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theonemeathead · 3 months

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Sniper x Reader, "Quick Trip"

a sniper x reader smutfic! tw for afab anatomy, the implications of the word 'sheila'. enjoy!

August. One of the hottest months of the year, not to mention it was the hottest day in New Mexico yet. A ceasefire had been called until further notice, the temperature being down right deadly. There was no shade for miles, within the border of the Badlands.

Which just so happened to be where you lived. Your residence, currently, was Teufort's RED base. You had been on base for a couple of years now, you got along with everyone well enough; Some more than others.

Which leads you to the current situation.

You see, Sniper was about to leave on a joint-contract with Scout; Somewhere not nearly as blazing hot. And he was going to be gone for almost two weeks. Clearly, this didn't bode well with you as you stood, with crossed arms, in front of him. You had been begging him all day to let you tag along, but he refused, insistently.

"Mundy, this isn't fair! The AC in the base is broken, you gotta—!"

"I said no, sheila," he cut you off, his tone stern. Of course, you didn't take well to being talked over, especially by your boyfriend. You furrowed your brow, opening your mouth to speak, when you were interrupted, yet again.

"Sick! Ya coming with us?" Ah, Scout. His Boston accent never failed to amuse you, especially with the mischievous glint in his eyes whenever he spoke. He smiled wide, hopeful that you could maybe make the car ride a little less dull. Sniper usually wasn't one for small talk, you were lucky if you could even get a head nod out of him.

"No." "Yes!"

You and Sniper said in unison, he shot you a nasty side eye from behind his aviators. You never understood how Sniper was able to take the heat so easily. He was still wearing his full uniform, boots and all. You had half a mind not to strip naked with how unbearable the temperature was. However, still somewhat sane, decided against that and listened to your better judgement for once.

"Aw, c'mon, Snipes, let 'em tag along! At least they talk," Scout tried to reason, taking your side. Sniper sighed dramatically, grumbling something you couldn't quite understand. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you.

"You're both insufferable. Get in." Your eyes lit up immediately. You had gotten your way, per usual. You clambered into the vehicle, sitting directly in the middle between the other two mercenaries. The black leather seats had definitely seen their fair share of wear and tear, various holes burned from dropped cigarettes, some exposed, yellow foam from the peeling material... But Sniper loved his van. In between your legs was the comically long stick-shift. The handle was slightly chipped away and the design faded from being used so often. Sniper refused to drive anything but manual, because it's 'the right way' he said. With a loud sigh, Sniper had pulled himself in on the driver's side, buckling his seat belt in one swift motion. He clicked the key forward in the ignition, the camper sputtering to life. It was definitely old and in desperate need of repair. The bushman reached forward for the gearshift, his rough hands accidentally brushing the top of your knee as he put the car into 1st gear. Normally, gestures such as this didn't get to you. But, something felt off about it this time.

The first 10 minutes of the car ride turned out to be a bust. Sniper was too focused on the road and Scout was knocked out, cold. The only sound was the distant crackling of the radio and the soft snores from your teammate. You had one exciting moment when Sniper went to shift to 3rd, his hand grazing your leg yet again. You shot him a quick glance, unsure if it was on purpose on not. Sniper wasn't one to tease. You leaned forward with a sigh, slightly turning the dial on the radio to the right. It was set on a classic rock station currently playing a song by Men At Work. You didn't know much about the band, besides the fact Sniper really liked them.

"I love this song." Sniper's gruff voice had come out slightly whispery. You squirmed a little in your seat. Did he always have this affect on you? His Aussie accent had rang through you ears. It was such a simple string of words, but coupled with the fleeting touches, it was... different. About an hour and a half into the car ride, Sniper made the executive decision to stop at a gas station a couple miles up the road. With Scout still asleep, Sniper pulled up to the pump, slamming the breaks to scare the sleeping Bostonion awake. With an abrupt 'oof', Scout was up and ready to fight immediately.

"What—! What is it?! What happened, are we dead??" He yelped, looking around frantically. Scout paused, huffing when he saw that you were all just in park. "You guys are freakin' assholes, I'm gonna go take a leak."

With the 3 of you filing out of Sniper's front seat, you watched as Scout stretched and walked towards the gas station itself. Behind you, Sniper had already unscrewed the gas cap, removing the nozzle and forcing it into the tank. With a simple 'click', diesel fluid immediately began pouring out. Sniper stared at it for a second before abruptly pulling on the handle of the side door of the van, exposing the inside to you. Confused, you looked up at him.

"I told ya I didn't want you coming on this trip, roo." His tone was dark, almost sadistic. Your brows pinned up, a bit of fear beginning to creep through your system. Sniper never took a tone with you. He turned to you, his eyes hidden behind his yellow-tinted aviators. You swallowed thickly, afraid of what was next. "Come here."

You obeyed, stepping closer to him timidly. Immediately, you were manhandled, almost thrown into the back of his camper van. You stared in surprise, yelping as he slammed the door closed behind the both of you. You didn't have time to react before he was on you, his mouth meeting yours. The kiss wasn't pretty or experienced as his teeth clacked against yours, his lips bruising and hungry. He must've been pent up, watching you flaunt yourself around in that low-cut tanktop and those too-short shorts. Just as fast as he had started, he had pulled away. The marksman looked you up and down, as if you were nothing but prey.

"This is the entire reason I didnt want'cha to come, darl'. Just can't keep my bloody hands off ya."

A flash of red was all you saw before you were flipped onto your stomach, Sniper using his long limbs to entangle your arms behind your back. He had you like a wrangled animal, trapped and helpless. He grunted quietly, cursing under his breath as he kept you pinned with one arm. He used his one free hand and made quick work of your bottoms, sliding them, along with your underwear, down to rest just below your ass. You jolted at the feeling of his caloused hand immediately delving into your folds, as if to relax you. A low whimper left your throat, the feeling of his long, thick fingers tracing themselves inside of you, curling to hit the right spot.

You didn't have much time, however, and Sniper knew this. He retracted his fingers, sucking whatever juices was on them off. The clinking of a belt, along with shuffling fabric excited you further. Although you couldn't look back, you could feel him start to guide his long length towards your aching hole. He slid into you, slowly. Sniper wasn't thick per se, but he was definitely long. The head of his cock practically kissed your insides in all the right places. With how wet you were, you didn't need much time to accommodate his size. Snapping his hips into your ass, you could feel every drag of his cock, every pulse and vein. His pace started off bruising, the hand keeping you pinned down began leaving crescent-shaped indents from his fingernails.

There was something primal about this. The heat had burned extra hot that day, and so did your lover, it seemed. He reached his free hand under you, beginning to rub sloppy circles on your clit. Shortly after, you eyes had screwed shut, a line of drool beginning to leak from your mouth. The campervan had rocked slightly with each thrust, your pants and pleas falling upon deaf ears as Sniper used your body. It wasn't long until you tried to warn him, maybe a little too late.

"Mick, I—!" Before you could continue, you had came, your own moan cutting you off. Sniper had a sick, twisted smile, letting go of your arms to focus fully on grabbing your hips. He had started slamming your overstimulated, quivering cunt back into him. It sent shocks through your body, the pleasure quickly turning to pain as it became too much

"Fuck, I love ya, roo. I'm gonna fill ya right up, make ya mine." His thrusts grew erratic, almost sloppy, as a string of curses and praise left his lips as he hilted himself fully inside of you. You heard a small groan, followed by some deep breaths as Sniper came inside of you. With a groan, he pulled out, his cock growing softer by the second. He yanked his pants up, buckling his belt back with extreme ease and skill. There was no time for aftercare. He helped you slide your clothes back up, your trembling thighs sending delight through him. He picked his slouch hat up from off the ground, dusting it off. He held a crooked smile as he placed it atop your head, the hat much too big for you. He had finished pumping gas, screwing the cap back on before leaning against the front of his Chevy.

"Where's Scout?"

"I paid him $20 to piss off somewhere for like half an hour. He'll be back soon, love."

#tf2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #tf2 sniper x reader #sniper x reader #sniper tf2 x reader #sniper tf2 #tf2 fandom

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lix-ables · 11 months

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🛒 SET IN THE 90s .

thinkin' about the MECHANIC DUO!BINCHAN who take you out on a repaired car that they worked on earlier, out to a parking lot nearby a grocery store that you go to, just to pull back the driver's and passenger's seat for you to settle between chan's legs. he pulls up your shirt just enough to expose your tits to play with them, while changbin's hands trace your bare thighs – he pushes your panties to the side for better access to your clit, his fingers rubbing slow circles to it.

"shhh darling, we can't have the whole town hearing how good you're sounding for us hmm?" a low moan leaves past his parted lips when you back up against him a little – just enough to rub against his crotch. this makes changbin lean forward from the passager seat, because the hand that was on your thigh a second ago, now rests on your knee. a small pout settles on his face, and his hand finds their way back to your entrance, teasing you just a little, enough to get those breathy whines out of you. his head falls against the leather materials of the seat, his other hand finding its way to his pants.

“you shouldn’t have done that today morning you know,” chan mumbles against your hair. by now, he’s had you out of your panties, your shorts pooled at your ankles, your feet awkwardly and uncomfortably placed at the steering wheel. “teasing us when we were with a customer,” he hums a little, his hand reaching down in front of you, half of him wants to have his fingers buried deep inside you, feeling the way your walls clenched around them. though the other half wanted to take his time with you, have changbin tease you as well. even though you spend the whole night with them, it had been four days ago. “what would everyone think,” changbin smirks, pulling down the zipper of his pants to pull out his dick, his hand slides up his length, and he grits his teeth as he sees you eyeing him from the side. knowing your gaze was on him made his dick harder, which chan noticed.

“see how hard you made binnie, baby,” chan chuckles. his fingers trace the length of your arm before going back to your thigh, squeezing it. “looks like you’re enjoying this a bit too much, pretty girl. you like knowing that we’re weak for you hmm?”

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word-wytch · 1 year

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Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 4

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 4/? 3.1k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ There are some things Eddie isn’t used to hearing, and mean even more when coming from you.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, smut (18+ mdni), true love, internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: mild angst I guess? that's it :)

“Well I for one think the first lady’s new ‘Just Say No’ campaign is a great idea, it’s long overdue if you ask me,” said Mrs. Hutchins, to which your mother nodded in agreement.

You stared down at your plate and poked at your green beans with your fork.

“It’s about time there was a war on drugs, it’s gotten out of control in this country,” Mrs. Hutchins continued, reaching for the gravy.

You shoveled the green beans into your mouth to keep it occupied. You figured getting into an argument with Mrs. Hutchins over Reagan’s policies was not exactly what your mother had intended for the evening. Besides, it wasn’t worth your energy anyway.

Your dad gave you a silly look from across the table and you smiled at him.

You looked back down at your plate and thought about Eddie Munson again. This time it was about how he’d looked at you when you told him you’d be here.

You wondered what Eddie would say to Mrs. Hutchins. He had an opinion on just about everything and you were certain he would not withhold it. Not for your mother’s sake, not for anybody. You suspected that it got him into trouble more often than not but there was something you admired about that.

You tucked into your risotto and tuned out the conversation.

He was sitting so close to you today. So close that a ringlet of his soft hair grazed your hand when he leaned over. So close that you could smell him. The same scent that enveloped you in the hallway the other day, although this time less bright notes of shampoo, more deep notes of leather and musk. There was that faint cigarette smell and something else too that you couldn’t quite place, like the warmth of his skin that was distinct and yet indistinguishable.

Normally you were not keen on the smell of cigarettes. It lingered on just about everything. In restaurants and car seats, especially in homes. It clung to the clothing of heavy smokers with a stale musk that you hated, but on Eddie it didn’t seem to bother you. In fact, you were hesitant to admit that you almost liked it.

“Andrew, why don’t you tell us about your new job,” suggested your mother.

You glanced over at the man sitting next to you, hardly able to believe that this was once the boy who used to collect G.I. Joe figures rather than play with them as intended.

Andrew cleared his throat. “My job is to diagnose and correct issues with computer hardware, figure out what isn’t working and order and replace the corresponding parts. Occasionally it’s a software issue, in which case I can troubleshoot and reinstall certain programs.” he said, adjusting his glasses. He looked just about as thrilled to be here as you were.

“Do you guys sell computers there?” asked your dad.

“Yes, though my work is primarily in computer repairs, not sales.”

“You know I was telling my daughter here that I really think computers are going to be the future,” said your mom.

“Oh yes, absolutely. Personal computer sales have quadrupled in the last few years, all thanks to the Commodore 64 being so affordable,” said Andrew. “In fact I really think they ought to have computer classes in every school. I think I read recently in the paper that only 48% of schools have them.”

Your mom’s eyes lit up and she turned to you, “Do they have computer class at your school, dear?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Not yet.”

“Well maybe that might be something worth suggesting to the principal.”

“I doubt I would have much say in something like that.”

“I’m just saying, it’s worth a try, dear.”

You smiled curtly and glanced down at your plate again, scooting your green beens around in the excess gravy.

“Speaking of school, why don’t you tell us a little bit about how your job’s been going? I do hope the students are behaving,” your mother continued.

“Oh, they have their moments but overall it’s been alright,” you said, “We’re studying The Catcher in the Rye in my senior class.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows, “Oh that book,” he said with a little laugh, “It’s a bit strange isn’t it? All I can really remember is how he kept calling everyone a phony all the time. I never understood it.”

Of course you didn’t. “Yeah, the stream of consciousness seems to throw some readers off. A lot of people end up missing the point.”

“What is the point anyway?” asked Andrew, but before you could respond Mrs. Hutchins interjected.

“Don’t you think that book is a bit inappropriate for children? I remember when Andrew brought it home all those years ago. At that time some of the ladies in my church group were trying to get it banned in schools. Clearly their efforts were unsuccessful.”

“My students are teenagers, not children, in fact some of them are already adults,” you said, and thought about recommending Fahrenheit 451 to her but figured the joke would be lost.

“Still, I think teenagers are too young to be reading about,” she lowered her voice, “hookers.”

You bit your lip and looked down at your plate again. It took every ounce of self control not to laugh. You glanced over at Andrew. He looked like he wanted to evaporate.

“I’ll tell you what,” continued Mrs. Hutchins, “Kids are getting into more and more worrisome and bizarre things nowadays. Did you see that special on the local news? There’s this game called Dungeons and Dragons and some people suspect that it’s a gateway, luring children into devil worshiping cults.”

This time you did laugh. “I really don’t think there’s any truth to that. The student I tutor plays that game. He talks about it all the time. It really is just a fantasy game that you create your own adventures in.”

“Well that’s what it might look like on the surface, but on this special they were talking about all the signs to look for if you suspect your child might have been lured. Now there’s the obvious symbolism like goats and pentagrams. Then there’s listening to heavy metal music — that’s a big one. Apparently there’s all sorts of hidden messaging in those songs, especially if you play the tapes backwards.”

Andrew’s face was in his hands.

“Boy, that sounds terrifying,” said your mother with furrowed brows before taking a bite of her pork roast.

You thought about Eddie Munson again. He certainly fit the description, though you were doubtful he actually worshiped Satan. You supposed there was no way for you to really know. He had quite a habit of talking about, well, just about anything besides school, but you doubted he’d openly admit to something like that.

It was strange for you to think that you had really only known him for less than two months. It felt like you’d known him forever.

If he did actually worship Satan, you supposed it wouldn’t really bother you. What you could tell was that he had a good heart. What you also could tell is that there was nothing you could say to Mrs. Hutchins that would change her mind.

______

Much to the disappointment of your mother, sparks did not fly over dinner. That was obvious enough for her not to arrange another, much to your relief.

The weekend came quickly, and it was a long one, which meant more time with quizzes to grade, and boxes that you had procrastinated unpacking. More time alone with your thoughts.

Historically you never minded being alone, typically you relished in it. Lately you had been doing everything you could to combat the oppressive silence in your apartment and the noisy chatter in your mind.

On Saturday you practically wore out your records, exhausting your entire collection as you did some much needed cleaning.

On Sunday it was difficult to get out of bed, so you just left the radio on when your alarm clock went off.

On Monday you sat on your living room floor in front of your TV and thumbed through the quizzes that you gave out on Friday, marking each one with your green grading pen.

You paused when you got to Eddie’s.

There was a little drawing of a dragon at the bottom of his quiz along with a note that said “Slay me!”

You smiled for the first time that day, fingers tracing the lines where his pen met the paper, feeling the subtle indents left behind by it.

You ran down the ten questions, he got nine of them right. You gave him a 90% and circled the A- at the top of the paper. At the bottom you wrote “You sure slayed this quiz!” with a little smiley face.

______

Eddie Munson had a way of creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. It was like he had taken up permanent residence there, like a song stuck in your head.

It was far a better song than the sad and angry one that had been playing on repeat for months now, and at this point you would take any break you could get from it.

On Tuesday you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you on Friday when he turned in his quiz. It was playful and warm.

On Wednesday he sat across from you after school. He was wearing a flannel shirt under his usual denim vest today. It was refreshing to see him in color for a change. The vibrant red suited him. He’d rolled his sleeves up, revealing a tattoo that looked like a cluster of flying bats.

“So, how did you do on your history test? Did you get your grades back?” you asked, bringing your attention away from his forearms.

“Yeah, uh,” Eddie shifted in his chair, glancing off to the side, “I got a C,” he said quietly.

You nodded, your expression neutral, though there was a softness in your eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

Eddie looked surprised, “I…” he paused for a moment, blinking, “You know, honestly, when I first got my test back I was actually pretty happy about it,” he said. “I mean it’s better than I usually do, way better than an F.”

You looked at him curiously, “You said, ‘at first’ did something change?”

“Well, I mean a C is good for me, but — “ he glanced at you sheepishly.

“Then a C is good!”

He looked relieved. “Oh, well in that case, then yeah. I guess I am pretty happy about it.”

“Eddie,” you said gently. He leaned forward at the sound of his name. “You don’t have to worry about impressing me, that isn’t what this is about. I just want to help you graduate, not be valedictorian,” you said, “I’m proud of you.”

Eddie beamed at you with those big brown eyes of his. Suddenly he glanced away, blinking quickly as he lifted a hand to scratch the side of his head to shield them from view.

You leaned closer, sensing the shift in his body language. When he turned to face you again you could have sworn his nose was a little flushed, his eyes wetter than usual.

“Sorry, I don’t hear that a lot.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to leap across the desk, scoop him up in your arms and tell him that a thousand times, but instead you just smiled softly and said, “Well, get used to it.”

He smiled at you again, big and broad. He fidgeted with the rings on his fingers and for just a moment you swore you could see past the hair, the patches and chains, straight through to the boy he once was, getting F after F. You could see the disappointed looks from everyone around him reflected in those eyes of his. He must have gotten used to them, steeled himself to them, resigned himself to the letter.

You felt the tears start to burn behind your eyes and you searched for anything to change the subject. “How did your campaign go on Friday?”

His lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Found three new recruits actually, just last week.”

You raised your eyebrows and blinked, clearing your eyes of any evidence. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I knew it the moment I saw ‘em, two freshmen sitting all by themselves at the end of a lunch table. They’d been there for weeks, just the two of them. You can always kinda tell with the freshmen, they just look like little lost sheep, ‘specially these two. One of the kids was wearing a Weird Al t-shirt,” he said with a laugh, “And that’s when I was like, ok, these kids should sit with us for a change. Well it turns out they’ve been playing DnD for ages, and they’ve got a friend in another lunch period who plays too, so now we’ve got three new members, which is great because, uh, we were kind of hurting for them.” He chuckled softly.

Eddie had an energy about him that was bold and magnetic. It sucked you right in. The timbre of his voice was bright and warm. It was oddly soothing. You enjoyed listening to him talk, watching his hands as they gestured wildly, which you figured was a good thing since he did a lot of talking.

“Some kids just need someone to show them that school doesn’t have to be all bad, you know? I know that’s what I needed.”

You imagined freshman Eddie sitting in the cafeteria by himself, lonely and lost, with his curly mop of hair much shorter than it was now.

“Us freaks have to stick together, you know?”

You nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, I know. I wasn’t exactly popular myself,” you admitted. “Actually I used to help run an after school mentoring program in Indianapolis. A lot of troubled kids came through there, but it was so rewarding to watch them come into their own, find a place they felt like they belonged, you know?” you said, “I miss that part of my old job.”

Eddie rested his hand against his cheek and hummed in agreement. He looked like he was miles away and yet absolutely present all at once.

“I’ll admit that teaching wasn’t my first career choice, but it’s rewarding in a way that you just… can’t achieve by sitting alone and writing stories by yourself.”

Eddie smirked and gave a thoughtful nod, “That has its own rewards though.”

Your eyes twinkled. “Oh yeah, it definitely does.”

You shifted the focus toward his schoolwork. Today you helped him work through some equations in Trigonometry. Truthfully it took some refreshing on your part, it had been ages since you’d done it and you were more than a little rusty. Math was never really your strong suit anyway. The nice thing about formulas is that once you understood them you could just simply apply them and solve. Math seemed to be something that Eddie was naturally pretty good at though. You wondered if it had anything to do with having to deal with numbers frequently in his campaigns.

“Alright, I think that about wraps it up for today. Not sure about you but I’m getting hungry,” you said.

“Ok, I’m parked right over there,” he said pointing out the window to the van in the near empty parking lot. “We can walk out together. You never know what sort of monsters might be lurking in the shadows at this hour,” he said with a look of exaggerated suspicion.

You chuckled and your heart fluttered in your chest, “Sure, actually I’m the red sedan a few spots down.”

“Great, I know a shortcut,” said Eddie.

You both packed up your things and headed down the main hall towards the gym.

It was when you rounded the corner that you saw them — Jason and Patrick filling their water bottles at the drinking fountain.

You gave them both a little wave, which they returned half-heartedly. There was a curious expression playing on their faces which you had hardly a second to study before you passed. Eddie didn’t even look at them.

You could feel the tension in the air, and their eyes on you as you both left out the back door.

Eddie reached into the pocket of his vest and procured a pack of cigarettes. “Sorry, do you mind? I’m totally jonesing right now.”

“Oh no, it’s fine.”

Eddie gave a gracious nod and popped a cigarette between his lips. He flicked the lighter and his mouth was washed in a warm glow, illuminating the smile lines already prominent on his young face. They suited him.

He blew the smoke away from you with a relieved sigh and you walked toward your cars together in comfortable silence.

The sun was low in the clear blue sky, casting a golden light over the parking lot. The leaves were just starting to change in fiery orange and yellow patches. You could smell autumn in the crispness of the air, in the leaves that had already fallen as they skittered across the asphalt.

Eddie ducked his head under your car in a swift motion and looked around suspiciously. “Coast is clear, no monsters.”

You gave a big belly laugh. “Good thing I have you to keep me safe.”

The wind caught his hair as he rose to his feet and turned to you. “For you? Anything.”

Eddie Munson was beautiful like a neon sign at night. Beautiful like graffiti, like an empty street that beckoned you to wander down it.

You could feel your heart pounding as you smiled at him, turning to putty at his words. “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“See ya.” He gave a little bow with his head and waved as he turned toward his van.

You got into your car and set your bag on the passenger seat, letting out the breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding in. You could hear the roar of the stereo as Eddie’s van came to life two spots over.

You couldn’t help but steal another glance at him. His hair swished and swayed as he bobbed his head to the beat. He was wild like the summer wind as it ripped across a field.

His eyes caught yours again and he flashed you a smile, bright and blinding.

If there was once thing you were certain of in that moment, it was that Eddie Munson was going to be the death of you.

At least you couldn’t get in trouble for your thoughts.

______

A/N: Oooo we've got a revelation on reader's part and next chapter I've got some really delicious moments in store so sit tight because this burn is gonna be slow but oh boy is it gonna be worth it!

I have one request — If you read and enjoy this, especially if you ask/asked to be put on the tag list, I ask in return that you reblog AND tell me what you like about this fic, even just something short and sweet! Please engage with me, it’s all I get in return for writing a story that you love for free 💜

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson older reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x teacher!reader #don't stand so close to me #my writing

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kosije · 10 months

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a/n: never have unprotected sex with strangers! only read about it <3 also this is a old work i just added a bit onto...

cw: mdni, mechanic!hawks x fem!reader, use of doll/ma'am/miss, unprotected sex, missionary, pretty vanilla, simp behavior by hawks, reader calls him keigo, corny dialogue, horrible capitalization (im so srry), probably wont edit this lol...

It's been hours. It's been hours and you're dripping sweat despite the multitude of cold drinks you've ingested from the vending machine in your local auto care. You just took your car in for an oil change and regretted not getting a bus ride back. The more the round clock above the register desk clicked, the more impatient you're getting and the smell of gasoline was hurting your head. After bobbing your leg up and down a little more, you decide to just go out and check on your car.

"Hey! Uh, my car was scheduled to be done 30 minutes ago. Is there any way I can check on it right now? Do you have an ETA of some sort?"

The receptionist, a dark-haired boy with a red choker, looks up empathetically before clicking his keyboard.

"Sorry miss, I dunno much about that, but let me call up your mechanic. What number are you?"

"3389"

"3....3....8- oh Hawks is working on that one! I'll call to see if you can get buzzed in, but no need to worry. He is our fastest and most skilled mechanic, so your car will be good as new as soon as he's done."

The boy's voice becomes the slightest bit animated and you feel your annoyance tone down. But you didn't care if it was "good as new," just as long as you could get home safe.

"Okay, thank you."

His fingers quickly punch into a corded phone before a voice comes on the other line.

"He said it should be done in 2, but you're more than welcome to go in."

You nod and thank the teen before stumbling past wired gates and stray cigarettes before finding your car. It looks damn good. Originally a somewhat hand-me-down from your mother to yourself, it was always beautiful on the outside. The silhouette was a classic thing. real sleek and "real groovy" according to your mother. But the upsides stopped at the exterior.

The ac was loud, and the radio was spotty. Even the leather seats were chipping, despite the multitude of repairs you've paid for out of pocket.

But now the car looks brand new. The shell of your car is clean and shiny. When you open the door, you're pleasantly surprised by the smell of musky cologne and your clean linen car freshener, and even more surprised when you can't see where the patches of missing leather are. you almost let yourself smile before realizing this might be a scam to force you to pay for the advancements.

You're too busy peeking into your interior to notice another person walking up.

"Is this ya car, or you lookin' for a ride to jack?"

You flinch slightly but recover yourself well enough to turn to face the deep voice and a rush of heat flushes over you. Sharp amber eyes run over your figure as you busy yourself with getting a good look at the man leaning against the bumper of your car. messy blonde hair, healthy tan, scruff, and muscular. All things you like, except (so far) his personality.

"And you are?"

"The mechanic, doll," He replies in a "duh" voice, slipping his arms out of his dirtied blue denim overalls and crossing them over the other. You don't miss how his biceps flex slightly at the gesture.

"You got anything else to ask, or are you jus’ gonna keep checking me out?"

"I wasn't checking you out."

"Whatever makes you feel better," He laughs, walking up only to lean on the steel table behind you.

"Look this is my car-" He cuts you off by reading your name off a stray paper that has dirt and oil on it, raising an eyebrow and you nod a confirmation.

He offhandedly purrs something about the name being pretty, and you have to consciously ignore the burn in your cheeks.

"Just tell me how much the repair is gonna cost," the question comes out with a sigh, and now it's your turn to cross your arms. It's done out of attitude, but when his eyes lower to focus on your chest, electricity trickles down your spine.

"You gonna answer or keep checking me out?"

coughing and readjusting himself on the table, he tells you $110.

"Are you kidding? The oil change was 60!"

"I did a whole lot besides an oil change, doll"

"without my consent! This has got to be illegal!"

"Well, how about this?" he says, moving closer to you, and you can now see just how much he dwarfs you in size. "You pay $40 bucks, and let me take you out to dinner."

well... that wasn't something you were expecting.

"I don't know you."

"I know."

"You don't know me."

"Let's change that then." He says. The smirk he has is toothy and could almost be seen as sweet if he didn't just try to scam you out of $50. After another beat of silence, he talks again.

"Don't be brutal, doll. You know you're just as excited to see where this goes."

"I don't usually date scammers." You finally say, but it's meek and you instantly regret it because all he does is smile wider.

"There's a first for everything."

...

You don't know why you agreed and gave him your number and address. But you did. You also don't know why you're wearing such an expensive dress and perfume. Or why you're putting on makeup. But you are. It was all too elaborate for a one-off date with a random man. Nevertheless, here you were, crouching down to put your bobby pins in your hair because your dress didn't allow for enough movement.

There are three quick knocks at your door before you hear Hawk's voice.

"I'm starving, doll. Don't leave me like this."

Bastard

You quickly give yourself a one-over and head to the door. When you open it you see Hawks, except he looks different. His hair is neatly brushed back, and he swapped his stronger cologne for a much more elegant one that matches even better with yours. simple suit and tie with square-cut earrings.

"you look good" he looks better than good, but you don't wanna say anything that'll inflate his ego more.

"you look perfect," and he punctuates it by saying your name instead of 'doll' and you like the way it sounds more than you thought.

Hovering over you now with one arm on the doorframe. He stretches out a hand with a small grin.

"May I? " You place your hand in his.

"You May."

...

5 things you've learned about Hawks Keigo so far

1. his real name is Keigo, hawks being a nickname he got in his youth because of his speed and eyes

2. his hand is much larger than yours

3. he has great taste in restaurants

4. his favorite food is yakitori (a new favorite of yours too)

5. he's ready to go back to your place

"How was your food?"

"It was actually... great"

"C'mon, don't act all reluctant! This restaurant has never done me wrong!" He says as you shift the air conditioner to fan your face and turn the radio up a bit.

"Right, yakitori connoisseur. I can see why you'd take your dates here."

"You're the first." He says emphasizing the last part with a sly look over to your spot in the passenger seat of his Mercedes. It's an admission that has a smile threatening to find a home on your lips, but you turn your head to face outside the window and he chuckles knowingly.

"Or are you saying this should now be the spot? Cuz I could make that work."

"You sure know how to ruin a mood." You're laughing at his feigned hurt expression as he steers with one hand while the other goes over his heart.

"How rude!" He says before the hand over his heart falls to your thigh and suddenly you're hyperaware of how warm he is. "I'll make sure this spot is special to just you."

If the hand on your thigh wasn't enough, the sincerity of his tone has you reeling and reaching over his middle console to kiss him. Soft, short, and sweet on his cheek. You can hear his breath hilt and the smell of his cologne is stronger. When you pull back, you can see the mark of your lipstick on his cheek. And his hand squeezes your thigh tighter.

"You're driving me crazy, doll."

"...was that a pun because you're driving?"

"What?"

"I said-"

he dramatically turns up the radio and you roll your eyes when he excessively mouths 'I can't hear you!'

"YOU'RE LUCKY THIS SONG IS GOOD!" you yell into his ear and he laughs, drawing circles onto your thigh with his thumb. The ride back to your apartment is shorter than you'd like, but at least he walks you up to your door, right?

"I don't usually invite scammers into my house."

"yeah?" he asks, hands already on your waist and head tilted.

"but there's a first for everything, isn't there?"

"id like that," he says, smiling down at you as you walk backward into your living room.

His lips are feverish on yours, tongue exploring as deep as it can into your mouth until his and your lips are purple and swollen before drawing purple bruises all over your neck and chest, just over your tits. Your body is hot and you hurriedly pull your arms out of your dress and shimmy it off-eliciting a pleasured hum when he finds that you're not wearing a bra- as he quickly tosses his button-up and jacket before his lips are back onto yours. Your hands wrap around Keigo's neck and his hands cup under your ass and lift you up.

"First door on your right."

Following your instructions, he walks with you to his arms to your room and tosses you on the familiar sheets of your bed.

"Do you want this?" he asks, hands working on his belt

"Please."

His jaw clenches, and in a second he's bare in front of you.

And big. Much bigger than you think you can take. Thick veins wrap around his cock and you can tell he shaved just for tonight. He runs a finger up and down your clothing slit. Your lips part and a soft sigh rolls off your tongue.

"Don't be a tease."

"Yes ma'am," his finger hooks on the edge of your lace panties and slides them off before running his cock up and down to gather your slick with a quiet groan. Without warning, he slides into you, and you're both vocal. after letting you adjust to his length, he slowly starts moving inside of you, then faster and you're whining around him.

"so pretty," comes out a gasp when his hands pull your legs over his shoulders.

"yer so pretty. And yer the tightest lil' thing I've ever had. Why don't we make an h-habit of this, hmm?"

"The sex or–fuck–dinner?" You ask, trying to slow the coil in your gut with deep breaths.

"Both."

"That sounds like dating."

"It's not–shiit"

"How so?" You ask, moaning into the back of your hand when he switches his angle and hits that spot that has you seeing stars.

"You don't date scammers," he says and you would laugh if you didn't have drool sliding down the side of your mouth. His eyes flicker to it and when he licks it up, only to kiss it back into your mouth, and your nails find his back and rake over the skin in an attempt to ground yourself.

"So...what...' bout...it," he asks between kisses and you roll your eyes. When you don't answer, he grunts and stalls all movements.

"What-"

"Answer me and I'll move."

His eyes widen as he watches you move up and down on your own.

"Stubborn," he whispers out, still wide-eyed when his lips split into a grin. "you won't be able to fuck yerself the way I do it. So just be good 'nd-"

"Yes." you bite out. Your pride feels robbed, but you can tell he's right when you feel your stomach ache.

"Yes, what?"

He's moved again, but it's too slow for your liking and leaves you irritated. You're exactly where he wants you, and so—reluctantly — you mutter:

"Let's make this a habit!"

An uncharacteristically soft hand cups your cheek and your stomach twist.

"I knew you could be good for me," he says, lips pressing into the side of your mouth and you're writhing.

Speeding up again, you feel that familiar flame of pleasure ignite within you and tangle your hands into his blonde strands. The room is filled with slaps and moans and if you weren't so fucked out, you might've been able to hear your headboard knocking against the wall and how the mess of your nightstand slightly bounces from the source. Praises are whispered in between messy thrusts and you try your best to focus on the sweat running down your back to let the feeling of him inside you last longer, but your toes are curled and can taste blood from how hard you’re biting down on your lip.

“Don't shy away now, I love that pretty voice of yours,” and his face looks so much in ecstasy that when his tip hits that spot in you again a pornographic moan leaves your lips, and the flood of pleasure hits you is as foreign as it is blissful. You almost gave no control of yourself. barely hushing yourself, barely able to unravel your legs from around his hips, all too consumed in your high. But Keigo is no better. When your legs ease the hold around his hips, he hurriedly pulls out, but not fast enough, and globs of white spray onto your pussy and all over your chest, even up to your neck. He can only pump himself a few more times before he's falling on top of you with a huff, knocking the air out of you.

"U-P!" you gasp out, hitting his chest until he rolls over with a sheepish look.

"'M sorry," is all that he says before narrowing his eyes when you giggle.

"Didn't know nutting took that much energy out."

"me neither," he says, joining in on your giggles with a squawk-like laugh that makes you laugh even harder. "I've never come that hard."

"I'm flattered." You purr, smiling up at the ceiling. "I don't think ill be able to walk for a couple of days myself."

And you were joking, but when he laughs and hoists himself up with a hand on your thigh, the soreness humbles you and you realize there's more truth to that statement than you care to admit. You point to the bathroom and he nods, disappearing and reappearing with a damp rag and cleans you up.

"How do you like your baths?"

"Warm." you twitch when he wipes over a sensitive part, earning a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

When he's done, he moves back into your bathroom and you can hear him turn on the faucet, and you stretch to your legs until the water is turned off and he's scooping you into his arms. When you've finished, he offers to carry you back to bed, but you insist on getting back on your own, even if your legs felt a bit wobbly. You slip into something comfortable while he puts on what he had on before, only now it's wrinkled. You expect him to leave immediately after he's dressed.

"what are you going to watch me sleep?"

"just waiting for you to invite me to stay the night"

"not gonna happen," you say and laugh at the way he pouts. "next time, maybe." And now you're laughing harder at how quickly his expression changed to a smile.

He leans down to kiss you long and slow, pulling away to leave a peck on your cheek.

"Same time next week?" he asks, giving you another peck, this time along your cheek. You mumble an affirmation, eyes blissfully shut as his lips move to our neck.

"and the one after that. " And he's grinning against you again when he says this.

"Overzealous, don't ya think?" not missing the glint in his eyes when they meet yours again. Same gold that seems to shimmer close up.

"Just makin' a habit of it." Is all he says, same beautiful eyes looking down at you, same lopsided grin, now pretty purple marks on his neck.

And all you can do is say,

"okay, same time next week."

#( ☆ ) mha #( ☆ ) smuts #mha hawks #what r u guys listening to on the radio tho???#keigo smut #keigo x reader #hawks smut #hawks x reader #mha smut #mha x reader #my hero smut #hawks gives Tony! Tony! Tony! during sex...

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toms-cherry-trees · 7 months

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Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Prologue

Summary: How can one recover from having their life swept out from under theit feet? When a promising future becomes lost, shattered by a past that should have remained long forgotten? Is care and love enough to undo the damage, or will it just be a sweet balm to give a brief respite of the pain before the unavoidable end?

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Vague description of war injuries

Author's note: This fic is loosely based on Me Before You, keyword loosely. I don't have many information on what voluntary nurses did after the war nor how did they treat those with long term injuries, but I am working as best as I can with what I know so do not expect this to be entirely historically accurate. There also may be some ableism akin to the period but it will be kept minimal

This is also my first time writing Tommy with an OC! Say hello to Charlotte Florence Tindall everyone! She is an OC I've had for 3 years based in Lady Sybill Crawley from Downton Abbey

Next part 》

The gates to Arrow House stood tall and imponent amidst a thick grove in the depths of Warwickshire. The estate’s name had been forged in sturdy steel and perched high above the iron and brick archways, kept in pristine condition despite the long exposure to the elements, with the family’s proud surname hanging just below in equal condition. Charlotte could easily imagine an unfortunate servant sent there on the daily with a ladder and some polisher, his only duty being to keep the family’s name spotless, literally.

The journey towards the manor was brief and silent, the bumps in the road barely noticeable in the luxurious car that had picked her up from the train station, with leather seats and a smoothly purring engine. She knew little about the brands and commodities money could afford, but the vehicle, driven by a smartly dressed man in a crisp suit, surely cost more than all the money she had ever owned or would ever own in her life as a former VAD nurse.

The Great War had taken many opportunities, but in its wake, it had unexpectedly given some. Hordes of girls and women turned to their nearest recruitment offices or hospitals to receive express courses in nursing and home care, to serve their country side by side with the men, restoring to health those who had been wounded in combat and caring for those who had given it all until they had no more left. Field hospitals, Red Cross stations, local hospitals, and convalescence homes; all packed to the gunnels with soldiers who had been wounded, scarred, maimed, and traumatised beyond repair.

But the war had come to an end. The volunteers, the ones who had risen to the task, scattered and went back to their lives. And so did Charlotte. Only to realise the long battle had just begun. The men would not recover only because the conflict had concluded. Many remained who would need lifetime care and attention that not many families were trained or willing to provide. The nurses returned, offering their skills in little advertisements printed in newspapers or glued to shop windows.

She had it easy, in a way. Early in 1919, a man she cared for harnessed her in to be his private nurse, but that lasted until he came forward with less honourable propositions. Then came an elderly colonel, whom she watched over up until his last breath. And most recently, a strapping young sergeant, whose fiance, who didn’t take kindly to having a young woman dress and wash him, nearly chased Charlotte off.

She quickly grew disenchanted with the job, having found mostly trouble and no small amount of tears in it. Perhaps she was not made for this as she originally thought. Maybe she would do better as a cashier or cook; she could seek a post as a secretary or a board girl in the telephone company. She had learned enough to defend herself as a seamstress. Anything to keep her clothed and fed while sparing her the suffering.

But one day, a letter arrived at her door. A letter sent by the treasurer of Shelby Company Limited. The infamous Polly Gray. A shiver ran down her spine when she read the name in elegant calligraphy over expensive paper, and a part of her feared the envelope would burst in her hands like a hand grenade.

Who in Birmingham didn’t know about the Shelbys? In the slums and the rookeries, people didn’t pray to God; they prayed to the Peaky Blinders. They owned the factories, the distilleries, the pubs, and the institutions. They owned the police. They owned the very streets the people walked every day, their houses, their money, and their lives if they so wished.

And now, it seemed they wished to own Charlotte.

Mrs. Gray convened her for an interview at their estate since they requested her services as a nurse to care for a war veteran. The letter provided little more information other that they offered generous pay, accommodations, and a day off of her choosing. A preset date and time had been included, next to a train ticket to get her to the station closest to them.

Charlotte could not tell exactly what drove her to actually assist. Perhaps she wished to know how and why they found her. Maybe the lure of a salary twice the average had lured her in. Or the morbid curiosity of meeting this soldier; as far as she knew, the Shelby brothers didn’t need anything from anyone.

When she arrived at the manor, a stern-faced woman took her coat and bag. She barely had time to admire her surroundings before the maid led her towards a drawing room. Dark wood in panels and furniture, crimson wallpaper, two walls entirely lined with bookshelves filled with books of all sorts, some in pristine condition and others worn and falling apart.

Amidst all, in a settee of black velvet, sat Polly Gray. Pearls hugged her neck, hung from her ears, and adorned the front of her silver frock. Bracelets and rings decorated her fingers. Masses of papers covered the tea table before her, which she methodically separated into neat piles. By her side were a glass of whiskey and a cigarette with crimson stains, the ashtray filled to the brim. The face powder could not conceal entirely the dark circles underneath her eyes, and some fine streaks of grey contrasted against her golden chocolate curls. A woman not quite old in age but worn out tremendously by troubles and tribulations Charlotte didn’t know.

She cleared her throat, since she appeared so immersed in her paperwork she didn’t notice her.

“Mrs Gray”

“Sit” The harshness of the command contrasted with the undeniable softness of her voice, edged with barely contained nervousness, as if she stood ready to collapse. Hurriedly, she collected the scattered papers and dropped them in a pile at her side, just in time for the stern maid to place before them a tea tray, all polished silverware and hand-painted porcelain. Mrs. Gray and her spent several minutes in fraught silence, stirring a cup of fragrant tea with two sugars, while Mrs. Gray added the last of her whiskey glass into her cup. Charlotte waited for her to speak first, but the woman seemed to be in no rush, which only added to her own anxiousness.

“Mrs. Gray. You called me here. You sent me a train ticket and a driver to pick me up. Why?”

She stirred her beverage methodically, making five perfect clockwise rounds with the spoon and gently tapping it on the rim twice. Staring into the steaming liquid while she pondered her words.

“You are a nurse, aren’t you? You have field experience, and have also have cared for disabled soldiers." Not an interrogation, merely a statement. She didn’t question her about how she knew that. If she so desired, she could track down her school teacher and ask her how well she did in maths when she was nine. But that still didn’t provide her with answers.

“I am. I have worked with several patients, and if you wish, I can provide referen-”

She cut Charlotte off with a wave of her hand. “I already have your references. I spoke with your previous employers myself.”

A cold shiver spread down her legs. What could she possibly require from her that she take such an effort to map out her past? If she had that information, it meant they had checked her background and that of her family and close friends. And she assumed she had passed whatever unspoken test they carried on her; otherwise, they wouldn’t have brought her straight into their den.

But again, why?

Mrs. Gray put down the teacup and finally looked at the other woman’s face for the first time since her arrival. Her eyes were large, deep in colour, and full of wisdom and caution.

“Do you have any experience with men with reduced mobility? That is, men who are wheelchair-bound?”

That treaded closer to her area of expertise. For a brief moment, she feared she would be taken to a dimly lit basement where she’d be asked to save the life of a grievously wounded man with a gun pressed to her temple. Or maybe she just read far too many crime novels.

“I do. I worked with many men who had lost their ability to walk, either by spinal injury or loss of limb."Before the following pause prolonged for too long, Charlotte pressed the matter further. “Is that why you called me? You have a veteran who can’t walk."She spoke the words carefully, since she had learned through trial and error that not all people reacted well when she spoke too harshly about the state of the patient, so she tiptoed around the subject with carefully chosen words.

Suddenly she stood, setting the cup aside with such carelessness that the tea splattered everywhere, staining the lace covering the side table.

“Come with me." She headed towards the hallway, not even looking to see if Charlotte followed. She barely had time to steal one more sip before rushing behind her, straining her legs to keep up with her pace. She led her through a back door and out of the house, towards a stone and gravel backyard, smelling of horses and petrol. Other than a few hounds and a lone gardener trimming some bushes, no one else was around. No one listening but Lottie.

“My three nephews enlisted around the same time in 1914. And I will forever be grateful that the three of them made it home alive." She walked with her hands behind her back like a man. With that ramrod straight posture and her puffed chest, she could put a general to shame. It certainly worked to intimidate her, and she walked a step behind her, feeling unworthy of keeping up her pace.

“John and Arthur came back okay. Or as okay as men could after the things they saw and did” John and Arthur. Both names rang a bell, but she hadn’t seen them personally. They acted as henchmen more than businessmen, terrorising the factories and the foremen in their factories. Legend has it that a foreman in a Sparkbrook steelworks bought a house with bribes for tossing bodies in the furnace.

“But Tommy” She continued, bringing her attention back to the present. “He was a tunneller. There was a collapse near the end of everything. I don’t know the entire story, but the tunnel caved in on them. Out of fifteen boys, only five were dug out."She fell silent for a moment and made the sign of the cross. Pain wrung Charlotte’s heart, but she didn’t allow it to settle. She had quickly learned to push pain into the back of her mind during the war. If she allowed herself to feel it, she’d collapse like wet clay.

“They brought him back on a stretcher. I never thought a person could be more blue than white and have more broken bones than whole ones. He spent the rest of the war in a hospital room and remained there for a good part of the next year. Every doctor expected him to just die in his sleep, but he refused to give up. He made a full recovery and came home as if nothing happened.”

The tone of her words and Lottie’s very presence there indicated that not all had gone well.

“He took over his duties in the business and married a girl he fancied. They even had a son. No indicator that something could be wrong". Her pace had slowed, allowing her to catch up, now walking by her side, not wanting to miss a word. She had left the backyard behind and now moved into bare grass; from the entrance, she hadn’t quite grasped how far the estate stretched. It could easily and comfortably house two manors equal in size with their own stables and gardens.

“He suddenly started complaining of pain in his legs. Stiffness, soreness, especially in the mornings” She recognised the symptoms immediately but chose to remain silent while she spoke. “Soon he had trouble walking; sometimes his knees gave out and he just fell. He resisted the cane as much as he could, but in time he could not remain upright without it for long.

“We sought a doctor in London. He said a disc in his back had cracked in the accident. The fracture had been stable, but as time passed, it worsened and began to collapse and compress his spine."She waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t understand any of the technical words, but the doctor said the injury would progress. The spine would be compressed more and more until he lost all use of his legs.

Even though Charlotte didn’t see her expression, she noticed in her words the sorrow she felt for her nephew. And she didn’t blame her. To have him delivered home in pieces, seeing him go through a miraculous recovery only for this to happen. His life robbed from him, one sliver at a time, seeing his own body fail him day by day.

Mrs. Gray exhaled slowly, as if regaining her composure. “Ever since he got the diagnosis, he changed. He became irritable and wrathful. He refused to be seen with the cane; whenever he met people in the office, he leant into something or sat down. Then he refused to be seen altogether and handled business locked in his office." She pulled out a cigar case from her dress pocket and offered her one, which Lottie kindly refused.

“When he no longer could manage stairs easily, he started working from home. He seldom saw people; only his brothers and I could visit him” The smoke left her mouth with each word, since she consumed the cigarette so desperately she barely had time to breathe out. She thought that she didn’t need all that information to do her job, but she didn’t interrupt her. She sounded like she needed someone to listen to her at least once.

She finished the first cigarette and quickly lit a second with the leftover stub. Her crimson coated lips parted, as if she wanted to say something else but chose not to at the last second. Instead her features contorted in a snarl briefly, lips pursed like she tasted something bitter, and then shook her head and regained her composure.

“He bought this manor to be away from everyone. He wanted to live alone, with only the staff to help him, but I couldn’t leave him alone in that state, even if he refused to be helped. He may be an arse, but he is still my nephew” Lottie snickered at her last statement, disguising the inappropriate sound as a cough.

“I realise I could not handle it alone. There is just so much to be done, and many things he would never let me do for him” Another lit cigarette, consumed as frantically as the first two. “I tried to hire him a personal maid but she had the talent of a doornail”

“That’s why you sought me?” It made sense now. A common maid couldn’t handle his injuries and his needs like she could.

A bitter laugh fell from her lips “I sought a nurse, yes. And another one. And another one” She didn’t pay heed to her concerned expression “He never got along with any of them. Despised them, I dare say. Tommy cannot stomach being stared at or treated with pity” She made a mental note of that for her future work, that is, if she survived the day “Not all the pay raises and benefits in the world convinced them to stay long. I offered to pay the last one’s bank loans if she reconsidered her resignation, but that only held her in for another three weeks”

Charlotte’s resolution to take the job faltered by the minute. Why would she want to care for a man who seemed hellbent in making his caretakers miserable? Sure, his situation was nothing short of horrible, but did that really give him the right to spread his venom to those who tried to do good by him? And most importantly, did she really want to put herself through that? The pay was the best she had ever been offered, but would the money be worth it?

Suddenly Mrs. Gray gripped the younger woman’s hand, so tightly her fingers ached. She should have shaken her off, but the desperation in her eyes deterred her from it. She looked like a woman standing on the edge of the abyss, hanging only from her grasp.

“I personally collected your reference letters. All of your previous employers spoke of your patience and your affection. Of how your softness and cheerfulness helped them. I think you are what Tommy needs. I think you are the one who can help my nephew” Her grip tightened and an involuntary mewl of pain came from her throat. She released Lottie’s hand, and instead placed a pleading touch on her bicep.

“Please give it a try. At least for a month. I know he won’t live to be an old man. And whatever life he has left, whether it is 4 years or 4 decades, I want him to find peace. Happiness, even. I want him to have a reason to wake up in the morning” She could tell she wished to say more, but had cut off her words.

With all she laid out before her, Charlotte barely resisted the temptation to grab her purse and run for her life. But something in her words, in the story she narrated for her, it pulled at her heartstrings. She had a thing for lost causes and broken things. In the worst scenario, she would walk out depressed but with enough money to start anew.

She only had one request

“Can I meet your nephew before I make my decision?”

Mrs Gray dropped her arm and pressed her lips into a thin line, eyebrows knit together in a scowl. She wanted to say no, that much she could tell. Maybe she thought she shouldn’t see Thomas until she had her signed up so she couldn’t back out. But Charlotte wouldn’t agree on anything until she spoke to him

“Of course”

Back into the house, she took her to the second floor. Lottie quickly noticed the house had been retrofitted in ways most couldn’t afford to offer Thomas a semblance of comfort. Large paintings hung in the stairway, most of them displaying a man with blue eyes and a dominant posture, always standing with his hands behind his back.

A set of double doors stood ajar towards the back of the floor. The room behind stretched almost all the length of the house, and Lottie noticed in the wall the dents where walls had been taken down to create such a large space. The furniture stood well spaced between each other to allow wide passages, enough to comfortably fit a wheelchair. Sunlight filled the alcove, coming from the many windows with the drapes drawn back. A set of glass doors led to a magnificent veranda that overlooked the estate.

Just outside, close to the balustrade, sat a black-haired man, his back turned to them. The wheelchair he sat upon was far more complex and luxurious than the ones she had in the ward. He wore a robe and slippers, as if he had just risen from bed despite being well into the afternoon.

Mrs. Gray walked out first, while she waited just under the lintel. She stood next to the man, one hand on his shoulder.

“Tommy, there is someone I want you to meet”

“No” His voice cut through the air, deep and curt. It sounded manly, and would have been pleasing to hear in other situation

“Tommy, please give her a chance, I promise-” He cut her pleading short with a smack of his fist on the wooden armrest.

“I said no! I don’t want her here. Put her in a cab and send her away” Mrs. Gray seemed to be at her wits’ end. She crouched next to him, like when one speaks to a child. She couldn’t make out the words she hissed at him through clenched teeth, but whatever she said, he didn’t like. With surprising skill he turned the wheelchair around and nearly ran Charlotte over, having barely managed to stop the chair with a heel on the floor.

The paintings did little justice to the blueness in his eyes. A vibrant blue not often seen, but filled with ice the moment they laid on her. The smart haircut had been replaced by an overgrown mane, jet black strands curling behind the ears and waving around the top. A five o clock shadow obscured the clenched jaw down to the neck. But even unkempt like that she felt the aura of haughtiness and pride bordering on arrogance emanating from him. He held her gaze for endless seconds, and not once she shied away from his cold eyes.

“Whatever it is you think you can do for me, save it for someone else. And now, get out of my home”

He wheeled past her, moving towards the main double doors. He couldn’t really go anywhere, but she figured he planned to hide somewhere until she left.

Lottie stood there, a bit dumbfounded, while Mrs. Gray returned to her side, despair plastered in her features, mixed with barely contained anger

“He is like that sometimes, but I promise you, some days are better. I will talk to him and get him to behave, and if you-”

“I can start tomorrow” She cut her off. Her jaw hung open, eyes widened as she struggled to wrap her mind around her words. Words that shocked Charlotte as much as Mrs. Gray, for she hadn’t actually allowed them out of her mouth. They just left in a blurt. But she meant them, even if she couldn’t quite tell herself why. It went beyond the money; she wanted this job. As if something invisible pushed her to stay there; as if there she’d truly find a purpose. It made no sense, but hunches and feelings rarely did

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray. I think I can help your nephew.”

#marsie writes #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x fem oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby one shot #charlotte tindall #female oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #don't hold my hand (i'll break your heart)

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jflemings · 3 months

Note

Prompt 82 w Cortnee vine xx

— cruel summer

prompt: 82 “i’m fine” from this post

a/n: i hope this is okay 🙃 it’s not my best but i gave it a go

“are you sure?” she asks worriedly

you look at her with annoyance before your face softens. her eyes are showing you nothing but genuine concern “yes, cort, i’m fine” you reassure for the fifth time that morning.

she hums and turns her back to you so she can continue to fold her laundry whilst you sit on her couch flicking through different streaming apps trying to find something to watch. the truth was that you weren’t fine. you were starting to regret coming over but you didn’t have the guts to get up and leave yet.

you didn’t think that sneaking around behind your teammate’s back was going to be that difficult, but you had been proven wrong when the girls came back home for christmas. a few of you had gone out for breakfast and caitlin, who really didn’t know any better, had not so subtly pointed out the hickey on cort’s neck. cortnee had flushed red and stammered through an explanation, claiming that it was from no one important and that it was just a one time thing.

your heart had sunk and from that moment on you kept relatively quiet, even on the drive back to cortnee’s. you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it because the two of you agreed that it was better to keep it from the team for now.

your mind was starting to change about that decision.

you give up on trying to find something to watch, putting the remote down and standing up just as you gain your nerve. you grab your purse off the coffee table and sigh “i’m gonna go” you say, trying to be as confident as you can.

she looks over her shoulder at you with a quirked brow before shrugging “okay. text me later?” she asks, returning back to her laundry that was apparently more interesting than you.

you hummed and swiftly made your way out of her apartment, letting out a heavy breath when you hear the door click close. you begin to walk down the hallway to the elevator thinking over your relationship. cortnee had been worried about all the media attention after the world cup, but your teammates weren’t the media. they were your family, and you told some of those girls almost everything about you and your life.

as the elevator rings and you walk through the foyer of the building you can’t help but feel defeat. you didn’t want to keep secrets just to keep her and you knew how you felt; it wasn’t fair to you to continue to do this. you understood at first but now it seemed pointless to you. people were assuming things anyway, and after caitlin’s comment you knew that at least half the team would be aware about it by the end of the week.

the australian december sun beams down on you as you get to your car, making you flinch back when you touch the door handle. you open the door and stand there momentarily preparing for burn you’re about to feel from the scorching leather seat, groaning when you realise that the pool at your building was closed for repairs this week.

you throw your head back and slide i to the driver’s seat as best you can, not noticing the notifications you get from your phone until you plug it into the aux.

cortnee 🤍

we should tell the team

if u want

but i want to

a wide smile overtakes your face as you press play on your summertime playlist and throw your phone in the cup holder before driving off, singing along to whatever songs come and go. it’s definitely the best you’ve felt all week, especially after this morning, and you can’t wait until you can finally, and proudly, call cortnee yours.

#pegs writes #pegs woso #pegs tillies #woso imagine #woso blurb #woso fic #woso x reader #cortnee vine #cortnee vine x reader #cortnee vine fic #cortnee vine imagine #cortnee vine blurb

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youwouldntlietopapa · 8 months

Note

kissing prompt thingy: 44+50 for copia please, thank you very much✨

It's done! At... 1:45am. I'm going to eat dinner now and leave this here.

Enjoy!

Includes: Idiots, fluff, back seat make-outs, wee bit of sexy action but no real smut, did I mention idiots?

also available on AO3

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“No, no, that’s all right… No, I completely und-… sure. Right… Yes, we’ll be here. There isn’t really anywhere to go… Sure. Thank you… Thanks. Bye.”

Fuck. The tow truck would be at least an hour, if not more. And an added fee for being so far out. Plus whatever the repairs would be. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. But you could say, with certainty, that Sister Imperator would be demanding an explanation in the morning regardless. Wonderful.

Copia is still standing at the front of the car, with its hood open, steaming and hissing angrily. The car, not Copia. He is just making the odd noise and poking at a few things tentatively, trying to look knowledgeable. The section of highway isn’t even lit and the moonlight isn’t really cutting it. You walk over to join him, looking at the mechanical workings with all the confidence of a caveman with a cell phone.

“I think I spot the problem.”

“Really?” You look at him with a little more astonishment than was probably complimentary.

“Si,” he nods sagely. “The problem is I don’t know shit about how cars work.”

You snort. No matter how bad the day, no matter how screwed the situation might be, he never fails to make you laugh. “Perfect. I’ll call the tow company back and tell them we figured it out.”

“How long?” He nudges you gently.

“An hour. Minimum.” You tip your head sideways, resting it on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about all this.”

Copia only waves the apology away, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “Not your fault. You didn’t make the car car break down. It happens sometimes.”

“I still didn’t mean to get us stuck out in the middle of no where, in the dark, waiting for a tow.”

He only chuckles. “I can think of worse places and worse people to be stuck with.”

“Oh, well, I will take solace in not being the worst.” You tease right back.

Carefully, you pull away, walking back around to the driver’s side. The door is still hanging open and to drop into the old leather seat. If you have to wait, might as well enjoy the rare opportunity for star gazing and quiet. The car groans in protest as it usually does when you press the release for the roof.

“Sorella, I don’t know shit about cars, but I think I can say that button doesn’t fix the engine.”

“No?” You laugh. “Well, damn. And here I thought I had the answer.”

The roof needs help folding back and out of the way. It’s only a little bit of a struggle before Copia comes to his senses and rushes over to help. Between the two of you, it goes much smoother.

“eh…. Can I ask why we do this?”

You climb into the big back seat and pat the spot beside you. “Come here and I’ll show you.”

He raises a brow, but doesn’t argue, climbing in next to you. Watching curiously as you slump down in your seat a bit, tipping your head back, and staring up at the sky. Copia waits a moment before following suit, smiling when he sees the view provided without the city’s light pollution.

“È bellissimo…” His voice is soft, as if he’s afraid to disturb anything. “I don’t remember the last time I was free to… just sit and enjoy the stars. Too busy. Too much work. Grazie, cara mia.”

For a while, you’re content to sit quietly. Pointing out the few constellations you know. Listening to the distant sounds of the local wild life. But the chill of the evening creeps up before too long and you catch yourself shivering. Copia tries his best to look like he’s not looking, though it would be hard to miss it, sitting so close.

“Do you want my jacket, Sorella? You look cold.” He cracks and asks.

“Oh, no. No, no. Thank you, Papa. I wouldn’t feel right letting you catch a chill.” Papa. You’ve known him long enough and well enough that the formal title only comes out during office hours and when you’re worried about overstepping. Regardless of how familiar you might be, he’s still… him and you’re still… just another Sibling.

Copia rolls his eyes and huffs, softly. “Ah… I see.”

“See what?” You shift a little to look at him.

“We are back to Papa.”

Apparently the switch hasn’t gone unnoticed. Or the reasons why. At least, whatever reasons he assumes. “Did you leave your position and not tell me? I’m sure I would have heard about it.”

He gives you a bit of a look. One that doesn’t particularly feel good about the poorly timed attempt at humour. “Don’t play stupid, Sorella. It doesn’t suit you. You forget I know how clever you are.”

“No. I assure you, I’m an idiot.” You sigh and nudge him softly. The silent gesture that’s come to mean something more, something you can’t fully articulate. When things are shit but at least you can know someone has your back. “I’m sorry… Copia. Thank you for the offer, but I really don’t want you to be cold because I didn’t think to bring a coat. I’ll be all right.”

“I don’t really want to be cold either.” He admits, finally relaxing again and offering a small smile. “But, maybe a compromise?”

Copia shifts closer, urging you to lean forward. You have no idea what he’s up to, but you’re also not really eager to be rude twice, so you comply. When he tugs you back against the seat, he holds his hoodie open, tucking you against his side and wrapping the jacket and his arm around you. It is, you’re forced to admit, delightfully warm. Pressed up against him, with his arm holding tight. The lingering smell of his cologne and… You clear your throat, staring hard at the stars overhead.

His other hand rests on his thigh, not that you were looking or anything. It just happens to be where it was. Quite close to your own hand, which is irrelevant, really. Just two hands, relatively close together, while you platonically cuddle and look at the stars. Nothing more. Obviously. And the way his finger softly nudges yours? Why would there be anything strange about that? No stranger, certainly, than hooking your pinkie together with his finger would be. For instance.

And if, say, that single pair of fingers, hooked together were to become a single pair of hands holding each other, that too wouldn’t be so strange. Would it? Or thinking a little too hard about how soft the leather of his glove is? Or how warm his hands are? What normal person wouldn’t think about things like that in a situation like this? None you’d want to meet, that’s for sure. Those are the real weirdos.

Copia opens his mouth, seeming very much like he has something to say, right before shutting it again. A process he repeats about half a dozen times while you pretend to be focused on the cosmos and he looks a bit like a guppy. Which is very cute. In a very platonic way. Because that’s what this is. Just… good friends. Holding hands. Cuddling. Staring at the stars. Not being weird about it. And definitely not commenting on the strained, awkward noise he makes before trying to hide it with a cough. Just rub your thumb, platonically and soothingly, over his knuckles. Like a very good friend.

“… Copia?” You hear your own voice say, which is very odd because you’re sure you meant to just sit quietly.

“eh... uh… Yes, Sorella?” He freezes in place.

Shit. I’m an idiot. Why did I say that? And why was it a question? Like I had more to say??? Your head screams as your mouth betrays you again. “… are you going to kiss me?”

“Do-do-do you w-want me to?”

Do I? I mean, I’ve thought about it a… normal amount. I’m NOT saying that out loud. Satan’s tits, don’t be absurd. While you got lost in a downward spiral of wondering if Satan’s tits was an insult to Him, your mouth carried on without you.

“… only if you want to.”

For a very long, very quiet moment, you both stare into space. Literally for once. Even your own head has gone oddly quiet while you’re grateful that his leather glove is hiding how sweaty your palm has gotten.

“… now?” He blurts, immediately making a face of deep regret that you can feel in your soul.

“Sure… or later… whenever… or not at all. I just thought… and then… because we’re… and the stars…” You come to the conclusion that Satan’s tits is, in fact, insulting to Him because your mouth is apparently possessed by a demon who both can’t shut up and can’t form a complete sentence. A problem you’re only just coming to terms with when Copia’s hand slips from yours to cup your cheek and kiss you. One single, soft kiss and you sit there staring at him like he’s the first person you’ve ever seen and attempting to copy his guppy impression. “…….. now is good too.”

There’s more than a touch of panic on his face which is, if you’re being honest, not the ideal expression from someone who just kissed you. “Mi spiace! I should… I should have warned you first or-or say more or something. I didn’t mean t-”

Oh, to hell with it. You wipe your palms quickly on your pants and cup his cheeks, kissing him again. Aiming for confident, it starts much softer than planned. Still half convinced that he was just being nice. But he doesn’t pull away. He leans into the touch and into the kiss, shifting toward you to make the angle less troublesome. His arm wrapped around you pulls you closer and his hand moves to your hip, sliding down to grip your thigh.

Copia breaks the kiss first and you almost make it to disappointment before his mouth presses to your jaw, trailing along it to just below your ear and down your neck. To the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and his mouth hits just right. Dragging a moan from the very core of your being. He pulls back and blinks at you in stunned silence for what feels like an eternity. Though it was, you’re desperate to believe, more likely less than a second.

“… Devo ricordare quel posto.” He says, just louder than a whisper.

Snapping out of his reverie, he claims your mouth again. When he leans into you, you don’t push back. You don’t want to push back. Instead, letting him guide you back down onto the cool leather of the wide bench seat. Your hands tangling in his hair, moaning into his kiss while your legs hug his sides. This is, you suppose, probably not platonic.

Copia’s hips rock against yours, moaning as shamelessly as you. By your estimation there are entirely too many layers of fabric between you, and it’s still not possible to miss how hard he is, pressed up against you. You legs hook over his hips, pulling him closer, desperate for more. So focused on the beautiful sounds that drip from his lips and feel of him so close, the rest of the world falls away.

Including the sound of crunching gravel and the squeak of an old truck door. The flashlight, on the other hand, certainly gets your attention.

Copia’s head pops up and you both squint and try to shield yourselves from the blinding brightness. Barely making out the figure of a lump of a man staring down at you.

“Hate to break up the party, kids. But if you want this antique towed, it’s now or never. I got other jobs waiting.”

“Right… uh… hi… we-we-we just need a second. Don’t leave! We need to tow. Just… one second.” You are positive you’re as red as Copia’s hoodie but, at least, the tow truck driver wanders off without a word to prep his truck.

Copia flops back down on top of you, burying his face in your shoulder, and groaning deeply. Less for pleasure and more the sound one might make when dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn after a long night out. “Are you sure we can’t just stay here tonight?” His voice is muffled by your shirt.

“Might be a little cold.” You offer as a very weak defense.

“I will keep you warm.”

You can’t help laughing, kissing his temple softly. “Sister is already going to kill me for the car. If I let Papa catch his death out here, I might as well throw myself on the mercy of the Church and hope she’ll burst into flames if she comes looking for me there.”

He snorts and sits back to look at you. “How can I condemn you to such a terrible fate, eh?” Still stealing one more kiss, leaning in close and lowering his voice. “But we are not finished. No. Only pause until we are home, si?”

“Perhaps I will make you see stars there too…”

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Devo ricordare quel posto = I need to remember that spot for later.

#ask prompts #papa iv x reader #ghost fanfic #MDNI

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whatawonderfulexistence--blog · 2 years

Text

Fast Food and Confessions (Copia x GN! Reader FLUFF)

"(Y/N), could you come in here for a moment." You hear Copia call from his office. You stand up, adjusting your clothes slightly before heading in to see what he needed. You had been working as Copia's assistant for a while now, being brought on to help with all of the paper work and organization since Copia had become Papa. Copia's face lights up as you poke your head in the doorway. "Would you mind doing me a favor? I have to go have a meeting with Primo, Secundo, and Terzo, would you be able to stamp and file these for me? I'd like to get this done so we can both enjoy the rest of our evening."

You nod and smile, "of course Papa, I'll try to have these done by the time you come back." He stands and motions for you to sit at his desk.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back as soon as possible." He gives you a small wave as he heads out the door, leaving you by yourself in his office. Filing away the paper work you were left with was easy enough. Most of it were simply ritual notes, letters from Sister Imperator, paper work for things that had gotten repaired around the Abbey. You had no idea how Copia ever kept up with all of this. This was just the little bit of paper work he was left over with, you couldn't imagine how much he had started the day with. The longer you sat in the dimly lit office the more you could feel your eyes trying to slip shut. Copia had been gone for a couple hours, you were sure he would be back to dismiss you anytime now. You stamped and sorted each paper one by one on the desk in front of you, his office smelled of sweet and musky incense and the subtle scent of Copia's cologne mixed in. His office chair perfectly conformed around your body, you could feel yourself sinking into it the more tired you got. 'I guess it wouldn't hurt to put my head down for a moment.' You thought to yourself. You crossed your arms and rested your head on them, at some point you ended up falling asleep. What felt like mere seconds later you were jolted awake by someone's hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. Your eyes shot open only to come face to face with a concerned looking Copia.

"Papa, I am so sorry!" You immediately began apologizing. You hadn't meant to fall asleep on the job. You used to get in trouble all the time for falling asleep in your lessons, you couldn't believe you had done this in Copia's office of all places.

"(Y/N), relax, it's alright. I'm sorry that took so long, you didn't need to stay here so late." You rubbed your hand down your face, unsure how long you were asleep. You looked at the clock on the desk, it was a little past 10:30, you had been asleep for almost four hours. "I didn't expect the meeting to go on that long." Papa kneels at your side, speaking softly so he wouldn't startle you anymore than he already had. He looked at all the paperwork you completed. "I take it you didn't make time to eat?" You shook your head in response. "Well, come on, there's bound to be some place to get food if we drive into the city." Copia stands, grabbing his coat off of the rack that sat by his office door. You stared at him in a state of both confusion and disbelief.

"Papa, you really don't have to worry about-"

"Nonsense! It's my fault I didn't get back until late. Plus it would be my absolute pleasure to treat you to dinner." You couldn't help but notice that Copia seemed unusually stiff and maybe even a bit embarrassed. You stood slowly, you could feel his eyes on even the slightest shift in your movements.

"Let me just go grab my coat." Copia held the door open for you, allowing you a moment to collect your things before the two of you made your way down to his car. He drove a beautiful, black, vintage mustang. The leather of the bench seat inside was gently worn, the entire vehicle impeccably clean. You marveled like a kid in a candy store at all of the details in the interior, you look up to see Copia smiling at you.

"You're a fan of vintage cars, sì?" You nod. "Well, it's nice to know you and I have something in common." He swiftly started the car, both of you rolling down your windows before taking off into the night. It was a relatively warm evening, but with the wind whipping into the car you were glad you brought your jacket with you. You couldn't help but smile as you watched the street lights race by.

"Papa, would it be okay if I put on some music?" You ask quietly. You sat in silence with Copia all the time, but, right now the two of you not talking on this drive was leaving a nervous tightness in your chest.

"Not at all my dear, put on whatever you like." You slid to the middle of the car so you could click on the radio, a tape deck loading in the cars cassette player. "That's a tape of songs from Ghost." He explains.

"Perfect." You give him a small smile. You didn't move from your position in the middle of the seat, every so often the sway from taking a turn causing you to press into Copia's shoulder for a brief moment. Copia clears his throat, you notice him glance at you from the corner of his eye. He lets out a long sigh, one of his hands leaving the wheel so he could wrap his arm around your shoulder. Your face felt like it was on fire, you could only imagine how much you were blushing. You snuggle into his side, the warmth from his body a welcomed difference to the brisk night air. You allowed your head to lull to the side, coming to rest on Copia's shoulder. It was nice to be able to be around Copia outside of work hours, you'd be lying if you said you hadn't been looking for an excuse to spend more time with him.

"This is... alright for you?" Copia finally says after a few moments. His arm already slightly lifting from your shoulder just in case you were uncomfortable.

"This is wonderful Copia." He glances at you for a brief second, allowing you to lock eyes as you smiled at each other.

"I like how it sounds when you say my name." You nuzzled your face against him slightly, embarrassed by his compliment. After driving for a while you eventually ended up at some generic burger and fries based fast food joint. You were barely on the edge of the city, the beacon in the night of the rest stop buzzing as you sat waiting for your food. You were about a half hour drive from the Abbey, nothing but empty highway to accompany yours and Copia's ride back home. He put the radio back on before his arm returned to your shoulders. "(Y/N)?" You hum in response to show you'e listening. "I feel like I don't tell you enough how much I appreciate having you around. If it wasn't for the fact that I get to see you every day I probably would have given up by now." You glance up at him, leaning forward slightly to place a light, gentle kiss on his cheek.

"I'm really happy that I get to spend time with you Copia." You took his hand that was resting on your shoulder and laces his fingers with yours. Suddenly there was a loud band and the car jolted off to one side. Copia managed to get the car off the road to a little pull off on the side of the highway. He gets out of the car, walking around to the back, you hear him curse under his breath before getting back inside.

"Pardon my reach my dear." Copia says as he leans across your lap to reach in the glove box. He pulled out a call phone, quickly dialing the Abbey so they could get in contact with a towing company. "We have to wait for the tow truck to show up, they're going to bring us and the car back to the Abbey." He looked a bit defeated, "Sorry this turned into such a mess." He chuckles a bit.

"Copia, I'm still just happy that I get to spend time with you." You held up the bag from the rest stop. "We still have dinner." Copia laughs, taking a hold of your hand.

"Come here, I have an idea." You stuck close to him as he walked around to the trunk. You finally got to see that one of the back tires had blown out. Copia produced a blanket from the trunk, heading back around to the front of the car where he promptly set it down, giving you both a space to sit down. He held you by the waist, lifting you up so you were now sitting on the hood. "There is nothing better than being able to look at the stars, sì?" He was right, the sky was absolutely beautiful. The two of you sat and talked while you ate your food. Copia made you genuinely laugh. He was funny, kind, concerned only with making sure you were having a good time, neither of you wanting this night to end. You both laid back on the hood of the car, looking up into the night sky, the radio still playing quietly in the background. "(Y/N), can I make a confession."

"My Papa, confessing to me? What an interesting turn of events." The two of you laugh. You turn your body to face him, taking his hands in yours. "You can tell me anything Copia."

"When I first became Papa, I asked for you specifically to be my assistant." You shot him a quizzical look. "I've been trying to find the right time, the right way to confess my feelings for you for years. Even before I became Papa, when I was still Cardinal Copia, you did nothing but try to support me." You smile, you remember those times fondly. Copia used to be so anxious, about everything. You had always known that he was going to be an amazing Papa, you couldn't have been happier that you had been there through everything as he adjusted to this new role. The Copia that sat before you now was no longer the scared, adorable Cardinal you had originally fallen for. No, the Copia that sat before you now was the confident, charismatic man that you had witnessed transform before your very eyes. "This is going to sound ridiculous but I even went as far as trying to get advice from Terzo." Copia gently squeezes your hands. "I know this sounds crazy, and we never have to talk about this again if you don't feel the same. But, (Y/N), you would make me the happiest man alive if you would be mine."

"Copia, I would love to be all yours, but what if you get in trouble with Sister Imperator?" He smiled at you in response to your concern.

"(Y/N), my dear, you are worth the trouble." You look away shyly, his compliments getting you flustered very easily. The wind suddenly picked up, making you shiver. "Would you like to go back in the car?" You nod, Copia helping you down from the hood, the two of sliding back into the front seat. Copia pulled you close to him, you body instantly falling into place against his. You wish you could stay in his arms forever, but you were genuinely concerned about what would happen if Sister Imperator found out. But, for right now, none of that mattered. You wanted to make the most of the time you would have with Copia. You glanced up at him, placing a gentle hand on his face to turn his attention towards you. "What is it my dear?"

"Copia," your voice was thick in your throat, you knew once you did this there was no turning back. "please... kiss me." You watched Copia's eyes widen for just a moment before he tightened his grip on you, his lips crashing into yours. Every single inhibition you had up until this point melted away as he kissed you. You let out a satisfied hum as his arm snaked around your waist, effortlessly pulling you into his lap. You separated with a small gasp, both of you left breathless. He smiled at you, resting his hand on the side of your face.

"You are so beautiful." He says softly, looking at you with nothing short of adoration. You place another gentle kiss on his lips. You had never seen him look so happy. He rubbed his thumbs soothingly against your sides, your forehead resting against his as you sat in a comfortable silence.

"I knew you were going to be trouble." He shoots you a quizzical look. "How am I going to be able to resist kissing you while you're working?"

He chuckles, placing a few kisses on your face before continuing. "I guess I'll just have to get my work done faster." Both of your attention was caught by headlights pulling up next to you,it was the tow truck. Copia lets out a displeased huff, "of course, right as we're getting comfortable." You smiled slyly, leaning down next to Copia's ear.

"You know, no one would notice if I don't come back to my dorm." You whisper in his ear. He clears his throat, trying to hide how flustered you had just gotten him.

"Right, well in that case, we better let this man get to work." You can't help but laugh at how lively he had gotten at that statement alone. Copia explained what had happened to the two truck driver, all the while keeping you close to his side. You found yourself involentarily falling asleep as you drove back to the Abbey. By the time you had gotten back Copia had noticed you had fallen asleep clinging to his arm. He paid the tow truck driver, scooped you up in his arms, and brought you back to his quarters. "Goodnight my love." He says to your sleeping form, placing one final kiss to your forehead before falling asleep next to you, excited to see where things would head between the two of you.

(A/N: Ah! I'm sorry how abruptly this one ends, I'm still working on my endings. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you like it!)

#papa emeritus iv #papa copia #ghost band #ghost bc #cardinal copia #papa emeritus 4 #papa emeritus x reader #x reader #fluff #fanfic #fan fiction #romance #short story

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grey-sides · 2 years

Text

a classic car named Billy

Hi. I think this is a little sad? But what if Billy possessed the Camaro and Steve repaired it?

~700 words, warning only for alluded to canonical character death

Steve buys the Camaro after, when Neil Hargrove is going to sell it to pay his way out of Hawkins. He scrapes together his birthday money and his measly paychecks from Scoops and buys it, has it towed to the house.

His dad sighs and shakes his head when he sees it. Tells Steve it's a bad investment, sneering when Steve tells him he wants to try fixing cars since college didn't work out. Steve's mom tells him it's a lovely idea and compliments the shade of blue.

It sits in the driveway for a week, Steve popping the hood and reading the manuals, trying to figure out how to make it run again. He knows he probably needs a new battery since it sat for a little too long. A new side or at least someone who can bang out the dents.

Billy's favorite tape, a Fleetwood Mac album that he went to his grave swearing he didn't own, is still sitting in the tape deck.

Steve leaves it there. He wants to know if Billy was listening to it at some point, where he left off before he never got into this car again.

The car sits in the driveway and Steve does his best to tinker with it. He's good with his hands, but he doesn't really know anything about cars.

One week after Steve brings it home, the Camaro, sitting idle for two months, roars to life. It purrs for four seconds, and no one is around to see it.

When Steve wakes up in the morning, the car is cold again, and he puts an order in to have a battery set aside for him at the local shop.

The battery doesn't bring it back to life. But Steve sits in the passenger seat, thinking about being here once before with Billy in the driver's seat.

Three weeks after Steve brings it home, it roars to life again. This time, it lasts for a full five minutes before shutting off. A cat across the street watches it. It's cold when Steve wakes up.

He continues to work on it, pouring his sweat and tears into trying to make it run. He sits in the passenger seat. Once, he sits in the driver's seat, whispers hi to Billy, gets it running enough to play Dreams.

Steve needs the Camaro to run, so he actually goes to the shop, asks someone to come look at it. Richie, the guy who looked at the Camaro when Billy was still alive. He tells Steve it's the alternator and Steve has to save up again.

Two months after the Camaro starts to sit in Steve's driveway, it turns on and stays on for a full hour. Steve wakes up, caught in a memory or a nightmare. He looks out to the car, a habit as a reminder of Billy.

When he sees the lights on, he hurries downstairs, old enough to not care if his parents hear him go outside. There are tears in his eyes when he lays his hand on the hood of the Camaro and one sizzles as it hits the hot metal.

When the car goes quiet, Steve climbs in through the driver's seat to the back. He's too tall and too broad for it, but he curls himself up and falls asleep there anyway.

Four months after Steve brought home the Camaro, the alternator comes in and Richie helps him install it. He seems to care about the car too, though he didn't really know Billy from Adam. There's something tender when he rolls beneath her, explaining it all to Steve.

He pays Richie for his time, thanks him for his help, settles into the driver's seat. Richie watches as Steve gets her to roar to life, hands curled around the wheel. He bows his head, presses his forehead to the leather cover.

Richie's gone by the time Steve's head comes back up. He drives it around the block once, goes slow enough to let Dreams play all the way through.

Twelve months after the Camaro began to sit in Steve's driveway, he takes it back to California. He's not dumb enough to try to pull it up on the sand. But he gets a little glass vial to fill it with sand and hangs it from the rearview mirror.

On his way back to his hotel, cruising with the windows down, he looks into the rearview mirror and sees a familiar pair of blue eyes watching him.

Eighteen months after, Steve devises a plan.

#harringrove #greye writes #so listen i think billy deserves to possess the camaro #and run neil over #now that's not this story #but it is a story that should happen #stranger things #drabble

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themusingsofafanficwriter · 5 days

Text

The True Meaning of Family - Chapter 1

Summary: A found family Supernatural AU. Ophelia Humphries is an English 19-year-old who is just trying to finish her online history degree when she receives a letter from two brothers she never knew she had.

A/N: Okay so this isn't the first time I have uploaded this but the account it was on got deleted AND the chapters have been edited a little. This is a multi-chapter fic. You can also read it here on AO3.

T/W - Meantion of death... I think that is all for this chapter

A street light switched on casting an orange glow over the young woman at the library table.

Her typing slowed as she came to the end of her paragraph. She looked up at the clock hanging on the far wall. Half past six. Her European history teacher had given them an assignment to write a blog about any historical subject.

"You must keep a healthy and vibrant blog, updated twice, no, three times a week. Now this will be 60 percent of your final grade, so make it good people." said Mr. Sutton.

Those words rang in her ears, history was her passion and while she couldn't get the grades to go to a physical university she loved her course and she wanted to get this project perfect. Ophelia pressed the publish button on her article about the laws around witchcraft in Britain. Taking one more glance at the clock, she closed the lid of her laptop and slipped it into her dark green tote bag.

The heavy wooden chair made a scraping sound as she stood up, cutting the silence. A girl sat a few tables from Ophelia looked up at her, the noise distracting her from her colourful notes. They held eye-contact briefly as Ophelia walked passed the girl's table heading towards the book drop off point.

"Did you find everything you were looking for my dear?" the old librarian asked slowly. His name tag said Bernie Harrington and he was dressed in a pair of brown trousers that showed the signs of repair, a cream shirt and dark blue knitted jumper. His white hair was bright against his dark skin and made him look much older than his face did.

Ophelia smiled at the kind eyed man. "I did. Thank you so much for your help Mr Harrington, this book was just what I needed."

"I'm sorry you can't take the book out, it's just too old to trust to most of the public, I hope you understand dear."

"Of course I do, Mr Harrington, I'd be upset if anything happened to it." Ophelia said in a whisper as she delicately placed the leather bound book onto the cart next to Bernie.

The book was called The Persecution of Witches and was well over 100 years old. Its pages had the smell of dust, time and smoke from when people could smoke in libraries in time gone by.

"I assume you know this book is said to be cursed dear? The legend goes that those who stare at its pages are persecuted by the supernatural" Bernie added, his eyes glimmering with humour.

The short girl let out a snort that startled her and replied "Mr Harrington, you don't believe that do you?"

"We should all be aware of the supernatural my dear, no matter how improbable it sounds." With that Bernie picked up a stack of books from the desk next to them and placed them on the cart, pushing it towards the shelves. "Have a good night Miss."

Stepping onto the pavement the autumn air caught Ophelia by surprise. The wind stang against her pale skin, turning her cheeks red almost instantly, and flung her curly black hair from where it usually hung around her chin. She brought the collar of her heavy winter coat up to try and shield her face from the harsh weather. She took a deep breath of freezing air before heading towards her car.

Reaching into the back pocket of her mom jeans she grabbed her keys. The metal was cold against her fingers as she unlocked her 1970s black ford mustang. Climbing into the front seat immediately felt like a hug.

The car had once belonged to her grandad, the man who was the only father figure Ophelia had in her life, if you didn't count the gaggle of men her mum brought into her life as potential step-father, Ophelia didn't count them.

Memories of her grandad William and the time they spent together were littered all over the car. Most notably was the photo of William holding a baby Ophelia while he lent against the car. Ophelia picked the photo off the dashboard and turned it over. Written in her grandad's handwriting it said the start of an adventure.

Her grandad passed away 6 months ago and each day it was hard to be without her best friend.

Closing her eyes for the briefest of moments, Ophelia could have sworn she could smell him. The smell of apple pulp from his homemade cider and leather from his jacket filled the car, comforting her despite knowing it was all in her mind.

Her phone interrupted her reminiscing. She had a single notification from her mum.

Sweetheart, can you come home at some point soon, we need to chat about something that has come up.

Love mum x

Ophelia hadn't been home in a few months, after her grandad died her mum's boyfriend Brad began to be too much for Ophelia to handle. It started off with him making fun of little things that she would do like wearing statement shirts or wearing fun makeup. It then became bullying and when she stood up for herself, her mum made the decision to stick with Brad over Ophelia.

Ophelia had bounced between friends from school, sleeping in her car and staying in cheap hotels and bed and breakfasts with the little money her mum gave her each week. She hates using that money, her mum only gives her it because she feels guilty about asking her to leave.

Sighing, Ophelia knew if she didn't respond that she would get a less than friendly message from Brad.

Ophelia hit the reply button and began to type.

Mum - Just got out of the library, I can come over now if that works for you.

Ophelia x

Seconds later her phone beeped again.

That would be great love, Brad is just getting ready to meet up with some friends from work so we will have the house to ourselves.

Love mum xx

Two kisses this time. Something was off. Her mum rarely sent kisses on the end of messages and when she did it was only ever one, and, come to think of it, her mum never called her a pet name.

The car's engine spluttered into life as she turned the key, glancing at the time. Quarter to seven, she should be at her mum's by quarter past seven. Putting the car into gear, Ophelia headed toward her mum's home.

Ophelia pulled up to her mum's country home. It was a dark and sinister looking building but it held many happy memories for her. Memories of family Christmases with her mum and grandad, and birthdays and new years celebrations.

Locking her car behind her, she started the walk up the sandstone slabbed path. The garden's grass was artificial looking and the flowers were placed precisely and symmetrically.

Ophelia hesitated at the perfectly painted grey door before giving three firm knocks. Her stomach was in knots waiting for someone to open it. Footsteps could be heard on the other side and so could voices. She knocked again and fidgeted while looking at her feet.

The door swung open, startling her. Brad stood in the doorway, filling it almost completely. He was tall and proud looking, Ophelia's mum said that's what first attracted her to him. Ophelia always thought he looked arrogant. He was dressed in a suit that probably cost more than a small car.

Brad came from a wealthy background and had never had to work a day in his life, a couple of years before he moved in he inherited his dad's fortune. Ophelia's mum was working in the bar when he stumbled, already drunk, through the door.

"She's here" Brad yelled into the other room, his crooked smile set Ophelia on edge, his breathing set her on edge, everything about him set her on edge.

"Brad." Was all Ophelia could say. Her voice was nowhere near as strong as she wanted it to be. He could tell this.

"Well come on in Ophelia, it's good to see you, how have you been keeping?" His hand gripped her shoulder as he ushered her into the front room. She tried to wriggle free but his grip was too tight.

"Fine Brad, just fine." She said through gritted teeth.

The front room where Brad had ushered her to was not what Ophelia had expected. Before she left the room was decorated in warm colours. Reds, browns and oranges filled the space once upon a time, but now, now it is just white. Obviously Brads doing.

There were pictures of Brad and Sandra, Ophelia's mum, where pictures of Ophelia used to be and candles were tacky ornaments her grandad bought them from his various travels.

In the middle of the room was a small coffee table, on that table was a box of tissues and a tea set. That tea set. That tea set of blue and white only came out when major talks were to be had. This tea set of blue and white had chips and cracks all over it where people had thrown it at walls and even each other. Ophelia smirked to herself when her eyes glanced at the sugar bowl that had a nasty chip taken out of it where she had thrown it at Brad and missed. It hit the wall behind him.

Ophelia's mother, Sandra, sat in the middle of the room next to the table pouring a cup of tea for herself, then, one for Ophelia. Sandra was slimmer than Ophelia remembered, her bones looked sharp and dangerous but overall Sandra looked too frail to hurt a fly. Her dyed blond hair was slicked back into a low bun that only emphasised the inch or so of natural black root.

Ophelia lowered herself slowly into the chair opposite her mum.

"Darling, it's lovely to see you." Sandra said with a smile. She tried to look happy but her face was blotchy and red from where she had obviously been crying. "You look well, I love this shirt you're wearing."

This was a lie, Ophelia wore loud printed shirts that she mainly borrowed from her grandad, since his passing she had to find new ones at charity and second hand shops. Sandra hated how Ophelia dressed. The one she was currently wearing was pale pink with an 80s geometric pattern in light blues, greens and yellows.

"What's going on mum? What do we need to chat about?" Ophelia asked softly, cautious of how fragile her mother looked.

"It's about your dad sweetie." Sandra hesitated.

"What about him? Has he come back?"

"No, 'pheila, he isn't back. You see, you got a letter and I know I shouldn't have opened it but it had an overseas post mark." Sandra reached to the table, moved some magazines and passed Ophelia a letter.

"What's this mum?" Ophelia was confused. She never got post, let alone post from overseas.

"Your dad is dead." Brad interrupted the silence.

The room fell silent again.

"What do you mean he's dead?" Ophelia said slowly, trying to come to terms with the information. She didn't even know the man yet she began to softly cry.

"Exactly that, he's been dead almost 15 years now." Brad continued with no sound of remorse or sorrow in his voice.

That was most of her life. At 19 years-old Ophelia had only spent a few months with her father John Winchester when she was a baby before he had to go back to America. Her mum says it was a summer fling that evolved into something more when she found out she was pregnant. He stayed for the entire pregnancy and roughly half of her first year before leaving. They never heard from him again.

"Love, you read the letter." Sandra's cold hand reached for Ophelia's knee in reassurance.

Her hands shaking, Ophelia removed the letter from the envelope and began to read.

#supernatural #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #fanfic writing #ao3 writer #ao3 #found family #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean

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dercolaris · 1 year

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His Eyes

Fandom: Batman

Characters: Edward Nygma, Jonathan Crane

Relationship: Edward & Jonathan

Genre: Romance

Word Length: 2078

Warnings: No Warning

Status: Complete

Short Summary: His eyes see him in a different light. Always.

A foul-smelling drop of oil fell off the rusted car frame and landed on the tinkerer's nose after a short fall. Edward rubbed the back of his hand across his by now slightly dirty face and groaned a bit too loud, blindly groping around for his welder with his free hand. The unfavourable hole in the oil tank had already made itself felt a few weeks ago during a dangerous escape from Gotham City, but this was quickly forgotten after arriving safely at the shelter. The Riddler slid down his welder's shield and began welding the reasonably stainless metal into the right place. The seams certainly wouldn't last forever with this inferior material, but it shouldn't be able to leak any more liquid for at least a couple of weeks.

Edward sceptically checked his work again and again and corrected failed passages all over again in his need of perfection. He probably couldn't count on two hands how many times he'd repaired his old Ford Mustang, but the tinkerer was attached to his trusty vehicle. Many things in his life had let him down - but never his machines. Of course, that included the aging car with the scuffed leather seats and hideous rust-green paintwork. A vehicle as marked by life as its owner. The Riddler finished his work after a few minutes and rolled out from under the car, then slowly removed the welder's shield from his face.

The tinkerer got up unsteadily, searched on his workbench for a new license plate. He had pressed and coloured it last night so that it was indistinguishable from the originals, at least from afar. Edward grabbed his cordless screwdriver and put the sign in place. It was of course only a matter of time before the GCPD would uncover the fake plate on a spontaneous sighting, but for a few quiet shopping trips it was sufficient. The black-haired man wiped the sweat from his forehead and got down on his knees again, carefully inspecting the repaired area again. Dry as a dessert.

Edward stretched once after standing up again and looked down at his greasy hands. He grinned slightly as he spoke softly to himself: "Motor oil on your skin is a good replacement to the most expensive body lotion." The Riddler loved the smell of all the liquids that brought his machines to life. It just smelled honest to him. The tinkerer wrinkled his nose a bit and went to the sink in his workshop to wash his dirty hands with a special soap. The water turned black for a long while, interrupted occasionally by rainbow-like ripples towards the outlet. Unfortunately, his roommate had little sympathy for his love of strong-smelling engine and lubricating oils.

The black-haired man left his workshop with reasonably clean skin and was greeted by the last rays of the evening sun as he left. The ramshackle house bathed in the soft orange glow. It was still a mystery to Edward why nobody was renovating the old buildings in the outskirts or at least considered the generous building land valuable enough to risk a new start here. Everyone seemed to be drawn to the stinking, overcrowded, and in garbage drowning city centre. The tinkerer yawned behind his hand. He didn't want to complain about being able to spend most of his life without disturbing neighbours. Edward strolled across the front yard to the porch.

He no longer knew how much time he had already put into the renovation and partially necessary refurbishment, quite apart from the money he invested. However, his intensive work did not seem pointless to him. The house thanked the black-haired man with his unique beauty and a certain charm. He was already counting the days they had spent together in the building. A new law in Gotham had, for the first time in the tinkerer's life, caused genuine joy about the rule of law: after three years of vacancy, a plot of land could again be expropriated and reallocated. That was the great opportunity to officially acquire this house completely legally. Their ticket out of the sordid underground life!

Edward walked into the house, visibly smiling and took a deep breath in the entryway. Instead of unhealthy black mould, it now smelled like a mixture of coffee and old wood. The Riddler hardly dared to say it, but it smelled like home. A home that he had always wanted from a young age on. The tinkerer listened in the corridor for a moment. It was eerily quiet. He hung his jacket on the coat hook on the wall by the front door and called out loudly: "Jon, I'm done! The car is repaired!” Silence.

The black-haired man went up the stairs to the upper floor. Jonathan was not a friend of loud noises and avoided shouting even at home. It didn't fit into his picture of a civilized, peaceful coexistence in a tight space. Edward had a very different view on that topic. Two and a half years ago, two worlds had collided almost brutally here and it had taken a lot of time to find a suitable middle ground for the relationship to work nicely. For example, it was only allowed to scream in the entrance area and in emergencies, otherwise an appropriate volume had to be selected in the rest of the house.

In return, Jon had taken to the fact that there was a bit of chaos everywhere and he didn't have to clean up after the Riddler like a maniac. At some point, the item would find its right place – sometimes it just took around three weeks and what felt like twenty reminders to put it away as soon as possible. Edward strolled down the hall, clearly surprised to find that the library door wasn't locked as usual. Jonathan must have been desperate for company tonight. The tinkerer entered without knocking and looked around, then frowned. Jon wasn't sitting at his desk as usual.

Before he could call for his boyfriend, he heard the low voice between the bookshelves: "I'll be right there, Edward. Take a seat, please and we can talk in peace.” The black-haired man smiled at his partner's precise choice of words and then sat down in one of the two comfortable reading chairs. An almost empty coffee mug was on the side table. As a matter of principle, Jonathan drank his coffee unusually strong, bitter and, of course, without sugar. In the eyes of the tinkerer, the liquid really deserved the name 'tar broth', especially since the former psychiatrist's favourite coffee beans didn't necessarily flatter the fine coffee aroma. Actually, it only made everything so much worse.

Jonathan suddenly emerged from a row of shelves. His gaunt figure in the shadow of the furniture looked intimidating and almost frightening as usual, but the Riddler had gotten used to the sight by now. The professor couldn't help his grotesque demeanour or his stubborn manner. He was a scientist and there was an infinitely long list of things that were more important to him than his looks and behaviour. The brown-haired man sat down in the second chair and put some books on the table, accidentally knocking over his coffee mug.

Edward reacted quickly, gripping the porcelain tightly. A few drops of the black broth still ran over the rim of the mug. Jonathan's surprised expression gave way to a small smile. He spoke with a certain amusement in his voice: "I wouldn't know what to do without you regarding my clumsiness." "You would probably need to get into the habit of carrying at least one roll of kitchen paper around with you at all times," Edward teased with a broad grin. His partner was silent for a moment, but then, after a moment's thought, started laughing out loud. The Riddler chuckled at the gesture.

When he met the sinister professor over eight years ago, an honest laugh was almost an event of the century. Because of all the strokes of fate, Jonathan hadn't been able to have fun and simply enjoy life with a certain ease for a long time. Only by working more closely with the tinkerer had he finally been able to find his smile again. "My solution would probably not be drinking near documents and books, but I respect your pragmatic solution-orientation," replied the former psychiatrist, clearly amused.

Edward rolled his eyes slightly and set the coffee mug down a safe distance from the books. He said calmly: "That's why I better repair our car and not you. In your case, I wouldn't be so sure whether you wouldn't simply dump the old car into the nearest river and buy a new model after 'theory-based cost-benefit analysis of a wheeled vehicle on two axles with four rubber-coated wheels'.” Jonathan frowned and growled a little bitterly: "I would certainly not buy a new vehicle right away. There is always the option to hire a mechanic, you buffoon.”

The Riddler had to suppress a laugh convulsively. This kind of unnecessary discussion made life with the sinister professor all the more enjoyable. The black-haired man shrugged his shoulders in response and added cheekily: "Fortunately that's not necessary, is it?" Jonathan didn't reply to this rhetorical question. Instead, he fished a pack of matches out of his pocket and lit the candle on the side table, then shook out the burning wood. On the upper floors, not all the electronic lines worked reliably, and especially on the dark winter nights, darkness often engulfed entire parts of the house.

The former psychiatrist rested his head on his hand, staring at the gradually darkening corridor for a while. He looked tired but not unhappy. A definite improvement from before they fled the city to the outskirts together. Jonathan needed a certain distance from society and the constant hustle and bustle around him had noticeably influenced his mood - above all, of course, negatively. The gaunt man's voice broke the silence: "Sometimes I really wouldn't know what to do without you, Edward." The tinkerer blinked in surprise, looking at his partner in irritation.

His friend seemed absent-minded, immersed in an unfamiliar world that he was still forbidden to enter. Decoding Jonathan's mind was almost impossible. Such surprising statements only underlined this impression. How had he come to that conclusion, and why did he suddenly feel the need to say it out loud in front of the Riddler? They were lovers, there was no doubt about that, but there was always a certain rivalry between them. No one wanted to openly admit weaknesses to the other.

Edward looked down at the frayed rug on the wooden floor. He blushed a little and replied uncertainly: "Very funny, Jon. You'd get along just fine without me.” The person addressed broke his rigidity and took one of the books from the side table. He leafed through it for a while, then found a certain page. Jonathan read some of the lines out loud: "Love lets you find the secret places in another person, even the ones we didn't know existed, even the ones they themselves didn't think they could call wonderful." The sinister Professor lingered on the lines with his index finger and added quietly: "Who should show me these invisible places inside me if not you, Edward? Without your eyes, I'm nothing but a bundle of doubt, fear, and sadness whose anger occasionally manifests itself in violent outbursts. Your eyes put my figure in a different light.”

The Riddler swallowed hard at this profound statement. He crossed his arms over his chest and replied sheepishly: "I actually only saw what was always there, Jon." The former psychiatrist shook his head slightly and carefully closed the book. He spoke softly: "No, you didn't just see it - you said it and showed it to me. Without these steps, I would still be clueless to these days." The black-haired man sat down a little forward and stretched out his arm, finally laying his hand on his partner's. He gently squeezed the thin, bony fingers. Jonathan smiled softly at the gesture, allowing this very intimate touch without questioning it further.

At that moment, in addition to the smell of coffee and old wood, there was also the smell of motor oil in the air. A mixture that many people would judge differently, but Edward and Jonathan were more than in agreement on this one point: it smelled like home for both of them.

#DC #Batman #Riddler #Scarecrow #Edward Nygma #Jonathan Crane #Scriddler #Riddlecrow #Romance

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catboyklug · 6 months

Text

aghghghgg

Summary: sunrise vents. like, in among us. Characters: Sunrise (he/xe/they); Eternal Anomaly/'Ternal (it/its); various extras Word count: 1483 (1k!) Warnings: alcohol usage; drug mention; implied abuse or neglect (extremely vague); ableism (against self).

Well. He couldn't say he didn't expect this.

But that didn't stop it from sucking ass.

It was December the 20th, exactly eleven days before the godforsaken holiday known as "Christmas", and the exact day of Sunrise's birthday.

And Quiet's, of course.

By freak coincidence, the siblings had been born on the same day, five years apart.

And today, Sunrise couldn't forget that fact.

The noise from the other rooms was deafening, Quiet apparently having brought every single friend of eirs in the entire city to the tiny apartment the siblings had to live in.

Ey had been out all day, drinking or doing drugs or whatever it was that Sunrise's older sister had been doing, while he stayed here, cooped up and bored out of his mind thanks to a lucky cold he got.

If it were any better than it was, Sunrise probably would've forced himself outside. But he could barely see, his nose was utterly backed up, and he didn't really want to risk it on the icy roads with the brainfog he got to begin with.

However, with the party coming inside of his fucking house, xe was beginning to reconsider his earlier decision to stay at home for his safety.

Sunrise crawled out of bed once the party had reached its heights, determined to get out of her before everyone crashed. Dead on xyr feet, xe wrapped xyr blanket up and shoved it in a bag xe had sewed a few years back during some workshop event.

Headphones like a helmet on xyr head, it was time to exit this damned house and go elsewhere.

Pushing the door open, xe was met with a ridiculous amount of lights from god knows how many mini disco balls. Though the birthday girl was nowhere to be seen, the place was packed with some of the most annoying people Sunrise felt he would ever have the displeasure of coming across.

A couple sitting next to the fridge, blocking him as he tried to open it; someone making what was most likely the worst-looking meal Sunrise had ever seen right next to the microwave as xe put a cup of milk in; someone who ended up laughing after noticing Sunrise was microwaving a cup of milk, of all things.

...Which was deserved, but not any less annoying.

After pouring the milk into a thankfully-clean thermos, Sunrise secured it in his bag, put his boots on, and walked outside to the car, more than happy to get away from the mess that was once probably his apartment.

Outside was cold, but his car's old, homely leather interior was far more comforting than anywhere else he could think of.

He sat at the wheel, bag on the seat next to him, trying to think of where exactly he could run off to.

Though he was tempted to run off to his employer-turned-friends-with-benefits-turned-greatest-ally's house, Sunny was almost definitely asleep at this point.

There was only one person who would let him crash so late at night. Considering she didn't really sleep, it was his best bet.

So, off to 'Ternal's he went.

It was a long a drive as ever, but thankfully more than worth the time spent.

Though the exterior of the factory seemed cold and unwelcoming, Sunrise looked upon it as if he was a hiker lost in the snow and it was the first warm cabin he had seen in years. (lmao)

Xe grabbed xyr bag and xyr keys, zipped xyr bomber jacket up fully, and walked out into the snow, almost cheerful despite the cold wind blowing right through his already very ill bones.

The factory was massive, and that fact was somehow even more apparent inside, despite how messy and cluttered the area was. Tubes and wires and nozzles and beams that initially looked useless but disguised arteries and veins and *bio-wires* were littered around the ceilings, large "arms" near them to allow the resident mechanic access to these delicate systems whenever they needed repair.

As xe walked through the now very familiar halls, the various systems around him reacted in interest to his presence, clearly not expecting him this late after-hours.

"Sunrise?" called out the mechanical multitudes of the factory's collective voice, "Isn't it midnight in your human time? And you have some mortal illness."

"'S not mortal, if you wanna be technical with it. And hello t' you too, princess," xe replied, grinning.

"That doesn't answer my question," the machinery makes a sound similar to huffing, "Why did you come here so late?"

. . .

Logically, Sunrise knows that the world's most autistic computer would probably understand the concept of "extreme sensory overwhelm" and "deep, petty jealousy" (xe already knows it does), but, somehow, xe feels reluctant to tell it exactly what happened.

"What, you don't want me here, 's that it?" xe teases, getting xyr blanket out of xyr bag as xe makes it to the main control room, "Can always leave and head for Sunny's place..."

"NO-"

The factory exploded into a cacophony of flustered machinery, grating against itself in a state just below panic before it finally, and to its great embarrassment, realized the lighthearted intent of the statement and calmed down.

Sunrise giggles, now thankfully more than used to the once horrible noise, as the factory attempts to explain itself, trying in vain to play it cool.

"I want you here," it insists, truthfully, "But humans need sleep or something. Especially you, if you want to stop being sick all the time."

"Right..."

What else was there to say without completely revealing what had happened? Ruminating on this black-and-white, entirely internal scenario Sunrise had created for xyrself, xe gets the thermos with the milk out and pours enough bourbon in that it's an even split.

Despite the factory currently not having anything one could consider to be eyes, xe can feel it staring at him.

"Is that... 'alcohol'?" it asks, in a 'voice' indicating suspicion as much as intrigue.

"Yeah. Wanna try?" xe jokes, immediately putting the bottle away before the machine can respond, "'S not th' healthiest thing in the world, but... better than whatever Quiet was passing around at that stupid party."

At the mention of literally anything that could have been the source of Sunrise's troubles, the factory's figurative ears perked up.

"'Stupid party'?" it interrogated, "How... stupid are we talking?"

"....Really stupid," xe finally admitted.

And thus, the floodgates began to break.

"'S Quiet's birthday, I guess," xe said as if xe wasn't dreading this day for almost an entire month since it came, "So they've got every person in the city in *my* apartment making th' place smell like weed t' 'celebrate'."

"And you've-"

"Tried murdering them?" Sunrise interrupts, "Trust me, would love to. But I'd rather not get in trouble with th' law. Already skirting it just by being here, really..."

Recognizing that continuing to suggest what it views as the most logical thing would probably serve only to upset Sunrise, 'Ternal lets it go, and Sunrise takes a swig from his half-assed cocktail.

It's warm. Nice. Sunrise can feel his head loll to the side as xe drinks further, and xe nearly forgets how angry xe feels.

Until the memory of the gross, sweaty apartment comes back like a hunting boomerang, and xe feels his face get hot with rage.

"Fuckin' assholes," xe grumbles, "...Mean..."

Before 'Ternal can quiz him on exactly what that means, he sobs.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, st-stupid," xe repeats, "Stupid, petty, idiot..."

Not having any idea of how to respond to his outburst, the factory tries, "...I was worse."

"N-no," he sniffles in response, "You're jus' hungry. 'M... stupid. Asshole. Awful. Stupid..."

Tugging at xyr hair, xe takes another swig from the thermos.

"Sunrise," the machine says, almost quietly, "You need to stop drinking that."

Simply shaking xyr head in response, xe closes xyr eyes, hitting xyr leg in overwhelm.

"Stupid, freak... should've jus-" xe hiccups, "Shoulda jus' accepted 'm a lowlife. Don't deserve friends. Stupid, fucking, r-"

Suddenly, before Sunrise can even begin forming the following word, several metallic "arms" surround him. Hug him.

Xe opens xyr eyes. Blinks. Despite being made of cold metal, the arms are the warmest thing he's felt in weeks. Warmer and kinder than the cocktail in his thermos, not to mention.

Even knowing 'Ternal, - actually, truly knowing it - xe was surprised with how utterly kind it was.

Burying xyr face in some of the metal, xe muttered a tiny "th'nk you", getting relieved, almost happy whirring in response.

The cold, the alcohol and finally his breakdown having exhausted him completely, Sunrise drifts off a bit, only vaguely aware of another few "arms" coming to gently lay a blanket on him to keep him warm as he slept.

And, though it was a bit embarrassing, the factory was very deeply glad it didn't have to talk him through anything.

#credit to firefly-graphics for the borders!#eternal [anomaly] by comrade-slugcat #objectum #original writing #original character #original characters #ocs #klug's fics #klug's ocs #sunrise [oc]#no beta we die like quiet /j

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shmorp-mcdurgen · 1 year

Note

“What even happened?”

Adam tightened his hold on the steering wheel after he croaked out the question, taking a glance at the passenger seat. At Jonah.

Haphazard bandages were wrapped around his various wounds, trying to stop the bleeding that had already stained his jacket and hoodie beyond repair. The silver haired man was silent, face turned towards the window.

Had he not heard Adam? “Jonah? Dude?”

Still nothing, not even a shift except for his slight breathing. Shit, did he pass out or something?

“Jonah? Are you awake? Don’t pass out on me, asshole!”

“...shut up… shut the fuck up..” It was barely audible, but Jonah’s voice carried through the almost silent car, and the trembling venom that came with it.

Adam went to retort, angered by the incredibly hostile response, but stopped as Jonah’s eyes fell on him, locking them in a staring contest.

Fear.

Jonah was looking at him in complete and utter fear. Jonah was scared of him.

Did.. did he make all those injuries..? Was that why he’d woken up away from where he’d last remembered? Was he the reason his friend was fucking bleeding out on the snow earlier?

Letting out a sigh, the blond stayed silent as he continued driving, only glancing at Jonah when he moved back into leaning against the window. A wince escaped Adam when the wounds in his back rubbed the leather car seat.

What the fuck happened after he had blacked out?

OOOOOO /POS

Adam, you fucked up but don’t realize how yet-

#asks are neat #super cool fan stuff #mandela prophet #it’s gonna be. a very strange drive home #Adam just wondering what the fuck happened to him and Jonah and why Jonah seems so scared of him #Jonah’s hesitant to even explain the situation cause. what he witnessed was horrific-#ooo I like this a lot

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azertyrobaz · 10 months

Text

Satellites (2/7)

What if Grogu hadn’t returned to Din in The Book of Boba Fett? What if he hadn’t been given a choice? – Modern AU setting: Grogu is now twelve, and he has to rely on his memories as a young child to track down the person who changed his life. The only person he knows who will be able to protect him from the bad man. The bad man who precipitated his separation from the only family he’s ever known. He embarks on a road trip to piece together his past, and reconnect with the people who might help him find his family again.

Read below or on ao3.

Chapter 1

************

“Are your planning your escape?”

His feet wouldn’t reach the floor let alone the pedals and he could barely see above the huge steering wheel, but the boy was having the time of his life, sitting in the front seat of the parked pickup truck.

“No, driving,” he explained, the words simple but his mind full of difficult questions he wanted to be able to voice. And powerful feelings he wanted to express.

“Show me how?” he asked instead and sat back against the old leather, crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture he’d recently started to copy.

The man understood what he wanted and started listing what each lever and pedal and button did. It was all very technical, but the young child’s brain was like a sponge, and he absorbed it all, thirsty for more knowledge and more time spent in such nice company. He was so focused that he didn’t notice that the woman was taking pictures at first. And when he did, he turned towards the old polaroid camera and took a silly pose.

“Show me!” he said with a big smile once she was done.

************

Grogu had tried to be careful with the polaroid over the years, but the colors had almost completely faded. He could still see both their faces relatively well, though. The goofy smile on his own and the more guarded one on his father’s. He looked ridiculously tiny and he felt yet another pang of loss at the knowledge that the Razor Crest was gone. He’d always thought he’d get to learn how to drive that car and had been looking forward to the lessons he’d been promised, even as a six-year-old. The man had said he had to see through the windshield first, which was fair enough.

With a small smile, he put the picture back at the end of his notebook, and stared at the words he’d written:

- New car: yellow convertible Corvette?

- No news for 4 years: moved abroad? work with military?

- Boba Fett: be careful

- Came to the institute 4-5 years ago: why?

He’d underlined the name Boba Fett three times, because even now hours later with already a hundred miles separating him from Peli’s repair shop, he still felt a little shaky. He’d been careful to observe each and every passenger boarding the bus but so far he was certain he hadn’t been followed. By him or the bad man.

There was one thing he hadn’t dared write down after that last question mark. Something that would also explain why Peli hadn’t seen him for 4 years. But he didn’t want to go there just yet. Mostly because he’d already thought about that possibility, and decided long ago that it didn’t ultimately matter – he wanted to know what had happened to him, that was his main goal.

The people around him were almost all asleep – it was close to 3AM and they wouldn’t stop before dawn – but he couldn’t stop his mind from going over the same questions. The main one being, what would he say to him if he found him? The new knowledge that he’d try to visit put everything back in perspective. Maybe he hadn’t lied? Maybe he had intended to see him again, like he’d promised? But then why hadn’t he tried again?

Which brought Grogu straight back to the dreaded words he hadn’t written in his notepad for fear they would prove true.

But there was another possibility. One that had almost made him turn back, so that he could ask professor Skywalker the question face to face: had he turned his father away? Had he told him not to visit again? And yet no matter how much he tried to stick to that hypothesis, since it was definitely not as irreversible as the other one, he couldn’t make it work. It didn’t fit. His teacher had been nothing but kind to him over the years, and seemed to understand keenly what it was to feel like you’re all alone in the world.

Grogu looked at the scratched tachymeter dial on his too big watch and started counting down seconds when he spotted a road sign outside. He didn’t have to focus that much for the numbers to take shape in his mind. Numbers had always been easy. Too easy. And not for the first time he wished that other things had proven so simple in his life. With a sigh, he eventually closed his eyes. They were driving at a steady 59 mile per hour and would reach their destination in 4 hours and 17 minutes, pending no traffic. That was just enough time for a decent nap, pending no nightmares.

************

Two buses later and after a very long walk through deserted countryside roads, Grogu had to face the facts – he was lost. It was early afternoon and thankfully not as warm as when he’d been looking for Peli’s shop, but exhaustion was slowly creeping up on him. That was something he hadn’t expected when he planned his journey. Sure, he knew it was going to be tiring, but with so much time spent travelling on buses with nothing to do, he’d expected he’d have no trouble getting rest. But he hadn’t accounted for the fact that his mounting worry would make it extra difficult or that sleeping sitting down was so uncomfortable. He longed for some place to lie down. Some place where his thoughts would leave him alone for five minutes. Some place where the bad man wouldn’t find him. Some place safe. Food that wasn’t pre-packaged sandwiches would also be nice. A shower. Clean clothes…

Grogu spun around. He had the right address, he knew that, but here in the middle of nowhere it wasn’t proving very helpful. There were no road signs or markings of any kind. The dirt track went in many directions and he’d expected to see a clearing in the woods by now, because he remembered that, but it had been eight years and he had never thought he would need to find that place again. Not alone, at least.

He looked at the sun above the tree line and tried to orient himself again. If he kept heading west he was bound to find it. Hands buried deep in his pockets and teeth set to avoid thinking about his very sore feet, he started walking again. His fist closed around his remaining cash and he tried not to focus on the fact that he still had enough money to go back. But only just about. Depending on what he learned here – if he ever found the house of course – he’d then need to decide whether to go home or carry on.

But the institute wasn’t home, not really. Even if he was starting to feel really homesick. He couldn’t think of any other word to describe the complex feeling. Home was somewhere you felt safe though, wasn’t it? Somewhere the bad men wouldn’t find you. So even if the institute had been home for a while, it couldn’t be any longer. There was no point going back there.

He wished his phone actually worked and he could talk to professor Skywalker. A small part of him realized he was probably very worried and would urge him to return, but his feeling of guilt was nothing compared to his growing sense of betrayal.

Why did you turn him away? Why was I never allowed to see him? Why didn’t he call? Why didn’t he write me any letters? Does he hate me? Is he disappointed in me? Not proud of me? I’m the best in my class, I’m so smart I can go to college next year if I want to. But I don’t want to. I just want him. He can keep me safe. He can protect me from the bad man. He can make him disappear like he did the first time. And the second time. Is my dad dead, professor? Is that it? And you never found the way to tell me? And so instead you spend all your time with your nephew now? Because he’s family and I’m not? Are you not proud of me either anymore?

Some of it was his own fault, too. He’d never been a big talker and always dreaded difficult and potentially painful conversations. But he should have asked more questions over the years. He shouldn’t have settled for vague platitudes. Of course your friend is doing okay. Of course you’ll see him again one day if you want to.

Why had no one understood that this friend was his family and that yes, he wanted to see him. He wanted to see him right now! Why did he have to explain it? Why did he have to use words? Why couldn’t they just see it? He missed him so much, it wasn’t fair! And now it was too late and he was dead and he would never see him again. Never ever ever ever –

“Grogu?”

He hadn’t realized he was kneeling on the ground and had started crying. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t think. He was so tired. He was just so, so tired.

“Shh, it’s okay, I got you,” the woman whispered, wrapping her arms tightly around him. “It’s all gonna be okay.” And Grogu nodded because he desperately wanted to believe her, the smell of her hair familiar and her blurry shape warm and comforting.

************

She didn’t ask him what he was doing there. Instead, she made him mac and cheese, gave him clean clothes and a towel for a hot shower, and showed him to the guest room for a nap. As he closed his eyes, his achy muscles telling him he’d be asleep in seconds, he wondered if all mothers were like this, or just the good ones. Somehow, they knew everything without you having to say it.

Grogu woke up disoriented but rested, his watch telling him it was late afternoon. He’d been asleep for three hours but couldn’t remember what he was doing there at first. And then the soft clothes he was wearing clued him in. He’d had to roll the cuffs of the sweatpants a couple of times and the sleeves were far too long but he liked that. They smelled nice, and probably belonged to his old friend Winta. He stood up unsteadily, his head spinning still and the blisters on his feet painful, and padded quietly to the kitchen.

“Hi,” he said softly, feeling shy.

“Are you feeling a little better?” Omera asked, standing up from the table where she had been working – it looked like she was marking school work. Was she a teacher? He didn’t remember, but he thought that fitted her.

Grogu nodded, putting his hands in his pockets and looking around. He felt impossibly small in his too big clothes and yet he remembered he’d been even smaller the first time he visited. The place didn’t seem very different from the two or so months he’d spent there years ago with his dad. It was the one place they’d spent the most time in, but it had still been early days then. They hadn’t known each other that well.

“Sorry about your clothes,” she added, assuming he was looking for his belongings, “they’re still in the dryer. I added the ones from your backpack but I was careful to remove all the stuff from your pockets.”

“Thanks,” he replied simply, and didn’t feel concerned that she had looked through his things. He wasn’t hiding anything after all. She probably knew already what he was doing there. She was a good mom.

“Is Winta here?” he asked, and she smiled.

“I have to go pick her up from practice soon. I thought you’d still be asleep, you were exhausted. We’ll get some food on the way back, is there anything special that you want?”

He shook his head.

“It’s still Grogu, right?”

“It’s really Gregory, but I don’t like that name,” he explained. “I prefer Grogu.”

“Grogu it is then,” and she smiled again, making him feel more at ease. He didn’t add that no one called him Grogu anymore – he hadn’t heard that name in years. But Gregory belonged to the institute and he’d already decided he wouldn’t be returning there unless he had no other choice, so Grogu it would be.

“You can stay here or you can come with me, that’s up to you. You can go lie down again or get a snack from the fridge, make yourself at home.”

Grogu wanted to ask her the one question he’d come to ask her – had she seen his dad? But he also knew he was in no shape to go out there again just yet, especially if she only had bad news for him. The fact that she trusted him to stay in her home while she was gone told him she wouldn’t pull a Peli on him and call the authorities. At least not just yet. She was as curious as he was and he could read many questions in her eyes.

“I think I’ll stay,” he told her. “My feet hurt.”

She nodded in understanding and told him she’d be back in less than an hour. Before she left, she handed him some Band-Aids for his blisters and showed him where his backpack was. She knew there was a chance he would bolt before she returned, and she seemed fine with it. Grogu didn’t intend to bolt yet, but he knew he could just grab his clothes from the dryer and whatever was in the fridge and just leave without feeling very guilty.

Well, maybe a little. She’d really been nice to him. And he really wanted to see Winta. So he decided to stay.

He was tempted to go back to bed but he didn’t want to miss their return. So after he made sure all his belongings were still in his backpack – he trusted Omera but seeing all his things in their right place put his mind at ease – Grogu realized he was still parched and opened the fridge. There were no sodas but he was getting tired of those anyway so he opted for a glass of milk instead. He knew it wouldn’t actually make him grow taller, as much as he wished it would, but it was better than a carbonated drink.

His let his eyes roam over all the pictures covering the refrigerator door, and stopped still when he recognized a particular one. Among all the different pictures showing various outings – weddings, barbecues, beach days – and all the different people smiling at him – Omera, Winta, friends, family, colleagues – he recognized two faces. Right there in the middle and held by two colorful magnets was a polaroid of him and his dad taken in the parked Crest right outside the house. It was a different version of the one he kept in his notebook and Grogu was struck at how vivid it still looked compared to his. The colors hadn’t faded at all and his father’s face was so clear and so full of life he felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes. In this one they were both smiling. They looked happy. They looked like a real family. And the fact that Omera and Winta saw their faces when they opened the fridge every day, same as they saw their friends and family and whoever else was there, pulled at something deep inside him, but he wasn’t sure what it was. There was one thing he was sure of though – he had been right to come here. And whatever he felt for his dad was real – other people had seen it.

************

Grogu was still out of sorts when they returned with pizza, but seeing Winta quickly put a smile on his face.

“Grogu!” she exclaimed, giving him a fierce hug, which he returned with all his strength.

“You’re so tall!” he blurted. She’d always been taller than him – she was five years older after all – but it felt even more striking now.

“I know!” she laughed. “I play basketball, it’s pretty useful. And you look good in my team tracksuit.”

He stared at the soft green cotton clothes he was wearing, happy that his assumption had been correct and that they did belong to Winta, and even happier that she didn’t seem to mind he was wearing them.

“Sorgan Lothcats,” he read upside down on his chest. “Is that your team name? What’s a lothcat?”

“I don’t even know,” Winta shrugged with a chuckle. “I need a shower then we’re eating this pizza, I’m so happy you’re here, Grogs!”

Grogu nodded and wondered if he had time to talk to Omera now or if he should wait. He sighed and clenched and unclenched his fists slowly to calm down. His hands kept disappearing in the too long sleeves but he kind of liked it. He was used to hand-me-down clothes that didn’t always fit him, but those he actually didn’t mind.

“Come help me set the table,” Omera asked from the next room, and he immediately did as she asked. Was this another magic trick good moms used? Because it was certainly working on him.

“You’re looking for him,” she said, handing him three plates. Grogu was glad he wouldn’t have to start that particular conversation. It also seemed that he wouldn’t have to explain much, as he’d expected. “Din Djarin.”

It felt weird to hear that name said out loud, but in a good way.

“Din Djarin,” he confirmed in a soft voice, observing her closely – the name also had an effect on her, it was clear to see.

“I’m sad that you didn’t manage to stay together, but not surprised. How long has it been?”

Grogu took his time answering, carefully setting the plates on the table around the pizza box.

“Six years,” he eventually replied.

“So you did spend more time together.”

“Just two years,” he mumbled, refusing to look at her and missing the fact that she was handing him glasses.

“It’s more than I expected, and I understand why you want to find him. Two years is a long time at that age.”

Grogu didn’t agree but he didn’t say anything.

“So you haven’t seen him,” he concluded, his joy at seeing Winta earlier abruptly evaporating.

“Grogu,” she said in a tone that finally made him look up. “How long have you been looking for him?”

“Four days.”

She smiled softly. “Then don’t despair just yet. I bet he’s an expert at hiding. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, feeling a little better. Those four days felt like forever already, but she was right.

Winta was very good at distracting him some more during dinner, and it felt nice to hear about her life and her projects and her dreams. She still intended to become a vet – Grogu had remembered that – and would start college in the fall. When he admitted he had the same opportunity to start university she congratulated him warmly instead of expressing disbelief or jealousy.

“I always knew you were brilliant,” she cheered, and he felt his cheeks burning slightly at the praise. ‘Brilliant’ sounded a lot better than ‘special’ or ‘gifted’.

“I’m not sure I want to go just yet, though,” he confessed, looking at Omera. He’d talked about the institute in broad terms, and since they were so close to summer break he didn’t think they’d immediately assume he ran away. Or they were just too kind to say anything about it.

“What would you want to study?” Omera asked.

“I’m good at applied maths,” he shrugged, not realizing this wasn’t really an answer.

“Oh good, you’ll be able to help me with my homework,” Winta joked. “Which I sadly need to get back to,” she sighed, standing up. “I’ll see you in the morning if you’ve gone to bed by the time I’m done.”

She’d added that last sentence with a serious look on her face, directed at him – she wasn’t stupid, far from it, and knew what he intended to do. Grogu simply nodded, trying not to feel too bad.

Omera once again had the perfect words to urge him to help her with the dishes, but it meant they didn’t have to talk just yet which was fine with him. He wondered what else he could ask her. Something that would help him decide where he should go next. But his mind kept going back to one thing she had said earlier.

“What did you mean when you said you were not surprised we weren’t together anymore with my – with Din?”

For the first time since he arrived, she evaded his question, and asked him whether he wanted a cup of tea instead.

“I still have some marking to do, but we can keep talking if you want,” she hedged.

“Can I have a glass of milk instead?” he replied, not minding too much that she was stalling.

They sat down again at the cleared kitchen table and he decided that maybe she needed to hear his story from the beginning.

“I don’t know if you remember, but there was someone after me eight years ago.”

“I remember,” she nodded somberly. “He’s the reason you both had to leave. It was no longer safe for you to stay.”

There was regret there, and sadness, and probably some other feelings Grogu didn’t understand very well. Adult things.

“I thought the bad man was gone but now he’s back, and the institute is no longer safe for me. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on staying here long, he won’t find you,” he continued, thinking one of the adult things he didn’t understand was fear. But he was wrong.

“I’m not scared, Grogu,” she told him seriously. “And I wasn’t scared then either. Din helped me – helped us – when you were here, but there’s a reason we live in such a remote place with Winta.”

“Something from your past,” he guessed.

“My own bad man,” Omera nodded.

“And he’s gone?”

“Yes,” she replied firmly.

“I’ve been trying to remember as much as I could, and this place was the easiest to find because we spent a lot of time here, and I knew your names. I also knew the name of a mechanic I saw yesterday, but she didn’t know where he was either. I tried looking for other places, other people, but it’s been difficult. We never stayed anywhere for long afterwards.”

“You can stay for as long as you want, Grogu. I made a promise to Din all those years ago and I intend to keep it.”

“What promise?” he frowned.

Omera looked at her tea cup instead of him. She seemed sad. Something even deeper than that he realized, but there again he didn’t have the right words to explain it. She suddenly gripped one of his hands resting on the table and Grogu tried not to react too strongly.

“He was so new at this. Being a father. Remember?” He nodded silently, seeing tears forming in her eyes and gripping her hand back just as hard. He knew that pain. He understood it.

“And he was scared. He wanted the best for you. The best. He loved you, Grogu. In his own way.”

“I know,” he swallowed hard. “I felt it.”

“He didn’t think he was good enough for you, and you were so young still. He thought you’d be better off here, with me and Winta. He asked me to look after you, and I said I would raise you as my own.”

Grogu let go of her hand, stunned.

“He wanted to leave me here?” he realized, voice empty. “To abandon me?”

“Does that surprise you?” she asked him seriously, talking to him as if he were an adult and no longer a child. Something Grogu appreciated.

“No,” he replied after a while, but he still felt hurt by the revelation, even if he knew, deep down, that it made sense. They hadn’t been together for long when they came here, after he rescued him that first time. And he could admit to himself that he didn’t see him as a dad yet, not then. It was still painful to hear. It didn’t change the fact that he wanted to find him, but again, this made him rethink things, especially when he saw the tears now running freely on Omera’s cheeks.

“When we left you were hurt too,” he realized. “I’m sorry.”

“You had no other choice,” she shrugged. “He did what was best for you, I would have done the same.”

He drank his milk for a while, letting Omera compose herself while he wondered if there was anything else he could ask. But it was difficult to think over the pain he felt. He wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for hours.

“I actually tried looking for the two of you, years ago, but I never found you.”

“You did?” he marveled. “Where?”

“He’d said you’d arrived from Nevarro, so I started there. I quickly realized it was useless so I stopped, though. But we never forgot you. Me and Winta.”

“I saw the picture on the fridge.”

“Yeah”, she nodded. “You were happy here. Both of you.”

Grogu nodded in agreement but his mind was already somewhere else.

“Where’s Nevarro?”

“I don’t think there’s anything there,” she sighed.

“I remember it, but it wasn’t a good place,” he said, thinking out loud. “Bad things happened there.”

“Then don’t go back,” she urged him.

“Where is it?” he repeated. She shook her head but she didn’t look angry – she knew he’d find out on his own anyway.

“It’s a three hour drive, I can take you there this weekend if you want.”

“Okay,” he replied immediately, but they both knew he’d be gone the next day.

“You should get some sleep,” she said instead of telling him not to go alone. “You still look very tired.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, standing up. “Good night.”

“Grogu?” she called him and he turned around, standing by the door. “I still intend to keep that promise. If you don’t find him or if… Whatever happens, there will always be a place for you here. Understand?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“I won’t make you go back to your school and you’ll be free to decide what you want to do with your life.”

“That sounds nice,” he smiled, then wished her good night again.

************

Grogu slept. Much better than he’d expected given the circumstances and he had a hard time getting out of bed but he knew he had to. It was 5AM and he didn’t know when Winta and her mom would wake up, but he walked around the house extra quietly. He brushed his teeth and changed back into his washed and dried clothes – minus the Sorgan Lothcats sweater he’d decided to keep – and found snacks conveniently waiting for him on the kitchen table. Trail mix, dried fruits and oatmeal cookies. A water bottle to fill from the fridge. Omera really was a good mom.

He closed the door as quietly as he could, intent to walk back the same way he’d come and using his torch if he needed to, but Winta was already there, sitting against the car with her arms crossed.

“I’ll drive you to the station,” she said, and didn’t wait for his reply before climbing in. It was scary how much she looked like her mom sometimes.

“You kept the sweater,” Winta remarked as they were driving in silence. He was glad she was taking him, since the dirt track would have been difficult to navigate in the dark, but he hoped she wouldn’t get in trouble with Omera.

“Is that okay?”

“Sure, if you promise to bring it back. And not in 8 years.”

Grogu nodded and looked at his hands disappearing in the too long sleeves. He really liked that sweater.

“I think I would have liked growing up here,” he realized, the trees no longer so scary now that dawn was approaching.

“There’s certainly worse places.”

It was strange to see how little time it took to get to the station when he had struggled so much the previous day on foot. He hoped it was a sign of things to come, and that his next destination would provide him with more clues.

“So where are you going?” Winta asked point blank once she’d parked.

“Nevarro,” Grogu replied, not minding that two people now knew where he’d be. It was almost nice.

“That’s not too far from here, you should be there this afternoon. I’m sorry I can’t take you.”

“That’s okay, I have to do this alone I think.”

“That’s really dumb, but I get it,” she smiled, and Grogu felt a little better.

“Here,” she said, handing him an envelope she’d taken from her pocket.

“What’s that?”

“I’ve been saving up to buy a new laptop for college.”

“I can’t take your money,” Grogu shook his head, handing the heavy envelope back to her.

“Yes, you can. And you will. You’re going to need it to find your dad.”

“You really think I’ll find him?” he wondered, the envelope between them.

“Yes,” she replied with certainty. “Get the envelope and get out of here before I change my mind and drive you back home.”

There were tears in her eyes when Grogu looked up.

“Thank you.”

“I want that sweater back, Grogs!” she said as he closed the door.

#the mandalorian #grogu #din djarin #baby yoda #omera #winta #fanfic #star wars #mandalorian #modern au #angst with a happy ending #found family #my fics

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