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covenofagatha · 2 days ago

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Hexed Hearts (Part 1)

Pilot

Agatha Harkness is the ruthless executive producer for the reality dating show Hexed Hearts, where you've been a PA for two years, but you want more

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: none yet

“Alright, people, thirty minutes to showtime! Season thirteen! I need our suitress out front, makeup on, and a smile on her face. I need the limos—where the fuck is limo three?—I need Billy out there, and who the fuck changed the lights in the pool to be green? Do we want it to look like an algae breeding ground? Come on, everyone, this isn’t amateur hour!” Agatha Harkness barks at the production team, sending them scrambling in different directions like a flock of chickens.

“Um, Agatha,” one of the producers says timidly, visibly wincing when Agatha turns to her, annoyance radiating, “Limo three ran out of gas. I just got off the phone with the driver.”

Agatha scoffs and you see the vein in her forehead bulge. “Why the fuck are you telling me that? Do you want me to fucking walk to them with a can of gas? Figure it out, Carol!”

Carol just stares blankly at her and you silently will her to do anything but stand there. Even you could tell her that she should take a company van to go get all the contestants from the limo. Problem solved.

“Look, Carol,” Agatha sighs and moves her black glasses from her face to resting on the top of her head. You want to look away, knowing what’s coming, but you can’t. “This isn’t going to work if I have to hold your hand. You’ve been here for what? Three years now? I need you to be a producer, not a child who needs a babysitter. Get out. You’re fired.”

Carol splutters out something in disbelief, but Agatha is already walking away and waving her hand to get your attention. As if you aren’t always watching her.

“Get me a coffee,” she says, tone still laced with some exasperation and you purse your lips before running to get her one.

Agatha Harkness, the executive producer for the reality dating show, Hexed Hearts, is known for her ruthless and no-nonsense style of leadership. She practically wrote the book on manipulation and knows exactly how to get anyone to do whatever she wants.

You heard that once on the show, seven of the contestants got into a literal fist fight all because Agatha suggested that the suitor liked women who weren’t afraid to go for what they wanted.

It’s honestly inspiring.

You’ve been a personal assistant for the show for two years, going into your third now.

The first season you worked here, it was a total bust. Agatha had thought it would be a good idea to do a Winter Wonderland, except have it set in Greenland where it was actually freezing. It was the first time a season had ever taken place not at the mansion in California, where it would’ve been practical and budget-friendly and fake snow definitely would’ve been better than real snow.

You still have calluses from all the shoveling you had to do and three of the contestants got hypothermia because Agatha insisted that they take off their parkas and film in bikinis in the below zero temperature.

“It’s just for like two seconds,” she had said. “Think of the ratings for the hard nipples. People will go wild.”

Luckily she had the foresight to put in their contracts that they couldn’t sue due to weather-sustained injuries, and the girls were completely fine. The network told her that the show could never be filmed anywhere but the mansion ever again.

So the next season, Agatha had to get creative—and she did. Season Twelve: Double Trouble.

One suitress. Sixteen sets of twins.

No one could tell anyone apart. The suitress called her date by his brother’s name more often than not. Brothers got into fights with each other. Some of them leaned more into it than others; you remember one of the producers asking you to go get Frank and finding him fucking the suitress, Lilith, while she gave his twin brother a blowjob.

Twitter had a field day after that was revealed—once again, a well placed tip to the rest of the men courtesy of Agatha led to a huge blow up on set, and even better, on camera.

As the season went on, it became clear that Lilith had a favorite, Adam. And no one was more upset about this than Adam’s twin brother, who decided that he would lock Adam in the bedroom closet and impersonate him.

It took about a week before anyone noticed and that week’s episode had the highest rating in seven years.

Growing up, you never cared for reality television, always finding it trashy and immature, but behind the scenes, there is so much more to what meets the eye. You were never able to tell how much of it was real or scripted.

Almost none of it is scripted. But most, if not all, is orchestrated.

Producers stir the pot, use clips that paint the contestants a certain way, exploit and mold however they want—whatever it takes to get the best ratings for the network. Your end goal is to become one, and you might have the perfect opportunity right now, with Carol fired.

This year, Agatha decided that she wanted to have the first season of reality television that was all queer women. The network had been incredibly reluctant to greenlight the idea, but when Agatha revealed that she had gotten Rio Vidal to sign on to be the suitress, they couldn’t say no.

Rio Vidal, the heiress to the Vidal Oil Company, is known for her bad-boy reputation and the trail of broken hearts she leaves in her path. She desperately needs to work on her public image before taking over the company, so her parents paid a fortune to get her on the show. Even you had to admit she was easy on the eyes so you figured there would be no problem getting thirty-two women to fall in love with her.

The problem would be getting her to pick one. You have no doubt that this season is going to be filled with scandal after scandal, which brings in the best ratings.

Your phone starts to buzz and you swear, setting down the full cup of coffee to pull it out of your pocket. You roll your eyes—it’s your mom.

“Hey, mom, I can’t really talk right now,” you say, raising it to your ear quickly. “Is something wrong?”

She sighs heavily. “Just wanted to check in on my only daughter, I didn’t realize that was a crime.”

Of course she’s pulling that card. “It’s not, mom, it’s just not really a great time, we’re about to start shooting.”

“Still on that show?” She makes a disapproving sound, even though she knows full-well that you are indeed still working for Hexed Hearts. “When are you going to get a real job? I mean, a personal assistant? Sweetie, you are so much better than that, and so much better than reality TV in general. Why don’t I give my friend at the school a call, see if she can—”

“Got to go, mom, talk to you later,” you interrupt abruptly before furiously pressing the disconnect button and shoving your phone back into your pocket after putting it on silent. Taking a deep breath, you unclench your fists and pick up the cup of coffee.

It always goes that way with your mom. It feels like no matter what you do, she’s never satisfied with anything.

“Has someone rescued limo three yet?” Agatha yells from inside her office and your hand holding her cup jolts, spilling burning liquid on your skin.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing some napkins and wincing.

One of the producers, Marie, jogs to Agatha's door to open it slightly. “Hey, yeah, Alice went to go get them. They should be here in about ten minutes. We’ve got Rio outside by the gates with Billy, the other vans are outside, we’re thinking we just go in order of one, two, four, and then hopefully three should be here by then.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine, we just need to get all the introductions done by midnight so we can get about six hours of B-roll and interviews before the sun rises,” Agatha says dismissively and you awkwardly hover behind Marie, who’s still blocking the entrance to her office. “Is there something else?”

Marie shifts and looks down at her feet. “Um, who do you want to take over Carol’s girls? I’m not sure Alice, Lilia, and I can take anymore. I can call Carol though, I don’t even think she’s left—”

“Oh, fuck that,” Agatha snaps. Each producer gets eight contestants to handle, but usually by the end of the first night, they only have four to six left, given how well they produce their people. “Do not call Carol. I’ll figure it out. Where is my coffee?”

“I have it,” you say, finally pushing past Marie and walking to set it down on her desk. Agatha is dressed in a maroon pantsuit, her hair in a bun held together by two pens. She’s scribbling on a piece of paper while glancing between her open laptop screen and the television on the wall. You pause to look at what she’s watching.

Agatha’s own TV inside her office are directly connected to the cameras that show Rio getting some last minute touch ups on hair and makeup. She’s wearing an earthy green dress that pairs nicely with her flawless pale skin and dark hair that falls a little past her shoulders. Her lipstick is a muted pink and she has on minimal eyeliner that accentuates her hazel eyes.

“What do you think?” Agatha asks, watching you carefully.

You look at her, surprised. It’s not often she asks you for your opinion. “I think she’s good, yeah. Everyone will be all over her.”

Agatha nods, musing on it. “I think you’re right. I’m going to need you to do a bit more around here tonight, with Carol gone. I’m going to have to step in and take over her eight so I need you near me at all times, ready to do whatever I need.”

“Well, I mean…” you trail off. Are you really about to do this? Agatha raises an eyebrow at you, urging you on, and you swallow roughly. “I could produce.”

She laughs like she’s actually taken aback. “Honey, are you asking me for a promotion right now? The body isn’t even cold yet—Carol hasn’t even left the building!” She leans back in her chair and her tongue pushes against the inside of her cheek while she regards you with something akin to amusement. “Well, let’s hear your pitch.”

You take a deep breath. “This is my third year on this show now, and I’ve really learned a lot about what goes on behind the scenes and I have ideas for this season. I’ve watched the way you manipulate and create situations and get results, and I know I can do it too. I’m a hard worker, I’m responsible, I know how to work with these people—I know people. I understand what they want, how they think, how to get them to think that they want something. I really want this job, Agatha, and I know I can do it.”

“Bravo, honey,” she says with a hint of sarcasm and slowly claps. Your stomach squirms under her scrutinizing gaze. “How long have you been practicing that little speech?”

You shrug and take a sudden interest in your shoes.

“How badly do you want this?”

Brows furrowing, you meet her blue eyes again. Is she asking what you would do for it? “I want it really badly, I mean, I’ll get on my knees and—”

“Sleeping your way to the top?” she coos condescendingly and your cheeks heat up, maybe at the implication that she’d think you would do that, but also at the thought of sleeping with her. “That’s so ten years ago of you.”

“—beg. I’d get on my knees and beg,” you finish and wipe your palms on your jeans. This is not going the way you wanted, and now you’re probably going to be fired. You can only imagine what your mom is going to say.

But Agatha jerks her head to the bulletin boards with thirty-three headshots on it: Rio and the contestants. There’s a few bullet points written under each picture with the most important information about them. You made flashcards out of them once the roster was released so you could memorize them all.

“You said you have ideas?” Agatha prompts.

You could go through this in your sleep so you walk over to the boards and point at Rio. “Our suitress is a player, there’s no way around that. So we get her to play. She keeps five, six people on her line at all times, head over heels, but Rio’s telling them all the same thing: ‘Oh, baby, can’t wait to take you home to share my fortune with; whatever you want? It’s yours. You’re so perfect.’ Audiences can’t decide if they love or hate her, because she’s so charming.”

Agatha doesn’t look impressed. “That’s the whole point of the show.”

It doesn’t even falter you. “Yes, but while Rio is off doing that, we introduce another lead. Someone much more real, someone who isn’t just looking at everyone as toys. Helen Troywick.” You point at the picture of the blonde with warm brown eyes and a crooked smile. “Pretty in an unsuspecting way, works with animals, donates to charity. Only been in one relationship her whole life.”

“A foil to our bad boy,” Agatha says, nodding like she sees the vision. “You want Helen to—what? Steal the other contestants?”

“I think a main part of this season could be the rivalry between Rio and Helen. Rio sees how authentic Helen is, and how easily she can win over everyone, so Rio has to change. Or, they get into a big fight. Either way, it’s a win for America.”

“And what happens if Rio just eliminates her?”

You shake your head. “She won’t. Because Helen is the one who’s going to win. Think about it. Helen is the perfect girl to help rehash your image, the perfect girl to bring home to mommy and daddy to get their approval. Rio won’t cut her because she knows that she needs her. And if she doesn’t see that, then we just have to make sure we do.”

Agatha’s eyes narrow. “You know, I’m almost impressed, honey. And villains?”

Every good season of reality television needs someone to root against. “I’ve picked out a few, but I think Wanda Maximoff could be a good one, or Cassandra Infidelis. Wanda is the token milf with twins, control freak, perfectionist but I sense some anger under all that. Start to take away her control? I bet she goes crazy. And Cassandra has had a lot of issues in her past so I don’t think it would be too hard to get her to the point where she snaps.”

She chews on her bottom lip and then stands up out of her chair and walks over until she’s a foot in front of you. You’re completely frozen to the ground and you can feel her hot breath on your lips.

It takes everything in you not to look at her mouth.

“I can do it,” you whisper. “I know I don’t have any experience, but I want to learn. I want you to teach me—produce me.”

Agatha smirks knowingly and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Well done, honey. Looks like you just got yourself a promotion. Now get out there and do everything I say, exactly how I say.”

“I will, I promise.” Tension crackles between you and electricity pulses under your skin. It feels like you just got everything you wanted while simultaneously selling your soul to the devil.

Her voice lowers and her eyes rake over your body with a heat in them. “I’ll make something out of you, don’t worry.”

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7 @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut

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allthingssteddie · 2 days ago

Text

Eddie Munson hated a lot of things. He hated the jocks who thought they ruled Hawkins High. He hated the posers at the record store who claimed to love metal but had never even listened to Iron Maiden. He hated his gym teacher that asshole who got off on making him miserable. And he especially hated the cheesy, commercialized holidays that seemed to bring out the worst in people.

Valentine's Day.

Eddie Munson hated a lot of things, but Valentine's Day was definitely at the top of his list. And that day was finally here.

The happiness radiating off everyone in school was suffocating, and even Steve had fallen victim to the Valentine's Day madness. He was beaming with pride, flowers in hand, as he chatted with Nancy by her locker. Eddie's stomach twisted into a knot as he watched Steve's goofy, lovestruck grin. He couldn't stand the way Steve's eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at Nancy. It was a look Eddie had never seen Steve give him, and it made his chest ache with a dull, unfamiliar pang.

He knew his crush was doomed from the start, a futile infatuation that would never be reciprocated. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to bear. Especially not today, when he was forced to witness Steve’s affectionate gestures towards Nancy up close. His locker, conveniently located next to Nancy’s, offered a front row seat to the torture. Eddie couldn’t help but feel like he was stuck in a never ending nightmare, watching the person he secretly was in love with attention on someone else.

Eddie thought the morning couldn't get any worse, but first period proved him wrong. As he walked into class, he spotted a long stemmed rose on Nancy's desk, surrounded by a gaggle of girls cooing and aahing over it. "Is it from Steve?" one of them asked, eyes wide with excitement. Nancy's face flushed as she glanced at a note attached to the rose, her awkward smile and nod confirming their suspicions. Eddie's gut twisted with a mix of discomfort and envy as he slid into his seat, trying to ignore the syrupy sweetness that seemed to be suffocating him.

As the day wore on, Eddie witnessed a different scene unfold. Nancy and Steve were standing by their lockers, their voices hushed but their body language screaming tension. The rose from earlier lay wilted on the floor, trampled and forgotten. Nancy's face was red with anger, her eyes blazing as she spat out the words, "You're such an ass, Steve!" Steve looked taken aback, his eyes hurt and confused, as if he had no idea what he'd done wrong. Eddie watched, fascinated, as the couple's argument , wondering what had triggered the fight.

Nancy stormed away, leaving Steve standing by his locker, his face etched with hurt and confusion. He slumped down to the ground, holding his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. Eddie couldn't help but approach him, curiosity getting the better of him. "What's wrong, man?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. Steve glared at him, his eyes welling up with tears. Eddie, taken aback, threw up his hands. "Fine, don't tell me," he said, turning to leave. But Steve's hand shot out, grasping Eddie's pants leg. "Wait," he said, his voice cracking. Eddie sat back down beside him, and Steve let out a shuddering sigh. "She's cheating on me," he sniffled. Eddie's eyes widened in shock. "Nancy?" he repeated, incredulous. Steve nodded, his face crumpling. "Yeah, Nancy."

Eddie's eyes widened in shock. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He handed Eddie a note that had been attached to the flowers. Eddie's eyes scanned the page, his heart sinking as he read the words "I miss you... J". The initials seemed to leap off the page, a stark confirmation of Steve's suspicions. Eddie's gaze met Steve's, and he could see the pain and betrayal etched on his face.

"That's...that's pretty conclusive," Eddie said, trying to sound calm, but his voice came out rougher than he intended. Steve nodded, his jaw clenched, and Eddie could see the muscles in his face twitching with suppressed emotion. "I knew something was off," Steve muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's been acting weird for weeks, but I had no idea..." He trailed off, his eyes welling up with tears again. Eddie felt a pang of sympathy for Steve and instinctively reached out, putting a hand on Steve's shoulder.

As the bell rang, Eddie turned to Steve and suggested they ditch class. Steve hesitated for a second, but nodded in agreement. They slipped into Eddie's car, where they shared a joint outside Waldenbooks.

"I'm actually banned from here," Eddie said with a chuckle.

Steve laughed, inhaling the smoke. "Why?" he asked, his eyes squinting with amusement.

Eddie grinned mischievously. "I got into an argument with the guy who worked here over The Lord of the Rings book."

Steve raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What about it?"

Eddie leaned in, a conspiratorial whisper escaping his lips. "He said it was just a kids' book, and I... disagreed."

Steve chuckled, the smoke from the joint curling out of his mouth. "You went all geek on him, huh?"

Eddie nodded, a proud smile spreading across his face. "Someone had to set him straight."

Steve passed him the joint, and Eddie took a long, satisfying drag. For a moment, they just sat there in comfortable silence, the only sound the soft hum of the radio.

Eddie couldn't believe it - King Steve, the star athlete, was sitting in his car, smoking a joint and smiling with him. It was surreal, and yet, it felt oddly natural.

The silence was broken when Steve spoke up, "I'm surprised you're not into Valentine's Day, Eddie."

Eddie scoffed, "It's a total sham. A holiday created by corporations to guilt trip people into buying overpriced flowers and chocolates. And let's be real, it's just a reminder of societal pressure to conform to romantic norms."

Steve chuckled and said, "Wow, Eddie, you're like a Valentine's Day Grinch. What's behind all that cynicism?"

Eddie rolled his eyes, "Hey, someone's got to keep things real around here. But if you must know, I just think it's all a bit... forced. Like, why do we need a special day to show people we care? Shouldn't we be doing that anyway?"

Eddie smiled, looking slightly surprised by Steve's agreement. "Yeah, I mean, it's just another day, right?"

“As "I Want to Know What Love Is" by Foreigner came on, Steve lit up, turning up the volume. He sang along, eyes closed, and Eddie joined in. As they sang, they looked at each other, their eyes locking. Eddie stared at Steve's lips, and Steve caught him looking. They exchanged a glance, and Steve smiled slyly. "You know what would be perfect?" he asked, his voice low as if he was telling a secret. "What?" Eddie replied, his heart racing.

They sit side by side on the planetarium's seats, gazing up at the starry night sky projected above. Steve let out a soft "whoa" as a swirling galaxy filled the dome.

Eddie turned to him, a knowing glint in his eye. "Right?"

Steve nodded, his eyes still fixed on the celestial display. "It's like... perspective, you know? We're just a tiny part of all this."

Eddie smiled, his voice barely above a whisper. "Exactly."

“How did you find out about this place?” Steve asked, his gaze still upward.

Eddie smiled, his eyes nostalgic. “As a kid I’d come here with my uncle.”

Steve turned to him, intrigued. “Your uncle?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah, he was an astronomy buff. He’d bring me here whenever I was feeling lost or overwhelmed. He’d say, ‘Look, son, we’re just a small part of something much bigger.’”

Steve’s eyes softened, and he turned back to the starry sky. “That’s really cool. I’m sure he’d be happy to know you’re still coming here.”

The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment, taking in the celestial beauty above. Then eddie reached out tracing the stars with his fingers and Steve and gently brushed his hand against Eddie’s

Eddie's fingers froze, and a spark of electricity ran through him at the gentle touch. He turned to Steve, their eyes locking in the dim light of the planetarium. Time seemed to suspend as they gazed at each other, the only sounds the soft hum of the projector and the distant, music.

Without breaking eye contact, Steve intertwined their fingers, his hand warm and gentle around Eddie's. Eddie's heart skipped a beat as a jolt of connection ran through him, like the stars above had aligned just for this moment.

Eddie couldn't help but feel a shift in his perspective. As he sat there, hands intertwined with Steve's, surrounded by the celestial beauty of the planetarium, he was starting to believe in Valentine's Day.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie valentine’s Day #steddie prompt #steddie headcanon #steddie fandom #king steve #no upside down au #nancy wheeler #steddie fic #eddie munson has a crush #Steve Harrington gets cheated on #soft steddie #steddie imagine

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solxamber · 18 hours ago

Note

For the Valentine’s Day event

Cater, Romantic, APT. by ROSÉ and Bruno Mars.

Specifically the lyrics

“Kissy face, kissy face sent to your phone, but I'm trying to kiss your lips for real”

Always excited for your content!

And don’t overwork yourself! :D

"Don't you want me like I want you" || Cater Diamond

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: APT. by ROSÉ and Bruno Mars

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 760

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mutual pining, Friends to Lovers

It starts, like most things with Cater, as a joke.

A playful nudge here, a winking emoji there — an endless game of Are we? Or aren’t we? that neither of you have ever bothered to define.

You’re both out of NRC now, graduated and trying to figure out what adulthood means — which, for you, seems to be juggling work, friendships, and whatever this is with Cater.

It’s never been serious, not really.

Because Cater doesn’t do serious. He’s all smiles and filters and perfectly crafted captions. He’s the kind of person who knows exactly how to flirt without ever letting it get too real, like love is something that only happens on the other side of a camera lens.

But then there’s you.

And, well… you like to push buttons.

It’s a game between you.

A push and pull, a dance along the line of something real—so close to crossing, but never quite.

The stolen moments stretch between you: a lingering touch when you pass him something, a glance that holds too long before one of you looks away. The way your voice gets softer when you say his name, like it’s something precious, something that belongs only to you.

And Cater… Cater tells himself it’s fine.

It’s fine if you never say anything, because he’s good at this. At pretending. At keeping things light and easy, at making sure no one ever sees the part of him that wants.

But sometimes, it gets hard.

Like when you call him late at night, your voice warm and sleepy, saying, “Hey, you’re still up, right?”—and he always is, even when he wasn’t before.

Or when you lean into his space without thinking, close enough that he could just tilt his head and—

But no.

You don’t cross the line.

So he won’t either.

Until one afternoon, when the line between flirting and something more starts to blur.

It’s one of those lazy Sundays — the kind where the sky’s too blue and the breeze too warm to do anything productive. You’re at Cater’s place, sprawled out on his couch, scrolling through your phone while he fiddles with the playlist.

“Hey,” he calls from the other side of the room. “What do you think of this one?”

A sultry beat hums from the speakers — something slow and sweet, a little too romantic for a playlist that's supposedly just background noise.

You raise an eyebrow. “Feeling a bit sappy today, Diamond?”

Cater winks. “What can I say? I’m a man of many layers.”

You roll your eyes but your heart skips a beat — because that’s what he does to you. Makes you laugh, makes you want, makes you wonder if this little game you’re playing is ever going to end.

He flops down next to you, close enough that his thigh brushes against yours. He’s still grinning, but there’s something else in his eyes — a flicker of something that makes your stomach flip.

“You know,” he says, voice light but careful, “for all the kissy face emojis you send me… kinda rude you’ve never actually kissed me.”

Your brain short-circuits.

It’s not like Cater hasn’t said things like this before — he’s always toeing the line, always dangling his words just far enough out of reach that you can’t grab onto them.

But this time feels different.

This time, his voice is a little too soft. His smile is a little too real.

And maybe it’s the playlist or the lazy afternoon sun or the weeks of almost piling up in your chest — but before you can stop yourself, you lean in.

And kiss him.

Not a quick peck. Not a flirty brush of lips.

A kiss. Slow, lingering — the kind that tastes like every unsaid word between you.

For a second, Cater doesn’t move. His brain seems to short-circuit just like yours did, frozen with wide eyes and parted lips.

But then — oh.

Then his hand slides to your waist, his other hand tilting your chin up as he kisses you back, just as slow, just as deep.

And it’s not a joke this time.

When you finally pull away, breathless and a little dizzy, Cater just stares at you.

“Uh,” he says, voice hoarse, “was that… to prove a point or…?”

You burst out laughing, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He’s laughing too, but there’s a softness to it now — a sweetness underneath the usual teasing. His fingers are still resting on your waist, like he’s afraid to let go.

“So…” he starts again, and for once, his voice wavers. “Are we… still just flirting, or…?”

You tilt your head, biting your lip — the same playful glimmer in your eyes. “I don’t know, Diamond. Wanna kiss me again and find out?”

Cater laughs, breathless. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I think so.”

You grin, and it’s the same smile he’s always loved—the one that makes him feel like the world isn’t so scary after all.

And this time, when he leans in, he doesn’t hesitate.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #cater x reader #cater diamond x reader #cater diamond #cater #twst cater

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corazondebeskar-reads · 23 hours ago

Text

of rage and ruin - chapter ten

chapter ten

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 5.6k

summary: joel faces his inability to protect you.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), body horror, viewer discretion is advised, p in v, oral, torture

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Tommy Miller is a changed man.

Four and a half years of scouring the midwest will do that to someone.

So will being bitten by a toddler.

Well. Probably not just any toddler.

After Tommy had cajoled DJ into sinking his tiny teeth into Tommy’s bicep, Laura hadn’t spoken to him for three months. She refused his company at the door.

“I have spent years—years, Miller—teaching that boy that he cannot, under any circumstances, bite someone. Do you know how hard it is to convince a toddler not to bite? Do you?” Laura had berated him thoroughly, and shut the door in his face.

She’d forgiven him, after some nudging from Tess, and a couple special deals with Bill for some new shoes for the boys.

Even so, he’d never felt quite so alone before. There was a pull behind his ribs, an ache that said he could not give up.

“You really don’t feel any different?” Tess said cautiously, one night when all three adults were lounged on the worn leather couches in Laura’s cottage, passing a bottle of whiskey.

“Nah,” Tommy says. “Well, I do, but I can’t explain it. But I think I’m getting closer. I’ve got this feeling.”

Tess crooked a brow at him. “You got me brokering deals across the goddamn half of the country based on a feeling?”

“Ain’t like you’re getting nothin’ out of it,” he grumbled.

“I know what you mean,” Laura admitted. “I— when Peter died—” she, with a kindness he feels sick for accepting, doesn’t say 'when you shot my husband.' “I knew.”

“That’s freaky,” Tess says bluntly. “But alright. I’ll keep pressin’em for info.”

It was hard, though, to get real information out of anyone, when you can’t explain that the missing person in question may also be an 8-foot-tall fairytale monster.

There were rumors, though. Most of them turned out about as well as if he were looking for Bigfoot.

Tess spent less and less time in Boston, taking up Laura’s sofa. Tommy spent less and less time at Joel’s cabin, instead roaming the country for any sign of his brother. Sometimes, Tess would go with him, usually if she had secured a good trade at the same time.

But there was no sign of Joel.

Joel doesn’t let you out of his sight. He refuses to go out, even when they bring him to the ground with the shock collar.

“She goes with me,” he snarls.

Jim throws his hands in the air in frustration. They’ve tried… well, they’ve tried a lot of horrible things. You wish he would just go and stop getting hurt.

“Joel,” you plead for the nth time.

“Look at it this way,” Jim leers. “You either go and risk her getting hurt. Or you refuse and guarantee it.”

Joel wolfs out for the nth time, and horribly, you share a look with Cheryl.

“For fuck’s sake,” she says, finally breaking her uncharacteristic silence. “He wants to bring the girl? Fine. We’ll bring her.”

Her words are not a comfort. There is no promise of safety. But truth be told, not that you’ll voice it after all this, not that you’d ever disagree with Joel in front of them, but the verdict is a tightening noose.

To you, the threat is gone. You helped him pick the threat out of his teeth. The two brothers were an anomaly; none of these people have any loyalty to one another. The status quo works right now, but at the slightest tip of the ship, that ends. No one is coming after you because of Mike.

Joel had furrowed his brows, shaking his head with a glower. “That’s what we thought about Mike. Ain’t riskin’ it, darlin’. And that’s final.”

He hadn’t used his alpha voice, but you had felt compelled to shut up anyway. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the way his jaw was set tight. You reached up, one hand against his cheek, thumb brushing his beard. “Okay,” you capitulate.

He almost bristles at the coddling, but the rigidity leaves him in a heaving sigh, and he allows himself a moment to lean into your gentle touch. His hand covers yours, trapping it there.

“Atta girl,” he mumbled, drawing your palm to his lips for a kiss.

Now that it was happening, though? He smells the acrid citrus disinfectant of your fear as it curls into guilt in his lungs.

Not that he can do anything to help. He stands, hands through the bars, as they shackle him. He waits, brow twitching, as they fit the muzzle around his snout. Two of the lackeys push him against the cinder block wall outside your room, twin prongs jabbing against the furry expanse of his chest. It heaves with his heavy pants, eyes darting between his would-be guards and where you’re similarly being bound.

Jim bitches. Of course he does. He bitches the whole time they begin the march to the surface, to the wild.

They shove you in the van behind Joel, and he uses his great, hairy body to catch you, huffing and nudging until you manage to sit on his lap. Your hands are bound tight behind your back, tense lines of your body perched precariously, but the only other option is the floor.

The raiders are piled in around you. Well, most of them. Cheryl and her favored lackeys are in a pick-up truck following behind. Jim drives, ruling this operation as he does every other—with rigid, unwavering control. The others trapped with you in the cargo hull have guns or tasers, so clearly uncomfortable with sharing an enclosed tin can with the most dangerous creature they’ve ever known.

None of them look at you. It’s too careful to be coincidence. He’s made his point.

The Wolf doesn’t think it’s enough, so he growls every time someone so much as shifts in their seat.

It speaks to the danger that you don’t even think of making a Little Red Riding Hood or Three Little Pigs joke, though they do come to you later.

The raid is anticlimactic. The raiders mow down most of the other group. Joel disposes of the rest with neither pomp nor circumstance, just swift swipes of sharp claws.

They work methodically through the small house, loading the back of the pickup with their spoils. That takes far longer than the slaughter.

“Can I sit down?” you eventually ask Cheryl. Jim’s made her your keeper, since she made the call to drag you along.

“What the fuck do I care?” she snaps, examining a nail under the light of the moon.

So you sit on the porch and wait, hoping you don’t get a splinter in your ass.

Later, under the illusion of safety, you nestle into the circle of him, as you had in those earlier days. You tip your head back and bury your fingers in his fur, one hand petting and the other holding tight. He makes a sort of snuffly sound, inquisitive and wary.

“I’m still not scared of you,” you say, splitting the silent night. “I watched you eat a dude. Today was nothing.”

He rolls his eyes but settles back down, head resting on his misshapen arms.

When you wake, he’s more man than wolf. It’s been that way more and more often, now.

Joel cradles you the way he always does, like a child at the beach whose fistfuls of sand keep retreating with the waves. There’s a tender desperation to it that makes you ache. You can’t take it, pulling yourself close to him with his shoulders beneath your grasp, pressing your lips together as if the sweet sedative of his saliva could fix the rabbity seizing of your heart.

A twinge near your hip gives you pause, a creeping reminder of something that shouldn’t have been forgotten.

“Hey Joel,” you say slowly, drawing his eyebrows up, “you said the heats are for…”

He hears the word you can’t force from your mouth. As his fingers continue their steady rhythm, the soothing back-and-forth against your temple, he douses your worry.

“‘m shootin’ blanks, darlin’,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck, not pursuing anything, but luxuriating in the moment.

You shouldn’t laugh, but you snort anyway. “You’re telling me that you’re… fixed ?” you tease. Any self-control you had before doesn’t seem to have survived him.

He pulls away from his lazy kisses to scowl at you. “Shut up,” he grumbles, though there’s no mistaking the twitch of his lips as you grin.

“I’m right,” you say, squealing as he nips at your neck in retaliation.

“Ha ha,” he says, deadpan with a wry twist of his lips. “I get it. Like a dog. You gotta get some new jokes.”

“No, I’m good; these are still funny,” you say, wrapping one hand around the nape of his neck and trying to tug him back to his affections.

“I’m serious, though,” he says, somehow settling the little bubbles that crept up your throat. “Got snipped a long time ago.”

It’s an answer that asks questions. You don’t give them a voice. Not why, not when. You’re haunted by the thought of his past. My daughter loved that shit. It’s been weeks since he dropped that little tidbit, and neither of you have dug it back up. He sees the questions blooming in your eyes even as you snip them at the root, and shakes his head, so you follow a safer path of curiosity.

“What about the healing? What if it undid it? That’s a thing, right? Undoing vasectomies?”

“Thought about that, too. But none of my other scars or injuries from before went away. Why would that?”

He sounds so casually confident, and you can’t really disagree. “So you’re saying I won myself a sweepstakes from Little Debbie?”

He closes his eyes for a moment before looking skyward. “What’re you on about now?”

“A lifetime supply of creampies,” you say seriously, but it doesn’t hold, and you bury your laughter in his arm.

“You’re an idiot,” he says flatly, shaking his head. “And those are oatmeal cream pies, you pervert.”

It just makes you laugh harder. “I’m your little toaster strudel.”

He groans. “Wrong. Icin’ goes on the top of those.”

“Says the man who literally rubbed his jizz over my tits.”

“Alright, time for you to be quiet,” he says, covering your mouth with his hand only to snatch it back when you bite. “Now who’s the fuckin’ dog?” he mutters.

“Aw, giving up?” you say as he rises on his haunches, still looming over you.

“Nope,” he pops the p as his smirk grows. “Got a better way t’shut you up.”

The thing about him being nude all the time is that you’re hyper-aware of the status of his cock, like, all the time. It’s been half-mast for the last hour, but it’s paying full attention now.

“Guess I’m just as much of a dog as you. Got me over here like Pavlov.”

“Pavlov was the scientist,” Joel says absently, stroking his cock and scooting closer to where you’re sitting up in anticipation.

“S’there a way to shut you up?” But you don’t need to ask. You cut off his retort by taking the tip of his cock between your lips and sucking hard.

His words become a strangled whimper and you pull off with a lewd pop. “Oh yeah,” you say, “like that.”

Before he can muster up another snarky comment, you take his balls in one hand, rubbing your thumb over them to make his hips jerk a little. His hands don’t stay off you for long, but he doesn’t try to push you around or rush you.

A sweet kiss to each, and he knows this’ll be over a lot sooner than he’d like.

But goddamn, will it be worth it.

You groan at the velvety feel of his wrinkled sac, which grows more and more taut as you adorn it with little kitten licks, nuzzling your cheek against it. His oaky bourbon musk has a sharp edge to it that makes you a little dizzy. With a single-minded focus, your hands curl around the backs of his thighs, a soft sigh ruffling the coarse hair.

You pause to pick one of said hairs from your teeth and go back in for more.

His hand rests on your head, and he gazes down at you, his eyes dark like the underbelly of a cloud grown heavy with a brewing storm. The wiry tuft of his pubes copies his scruffy beard, though the former is far less salt than salt-and-pepper. The hard line of his cock presses against your cheek, the slip of his foreskin smooth. It leaves a trail behind when you pull away, though you can’t help but lean back in and kiss the rest from the tip.

He does the unthinkable in that moment.

He steps back.

You look up sharply, catching yourself with an oof. “Wha—”

He doesn’t even let you finish wondering. He grabs you, both palms smothering your hips, and rolls you onto your stomach. It’s not a display of his brute strength, but instead of the thrall you don’t like to admit to being under. The slightest pressure from his urging has you rolling over.

“Need t’be inside you,” he grunts.

“You were, ” you protest with no protest.

He shuts you up much more efficiently by the intensity of his grip on your hips as he pushes into you. His impatience finds his cock buried in the depths of your cunt and his teeth buried in the shallows of your shoulder. He rests on his elbows with your upper body trapped between them.

The breath leaves you in a whine, air forced from your lungs under the pressure of his bulk on you.

“Oh,” is all you can muster.

He nips at your ear in response, laving his kisses and tongue down your neck, bringing his teeth back up to the line of your jaw.

It’s so much. You’re overwhelmed by him, by the way something in you sings at the weight pinning you to the cold floor, sweater rucked up about your waist. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to turn that isn’t Joel, and it’s bliss. White static and the pounding of his hips against your ass consume you. Your gasps and grunts and moans come from somewhere in the distance, not quite underwater, but only because his are rough in your ear, keeping you afloat.

He runs hot, hotter than any man you’ve lain with before, and it’s not long before sweat slicks between your bodies, dripping down from his brow. You’ve given up all illusion of being an active participant, instead laying your cheek against the cool ground and letting your eyes close.

The angle is divine. Each rock of his hips grants you the tiniest bit of friction, but it ends up being all you need. He makes you come once, twice, three exhausting times before he allows himself to take what he needs, fucking down into you mercilessly.

You only get to delight in the sensation of his cock twitching, of the bursts of his cum inside, for a moment before he’s pulling out to spill the rest across your ass.

When he pulls out, he slides off you to the side, but keeps you pinned with a leg and arm over you. If you weren’t so sated, floating your way down from the exquisite high, you’d roll your eyes. He’s letting it dry; of course he is.

He nudges you with his nose, and you turn your head to catch his eyes. They’re as tired and pleased as yours, but something cheeky lurks there. He doesn’t make you wait long for it.

“There," he says with a slap to your ass. "Now You’re a cream pie Toaster Strudel. Happy?” He's deadpan with flat brows and a scowl.

You laugh, lighter than you’ve been in a long time. It almost sobers you—the realization that you are. You may not be happy with your living conditions and dangerous circumstances. But you’re… you’re happy with him.

“Oh, you’re a pastry chef now?” You tease before pressing a kiss to his prickly cheek. “Yeah. M’happy.”

He stiffens at the way your voice goes so soft. So fond. It’s undeniable—the very thing he feared the most coming to full bloom before his eyes.

But what was he to do? This wretched world that always takes, always, never gives, it had given him you. And he’s too damn selfish to care anymore. There’s the imprint of concern, a triplicate carbon copy—barely indented, barely visible.

But more than that, it’s a facsimile. It’s the only thing that remains of the cautious voice warning him to keep a distance. To protect you from being hurt. To protect you from himself.

He can’t protect you from himself anymore. His hold on you turns, tightens like a corset around your ribs, and he watches in disbelief as you simply melt into it.

No fear. No flight. No fight. Just you, and him, here. Any energy he had earlier is sapped seems to leak out from his sigh, unfurling from the look in his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have called it fond.

Joel, though? Joel’d've called it something else.

The trips outdoors happen weekly. At least, you think so. Not that you know much about the passage of time beyond the phases of the moon. They skip the new moon since the Man isn’t useful. Everything is by-the-book, if there was such an awful thing, until the second full moon.

The Wolf Moon rises above the glittering snow, and all hell breaks loose in her glow.

The heavy, languid body sits huge on the horizon, commanding control. It’s hypnotic. You can’t really quite look away from the cold yellow, bigger than the sun and twice as potent.

You don’t even notice that you’ve started to move when she catches you.

Cheryl’s nails make little crescents in your shoulder, her face so close that her hot breath puffs into your ear. It’s an awful sensation, and you want no part of her in or on your body. But here you are, too afraid to do anything but take it.

“You’re just as mindless as he is,” she says with a breathless laugh.

You consider protesting, but she beats you to it.

“He doesn’t even know who he is. He’s got no control. Only obeys his master,” she says. Her fingers curl under your chin, grinding the soft flesh against your teeth as she forces you to look at Jim.

He’s got a girl by the throat. She can’t be more than fifteen. His gun sits in his hip holster, knife in his pocket. He doesn’t need a weapon. He has the Wolf.

A man who can’t be anyone but her father is pleading on his knees. You can’t hear anything, don’t know his crimes against Jim. But Jim kicks the man back with a boot against his chest and drops the girl unceremoniously to the ground.

He snaps his fingers and points. And the wolf lunges, teeth catching in the moonlight.

You don’t realize you’ve screamed until the whole clearing goes silent. He’s frozen, inches from the girl, but all his attention is on you.

“Don’t,” you whisper, and he recoils from her, standing on his warped legs and howling.

“You little bitch,” Cheryl hisses, her fingers dropping your chin in favor of your throat. There’s a fraction of a moment where the world pauses before the cacophony erupts.

Joel snarls, lunging for Cheryl. Jim hits the shock collar’s trigger. Joel stumbles, falls, and keeps moving.

It earns him a bullet to the leg. Jim never lets go of the button, and you scream as he convulses, bleeding profusely on the thick patch of grass.

It’s the last thing you see before everything goes dark.

When you wake up, you’re in the cage.

Outside the room.

Joel paces in front of the barred door, eyes never leaving you. A sigh billows out when he sees that you’re awake. He drops to his knees, reaches, and just barely grabs the bars before he pulls. The metal screeches something awful against the tile, but he can reach you now.

“Hey,” he urges, voice low and a little wrecked. “Tell me you’re okay. C’mon.”

“I’m okay,” you groan, but make no effort to sit up. You stare up at him, inverted as he is, half-obscured by the bars. “I miss Excedrin.”

He frowns, brows furrowed, but disregards your complaint. “Y’ain’t bleeding,” he says by way of comfort, though more for his benefit.

“No, just fuckin’... hurts,” you say, closing your eyes against the sickening flicker of the nearly-burnt bulb.

“That was real stupid,” he says. It lacks real bite, but it’s bloated with something worse than anger.

“We both lived. And that girl.”

Joel winces and looks away.

“No,” you say weakly.

“They shot ‘em all,” he says, the gravity of their fate dragging you down. “They never leave anyone alive.”

“No,” you repeat quietly. His words are the swing of an axe to your sternum.

He looks away. He’s always known you’re too soft, too good. Somehow free of dried blood under your fingernails all your life. He’s never asked, may never ask, how you ended up here. It’s not the thing to do.

Nobody talks about before.

“I know that ain’t what you want to hear,” he tries, but it’s disingenuous, placations like packing peanuts in their unwanted staticity and general ineffectiveness. The sound grates in his ears about the same, too.

“Sweetheart, listen t’me. Y’can’t interfere. They brought you here to get me to cooperate. If they think you’re a problem, they’re going to shoot you.”

It’s a sobering truth. “But—“ you whisper.

Joel isn’t having it. “I told you. I ain’t the man you think I am.” He swallows hard, and something shifts, his eyes gone cold and the set of his jaw hardening into a plaster mask. “I kill people. All the time, darlin’. Even before I got bit. It’s what a man like me has to do to survive and protect people I—” a pause, a catch in his throat—”my people. Do you understand?”

He hates the way apprehension settles your teeth into the soft bed of your lower lip. The way your gaze is unwavering, though the ache wafts like citronella, as if that could keep him at bay.

“I said, do you understand?” He repeats firmly. His words aren’t harsh, but they cut anyway. His hands on the bars rattle you a little, as if your dizzy brain needs more centrifugal motion.

“I don’t want to,” you hear yourself say as if underwater. You’ve never heard yourself sound quite so small.

“Goddamnit,” he growls, dropping his hands from you and rising to his feet in one smooth motion. “Goddamnit, can’t you see I’m tryin’? For fucks sake, just shut your eyes and don’t watch if that’s what you gotta do. But if you pull a stunt like that again, I can’t protect you. They will kill you.”

You draw your knees to your chest, tucked up against the corner. “I—I just—“

“You just nothing,” he snaps. “You need to listen t’me. Do what you’re told so I can keep you safe. Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it? I am not gonna let you get yourself killed because you can’t stomach what has to be done.”

Your throat closes, eyes squeezed shut tight.

He heaves a loud, grating sigh and covers his face with both hands, head tipping back.

A minute drags into five, and the only sound in the cell is your matching measured breaths. The thrum of his heartbeat from across the room. The silence fills with the buzz of your brain seeping out to your ears, the crackle of tinnitus, and just when you think you’re going to crack, he moves.

Joel crouches in front of you. “Hey,” he says gruffly, but with less bite. “Look at me,” he coaxes gently.

You want to bristle at being treated like a skittish horse, but instead, you acquiesce, taking in the lumbering shadow of him. You swallow hard, your heart lodged in your throat like gravel.

He sighs again, and closes his eyes for a moment before looking at you. Really, really looking. And he doesn’t like what he sees. As if your scent didn’t give it away. It’s different, somehow, seeing the fear stiffen your shoulders and pull you back from him like a hooked fish.

“It can’t be any other way,” he says. “I’m… I’m a bad man, a shitty person, and that’s mine to bear. I can’t shield you from it. I tried.” His voice croaks a little on the tail end. “And…” he makes sure you’re looking at him still, his hand slipping between the bars, catching your chin. His thumb brushes your lip as if he can rub the bite marks out. “And I ain’t sorry. Not if it keeps us alive.”

It’s strange, the way his words turn you inside out, and his touch puts you back. But you’re properly distracted from reading too much into it by footsteps clomping down the stairs.

The cage turns out to have been for dramatics. A red-headed man you’ve not seen before has shown up to haul you from it and dump you back in the room across the hall.

This time, Joel is quiet. He wants to snarl, to yell, to threaten. But he bites his tongue and lets it happen. It’s this or a bullet in your skull.

Instead, he paces the cell, near-sleepless. You can hear him at all hours of the day, the padding of his bare feet akin to the beat of his heart that usually lulls you to sleep. It’s a poor substitute, but you’ve learned to accept scraps.

They keep up their end of the bargain, though, and ten days later, they pull you from the locker room to ride along on the latest outing. This time, though, you’re stuck in the truck with Cheryl.

She turns sideways to regard you down the petite line of her nose. “Do I need to gag you?”

The question is drawled lazily, but her hand holding the switchblade as she cleans under her nails is anything but. The knife catches in the moonlight, the silver gleam a steady promise.

“No,” you mumble.

Nothing happens. She locks you in the truck, still bound. Sure, you might be able to reach the locks, but getting the door open is another story. And surely you’d fall on your face in the mud.

For a moment, Joel protests, but gives in. You’re safe in the truck, and he can still see you, still smell you, still hear your heart pulse through his eardrums as if it were his own.

You don’t watch, but you have to listen.

Nobody pays you any mind, which means you risk peeking into the bed of the truck. There are the expected supplies—rope, tools, and old sheets. But more importantly, much more importantly, a line of filled backpacks are tucked against the cab. Go bags. They have to be. There’s a bedroll on each, and you’d bet your sweater they’re full of supplies.

Oh, Jesus. Has your life really come to that? The only meaningful thing you have to wager against yourself is a sweater?

Fuck.

The bags live in the back of your mind, scurried away with the tidbits you’re collecting and trying to sweep into a pile vaguely resembling a plan.

It’s not going great, because Joel isn’t cooperating.

“You have to eat,” you plead.

His hands grip your shoulders, seizing onto you like it’ll make any damn difference. “I can't fucking take it anymore. Can't fuckin' sit by letting it happen,” he hisses.

“Joel,” you murmur, bringing your hands up to cup his warm, scruffy face. “Please. When the time is right, we’ll stop. But for now, please.”

He crumples, as he always does when you beg so sweetly. And he has to admit you’re right. This is not the way. There will be a time, but the new moon isn’t it. He can’t put you in danger by being weaker than ever.

He heaves a sigh and picks up a flank, rending the meat from the bone like he’s sectioning an orange. It should be disgusting, watching him eat raw, bloody flesh.

It should be.

Right?

You’re not sure anymore.

You’ve never been one for gratuitous displays of strength, but this… isn’t that. This is primal. It stirs behind your sternum, a possessive rumble that has him look up at you with an eyebrow raised. You shake your head and scrub at your face with both hands until it settles.

He gives a huff of approval, and then, capitulating to his belly that seemed to respond in kind to your growl, he shifts and does his magic trick, turning a huge stack of meat into a bloody tray.

When he stalks over to you after, he raises one thick, sharp-tipped finger in your face. “Don’t say it,” he warns.

You stifle a laugh. “Don’t say what?” you ask, all fluttering lashes and saccharine innocence.

“Don’t,” he says, but the sternness of his voice falters.

“Don’t ask if you’re ready for dessert?”

He groans, head dropping to your shoulder before sitting back on his haunches. “You’re not a very good listener,” he says. “Maybe we’ll skip dessert.” His eyes roll.

“What? No,” you say.

“Bad girls don’t get rewards,” he says, and to your mortification, you burn and squirm where he has you pinned with his hips.

He chuckles. “Aw, ya gonna pout now?”

“C’mon,” you whine. “It was just a joke. You wouldn’t be that mean.”

“I’m fixin’ to leave you high n’ dry.”

“ Joooooel,” you whine, and fix him with your best pleading eyes. “You’re not gonna take care of me?”

He twitches. “That ain’t fair.”

“But alpha—”

He cuts you off with a growl, yanking you by the hips and diving in. He holds you to the mattress with ease as you squirm and savor each stroke of his tongue, and doesn’t let go until he’s had his fill.

The days trickle, but it’s harder to abide them. You had taken this tentative peace for granted, before, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to see the veil. It’s still there, now, but you’re hyperaware of the shroud.

Gone are the lazy days of lounging and fucking and sucking. Gone are the luxurious cat-naps (dog-naps? wolf-naps? freak-of-nature-naps?), and you struggle to remember that you’re supposed to be figuring out a plan.

Joel doesn’t forget, though. Despite your argument, he’s eating less and less. He can’t stand the haze, can’t stand the complacency that stole nearly five years of his life.

At night, he broods and schemes.

“Next time, I want you to run,” he says.

“We’re not ready.”

“We’re gonna get you ready.”

You sit up in the darkness, your eyes as sharp as in the sunlight. “I’m not going without you.”

He growls. “Darlin’, you ain’t got a choice. You hear me? You get a chance? Take it. Swear to me.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

He shakes you a little roughly. “You will if you have to. Understand me? Swear it, omega.”

He knows you’re pissed. And maybe you’ll never forgive him, never trust him again after he’s done what he swore he’d never do. But you’ll be free.

“Yes, alpha, ” you grit out, teeth creaking with the strength of your clenched jaw. Your hands ball into fists, but there’s nowhere to direct your anger.

His mouth drags blunt teeth down your neck, and you snarl. He’s reminded just how much you’ve changed. How every day with him turns you more and more into the animal he makes you.

How much his bite has cost you.

“Tell me again,” he says gruffly as you give in to the insistent pressure of his claim and relax against him. He hates it, hates doing this to you when he knows on the inside you’re frothing and raging and burning.

But he holds you to him with that same fire and makes you repeat it. Over and over. Coordinates he could say in his sleep. The location of the key, the way to jimmy the back window loose if it’s gone.

And the name. Tommy. Tommy. Tommy.

Find Tommy.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

This was just a test run. An experiment to see if your newly-cleared brains (and viciously empty stomachs) welcomed back your sharp senses and survival skills. It wasn’t supposed to be the run.

You’re not ready. You have no supplies, no direction, no plan.

But it’s happening. It’s your chance, and you must take it. You hesitate long enough that the Wolf tips his head back and howls, urging you, and even though he speaks no words, your body must listen.

There’s no command, no compulsion. No, the howl is worse because it’s a plea.

You must run.

So you do.

Your heart pounds in sync with the beats of your bare feet against the forest floor. You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t know where you’ve been. The world blurs, not because you’re going fast enough but because of the unbidden tears pricking at your eyes, the pulse of fear and foreboding familiar.

Crack. Bark shatters to your right.

Crack. Dirt upturned inches from your left foot.

Crack. A yelp.

No. No.

They wouldn’t. They need him.

It becomes your mantra.

Each thud of your foot against the rotting leaves and hard-packed soil pounds with it. They wouldn’t. They need him. They wouldn’t. They need him.

The bullets stop; there’s no pursuit. You’re disposable.

Find Tommy.

Everything narrows to your path. To your feet and the way they carry you in turn, away from the angry yelling and howling and screams. Away from your prison and its guards. Away from your alpha— no. You can’t think like that. You’ll see him again.

You will.

Right?

dearest beloved readers, our story is coming to an end soon. it may be 2-3 more chapters including an epilogue. this particular chapter is one i'm v nervous about sharing since it's been our destination from the start. pls be niceys to me and i love you all, thank you so so much for reading.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #alpha!joel miller #alpha!joel miller x omega!reader #omegaverse fic #a/b/o fic #werewolf!joel #dead dove fic #fic: of rage and ruin #tlou fic #joel miller fic

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cherryblossompink303 · 2 days ago

Text

Patience: ~Operation Double date!~

➼ pairing: Kyoya Ootori x Reader ➼ summary: Hikaru and Kyoya get tricked into taking the host club girls on a double date. ➼ what to expect: "Fine. Don't tell me if you like, I could probably help you but if you want to go rogue now be my guest, run back to that boy" ➼ warnings: Angst ➼ Part Fourteen | Part Sixteen A/n: Happy valentines day <3

"Haruhi fujioka?"

"Hey arai"

Luckily for you tamaki and the twins quickly got caught up in whoever this boy is that knows Haruhi to even care about the boy who had come to see you moments before.

The same cannot be said however for Kyoya, who quickly replaced sam across the table from you, Mori and Honey stood nearby. "Who was that?" Kyoya was strangely intense in the way he asked the question.

"Who? Sam? he's just an old friend, like i told you"

The twins slide over, hikaru clearly not wanting to look at Haruhi and Arai anymore "An old friend who is a boy? and gave you a gift no where near your birthday? what is it anyway" Kaoru reaches out to the box but you clamber to take hold of it "No! No...I um...It's an old family heirloom...quite personal to me"

Hikaru raises an eyebrow "Why would he have an old family heirloom of yours? Why would it even be in Japan if you didn't bring it?" you nervously laugh at the question.

"Yeah well...It's a long story...really...long and boring... you don't want to hear"

"Y/n-chan was that guy your boyfriend?"

Your jaw drops "What?"

"That's what I would like to know as well" Kyoya chimes in "Huh?" your face falls at Kyoya's comment. You still cannot figure out exactly how you feel about him but you hated to hear the way he said it.

"You see if that boy was your boyfriend, I would need to know, it would be incredibly risky if my father found out, or if yours did for that matter" Oh...yeah...the arrangement...for a split second you thought that Kyoya was jealous. Did you want him to be? why are you even thinking about that?

"No! Sam's not my boyfriend, he was just doing a favour for me that's all now is anyone going to do something about Tamaki in the corner"

You all look over to Tamaki, who was hunched over in the corner tearing up paper.

"Hey! Quit making more garbage I'll have to take out" Haruhi cries

"It's not garbage I'm making a hamster home" Haruhi sighs "But Senpai you don't have a hamster"

"I'm not your senpai, I'm just an acquaintance of yours"

"Wow you ouran guys are funny, it's such a prestigious school, I've always imagined it was a whole different world"

The boys get caught up in Arai's words and the conversation. All except for Kyoya who leans over to rest his forearms against the table. "Okay, he may not be your boyfriend but you are still hiding something"

"So?"

"So whatever it is you don't want to tell me which concerns me"

"Kyoya I don't ask you to divulge all your plans, you're always up to something"

"I would tell you if you asked, I am asking but you still won't tell me"

"Why do you care?"

the two of you lock into a staring battle, both not wanting to confess anything first.

"Fine. Don't tell me if you like, I could probably help you but if you want to go rogue now be my guest, run back to that boy" Kyoya, stands up, walking over to the main conversation and leaving you sat stunned at the table.

You walk slowly back up to your room, after some yelling the twins run past you, Kaoru chasing after Hikaru, you make it a point to check in on that later.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

About an hour later you get a knock on the door of the room you're in. "Y/n?" Kaoru pokes his head through the door, sending you a nervous smile. "Kaoru? What's up? is Hikaru okay?"

Kaoru sighs "Yeah, he's just still getting used to the idea of having...friends...can I come in?" you nod, he steps out from behind the door, coming to sit next to you on the bed. "I need to ask you a favour"

"Sure"

"I think that if Haruhi and Hikaru go on a date tomorrow it might help him come out his shell a bit, but I have a feeling that if the two of them go alone he might say something stupid so...I suppose what I am asking is if you mind going on a double date, you, me, hikaru, and Haruhi"

you ponder over it for a moment, it was a good idea, you knew that Hikaru was struggling with the changes to his social life. So if this is what he needs it can't hurt "Sure, I'll go"

"Thanks, Hikaru and Haruhi are going to go into town a bit early tomorrow so meet me out front at 11 and then we can meet up with them in town. Wear something cute"

You roll your eyes at the last comment, shooting him a smile as he steps out the room.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The next morning Kaoru approaches Kyoya, who is sat out on the patio, unkept in manner "Kyoya just the person I'm looking for, I have a favor to ask"

"What is it Kaoru?"

"You see me and hikaru are meant to take the girls out on a double date today...but I feel so ill...do you mind going in my place so that Hikaru doesn't mess things up?"

Kyoya raises an eyebrow at the request "You're asking me? Surely this is Tamaki's department"

"Tamaki would just make things worse and try to split up Hikaru and Haruhi, it needs to be you"

Kyoya sighs "Fine, if i must"

"Thank you! Y/n will be waiting out front at 11, show her a good time, i told her that she would have a fun day out in exchange for helping me"

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

"Kyoya?" you question as you are stood outside waiting for Kaoru. "Kaoru is ill, he's sent me instead to make sure Hikaru doesn't say something stupid"

"Oh... i see..."

"Let's get this over with then"

The two of your head into town eventually meeting up with Hikaru and Haruhi, the four of you sat on a bench. "So where do we want to go?"

"Well Kaoru said he planned everything so i didn't really give it much thought. Any ideas?"

"Well there's not anything that I need to do here... I know why don't we go to that outlet mall by the train station, they've got cheap clothes there"

"That's cool, do you need to buy clothes?"

"No, there's no way I'd buy my clothes at that place" You elbow hikaru at the answer. "Then lets skip it"

"Everything looks okay now, but misuzu said it might rain, i sure hope there aren't any thunderstorms" Haruhi notes, looking up at the sky, which looks clear and blue for the time being

"I didn't know you were so into the weather"

You roll your eyes, stuck between hikaru who was being arsey and Kyoya who didn't want to talk at all.

Soon an ice cream kart comes barrelling past.

"That was creepy, that old guy looked like Honey senpai" Hikaru says, noticing that Haruhi is now gone, you nod in front of you where Haruhi is at an ice cream stand "One please"

Hikaru stands up walking over, leaving you and Kyoya sat awkwardly on the bench together. "This date isn't going very well is it?"

"Just give it time, hikaru isn't used to being without kaoru he just needs to adjust"

Kyoya hummed in agreement.

The two of you let Haruhi and hikaru go ahead a little as the four of you wander through Karuizawa, occasionally stopping at the odd stall here and there.

Kyoya and you were relatively silent. Unaware that the host club are watching on from a distance. "Dammit why is hikaru now better at communicating than kyoya is!" Kaoru muttered.

You started to overthink in wake of the silence, you were here to make sure hikaru's date didn't go off the rails but then you also wasn't following your own advice.

maybe you needed to be honest.

"Are you going to say anything?" the question slips out before you even process the words. "What?"

"You've barely said a word to me all day"

"I thought it was obvious that you do not want to tell me anything so what's the point"

"What on earth is up with you?"

"I don't like you keeping secrets, if you're keeping it from me all I can think that it could possibly be is that you're plotting against my family" you stop it your tracks "Excuse me?"

"That's how business works sometimes...the y/n group has been growing exponentially recently, has your father sent you to do something to break up his deal with the ootori group?"

You're floored, you cannot believe that Kyoya could accuse you of something like that.

"Kyoya are you kidding me? Do you seriously think I would be that deceptive?"

Suddenly grey clouds cast over karuizawa. "It does look like it's going to rain though, think we should back?" Haruhi asks

"Then, let's hail a cab, ok?"

"Is that you fujioka?" Arai catches you off guard, seemingly appearing next to you. "Oh no"

"Hey arai, I didn't expect to see you out here"

"Well this is my uncle's store, you guys out doing some shopping?"

"We were but now we're about to leave"

"Yeah? We've got a car that can take you back, just let me just ask my uncle"

"I don't want to be a bother"

"It's no problem, i wouldn't want you to get caught in the rain"

"Don't worry about it, we're getting a taxi" "Come on, don't waste your money on a taxi"

Thunder rumbling cuts him off, haruhi gasps. "Hey, why don't we accept his offer? The sooner we get home the better"

"Well, i guess you'll be riding home alone then" you sigh, perhaps this was too much too soon for hikaru "But, hikaru..."

"Just do whatever you want, okay? You guys can catch up and reminisce but leave me out of it!" Hikaru runs off "Wait!"

"What's his problem?" Arai asks. Haruhi runs after Hikaru "Haruhi!" You call after her, sighing in frustration as she disappears.

"We should call a car"

"I'll make my own way home, I wouldn't want you to think that I'm somehow sabotaging the ootori group by being in one of their cars"

Kyoya huffs "y/n-"

You roll your eyes "God forbid I want to keep something to myself" you mutter, walking off in the direction of the other two.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Thunder cracked outside after finding your way back to your room, not bothering to turn the lights on as you sit down on the floor, leaning back against the wall, sighing, a tear sliding down your cheek.

The sight of the red gift wrapping catches your eye from the bed, reaching up to grab the box, you wipe your tears as you open it. As expected inside laid a USB stick and a pile of printed photos, you sigh as you place the box on the floor next to you. Shaking your head.

A controlled knock against the door causes you to wipe your tears, the door cracks open, Kyoya's head sticking in, searching around the room before finding you on the floor.

He doesn't say anything before walking in, sitting on the floor next to you.

"I'm sorry" his voice is quiet. "I don't know why I accused you of that...I suppose I don't like when there is something that I don't know, I shouldn't have taken it out on you"

You pause, thinking over his words.

"I'm trying to escape my family" your voice is weak when you eventually speak.

"Huh?"

"I came to Karuizawa to avoid going home for the summer break...but it's not just that..."

you reach for the box, shaky hands lifting it onto your lap. "Can you promise me that no matter what happens what I'm about to tell you it doesn't leave the room" Kyoya nods, raising an eyebrow at the sudden intensity.

"My father...is not a good man...he...he used to be...but I've had a feeling for a while that there's something up at the company...I just didn't have proof until now. Sam is the son of the CFO of the Asia branch"

"I see..."

"I'm sorry Kyoya...I didn't want to bring you into this...but that is why I need you...as soon as I no longer have to depend on him then...."

"Then?"

"...I'm planning on taking down the l/n group, from the inside"

you are praying that you had put your trust in the right place for once.

"Y/n did I mention that I am planning on buying my fathers company from under him?"

Your head snaps to look at him "What?"

"Mhm, all the money I have been saving, I am preparing to buy my fathers company"

You laugh through your tears "Really?"

"Yes...now if i had known that you were planning on doing something similar then this would have saved a lot of confusion"

"Well aren't we a match made in hell"

Kyoya smirked "Indeed"

your face falls "Kyoya theres something else I need to tell you"

"What is it?"

you reach to one of the photos, the one of both of your fathers in the headquarters of l/n group asia. "L/N group is covering up something for the ootori group...I don't know what it is but if sam is anything to go by its big"

Kyoya took the photo from you, gripping it as he stares at the two men.

"Well then... you better get me up to speed...we've got quite the work set out for us"

Next time on patience 'Kyoya's reluctant day out!'

Tag list (reply to be added): @skottch @cgmajor @rebirthbunbun @bbybubbles @blueberry19000 @katgirl05 @smellslikelovinglies @veras-fanfic-reblogs @sadprimrose @mirtalikesdr @sleeplesssskeleton @ritzes28 @crackpeole @rory-cakes @renjunniex @II-kita-san-II @angelicwillows @missbrebre1012 @sleep-7372 @strawberrbitch @reticent-writer @eternal-dokja @meme848 @mistyhydrangeagarden

#kyoya ootori #kyoya ootori x reader #kyoya x reader #ohshc kyoya #ohshc #ohshc x reader #ouran high school host club #ouran host club #ouran highschool host club #ouran hshc #kaoru hitachiin #ouran #ouran kyoya #hikaru hitachiin #haruhi fujioka #tamaki suoh

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archonofthestars · 3 days ago

Text

Quiet

In the quiet moments between missions, you help Boothill take care of himself and feel a little more human.

Characters: Boothill, Reader Insert (gender neutral) Tags: Boothill being soft and vulnerable, your relationship to him can be whatever you'd like to be (not specified)

A/N: My first HSR ficlet! And my first reader insert ficlet (on this blog, not in general). It's good to get back to my roots; the last time I really wrote reader insert was back in MCU's heydays.

Want to see me write something? Submit an ask!

✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭

It’s a rare moment that Boothill allows himself to be quiet and still. It’s even rarer that he does so around another person.

The fact that you’re allowed to witness this is a testament to the years that you’ve worked together and the numerous times you’ve helped him, whether it’s tending to damage to his mechanical body or patching up injuries on the remaining human parts of him. Occasionally, you’ve also helped bail him out when he manages to get himself into trouble he can’t blast his way out of.

Normally, the cyborg greets your assistance with that devil-may-care grin and a "mighty fine thanks there, pardner," complete with a tip of his hat. But, sometimes, you’re instead given a weary smile and a soft apology when you constantly bemoan how he gets into trouble.

That’s how you know something’s different. And in these moments, you always do your best to respect the quiet and be a comforting presence to the loner Galaxy Ranger.

Right now, you currently have the quiet Boothill in front of you. Both of you are kneeling on the floor of a humble, one-bedroom safe house, somewhere in the cosmos. Dull gray metal patches cover Boothill’s arms, back and chest; they’re emergency patch ups to cover significant damage to his cyborg body. Dust, soot, and blood streak his human face and hair.

Carefully, you thread your fingers through the long mane of black-and-white hair. As you work your way down, knots bundle up against your knuckles, but you carefully take the time to detangle them. Even when the knots accidentally pull on his scalp, Boothill doesn’t say anything. He just tilts his head slightly as you murmur apologies, eyes closed in the dim light of the room.

It takes a considerable amount of time with how long his hair is, but once it’s detangled, you pull over a nearby wash bin of warm water and gently coax his head back into the water. The gears and pistons of his body whirr quietly as he follows your guidance.

You lather your hands with shampoo and run them into his hair, working through the grime. Months of travel, fighting, living rough and Aeons-know-what-else dissolve into the water, turning it a dirty gray-brown color. You can literally feel his hair getting lighter and softer as the water gets darker.

After you feel like all the dirt is finally out of his hair, you grab a pitcher of clean, warm water and pour it down the length of his hair to coax the rest of shampoo and filth into the wash bin. Grabbing the conditioner, you again thread your fingers through his mane until it's shiny and smooth. One more pitcher of clean water rinses the conditioner out, leaving the Galaxy Ranger’s hair clean once more.

A well-worn brush replaces your fingers and you work carefully, starting from the bottom, teasing out any remaining snarls until you get all the way to his scalp. The end result leaves the black-and-white hair clean and soft for the first time in months.

As a final touch to your efforts, you section his hair off into three parts and begin loosely braiding it. One of your hair ties secures the end before you grab a cloth and begin wiping the dirt and blood from his face, coming to kneel in front of him.

It’s only then that his eyes open to look at you, simply watching you as you work. Once you’re done, you set the cloth down near the wash bin and sit next to him, content to enjoy the silence for as long as he needs.

“...thank you, darlin’,” he whispers after a moment. You smile and rest your shoulder against his.

“Always, cowboy.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #boothill #boothill x reader #hsr boothill #hsr fic #hsr oneshot #sgriwrites

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sightseertrespasser · 2 days ago

Note

If you don’t mind me asking, how come deadlock can pick up human EM fields but not prowl/ any other cybertronian?

And if it’s just something like “prowl isn’t looking at the right frequency” and is entirely fixable, how does him detecting Jazz’s EM field for the first time go?

Good question!

My headcanon built off of what other folks have thought up:

Normal humans have fairly small EM fields compared to normal cybertronians.

I thoroughly enjoy playing with alien concepts and perceptions, so for writing, EM fields are kind of a mishmash of qualities taken from other senses like touch, sound, sight etc.

Functionally, it works the most like touch but with more information conveyed. Primarily in the sense that the fields have to be “touching” or overlapping to some degree for either party to be aware of it.

In Jazz’s case, his field doesn’t extend past his mecha and Prowl isn’t reaching out very far because he’s trying to respect what he thinks is Jazz’s personal preference. Though it’s definitely unusual to not sense anything during physical contact, and is usually an indication that something is physically or mentally preventing the mech from responding. A lot like not making eye contact, is it a physical disability or personal aversion? Either way it’s not Prowl business.

Basically, Prowl can’t sense Jazz because he’s not physically close enough. Like trying to pet a bunny but there’s glass in the way. Hypothetically, Prowl could sense him through the mecha if he pushed his field out as far as possible, but that’s kind of like shouting “HELLO?” at someone who might just be deaf or shy.

On the flip side, Hot Rod has such a stupidly massive EM field it actually extends past his mecha. It’s also why Deadlock was having a mini mental breakdown when they first met because the boy got engulfed.

And while being on the right frequency isn’t necessary, I do think it takes time to learn how to properly “read” a human EM field. Like learning any new language, there’s a lot of unique quirks that are completely different from cybertronians. Capitalizing on that is the fact humans aren’t aware of EM fields. Meaning there’s no unified “languages” around it so every human is effectively its own dialect.

(Bonus Headcanon is that Deadlock is pretty darn good at reading fields. Born from necessity, since picking up on subtle mood changes from dangerous people is uh, beneficial to survival.)

From the human perspective, EM fields are pretty much imperceptible. At max “volume” humans can notice that something is up, but there’s no way to accurately process the information.

You know that test where researchers played a low frequency noise outside the range of human hearing and the test subjects reported feeling an inexplicable sensation of dread? That’s kind of what standing next to an extremely angry cybertronian feels like. Except with more variety in feelings.

In short, Deadlock can read human EM fields fine because he’s spent a lot of time watching Ratchet, who’s probably one of the best humans he could learn from (strong, clear and consistent emotions).

Prowl’s uh, not getting the beginners course.

#asks #love getting world building questions

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chambersandfogg · 2 days ago

Text

February 14th, 1931

Dear Charles,

A happy Valentine’s Day to you, my friend! I hope you’ll forgive the bit of kitsch enclosed, for I have no one else to whom I could possibly send a valentine without it being interpreted as some kind of serious overture. But when I saw this fellow, I simply had to share him. A peculiar card, isn’t it? Poor attempts at feline humor aside, the cat in question is somewhat off-putting, I’d say. Those mad eyes, sharp claws; the strange lack of front legs. And the text just adds to the threatening air. I got a real kick out of it and thought you might too.

Did you make any plans for the evening? I am, of all things, going to the picture house to see the new “Dracula” film. Perhaps not the most romantic outing, but the chatter from the New York premiere is grand. And I will be accompanying a quite spectacular new actress whom I met just a few weeks ago. If I’m being entirely honest, I write “spectacular” not to describe her talent—she is certainly not the next Clara Bow—but her looks, which more than make up the difference. Perhaps you’ll find that terribly shallow, but I’m learning that the film industry relies heavily on its stars being rather nice to look at. After all, the audience is so much closer to them than they are to a performer on a stage.

But the medium does have its other benefits—it is much easier to create a sense of illusion and wonder when you can manipulate the final product so completely. Not that I am looking to adapt my old act into a picture, but one does marvel at the possibilities. In any case, I’m looking forward to see what they do with the bizarre fruits of Bram Stoker’s imagination.

Thank goodness we don’t have to drink blood to remain immortal. Dracula really did get the bad end of the deal. Then again, he was able to pass on his strange disease to others—though he did it quite badly. If we had that capability, would you take advantage of it? Would you create for yourself a forever valentine? The idea is tempting, though only Lord knows who it would be. It certainly won’t be this actress, fine as she is to gaze upon.

I will write again to tell you of my thoughts about the film, by which point you may have seen it as well. I personally am in the habit of going to see pictures the day they come into theaters and perhaps you are too. How would I know when you never tell me anything beyond the contents of your work? Though I suppose I can’t complain too much when you’ve secured the eminently capable Mister Weston, Esquire. Do let me know if he requires any further information from me to secure our entry into new life.

I hope the mysterious work you’re doing in Washington is yielding the results you hope. I continue to enjoy the Western part of this country immensely and will remain here for some time, as,

Your friend,

John Fogg

[a letter received by C.X. Chambers, with the following card enclosed]

[to read the pre-1917 entries, join Atypical Artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes of Atypical's whole catalogue. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]

#fogg #letter #chambers and fogg #new year's day podcast #lauren shippen

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measuredingold · 2 days ago

Text

with you, anywhere will be my home

author’s note: hiiiiiiiii. it’s been a minute, huh ? i’ve honestly been sitting on this for 2 weeks 😅 but happy i’m able to finally get this out for yall ! think of it as a v-day treat 🥰 i love this universe i built with folio and reader and have so many ideas for them lol as always, please enjoy and feedback is appreciated ! and requests are open btw, i’m in a rut and am not sure what people wanna read :) title a translated lyric from bts’ song home

pairing: nick folio x reader

word count: 2.2k

cross posted on ao3

cw/tw: miscommunication 🤥, fluff fluff fluffffff, first time saying i love you, nick is so smitten with reader it makes me sick, 18+ minors do not interact

It's almost a no brainer when Nick decides to ask you to move in.

It makes perfect sense. You're always together when he's home, switching between one place or the other, and it just makes a lot more sense than having your own separate spaces. He doesn't want to be separate anymore. He wants to know that when he's coming back from tour he's coming home to you, in a space you both share and make your own.

There's only one hiccup to this no brainer decision - he hasn’t even said I love you yet. Neither have you.

It's only been 9 months. Not a full year yet, but Nick thinks by month one he was fully in love with you. He might've been from the jump. You were the only person he thought about, the only person he yearned for. Which is crazy to think, because Nick's sure he's never yearned for a single person a day in his life. But it's different when it comes to you.

You're who he sees when he thinks about the future. When he plans out the rest of his life, coming up with every single possibility that could happen between now and then, you somehow manage to be in every single scenario. At first it was jarring, you popping up into his future daydreams, but now it's comforting.

If you asked him right now to spend the rest of his life with you, he'd say yes before you even finished your sentence.

So why hasn't he said it yet? Hell if he knows.

It's not that he doesn't think you love him because deep down he knows you do. Can see it in the way you look at him, in the way you smile, in the small gestures that you make. He stares at you just the same, smile way too big that it hurts his fucking face, and those same small gestures.

You love him the way he loves you.

Which is why he's decided that when he asks you to move in with him, he's just going to say it. No more silent looks and shared smiles when saying goodbye. Nick doesn't think he can go another day without telling you that he loves you. It's corny, but he needs you and just about everyone in a hundred mile radius to know immediately.

So, he'll tell you tomorrow. Easy.

...

Not easy.

Nick never thought he was much of the anxious type, yet here he was pacing outside your front door. He felt hot, hands clammy as he stared at the only thing separating the two of you. He has a key. He can let himself in. Yet, he can't seem to get himself to do it.

Because he knows once he goes in, there's no going back.

He isn't scared of your rejection because he knows that's not the likely outcome. He knows you love him. He thinks he may be a bit scared of what comes next. This is probably the most serious relationship he's ever been in, and he doesn't want to fuck that up. He doesn't think that he would, intentionally at least, but the what if of a hypothetical fuck up has been eating at him for hours.

His eyes flutter shut as he takes in a long deep breath before he finally braves unlocking your door.

His hand shakes as he twists the handle and he mentally swears at himself to fucking calm down, it’s just you, everything’s fine, but when he finally sees you, it’s like the world stops for just a moment. You look up at Nick from your couch, book in your lap, and the smile that spreads across your face makes Nick relax for maybe a split second.

"Hey baby."

"Hi."

He doesn't move, just stares at you from where he's standing, and your expression turns from happy to amused, arms crossing over your chest.

"Babe?"

He blinks. "Yeah?"

"...Whatcha' doin?"

"Um." His face burns at the sound of your giggle at his unusual behavior, but truthfully he doesn't know how to act right now. "Standin'."

"Oh yeah?" You arch a brow at him, more laughter escaping. "Why don't you quit standin' and come sit with me? I missed you."

He'd been gone a few days, out in California to put down some tracks for the new album. He'd just gotten home the day before when he decided he was going to ask you to move in with him because he couldn't stand coming back to an empty home. Nick blinks at you again before he smiles, warmth spreading across his chest as he looks at you seated on the couch.

This is what he wanted to come home to. He wanted to come home after a tour, or after a few weeks in California laying down some drums, to you reading your book on the couch.

"It was only a few days." He hums out and makes his way towards you, flopping himself down beside you.

"I always miss you when you're gone." You shrug before pouting at him. "Did you not miss me?"

His heart speeds up, pounding against his chest and he immediately shakes his head. "I wasn't saying that I didn't-"

"I was just messing with you," You cut him off with a laugh, face softening as you looked at him. "What's goin' on? You're acting weird."

Nick chews on his bottom lip before moving his gaze to the muted television, shoulders going up into a shrug. " 'm not acting weird."

"Yes, you are."

Okay. He is. He knows it and he knows you know it, but he just isn't sure what to say. How do people bring this up? Hey, I'm in love with you. Let's live together. It seems easy enough to say in his head but the second he gazes at you again, his words fall short.

So much for easy.

"I..." Nick starts and then sighs, sliding a hand down his face. "You ever have something to say, but just don't know how to say it? In my head it's so easy but every time I try to get the words out, I lose everything I even wanted to say."

Your face softens. "What happened?"

"What?"

"Something happened when you were gone." Your eyes narrow. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." He mumbles out, eyeing you for a moment. "I just... realized something, but I don't know how to tell you."

"Oh."

For some reason, the detached tone in your voice makes his stomach turn. You shift on the couch, moving your eyes away from him as you look to the side. It's silent between the two of you now and Nick hates it. It's never felt this awkward before. Uncomfortable. He fucking hates it.

"Babe-"

You cut him off. "...Did I do something?"

"No." He's quick with his response, shaking his head quickly. "Fuck. No, you didn't do anything."

His stomach turns at the way you don't respond and wrap your arms around yourself, your arms being some form of protection. From him. Fuck. That's definitely not what he wanted to do. He shakes his head again, eyes pleading as he reaches out for you.

"You didn't do anything."

"Well, it sure feels like I did." You laugh, strained, and Nick swallows down whatever lump was building in his throat. "This feels awfully like a break-up, Nick."

"What?" His voice comes out a lot louder than he expected, and he hates the way his heart breaks beneath his chest at the sad look you finally give him. "I am not breaking up with you. That is not what's happening."

"Then what's happening, Nick?" You whine out, lips dipping into a frown. "You're being weird and saying you have something to tell me but don't know how to tell me. That sounds a lot like I want to break up with you, but I don't know how to tell you."

Nick pauses for a moment, eyes scanning over your face before he breathes out a quiet "Fuck," and shuts his eyes.

He messed up - majorly.

All he had to do was just fucking tell you that he loved you and this would've been all avoided, but instead he had to go and do whatever the fuck this was.

"Babe, listen to me." His eyes open to find you still staring at him, your frown somehow much deeper than it was moments ago. He hesitantly reaches out, silently asking if it was alright to touch you. You nod. He's gentle when he slips your arms away from yourself, finally able to slide his fingers in between yours. "This... I'm not breaking up with you, okay? I'd be fucking crazy to do that."

You don't say anything, just stare at him with that same sad look. He sighs.

"What I realized is that like," He pauses, searching his brain for the right words. "I like coming home to you. After a short tour, or a long one, it feels... good to know that once I'm off that plane, I'm coming back to you."

Your eyes soften momentarily. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles, small and a bit timid, and continues. "Then it made me realize that I'd really love to have a place to call home, you know? Instead of doing all this back and forth. It's fine if that's what you want to keep doing, but I think I'd really like to have a home... with you."

The silence ringing between you two makes his stomach turn. You stare at him, wide eyed and mouth open and the nerves from before come back because he thinks he may have fucked up, but then your hand squeezes his. He can see the tears welling in your eyes now and he watches you blink them away.

"...With me?"

"Yeah?" He's nervous, not sure how to take your response. "If that's okay? Like I said, we can keep doing what we've been doing. Back and forth between here and my place if that's what you want, I don't mind-"

His words are cut off by your lips, a bruising kiss suffocating whatever he wanted to say. His eyes widen for a moment before they flutter shut and he finally kisses back, before chuckling softly against your lips. You sniffle.

"Are you telling me you want to move-in together?"

Nick notices the first tear that falls when he pulls back, reaching a hand up and brushing it away with his thumb. His timid smile grows at the feeling of you nuzzling into his touch.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm telling you."

"Are you sure?" You actually sound nervous, staring at him with wide eyes as you asked.

"Of course I'm sure," He doesn't have to think twice, words falling from his lips with ease, "I love you. I want this, if you do."

It takes him a second to realize he had said it, and feels slightly embarrassed at the butterflies filling his stomach at how easy it was to say. His face flushes as your eyes widen more, lips parting as the weight of his words dawn on you.

"...You love me?"

His stomach turns again, and he nods slowly. "Yeah?"

"How long?"

"I think I loved you from the start." He replies sheepishly, cheeks burning at the wide smile you give him.

You blink away your tears again, leaning more into his palm that's still rested against your cheek. "I think I have, too."

Your words are soft, almost inaudible, but he hears it. His stomach turns and he can feel his heart pounding against his chest. His entire face burns and his ears are probably red, too, but fuck it. He doesn't care.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." Your wide smile falls into something softer, much smaller, and he swears your eyes twinkle as you hum out, "I love you."

Nick doesn't know what to say besides smile at you, cheeks immediately hurting at how wide it's stretched across his face. "I love you, too."

"And I really want to live with you." You rush out. "I've been thinking about that too but I was worried I was moving too fast. Didn't want to scare you."

"Honey," He starts with a chuckle, "I think you could've asked me two weeks in and I would've straight up said you know what? Hell yeah."

You laugh, all thick with emotion and fucking beautiful that Nick can't help but lean in and press his lips against yours again. Your arms raise to wrap around your shoulders to bring him closer to you and he can't help but make a noise, a happy sound, and deepen the kiss. You pull away first this time, forehead resting against his.

"So, we're doing this?"

"Yeah. I think we are."

The two of you smile at each other in silence and Nick wishes nothing more than to bask in this moment a little longer. He doesn't know if he's ever felt happier. Knowing that you love him right back makes him feel things he wasn't sure he's ever felt before. It's in that moment, with the way you're staring at him like he hangs up the fucking moon and the stars, that he's going to ask you to marry him someday.

And it makes him feel damn good knowing that you'll say yes.

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #nick folio fic #nick folio fanfic #nick folio fanfiction #mine

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fake-mouthstatic · 10 hours ago

Text

love declarations

@bucktommyfluffebruary, day 13. rated G.

💕

Buck's not sure how long he spends sitting on the couch, staring into space as the others flit around the station, leaving him to his thoughts.

They'd tried to comfort him, tried to get him to shower or eat something to make him feel better but he couldn't face the thought of moving, instead sitting feeling numb, gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

He knows that replaying the call over and over in his head is the worst thing to do but he can't seem to do anything else; the boy's scream when he realised his sister hadn't made it runs on a loop in his mind, a harrowing sound that he can't seem to shake, that sits heavy in his chest as he goes back over his memory of the call with a fine toothed comb, wondering if they could have saved her if only he'd done something different.

It had been a long time since he'd let a call get to him this much but the girl had looked so much like a young Maddie that he can't help but dwell on it, can't help but imagine himself and his sister in place of the poor Miller siblings.

The thought makes his blood run cold and he shivers, just as he hears an unexpected and familiar voice from downstairs.

"Where is he?"

read the rest under the cut or on ao3 // other days here

"Upstairs," he hears Eddie reply before footsteps start up the stairs, a familiar tread that has him up off the sofa in an instant.

He meets Tommy at the top of the stairs, throwing himself into his arms with surprised relief.

Tommy's breath huffs out of him with the force of Buck's hug but he wraps his arms around him anyway, pulling him in close enough that they might as well be one person.

"Who called you?" Buck murmurs into Tommy's neck. Tommy just huffs a soft laugh.

"Bobby might have texted," he says, sliding a hand into Buck's curls.

Buck leans into it, Tommy's gentle touch already going a way towards making him feel better; he can't decide if it's sweet or embarrassing that his boss had called his boyfriend but he also doesn't care right now, not when he has said boyfriend's arms wrapped tight around him.

Tommy gives him a moment before asking, "you wanna talk about it?"

"Yeah, but maybe later?" Buck replies, pulling back to look at him.

Tommy nods.

"Alright," he says, smiling softly. "I love you."

Buck grins shyly, still not quite used to hearing it.

"Love you too." His smile fades. "Sorry for dragging you over here."

"Evan," Tommy says, frowning, "you don't have to apologise."

"But it's your day off."

"You think I don't want to see you on my day off?"

"Well, yeah, but not like this."

"Babe, I will see you any way you want me," Tommy says, smiling. "But next time, you call me, okay? I'll be right here, whenever you need me."

Buck smiles, a fond warmth spreading in his chest.

"Yeah, okay."

#love declarations of a not so literal kind #also ignore how behind I am whoops #bucktommyfluffebruary #char does fluffebruary #char writes a thing #911 #bucktommy

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saebyeokbliss · 5 hours ago

Text

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER TWELVE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash, jealously

playlist: spotify

MIDDLE SCHOOL

Middle school lunch periods were their own kind of battlefield.

It wasn’t just about eating—it was about where you sat, who you sat with, and most importantly, what that said about you.

For years, you had it easy. You were nice, friendly with everyone, and you had your usual spot at the table with the people you’d known since elementary school. It was predictable. Safe.

But things had changed.

Ever since that day behind the school—when you stood up for the four girls that everyone either ignored or avoided—you had started sitting with them.

And honestly? It was a lot more fun.

Still, old habits died hard.

So, on your way to the cafeteria, when you saw a familiar face from your old friend group—Hyejin, someone you used to talk to all the time—you smiled and waved.

“Hey!” you greeted, slowing down as she turned to you.

She looked you up and down, her expression unreadable for a moment before she pouted dramatically. “Oh my god, I totally forgot my lunch today.”

You blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Hyejin sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Yeah… My mom was in a rush this morning, and I didn’t have time to grab anything. It’s fine, though. I’ll just wait until I get home…”

You frowned. Lunch wasn’t just a meal—it was important. How was she supposed to get through the rest of the day without eating?

Without thinking twice, you unzipped your lunch bag and handed it to her. “Here, take mine.”

Hyejin’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? No, I couldn’t—”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” you assured her with a smile. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway.”

She hesitated just long enough to make it seem like she wasn’t going to take it—but then she did, her fingers curling around the bag.

“Are you sure?” she asked, tilting her head in that sweet-but-not-really way.

You nodded, already stepping back. “Enjoy! I’ll see you later.”

And with that, you turned on your heel and headed toward your new table.

Where things were very different.

Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi were already deep in a conversation—more like gossiping aggressively—when you arrived.

“I’m telling you,” Ji-Yeong said, her chopsticks waving dramatically, “I heard that Minho got caught passing notes in math class, and the teacher actually read them out loud.”

Se-Mi gasped. “No way. What did they say?!”

“I don’t know, but Minho looked so embarrassed, so obviously something scandalous.”

Sae-Byeok, sitting across from them, rolled her eyes. “Or he was just passing answers like a normal person.”

Se-Mi scoffed. “Boring. I choose to believe it was dramatic and life-ruining.”

You laughed, sliding into the open seat next to No-Eul.

She barely looked up from her lunch, but the second you settled in, she paused—then frowned.

“…Where’s your food?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Your lunch,” she said, glancing at the empty space in front of you. “You always bring one.”

“Oh.” You scratched the back of your head. “Yeah, I, uh—gave it away.”

No-Eul stared at you for a long moment. “Why?”

You shrugged. “Hyejin forgot hers, so I just gave her mine.”

The entire table went silent for exactly three seconds before—

Ji-Yeong groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto the table. “You idiot.”

Se-Mi shook her head with a knowing smirk. “Sweetheart, you do realize she totally played you, right?”

You frowned. “What? No, she wouldn’t—”

“I guarantee she had food,” Sae-Byeok muttered, picking at her rice. “She just didn’t want to eat whatever her mom packed.”

You opened your mouth to argue—but then hesitated.

Because… okay, yeah. Maybe the way Hyejin had acted was a little too dramatic. Maybe she had hesitated before taking your food. Maybe she had done this before, now that you thought about it.

Ji-Yeong groaned again, shaking her head. “You’re too nice. It’s painful to watch.”

Se-Mi grinned. “It’s kinda cute, though.”

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Okay, fine. Maybe I was tricked. Whatever. I’ll survive.”

No-Eul, who had been quiet the whole time, suddenly pushed her entire lunch toward you.

You blinked. “Uh—what are you doing?”

“Eat.”

Your eyes widened. “No, I can’t take your food—”

“You gave yours away,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “So take mine.”

“I—No-Eul, I can’t—”

“Not asking,” she interrupted, picking up her chopsticks and grabbing some rice. She held it up expectantly, like she was waiting for you to open your mouth.

You stared at her.

She stared back.

A silent battle.

Sae-Byeok sighed. “Just take it before she force-feeds you.”

Ji-Yeong leaned in, whispering loudly, “She will do it.”

Se-Mi nodded. “I’ve seen it happen. It’s terrifying.”

You groaned, finally giving in. “Fine. But we’re sharing.”

No-Eul didn’t argue. She just nodded, calmly dividing the food between both of you like it was no big deal.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And as the others continued gossiping—Ji-Yeong dramatically reenacting Minho’s supposed humiliation, Se-Mi adding exaggerated details, and Sae-Byeok rolling her eyes but secretly enjoying the chaos—you couldn’t help but feel… warm.

Like maybe—just maybe—this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

PRESENT DAY

Free days were rare.

Between recording, touring, interviews, and everything else that came with being one of the biggest rock bands in the world, getting a full day off was practically unheard of.

So when one finally came around, Ji-Yeong had immediately declared that they were spending it doing absolutely nothing—which, in her mind, meant forcing everyone to sit through an obnoxiously long K-drama marathon.

“You guys,” Ji-Yeong said dramatically, flopping onto the couch, remote in hand, “this is cinema. This is art. This is—”

“Bullshit,” Sae-Byeok muttered, arms crossed as she sat stiffly in the armchair.

Ji-Yeong gasped. “How dare you.”

Se-Mi, already sprawled across the other couch, smirked. “You did make us binge an entire show about a chaebol heir with amnesia last time.”

Ji-Yeong huffed. “And it was amazing.”

No-Eul, sitting beside her, sighed. “Let’s just start it before she throws a tantrum.”

Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply through her nose, glancing at the stairs. “Where’s she?”

The room went quiet for half a second.

“…Oh,” Se-Mi muttered, blinking. “She never came back down, did she?”

Ji-Yeong frowned. “She said she’d watch with us.”

No-Eul sighed, already standing up. “I’ll go check on her.”

“I’ll do it,” Sae-Byeok said immediately, pushing off her chair.

No-Eul paused, raising an eyebrow. “I got it.”

Sae-Byeok crossed her arms. “So do I.”

A beat of silence.

Ji-Yeong and Se-Mi exchanged glances.

“…Are we doing this?” Se-Mi whispered.

“Oh, we’re definitely doing this,” Ji-Yeong whispered back.

No-Eul tilted her head, watching Sae-Byeok carefully. “Why are you so eager to check on her?”

Sae-Byeok scoffed. “Why are you?”

“I asked first.”

Sae-Byeok clenched her jaw. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Then let me go.”

“No.”

“No?”

Sae-Byeok hesitated for half a second too long.

Ji-Yeong’s grin widened. “Ohhh, interesting.”

Se-Mi leaned forward. “Very interesting.”

Sae-Byeok shot them a glare before turning back to No-Eul. “Fine. Go.”

No-Eul didn’t say anything—just nodded once before heading upstairs.

Sae-Byeok exhaled, sinking back into her chair, arms still crossed.

Ji-Yeong smirked. “You wanna talk about it?”

Sae-Byeok shot her a look.

Ji-Yeong grinned. “Fair enough.”

You weren’t intentionally avoiding them.

It was just—

You had work to do.

Even on your so-called “days off,” there were emails to answer, schedules to manage, and a hundred other things that needed your attention.

So when No-Eul knocked on your door and stepped inside, you weren’t surprised.

“You’re really not coming downstairs?” she asked, leaning against the doorway.

You sighed, barely looking up from your laptop. “I’ve got things to take care of.”

No-Eul didn’t move. “You always have things to take care of.”

“That’s kind of my job.”

No-Eul narrowed her eyes slightly, studying you. “You need to relax.”

You scoffed. “I can’t relax. You guys have interviews next week, rehearsals, a flight to Japan coming up—”

“That’s next week,” she interrupted. “You have time.”

“Not enough.”

No-Eul sighed, stepping further into the room. “We can survive one day without you micromanaging everything.”

Your jaw tightened. “It’s not micromanaging. It’s making sure things don’t fall apart.”

No-Eul tilted her head. “You think we’d fall apart without you?”

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. “That’s not what I meant.”

No-Eul stepped closer, her voice quieter now. “Then what do you mean?”

You hesitated.

Because how were you supposed to explain it?

That this was all you knew—keeping things running, keeping things together. That if you stopped, even for a second, you felt like everything would slip through your fingers.

That if you let yourself relax—really relax—you weren’t sure what would be left.

No-Eul was still watching you, waiting.

And for the first time, you felt like she saw it.

The exhaustion. The weight of it all.

“…I don’t know how to,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

No-Eul’s gaze softened.

And then—

She moved.

Before you could react, she was cupping your face, tilting your chin up slightly so you had no choice but to look at her.

Your breath caught.

“No-Eul—”

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” she murmured.

You swallowed hard. “I don’t—”

But then she kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed.

It was slow, deliberate, like she was proving something.

Like she was telling you, I see you. I’m here.

Your hands curled into the fabric of her hoodie, gripping it like an anchor.

For all the times you had held yourself together—this was the first time you let someone else do it for you.

And just as the weight in your chest started to lift—

The door creaked open.

Both of you froze.

And standing there, in the doorway—

Sae-Byeok.

Her expression was unreadable.

But her hands were clenched into fists.

And her eyes—

Her eyes were burning.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

#sae byeok #fanfic #saebyeok x reader #squid game #wlw fiction #kang sae byeok x reader #wuh luh wuh #⋆˚࿔ just meet me at the apt.#angst #wlw yearning

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clarisse0o · 7 hours ago

Text

The Mayor - Chapter 56

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 2000

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Sitting at the table in Lucy’s spacious open-plan kitchen, with a plate of risotto in front of me, I listened absentmindedly to the conversation. Hugo was negotiating with his mother about an upcoming ski trip with his friends, presenting an impressively persuasive argument to win Lucy over, which amused me.

"Have you considered becoming a lawyer one day?" I remarked.

He smiled at my comment, while his brother Jules, seated across from me, shot me one of his trademark icy glares.

It had been five months since Lucy broke the news to the twins, not long after we had discussed it. I had been impressed by her courage to address it so quickly. Of course, it was a complicated transition. While the boys had known their parents were divorcing for some time, learning that their mother was in a relationship with another person—especially a woman—was something entirely different.

As I had warned Lucy, one could never predict individual reactions. Hugo had been shocked but adapted relatively quickly once the initial surprise wore off. Jules, on the other hand, had a much harsher reaction, vehemently opposing the relationship. He yelled at Lucy, asking how she could do this to him, accusing her of being the "worst mother," and declaring that he never wanted to see me again—“that pathetic girl who has completely derailed your sense of reason!” he called me. He even threatened never to speak to her again if she continued seeing me. This was the same Jules who had once spent weeks with me during an internship and adored me.

Saying that Lucy returned devastated to my apartment would be an understatement. My arms and comforting words consoled her over the following days. Despite everything, she never faltered or doubted our relationship, which was a tremendous relief for me. Over time, things improved, although "improved" was still a relative term. Lucy’s ex-husband, Paul, had stepped in as a mediator, managing to ease the tension with Jules to some degree. Lucy had told Paul first, before the twins. Their marriage had been platonic for years, so he took the news without issue, hardly surprised, as he had noticed her behavior when she talked about me or worked alongside me. I was thrilled by this revelation and loved teasing her about it.

The boys now alternated weekly between staying with their mother and father. I alternated too, splitting my time between Lucy’s house and my own apartment. At 35, I was experiencing the joys of shared living arrangements.

For four months, Jules had outright refused to see me, and I respected his wishes. Recently, he had begrudgingly allowed me to join them for occasional dinners. Even so, the atmosphere was strained by Jules' toxic moods. I did my best to be kind and understanding, ignoring his sharp remarks when he wasn’t completely ignoring me: "It won’t last," "I hate you," "What have you done to my mother," and so on. I had tried to open a dialogue with him multiple times, but he remained unapproachable. Lucy walked a fine line between reprimanding him and trying to remain empathetic and attentive. She was walking on eggshells.

"Composing" was the word that best described my life at the moment. Composing with Jules, the living arrangement, not being able to live with Lucy, and the many challenges. Still, the love I felt helped me stay positive, even when the situation took a toll on me.

Lucy’s voice cut through my thoughts.

"Okay, Hugo, you can go! But let me warn you: you’re not leaving the house this weekend—you’re studying for your mock exams!"

Hugo grinned broadly, clearly pleased with his mother’s answer. Jules chimed in:

"Hey! Don’t forget we’re going to the Christmas market opening tomorrow with you, Mom!"

Indeed, Lucy was set to inaugurate the large Christmas market the next evening, Friday. The event was a town highlight with music, mulled wine, and festive dishes.

"Don’t worry; I haven’t forgotten, considering how much energy it’s taken to organize it!" Lucy replied with a wink.

"Are you coming with us, Ona?" Hugo asked kindly from his seat to my right.

Jules immediately jumped in.

"There’s no way she’s coming! If she comes, I won’t!"

His glare was sharp as ever. What a brat, I thought to myself, holding his gaze in silence. Lucy sighed, exasperated, addressing her son:

"Lower your voice, now! And stop saying 'she'—Ona is right in front of you. Show some respect, Jules!"

"Oh, please, she’s already imposing at dinner; that’s enough! I don’t want her there!"

"God, Jules, give it a rest! You’re killing the mood!" Hugo interjected, clearly fed up.

I decided to speak, my tone unusually firm.

"Don’t worry, Jules. I wasn’t planning on coming with you anyway. I have no interest in ruining my Friday night dealing with your attitude!"

For the first time, I addressed him sharply. He blinked, visibly taken aback. I had always been gentle with him. That night, though, I was just tired—of work, of this situation, of Jules. Tonight wasn’t the night to push me. Lucy seemed startled by my reaction, unsure of how to respond. Thankfully, the house phone rang at that moment. Jules used the opportunity to slip away, heading to the phone.

"Saved by the bell," I muttered, grabbing the fruit basket.

Hugo quickly lightened the mood with one of his stories. Jules eventually returned, explaining that he needed to visit a neighbor to retrieve his agenda.

Later, as we cleared the table, Hugo leaned in and whispered:

"You can come with us, you know."

I smiled at him. He was genuinely sweet.

"Thank you, Hugo, that’s very kind of you. But I’ve already made plans to go with my friend Alexia."

In truth, I hadn’t considered attending with Lucy this year, regretfully. There was Jules to consider, and Lucy was going in her role as mayor. I couldn’t imagine being by her side amidst the crowds, journalists, and local dignitaries.

After the dishes were done, I stepped outside for a cigarette. Lucy soon joined me.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I’m fine," I replied, my tone weary. She raised her eyebrows.

"Are you sure?"

"Just tired today, Lucy," I admitted.

"I could tell, with how you reacted. But look, it’s getting better... we’re all at the same table," she said, brushing my cheek tenderly.

"Yes, a victory! Maybe in a year, you can touch my cheek without looking over your shoulder, and who knows, in ten years, we might even live together!" I quipped sarcastically.

Lucy bit her lip, lowering her gaze, clearly hurt by my comment.

"What do you want me to do? How should I handle this? If I push too hard, he’ll shut down completely."

I shrugged. "He’s playing this situation perfectly, either way. I’m just on edge tonight; it’ll be fine," I said, trying to reassure her.

"Do you want me to come over tonight?" she asked.

Lucy often snuck away to my place for the night during the weeks the boys were with her, returning early in the morning. Breakfasts with the step-sons weren’t on the table yet.

"No, I have a ton of work," I replied truthfully. She pouted.

Her phone rang again—of course, it was one of those nights. She frowned.

"I need to take this—it’s about tomorrow. I’ll be back soon!" She kissed me quickly before heading inside.

I stayed outside for a while, lost in thought under the stars, until I heard footsteps. Jules was returning from his errand, walking past me without a glance, pretending I didn’t exist. I shook my head.

"What a shame it’s come to this," I murmured.

“What?” he threw at me offhandedly.

“Jules! I’m the same person you talked to, laughed with, for weeks during your internship!”

My tone was sharp and energetic.

“Yes, but since then, you slept with my mother!”

He aimed to throw me off balance with his brazen words.

“Classy, Jules. I expected better from you! Stop acting like a little Twat !”

Once again, my unusually direct tone caught him off guard.

“Oh, so now I’m a little twat ? Mom’s going to love hearing that!”

I sighed deeply.

“I’ve really tried everything with you, Jules—compassion, kindness. I get it, none of this is easy. But I am not your enemy, Jules, and you’re pushing me to my limits…”

He rolled his eyes, a nasty smirk playing on his lips.

I stepped closer, leaving barely any space between us.

“Listen to me carefully; I’ll only say this once, so it gets etched into your stubborn little head. Your behavior is ruining our lives. I know you’re smart enough to see it. You might be fine with wrecking mine—I guess that even gives you some satisfaction. But have you thought about your mom? Just for a second? About how your selfish attitude affects her? I love her, Jules. And understand this: nothing you do, no amount of your bratty behavior, will make me give up on her. Nothing. So go ahead, exhaust yourself trying to make all our lives miserable if that’s what entertains you!”

I never broke eye contact, delivering my words calmly but with firmness, cutting through like a knife.

He didn’t reply. Not a single word.

I turned on my heel and walked inside, closing the door behind me. I listened as he stomped away into the garden. I sighed again. I knew I’d gone far, but it was necessary. That was the breaking point.

I knew this kid; his behavior turned my stomach inside out.

I found Lucy in the living room, finishing up a phone call.

“I’m sorry, I need to rush to the prefecture—some urgent issue about tomorrow’s security! Honestly, they’re exhausting me!” she said, exasperated.

I didn’t want to bring up what had just happened with Jules. She was in a hurry, and it wasn’t the time to tell her I’d called her son a brat.

“I was just about to head out too!”

“See you tomorrow?” she asked as she grabbed her bag.

“Yes, we’ll see each other tomorrow,” I replied quickly before adding with a teasing smile, “I know how it is—Madame Mayor amidst her constituents and journalists for the Christmas market inauguration…”

She pulled me close, pushing me into a dimly lit back room, and kissed me deeply. My body warmed instantly from her touch, her lips, her tongue. She rested her forehead against mine, her blue eyes locked on me, and whispered a tender “I love you…”

I kissed her back, murmuring the same words into her ear before breaking away from her embrace.

She caught my hand as I started to leave. “We’ll get through this…”

“We’ll get through this…”

It was something we told each other often, words that gave us strength.

As I headed to my car, I noticed Jules sitting in the far corner of the garden. I wondered what state he was in and what he might tell Lucy after our confrontation.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #ona batlle #barca femeni #woso soccer #lionesses #sefutbol fem #ona batlle x lucy bronze

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