#Carding Machine Spare Parts

[readwritealldayallnight]

You know the woman in line behind you is getting impatient, hearing her not so subtle exasperated sigh as you continue to search through your bag, your cheeks burning a deeper shade of crimson when you catch the barista’s tight lipped smile in your direction, her attempt at reassuring you as part of her job, though you can tell she wishes you’d hurry up as well

As if your debit card declining a mortifying four times hadn’t been enough, but then your attempt at using your credit card was just as unsuccessful, the sound of the failed transaction on a stupid 6£ drink sounding out for everyone in queue to know how broke you really were

Embarrassment coursing through your veins, already thinking about how you’ll never have the guts to come back to this cafe again as you desperately search for enough spare change at the bottom of your purse to cover this morning’s coffee, your scrambling comes to a pause when a large shadow suddenly eclipses the overheard lighting above you

In the midst of your frantic searching, a tall figure has come to stand just next to you, their gloved hand stretching past your figure to tap a card against the machine, the happy beep of the teller confirming the transaction’s been accepted this time

“I’ve got tha’ for ya.” A deep, gravelly Manchester accent mutters low enough for only you to hear, before the figure tries to retreat back into queue unnoticed

You eyebrows shoot up in shock, the barista equally appearing surprised but not displeased as she finally gets to hand you your drink and quickly wish you a good day before she’s already trying to help the woman waiting behind you

You step aside out of the queue, swinging your head around to try and spot your mystery saviour who stepped in and helped you out without even needing so much as a thanks in return apparently

You spot him instantly, the absolute size of him easily giving him away. No one else in the small cafe could have created such a large, intimidating shadow, let alone spoken in such a deep voice that sent chills down your spine

He stands a head above anyone else in queue, currently last in the line after he stepped out to pay for you. He’s wearing a simple black medical mask on the lower half of his face, a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head offers you only a small glimpse of his eyes, which are noticeably pointed at the ground at the moment

You’re walking towards him before you even realize it

“Th- thank you. I don’t-” You’re cut off when those same eyes glance up to meet your own, stealing your breath away. He seems almost as surprised that you’re speaking to him as you were when he stepped in and paid for you, his eyes betraying his shock for only a fraction of a second before he’s steeling himself and his eyes darken. You get the vague impression that he isn’t someone who’s used to being caught off guard

“I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.” You say to him, wanting to express just how grateful you are to him for his random act of kindness, but he says nothing in return, hardly blinking once as he simply stares back at you

“I can’t understand why my cards weren’t working today. I promise I don’t like- this isn’t a thing I do. Go into coffee shops and pretend I can’t pay, hoping someone else will…” You awkwardly laugh to yourself, beginning to ramble in an effort to fill in the silence

“Anyways I just, really wanted to say thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.” You’re scrambling now, attempting to save face as this man just looks at you, an arm beginning to swing your purse off your shoulder in hopes of maybe finding enough change to appease this guy

“Not necessary.” The deep voice finally says again, his eyes leaving yours to scan you from top to bottom and then back up again, almost examining the sight before him. You almost feel like a deer caught in the headlights for a moment, seeing the mask moving along with the sound of that gravelly voice an enrapturing vision

“Oh- well I- I mean that’s really nice of you, but I swear I can pay you back.” You recognize that feeling beginning to swirl low in your stomach, familiar with the warmth gathering in the apples of your cheeks; your body realizing it a split second before your brain catches up. You’re kind of into this guy. You can’t see much of his face, but the sliver you do see certainly isn’t unattractive, his height and build speaks for itself, with a voice like that and the fact that he’s just saved your butt and expected not even a thanks in return, you’re wondering if he’s too good to be true

“Do you come here often?” You’re asking him before you can stop yourself, watching a single one of his eyebrows arching ever so slightly. “I just mean that- I come here a lot- sometimes. And if you’re here next time I’m here, then maybe I can pay you back, buy you a drink.”

You’re losing confidence the longer he stands there, not answering. What were you thinking? This guy was just trying to be nice, get the annoying girl holding up the line out of the way so that people can order their drinks and go about their day, and here you are holding him up even longer-

“If it’ll make ya happy.” He’s suddenly answering, snapping you out of your downward spiral. If you could see the grin that slowly creeps upon your face, you might be otherwise embarrassed, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Oh okay, amazing. I mean- yeah that would- that would be cool. Okay.” You reply, glancing at your watch. “I’m not sure for you, but um, I’m almost always here each Sunday. Around this time.”

“I’ll be here next Sunday. Around this time.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Next in line please.” The barista at the corner calls out, interrupting the two of you. You glance back to see that it’s now his turn to order, feeling bad that you’re about to hold up the queue yet again.

“Great. I’ll see you Sunday then. Thank you again, seriously. I really owe you one.” You say, gripping the straps of your bag tighter as you offer him a sheepish smile before ducking out of the busy cafe, a small grin playing across your face.

Ghost watches your figure through the large windows as you walk out of the shop, across the street, disappearing into the crowd of morning goers strolling about. Only once he cannot see you anymore, does he walk up to the counter, slipping a 20£ note to the barista along with a slight nod of acknowledgement, before he himself is turning to walk out of the cafe, empty handed, intent on catching up to you from a distance.

~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

AKA Ghost has been stalking you for months and finally comes up with a way to have you approach him

[lilhughesy]

The Luke piece ground my heart into dust. Yes I will spend the rest of the day daydreaming about Luke now in the apartment alone, making one cup of coffee in silence, eating alone, and realizing that he did still love her. What can I say, I like men being pathetic, begging, and groveling.

I Remember Everything | Luke Hughes x Fem!Reader

part one. part three.

warnings! angst!!!! reminiscing old memories, dealing with a break up, and I think thats it? word count: 3.1k

summary: He hasn't been the same since the last time you spoke. He's been playing terribly, his coffee doesn't taste right, and it's been too quiet. Everything in his life reminds him of you and he doesn't know where to go now and it doesn't help that he remembers everything about you.

a/n: eek! part 2 to Look at You Now!! I was so surprised to see how much attention that fic received considering it was something that I wrote without any plan or idea of what I wanted it to be. Thank you so much for the love and support, you have no idea how much it means to me! I hope you like part 2!! <3

He couldn’t remember the last time he woke up to a cold and empty bed and found it normal. Like when he used to cherish having a large bed to himself in high school. His body instinctively rolled over to reach for you, only to find nothing there. Your pillow remained untouched and in its original upright position, the comforter laid perfectly. He frowned to himself, feeling his heart sink slightly at your absence.

It had been just over a week since he came home from morning skate to see all of your belongings missing from your apartment. Your matching shoes were no longer on the rack by the door, your fluffy throw blankets gone from the couches, the stack of your read books all evaporated into thin air. He was confused at where you had put everything, maybe you were doing some cleaning.

“Hey baby?” He called out, placing his wallet and keys on the kitchen counter before his eyes started to scan over the space. He took his shaker bottle from his bag and rinsed it with water from the sink before putting it in the drying rack. He went to open the dishwasher to start putting away the cleaned dishes, as he typically did — only to realize that they were already put away.

He opened the cabinet doors to see the plates stacked up, but he also noticed how your various mugs that were stored in the cupboard were gone.

“Babe?” He repeated, cautiously closing the small door and heading towards your shared bedroom. He pushed the door open, only to see it vacant.

The bed was perfectly made, the sheets all tucked and the pillows stacked in place. But the spare hoodie you always left on your side of the bed for easy access wasn’t there, and the candle on your side of the bed wasn’t there either. In fact, there was nothing on your night stand other than the singular lamp.

Panic set into his gut, he immediately went to your side of the bed and opened the small drawer where you kept your journal, past cards he had written you, lip balm, photos of the two of you and a few other trinkets. They were all gone. The drawer was empty.

He rushed over to your shared closet, to see the racks bare, dresser was empty and not a singular trace of you was left behind.

Other than his old UMich hoodie that you loved so much, folded and placed on the top of his dresser. Along with a small piece of paper which read:

I can’t do this with you anymore Luke. I can’t keeping waiting for you to love me back. I went back home. Don’t try to call me or to find me. Good luck with everything, I hope you get everything that you deserve in life.

His feet carried him to the kitchen where he started to make his morning coffee. He stood by the coffee machine, watching it slowly pour the steaming dark liquid into the only clean mug he found at the back of the cupboard. The bitter scent of the coffee filtered into the air of the kitchen, the faint steam swirling around the machine as it brewed.

He held the warm ceramic in his hands, taking an inhale before a sip of the drink.

It didn’t taste right, even though it had been the same coffee pod that you always bought. He had used the same milk and creamer, but the ratio hadn't been the same. It didn't taste the same as how you made it for him every morning. It left a taste in his mouth that was a little too bitter. It was a bit too strong. He sighed, placing the mug on the counter whilst sitting on the cold bar stool. Like muscle memory, his body twisted towards the left, only to see your seat empty.

“What are you gonna do while I’m gone this weekend?” He asked you, as you rested your head on his shoulder. You shrugged in response,

“There’s a new cafe that opened a few blocks away that I wanted to check out,” You told him, glancing up to meet his eyes, “And maybe do some shopping… Artizia released new colours for their sweat fleeces so maybe I’ll treat myself to a new sweat suit.”

A smile filled with adoration grew on his face, “That sounds nice. Maybe you should get us matching sweat suits so we can be cozy together.”

You perked at his suggestion, “You’d wear an Artizia sweat suit to match with me?!”

“Yeah, they’re super comfortable.” He chuckled, relaxing into his seat, “I wear that black hoodie you got a while ago all the time”

“What?” Your eyes widened, placing your mug near his, “I’ve been looking for that hoodie for so long! You’ve had it this whole time?”

He grinned, fully amused at your reactions, “So it’s fine whenever you take my clothes and the second I take one of your hoodies, it’s a crime?”

You rolled your eyes playfully and pouted, “I’ll get over it if you let me pick the colour for our matching sweat suits.”

“Fine by me.” He reached for his phone and fiddled with it for a moment before placing it screen down, “I’m going to miss you this weekend.”

“I’ll miss you more,” You sighed, “It’s always so quiet and lonely when you’re on your roadies.”

He leaned to you, planting a tender kiss on your lips, “I know baby, I’m sorry. I’ll call you the second we land.”

“I love you.” You smiled against his lips, “I’m always so proud of you.”

“I love you, my gorgeous girl.” He said softly before standing up from his seat, “I have to get my things ready, Jack’s probably coming soon.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

He finished the rest of his morning coffee, walking over to place it in the sink before wandering towards your shared bedroom. He looked over his shoulder to see you pulling out your phone as he entered the room. He grabbed his suit that you had steamed for him the night before that was hanging on the door. He quickly changed, buttoning his shirt before going to the bathroom. He ran his hands through his hair a few times to adjust his curls. They didn’t look right, so he opted for a black beanie to hide the mess of his curls before starting to brush his teeth.

“Babe? Why did you send me $300?” He heard your voice coming from the main room.

He chuckled to himself, placing his toothbrush on the edge of the sink, “For your shopping!”

“What?!” You exclaimed, “You do realize I can pay for my own things right?”

“It turns me on,” He laughed, shaking his head slightly while grabbing his toothbrush again, “I like when you spend my money, babe.”

“You’re so weird.” You giggled, now leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom and admiring your boyfriend, “Thank you, my love.”

He rinsed his mouth, using the hand towel to wipe his face before approaching you. He kissed your temple, “You’re welcome, sweet girl.”

You helped him slip on his suit jacket, your hands smoothing out the material on his chest. Your hands rest on his shoulders, “I like this suit on you.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at you with his hands falling to your waist.

You hummed, eyes shamelessly scanning your boyfriend’s body, “Yeah.”

He kissed your hair, “I should get going.”

His fingers interlaced with yours, guiding you towards the front door where his travel bags were. His strong arms wrapped around your middle, embracing you tightly, “I love you and I’ll miss you.”

“I love you.”

He leaned down to kiss you, before kissing your forehead.

His eyes lingered on the empty chair, nearly visualizing your typical morning self sitting next to him. Your gorgeous legs crossing over, your fluffy socks clad feet, his shirt or a hoodie fitting large on your smaller frame. Your hair twisted on the top of your head, the smaller strands falling from your claw clip to frame your beautiful face. The softness in your eyes when you looked at him, the constant warmth in your smile whenever you spoke to him.

He remembered it all.

His phone screen lit up with a text notification from Quinn, likely checking up on him. But he wasn't focused on his brother's message, rather being fixated on his lock screen photo that he has yet to change since setting it six-months ago. It was a photo of you cuddled into his side on the boat during the summer, you were engulfed in your favourite UMich hoodie that he gave to you. The warm summer air blowing your hair across your face, but it didn't take away the bright smile that you wore while looking at him. His favourite smile shining at him and he looked like the happiest he's ever been. And ever will be.

It was the picture perfect summer day. Mid-July, the sun was radiating in the sky during its peak hours which brought out the freckles on his face, made his hair a few shades lighter, and brought his skin a sun-kissed coloured tan. The breeze from the lake running through their hair as music and laughter filled the air.

The sun had started to set, bringing out the beautiful hues of pinks and oranges across the sky like a watercolour painting. It was a tinge colder with the night air trickling in. He was worried about you getting cold on the water, especially with the additional wind created as the boat drove around the lake. Luckily, he made sure to have packed your comfort hoodie which you were currently wrapped up in.

He had an arm lazily draped over your shoulders as you leaned into his side, laughing at whatever Cole had said from across the boat. You were nursing a High Noon in one hand, the other resting comfortably on his knee. He leaned down to press a small kiss on your shoulder and then one more on your temple.

Jack was watching the two of you, his heart softening at how his younger brother stared at you with such love in his eyes. Jack had watched him grow up, yet he only started to act with this level of softness and care when he started dating you. You grounded the hyper in your boyfriend, allowing him to be calmer, at peace, and move through life with a new level of ease. Jack claimed that any one, including those who have never experienced love, would be able to see how in love his younger brother was. It was written all over his face.

Your hair was whipping around your face, causing you to giggle at yourself from imaging how ridiculous you looked. You turned to face your boyfriend, a goofy smile drawing upon your lips, "Help me," You laughed as another strand of hair flies into your face.

He chuckled, his two hands moving to brush your hair out of your face then moving to gently caress your temples. His larger hands cupped your cheeks, they turned rosy as he looked at you deeply with that sparkle in his eyes.

"Hi my gorgeous girl, there you are." He said to you softly, his finger occasionally moving away another loose strand.

"Hi Lukey." You beamed, admiring how perfect he looked with the slight sun burn on his nose, his summertime freckles more evident than ever, how his hair appeared almost golden with the amount of sun its received. Not to mention the most amazing array of colours that were streaking through the sky.

Jack, in that moment, pulled up the camera app on his phone and sniped a photo of the two of you.

He snapped out of his daze, finally reading the notification that was displayed on his screen.

Q: Hey Lukey, just checking in to see how you've been holding up

Q: You know that you can call me whenever you need me. Always here for you bro

He sighed, placing his phone screen down on the counter. His hand ran through his curls and dragged across his jaw as old memories flooded his head. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for his own liking. It gave him too much freedom in overthinking, about you, how terrible he had been playing this past week, how Nico and Jack have been on his ass lately. He didn't like the silence. He had grown accustomed to the sounds of your show playing on the TV quietly or your voice humming to music or how you would call out his name when you missed him.

The only sounds in the entire apartment was the hum of the fridge and the quiet patter of rain outside the windows. He frowned, reaching to turn on the speaker that lived in the kitchen for those mid-cooking dances. He turned on his usual playlist, hoping that overriding the silence with music would resolve his trip down memory lane. He waited a few moments before realizing which song was playing: your favourite one.

His heart twisted, multiple memories of you singing and dancing your heart out to your song overwhelming his sense. So, he skipped it. The next song wasn't any better, it brought back memories of the two of you singing it together on late night drives. Old Morgan Wallen was always played on those occasions, it got skipped. The following song was one that the both of you held very dear to your hearts. It was the song that was playing in your dorm when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

The two of you hung out pretty often whenever he wasn't at Yost. He enjoyed your company, you were always able to match his energy. Whether if he was amped up before a game or tired from a long practice, you were always able to make him feel comfortable. He was able to be himself around you.

He found himself being drawn more towards you than any one else that he knew. He liked how his heart would flutter at the sight of you, or how his stomach would do summersaults the you leaned closer to him to whisper something at the library. He loved how you were so authentically yourself.

The two of you were laying on your bed as the two of you listened to 7 Summers, as you claimed that it was the summer song. He just loved hearing you talk. He swore you had honey dripping from your voice which made it so addictive.

He was fully aware that you had him wrapped around your finger, he had been completely enamoured by you since the first moment you met.

"Will you be my girlfriend?" He asked, interrupting your explanation of the song.

He watched as you face turned pink and how you stumbled out a response, "I- Wha- I just- Did- Actually? Like really?" You stuttered, your hands clamping over your blushing cheeks.

He nodded, "Yeah, I've been wanting to ask you for awhile now."

"I'd love to be your girlfriend, Lukey." And so the song of the summer was suddenly given a whole new meaning to you.

It felt so wrong to listen to all these songs without you. They used to bring him his favourite happy memories that revolved around you, but now all they do is hurt him. He remembered everything, every detail, every memory of you. They haunt him for what he messed up on.

The thought of you was the only thing that was keeping him company in the void that you had left in his life and his heart when you left a week ago. He didn't know how to navigate through life without you by his side. You were always such a constant that it was normalized for you to be there for him every step of the way. You cheered him on, you celebrated the wins, you held him up during the lows, you relit his flame when things got dark, you supported him when no one else did, and you loved him so deeply and weren't ever afraid to show it.

He missed you more than anything. He knew that he had taken you and your love for granted, when you were one of the people who helped him get to where he was now. Without you, he wouldn't have had the courage to move to New Jersey to achieve his dreams. He was always scared of the backlash he would get or the comparisons he'd receive between him and his super star brothers. But you understood him, and you saw him. You told him that you believed in him and that you were proud of him. You told him to go get that dream that dreamt ever since he was a little boy.

All you ever shown him was love and kindness, your love was soft and tender yet it lit his entire soul on fire. You loved him from multiple state lines away for years and he never felt concerned about the strength of your relationship.

He felt hollow and empty without you.

He was himself when he was with you, you brought out the best in him. It was your love that brought colour to his life; he only realized now that you lost your colour with the absence of his love. You were once all the colours at full brightness and vibrancy, but day-by-day he turned away from you. He focused towards things that he couldn't even remember now, and the vibrancy dimmed and your brightness faded and you became a shell of the woman you used to be. Just like how he was now just a shell of the man he used to be.

He knew he shouldn't, you asked him to leave you alone. He was selfish before. But he knew he couldn't continue to move through life the way he had the past week, so he decided to be selfish again.

Luke: Hey, do you have time to talk?

Luke: I know that I'm probably the last person you want to hear from right now, but please this is important.

part three.

[lostintransist]

Hell's Spawn | House Cat

Part 1 | AO3

It had been two weeks since you had seen any of them. This is not too unusual; so far, they have tended to disappear for between a few weeks and a few months.

When one of them did appear next it surprised you which one arrived. Deep in the walk-in, you had been putting away a delivery. Getting the new food put away required a lot of shifting so that the oldest items to the front. This delivery had arrived late, nearly ten pm and you were finally getting a chance to put it all away nearing twelve am. The bell ringing brought you from the chilled box.

Nikto stepped in the door, beanie pulled low and turtleneck and mask covering everything but the sliver of his eyes. You wonder if he would cover those too, Krueger did it.

Heavy boot treads deposit him at the counter to stare up at the menu.

“I know your order. Go and sit. I’ll bring it out in a moment,” you call from the back.

He shakes his head without glancing at you. His eyes are trained on the menu when you duck back into the chiller to finish your task. Nikto could wait. If other patrons appeared the job would need to wait. Another six or so minutes saw you free of the refrigerator and you were blowing your nose and washing hands before stepping back into view.

Your eyes land on him first. Damn, man is fit if nothing else. He isn’t beefy like König or Krueger. Neither did his height stretch his muscles. Nikto didn’t need more distance from the bottom of his boots. All the muscle you can see through his fitted sweater is fit and appealing.

Stepping up behind the cash register you lift a brow.

“Not wanting black coffee today?”

“No,” his voice is harsh but soft as if his vocal cords had been injured, “Your favorite.”

“My favorite?” Your face reacts without you as your brows lift.

He nods once, eyes drifting over every bit of you he can see over the counter.

“Sure,” shrugging as you tap in the blended chai with two shots of espresso.

Could never admit it to your boss but you didn’t like coffee all that much. Learning to get past the taste of it had been a critical step to passing so many classes as fast as you did but you would rather have a light cup of tea.

Setting the price and sending it through to charge his card you turn from the machine. Nikto doesn’t wait for an invitation to join you behind the counter, fingers drifting across the counters you cleaned recently.

“Quit touching, I will be done in a moment,” you snapped at him as you pulled out everything you needed for his drink.

When you had his drink all settled turning found him touching the counters, again.

A quick hiss and his blue eyes snapped to yours.

“If you can’t quit touching go sit,” pointing to the chair you lift your brows at him.

Once Nikto sat you crossed the small kitchen to hand him his drink and a straw. He took the cold drink in his gloved hands. Leaving him to his own devices you start on cleaning. While possible for more people to arrive cleaning up tables and the bathroom were good parts of closing duties that are easier if they need to be repeated.

Simon, one of your boss’ men, popped open the front door at nearly one-thirty am. Popping out the headphone in your ear you gift him a smile from between the tables, a couple more swipes and you would be done with that section of mopping.

“Hi Simon, what’s up?”

“Johnny said he forgot a book here today, any chance you’ve seen it?”

“Yeah should be on the staff counter in the back.” Pushing the mop bucket into the kitchen to the cleaning supplies you leave your focus on not letting the water spill.

“Why is he in the corner?”

The lack of any intonation in his voice told you that Simon had caught sight of Nikto.

“House cat wouldn’t stay off the counter,” you reply as you dump the water and prepare to turn it on again to mop the kitchen.

“House cat? More like a big cat.” Simon remarked, eyeing Nikto up with a knowing gaze.

You don’t spare either man locked in a death stare a glance. If you had you would have seen Nikto promising death to Simon if the big man fucked up his chance to spend more time with you. You would have also seen Simon assessing your level of danger and gotten more suspicious when he determined that the soldier that claimed no comfort would heel at your command.

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure he would purr for me if I asked.”

Leaving the mop where it was you snag a box for the remaining pastries. Simon could always be counted on to take them home. Simon’s side eye caught you as you drifted past to box up the leftover food.

“What? Big cat’s chuff, they can’t purr.”

“Something is wrong with you,” he says, concern between his eyebrows.

“Meh, you don’t really have any space to talk. I’ve seen some of your scars. Most people don’t walk away after those.” Feet keep moving, drifting past him as he narrows his eyes at you.

Stacking the pastries neatly and closing the lid you turn and hand it to Simon who has also found Johnny’s art journal.

“Need anything else? After I mop in here Nikto is going to walk me out and head home himself.”

“No,” he drags the word out like he is contemplating how to prolong his time here.

“Good, switch the sign and lock the door on your way out won’t you?” Calling over your shoulder while you begin to mop the kitchen so you can finally go home and rest.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight.”

Simon is a man who has learned when to leave well enough alone. The bells chime as the door clicks shut and the lock slides home.

“Why make him leave?” The same rasping tones come from Nikto as before.

Keeping your focus on the mopping you tap his knee with a finger.

“Pull your feet up until the floor is dry.”

He does as you ask, hand shooting out to hold yours in his gloved ones. The leather is soft on your skin.

“Why?”

Glancing at him you lift a brow.

“Funny you think I can ‘make’ Simon do anything. He knows I can handle myself and that if I didn’t want you here I would ask him to remove you.”

Lifting and dropping one shoulder you pull your hand back, stepping past him to finish mopping.

“We would do anything for you,” Nikto’s words are almost too quiet to hear.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

You miss the sharp twitch of Nikto’s body and how his eyes glaze over slightly as he is pulled more into his internal world to battle the demons in his mind.

When the last of the closing duties is complete you collect your things and wait at the back door. Nikto gets the message from a glance and springs to his feet. He opens the back door for you closes it, and then waits as you lock it. He repeats the process with the car.

Starting the engine you roll the window down.

“Get some rest Nikto, you seem tired.”

He stares at you, the darkness of the night nearly swallowing him whole. Only the blue of his eyes was visible, like a cat watching from beyond the door frame.

“Night.”

The raspy reply follows you all the way home.

Hell Masterlist | Masterlist

@demothers-empty-blog

[whowrotethenote]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

A/N // This is another short story in the universe of Biggest Fan. This takes place after Pt 3 All We Do. Everyone can thank this anon 💗

Warnings // Brief angst // Mild smut // Profanity // Age gap // Adultery

Word count // 4.1k

Inspo // Pulled some inspo for the scenes from My Sister’s Keeper. Very good movie—I recommend everybody watch.

Disclaimer // Part Three // Biggest Fan Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

May 31, 2024

Prom. 

I heard it’s one of those days a girl will remember for the rest of her life. Like her wedding day. Sweet sixteen. Bachelorette party. First baby shower. Graduating high-school. Turning twenty-one or thirty. 

All eyes on her. Sisters, family friends, and cousins, all with a hand in helping her get ready. Soaked in the attention and exhilarating commotion of it all. Looking in the mirror with nowhere to hide. Face all done up, hair laid to perfection, with a long and elegant dress that never seemed perfect enough—all to come to the liberating realization of, ‘damn, I really am one of one.’

Posing every which way for everyone’s camera. 

“Look this way!”

“Smile!”

“Get closer!”

“Okay, now one with Daddy!”

The tears in her mother’s eyes as she admires her handy work from afar. The realization that her babygirl is no longer that—both equally gut-wrenching and rhapsodic. Her father—arms crossed and watching the madness with the same epiphany as mom. 

Riding in the limo feeling like Cinderella with her horse and carriage. Her Prince seated next to  her, who really is nothing more than a glorified accessory. Closest friends from her class surrounding them, passing liquor they weren’t old enough to have back and forth, trying not to spill it on their expensive tuxes and gowns. 

Dancing all night and having to take the heels off you spent weeks deciding on. The bright lights. The music that set the tone for your youth. The drama. Judging Prom King and Prom Queen. Creating moments that’ll grant themselves a single apartment space in your mind, no matter if you want them to or not. Letting your date feel you up back in the limo or one of his friend’s cars—and maybe, just maybe going all the way.

And all the years after—a sparkle forming in her eye as she reminisces on being young, carefree and beautiful. Rushing to pull her phone and scroll through the archives to show off a picture of a girl she didn’t even know anymore.

Prom night. It's one of those nights a girl will never forget. At least that’s what I’ve heard…

The hospital is hosting their annual Prom Night Gala tonight. A celebration for the high-school patients who won’t ever have that traditional night to remember, due to the burden of their body attacking itself from the inside out. 

We allow the younger kids to participate too. My little warrior Jaylen, is my date— a fact I didn’t know until he so proudly announced it this morning during rounding. Poor, Demi. I think he switched up on her last minute. 

All the biggest donors come out if they can. There’s a real DJ. Catered food. If we’re lucky at least one artist who’s actually been on the radio before, comes to perform live. The ballroom on the second floor is made to look like a real high school gym. Vegas Nights. That’s the theme this year. And we did not disappoint.

Billboards. Fake palm trees. Neon lights and sparkling signs. Slot machines. Even a Blackjack and Roulette table set up with dealers. Blown up playing cards and dice on the stage. Showgirls in the most exotic, feather headdresses and sequined costumes. It looks like Las Vegas Boulevard threw up in here. Billie Eilish and Tyla are scheduled to do fifteen minute sets each soon. Not a single expense has been spared.

Kids from every floor accompanied by all the staff who are volunteering for the night, spread amongst the room like ants. Everyone dressed to impress. Floor length gowns, gaudy jewelry, and dark tuxedos.

My current role is simple. Stand by the door and greet all the guests. The champagne colored silk gown with an open back, by a designer I never even heard of—sways elegantly as I abandon my post for just a second to grab something to drink. I shake my head at the bubbling of grape sparkling cider dancing on my tongue in the very misleading champagne flute. It’s not that I was expecting the real thing—but it made me think about Demi telling me she hid some wine in the staff room to help everyone get through the night. 

Fishing through possible escape routes to swiftly snag some of the real thing and return before anyone notices I’m even gone—I’m temporarily thrown off by a familiar boisterous voice from behind me where the entrance is.

“Very nice to see you, again!” I know that voice. Turning in place, my eyes lock on them immediately. Paul Heyman in his usual suit and tie attire, shaking hands with the Steven J Corwin—the hospital’s CEO. 

Beside both prominent men, a shocking presence of the most prominent of them all— the Tribal Chief himself. 

Spheres of light bounce off of his sharp features in the dimly lit room. He’s just perfect. It's impossible not to stare. I’ve seen that face all year round and I find a new attribute to obsess over each time. Tonight, I think it's his ears. As big as they are, they fit him. 

His dark hair shines as usual. Dark grey suit tailored perfectly against his stocky frame. Designer shoes I'm sure, with a plain Jane silver watch to top it all off. Don’t let the lack of jewels fool you. I’m sure the watch is worth ten times the decorations and accommodations of the room we stand in. 

A full breath escapes past my lips after subconsciously holding it. He’s like a UFO. Doesn’t matter how frequent or lack there of, of the sighting—it’s always a spectacle. His presence and absence felt in equally consuming shifts. Magnetic. The most proper way to describe him—Roman or Joe. 

He must feel me. His eyes scan the full room and the closer they shift to me, the quicker my breath picks up and the denser the tornado in my stomach becomes. 

His eyes land on me like bombs. First my face and gradually down the rest of my body and back up.

“Hi,” he mouths. A smile tugging at the corner of his upper lip.

“Hi,” I mouth back.

My head bows, concealing the smile burning my face. Not just from him, but from anyone else walking by that has no access or awareness of our bubble. All the man did was greet you, Lana.

His eyes penetrate my body again. A subtle shake of his head following after, ensuing heat. 

“Wow,” he mouths. In this more than air conditioned room, it begins to feel as hot as it’s been outside the past few weeks. Scorching. Immediate cause for perspiration. 

I want to run to him. Squeeze him. Feel myself fold under the weight of his muscular arms. Kiss him a thousand times and thank him for the gifts, but especially the G Wagon full of roses. I haven’t seen him since Miami. Everyday felt like a month without him. The time spent apart always expands the affection. I needed answers. Not from Paul, but directly from him. I was desperate for them. But standing right here, right now—watching him watch me with no concern for who could be watching us—I don’t care for the why. 

Just a mere hour into the gala and I am suffering in silence. A boiling pot whose water is ready to overflow. His tall frame is a good length on the other side of the room by the stage. Still, the invisible string, the force of a magnet draws me to him no matter what. Like the sun I feel his eyes beaming on me every now and again. 

Billie croons When The Party’s Over into the microphone with the dreamlike beat casting over the room—serenading everyone. Everyone swaying in pairs. Some staff. Parents. The patients. 

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Call me friend, but keep me closer

In a trance, his bold eyes warping me in from across the way, I feel a familiar presence next to me accompanied by vanilla perfume. I look over at Demi who now stands by me, surveying the room in her all black halter neck gown. Stunning as ever. 

“Ghost ward,” she mumbles. I feel her tugging my phone from my hand. It’s then I pick up what she puts down. 

I bunch the silk material in my hand, careful not to step on it and make a beeline to the double doors. Swinging them open, I enter into the hallway. A few of the staff and some parents of the patients linger about. I offer a small smile walking further down the hall to find another door with a steps sign on it. 

Pushing it open, my heels clack against the steps as I anticipate the slam of the door—but it's delayed. Another pair of footsteps follow shortly after. Two more floors. I hike the dress up a little higher. 

Landing on the floor I intend to, I push the door open again with less force than usual as to not alarm anyone. I kick my heels off and tip toe past the security station. Per usual, the greying man who’s always on duty on this floor, that’s mostly empty, is counting sheep. Neck craning, mouth agape, with drool falling out one side. I shake my head.

The further I walk down the hall, the more eerie it becomes. Colder. Less inviting. Hospitals will never fail to throw me off. They just reek of death and despair. 

Nobody ever comes down this ward. Hence the ghost ward. There was a flooring issue when the hospital first expanded some years ago, which prompted the hospital to remove majority of the equipment from the OR’s, seeing as they were declared unfit for procedures.

I don’t look back once. I already know he’s following me. I can feel him. Gentle giant. Intimidating and comforting all at once. He is a walking paradox that keeps me up at night more than I like to admit.

I stop at one room in particular. No significance. All the rooms are empty the same. This one just feels right.

Just as I reach out and grab the handle, a large hand comes over my shoulder, assisting me in opening it. That comforting manly scent robbing my smell. Another hand gripping my hip guiding us in. It's cold and dark. Moonlight streaks from the shut blinds, serving as the only incision to being able to see. 

A subtle push from his hands on my hips, brings us all the way in with literally no end in sight. My hands reach out to find the cold surface of the wall. Only things to be heard are his footsteps on the linoleum floor and our uneven breathing patterns.

Through the chilling air, his warm mouth makes contact with the left side of my neck. I angle it to make room for him, sucking in a sharp breath. Four weeks without his touch was pure torture. I was a fiend taking her first hit. He inhales deep as if he’s trying to create a memory with the smell. 

Open mouth kisses find my shoulder now, as he expertly pulls the thin strap down, coaxing me to follow suit on the right strap. The thin material pools around my hips, exposing my breast to the icy room. He kisses down, starting at my upper back, middle and then the space right above my ass. The hairs of his beard pricking me while he leaves a trail of goosebumps in the wake of his kisses. 

He sinks his teeth down, sending a shocking tingle everywhere that matters. I’m dripping wet. I can feel it.

I’m supposed to be thanking him, but somehow this feels like another gift stacked atop of the others.

Gently, his big hand nudges my hip to turn me around. My eyes bounce over his. Looking for his approval, but all I find is something else. Something deeper—something grander. It covers us like a heated blanket. 

His pointer finger reaches out. On my stomach at first, then up to the side of my ribs where my left boob rests. He comes up further, outlining the shape of my breast. My eyes follow his, which follow the trail of his finger. My nipples pebble harder under the soft touch, excitement brewing, growing more feral with every lingering second. 

Then his hand comes all the way up by my face. He tugs gently at one of the loose curls falling around my face instead of inside the hair clip. It recoils like the metal coil inside a battery holder, hitting my nose, causing us both to release something between a deep breath and a laugh in the small space between us. 

His hand disappears behind me. I feel the relief of my clip being undone as my curls fall down over my shoulders. We stand in silence as I take him in, while he takes in all of his alterations of me. Every second that goes by makes it harder to stand still and not touch him. 

He starts to lean down. My eagerness not allowing me any patience as I close my eyes and lean in the meet him halfway, but theres nothing but air before me. Opening my eyes, he’s right there. So I close them again and lean further—finding nothing but space again. My eyes pop open. I lean more and catch him inching back with a sly smirk. 

I let go. Allowing him to have his way and take control like always. Staying as still and patient as possible until his lips finally brush against mine. Soft as a fluffy blanket fresh out the dryer. His stiff tongue finds its way past my lips. Twirling and sucking every crevice he can find. Mirroring the way he eats at me down below, making my insides sear like I am sweating out a fever. 

My hands grab at his suit jacket, nearly popping the buttons from trying to get it off of him. He’s left in the black tee that was under it—snug and form fitting over his muscles. Exactly how I prefer him. 

My bottom lip gets caught in between his. I moan out for the first time when his head dips to flick my hardened nipples. His vast, wet tongue rolling over one and then sucking like he expects something to come from it. 

A strong hand wraps around me, pulling me up while the other guides a leg around his waist. My back collides with the frigid wall as he leverages me between it and his hard body, while he takes off the shirt. I steal another fervent kiss before it's even all the way off and cop feels of his rigid abs. His body is unbelievable. 

The unbuckling of his belt has my heart pounding out of my chest. He scrunches the dress up higher on my hips before rubbing himself up and down my dripping slit. Thick and heavy. He slides all the way in, driving me up the wall. We both release a sharp breath as my hands cup the sides of his face. Not forgetting to show those big ears some love. 

He had done so good in the foreplay and building up the blocks of anticipation, I nearly cum upon entry. It’s just that damn good. 

He stays right there for a minute. Every time he breathes out, I breathe in and vice versa. He licks into my mouth again. Driving himself in—barely out—then back in again at a steady pace. 

“Mmm,” I groan. Still trapping my expressions with his kiss. I grip his massive shoulders tight. 

“Always so wet for me,” he whispers on my lips. “Fit me so perfectly,” he adds before groaning out. 

I throw my head back against the wall. Growing more delirious with every thrust and every praise that makes it past those plump lips. 

“My prom was nothing like this.”

“Yeah, cause it was eighteen seventy-six,” I counter. I squirm and giggle when I feel a firm finger dig into my side. 

I lay in only a black thong. My head in his lap as he rests his bare back against the wall, with long legs outstretched and crossing at the ankles. Our clothes spread and decorating the floor around us. The tiny window on the door slightly fogging still from the aftereffects of all we’ve done in the small space. 

“All we had was a DJ. Some tables with some bullshit tablecloths. A chip and juice table maybe. I don’t know. Definitely no Billie Eilish. And no craps table—that’s for damn sure.” I laugh. The dealer tables were a bit much. Half of these kids didn’t even follow the rules to Uno—let alone any other card game. I remember one time Demi and I almost had to hem Jaylen up for throwing a draw two over my regular two. “What about you, babygirl? What was prom like?”

An immediate sense of pain internally flushes through me. The kind when a bad memory that you thought of as forgotten is now unlocked and recovered.

I shake my head. “I-I didn’t go. Got all dressed up and…the hospital called. My dad had to go into emergency surgery. The cancer was in his brain and he had a lot of seizures.” The flashbacks come quick and steady. Not even getting a chance to properly wipe off the makeup my mom spent an hour on, that the tears ended up washing away on their own. The deafening silence as we all sat in the waiting room, my dress still on, anticipating to hear something—anything from the nurses or a doctor. "So, yeah I ended up not going. Didn’t even make it into the limo.”

I don't look up. I keep my focus stagnant on my low French tips. I don’t need the look. I already know the one. The pity. Poor Lana. She missed her senior prom because her dad was sick. I don’t need to see him. The pity is all in the heavy silence that follows my mood killing story.

“So… in a way…this is your prom too? Not just the kids?”

I stop messing around with my nails, letting his perspective sink in. 

“I guess so—yeah.”

“So, did I live up to that prom date expectation?”

“I heard that the girl was supposed to give it up after prom.” His deep chuckle serenades the room. “But other than that, I guess you did okay. Even though you stole me from my original date. Jaylen already called dibs. Shame on you.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think I saw little man feeling on Tyla out there.” 

“Men.” Our amusement dies down and the room is quiet again. A small buzz from the air vent above us. 

“Why a G Wagon?” I cut sharply through the silence finally. 

“You remember that night in the Hamptons? The first time,” he clarifies. “When we left the house.” Boy, I dream about that night. I nod. “You couldn’t stop touching the car. You didn’t have to say it. I could tell.” Something inside me stirs. He watches me even when I think he’s not paying me any mind. “How is it though? It’s driving alright?”

“Mmhm,” I hum. 

“Might have to take me for a ride one of these days,” he proposes. But I know better. Idle hopes that do not cater to our situation. One of these days. Yeah—picture that.

“And the roses?”

One of his shoulders go up. “Just my own personal touch.” My head is in a frenzy, but I’m also on a cloud. I want to bombard him with a thousand questions. All the questions Demi and I raked through the day the truck got delivered. 

What does this mean?

Has he done this before?

Should I keep it?

Whose name is it in?

Do men still offer women they don’t like flowers? A car full of them?

I’m afraid to pop the bubble we sit in with my curiosity. So I let it fly. Take it for what it is in the moment. Always. And just float.

“I didn’t know you were coming. Paul didn’t call.” I relax into the sensation of his fingers kneading my scalp through the thickness of my curls. He’s definitely done this before.

“It was a last minute decision, really. Couldn’t think of a better way to spend my birthday than to give back and make these kids feel as special as they are.”

I gasp. “Someone did just have a birthday last week. Didn’t they?” I angle my neck in a way that I’m able to catch the grin tugging at his lips. 

“That’s right,” he confirms.  

“What are you—like fifty now?”

“Ha ha ha.” He pokes my side again, igniting a tickle.

“What did you do?” I don’t know why every time I spot a wound, I feel the need to pick at it until it’s bleeding out. Why—why would I want to know the details of how he spent his birthday surrounded by family? His wife, his children—his cousins—all the people that mean something. All the people he can see in the light of day and doesn’t have to engage with in darkness. All persons that would turn their nose up at me at first glance. 

“Santorini.” My eyebrow raise. “You ever been out of the country?” He inquires. 

I poke a kiss swollen bottom lip out shaking my head in his lap still. “Only when I was younger. Family trip to Cancun. And I think we went to the Bahamas when I was eight. I don’t really remember any of it. Only seen pictures.”

“Mm,” he hums. He slides his slender fingers in between mine like a completed puzzle. 

“If I had known you were coming, I would’ve gotten you a birthday gift.”

“You would’ve gotten me a gift?”

“Yeah. Why not?” Then I think about it. A man with endless money and access. Exactly what could I give him that he doesn’t already have or can’t obtain himself? A gift is only a gift if its unattainable to the person receiving it…I grab his wrist squinting to read the analog clock's hands in the room absent of any light, save for the moonlight splitting through the blinds. It’s nine forty-eight.

Raising up, I step back into the silk gown, pulling the straps all the way up. He peers up at me with an eyebrow quirking up. “Come on,” I urge. I toss the black tee he had on under his suit jacket into his lap. “You might just get that ride tonight, after all.”

After making Miss Tonia a believer of my sudden nausea turned possible stomach virus, I pull the G Wagon to the first level of the hospital garage just before the parking arm. 

The security in the booth too focused on the mini TV to notice anything going on outside those walls. He comes out still sleek as ever as if he didn’t just fuck me into oblivion. I slide over on the passenger side. 

He shuts the door and secures his seatbelt while adjusting the seat to accommodate his massive frame. “Where are we going?” I lean an elbow on the center console. 

“Panzarotti?” The wrinkles of his brows soften as his face lights up with the joy reminiscent of a child. It makes my heart beat faster. “It's already in the GPS.”

I roll the window down as much as I can without giving anyone a clear shot of who’s in the driver seat. I wave my badge over the monitor and the bar lifts so we can pull off. 

On the extensive I-95, we breeze through the traffic in the fast lane. To my left—the most handsome man holding the steering wheel with one steady hand adorned with his silver watch. To my right—more cars through the tinted window plus the towering greenery on the side of the highway, that just appears as black shadowy figures. 

I get a flashback of taking this same drive in August of last year with the same driver. Only we were so different. Not just as individuals but with one another. The sun was setting. A pinkish hue etched in the sky. Cola by Lana Del Rey played, singing the soundtrack to what had became of my life. 

I roll the window down just like I did that night. The wind loud in my ears—immediately whipping my curls every which way. 

I arch my back over the window, letting my head hang freely in the night air of spring. I haven’t felt like this…well in forever. This feeling is new—foreign. Liberating. Even with all the hurdles and secrets. I’m young and I have everything that I didn’t use to. What a time to be alive.

This is my prom night. A night I’ll never forget, indeed. 

A/N // i switched the idea up a little i hope you still like it anon💗

i know there were some things mentioned in this short that you all haven't seen yet. the unseen days in the Hamptons. the panzerotti insider. all these shorts are coming so i can fill in the gaps for y'all. everything will make sense eventually, i swear.

the next short i post will be about Lana & Jaire. then expect 5 or so more shorts after that. i have to get them out of the way because they shed light on a lot of what’s to come in the next chapter Desires. i think there’s a lot more y’all need to see before i do what i’m about to do in the next chapter…🌚

As always, if you read it or even just a portion, I am forever grateful and appreciative. Feedback is always welcomed. Happy reading💗

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[megalomaniacz]

hey bae! if you’re still taking requests could i please have something fluffy with mean! ellie and sensitive/soft! reader. it can be whatever u want, loving the pink theme btw 🎀⭐️!

CRYBABY! - (E.W)

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: you’ve had a seriously bad day, and now you’re stuck with the shittiest person you’ve ever met while you wait for your friends to get home.

a/n: thank u for acknowledging the theme! it took so long to put together 😭. also i really hope this fulfills your request. would you guys want a part 2 w/ smut this time?

“crybaby, crybaby. we need to cry. and if we do, i know that would be alright.” — edit

masterlist.

ellie fucking williams was an exceptional singer, guitarist, and had incredible stage presence. but more importantly: she was an asshole. a complete fucking dick, and not just the usual “too good for everyone” cocky. she was crude. she was vulgar and she knew exactly how to push people, you specifically. sometimes you thought that she walked around asking for a fight to prove herself to people. now, you think it’s so she can finally feel something. even if it’s a mind spinning jab at her face.

you did your best to stay away from her, despite you sharing friends; jesse and dina. you knew exactly how she was and you knew you couldn’t handle it. no matter how many times you tried to let her little remarks brush past you, you always found yourself wanting to go lower. and each time you were around her it got harder to bite your tongue.

today was a bad day. a shit day. one of your worst. you found fraudulent activity on your bank card, got hit with a frustratingly large and urgent bill, and your washing machine broke. all in the span of an hour. the customers at your job had been extra rude and to make matters worse, your manager yelled at you for a mistake you didn’t even make.

all you wanted to do was go over to dina & jesse’s and eat brownies while they treated you like the child they’d yet to have. dina rubbing your back and reassuring you that everything will be okay while jesse threatens to beat all your enemies bloody. you use the spare key you have to their apartment to messily trudge in, kicking your shoes off at the door and smiling as you open the fridge to find dina’s special 1,000 hour brownies.

“i keep telling her she should put weed in those.” echoes behind you, causing you to pause mid bite. there she is, leaning against the counter. eyes smudged with her signature stage eyeliner, sweat glistening on her skin, a tank top and her stage cargos sagging on her waist. gargling down a plastic water bottle that had definitely seen better days.

“where are dina and jesse?” you furrow your brows closing the fridge. you grab a napkin to place the brownie on, and move further back near the door away from her. just in case.

“they went to go grab some groceries, but they told me to stay here and wait for you.” she answers, finishing the bottle off.

fuck. how long were they going to be gone? you couldn’t imagine spending more than 2 minutes alone with this loose lipped devil. her eyes narrow as she looks you up and down before smiling. here she goes.

“bad day? cause it looks like it.”

“well it definitely isn’t going to get better with you around me.” you snap back.

“ouch. i’m hurt.” she laughs. deviously. a hand over her chest as she pushes off the counter to chuck the empty bottle into the trash can.

you move over to the living room, sitting yourself on the couch. maybe if you ignore her she’ll get bored and leave you alone? maybe she’ll get so bored she’ll actually leave. god, please get the fuck out of here.

she follows you though, sitting way too close for comfort and turning on the tv. you pull your phone out, immediately opening tumblr and mindlessly scrolling. hoping that dina and jesse will be home soon.

“d tells me you stopped showing up to gigs because of me. is that true?” she breaks the silence between you two. you shrug her off. “you’re not the easiest person to be around, williams.” you state.

“so what’s wrong with me? i’d love to hear it straight from the horses mouth.” she scoffs, scooting closer. when you attempt to ignore her she pulls your phone out of your hand. staring into your eyes with her very own. piercing through your soul for a response. “is it because i called you an idiot?”

“among other things, but it doesn’t surprise me that that’s all you remember.” you reach for your phone but she pulls it back. this causes you to pinch her, and she smacks your hand away still holding your phone back. “remind me then.”

you feel her taunting tone. her want— need to push at you. to push your buttons and boundaries until you break. it’s like a game to her, and you certainly weren’t in the mood for it today.

“can you give me my phone so i can find out when dina and jesse are coming home?” you sigh. her behavior reminded you of a customer you’d had earlier who’d treated you like garbage because you weren’t smiling. you felt tears welling up but pushed them down. you never cried in front of ellie. because of her, maybe, but never to her face. you’d never live it down.

“can you answer my question? so i can apologize or whatever. d is really on my ass about it.”

you scoff. “ofcourse you aren’t genuinely sorry. you probably don’t even remember all the fucked up shit you say and do to people. half of the time you ignore me and the other half you treat me like i’m a burden. do you remember when you guys had your first real show? i told the security i knew you and you pretended like i was a stranger.”

“jesse was sooo pissed you didn’t show up.” she laughs. “did he yell at you?”

“yeah. thought i was lying because you told him i was. called me a shit friend and a liar until i showed him proof. why am i the only one you treat like this?”

“you’re definitely not the—“ you reach for your phone again, but she’s quicker than you. pushing you away and laughing at your lockscreen, which was a picture you’d taken of yourself. one you felt incredibly confident in. all of that confidence was withering away slowly and you could guess it’d only been 10 minutes. “only one.”

“that’s so much worse. seriously, i don’t have time for this today. i’ll just go home.” you sniffle and fail to hide it. the tears were in the back of your throat and you felt like her personal rag doll all over again. what you’d finally gotten away from the last week was haunting you all over again. her taunting, her rudeness. she knew what she was doing and she didn’t even care.

“are you gonna cry? am i making you cry?”

you gulp, biting your lip to fight the shakiness in your voice. “just give it back.” is all you can muster up. her arm stretches up and as you reach for it she tucks it in her back pocket and sits on it.

you feel the tears begin to spill out of your eyes and you quickly turn around and lean into the couches arm. hands over your face as you pathetically attempt to calm yourself. you feel a hand on your shoulder and you push it away before realizing it’s ellie handing you back your phone.

it takes you a couple blinks, convinced the tears have obstructed your vision. the very same ellie who’d tripped you in front of a crowd of people last month, was being nice? her face has softened, genuine concern replacing the taunting gaze she previously had. she places a hand on your back and shushes you.

“i’m sorry. i’ve never made you cry before, i’m sorry.” she speaks softly. she almost seems…confused? is this what it takes to get her to realize that what she does actually fucking hurts you? for you to break down in front of her? for her to get a peek at the silent nights you’d spent sobbing over another one of her “jokes”? all this time?

you wipe your eyes and begin to laugh, which startles her and causes her to lean back. “you’re such an ass, ellie. god, you’re such a fucking dick.” you shake your head and breathe. she doesn’t respond, just stares at you with concern. brows furrowed as she concentrates on your body language. the way you’re leaning closer towards her.

“today was such a bad day.” you cry out in frustration, dipping your head into her lap. you just lay there, sobbing. she doesn’t move you, but instead rubs your back. shushing you. whispering that it’ll be okay, and you’d never admit it because it was coming from her, but you really needed it in that moment.

she pulled you in closer to her, turning you onto your side so she can rub her thumb across your cheek. wiping some of your tears away. you begin to cry even harder, but she doesn’t push you away. even when her pants are soaked and snotty. she lets you lay there, and cry into her.

[minzart]

Beggars can't be choosers (6)

Ao3 - Prev - Next

Decepticons & Reader(GN), Receptor & Reader(GN), Lazerbeak & Reader(GN)

You find an "automatic" tank busted in the middle of the night, and as the good millitar Mechanic that you are, you fix it.

Or, the Decepticons don't have a trained doctor(yet), and you just volunteered as a substitute by their leaders' logic and standards

When Rumble nor Frenzy could play "human-keeper", as they called it, it was given to you strange green and purple pieces of a machine, you couldn't recognize what it could transfom into, but you knew it was made of three pieces only, and one of those was a lense

It had been four days since your promotion, and today would be your first attempt at redirecting shipment, you were trembling in anxiety, hoping whoever of the seekers they sent to retrieve the parts knew how to behave, not betting on Thundercracker to play delivery mech as well as personal driver

"Pacing around won't help your charade human" you hear the soft static voice call out from your pocket, you jump in attention anyways, as he rarely speaks

"Maybe, but it does help me vent my anxiety"

"It really doesn't"

"Well, let me pretend it does"

"Relax, everything is going to be fine, we made sure of it"

You stop in your tracks when noticing a black truck coming into view, the shipment is here "alright, now deliver"

Getting closer and closer, the driver stops by your side, pulling down his window and giving you a toothy smile "oi chief! Where we unloading?"

"Hangar 11 is good, the warehouse is being used today" it wasn't a lie, when the warehouse was too fool or being organized, hangar 11 was usually the go to area for temporary storage, the lie was that the warehouse was not in fact in use, but it was full enough that you could play that card if someone asked

"Gotcha" and he drives off

To sell the appearance, you continue your routine without even looking at hangar 11s' direction, helping around repairs, meetings, writting new guides and requests for upgrades on test models, making sure everyone was justified when there was a day missing in their attendance, negotiating with officers, breaking a fight over hangar 4, and finally lunch

You drop in the quiet kitchen, at this hour no-one was present, which is a blessing, you needed to breathe a little without too many eyes on you

"You know" you hear Reflector speaking again as you take one of the few leftover sandwiches "no wonder you adapted quickly to our chain of comand, your job seems very similar to our rank sistem"

You hum

"But you seem dense in some aspects of it"

You roll your eyes, munching down your food and decides to entertain the bot "how so?"

"Perhaps I am just too good at my job, as usual" you hear the pride in him "there are people wanting to take you down"

You sigh "no shit, that's normal"

"But I mean, really want to, as in, actively planing sabotage and rumor spreading"

"..." You stop, picking a small screw from hou pocket as well as him "what did you see?"

"Careful with that thing human, don't shoot the messager" you feel him jump a bit in your hand "one of them is marking your superior constantly on lunch break, the other one is reporting every single mistake you left untouched, I'm still working on the third ones' problem"

You sigh, masaging your temples, you would have to make sure to don't piss off any of your crew then, they can't do anything if you are competent to the majority present "I'll deal with it, thank you"

"Oh?" You hear him laugh "an aknowladgement is rare when not coming from lord Megatron, but apreciated, human"

You finish your lunch and decide to finally go organize the spare parts "You work for the spy section of the Decepticons then?"

"Hm... I don't have this information" you walk with him down the corridors, still pretending to fix him

"What do you mean?"

"That I don't remember that information, it's probably with one of the other two parts of me"

"Other... parts? As in, you split your conscience?"

"Pretty much yeah, into three, each one knowing parts of a whole that then join togheter once requested by lord Megatron"

"Is that... no wait, they didn't tell anyone how their powers work, never mind..." You hum "were you born with this hability?"

"I guess?"

"Got it" you puff, expected, but still sad, you pocket him again when seeing people approaching

.................................

After every part was counted and revised by the staff, you could finally separate some of the things you deem more needed, many were tubes, some wires, many metal plates, a motor for jets and tanks just in case, and wheels

All of that in two big boxes, not bad, you could work with that, passing chains around the cargo you make sure to tie them togheter, this should be enough to hold on the weight in the flight, since the Decepticons don't have members that can transform into comum human grounders... unless Soundwave can and just doesn't want to... no, wait, he is a boom box that plays caccettes, that's right, so you are pretty sure it's gonna be one of the seekers

Picking up your phone you find in the last page a decepticon icon, tapping it your keyboard appears, you write your mensage

[Cargo secured, waiting pick up: Hangar 11]

Upon hitting send, a mensage appears

<searching permitted connection....>

<Megatron - online - operational>

<No more permitted conections>

You tap Megatrons name

<conection access granted>

<menssage sent>

<Make this default conection? Y/N>

You tap back in your phone, ignoring the mensage, now you just have to wait and pay attention to the sky...

Deciding it was too dangerous to stay around longer than half an hour, you go back to your duties, the day pass by smoothly than you expect, and soon enough, you start to worry your menssage never went trough, when a ping calls your attention

[Thundercracker is on his way- 17:25:12 - °°/°°/°°/M.R - D.C: Megatron ]

Oh... well, you'll be damned, maybe the rest of the seekers just despise you... or they just like combat more. You lost counts already of how many times you had to hear Starscream chastise Skywarp about his recklessness in battle, you even joined in once, after you had to bend his wings back in place... for the fifth time in two days

Really, how many times were they to be beaten to learn and try to take over with discretion, it's getting ridiculous how the hell didn't they get beaten once and for all already, you start to wonder how Megatron got to be a dictator in the first place, because apparently who reined Cybertron before they got stuck here was the Decepticons, so what gives, does he have all competent people there and got stuck with the worst of his generals?

Is he even a tyrant anymore? Who is ruling Cybertron if both faction leaders are on earth, surely they got more people fighting up there... is there even a war going on anymore, four million years is a long time, maybe they got in an agreement and once he discovers, the silver tank will short circuit and die

Although... this doesn't mean much for your planet does it? You can feel that, even if for now, they are raiding energy companies for necessity, it would soon become the main purpose of earth for the tyrant, a young planet full of energy... he would suck it dry, but humanity is already doing that, if he wants every single charge of it, he should take down the greedy upper-class main companies first... then again, he probably would just do the political move of "you keep an eye on yours and I'll give you money and let you keep your life"

... eh, nothing you already don't expect from humans between ourselves anyways, in this world it all depends on how useful you are to someone else, and for now, you are very useful for them, so you are safe...

Safer than most anywas, and that was the most comforting thought you had this week

The sky roars, and you know Thundercracker is near, people jump in attention then check to see if it's raining, the day is foogy enough to pretend it will soon, so you run along for Hangar 11

The blue jets await your arrival in good shape, you look for sighs of fatigue or malfunction, he is static, and his turbins stop working slowly, letting them cool down naturally from use, his lights are working in perfect condition, and he stops at perfect distance of the wall of boxes, everything indicating attention and awareness, you smile noting that he is alright

There are some workers around catching a break, you greet them and smoothly goes to the lifting cart, driving it into the chained boxes and dragging them bellow Thundercracker

With a ladders help you fix the cargo in two of his loops, usualy a F-15 isn't supposed to carry this much weight, but a seeker is not a F-15, they are faster, and they are more resistant, the damage you saw in Thundercracker and Skywarp is something you bet would have broken any human jet no problem, but they survive it, probably a property of the flexibility of living metal

So you hope that means they are far stronger too, you give a gentle tap on his wheels, and with start wayving your hands at the cockpit, playing along as if you were silognaling to the pilot the green light for take off

When the engines start you are sure he got the mensage, you hear someone behind you murmur "not even a hello, who even is this guy..."

You shrugged a lie coming naturally to you "capitals' lieutenant"

You hear the loud smack of your coworkers jaw as he gulps, and do your best to keep yourself from smirking smuggly

..........................

Lazerbeak had a different mission today, one not directly given by his boss, but he suspects it was approved anyway since he wasn't sent to the autobots base this cycle anyways, but given by his coworker, it was given as an official mission, it was demanded as one, but he knew it wasn't one

After all, what would they even do with a rusthy human scrap of a two wheel model like this one

Unless the plan was to give it to the little human disassemble, wich was very unlikely, Ravage had been very adamant that he kept the junk intact, perhaps it is a gift, a not so unusual ocurance to the feline minicon when it comes to her favorites, the human did save her life, short off, Lazebeak is still sure anyone would have been able to do that human or not, but the precise surgery that was not a surgery has been reported to be easier to handle than being open and vulnerable in the light of a wrentch

The avian minicon wouldn't know, he was more of a intelligence gathering and last nano-second backup than the others, rarely in need of maintainance himself, so he didn't knew the human as much as he should personally at this point

Even if he was keeping surveillance in them every once in a while, his main job was to keep an eye on autobots, but he was sent to make a quick scan of the military base they frequent

When arriving at the decepticon base, Lazerbeak made sure to put the two wheel model by the medical wing, just as requested

What he didn't expect was the little human to enter right as he was ready to take flight, he freezes, turning his head in their direction, their eyes shone in recognition, a big smile stretching their fleshy face "My bike!"

They run past the minicon immediately, inspecting the item "scratches eveywere, some dents but nothing too damaging, I gotta clean you up of all this sand, oh my baby, how I have missed you!"

Lazerbeak tilts his head a bit in confusion, by Rumble's memory data, a baby should be just a tinny human... perhaps it is also an affectionate term for other things, that would explain it "You got this to me?"

The human looks at him, weary and curious, Lazerbeak lowers his stance, eyes shining once, the human servos twitch tentatively, the avian minicon waits for their reaction, a mischievous glint in his optics

They reach their hand, and Lazerbeak makes a bite in their direction, startling the little thing and making the avian cackle in daylight, the human yelps then remains their composure "alright fine no touching.... thanks anyways"

The little human moves the "bike" over to their own little corner, Ravage has sworn that no matter how far or how fast human contraptions were, Cybertronians were faster, you wouldn't be able to escape even with one hour of advantage in the open desert

And with that, the air spy goes back to his commander, to Megatrons' office he flies, were Soundwave is found discussing matters with their leader

"Any luck with our preparations Soundwave?" The warlord asks, focusing on datasets instead of his spy comander

"Humans EM fields: unstable" the blue mech says, opening his chest for Lazerbeak to doc "Long distance reading: poor quality, intentions vaguely acknowledged at best, Short distance reading: better intention percieved, no cohesive thoughts detected, Phisical conected: still to be tested"

"Good, see to it that you find a way to read a humans mind, the autobots aquired another fleshbag to their ranks, from last reports he seems to be a scientist prodigy, his knowledge on the new energy source they are working on might be useful to us"

"Decoy base: evaluated?"

"Skywarp is working on it, dismissed"

The comander nods, giving a brief tap to his Chamber and leaves, walking back to his shared, but only he uses anyways, office with the air comander, analyzing Lazerbeaks recordings as he does

The spy commander feels Ravage indignation of her gift being given credit to the avian, caccette growling inside him despite her recharge mode, the minicon doesn't seem to care, still pleased at being praised and the change of scenery, Soundwave notes your care with the motorbike, filing the information in case of second hand punishment being needed

Usualy he would now make surveillance as Ravage and Frenzy recharge, the base being almost done, perhaps by the end of seven cycles they could get to work in a transmission tower and finally contact Cybertron

However, if he could finish his human EM field analysis this cycle still, he could move on to more pressing matters, like a plan of kidnapping the human they needed, he is still in need of locating his charging quarters in the autobot base or outside it

As he thinks the blue mech notices his peds driving him to the medical wing, of course, they already do have a human...

Your EM field was always on high alert around him, and most mechs that were far bigger than you, if he noticed correctly, fear surrounding that little head of yours when anyone walks in, not unusual to those who knows about the second form of the disguised mechs, but you were the recent stuborn decision his lord has had

Too valuable to accidentally get rid off, hence he avoided using you directly as a case study first, only as a hipotesis confirmation, humans do not feel his information scans, and that was that, but now... would he risk Lord Megatrons' wrath if his reading in direct contact to a humans mind might potentially fry whatever you have as a processor?

Then again, it would just be a more in deep scan, and it was already proven it didn't hurt from afar...

Slowly he approaches, registering the faint tune you hum, a deep part of him want to tap to the beat, it is quite simple, but he wouldn't be a spy master if he succumbed to these types of urges. He is as close as he can without letting his shadow give him away, in a split second the decision is made, the second you turn around as you noticed the massive mech, with one single digit he pokes your head "wh-?!"

The small creature freezes, gripping the small cloth like their life depends on it, he hold backs a small chuckle, they were amusing to mess with, this, he agreed with his cassettes. Going back to his task, he pats your head more firmly now, concentrating in the waves of energy in one single point, then spreading it to your whole body, the experiment a sucess,he hears your voice

"W..... appening..."

Then he adds his other hands' finger, your voice grows clearer

"Is ...... this..... ?"

Then he vents in frustration and decides to just concentrate all fingers in two spots by your heads' side

"Oh yeah, I definitively passed out on the pile, this is too much for this late of the night... or is it morning already?"

Good, he could work on humans as well, now for a test run in interrogation

"Query: do you know my designation?" Lets start simple

Your eyes shot open "designation-name name of course, name name name his name- fuck, names-"

An image, a memory, a hand inside a lavender piston, a voice, Frenzys voice "are you stupid?! He doesn't know we are here! Do you want to blow our cover?!"

"If he did he would have come and killed the human after yesterdays warning", "a name a name a name a name Frenzys and Rumbles boss-", his own voice "Patient designation: Ravage", then Rumbles' "Bah stop being such a weenie... did-"

"Soundwave..." "SIR DONT FORGET THE SIR YOU DUMBASS" "sir"

More voice than image, but upon called an especific memory it will apear, even if a bit turved, he can work with that, he stops his pats, and can't hold back the chuckle, your fur is sticking out "Assistance: apreciated"

Without any delay, he gets up, and starts walking out of the room, but halts in his way, Megatron is watching from the door, the spy master feels his optics widen and his visor brighten, his posture goes rigid "Lord Megatron"

The silver tyrant hasn't caught his third in command this flustered since the start of this war, it all becomes more comical by the absolute confusion that is scrunched up in the humans face, it is becoming harder and harder not burst laughing "Soundwave"

"This is the weirdest fantasy I have ever had" that does it, the warlord wheeze out a deep hawling laugh, he can't contain it, the allegations of a pet human are going to sky rocket after this but frag it, it was all worth for seeing this scene alone

You and Soundwave look at each other in an empaty-driven concern for the well-being of your own lives, and it only gets worse when you hear a scratchy voice from somewhere in the base screaming "WHAT THE PIT IS THAT SOUND?!"

In a blink of an eye, Soundwave is not by your side anymore, the traitor has abandoned you, Megatron claps his knees, and you hear his vents struggle to keep a consistent intake "I needed this, oh, I forgot I could do that, frag- my vents- scrap... what were you two doing?"

"Honestly, boss?" You decide to just... lay on the ground for a little while, things couldn't get weirder "I have no idea"

And the laugh starts again, but he at least leaves the med bay, and you start to suspect that this is all an elaborated TV prank

[4thelovabob]

Bob is touch starved part 4

Bob hardly slept all night after the card game. He doesn't drink; he's too prone to addictive vices and that way madness lies. But the nerves of the hand Yelena held are like live wires, and his skin is buzzing in a warm and pleasant way not unlike being under the influence, just much sweeter. Healthy. He's dazed thinking of the soft curl of her fingers between his, craving more. So he does something about that, and manages to quiet his mind enough to fall asleep afterward.

Bob sleeps on his side, waking up having crushed the spare king sized pillow to his chest under one bicep. It runs the length of his torso, squeezed between his thighs. He shifts a little, sucking air through his teeth as his erection throbs almost painfully against the fabric of his boxers.

Again already, huh? Either the super serum makes this new body ready for action in more ways than one, or...nah, fuck, who am I kidding, it's definitely Yelena.

He peels away his boxers and strokes himself, rutting against the pillow, driving himself crazy with the friction. Thinking of her, her hands on him, the whole time. Barely a minute till he completely unravels, biting down on the corner of the pillow to keep his strangled moan under control as he comes hard into his grip, spilling himself everywhere on the sheets.

He never remembered being this turned on by anything before. Then again, porn wasn't especially his thing, the hustle and fakeness of it. When it came to intimacy, to enjoying the idea of sex, Bob found out pretty quickly that he had to feel all or nothing about it. And he'd never found someone worth "all" till now. He didn't really care if that was weird. If that made him somehow less of a guy or whatever.

But Yelena, Yelena and he shared something deep. Intense. They were on something next level. He knew it since he decided to die that day, machine guns blazing. Knew it since she stepped into the pitch darkness of obliteration to find him. They had just met, yeah, but they were like this. Ready to do battle for each other.

Bob didn't know what being in love felt like before, but he was sure now it was like this.

Once he gets his breath back and cleans himself up, he pulls on a faded t-shirt and sweats and brushes his teeth. In the mirror, he catches a faint glimmer in his eyes. The Sentry lingering, sure, but also a little spark of life he thought was long ago dead inside him. He runs his tongue over his lips and tries a smile. Hi, Yelena. Hey, Yelena.

It's barely dawn when he pads out into the common room kitchen for a glass of water with ice. Doubtful a single one of the night owls was awake at this hour. But he smells coffee before he turns the corner.

And sees her. Sitting on the kitchen counter by the window, coffee mug in both hands. Dressed in short plaid pajama shorts, the kind with the tiny bow in front, in an oversized tee and no bra (of course no bra, Bob, jesus, she clearly just rolled out of bed). Her eyes were wide. His eyes were wider.

He does the panicked gaping thing before he settles on, "Helena." What the hell.

She scrunches up her brow at his run-together words. "Who's Helena?" Bob swallows, completely disarmed - she's so cute - before a smile quirks her mouth and she takes a sip of coffee. "Good morning to you, too, Bob."

He swings his arms a bit, fidgets with his hands, forgets what he was there for as she doesn't break eye contact. "How'd you sleep?" He asks.

"You know, pretty good. Like really good actually, for the first time in, uh, forever." Her thick Russian accent lowers, slows down in the way that makes him shiver. "How did...you sleep?"

She still hasn't looked away from him. And no matter how shy he feels, he doesn't pull his gaze away either, except to glance at the errant blonde tufts of her bedhead.

And then he just kind of says it. Because he's bad at being anything but honest with Yelena.

"I had a pillow to cuddle," he murmurs. "So that was nice."

He guesses she'll change the subject of sleep if she wants to. She takes a big gulp of coffee. Eyes on him. And briefly, on his mouth.

"You're a cuddler?" she asks, with a little nod.

"Oh, yeah."

They look at each other like they can't keep their hands off each other.

They haven't yet, of course. But Bob knows that once he does, he won't be able to stop.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 5) (part 6)

[dancingtotuyo]

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is. 

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.”  Joel hangs up. 

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain. 

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy. 

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.  

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight. 

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely. 

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time. 

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup. 

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around. 

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-��

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes. 

“And?” 

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat. 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer. 

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place. 

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good. 

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul. 

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over. 

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well. 

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you. 

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual. 

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.” 

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips. 

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. 

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen. 

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles. 

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells. 

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

 “You hate pancakes.” 

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock. 

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake. 

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you. 

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together. 

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes. 

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips. 

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant. 

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit. 

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again? 

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation. 

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says. 

“About?” You press. 

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.” 

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight. 

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now. 

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply. 

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod. 

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say. 

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.  

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again. 

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart. 

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy. 

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons. 

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements. 

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.” 

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands. 

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours. 

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with. 

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?” 

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that. 

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

 A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you. 

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands. 

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision. 

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer. 

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones. 

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all. 

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit. 

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night. 

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.  

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

[kikyoupdates]

Otherworldly Attraction ⭑˚🔮⭑ 𝑠𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

yandere!jjk x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, jujutsu kaisen x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

You don't know how or why, but you've been isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen. Although your first instinct is to stay away from the plot, you've been blessed with an abnormal amount of cursed energy, and for better or worse, you find yourself sucked into the storyline. You decide that you may as well use your newfound powers for the greater good, and if you're lucky, you might succeed in rewriting some of the characters' fates. But it turns out that your presence in this world is an even bigger deal than you first thought, and soon, everyone wants to make you theirs.

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“Draw two,” Sasaki says. 

“I’ll add another draw two. So now [Name] has to draw four,” Iguchi follows up, throwing another card onto the pile.

You stare at the two cards left in your hand, and then you cast a glance beside you, over to poor Itadori, who’s easily holding more than ten. Part of you wonders if you should be nice and spare him, since he’s clearly suffering more than enough already, but then again, this is Uno. 

Uno is just about as cutthroat as it gets. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, wincing a bit as you add another card onto the pile. “I still have a draw four card left… which means Itadori has to pick up eight cards in total. Also, um, Uno.” 

“No way!” he cries out, and you swear you see his soul leave his body. 

Sasaki throws her head back and starts laughing. “Man, Itadori, you stink at this! I swear you’ve placed last every single time we’ve played. It’s actually kind of impressive how unlucky you can be sometimes.”

“I haven’t lost yet,” Itadori stubbornly refutes, but of course, within the next round, you win, and Sasaki and Iguchi quickly follow suit. 

You watch as Itadori’s shoulders slump in defeat. 

“Fine, now I lost,” he sighs. Most people would probably be pretty frustrated seeing as he’s lost more than four—or is it five games in a row now? In any case, Uno tends to ruin friendships and drive people insane, but since this is Itadori, it only takes a few brief moments of adorable sulking for him to perk up again. “Alright, well, I’m ready for the next round!” 

Iguchi shakes his head. “Sorry, but no more. I’m starting to feel bad about beating you this badly.” 

“Really?” Sasaki blinks. “I’m having the time of my life.” 

“You don’t always have to voice your intrusive thoughts aloud, Sasaki.” 

“We can play more next time,” you say, gently patting Itadori on the shoulder. “And I’m sure you’ll win a bunch then. Enough to make up for all the losses from today.” 

“Doubt it,” Sasaki muses. 

“Sasaki, that’s seriously enough out of you,” Iguchi sighs.

“Alright, fine,” Itadori relents. He quickly glances towards the clock on the wall. “I guess it’s about time for me to head out anyway. It’d be nice to get to the hospital early for a change.” 

More than a week has passed since you first awoke in this world, and during that time, you’ve spent pretty much every day hanging out with Itadori. It’s quite literally a dream come to true to be able to talk to him like this. From the moment you discovered you attended the same school, you were already starstruck, but you figured you would only ever be able to stare at him longingly, from afar. Never in a million years did you imagine that you would actually become his friend. 

Even though your friendship is destined to be cut short, you’re determined to enjoy these blissful moments for as long as you can.

You and Itadori say goodbye to Sasaki and Iguchi, and the two of you walk out of the building together, stopping by a vending machine to grab some canned drinks. You crack your can open and sit down next to him, relishing in the fresh air paired with the cool liquid running down your throat. 

“Visiting your grandpa again, right?” you affirm. 

Itadori takes a big gulp, then nods. “Yeah. Same old, I guess. That’s another reason why it’s nice being part of the Occult Research Club. A lot of people have pestered me to join athletic clubs, but they run way too late. I wouldn’t be able to make it down to the hospital in time for visiting hours. It just works out better this way. Plus, hanging out with those guys is a lot of fun.”

“It’s nice that you always make an effort to visit him,” you say, smiling gently. “I’m sure he really appreciates the time he gets to spend with you. It must mean a lot to him.” 

“Well, I’m the only one he has left, so I’d feel really crappy if he had to spend every day all on his own.”

“Still. Not everyone would make sure to visit every single day, like you do. You’re really kind. You’re a good person, Itadori.” 

You hold your smile as you take another sip of your drink, and you don’t notice that Itadori is staring at you wide-eyed, at least, not until you turn and realize he’s nearly breathing down your neck. 

“Um,” you say, feeling a bit embarrassed by how close he is, “y-yes? Is there… something on my face?” 

Itadori scratches his neck. “Uh. This might sound like a bit of a weird request and all, but I was just wondering if… maybe you wanted to come with me today?” 

“Come with you?” 

“Yeah. To visit my gramps. Since we got to talking and all, I figured maybe he’d like to see someone other than me for a change. To be honest, I don’t think he has much longer left. He’s always snapping at me for visiting him, saying I shouldn’t waste my time going to a depressing place like that, and that I should be spending time in clubs with my friends instead. Maybe he’ll feel better if he sees me bring a friend along. He won’t worry that I’m lonely, like he is.” 

You proceed to just stare at him, and although you didn’t intend for your gaze to be unsettling, Itadori lets out a nervous chuckle and quickly shakes his head.

“Aw, man, what am I even saying? Sorry. That was kind of weird. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to waste your free time going to a hospital, of all places. I didn’t mean to try and pressure you into anything. Just forget what I—” 

“I'll go,” you blurt. “If you're sure you want me to come with you, then yes. I'd be happy to meet your grandpa.”

Itadori blinks rapidly, clearly bewildered, but it doesn’t take long for one of those ridiculously cute smiles to spread across his lips. 

“Awesome! Thanks so much, [Name]. That’s really cool of you. I feel like you’re always the one doing me favors, even though it should be the other way around.” 

“It’s not a favor,” you reassure. You pause, smiling shyly. “I really like spending time with you, after all.” 

Itadori’s smile shows no signs of disappearing, and together, you make the trip to Sugisawa Hospital, where his grandfather is currently admitted. 

You have to admit, you feel a little nervous. His grandfather is his only remaining family, and naturally, you want to make a good impression. Even more so because you know that he doesn’t have much time left. You may not be able to stay by Itadori’s side once the canon plot begins, but at least for now, you’d like to put his grandfather at ease. 

“Don’t worry,” Itadori reassures, smiling brightly. “He might seem like a crabby old man at first, but he’s not actually that bad. I know he’ll be happy to see me with a friend.” 

You smile back and quickly nod, and after a moment’s delay, Itadori slides the door open. 

“...you again, Yuji?” a gruff voice immediately barks out. “I thought I told you to quit wasting your time stopping by. Don’t you have anything better to do? What about your school club?” 

Itadori steps into the room first, rolling his eyes as if this kind of reaction is typical, but once you follow behind him and make your presence known, his grandfather’s expression does a full one-eighty. 

“Oh,” he blinks. “Who’s this now? Yuji, don’t tell me… you finally managed to get yourself a girlfriend? Good going, kid. I didn’t know you had it in you.” 

Itadori blushes a bit, but his embarrassment dissolves once he lets out a sigh. “Cool it, old man. Don’t make me regret bringing her. This is [Name]. She’s my friend. You always seem so worried about me not spending enough time with other people, so I invited her to come, and she accepted. Make sure to be nice to her, okay?” 

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir,” you say, bowing your head. “I hope me being here isn’t an inconvenience.” 

“Itadori Wasuke,” his grandfather introduces. You watch as he sits up a bit straighter in his hospital bed. “Hm. Are you sure you’re not dating Yuji? You seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’ve got manners, unlike this brat. Hey, Yuji. Don’t be stupid. You don’t want to lose a pretty girl like her to someone else.” 

Itadori rolls his eyes again. “It might be easier said than done, but try to ignore him. Sometimes I think he just says things because he likes hearing the sound of his own voice.” 

“See that?” Wasuke points. “Do you see how this ungrateful grandson of mine treats me?” 

You bite back a chuckle. Naturally, you’ve already gotten a glimpse of what their relationship is like, well before meeting either of them in person. Wasuke may have a sharp tongue, but it’s clear that he loves his grandson, and he wants him to have a good life. He wants him to be surrounded by people who care for him, and even though Itadori will face plenty of hardship in the future, the fact remains that he will have plenty of friends who are willing to stand by his side. 

“Itadori’s a really good guy,” you say, lacing your hands together and smiling. “Everyone likes him. He’s got a lot of other friends besides me. And I know he’ll make countless more friends from here on out.” 

You pause to gauge their reactions. Itadori is blinking at you, perhaps a bit flustered by your sudden declaration, and Wasuke’s expression hasn’t really changed much, but you notice that his eyes are a bit wider than they were a second ago. 

It’s awfully subtle, but for just a brief moment, a smile rises to Wasuke’s lips. 

“Is that so?” he chuckles. “Thank you for saying that, young lady. I’ll admit that it brings me some relief. I’m glad Yuji isn’t just wasting the best years of his life tending to a sickly old man like me. If he’s got friends like you who speak so highly of him… then I guess he must be doing something right.” 

“No way,” Itadori marvels. “Did you just compliment me, gramps?” 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

“Still! You actually said something kind of nice for a change!” 

“Alright, I take back everything I just said.” 

The two of them go back and forth like this for a while longer, and you’re perfectly content to just stand there and watch. It’d be nice if Wasuke could stick around longer. It’d be nice if Itadori didn’t have to lose the only family he has left. But without a doubt, Wasuke will live on in his heart, and you get the feeling that even when he passes, he’ll be watching over him for a long, long time. 

Wasuke clears his throat. “Seriously, though. If you don’t act fast enough, by the time you know it, [Name] will be dating someone else. Don’t live a life filled with regrets, kid.” 

“...gramps, come on.” 

Uh-oh.

You’re not an idiot, so of course, you know what this means. The wooden box he’s referring to is where Sukuna’s finger was being kept. Up until Itadori found it, that is. 

Which can only mean that soon—like, very soon—the main plotline will begin to unfold. 

You nervously chew on your lip. Truth to be told, you want absolutely nothing to do with that stinky finger. You already know that everything will be fine until the Occult Club members remove the seal, but still. The whole thing just freaks you out, and it’s way too scary to even fathom getting involved in. 

While you struggle to come up with a reasonable excuse, your phone buzzes again. 

Balls. He’s just too goddamn cute. It makes it downright impossible to turn him down. 

With a heavy sigh, you text him that you’re on your way, and you eventually get there, unsurprised to see him standing in front of the same storage box that Fushiguro was frantically searching at the start of the series. 

Itadori grins widely. “Thanks for coming! Here, check this out. Have you ever seen something like this before? It looks kind of supernatural, doesn’t it? I bet Sasaki and Iguchi would go crazy over this.”

He proceeds to hold up a small, visibly old wooden box, and you gulp as he opens it up to reveal the cursed object inside—one of Sukuna’s fingers.

Of course, he doesn’t have the slightest clue what it actually is. It’s completely wrapped up in the seal, making the object inside indiscernible. He probably wouldn’t be grinning ear-to-ear if he knew it was some wrinkly old finger. 

…then again, he swallowed said finger without even hesitating, so maybe he wouldn’t actually care that much. 

“Oh, c-cool,” you say, doing your best to mask your discomfort. “Yeah, it definitely gives off that occult vibe. I’m sure the other club members would like it a lot.” 

“I really wonder what it’s even supposed to be, though.” Itadori frowns as he picks up the sealed finger—much to your horror—and leans in closer to get a better look at it. “Yep, I honestly have no idea. You got any theories, [Name]?”

Without warning, he tosses the cursed object towards you, and out of pure reflex, you lurch forward to catch it. 

The second it falls into your hands, you experience a sense of dread that is almost too nauseating to put into words. 

It’s only for a moment, but the scene before your eyes changes. All of a sudden, you feel something wet sloshing around your feet, and you look down to find crimson liquid, red water, or perhaps—blood. 

You try to choke out a few words, but no sound escapes your lips. You’re understandably disoriented, so your gaze then pans upwards, and to say that you’re terror-struck would still have been an understatement. 

Right there, sitting on top of a pile of skeletons, is Sukuna.

It seems as though you’ve lost the ability to speak, but even if you could speak, you doubt you would have been able to find the right words. You’re too overwhelmed with fear to even think clearly, and right before you collapse onto your knees, just shy of a meltdown, Sukuna knits his brows together and leans forward.

“...who are you?”

You snap out of it with a gasp, only to find that you’re still standing in front of Itadori, who has a worried look on his face. 

“[Name]?” he frowns. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so good. Sorry, did I freak you out by tossing that thing at you? I probably shouldn’t have done that. I get why you’d be startled.” 

He crouches down to pick up the cursed object, which you apparently dropped to the ground without even realizing it. You place a hand over your chest, exhaling shakily. Your heart is pounding relentlessly, and you feel dizzy, like you might pass out at any given moment.

Just now… that was Sukuna’s Innate Domain, right? But how is that even possible? He hasn’t even been incarnated through Itadori yet…

You swallow hard. That finger is completely sealed. Even though the seal is old enough to be torn off by even a regular human—like Sasaki, for instance—Sukuna shouldn’t have appeared before you. Or at the very least, you shouldn’t have been able to see him. 

Maybe it was just a strange vision. Maybe the shock induced some kind of hallucination, or something. None of this makes any sense in the first place. The fact that you’ve been transported into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen.

Itadori places the cursed object back inside the box, then tucks it into his pocket. “Sorry again for catching you off guard like that. Are you okay? You look a bit faint. That was my bad. You even mentioned before that you don’t really like scary stuff, so I should have thought twice before doing that.” 

“I’m okay,” you reassure, and it’s true. You feel perfectly fine now. That sensation of choking up and being overcome with fear is already a thing of the past. It seems more and more likely that it was probably all in your head. 

Yeah.

You must have just been imagining things. 

“Kokkuri, Kokkuri, please tell us… which creature is the school council president weaker than?!” 

Ah. So, it’s finally starting. 

The question is all too familiar, of course, and as you allow the coin to be guided around the board, the word formed is exactly what you expected. 

“What? A fish?” everyone laughs in response, and just like in the canon series, the door abruptly slides open, revealing none other than the student council president himself. 

He starts berating everyone in the room, of course, but you're not really paying attention. 

Instead, you gaze at Itadori with a wistful smile, realizing that after today, you will no longer be part of his life.

There's no place for you by his side. It's simply too dangerous, and even if you were strong enough, you can't risk upsetting the delicate balance of this world. Everything will unfold the way it's supposed to, which means that your role here, albeit small as it was, is over. 

…or is it?

More chapters are available on Quotev and Ao3!

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[maybe-im-dark]

Feral father

Based on this post

The TVA agent looked entirely too smug for Logan’s liking as she handed him the manila folder, her eyes glinting with amusement. Logan glared at her, already regretting agreeing to this meeting. He didn’t trust the TVA as far as he could throw them, but apparently, they were doing him a "favor."

“This is some kind of joke, right?” Logan grunted, flipping through the documents.

His stomach churned as the contents became clear. Birth certificates, old photographs, addresses.

“No joke, Mr. Howlett,” the agent said smoothly, leaning back in her chair. “These are your children. Or at least, the ones we’ve managed to track down. It seems your...uh… extensive history has had some unforeseen consequences.”

Logan slammed the folder shut, his claws itching to make an appearance. “I didn’t know,” he said through gritted teeth.

The agent shrugged. “We figured as much. But now you do. And you should know that some of them could use your help—particularly the younger ones. You might not be able to change the past, but you can at least try to be part of their futures.”

Logan left the TVA office that day with the folder tucked under his arm and a heavy weight on his chest.

---

Back at the apartment, Wade was sprawled out on the couch, shoveling popcorn into his mask-covered face while Al was berating him for leaving the milk out. Logan walked in, his usual brooding demeanor darker than usual.

“Peanut, you look like someone just told you there’s no beer left in Canada. What’s up?” Wade asked, sitting up and tossing the popcorn aside.

Logan threw the folder onto the coffee table. “Apparently, I’ve got kids.”

Wade froze, then leaned forward, grabbing the folder with both hands. He flipped through it, his eyes widening. “Holy shit, Logan. You’re like a mutant Johnny Appleseed! Spreading little Wolverines everywhere.”

“Shut up, Wade,” Logan growled, running a hand down his face. “I didn’t know.”

Al snorted from the kitchen. “Of course, you didn’t. But every damn bar has a condom machine in the bathroom. You couldn’t spare a quarter?”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly,” Logan snapped.

Wade cackled, leaning back and kicking his feet up onto the table. “Oh, this is rich. Logan Howlett, the universe’s worst Wolverine and deadbeat dad! But hey, at least you’re taking responsibility now. Right, big guy?”

Logan shot him a glare but didn’t argue. “Some of them are mutants,” he said, his voice softening. “The TVA says they can transfer the younger ones to this universe. I can send them to the mansion, make sure they’re looked after.”

“And the older ones?” Wade asked, his tone unusually serious.

Logan shrugged. “I’ll meet with them. Talk to ‘em. But I’m not... I’m not gonna drop this bomb on their lives. They’ve been fine without me. I’ll just... I’ll just listen.”

Wade studied him for a moment before nodding. “Alright, Wolvie. Sounds like a plan. But just so you know, I’m totally buying a ‘World’s Okayest Dad’ mug for you.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m too old for this shit.”

---

The first meeting was awkward. A young girl, no older than seven, was brought to the mansion. Her name was Emma, and she had Logan’s piercing hazel eyes but her mother’s delicate features. She was scared, clutching a stuffed rabbit as she stared up at him.

“I’m your dad,” Logan said gruffly, feeling like an idiot.

Emma blinked at him, her lower lip trembling. “You’re... you’re scary.”

Logan’s heart twisted. “Yeah, I get that a lot,” he muttered, crouching down to her level. “But I’m not gonna hurt you, kid. Promise.”

It took time, but slowly, Emma warmed up to him. The other children came too—some shy, some excited, some skeptical. Logan wrote checks, sent cards, and made awkward small talk with the mansion staff to make sure the kids were happy.

---

The older ones were harder. He met them in bars, sitting quietly as they shared their life stories. A middle-aged man named Daniel, who worked as a mechanic. A young woman named Claire, who was a chef in Montreal. Logan listened, biting his tongue as they unknowingly revealed parts of themselves that mirrored him.

He never told them who he was. He didn’t feel he had the right. But when Claire mentioned her strange healing abilities, Logan couldn’t stop the small, bittersweet smile that tugged at his lips.

---

Back at home, Wade teased him endlessly, but there was an undercurrent of pride in his voice. “You’re like Santa Claus, Logan! Except instead of presents, you’re handing out emotional trauma and mutant genes!”

Logan rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that crept onto his face.

Al muttered from her chair, “At least the idiot’s trying. God help those kids if they end up with Wade’s influence too.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, the folder still heavy in his lap. It wasn’t perfect. Hell, it wasn’t even close. But it was a start.

[depression-napping]

Topics of Vincent

(Your resident translator was on a plane and had plenty of time to do some work so here we go with the second page of his profile ❤️)

This is long so content is under the cut

1) 身体に秘めたる魔獣の因子

The factor of the magical beasts hidden in his body

ヴィンセントはその体内に魔獣の因子を宿しており、ガリアンビーストに変身する能力を持つ。変身後は、俊敏さと力強さを兼ね備えた、文字どおり人間離れした動きが可能となる一方で、理性を失って暴走するため、肉体にはかなりの負荷がかかってしまう模様。ヴィンセントが睡眠に多くの時間を割くのは、特殊な体質のせいなのかもしれない。

Because of the factor that Vincent houses magical beasts within his body, he has the ability to transform into Galian Beast. After transforming, he gains the ability to move with both speed and strength that is literally superhuman. At the same time, his rational mind gives way to wild rampaging, and it seems to take quite a toll on his body. The fact that Vincent spares a lot of time sleeping may be due to the peculiar nature of his physical make-up.

2) 新しめの機械には弱い？

Is he bad with new technology?

ヴィンセントは、電源が入っていないカードリーダーを故障していると思い込み、起動させられずに四苦八苦*するなど、機械のあつかいには不慣れな様子を見せる。とはいえ、機械全般にわけではなく、タイニーブロンコに搭載された旧式の無線機は難なく使いこなしており、どちらかといえば古めの機械のほうがなじみがあるようだ。

Vincent has the mistaken impression that the card reader doesn’t work as it’s lacking a power source, and the device not activating seems to cause him all manner of distress*. [Please see the footnote this phrase is amazing] It seems he is inexperienced with handling such devices. Even so, it doesn’t mean he is generally bad with all technology per se, as he was able to easily handle the wireless radio on the Tiny Bronco. That is to say, he seems to be more familiar with older machines.

(*I just want to talk about this phrase 四苦八苦. It almost sent me into hysterics. It’s pronounced “shikuhakku” and it means great distress, but literally translates to “four and eight kinds of suffering.” It’s another idiomatic expression with Buddhist roots that refers to “birth, old age, disease, death, parting from loved ones, meeting disliked ones, not getting what one seeks,” and so on. Basically a summary of his life so far, minus the old age. But the fact that they used this term specifically to talk about his distress at newfangled technology just sent me. Literally you can read this as “modern technology causes him four and eight kinds of suffering.” Like the rest of what he’s gone through isn’t 四苦八苦? But the card reader not working is. I’m dead ya’ll. Like. Vincent needs this on a shirt. I need this on a shirt.)

3) Original VII Playback (Vincent Summary)

仲間に加えるかどうかを任意で選べるキャラクターながら、セフィロスや宝条と深い因縁があり、物語の背景を知るうえでは重要な役どころだった。関連作品のひとつ「Dirge of Cerberus -FFVII-」では主人公を務める。

The player can choose whether to befriend Vincent as he is an optional character. Since he has a deep connection to Sephiroth and Hojo, viewed in the context of the game’s background story, the role he plays is essential. He takes on the role of the main character in the related game, Dirge of Cerberus.

「フ… 悪夢にうなされる長き眠りこそ

私に与えられたつぐないの時間」

“Hmph… my long, nightmare-laden sleep has given me time to atone…”

(Picture captions)

追い詰められると、咆哮とともに赤黒いオーラをまとい、凶暴性さらに増す。

When pushed to the wall, with a loud roar, clad in a dark red aura, his savage nature increases further.

壊れた思ったものを叩いたり振ったりして直そうとするあたりは、どことなく前世代的。

When he tries to fix something he thought was broken by hitting and shaking it, somehow it seems like he’s from another generation.

[byhees]

you as their bite me partner.

엔하이픈 ・ female reader + word count 700 genre fluff idol au warnings not proof-read skinship — more

a/n. requested!

heeseung would be so sweet; he’d try his best to not say anything that’d maybe make you uncomfortable. if he happens to slip up his words, he’d immediately correct himself afterwards, words stuttering a little. after you two are more familiar with one another, he’d be a little more bold and flirty— the way he’d have the smallest of smirks toying on the corner of his lips as he tells you, “you don’t have to be afraid or anything, you can just touch me, y’know?” but in all honesty, he’d be such a natural at this— a really professional and amazing partner, who just knows the right words to say…

jay would be so lovely; a dictionary example of a gentleman— never pushes you past you comfort zone, and always reassures you that those accidental touches are completely alright with him; would take care of you behind the scenes— gets you a bottled drink whenever he visits the vending machine for one, passes you his heat pack whenever you’re feeling extremely cold, always checks in on you during long shoots, vice versa…

jake would be a big ball of sunshine, so welcoming and sweet; he’d pop up right in front of you with the cutest of smiles— “i’m jake! and you are?” he’d introduce, his hand outstretching for a little handshake. would try to lessen any of your nervousness by cracking small jokes, albeit they’re a little… questionable; what would catch you off-guard would be his on-stage and off-stage duality— one moment he’d be beaming at you with the warmest of grins, the other he’d be all ‘biting his lower lip with a playful smile’ and ‘carding his fingers through his hair with unbroken eye contact’…

sunghoon would probably be a little.. no, very awkward; i can imagine him just standing there, arms pressed into the sides of his body— “uh hello, i’m sunghoon… uhm, park”, he’d say, eyes shifting to nearly everything but your face; asks you simple questions like “have you eaten yet?” or “how are you?” just to kick things off; but when the time calls for it, he’d be as professional as he can possibly be, pushing past his awkward demeanour. during that part where you lightly tip his chin upwards, he’d remain eye contact, features absolutely radiating confidence…

sunoo would be so, so reassuring; shows you round the place with the most comforting grin to ever grace the surface of this earth— is never afraid to ask you questions, and neither is he one to hold back when answering your queries. always makes sure that you’re feeling all comfortable— grabs a spare blanket for you to cover your lower half with, shares his little snacks with you; i don’t see him being hesitant when initiating touch either— well, maybe it’s because you’re so easy to talk to, it just comes without much discomfort…

jungwon would be so caring towards you. looks out for you nearly every minute of the day; always makes sure to grab an extra snack for you, just because you may feel a little awkward to take one for yourself; always brings you a bottle of water at the start of every shoot— he’s like your water patrol, always making sure that you’re well hydrated, especially under such weather conditions. is such a hard worker— tells you that it’s a hundred percent alright for your arm to graze against his own, not wanting the hovering of your hands to disrupt the essence of the choreography…

riki would be a tad bit bashful, but for the most parts, he’d be pretty sweet; at the start, he’s all “uh hello”s and short, straightforward replies. as time passes by, however, he starts being more open, especially in his forms of expression; is never hesitant to tell you a cheesy pickup line, or some horrid joke. feels so comforting to talk to— in fact, he’s already creating little inside jokes between the two of you. when it comes to dancing, he’s so, so focused; always monitors your pair dance parts with such concentration, and is sure to compliment you afterwards, hands raised for a high-five…

taglist open! @halcyoni-ki @wondipity @yjjungwon @shysakuno @niktwazny303 @vnsux @minhosify @haechansbbg @yeomha @stepout-09-15 @chansburgah @sona-verse01 @lilly-bubblelops @smouches @mrchweeee @luvistqrzzz @nwjws @ibsysbsfsunsbs @rikisly @amyysfics @mixtape-racha @berry-and-kkami @rikislady networks! @kflixnet @enhanet @k-labels

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Living Weapon Whumpee part 1

Warnings: forced living weapon/fighter, captive whumpee, memory loss, murder mission

Whumpee is a trained killer, a lethal monster forced to fight and pitted against the enemy in the war time and time again... but this time... he's set loose on an innocent town, in a different kind of attack. His mission: leave no survivors.

Whumpee hated it when he was forced to fight and kill. Hated his handlers, his conditioning... hated himself for giving in and being their weapon. Their winning card in every game -- people as pawns.

And today, he hated that he was being set loose yet again, a deadly killer given knives and a mission, pointed in the direction of an enemy town. Though it wasn't an 'enemy', really -- while Whumpee’s handlers usually had him kill soldiers on the battlefield, this time he was to destroy a town full of innocents, of mothers and children sheltering from the war. Whumpee's leader had no morals, and he didn't plan to spare his enemy's wives or children, even if they weren't a part of the battle. He was sending Whumpee to slaughter them all, deal a vicious blow to the enemy in a way Leader couldn't do on the battlefield -- strike where it hurt most, where the grief alone would weaken his enemy's soldiers.

And he'd planned everything so perfectly, sending part of his own army to distract the enemy and give Whumpee a clear path into the town to deal his damage.

Whumpee's orders were clear: kill every living human he saw and crossed paths with -- indiscriminately. Leave none alive.

Fighting on the frontline of war was something Whumpee was trained to do, created and molded and enhanced by chemicals, and he was good at it, strong and mighty and dangerous. While he didn't particularly like killing the soldiers of the enemy, it gave him an outlet, a way to take out his rage and fury at everyone who had chained him in his own mind -- it gave him something to do, a purpose in existing.

But he'd never killed defenseless civilians before. His stomach churned with nausea at the thought, despite his bone-deep conditioning and training instinctively telling him to fight fight FIGHT. Flood the streets with blood. Attack and destroy.

He wasn't normal, he was a freak of nature -- a man taken to a lab, torn apart and put together so many times his skin was almost made of solid scars. They'd done something to him, something to his mind as he was strapped helplessly to a table, injected with unknown chemicals that burned inside him. But he could never remember exactly what, or how they'd managed to erase large parts of memory to make him cold and impassive, the perfect killer to lead armies.

Some nights he tried to remember what his life was like before becoming a living weapon, a walking murder machine. But it always hurt to think too much about it, leaving him frustrated and no closer to answers. So eventually he'd just... given up, accepted his role. And now here he was, in leather stealth suit, armed with blades for slaughter as he marched into the target town he'd been sent to.

He wore a cloak over his suit to hide his weapons, a hood pulled over his head to conceal his scarred face. Everyone in this war knew who he was, the loyal and vicious dog of Leader. A single glance at him would terrify people.

The town he walked into was very small, probably housing only half a hundred people in total -- that would all be dead before the sun set.

Whumpee stalked into the village with the confidence and grace of a lethal warrior, the cloak hardly being enough to hide his identity when any sane person could see from his gait alone that he was a skilled warrior who had survived many battles.

Whumpee's heart began to pound as he successfully reached the center of the village where his killing was to begin, to maximize casualties in case anyone managed to slip away and run -- most of the townsfolk were located in the center. And most would not escape.

Strange, he briefly noted, that his heartbeat quickened, when he had long since tamed it to be steady and sure even in the heat of combat, not to mess with his head or concentration. After all, adrenaline was what made people sloppy, panicked, what made people lose in battle. He had mastered his control over fear so many years ago it was as instinctual as breathing.

And yet, he hesitated. Paused, before drawing his dual daggers from his belt, shedding the cloak like a wolf in sheep's skin and revealing himself for who he was, what he was.

"It's Weapon!!" The alarmed cry came before Whumpee's cloak had even fully slid off. He grimaced at hearing his war-given name. He hated it.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? . . . MY BETTER CR REALITY

academic pretention and punk rock ideology meet in one edmund crowley, creative writing student and part time chaos machine. this is revealed in his bag, in which we're getting a glimpse into the man behind the novels . . . perhaps we should make this quick. (credits where credits are due!!! inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape and, this one by @macknshift)

my ancient bag that has been passed down in my family for literal generations. belonged to my professor grandma before she passed it down to me due to our mutual love of literature (along with a few other of her belongings). I've patched up the lining several times to keep using it. also attached is an eyeball keychain crocheted for me by my best friend, a plushie dreadfuls autism bunny keychain, and my bluetooth headphones that are just a necessity.

the front pockets — where I keep things I want easily accessible

LEFT POCKET

— my spare earbuds just in case anything happens to my over the ear ones or any of my friends need a pair

— my swiss army knife that is literally everything. I do threaten my friends with it. this is the least of their worries with me

— a small victorian style pillbox that holds the food of the gods (acetaminophen and ibuprofen)

— my vivienne westwood lighter and cigarette case that also used to belong to my grandmother (she's literally an icon). I keep a poem I got out of a quarter machine at the bookshop folded up in there. it's written in italian, I don't speak italian.

RIGHT POCKET

— my tiny notebook for spur of the moment story concepts, poetry lines, profound shower thoughts, or a cute barista's number

— my portable altar for spellwork on the go. I'm rarely home, so this is good to keep with me.

the back pocket — where I keep things I need to pull

— my leather journal I keep for more formal poetic ramblings, for proper academic pretention

— my phone, which I unfortunately must carry with me despite my desire to become the campus' ghost story and become unreachable. it does have a cute mushroom case, so perks.

— my vivienne westwood wallet!! also my grandmothers that she passed down.

— my flask full of absinthe . . . once again, academic pretention.

— two tarot cards that have found me on their own accord. neither of them belong to any of my decks. neither of them are from the same deck. I keep them anyway.

the main pocket — where literally everything is

— my notebooks for class

— a cabin notebook for world-building craft — flying squirrel decomposition notebook for visiting expert talks — brain journal for character psychology — fairy composition notebook for story concepts — skeletal notebook for the stages of story — bone turners tale notebook for office hours with my writing mentor

— my omen gaming laptop that I use for both gaming and writing my novels (both on deadline and for procrastination)

— my tarot deck that comes with me everywhere so I can ask it how to solve a plot hole or what to have for lunch

— my bone water bottle because I may be an academic, but water is actually pretty important (in case you didn't know)

— a celestial zip-up pouch for things that would get lost in the bottom of my bag

— hair ties that have gotten lost in the bottom of my bag

the itty pouch — where things keep from getting lost

— pisa lipstick from grandmother (ily)

— black lipstick that's my staple in every reality

— red lip gloss . . . to go over the black base

— tinted chapstick because I am prone to dry ass lips

— an intricate lipstick that belongs to my bestie, technically, but I stole it. she doesn't mind.

— dead writer's perfume that smells like a haunted library and spiked earl grey tea

— eyedrops for my contacts because I do forget to blink

— my loop earplugs that are literally a lifesaver when being out in public

— extra hairties, as this is where the ones that have escaped into the bottom of my bag should be

the internal pocket — the slot where the bigger important things go

— my sketchbook!!! literally my soul on a page at any given moment. every emotion I feel, every interest bewitches me, any novel I'm working on . . . it can all be found somewhere in these pages.

— sticky notes and tabs for annotating books because I'm a felon like that

— a copy of scottish fairy tales that has been with me since childhood. heavily annotated, and half of them aren't even about the stories themselves

— my favorite book of all time: the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde. also heavily annotated. each re-read is a different color. you can see the brown is the first time I ever read this book, not knowing how it would bewitch me body and soul

— snacks from heaven. sour patch watermelons by beloved, and a pack of ruffles crisps that are probably crushed into crumbs by now. oh well, they're still heavenly.

— my frankenstein's monster pencil case that's overflowing with supplies. yes, all of the contents are important, fuck off.

the pencil case — where the art supplies reside (my favorites remain the same in every reality)

— micron fineliners. literally the best pens ever — my tombow fudenosuke brush pens. also the best, especially for ink drawings — pentel brush pen my other favorite brush pen — white posca paint pen for correcting mistakes and adding highlights — mechanical pencils because they're the only pencils I will sketch with (also led because duh) — my pastel highlighters because I am insane and like to color-code my notes — paint brushes and my winsor & newton watercolors with are just *chefs kiss* — my fountain pen that has a sculpture modeled into it, from an art museum gift shop

— white out tape because I'm also incapable of proper spelling. yes, i am an author. no, that doesn't help

— glue stick for putting trash into my sketchbook

— two faber castel erasers because they're amazing

— a pencil sharpener, just in case

— notes!!

— random scribblings of calculations. I could not tell you what for. — a torn corner of an interesting newspaper article. story inspiration. — newspaper clipping of the dover demon to bring to creepy crew cryptid club — "can we talk?" note from one of my friends before we snuck off to a quieter part of the campus — "told you so!" sticky note that was put into one of my books. probably from L. . . arsehole. — "kiss my ass!" note from R. . . we're such a mature group of academics and authors — and a line from one of my favorite poems by robert frost

(🎪 back to the circus itinerary. . .)

[techav]

On Recovering From Disaster

Just before disaster struck with my 68030 homebrew, I had a plan to fork the project and take it in two directions in parallel.

The first would be my minimal Multibasic setup which was running great and was something I would be proud to exhibit at VCFSW '25.

Since that was working well, I didn't want to do anything that might make it not ready for the show. So I had assembled a second main board that I could use with other peripheral cards to continue development. My plan was to rework the memory map to move ROM and I/O addresses to the upper half of the 32-bit address space, which would allow me to use a DRAM card for up to 16MB of contiguous memory starting at address 0 — a perfect setup for running a proper OS

And then I burned up my good mainboard.

I had a spare CPLD on-hand, and I was able to get another 40MHz 68EC040 for cheap. But the 4Mbit SRAM chips are expensive, and I thought that if I was going to be paying for more SRAM, I should get the 12ns parts that would allow me to run RAM with no wait states at 50MHz. Which would require adapter boards, and more pin headers, and would have just driven the cost up even more.

Paralyzed by indecision and the rising cost, I decided to switch gears. I already have the DRAM board I built years ago, I just needed to get it working. And if I'm doing that, I may as well do the work on reorganizing my memory map.

So that's what I did. I made a new branch on my newly cleaned up repository, and set to work. I updated the mainboard bus controller logic to remove the no-longer-needed SRAM control, adjust the ROM address to start at 0x8000,0000, and move the 6850 UART address to 0x8008,0000. This freed up the entire 2GB space between 0x0000,0000 and 0x7FFF,FFFF for the DRAM card to use for main memory (my bus connector layout only allows for up to 16MB main memory, but that's plenty for my purpose).

Next, I needed to build the control logic for my DRAM board. I've done this once before on my Wrap030-ATX project a couple years ago, so I used that logic as a starting point. It … kind-of worked. Sometimes. Maybe.

I was getting random errors all over the place. Sometimes it was able to copy all of ROM into RAM and verify the copy without error, but it would fail when running code from RAM. Sometimes it wouldn't even pass the first two simple tests of writing a longword to RAM and reading it back.

Back to the data sheets to plan out the logic. I drew out a new timing diagram down to 1ns resolution, accounting for the specified propagation time for my CPLDs, and the measured signal delays for my CPU. This gave me the information I needed to build out a new state machine for the DRAM controller. In the process I also caught a few other bugs in my original logic, such as not ensuring the DRAM Write Enable strobe did not get asserted during refresh cycles.

The new state machine worked much better, but I got my timing off a bit. It worked reliably at 16MHz, but not at the intended 25MHz. At least it was working though; I can move forward with 16MHz.

The next thing to do was get my 8-port serial card working with this new setup. Every time the computer tried to access one of the 8 serial ports, it would get a bus error. This was a tough one that had me stuck for a while.

It looked like the serial card was getting addressed and asserting DSACK0# as expected, but I couldn't confirm the signal was making it back to the CPU. Every time I tried to measure the DSACK signals, the probes would increase the line capacitance (I think) too much and cause the whole computer to fail before it even got to the point of trying to address the serial ports.

I have the DSACK signals in a wired-or configuration. The logic on each card connects to the proper DSACK signal via an open-collector buffer, and is able to pull the signal low to signal that card acknowledging the bus cycle. The signal is then pulled back up to +5V by a 1kΩ resistor. This works well enough for small, slow systems, but with long bus wires or lots of chips on the bus, the extra capacitance means it can take a long time for that pull-up resistor to get the signal back up to +5V.

I made a change to my DRAM controller to actively drive the DSACK signals to +5V briefly at the end of a bus cycle before setting the pin to high-impedance. This helps ensure a fast rise time at the end of the cycle so it doesn't disrupt the next bus cycle.

It didn't fix the problem with the serial card, but it did allow me to actual probe the signals live to see what was happening — the Bus Error signal was getting asserted immediately after the CPU addressed the serial card. This didn't make much sense to me. My main board logic will assert Bus Error if no peripherals acknowledge a bus transaction within 64 clock cycles. Nothing should be asserting Bus Error so quickly.

Except … the main board bus controller. My original memory map used the lower half of the address space for the main board, and peripheral cards used the upper half. So my original main board logic was built to assert Bus Error immediately for an unused address in the lower half of the address space. I hadn't properly removed that bit of logic, so it was now asserting Bus Error for any accesses to the upper half of the address space that weren't used by the main board.

The challenges of working on a project after six years. I had forgotten that bit of logic was even there.

With that erroneous Bus Error assertation removed, the machine was finally able to properly load my Multibasic kernel and run BASIC for 8 users again.

At the moment it is running stable at 24MHz on my 25MHz-rated full 68030. It may not be the 50MHz high I was at, but after the frustration and disappointment of the past few weeks, I'm absolutely taking that as a win. 24MHz is incredible.

[mildcharacterenjoyer]

Scrapnik Island AU

Takes place after Sonic Frontiers. Tails decides to temporarily part ways with Sonic and goes to Scrapnik Island to help Sigma and the Mechas out with their goals.

Tails begins to help out where he can and soon the island is a bustling safe haven for Badniks and robots alike who have been left behind by their creators. Includes some Gun Robots who have gone rogue too.

Cream is on that road trip with Amy and Vanilla is with the Chaotix leaving Gemerl to pursue his own desires if he wishes, except Gemerl doesn't know what he wants for himself. He is not his own robot, being reprogrammed and most of his data is not actually his own.

He goes to find Tails to try and figure some stuff out, ending up at Scrapnik Island with everyone.

At the same time, Omega has been malfunctioning a little bit and decides to temporarily part ways with Shadow and Rouge. He seeks out Tails to figure out what is wrong, which also brings him to Scrapnik Island.

At first Omega did start attacking Scrapnik island but the fight quickly deescalated by the Mechas, Gemerl, and Tails. Gemerl is helping building the Island outward to accompany all the new robots moving in.

They get the Egg Carrier working as a means of transport. Tails enlists Mecha, Gemerl, and Omega's help forming the first battle robot Team, Team Defect. (I could have called it something else but I really like this one.) Mecha - Run, Gemerl - Fly, and Omega - Power.

Those three go on adventures together, grabbing spare parts or fighting Eggman's forces back, engaging Sage/Metal Sonic, and plenty of other things.

Omega and Gemerl already have a mutual respect for each other, but they still argue a lot. Mecha is the leader, and the one that can help the other robots come to an agreement.

Mecha is that robot that loves his family like Gemerl, but will happily fight others if need be. He's a good mix of Omega and Gemerl which is why hes a good leader for them.

Mecha Sonic and Knuckles easily gain Omega's respect. Sigma less so. This is due to Sigma being another E-Series robot. Omega keeps trying to prove his superiority and Sigma just doesn't care. He's just proud of his little brother no matter what he does. It drives Omega up the wall.

Having Omega around makes Sigma want his brothers back, so he begins plans to rebuild who he can from the E-Series, sending out Team Defect to retrieve parts and memory cards from various areas around the world.

While that's going on, Tails deciphers what Omega's malfunction is and it's growing pains. He is coding his own soul. Omega is angry about this and wants to be a soulless murder robot.

Gemerl is dealing with his own identity crisis and is mad he never got the chance to turn on Eggman like Omega did. He asks Tails to look into if his love for his family is truly his own or not. As Tails pokes around in his code, Gemerl starts having hallucinations about his predecessor Emerl.

Except they aren't hallucinations, it's what is left of Emerl's code actively trying to communicate with him. Gemerl listens and Emerl tells him that what he feels is truly his own. It's a heartfelt moment, but Emerl truly passes on giving Gemerl access to the ability to fuse with machines and some of the other strengths the gizoid lost when the original was destroyed.

A good portion of the E-Series has been rebuilt now and all of them. And I mean All of them, treat Omega as the baby brother. It's antagonistically adorable, but Omega HATES it. The Phis are the trouble makers intentionally ticking him off so they can race away snickering.

Beta has been found and rebuilt. Beta hates Omega because the youngest E-Series is stronger than him How dare?! Omega tolerates Beta the most, besides Sigma because 'Oh good! Reason to beat something up and get out my RAGE!" Beta can't beat Omega. He keeps trying and failing.

It's cannon that Chaos Gamma is made with Gamma's parts, so at some point Chaos Gamma will come into the picture. Maybe he's tired of being neglected by Eggman too. There could be a choice between dismantling Chaos Gamma and getting E - 102 Gamma back or keeping the current robot. I like the idea that if you decide to dismantle Chaos Gamma to recreate E-102 Gamma, then Gemerl will be upset. Mostly because he sees himself in Chaos Gamma. Not being his own robot, even if Chaos Gamma has Omega's temperament.

Literally everyone loves Sigma. Even Beta. Sigma is that mom friend who will make sure all your needs are met. He dotes on all his brothers with a passion. He also loves participating in meatbag traditions like birthdays and holidays. Sigma is the only one who can refer to Omega as a baby brother and not get a gun to the face...eventually. Omega learns to tolerate it.

Sigma helps Omega grow into his soul. By the time Rouge and Shadow come to find Omega on Scrapnik Island for something they absolutely need him for, Omega just accepts Sigma's love and everyone is so surprised Omega is letting Sigma pat his head like he's a child.

The scrapniks huddle together at night a lot of the time for snuggles and to heal their feelings of abandonment. Sigma is always the one who starts it, but the Mechas follow close behind. Mecha Sonic was the one who first introduced Gemerl and Omega to the cuddle pile.

Gemerl didn't take much prompting, having done this before with the rabbit family, but Omega is very much against joining in.

It takes Sigma starting a cuddle pile around Omega, to where the badnik can't escape the love to get him involved. Mecha Sonic and Gemerl are just sitting there next to him, teasing him about it.

Beta is an aggressive cuddler. Whenever Beta cuddles, it always turns into a rough house session. Omega uses this as his escape from the mushiness.

Tails is so proud of everyone and what they've accomplished together. He is able to repair the Mechas to better working conditions, modifying limbs to make them look more like their original forms. Sigma has asked to remain mostly the same provided a few updates here and there. He likes the way he looks now.

The fox might be the mind of Scrapnik Island, but Sigma is the heart and Soul. Omega's the muscle.

Omega and Chaos Gamma get along well. They spar all the time. Beta likes Chaos Gamma too. If they team up on Omega, he loses to them. So much sparring goes on Scrapnik Island that they had to build a specific arena for explosions so they stop blowing up parts of the island.

If E-102 Gamma gets rebuilt instead of keeping Chaos Gamma, Omega and him talk about their favorite meat bags. Tails will call Amy and she will be so so happy to see him. This will make Omega begin to miss Rouge and Shadow.

Tails does research into the Gizoid's while here as well. Testing out Gemerl's fusing abilities. I'ma stop there because as much as I love shipping Gemerl and Omega, I want this to remain more platonic. 🤣🤣