was probably why you were so nervous about this, you reflected, watching the silken material grow closer until you had to close your eyes against it. For all of the ways you and Cody had experimented with limitations - restraints, certain forms of address, even some minor breath play - you had never given up a sense with him. No matter what had been happening between you, you had always been able to clearly see it coming. 

You were smiling despite yourself when Cody finished tying the material behind your head. Perhaps it was only your imagination, but you swore you could feel him pause when he sat back. “What is it?” 

“Just…” You paused, trying to articulate it. “It’s funny - all the things we’ve done together and being blindfolded is the first time I think I’ve been truly nervous.”

“Nervous?” Cody repeated. Out of the darkness, something brushed your cheek and you jumped violently. “Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you. How do we make you feel more in control? Maybe you should tell me what I can do and when.”

It was a clever solution, but it also sounded like it would take a lot of effort, and you weren’t sure you had the mental capacity at the moment. “Maybe you could tell me what you’re going to do before or while you’re doing it?” 

“I can do that, and you can tell me if you need me to stop or to touch you differently,” he assured, thumb brushing the top of your cheekbone. “I’m going to kiss you now.” 

You were smiling when Cody’s lips pressed against yours. The kiss was clumsy at first, and you blamed your fumbling on the fact that you couldn’t see him drawing closer to you. But soon enough, the two of you fell into a steady, comfortable rhythm. 

When you felt a touch against the top of your mound, you jumped and Cody pulled away to bite out a curse. “Sorry, mesh’la. I already got distracted. I won’t forget again.” 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, but Cody wasn’t having it. 

“No, these are the rules for this session. I won’t forget again.” The promise was delivered from much closer than he had been before, and you could feel the heat of Cody’s breath against your throat. “I’m going to touch you.” 

That time, you expected the brush of Cody’s fingers. Even with the way he was mouthing down the side of your neck, you couldn’t keep a frown from your face. Everything was about to become very real. 

He explored along the edge of the pad you were wearing, making you squirm at the warmth of his touch. When he had traced down and between your legs, Cody’s voice rumbled into the very bones of your shoulder. “You ready for me to take these off, princess?” 

You nodded. Apparently, Cody wasn’t going to make you answer him verbally. All he said in response was, “Lay back for me.” 

As you did as Cody asked, there was a slight tugging sensation at your waistline. Cody prompted, “Lift your hips for me and we can get started.” 

After so much time obeying Cody’s orders in the bedroom, your body wasn’t exactly waiting for your input. Your hips raised automatically, helping him ease your underwear down your legs. It was gone, then, and you were jarred by the realization that you had no idea if he had placed them next to you or thrown them across the room. 

“Did you put those somewhere they won’t be smearing blood on the floor?” you asked. Did it threaten the mood? Yes, but so would having to scrub dried blood out of your carpet later.

“Of course,” Cody assured you, pressing a kiss to your hip. “Relax. Let me take care of everything. Do you trust me?” 

“Always.” 

“Good girl.” Another kiss to your hip, then a third on the swell of your lower stomach. 

“Cody?” you asked. A light hum answered you. You would have felt ridiculous, but you could feel his breath on the part of you where your belly turned into your mound. “If you use your mouth on me, I’m going to throw up.” 

A pause. “At the feeling or the idea?” 

“The idea, mostly.” 

“Then I won’t,” Cody agreed. From the sound of his voice, he had moved further up your body. “I am going to use my fingers on you, though. Non-negotiable. I want to do some extra prep work with you on your cycle.”

You nodded again. You knew better than to argue with Cody when he was using that tone of voice. It wouldn’t get you anywhere and would just end with you both being frustrated. As a peace offering, you parted your thighs for him. The slight roughness of the towel until your bare hips was odd, but all you could focus on was that Cody was probably staring at your core. 

“Are you ready for me to start touching your pussy?” 

This isn’t dirty talk, you reminded yourself. Cody’s just trying to keep communication open and effective. Apparently, that didn’t matter to your brain, which insisted on classifying the question as being flirty and daring. You were already blooming for him when you nodded. 

“Let me hear that pretty voice, sweetheart.” 

Well, that certainly didn’t help anything. You had to swallow hard before you trusted yourself to say, “Yes, I’m ready.” 

There was a pause, just long enough to make you wonder whether Cody was going to make you repeat him verbatim before he would move on. Thankfully, he took pity on you and brushed fingertips across your slit.  

Your breath caught in your throat, hips canting upward as if you could find his fingers and force him into you. The sudden, savage surge of want surprised you. The neediness that came with your cycle was nothing new, but faced with the prospect of having those needs met - and met far better than your fingers or toys could manage - was driving your body to previously unknown levels of desperation. 

“That feel good, princess?” 

You wanted to laugh at the idea that he even had to ask, but all you could manage was a dry sounding, “Yes.” 

“Then let me give you a little more.” 

Cody’s stroke was firmer that time, working his way from the bottom of your sex to the hood of your clit. It managed to feel even more dazzling than the first touch had, and you gave a soft moan. That was unusually desperate for you, confirmed by the disbelief in Cody’s low chuckle. 

“My poor little mesh’la needed this even more than I realized,” he mused. “Enough teasing, yeah?” 

The tips of his fingers were at your entrance the next moment, though only one of them pushed inside of you. You were eager for more, but had to admit that one finger felt formidable. The sheer amount of lubrication coating your channel and lips helped ease the way, and you stubbornly refused to think about what else could be causing that wetness. 

Cody worked you slowly with that single finger, patiently petting and stretching you until your inner muscles relaxed enough for him to slip in a second one. You huffed out a breath at the stretch. 

What you hadn’t expected was that being blindfolded forced you to focus more on your other senses. You could feel Cody moving inside of you, of course, but you also felt the way his knuckles occasionally brushed up against your lips. You could hear how wet you were, but also that Cody occasionally held his breath as he watched you take him ever-deeper. His body lay warm against the length of your left leg, and you grabbed his forearm simply to feel the way the muscles and tendons worked as he stretched you. 

Your introspection was cut off when Cody pushed a third finger into you. Your mouth dropped open, a keening noise escaping you as the stretch rapidly went from shocking to uncomfortable to intense to orgasmic. Before you could even begin to warn him, you were tightening around Cody’s fingers and blindly panting out your orgasm.

When the roaring in your ears faded, Cody was still stroking into you. His motions had slowed significantly, but the steady push-pull of his fingers was threatening to build you right back into another orgasm. 

“Cody, please,” you begged, limbs too lax to pull him away. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Cody asked. His hand slowed even further, but he didn’t entirely stop. 

“You.” It came out in a gasp, but clear enough to be understood.

“Always so perfect for me.” Cody’s fingers pulled free of you, and you heard the unmistakable sound of him taking off the rest of his body glove. “Do you need anything else from me before I-?” 

“No,” you interrupted hastily. “Please, Cody, I just need-” 

“Shh… I know what you need, sweet girl.” Your thighs were pushed wider - wide enough to accommodate him between them. A blunted head prodded at your entrance and you canted your hips. Cody’s hands closed around your hips, holding you steady. “Be patient. I don’t want to push you into going faster than you should.” 

You sobbed out a breath as he slowly speared into you. Cody was gracefully proportioned, but some magic of your period or the blindfold - or a combination of both - made you feel his length more intensely than you could remember feeling before. He was sinking into your channel at an achingly slow pace, but that just seemed to emphasize the way he stretched you, forcing you wide around him. 

When he bottomed out in you, you froze at the intensity of the full feeling in your lower belly. If you could have removed your hands from his shoulders, you would have pressed them to your stomach. You wondered if you could have felt him lodged in your guts. 

But instead, you clung to Cody. Your fingernails bit into his skin as you used him as both a source of solidity and a handle so that you could move more freely. Your feet were still resting on the mattress, giving you the leverage you needed to push your hips up, and you ground your pelvis against him. 

Cody’s grip loosened enough to let you do it, then tightened again as he groaned. “You’re killing me, mesh’la.” 

“I’m killing you?” you asked, disbelievingly. “Cody, please, I need you to start moving or I’m going to explode.” 

“Fine,” he agreed. “But you’ll tell me if it’s too much?” 

“I promise.” 

Cody took you at your word. He pinned your hips to the bed and started to move. He couldn’t seem to decide whether he wanted to use long, pounding strokes or shorter, deeper ones. He ended up with a combination of both, which you found both hard to anticipate and intensely sexy. 

You couldn’t stay quiet under the onslaught of pleasure. Admittedly, you weren’t trying very hard, but neither was Cody. He was making his opinions clear, a combination of curses, moans, and praises falling from him. The only time either of you were quiet was when one or the other had initiated a kiss. 

Cody panted above you and you picked up on the particularly desperate rasp of it. He was close. That was perfect, since you were also close, but you wanted to see him. 

“Cody,” you said. Cody groaned your name in response, and you realized you needed to be more specific. “Cody, wait.” 

He froze halfway inside of you. “What is it? Do you need to stop?” 

“No, I just need you to take off my blindfold.” 

There was a beat of silence. “Are you sure? What about the blood?” 

Something in your chest shrank at the reminder that you were on your period and that the scene between your legs probably looked a lot more graphically violent than you had been imagining. Even so, you nodded. “I won’t look. I want to see you. That matters more to me than making sure I don’t see the blood.” 

“Give me a moment, sweetness,” Cody requested. The next thing you felt was the gentle brush of his fingers against the back of your head, then the scarf was lifting away from your face. You studied Cody’s face eagerly, taking in every expression and line. 

You didn’t realize you had a lovesick smile on your face until Cody returned the expression. With a gentle brush of your fingers over his cheek, you said, “There you are.” 

Cody nuzzled into your hand - an oddly sweet gesture considered he was balls deep inside of you. “Better?” 

“Much,” you agreed, rolling your hips experimentally. The brief pause hadn’t killed the mood entirely, and the fire in your blood roared back to life. “Mmmm… I’m close.” 

“Me, too.” Cody withdrew partially from you, pushing back in before pulling out a little further, then doing it again. Eventually, he was thrusting into you with luxurious, full-length strokes that almost seemed to be stroking your insides. Every move managed to brush against your g-spot both when he was pushing in and when he was pulling out, and it wasn’t long before you were panting once more. 

“Cody!” 

Cody pressed his forehead to yours, filling your entire field of vision as your body shattered for the second time that evening. It felt indescribably different to squeeze your internal muscles around his cock rather than his fingers, and the thought crossed your mind that you could happily come around him for eternity. Of course, the pleasure would probably kill you rather quickly, so ‘eternity’ wouldn’t be that long. 

He continued to thrust into you, bucking harder and faster and deeper and stronger until your orgasm stretched long enough to have been your second, third, and maybe your fourth. Cody’s hips lost their rhythm, his brow furrowed, and at last he tore himself from you. 

On the rare occasions when Cody didn’t fill you up, you liked to watch him come. There was something so powerful about it, so primal and compelling. But you were still dealing with the aftermath of your extended orgasm, the pleasurable aftershocks, and the inevitable weakness in your muscles that came after a really good time with Cody. 

Dampness seeped down from your inner thigh, dripping onto the towel beneath you as Cody’s hand squeezed the large muscle that lined the top of your thigh. “...Fuck.” 

You managed a laugh at the harshness of his curse. “You okay?” 

“I think I saw the galaxy for a second there.” Cody let out a shuddering breath. “You’re always amazing, but that was entirely different.” 

“It was a lot more intense than usual,” you agreed. “Maybe you were right about period sex.” 

“Not exactly what I meant, mesh’la,” Cody told you. You glanced at him, surprised that he wasn’t indulging in even a bit of gloating. “You were so strong. I know you weren’t sure about trying it, but I’m glad you did. It was very brave of you. Thank you for trusting me.” 

There were a dozen things you wanted to say: that you would always trust him, that there was no one else you could be as confident with, that it was you who should be thanking him. But you settled for a nod, deciding not to try speaking past the lump in your throat. 

In lieu of words, you tugged Cody upward until you could kiss him. He would understand everything you wanted to say.

---

Author's Note - At this moment, I don't have anything more planned for these two. But every now and again, I'll stumble into an idea that's too perfect not to use, so I won't say never!

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars the bad batch #commander cody #commander cody x reader #commander cody x you #cody x reader #cody x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #spicy #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni

[funficwriter]

A Wolf And A Snake (Wriothesley x Reader) Chapter 4: The Snake in Action

A/N: Ya'll, this is waayyyy later than promised. I'm so sorry, it's just that I went through a hell of a burnout and issues within my personal life. At least finishing this chapter was a bit of a getaway. Thank you so much for your patience, and I promise to keep this story going, and make it as beautiful as I can ❤️

Taglist: @yue-caelum, @reyy-chanx, @mis-disaster, @ladyarchiviste, @keigo-hawks-takami-simp

Warnings: Not as much Wriothesley in this because plotting I'm so sorry :( + Corruption, somewhat abrupt ending

He could pretend all he wanted. He could smile, talk jovially about art and principles and how beautiful you looked. But no one seemed to realize that you knew far more than he let on, far more than anyone. Everyone thought you were some stupid little girl, and they were wrong.

Archandelle's voice was shaky. His palms sweated, to the point of leaving a wet mark on the knees of his pants. He switched topics a lot, too. However, there was one theme that he stuck to: Innocence.

The breaking point for him was when your brother brought up politics: "Yeah, you need to be a bit more discreet with your public statements with the commoners these days. They'll bite at anything.".

Your father laughed and clapped a bit. Archandelle, on the other hand, did not seem to enjoy it as much.

"Oh yes, my friend! I've noticed it gets worse when so many of our security forces are commoners. They'll bite too when they're supposed to protect you as a citizen!".

There it is.

Your father and brother's smiles died upon the scary remark. Your suitor was quite sweaty and lowered his eyes onto his knees. No one really knew what to make of his outburst, until your father inquired carefully: "Err... My dear Archandelle, you're going to be family to us. And as such, we confide our worries in each other. Is something bothering you? Perhaps the room too hot?".

He looked up at you, and you feel dumb for not realizing the unusual eyebags on his pale skin. It was even worse than you imagined. Even better for you.

"My Lord Balthazar, I am grateful for this consideration. But my honor could not bear another shattering...".

He reached out to hold your hand.

"And what will my beautiful wife think if I told you all what happened? Oh, I can't have her think less of me before we even officially wed!".

Think less... You sure you're not late to that?

While you wished you could say that, you needed to squeeze out as much information as possible. Both your father and brother seemed to be at a loss of what to say. In that case, here comes the maiden.

"My beloved...".

The room's energy further froze when you called him as such, even more so in your soft voice and while tucking a strand of hair away from his face.

"... I think I can safely speak for everyone when I say we're very worried about you. Like Papa said, we're to be family. And as husband and wife, who can we confide in if not each other?".

Your mother beamed at her speech lessons being fruitful. He took your hand and put it to his cheek: "Oh, my love... How fortunate I am... But are you sure?".

He sure put up a fight when he was upset, another reason why you didn't want to marry him. You loathed these games of unlocking people's hearts to get them to talk, or these performances of a non-judging maiden without a single angry bone in her body; Wouldn't life be much easier if we were all honest and straightforward? But alas, people like Archandelle and your family love to complicate things. So at the end of the day, you just had to play this game a little longer before rejoining Wriothesley.

"I know that the tongue holds life and death. That's why I wouldn't implore you to tell me if I thought I couldn't handle it. (you looked up to your father) And I'm certain that Papa will lend his support if someone is making our life harder than it should be.".

He sat straight again, still looking morose but at least smiling: "Thank you, my dove. And thank you, Lord Balthazar, for blessing me with such a virtuous fiancée.".

Finally.

He took a deep breath and began: "A few days... No, nights ago... When I only wanted to read and think of young Lady Balthazar, I heard a knock at the door. It was... It was the Police Force. They called me in for questioning...".

Your father held his breath. Your mother repressed a gasp. And oh, the power you felt in this instance, being the only one who really knew what was going on.

"I swear, I've always abided by the law, so I've never had any need to interact with them. But they said they had to. Apparently, they were investigating many offenses that have seen a surge in Fontaine, and you know... We can't have that.".

Your father seemed to know what he was talking about: "Wouldn't be the first time that more and more people are being pulled to the side for 'questioning'. Sometimes, not even nobles are safe from that, right, Elisa?".

"Yes, indeed. In particular young nobles. I remember how much they hassled you when we had our first son...".

Even though you hated your parents, you almost wanted to thank them for saying that, even if unsure. It sure gave that nasty man some relief.

There was only one person who matched his uneasiness; Your brother, who was more at risk than his father due to his age: "Duke Archandelle... If you don't me asking, especially as a fellow young noble, do you know what offenses seem to catch the Police's eyes these days?".

He looked like he wanted to spill it. You didn't doubt that he, like many nobles, had some skeletons in the closet, but you had to know what they were. Any information that you could report back was crucial. It could make Wriothesley's investigative efforts more effective, and he had to be caught quicker than your potential wedding date. But as a young maiden, what you could say beyond meek reassurances was limited. If you knew too much about law and politics (beyond the limited repertoire your father allowed), you could get in trouble.

Despite that desire, he stayed silent for a bit, only sneaking a look at you for reassurance. You held his hand, before an idea emerged.

"I will happily be corrected if I'm wrong, but... As far as I know, Papa walked out of that investigation scot-free, didn't he? As do most nobles?".

No one spoke. You wanted some confirmation, anything. Your father only looked at you, and you wondered whether you trespassed a line.

"My daughter is correct. These investigative bouts always happen for no reason, usually over some crime the common people are worried about. We're always the first to whom they point their fingers first, Archandelle. You know that."

A maid walked in to serve some cake. It looked like she was waiting a while before having the courage to walk in. Who could blame her, with all this tension?

"... What they're looking for is money laundering, procuring fabricated evidence, blackmail and hybrid and Melusine discrimination. If they'll find something else on you, even better. Do be careful, my friends-".

Ever himself, your father boomed out: "Peuh! Like every other spike. Back in my day and now, it's still the same. At this rate, you can rule it off as protocol.".

Your mother continued: "Indeed, dear son-in-law. Oh, please have some chocolate cake, it will bring your spirits up again. The trick is to just lay low and be cooperative.".

And so, your suitor thanked your parents before digging into his cake. While the unease was still present, he seemed a little more relieved to get it out of his system.

You? You were singing high and loud on the inside. You exerted your memory hard not to forget the ensuing exchange, so you could note it down later. Indeed, there was much to be done with it, but for now, you had to play nice. Funny how cake tastes a million times better when you feel like you know what you're doing.

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

Was there an ongoing motif in your life? It looked like the day was your family's, Archandelle's, and everyone else's. The night, on the other hand, belonged to you and Wriothesley. He was going to show up any minute now, but it felt like an eternity. Your stomach was churning in excitement at your findings and what you could report back to him.

The moon and candle lit up your father's office, and the documents you pulled out after hours of looking around frantically and saying little prayers that you wouldn't be caught. You almost gasped when a box fell and made a loud thump, but thankfully, you were in the clear. All that was left to distract you was reorganizing your findings, and even then it was pointless. You did the chore three times.

The long awaited knock rang at the door that has been closed to you for much of your life. You knew the drill.

"Password.".

Agatha's voice gave it to you, along with everything else you've endured for: "Wolfhook.".

Your dress swished out as a temporary goodbye to the moonlight as you went to unlock the door. Everything was going to plan.

Agatha wanted to wave at you, but you could barely see it before you felt Wriothesley pounce to hug you. Could you blame him? Your meetings were often sparse and even communicating was becoming more difficult, and letters simply did not cut it like being with him. Your parents were hellbent on taking up all the time you had.

"My love...".

He gave you a quick kiss, before turning to Agatha as if nothing happened: "Thank you very much for leading me up here.".

She chuckled: "But of course. It's my job to assist Lady Y/N as much as I can. (She yawned) Do you two need anything else?".

You felt a little bad for making her stay up as such, even if she was keen on helping you: "No thank you, Agatha. We really appreciate your help. Please get some sleep.".

"Well then! Good night, you two love birds.".

She retreated quick, for sleep was promised now. Before Wriothesley could think of kissing you again (and more), you pulled his hand to the desk. He was quite stunned: "Oh my... You've got quite the tall stacks over here.".

"Yup! There's so much that I think could help you out.".

He took off his coat and set it on the guest table, as he often did before getting down to business. You had to credit whoever sews his clothes; His vest was tailored down to the centimeter, accentuating his figure without going overboard on one feature or another. After seeing so many pot-bellied older nobles who could afford something nicer, but do not because: "I've technically done everything.", the sight Wriothesley gave you was making it hard for you not burn up.

By Focalors, what a perfect man...

"Last time, in the gardens, you told me to look out if Archandelle acts weird, right?".

"Yes. Did he?

"Nope...".

He quirked a brow: "No? Nothing at all?".

You pulled out the first document, a recount of Archandelle and your father's discussion over tea, as well as another about corruption that you have to eavesdrop on.

"He was shaking in his shoes.".

Enticed (and excited that your plan was going well), he grabbed it and read through. With each line, he grew more impressed; You recalled the date, time, context and had what they said almost word-for-word. You risked a lot for the second, shorter recount, and yet you still put much on the line to dig up the dirt:

(This was right before the pompous asshole left. He was having final words with Father. I was behind the corner.)

Father: I'm betting you that every young man of our class gets investigated for money laundering or some sort of discrimination.

A: Between the two of us, my Lord... Wouldn't you say that it happens with reason?

Father: Oh, everyone steps on a few necks to get where we are. Your father did it. Your grandfather did it. Mine did. And my son is finishing off that stage of his youth.

A: (wiping off sweat? maybe I can't see it) How so?

Father: Listen to me. Lay low and if there's 'evidence' (finger quotes) that you've done nothing wrong and can hand to them, definitely do so. Even if they continue doubting you, legally speaking they can't do anything. Just don't get caught red-handed.

A: I see, and this will pass, right?

Father: (laughs) There you go. Come on now, with your fortune and who your future wife is, no wonder someone's going to get jealous enough to call the Force on you!

He was not born a noble. But he was perceptive, quick to learn, and picked up on a lot of how the high class scene worked. He knew every noble had some illegality to them, and unfortunately for his younger self, he knew Fontaine still had corruption and injustice issues. Shit, he knew they got talked about. But so much was under wraps and died within the older members of the family, with the only certain hope of ending said crime was being caught.

You, the maiden of the house, put up such a good job. Maidens were generally barred from such conversations, but he saw that you catalyzed it. You lulled him, comforted him, seduced him as if you were his wife into spilling the beans. And with the other large stacks, he could only wonder what volumes of crime did you find on him.

Of all the possible whistleblowers, the maiden of the house. Amazing.

"You... got all that?".

"It wasn't so hard. Once I told him he was okay, he just went on. I suppose he can't keep some things to himself. Speaking of which...".

You grabbed a stack, relishing in the thunderstruck look on your lover's face. Oh, he did not expect all that, which made it even better. All your efforts in staying up, socializing, and eavesdropping were bearing their fruit.

"You really ought to go to more parties, my dear.".

The documents all had several sources. Many were from your father's office, some from the library, some looked like copies from police reports and even more recounts.

There was a document recording your father's bail-out from irresponsible financial decisions, signed by himself. Another recounted the Archandelle family's problematic history with Natlanese exploitation. A recording of a private trial with your suitor's father being dragged through the mud (funny it was recorded a bit before the asshat was born). Agatha's eavesdrop on whispered gossip of his discriminating canine hybrids. Volumes upon volumes of evidence, tens of reasons to file a motion of marital worry. Higher and higher chances of succeeding. If he focused well, he could hear Neuvillette's gavel bang, sentencing your father and Archandelle to life in Meropide, and perhaps: "Duke Armand Archandelle will never set an eye on Lady Y/N Balthazar.".

"You got all of this from parties?".

"Well, not all of it. But people talk a lot. And so long as there's a hidden spot for you nearby, you can hear it for yourself.".

You grabbed one of your earliest treasures, deciding to discuss things chronologically. Though Wriothesley was certainly paying attention, adding on to your discoveries, there was still a bit of an unnerved quality to his voice, as if he still had trouble believing that all of this information was procured by you.

At some point, you were fixated on a police report, and he asked the question you've been waiting for: "That's not a recount. That's a police report. How in Focalors' name did you manage to get your hands on that?".

Ah, that query. Originally, you were excited to tell him how. But as you recalled your methods, your façon, and randomly remembered that Wriothesley was among the greatest men of the law in Fontaine, a creeping embarrassment made its way through the door. On one hand, he might not be angry about it. But on the other, you felt like it went against his general judicial compass. You still decided to be frank.

"I used some of my allowance to bribe the officer. Waved the cash in his face, told him I've got more in the future, but that wouldn't arrive unless he gave me the documents I wanted. I even told him that it's for greater justice; After all, is it not his job to ensure that former crimes and bribery are brought to light, even if they belong to my father, fiancé and friends?".

He stopped and thought of his own actions, their intentions, and how perfectly aligned they were with yours. He expected to do most, if not all, of the legwork, and here you were surprising him.

"At first, he resisted. Said that I was corrupting him, and that the young Lady Balthazar doing this of all people was shameful. But then I told him that withholding the information I wanted was even more shameful, and I was just acting as the system was set up. So it was either he gets the cash for the info, or he waits years for the promotion needed so he can finally get married and have children.".

It started off as a chuckle, then emerged into a low laugh, still conscious of the importance of not getting caught.

"Unbelievable, my doll. Unbelievable. I'm starting to question whether the adults around you actually noticed this impish streak of yours.".

He got up from his chair, and slowly headed towards your side of the desk. No, your father's desk, but that was easy to forget in the moment: You were sitting there, with all of the information that would not only dismiss this horrid marriage proposal but also incriminate the two hated men.

"Oh? Well if you, a man of the law, can scheme, why can't I? Especially if it concerns my lover?".

He leaned to meet your face, utterly entranced by how beautiful power looked on. From the minute you strode in such an authoritarian manner - one he doubted you learned from the women around you - and how your dress billowed accordingly, to how focused you looked when you discussed your findings and what lawful repercussions might follow... He already disliked classical noble families for many reasons, but among the highest was the lack of authority given to women. Sitting right in front of him was the perfect example of power and beauty, all obtained by breaking that stupid rule.

Despite whose frame towered over whose, he still felt a slight blush tingle his cheeks.

"You... You certainly know more than you let on. You just don't show it. And I must say, nothing looks as gorgeous on you as power. When you become the Duchess of Meropide, you'll get to exercise it more. I'll make sure of it.".

Not wanting to wait more, you leaned up further and kissed him as the moon shone upon you two. Though his vision had an ethereally beautiful glow to it, it paled next to his translucent skin under the light. He liked to hold your waist when you kissed, but tonight it was no longer gentle, demanding permission. His muscular forearm encircled it and erased whatever distance there was between your bodies. If you focused, you could feel his heartbeat because it was even more frenetic than usual.

Too soon, he wanted to kiss your neck but broke away. He was glad to have the same judged ears, for they were useful; he caught on footsteps heading towards the office.

"Darling?".

He looked around for a hiding spot: "Someone is coming. We need to hide now.".

Whatever excitement you felt was replaced with panic, as your father was the most likely visitor. You hastily grabbed the stack and headed for the large closet in the corner of the room.

"Quickly!".

Wriothesley hunched over to fit himself (that wood looked sturdy enough to hurt his head). While he had to painfully cramp himself, he still managed to squeeze in with you, and you closed the doors as shut as they usually were.

"Good stars, I'm so sorry, my dear-".

"It's okay. Don't worry about me.".

The footsteps grew in volume. Having grown up to tell, you knew it was your father.

"What could the bastard possibly want in the ea-!".

Wriothesley didn't like the idea of shutting you up. He agreed with the call, but the door flung open to reveal the bastard in question. His hand was still over your mouth.

He yawned as he made his way to the shelf, followed by your mother.

"I'm telling you, dear, you really ought to see a physician for these bouts of waking up-".

"Yes, yes, but I can't call one in now, can I? In the meantime, the law is boring and complex enough to put me back to sleep.".

He grabbed a large book. Your mother had more to say: "Honey, do you think there's any extra stress in the current time that's... Making the sleep issue worse?".

Though you disliked her, you could never bring yourself to side with your father against her. Despite the obvious worry in her voice, your father sneered at her, as if she were an idiot: "My daughter's to be married soon and the Police force feels like amping up investigations again. What do you think, huh? That I'm having a walk in the park?".

"I'm sorry, dear...".

She looked at the ground and waited until he headed out, then followed him. Wriothesley's nose crinkled in disgust, and his ears twitched.

As you left the closet, he spoke up: "I know arranged marriages aren't the most affectionate, but the way he treats her... That's bad even by noble standards.".

"You know... When I was younger, mother always told me she married him for love. Never made a hint of sense to me, because I saw couples in love. Both in my books and the commoner couples.".

He chuckled: "At least we're not like them, and that's why we're happy. Is what we have not a million times closer to love than any other noble pair?".

He wrapped his hand around yours. You squeezed tight: "I think... I think part of love is how you let me do things.".

"That's a broad term. Like what?".

"So much of my girlhood could be summarized as: 'Y/N, don't do this or that. That's not ladylike. That's not social. That's not fitting of you.'. In fact, I'm sure they'd kill me if they found out about my little investigations. But you... We've been together for months and I have yet to hear anything else than encouragement from you. You let me act boldly, shyly, dramatically, and calmly, without having to fear you like Mother does Father.".

For no reason other than beauty's sake, you took a step and turned, the moonlight reflecting on the flowy fabric.

"Though I will admit, I still feel a little guilty about the bribery. Maybe because I've always condemned it, just like you.".

On most days, he cared about justice. He really did. But in this instance where you - technically at least - broke the rules and used your privilege to strongarm your way into data, he could not reprimand you. Even if he tried, his sense of justice did not flair out. "But that sort of behavior is what keeps corruption going! And corruption fails vulnerable children!", is what he would have thought in most cases. But you were never, not since the moment you looked at each other, a case regulated by rules.

"You gave the answer to the cop, didn't you? You're just playing among the parameters of your surroundings. It just so happens that they're shit.".

"Huh...".

The sun was going to rise soon. Your meeting had to end soon, so you could get some sleep; Eyebags would make you look suspicious.

"Y/N, I think...

What he really reasoning with corruption as such? Within the norm, he'd want someone in Meropide if they bribed (supposedly) one of Fontaine's higher authorities. But after all, your hand was being forced, in many ways: Between a loveless marriage, pre-existing secrets, and corruption... What could the both of you do?

"...I think we're just doing what we can to be together when no one else does. And we shouldn't have to, ideally. But that's life.".

"I suppose so...".

#yandere wriothesley x reader #yandere genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #yandere reader #yandere fontaine x reader #a wolf and a snake

[oh-surprise-its-me]

Roy/Jamie prompt: Roy and Jamie wake up together after a celebration night. It’s painfully awkward and they both feel like the other didn’t even want it. Jamie asks to use Roy’s shower and ducks away to fall apart quietly. Roy gathers his courage and goes into the bathroom a few minutes later. He finds Jaime morosely cleaning himself with his eyes red. Roy steps into the shower and takes Jamie into his arms. They say nothing, just hold onto each other tight in silent promise that they deal with a kiss. They wanted each other so they will have each other, that’s that.

AWW GOD

I love your prompts they’re always fun.

When Jamie woke up he was warm, he was also in Roy’s arms.

He’s in the shower now, less warm even though the water is boiling. He’s trying not to cry, he’s failing. The tears can’t stop. Roy looked at Jamie like he was disgusting this morning.

Jamie keeps washing, he runs his fingers over the bruises he finds. There’s quite a few on his thighs and on his ass. His hips ache, normally he would love that ache not today. The bruise on his neck is going to be a bitch to hide.

He leans forward and presses his head onto the shower wall, Christ. What has he done. Fucked it all. Roy is going to go back to hating him. No more runs, no more late night conversations, no more getting to sit on the counter and watch him cook.

Jamie shakes out a sob. He hopes the water covers the noise.

—

When Roy saw it was Jamie in his bed he’ll admit he freaked, power dynamics and such. He’s known he found Jamie hot for months. Christ maybe years. Wanted to fuck him for longer.

Jamie asked to shower and of course Roy said yes, he wasn’t the one with cum leaking out of him. Roy’s chest is distinctively crusty.

Roy would love to let Jamie have his private time to freak out, god knows Roy is. But he needs a washcloth. He slides into the bathroom. He glances into the shower, the frosted glass making Jamie a bit blurry.

He hears a sob. Then there’s a whisper under the water of “pull it together Jamie he doesn’t love you last night was a mistake.” Roy can only think Jamie is more wrong.

What’s a better way to get clean then a shower.

He opens the shower door, Jamie’s head shoots up, he stares at Roy. “Mind of I join you baby?”

Jamie blinks at him. His eyes are red, Jamie nods. How can he not nod. He’d say yes to anything Roy asks him right now.

He’s instantly pulled into Roy’s arms. He ducks his head under Roy’s chin. A kiss is pressed to his head.

Jamie thinks things might just turn out better then he was picturing.

—

“I’ve been in love with you for months Roy how could you not see that” - “in my defense I was trying to not be turned on by everything you do.” - “are you fucking serious.” - “I love you too for the record.” - “thank god or this would be extremely awkward.” - “shut up and kiss me you ass.” - “your ass.”

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #roy kent #jamie x roy #royjamie #jamie tartt x roy kent #thanks for the ask !! #sorry it’s a little short

[glazedyam]

Here’s an idea: UI x Fem!Reader Coffee shop AU

Y/N is a barista in a recognized coffee shop in Korea, where K-pop celebrities often go to enjoy a nice cup of warm coffee! that’s how Y/N meets IU, who after having a first interaction with the barista starts to visit more often the coffee shop just to talk with Y/N, and with time they kinda develop a crush into each other!

Caramel Macchiato — IU x Fem!Reader [COFFEE SHOP AU]

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: None! Pure fluff. Coffe Shop AU. Reader doesn't know IU is IU until later on. I changed up the request a bit to make it more suitable for the idea I had. I hope you don't mind!

—Welcome to “Mother’s Love Café” . What can I get you? — You said with a smile.

—Can I get, umm, a caramel macchiato?  — The woman said, her face mask didn’t allow you to see, but she was definitely smiling.

—Sure, a caramel macchiato coming right up for…? — You trailed off, a knowing smile on your face.

—Lee Ji-Eun. —She said, smiling lightly. You already knew her name, but you loved hearing her say it.

—Right, Lee Ji-Eun. — You said. 

Ah, right, Ms. Lee Ji Eun, she was a regular at the coffee shop. She was a very polite woman with a beautiful voice. She always sat quietly in a corner, sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend, but she always ordered something, which you appreciated. 

You had known her since she was a teenager, since that’s when she started coming to the café. At that time you were still a teenager, too. But you worked as the cashier, while your parents worked as the baristas.

Those times she sat alone, she would usually bring a notebook to work on something. You were curious as to what she was doing, but you didn’t want to come off as creepy.

Those days she came by were the best days in your work week, as you got to talk to a cute girl you might have developed a small crush on. Even if you liked her, you knew it wouldn’t go anywhere, so you decided to keep your infatuation silent for years. 

Despite having several regulars, nowadays, “Mother’s Love Café” wasn’t doing so well. It was established by your parents, and now, you worked there while you prepared to take it over once you finished college, but maybe, it wouldn’t be there when you were ready to take over if things continued how they were.

You were cleaning the counter, a morose expression in your face. Apparently, you did so little to hide it that when Lee Ji Eun came over to get her coffee, she saw your face and asked.

—Is everything okay?  —

—Huh? Oh! — You realized what had happened and immediately changed your demeanor to a cheery one, — Yeah, everything is okay. — You lied.

—Are you sure? — She insisted.

You looked at her eyes, the only things you could see of her, as she also wore a white cap that hid most of her hair. You sighed, and thought that maybe this was an opportunity to talk to the cute girl you secretly liked.

—No… I’m not. Well, the café’s not. — You sulked, and continued. — If we can’t get more people to come here and actually buy something, well, we might have to close… — You scratched the back of your head.

—Well, I- can I do anything to help? — She asked. 

—Unless you can find a way to make people come here, I don’t think so. — You said, dejected.

—Hmm… — She hummed, putting her finger to her chin. —Don’t worry, I’ll try to think of something. —

—I hope you can… — You continued cleaning the counter and she resumed her place at her table at the back of the café.

…

It had been three days since that conversation and you hadn’t seen Lee Ji Eun anywhere near the café. Not that you expected her to come up with something, it was just that… you wanted to see her again.

Maybe hearing her voice would make you feel less awful about the fact that you may need to close the café. 

Only a miracle could save you now. 

—I have an idea. — Someone said as you were sulking while preparing some coffee. 

You looked up and it was Lee Ji Eun. 

—Re-Really? — You stuttered, as she seemed so hyper it was unusual to you, but she quickly composed herself.

—Why not bring live entertainment? Like, a famous idol could perform here and bring in customers. — She said. You were perplexed, why hadn’t you thought of that? But, wait…

—Do you really think an idol would like to come here and perform? —

—I know someone who would love to help you. — She said, putting her slender fingers on the counter. She looked around and signaled for you to get closer. You did, and her breath hit your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. 

— IU. —

It was enough for you to drop a cup on the floor.

You quickly picked up the scrambled pieces of ceramic from the floor and grabbed a mop to begin cleaning the hot liquid that had fallen at your feet. Meanwhile, Lee Ji Eun giggled at you. 

You got close and began whisper-talking to her.

—IU? Really? — You asked incredulously.

—Yeah. I can convince her to come here and sing. She will attract lots of fans and your café will be popular again. — You couldn’t see it but you could tell she was smiling. 

—I mean… how much would it cost? — You scratched the back of your head. IU was a figure recognized in all of South Korea, and getting her to perform at your small business would cost an almost impossible sum of money. One you clearly didn’t possess.

—Don’t worry. I work close to her. I can get her to perform here in the blink of an eye. For free. — She said confidently.

You thought about more, and… it seemed like a clear solution. You needed to attract customers, and who better to do that than Korea’s Little Sister? 

—Fine. I’ll let you get her. And you better do it! — You pointed at her with your eyebrows raised, warning her.

She dismissed you, waving her delicate hand around. She was about to walk away, but you quickly stopped her.

—Wait, Ms. Lee, give me your number. — You asked.

—Wha-What? My number? — She was thankful she had her mask on, if not you would have seen her blush.

—Yes. I might need to contact you about this whole ordeal with the artist. Especially if it’s a top celebrity like IU. — You said.

—Top… celebrity? I wouldn’t say she’s a top celebrity… — She said. 

—Come on, she’s IU. Everyone in South Korea knows her. If that doesn’t make her a top celebrity I don’t know what will. — You crossed your arms.

She blushed even more. She, who has received compliments from millions of people, for some reason blushed when she received the compliment of a barista. 

— I- I will make sure to tell her you said that. — She answered.

And with that, she left.

…

It had been a week since you had been communicating with Ji Eun, to the point where you got up the courage to ask her out when everything settled and they got the deal with IU done with.

Oh, and speaking of her, today, Ji Eun came to the coffee shop when you were closing.

She touched your shoulder to get your attention, and you turned and smiled at her.

—How did it go? — You asked, anxiously biting your thumb.

—She said yes! — She beamed, and you immediately jumped on her, hugging her tightly to your chest .

—OMG, Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!— You squealed. When you realized what you had done, you backtracked, and stopped hugging her. —Um, I- I’m sorry, that was so sudden… —  

—Don’t be! — She waved her hands around. 

—So… she’s coming on the 21st, and- — You interrupted her.

—Maybe you want to discuss this over a cup of coffee? — You said, sweating, expecting rejection.

—Oh! Of course! — She said. 

You both went inside and as you set a table and brewed some coffee, Ji Eun began thinking about how much she adored this coffee shop. 

She used to come here all the time when she was just a rookie, and she even invited her friends sometimes, or she even came by herself when she just wanted to enjoy some solitude away from the K-Pop industry.

She admired the place and how many years it had been standing. 

It had a special place in her heart, alongside the cute barista that attended the place. 

She would never admit it, but she liked the woman a little too much, going as far as to think about composing a song about her. But of course, it was just a silly crush. She would never correspond her feelings… Right?

…

D-Day came, and IU was nervous. She hadn't been this nervous in all her career. She was doing this as a favor for her dear barista, but of course, what would she say when she found out about her identity?

Of course, she’d be surprised, but what would she think? 

She came into the coffee shop early with her team, and they began preparing the space where she would perform. She saw some fans waiting in line to get in, and of course, she waved at them, which they answered with screams of delight.

—We’re here. — She said, saying hi to the staff that had come in beforehand, and she looked for (Y/N). 

—(Y/N)? — She asked.

—Right here! — A voice came in from the back. 

Since IU still had her mask and cap on, she decided it was time to tell her the truth. She walked towards the door that said “staff only” and entered the place, seeing it was just a small room with a table and a few chairs.

—Sorry Ms. Lee, I don’t think this place is appropriate for a star like IU to hang out in. — You said.

—Don’t worry, she will love this place. — She reassured you. 

—When is she coming? — You asked.

—Oh, she’s coming right now, she’s just waiting for her staff to fix the place. — She dismissed.

—Well, I’ll be out of your hair for a bit, I need to go and make sure we’re in stock for everything. — And with that, you left the small room to go outside and check your stock.

And so, when it came to the moment of truth, IU was prepared by her stylists and by her team. She looked beautiful with her layered black hair let loose, and her purple top and black pants. 

She was ready to save her favorite café in the world, alongside her favorite barista, too.

She came out of the back, and saw that a wave of fans had come in already, and that the café was full to the brim. She waved at all of them, and got to the stage that the IU Team had prepared. 

But since she hadn’t removed her mask and cap, (Y/N) hadn’t recognized she was IU yet, and she saw your confused face as she got to the stage.

She removed her mask and cap, and revealed herself to (Y/N). 

Her heart was beating and her hands were sweaty, but she grabbed the mic and began singing. Singing with all her passion, like she hadn't ever sang in her life. She just thought of (Y/N) and how precious this café was for her.

At the end of the first song, everyone cheered and shouted praises at her, but could only think of (Y/N). 

At the ending of the day, after singing so many songs, she decided to finally present her fans with la crème de la crème: the song she had composed for (Y/N).

—The next song is… very special to me. I composed it thinking about someone very important to me. Someone who always made my day when I was sad with her words, and always put a smile on my face. This song is called “Caramel Macchiato”.—

[A/N: Go listen to Talk to Me by Girls’ Generation while reading this, since it’s the song IU is singing in this part.] 

She sang it beautifully, her voice sounding like an angel’s.

At the end of the song, she bowed and waved goodbye to her fans, and went backstage to the coffee shop. 

There, IU Team began picking up and cleaning up everything that they had brought for her performance, and saw you sitting in a chair, checking her phone. 

—(Y/N) — She called, and you looked at her with wide, teary eyes. IU thought the worst, but instead, you ran and hugged her. 

—Thank you, so, so much. — It took her by surprise, along with the IU Team, whose eyes went wide.

—Everyone out, now. — She said. No one needed to be told twice. They, one by one, left the backroom, and  closed the door behind them. 

You let go of IU, and stared at her with tears in your eyes.

—You made it, you’re gonna save my café. — You said, hugging her again, this time tighter. And when you let go, she proceeded to tenderly kiss your tears away, which made you smile, grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around.

—Oh, (Y/N), I love you. —She suddenly said. Then you stopped spinning her around, which made her realize what she just said. 

—I- Um, I- I- didn’t mean- — 

You kissed her on the lips, the moment seemed to be frozen in time. You separated, and you looked into her tear filled eyes, and said:

—I love you too, Ji Eun. —

#iu kpop #lee ji eun #IU #fem reader #x reader #IU x reader #lee ji eun x reader

[borrowedtimeandspace]

The Box (Although Not the Suggestion One, as That Doesn't Exist)

29. Element

From this list of gt prompts

AU: Good Omens/Doctor Who crossover, based on this post by @mayomkun and a conversation with @neonthewrite.

Note: My first time writing a Good Omens fic! I couldn't resist once I saw the art linked above, not to mention the rare opportunity to write for a smol Doctor! Also... this got quite long, almost twice as long as my usual prompts. I had lots of fun with these dorks!

Spoilers for Good Omens season 2, but only for like the first 5 minutes.

~~~

The angel sighed glumly, kicking up a small whorl of stardust floating past.

It had been some time since the other angel who'd helped jumpstart this whole pet project had flown off, a bit flustered to get back to his own duties. Busy work, being a Principality, he supposed. That left the angel alone to stare, morose, at what had brought him so much joy not long ago.

All that time spent in the design process, all that effort sunk into putting on a magnificent show– and functional to boot, with all the stars the nebulas could churn out, given the time! All of that, just pfft in 6,000 years flat, once the Almighty got around to creating that "Earth".

Surely it must have been an oversight, thought the angel. He'd been working on this nebula right alongside some of the higher-ups who definitely would know about such a thing as Earth and the "people" meant to be the audience for all their hard work. And yet he'd heard nothing about it until that other angel- Aziraphale, was that his name? -brought it up right after the nebula came bursting into existence. Maybe the higher-ups simply assumed he knew about it, too? That could be why it was never mentioned.

Ah, well… soon enough, the angel would fly off to try and find someone he could talk to about this whole universal-shutdown business. He couldn't help feeling a bit wounded that so much went into things like this, all for it to be nothing but fluff and spectacle for one tiny little planet off in the corner. A corner that wasn't even fully manifested yet! For now, though, a part of him was reluctant to leave. It was still a beautiful sight, if he said so himself; watching the gasses and dust swirl, elements coming together only to expand in bursts of color and light. He reckoned someone ought to enjoy it before it all went up.

Then something made the angel's ear ring and his wing twitch uncomfortably. Some kind of odd sound that he had a hard time pinpointing below the muffled noise of the nebula coming to life all around. 

With a befuddled frown and a wave of his hand, the angel expanded his perception of the space around him. The nebula soared overhead, and the ever-shifting motion of the brand new stars and their infant planets, all of which also blew up to an immense scale compared to the angel now, slowed to a crawl and then nearly a standstill.

From down at this new scale, the sound was a bit clearer to hear, but no less baffling to the angel. His head moved on a swivel to try and spot the source of the stuttering wheeze that seemed to be circling about. While the noise wasn't exactly threatening, it was unusual and, quite frankly, a bit upsetting.

It came into view slowly. Rather literally, it seemed to struggle to manifest once the angel caught sight of it. Something blue and angular and about the size of his hand, fading in and out of sight in time with the struggling noise, finally coming into full solid form with a low sound that almost could be mistaken for a sigh of relief.

The angel's eyes were wide. That hadn't been in the blueprints.

With a flex of his wings, the angel flew closer to the strange object that had appeared. A curious finger hesitantly reached out to touch one of the sides of the box to find that it truly was material! Not just dust and gas, but something actually tangible!

He'd just begun to wonder what exactly this odd and mysterious blue thing was, reaching for it with both hands with the intention to turn it over and figure out just how it worked, when one side of the box suddenly swung inward. The angel's hands twitched back in shock. 

The box was alive??

Then, something even more shocking happened: out of the opening in the box leaned a tiny figure. A very similar shape to the ones angels took these days; pairs of arms and legs, one head, but no wings to be seen. And the tiny figure looked just as shocked to see the angel as he was to see it.

"Ah," it said after a moment. "Right, uh, hello! Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I've, ah, gotten myself slightly stuck, I think."

The angel caught himself staring agape at the little fellow. There wasn't supposed to be anything alive in this quadrant for a few million years, let alone sentient and capable of speech! The thought suddenly occurred as he remembered what Aziraphale had gone on about earlier: was this one of the "people" they were working on? He hadn't been hanging around that long, had he??

"Um," the angel managed to respond. "Not to be rude, but you wouldn't happen to be from Earth, would you?"

A flash of recognition crossed the absolutely teeny face of the figure- the person, rather- but he hesitated before answering. "Well, not quite that, but I was in the neighborhood. Must have gotten myself turned around somehow, and ended up in another…"

He trailed off as he leaned further out of the box, looking this way and that until his gaze landed on the looming nebula, and he stopped to behold it.

A warm bubble of excitement rose up in the angel's chest, cutting right through the confusion of the moment. All this time he'd been so worried about the people not being able to witness the wonders the universe had to offer far beyond that Earth place, and however this one got here, he wasn't about to waste a second!

"Yes, of course! Where are my manners?" The angel cleared his throat and maneuvered himself to float a short distance from the box to keep from blocking the view. He gestured grandly upwards with his arms and wings and said, "Allow me to introduce you to–!"

"The Horsehead Nebula," gasped the man.

The angel's head whipped around, the feathers in his wings ruffled agitatedly as he once again stared in shock.

The person in the box continued, "But it's just starting out! All those stars are only beginning to burn. Barely put the timer on the pressure cooker yet! Oh…! Look at you, you're gorgeous!"

A flurry of emotions flooded the angel as he listened to the little man praise his work (even using the same phrasing the angel had, making him quite proud of it all over again) but he did it in a way that was extremely odd. Like he expected it to be different. It did feel good to be recognized, but something didn't sit right.

"You've…seen it before?" asked the angel, floating cautiously closer once again.

"Oh, dozens of times!" the man exclaimed. "One of the classic star factories of the known universe, personal favorite of mine-,"

The angel interrupted, "Sorry, but I'm afraid that's impossible. I was here to kick all this off, as it were, and I haven't gone anywhere. And, meaning no offense, you are…surprisingly hard to miss in all this. If you'd been here 'dozens of times' already, I'd have noticed, and as far as I know, only the others who worked on it should even know what it looks like!"

Despite the angel getting worked up about it, he was more perplexed by this strange creature than he was upset with him. He sensed no falsehoods when he spoke, which only confused him more.

"Hang on, so, you…" the man blinked as he processed, glancing back and forth between the angel and the nebula. "When you say ‘worked on’, that sort of sounds like it was by design. Is… is that how this universe came about, and not by happenstance? You're telling me you built this??" Though his tone was incredulous, there was more awe in it than disbelief. 

“Well, I…” For someone so small, this mysterious man had a way with his words that completely disarmed the angel. With a flustered grin, he admitted, “It was a group effort, but I was the one lucky enough to start it all up.” To punctuate the point, he gave a revving gesture to mimic the way he’d cranked up the engine just before it all came about.

Agape, the man gazed back up at the nebula. “Wow. I mean that is just…smashing work, really! If I’d known it looked this magnificent brand-new, I’d have come to see it ages ago–,”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” the angel chided, shaking off the pride the little fellow kept stirring up, distracting him from figuring this oddity out. He did his best to emulate the authoritative tone of voice those upstairs took on, but he wasn’t sure how well it was coming across. Crossing his arms to try and look more serious, he insisted, “Now, I rather think you’ve got some explaining to do about just what you’re doing here, and why you claim to know so much about my nebula. I’ve half a mind to report you!”

Tiny little hands shot up in a soothing gesture. “Alright now, no need to get your…wings in a twist. I can explain, it’s just… well, it’s a bit complicated.”

The angel’s brow jumped expectantly, ready to listen.

“Right.” The man shoved his hands in his pockets with an awkward shrug. "Well, for starters, I’m a bit of a traveler. Travel through time and space, to be exact. That’s why I say I’ve seen this nebula before, even though it’s only just begun to exist. Seen it in the future, loads of times. Can’t resist, really, especially when I’ve got people aboard who don’t have the opportunity to get this far out from their own planets.”

“There are more of you in there?” blurted the angel, curiosity overriding the stern tone he’d tried to put on. Glancing up at the Horsehead, he said more softly, “And you… take them here just to see it?”

It was admittedly a lovely notion. Someone out there, in the future, bothered to trek across half the universe just to see the beauty of its workings. Warmed something in the angel’s chest to think that maybe all this work wasn’t for nothing.

“Well… not at the moment, no,” the man confessed, glancing back into the dark inner space of the box. “Just me right now…”

The angel’s wings drooped as he tried to imagine how that felt. Being a part of the Heavenly Host generally meant that one was never truly alone. They were all part of a group, and they knew they could rely on one another in times of need. Being all alone in a little box sounded quite…

“And you, erm… You’d said before that you were stuck?” the angel prompted, his voice much quieter in light of all this new information.

“Ah! Yes, I did!” the man burst out, as though remembering that he was, in fact, in a bit of a crisis. He shook off all the distractions and leaned back out to lock eyes with the angel. “I dunno if you can help me, but… Well, you see, this is actually not the universe I belong to. It’s a bit too much to explain, but the long and short of it is, I was semi-accidentally pushed past the limits of my own universe into this one. And well, you see, my box here, it runs on energy native to my universe, so I’m running on empty. Not even running, she’s just sort of… dead in the metaphorical water.” 

He ran a tender hand along the blue threshold for a moment before returning his attention outward and upward. “This did happen once before, and I managed to get it fixed by recharging it with some of my own life energy, but now I’m thinking that maybe- Well, I’m wondering if, since you were able to create all this out here, then you could perhaps give me a bit of a jump start!”

"Oh! Erm, I can surely try," said the angel, doing his best to sound confident. "Should be simple, really, with a nebula under the ol' belt!"

The angel's arms uncrossed and he once again reached both hands out with the intent to take hold of the little blue box.

"Oi!" exclaimed the man, jumping back from the doors. The angel paused, sheepish when he realized that, being so small, the poor fellow must not have seen him coming and got startled. It would be quite a sight, he supposed, a great big pair of hands coming at him all at once.

"Ah! Forgive me. See, there aren't meant to be people quite yet, so I don't really know how to…" the angel trailed off with a bashful chuckle, then waved the thought off. He gave a gentle beat of his wings to back off ever so slightly so the little bloke could see more of him and hopefully not be afraid. Cupping his hands before him in the manner he intended to hold the box, he asked, "May I?"

The little man stood straight again, and gave a rather pointed adjustment to his clothes. "Gently as you can, if you must," he insisted.

"I'll be very careful," promised the angel with a nod. Then, much slower this time, he reached out and brought his palms up to meet the very bottom of the box, fingers curling up behind to very gently stabilize it.

As soon as the angel made prolonged contact, the gravity of the situation with the box became clear. The little man had tried to explain it, but now the angel could feel it. His eyes closed as he opened himself up to fully understanding.

"Oh, dear…" he breathed, briefly overwhelmed by the cold, empty feeling the box gave him. No ordinary box, it would seem, with its deceptively vast interior compared to the exterior. Another universe, indeed. The angel could also sense that it should contain its own spark of life, but as the man has said, it was completely devoid of it. An incredibly well-loved box, but assuredly in dire straits.  "You are unwell, poor thing."

Blinking his eyes open, he found the man just within the threshold, watching with uncertainty and a little bit of awe. The angel gave a resolute nod and decided, "You're most definitely in need of a miracle." 

With that, the angel shifted his grip to hold the box in one hand, the little man clinging to the box's opening to keep upright. Such a small, gentle movement for the angel impacted the man much more. He focused on the task at hand, taking a deep breath to concentrate his energy in the very heart of the box deep within it. Once he felt it, his free hand lifted and there was only one thing to do.

"Let there be light," he whispered, drawing his hand down to call upon the powers of Heaven.

The change was immediate. On the angel's command, the interior of the box flickered to life. The man whirled around to watch a blue-green energy fill what looked like a column in the center of a round room much bigger than the limits of the box the angel held in his hand. That room also lit up with tiny motes of yellow all around, and the little man gave an elated whoop at the sight.

"You did it!" exclaimed the man, turning the biggest grin such a small person could make to the angel. "This should be just enough to get home!"

"Oh, it's no trouble really, I–,"

The angel's bashful words were cut off by a slam as the opening to the box shut all of a sudden. He barely had time to blink and wonder about how abrupt that had been when it opened halfway and the man's head poked out once again.

"Also, dunno if this needed to be said, but probably best not to tell anyone I was here, if you can," he said with some urgency. "Not my universe and all, not to mention the whole future business- best left unsaid, I think."

"Right. Quite right," the angel agreed. He hadn't a clue how he would even begin to explain all this if he were to follow through on his previous threat to report it. Doubtful that there was even paperwork for this scenario.

The man gave a nod. "Thanks much for the jump start!" he called as he disappeared into the box once more.

The angel was just wondering what he should do with his hands, if he should simply let the box float on its own to do its thing, when it yet again swung open.

"By the way, I love your hair!" the man grinned. "Great color to it; I'm a bit envious, really!"

"Oh! Erm, thanks!" said the angel, smiling brightly as he accepted the compliment. "I'm rather fond of yours as well, I like the shape of it."

With that, the man gave one final wave to the angel. "Cheers!"

When he vanished into the box this time, it was for good. The angel felt a pulse of energy run through his palm before too long, and the box once again began to wheeze. It was a laborious noise, but nowhere near as sickly as it had sounded before. Just as slowly as it had appeared, it began to vanish, and soon enough was no more.

Slightly stunned, the angel contemplated what had just happened.

It was an odd feeling he was left with. The concept of other universes started to sink in, making him wonder even more about the Almighty's plans for this one. Had They made backups in case the 6000-year shutdown didn't work out?

Beyond that, it did make the angel feel better hearing that, even if it wasn't in this universe, his hard work wouldn't go unnoticed. Someone was out there, in the distant future, bringing people around to see the wonders of the universe. All the more reason, thought the angel, to not just run it all for such a short time and then stop out of the blue! Why create it all without giving them the time to witness it, if that was truly its function after all?

The angel, remembering himself, diminished his perspective once again. As his celestial body expanded, the nebula once again kicked up to high gear, young stars flying about amongst the dust. He gave a pointed flare of his wings, bound and determined to bring this issue up with someone sooner rather than later.

A strong beat of the angel's wings shot him out into the dark matter in a flash of brilliant light, and he sped off to do just that.

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #late entry #size difference #Good Omens #Good Omens 2 #go2 spoilers #doctor who crossover #Tenth Doctor #Doctor Who #doctor who gt #doctor who g/t #sfw gt #fluff #Angel Crowley #giant #tiny #giant tiny #size shifting #growing #shrinking