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dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd · 8 months

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Mating Season

How Halsin’s romance might have played out if we could have had his kisses, adoration, and been totally railed senseless by Oak Daddy from the end of Act I. An ode to Halsin’s hairy chest, big arms, and the vein that I know stands out so thickly on his *muffled horny noises*

After a long and tiring day of fighting off goblins as you search for the Githyanki Crèche, you groan in relief as you sink into the cool waters of the river. Everyone else is back at camp and you’re able to enjoy the currents swirling around your naked body.

You float in the water, thinking about how much your party has grown in the past few weeks. First Shadowheart, Gale, and Astarion, then Lae’zel, Wyll, and Karlach, and finally Halsin, the wildshape druid you rescued from the goblins. He’s a focused member of the group, a valuable healer, and an unstoppable force in battle. You occasionally feel things turning against you in a fight, and then Halsin is there, supporting the group and laying down swathes of flame, lightning and ice. His bear shape never fails to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies.

Around the fire at night, he talks openly about his quest to free the Shadow-Cursed lands, his admiration for the party, and his praise for your leadership. His gentle words about you have your body prickling with awareness of his.

That warm smile of his. His large and clever hands. His deep, gentle voice. Everything about this man makes you tingle all the way down to your toes. Whenever you think his gaze is lingering on your mouth, he murmurs goodnight to you and leaves your side. You watch him go, wishing that instead he would reach out and touch you.

An angry, snarling sound fills the air and you sit up in the water. Not far from you, an enormous bear, grunting and breathing hard, walks heavily down the riverbank. It’s huge, and its muscular body blocking out the setting sun, and from the noises it's making and its attitude, it’s a hair's-breadth from lashing out at anything that moves.

You freeze, not daring even to breathe, hoping with everything you have that the animal will turn around and head back the other way. Instead, it launches itself into the water with an almighty splash.

As it disappears beneath the surface, you notice a faint scar over the bear’s right eye, as if it’s been clawed. You recognize that scar.

Wait, is this--

Golden light flashes. The water seethes. A man stands up where there was a bear just moments ago, water cascading from his body. Halsin, and he must have stripped before he changed into wildshape for now he’s completely naked, standing hip-deep in the water.

He’s partly turned away from you but you can tell his manner is no less worked up than it was in bear form. He swipes his hands angrily through his dripping hair and breathes hard, the muscles of his shoulders and arms clenched in frustration.

Halsin is one of the gentlest-natured men you’ve ever met, most of the time. Like nature, he too can be wild, his eyes flashing and his voice breaking like thunder over you when he’s frustrated or disappointed, such as when he was remonstrating Kagha for the Rite of Thorns. How magnificent he was that day.

But what is he restless for now? He stands in the water, looking around at the forest, gripped with frustration, and when he turns a little more your way you can see that the root of his cock is thickened in a tell-tale manner.

Ah.

That kind of frustration.

You quietly make your way to the edge of the river where a willow tree is trailing in the water, moving as carefully and as quietly as you can. This feels like a private moment you’re intruding on. Even though you don’t mean to spy, it feels like you are. The fronds of the willow provide a little cover for you, and hopefully Halsin will cool off and leave the way he came.

The dice do not roll your way this evening as he approaches you, seeking deeper water. A moment later, your gazes lock, and his eyes widen in surprise.

‘What are you doing there?’

‘I wasn’t spying on you,’ you tell him quickly. ‘I thought you needed some peace, so I was waiting here quietly.’

His eyes run over you, your back pressed against the river bank and cowering amid the willow leaves.

Halsin heaves a regretful sigh. ‘I frightened you, didn’t I? I am sorry. It’s all right, I am myself again.’

He smiles and holds out his hand. It’s a tight smile, like he’s forcing it for you, but you’re no longer worried a bear is about to disembowel you.

You place your cool fingers into his large, hot ones and let him draw you slowly out of your hiding place. The water is deep enough here that your nakedness is covered, and so is his.

You relax as you gaze up at him, enjoying the sensation of Halsin holding your hand. Quietly enjoying the sight of his bare chest and handsome face. You hope he might walk you into the shallows so you can be naked together, but he remains in deep water, sunk in thought.

‘The river is yours. I’ll leave you to enjoy it,’ you murmur, and glance to where you left your clothes.

Halsin’s fingers are still tightly twined through yours beneath the water. He seems to be in a world of his own as he gazes at your mouth, your throat, the droplets of water sliding through your wet hair and down your shoulders. A world that includes you. A world where you’re touching one another.

‘Halsin?’ you ask tentatively. Hopefully. If he wants to move closer and kiss you, that’s more than okay with you. After a long and dusty day, there’s nothing you’d like more than exploring his body in the cool water. That hairy chest of his. His hard muscles. You long to run your tongue over him. Flex your fingers on his biceps. Trace the red tattoo on his cheek.

Halsin comes back into himself with a deep inhale, and he lets go of your hand. ‘Then I’ll see you back at camp.’ He moves away from you through the currents.

As you push the water from your body and dress in your clothes, you search for Halsin in the river, but he’s disappeared around a bend.

***

Later around the campfire, you’re hyper aware of Halsin as you talk with Gale about his home in Baldur’s Gate. Halsin is silent, the campfire flickering over his handsome face. You try not to pay him any more attention than you do the others, but your interest in him has spilled over into blazing attraction.

Your gazes lock and Halsin’s brows are drawn tightly together.

Is he glaring at you?

A moment later he gets to his feet and, unnoticed by the others, slips away into the darkness. Something’s eating at that man and you wish you knew what.

A short time later, you take a bottle down to the river to refill it with water before turning and heading for your bed. As you round the corner of the ruin where you’ve made your camp, you run straight into Halsin.

His eyes widen and they flare with heat and surprise, and then he quickly looks away and moves past you.

‘Have I done something to make you angry with me?’ you call after him.

Halsin stops dead. He stares straight ahead for a moment, and then slowly turns to you, shaking his head. ‘Far from it. I am worked up and frustrated, but not with anger.’

Maybe his frustrations are because of you, and that’s a thought you don’t know what to do with when he keeps avoiding you.

Not knowing what else to say, you tell him, ‘We will free the Shadow-Cursed lands soon. I know we will.’

He breathes out heavily, his expression troubled. ‘I’m not thinking of the Shadow-Curse right now, even though I should be. It is more important than anything I...’ He trails off, but his gaze lingers on your mouth. ‘...want.’

Halsin steps closer, and you feel the heat blazing off his chest. His warmth and bulk are so welcoming and you crave to reach out and touch him. The backs of his fingers caress your hair. The lightest of touches. Then he takes a handful of your hair and dips his head, bringing the strands to his nose.

‘You smell wonderful.’ He heaves a deep sigh, and whispers, ‘Can I hold you for a moment?’

That sounds lovely to you, and you nod.

Halsin wraps an arm around your waist, scoops you against him, and buries his face in your neck. ‘By Silvanus, your scent is sweet,’ he groans. ‘I caught it when we first met, in that foul goblin nest. How it pleased me. Getting to know you these past few weeks has been even sweeter.’

Your hands are plastered against his chest and so is your body. He’s saying everything you hoped to hear. More than you hoped to hear. He has such a beautiful way with words. You turn your head so he can kiss you, but he still refrains.

Taking a ragged breath, he releases you and steps back. ‘I’m sorry. It’s always difficult this time of year.’

You miss his warmth so much that you shiver. ‘What time of year?’

He gazes at you for a long time. ‘You may laugh, but I’ll tell you. It’s bear mating season.’

You don’t laugh, but your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

‘I know--I’m no bear,’ Halsin says with a laugh of his own, ‘but I spend so much time in wildshape that bear instincts tug on my heart and...other parts of me. I return to my own form and unfortunately the needs do not dissipate. In fact, they worsen, because it is not a bear I want. When she comes close to me smelling like spring and honey and warm sunshine I can’t help but crave her.’ A smile glimmers on his lips.

Enough being vague. You want to hear him say it. You step closer and put a hand against his chest. ‘A general someone, or anyone in particular?’

He groans softly and captures your face in his hands. He drinks you in and swipes his thumb across your lips. The gesture is soft, and full of the promise of his kiss.

‘You are someone I admire and I think I could grow to care deeply about,’ he murmurs. ‘I care about you so much already. Any little scratch you receive I want to push Shadowheart out of the way and tend to you myself.’

Your heart soars.

‘But this isn’t how or when I wanted to begin anything with you. I have to walk away.’

Disappointment plummets through you.

He’s still holding your face and his expression is conflicted. It seems he wants to put an end to this for now but can’t bring himself to do it.

‘I can walk away, if that helps?’

His eyes fill with gratitude and longing. ‘Please. That would be a mercy. Know that when the time comes, I will come to you with more than lust in my heart.’

You nod, trailing your fingers down his chest as you step back, but you fail to see what’s wrong with him desiring you. ‘Whatever you need. Of course.’

‘I hope I haven’t offended you.’

You smile gently at him. ‘Your desire is so far from offensive. Please know that I don’t demand more of your attention than you’re willing to give. The Shadow Cursed lands are your priority and I’m...’ How to put this delicately? I’m here for you and you can rail me senseless in between your duties whenever you want to let off steam. That’s what you want to say, but you’re too shy to say it. ‘...Here. Your friend. Always.’

Halsin seems to catch your meaning anyway as his jaw flexes and he nods slowly.

You promised him you would walk away, and you do, and though you give him ample time to allow him to pull you back, the next sound you hear is a clash and a growl, and a flare of golden light. When you glance over your shoulder, a bear is thundering into the woods on all fours.

***

A few days later, you’re returning to camp feeling like you’ve been put through a meat grinder, and your companions haven’t fared much better. Gale is unusually silent and covered in blood. Shadowheart is exhausted and dragging her feet. You’re trying not to limp because she and Halsin have already cast so much healing magic. Something’s wrong with your leg, but you’ll see to it yourself when you’re alone.

The others bid you tired farewells as they head for their tents, but someone catches your arm and holds you back.

‘Oak Father, you’re bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?’

Halsin is staring at your legs, and you stare with him. Blood is pooling around your foot. Oh, that’s not good.

‘I can tend to it myself after I’ve had some rest--’

Your words are cut off as the massive druid picks you up in his arms and carries you into a crumbling barn. Automatically, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean against the solid bulk of his chest. Halsin lays you down on a pallet and helps you remove your armour, revealing a ragged gash on the top of your thigh. Your clothes have to be cut away until your legs are bare.

Halsin looks exhausted and has dark circles under his eyes. It seems he’s been taking little rest as he roams the forests nightly as a bear. When he reaches for you to lay healing hands on your wound, you place a hand on his wrist.

‘You don’t have to do this right now. I’ll bandage myself up and someone can heal me after they’ve rested.’

Halsin raises challenging eyebrows at you. ‘You believe I don’t have the strength to heal you myself? That I’ll walk away from the most important person in my life and leave her bleeding?’

You moisten your lips, trying not to show how much his words have affected you. The most important person in his life? Suddenly you don’t feel injured at all, and he hasn’t even healed you yet.

‘I have more than enough magic left for this. Now, lay back and let me do my work, and then you can get back to yours.’

You settle back on the pallet and gaze at the cobwebby rafters. Halsin’s hands hover over your thigh, and a warm, delicious feeling spreads through your leg, and then up between your thighs. Your head falls back in relief and pleasure.

Even Halsin makes a surprised noise. ‘That felt...’ He rubs your now-healed high, massaging the last of the tension and pain from your muscles. ‘That felt different. How’s your thigh now?’

You can’t help but moan and arch your back a little at his touch. ‘Good.’ Your voice comes out in a breathy whisper.

‘Just good?’ He strokes his palm over where there was a cut just moments ago.

‘Halsin, please, you make me feel heavenly,’ you whimper. The words pass your lips without thinking. You reach up to take hold of his shoulders so you can pull him down to kiss you, but pull back before you can touch him.

This isn’t what he wants. Your hands clench on the pallet, feeling your core ache with need. As soon as he leaves, you can get yourself off thinking about him.

‘Would you like me to go?’ he asks softly.

‘I never want you to go.’

His hand rests lightly on your leg.

You open your eyes and gaze up at him, and he’s sitting so close to you. ‘But if you stay, you’re going to see me touching myself.’ Then you smile at him, remembering your last conversation. ‘I would love for you to see that. As a friend.’

You want him to see you. You want him to participate.

He smiles and leans down to you, and runs the blade of his nose up your cheek. ‘I can’t think of anything more wonderful after a long, hard day, my dear friend.’

Halsin lays down beside you and props his head against his fist. With gentle fingers, he helps you to drag your underwear down your legs and cast them aside. As your teeth sink into your lower lip, you gently touch yourself, your eyes on his handsome face. Halsin strokes your thighs, your stomach, finds the fastenings on your clothes and loosens them. As he pulls back your bodice, revealing your breasts, he lowers his head to take one of your nipples in his mouth.

You cry out and flex up into him. Heat is gathering within you. You suck on your lower lip and release it. ‘Please--your fingers--I need--’ you manage between pants. You can barely get the words out, but he understands. Halsin drags two fingers through your sex, making them slippery, and then sinks them inside you.

Another loud cry from you. Gods, he feels perfect.

Halsin groans and kisses your throat, murmuring, ‘You’re so tight around me. Have you been as frustrated as I am?’ He pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, slowly at first, and then faster.

Yes you have, the godsdamned stubborn bear of man. He should have pulled you into his arms that day in the river and let you suck all the frustration from his body out through his cock.

‘So frustrated,’ you whimper. ‘Please, that feels so good. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.’

He brushes his lips over yours. ‘I won’t stop. You’re always so beautiful, but like this, all of nature pales in comparison.’

You reach down and lay your hand over his wrist, adoring the tension and flex of his muscles in his arm as he moves inside you. Your fingers keep moving on your clit as you moan and cry out his name, and when you come you dig your nails into his flesh, and press your feet into the ground so he can fuck you even harder with his fingers.

When you fall back exhausted, Halsin sits up and spreads your thighs open, trailing his fingers over your sex and drinking in the sight of you as you catch your breath. ‘Your body is wondrous.’ He leans over and kisses you, his tongue caressing yours. ‘Will you rest well tonight?’

You nod, feeling drunk from his kiss and your climax.

He smiles. ‘Then I’ll rest well too, knowing that you’re sleeping soundly. Thank you for sharing this beautiful moment with me.’

As he sits up, you notice that he’s hard inside his tight pants. Excessively hard. Huge in fact. He shouldn’t be leaving, he should be pulling off his clothes and pounding the living daylights out of you until he also gets the release he needs.

But he’s gone before you can call him back to you. That’s not why he just blew your mind, was it? He healed you, and now he wants you to get some rest. Druid’s orders, apparently.

You smile and roll over, and fall into a doze.

***

The next morning, before anyone has arisen, Halsin finds you coming back from the river. You smile at him, thinking he looks so handsome in the morning light, and you expect him to keep moving past you. Instead, he stops and smiles at you, as if basking in the sight of you is all he wants right now.

‘May I have a kiss?’ you ask hopefully. Perhaps he’s decided not to want anything for himself right now, but he still wants to make you happy.

Without needing to be asked twice, Halsin grasps you around the waist with his large hands and walks you back against the wall, kissing you enthusiastically. ‘I can still smell you on my fingers this morning. I could smell you all night. You are a delight.’

Your lips part for his so he can kiss you even deeper. With your arms around his neck, you revel in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

‘I find you irresistible.’ Another kiss. ‘But we have much to do today.’ Another kiss.

‘We do,’ you say, smiling as he kisses you again.

He gazes down at you for a moment, a slight frown between his brows. ‘If you need more, know that I won’t be offended if you take another lover. Nature intends for us to roam and be free.’

You have considered that, if not someone at camp, then a handsome stranger at a tavern, but you’d only be thinking about Halsin the whole time. ‘And if I don’t want to?’

‘You must do as pleases you,’ he replies, and kisses you again.

You guess that he didn’t tell you this for idle reasons, but to let you know about his own preferences. You reach up and stroke your fingers through his russet hair. ‘I have always wanted my own person, but to roam with them. Share everything with them. I would miss you too much if I was to roam without you.’

He smiles down at you. ‘Us, with others? I would like that, in time. You’re more than enough for me, but I wouldn’t wish for you to be denied anything. Seeing you with another lover, and participating as well...it sounds wonderful.’ Then he steps away from you. ‘But we are getting ahead of ourselves. My thoughts turn to other things for now. But they will turn back to you.’

With a final warm squeeze of your hand, he leaves you, but your heart is lighter than it’s been in a long time.

***

Two nights later, you’re awoken by snarling and roaring in the distance, and you sit bolt upright. It sounds like two large animals are fighting in the woods.

Only Astarion is awake. ‘What a ridiculous racket,’ he mutters with a scowl, before licking his thumb and turning the page of the book he’s reading.

You look over at Halsin’s pallet, knowing it’s going to be empty before you lay eyes on it, but your stomach drops just the same when you see that it is. You scramble to your feet and set off at a run into the darkness.

You follow the roaring and snarling and it doesn’t take long to find two bears fighting with teeth bared and swipes of their claws. You recognise Halsin from the scars over his eye.

What can you do to help him? A spell? A cantrip?

Before you can decide, Halsin swipes the other bear so hard across the snout that it reels back, and then turns and runs away into the woods.

Halsin paces up and down for a moment, and then golden light ripples, nearly blinding you, and when you open your eyes again, he’s striding toward you. His chest is heaving and blood is pouring from scratches and bites across his shoulders and throat. Nothing life threatening, but he’d be in pain if he wasn’t so angry.

‘That bear was looking for a mate, and I wasn’t having it prowling around her when I haven’t even tasted her myself.’

Halsin when he’s feeling himself wouldn’t say something so uncharacteristically possessive. It must be the mating season instincts overriding his natural feelings. ‘That bear wouldn’t have been interested in me.’ Also, you could have tasted me by now if you’d wanted to.

He doesn’t seem to have heard you as he glares into the darkness. Suddenly, he rounds on you. ‘It’s dangerous out here. You shouldn’t have come. Go back to bed.’

You fold your arms and stay where you are. The big alpha bear can throw his weight around, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to jump to obey his commands. ‘Shouldn’t have come? Would you have ignored me if I was being attacked in the woods?’

Halsin takes a deep breath and some of the anger melts from his face. He pushes his hands through his hair and shakes his head. ‘Of course not, I would never abandon you like that. Thank you for coming out here to help me. I promise I’m not ungrateful. I’m all out of sorts because...’ He gestures vaguely at himself and the woods around you both.

You smile at him. ‘I know. It’s mating season.’

You help him pick dirt and gravel out of his cuts before he casts healing magic on himself, but you’re not ready to leave him and go to bed. The river is close by and you take his hand and lead him to the water.

‘Let’s wash the blood and dirt off you.’

At the riverbank, hesitantly you reach for his clothes. He says nothing but he’s watching you with such intensity, and so you find the fastenings and help him out of them. With gentle fingers, he does the same for you. The night air is warm and still. Crickets are chirping and the river makes gentle rushing noises. The two of you are standing so close that you’re breathing each other’s breaths. His massive chest lifts and falls. Your nipples tighten with awareness of him. You don’t want to stare but you can’t help but look at this beautiful man as you undress him.

Halsin helps you out of your underwear, and his cock bumps against your thigh. He’s so hard that he’s standing to attention, his foreskin drawn back, a drop of pre-cum at the tip. Your mouth waters, and you want to run your tongue along the thick vein that stands out on his shaft.

‘Sorry. Ignore me,’ he mutters.

You don’t want to ignore the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen, but you keep your hands to yourself and look up at him. ‘I want to feel flattered. Should I feel flattered?’

‘You know I think you’re wonderful,’ he breathes, caressing your face.

Oh, by all the gods, then fuck me, please.

‘Would you want me even if it wasn’t mating season?’

‘Of course I would, though I’d probably be better at keeping that to myself. You wouldn’t awaken to hear me fighting other bears in the woods, or see me staring at you with longing across the campfire. I’d still feel the same way, but I wouldn’t be so obvious about it. Probably.’

‘Do you mind that mating season makes you feel and act this way?’

He smiles and shakes his head. ‘It is who I am, and another connection I have to nature.’

‘Halsin. For a wildshape druid who believes in going with what’s natural, you’re very stubborn about resisting what your body is telling you it wants.’

A smile curves his lips. ‘You may be right. I’ve told myself that focusing on the Shadow Curse is the right and only thing to do, but...’

Halsin ducks his head and slants his mouth over yours. The kiss is so fierce and sudden, and pleasure takes a swan dive through your body. He wraps his arms around you and gathers you to him.

‘This isn’t how I imagined things between us,’ he murmurs. ‘I intended to come to you after the curse is lifted and declare my feelings for you, and tell you that my unburdened heart is yours.’

‘Please still do that,’ you breathe, planting soft kisses again and again on his mouth. ‘I would love that. But don’t walk away from me now.’

‘You want me, even though my mind is often on things other than you?’

What a romantic Halsin is, wanting to give you his whole heart at once, or nothing at all. ‘Of course I do,’ you tell him, your fingers stroking his bare back. You don’t need that declaration yet. You just need him.

Halsin lifts you in his arms and carries you into the water, gazing into your eyes. The water flows around your bodies as he kisses you and places you on your feet.

He nods at something over your shoulder. ‘I have to taste you. Turn around and put your hands on that rock.’

You do as he asks, standing thighs-deep in the water and bent over with your hands braced against the river bank. Halsin kneels down in the water and cups your ass.

‘So beautiful...’ You feel his tongue run up your sex, and you moan and close your eyes. He’s slow and languorous about it. Not trying to make you come, just tasting you thoroughly and enjoying the sensation of you against his tongue.

Halsin stands up and when you glance over your shoulder you see him gazing at your sex as he strokes you with his fingers and fists his cock slowly up and down.

‘Can I have you, sweet one?’ he asks huskily.

‘Please, gods, yes .’ You’ll go crazy if he holds back a moment longer.

You feel him step closer, and the blunt head of his cock slides against your slippery entrance. He feels alarmingly thick and you take a deep breath and try to relax.

With a muttered oath, he sinks into you. As much of him as he can, anyway. Gods, he’s a lot . You walk your feet apart, trying to accommodate more of him.

‘Too much?’ he asks, hesitating.

You shake your head desperately. ‘Not too much. More, please.’

He fucks you slowly, working himself deeper by delicious increments, while your cries fill the night air along with his ragged breathing. His blunt nails scratch your flesh. He roughly squeezes handfuls of your ass.

You reach down between your legs and touch yourself, and you grow wetter and wetter, allowing him to fuck you in long, smooth strokes. Every single one makes your insides light up. Your orgasm is barrelling down on you surprisingly fast.

‘Please, fuck me hard, I’m going to come,’ you beg him.

Halsin groans and takes your hips in a secure grip and slams into you, over and over, hard, brutal and heavenly thrusts. You push against the rock to hold you steady as a wild, untamable sensation crashes over you, and you cry out loud enough for the whole forest to hear you.

Your head is hanging low and you’re panting as you feel Halsin draw out of you.

‘But you haven’t come,’ you protest, straightening up and turning around. It’s what you want, to see and feel this beautiful man let go.

He takes your hand and helps you out of the river. ‘I’m not done with you yet.’

He lays back on the grass and pulls you astride him so your thighs are straddling him. ‘I want to see you like this as well.’

Hungry for more, you grasp his cock and sink down his length. Halsin groans and his head tips back, and he squeezes both your breasts in his large hands. His throat is so beautiful, and so is his chest. You draw patterns in his chest hair as you move up and down his length.

Weeks of frustration and wanting him haven’t been fulfilled by one climax, and soon you feel another one gathering within you. He watches you with a smile as you desperately moan and pant his name. As your cries reach a crescendo, Halsin plants his feet securely against the ground and pushes sharply up into you, over and over, making you shatter around him even harder than before.

You collapse forward on his chest, weakened and helpless, his cock still lodged deep inside you.

‘That was wonderful,’ you moan, your cheek plastered against his chest. ‘Give me a moment and we can change positions. I’m not stopping until you come.’

He rubs circles on your back. ‘I think I might shift into wildshape if we keep going. I can feel the need getting stronger and stronger.’

‘I don’t mind. Your bear form is pretty sexy.’

He laughs softly, a surprised sound. ‘Really? I’m pleased you think so.’

Even sexier is the way he looks while he’s changing, his body even bulkier and hair sprouting everywhere. ‘Can you change part ways?’

His hand stops moving on your back as he considers this. ‘I can. I think it might be easier for me to maintain that, rather than one or the other.’

Halsin rolls you both over until you’re on your back in the grass and pinned beneath him. With a heavy hand on your inner thigh, he pushes your knees up to your chest and thrusts deeper, and then again.

‘By Silvanus, you feel wonderful,’ he pants.

A ripple goes through his body. His eyes turn fiercely golden. The hair thickens across his chest and spreads over his shoulders and down his arms. His top lip pulls back from his teeth, revealing thick incisors. His cock swells to what feels like twice its size inside you. You gaze at him in wonder. He looks incredible like this.

As he continues to pump his cock into you, you press your hands against his muscular, hairy stomach, struggling to accommodate all of him.

‘I’m hurting you,’ he realises, his voice more growl than words. ‘I can change back.’

‘No, don’t stop. Just slow down for a moment. It’s a good problem to have.’ You reach down to the place where you’re joined and wrap your fingers around his slippery thickness. Gods, that’s wonderful. So is his bulk looming over you and the rich, animal scent of his body. He thrusts carefully, watching you closely, his golden gaze roaming over you.

‘So beautiful, sweet one,’ he rumbles. ‘Are you sure you like me like this?’

‘Yes, oh gods, yes.’

With every thrust, it’s getting easier for him to slide his whole length deep inside you, and pleasure stabs through you every time he bottoms out.

You reach up and cup his furred cheek. ‘I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even sexier like this. How does it feel for you?’

He groans and seems to take courage from your words. ‘Like I’m finally free. No longer fighting what I crave.’ The speed of his thrusts pick up, and he devours you hungrily. ‘You’re so good to me.’

His breathing becomes a throaty snarl. His claws dig lovingly into your thigh. His hips move in a relentless rhythm, long thrusts, and then shorter, urgent ones, and you can tell he’s nearing his peak. You hold onto his shoulders for dear life as his body stiffens and his climax breaks through him, and he throws his head back.

With a groan, he sinks down onto his elbow and buries his face in your throat. As you hold him tight, you feel him shift back to his human form, his skin smooth and damp with perspiration.

Halsin lifts his head and kisses you. ‘I’ve never done anything like that before. Was it all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

You hasten to assure him that he didn’t and it was everything you wanted.

He smiles. ‘How wonderful you are.’

You stroke his sweaty hair back. Neither have I. You’re so beautiful always, and especially seeing you like that, through wildshape eyes.’

He rolls onto his side in the grass and wraps both his arms around you, keeping you tight against his chest. ‘I shouldn’t have been so stubborn. The world feels so much better now I have you in my arms.’

‘How long does mating season last?’ you ask. You hope it’s a long time, and he needs you often.

He laughs, a deep sound reverberating through his chest. ‘It’s every moment I lay eyes on you, sweet one.’

‘I hope that I haven’t distracted you from your duties.’

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. ‘I’m more motivated than ever.’

You lay like that together in the grass until Halsin feels your cooling body shiver.

He helps you to your feet and draws you into his arms for one last, tender kiss. Cradling your face in his hands, he murmurs, ‘You are the person I admire most in the world. I feel honoured by every moment I spend by your side.’ He kisses you again. ‘Know that I can’t wait until I’m able to tell you that my whole heart is yours.’

Thank you so much for reading. Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! Or tell me how the Halsin brainrot is affecting you while playing BG3. I have just about no braincells left by now. Only Daddy Bear remains.

#baldur's gate 3 #halsin #halsin x reader #halsin x tav #baldur’s gate 3 spoilers #fanfiction #female reader

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targaryenluvs · 4 months

Text

VICTORS SPOILS

pairings: dark!finnick odair x fem!capitol!reader

warnings: obsession, following/stalking, creepy behaviour, naive/younger reader, age gap, (reader is 19 and finnick's around 25), non-con touching and kissing, manipulation, bj mentions/insinuations, sex mentions, prostitution mentions, finnick lowkey preying on you - descriptions of brown reader (i was self indulgent since i’m indian 😁) condescending/nit picking mother and pushy parents!

summary: a victor should be celebrated! a victor should get what ever they wish, even if it’s a sweet capitol girl who misplaced her kindness in someone who was in desperate need of reprieve and distraction.

a/n: ITS MY BIRTHDAY!!! HERES A GIFT FROM ME TO YOU ❤️GUESS WHO MADE HER OWN LITTLE HEADER GAHH!! i tried my bestttt - ive been away for a littleeee!! sorry babes <33 it was like 3am and i cooked this up in my head before opening my brewing pot (notes app) and jotting it down - NOT PROOFREAD

the hall was so loud.

they always were at capitol parties. your mother and father always dragged you along, stating that a young lady should be getting out, meeting people, friends, becoming well versed and established in the capitol. and that they wouldn’t always be here. “you need to learn to be alone, fend for yourself and stand your ground. how are you gonna do that if you’re always trying to keep to yourself dear?” your mother sweetly smiled as she looked over you, “i think you still have time to change that dress, not the most flattering sweetie.”

you scoffed as she walked away ever so elegantly. you looked over yourself in the mirror, the green dress was gorgeous, to you at least. but the blue dress your mother had chosen was breath-taking, as much as you hated to agree with her opinion. so you bit your tongue and put the chosen dress on.

mother knows best right?

the sun was setting with an especially beautiful array of colours to which you figured no one would really notice you were gone if they were all focused on something else. there was probably a screen upstairs which you could watch something on. a few things to eat and drink then you’d head up there.

finnick was glancing over to you the whole night. you’d worn blue, and he’d taken it as an ode to him. you hadn’t looked over at him yet but your leaving of the party seemed like an invitation to him to finally introduce himself.

as you settled down on the plush couch you felt all your tensions melt away. but finnick wouldn’t leave you alone for long. “i’m sorry i didn’t know this was occupied.” finnick looked sad and you had no clue why, so being as nice as you are had you opening the room in invitation to him. “no, no! i just wanted to get away from the party. you’re welcome to sit with me finnick.” it felt odd to you for some reason, calling him by his name as if he was a friend. you’d only ever seen him through screens and from afar yet he looked as amazing as always.

“are you sure?” you nodded and smiled, moving down the couch to make room for him. he sat down, respectful of your space. he looked drained and you felt the same way. “tired of the party?” you asked as he smiled and nodded, “a lot of people asking a lot of questions.” you spoke, “everyone has something to say or ask. my dad told me he got three men asking for my hand. we haven’t even been here for two hours. it’s like being in a room with vultures. and if i do accept i’ll just be, nothing. someone stuck to the side of some ugly guy who just wants a pretty face.” you didn’t know what it was about him but you felt as if you could tell him anything.

and he sat, and listened. nodding his head and adding it where appropriate. it felt, nice. having someone actually listen to what you said rather than just asking what you were wearing. he was nothing like what you expected. you’d heard the whispers. that he was a playboy, he was with and had been with multiple women and men over the years. and that he liked it, the gifts, the people, the uhm, other aspects.

“but you, i’m sure you have people to meet, scope out.” you wanted to curl up and die as soon as the words left your mouth. “no! oh my god, i do not mean it like that. you- i- you should not feel ashamed of what you like. i am so sorry- i didn’t mean to imply-” god would you stop droning on? finnick pressed his lips into a thin line, “hey it’s okay. you’re fine. in all honestly, i know everyone has mis-conceptions of me.” you took his place in attentive listening as he explained the truth.

the threats, the people pawing at him, him being sold from fourteen.

you were crying. it all sounded unbelievable and unbearable for someone to go through at such a young age, his life was ruined all because he was pretty, desirable. no child should even have to think of such things let alone experience them. and rather than you comforting him, he was sitting with his arms around you. he was too good to be true.

“i- no i’m so sorry that happened to you finnick. i had no clue, no one does. you are such an amazing person, from the little time i’ve known you. you don’t deserve any of this. how could you get away from this? we could- we could expose snow we could-” finnick cut you off with teary eyes, “there’s nothing we can do. trust me, if there was i would have tried. but i think, if i got married perhaps. i’d have a reason to stay away from the captiol. we’d live in district four, in peace.”

the idea was pretty decent, you’d give him that. and you couldn’t help your heart running a little faster at the prospect of potentially marrying him. you were already fast friends, at least you’d marry a friend? even if he potentially loved someone else or you loved another.

“what if- if you married me?”

he’d hoped you’d say that.

“you’d do that for me? seriously?” finnick faked shock as you nodded, “we’re friends, i’d much rather marry you than anyone else here to be honest. we could be happy.” you smiled as he wiped away his last tear. “y/n, that’s an amazing idea.”

your wedding was marvellous.

your parents pushed out buck after buck, no expense spared for their little girl. as if they actually cared for you. your wedding dress was white and pristine, courtesy of snow. your brown hair in curls and your brown skin glistening. but you added blue accents for finnick, or you thought you did. it’s not like he pushed for you to wear the things he bought by incessantly reminding the makeup artists and helpers that you were marrying the finnick odair, his wife deserved nothing but the best.

you stood infront of a friend, smiling, happy to be marrying a kind soul.

he stood in front of the object of his affection, his desire and love.

in the first few weeks you were undeniably happy, finnick was as sweet as ever and respected you. it was your best outcome. but overtime you seemed to notice changes in his behaviour. when you’d want to go out into town for dinner he’d always have an excuse up his sleeve.

“there’s roadworks towards your favourite restaurant honey. maybe another time?”

“apparently they’re all booked out, maybe in a few weeks time?”

“wouldn’t you rather have a home-cooked meal? i made your favourite sweetheart.”

it began to annoy after the sixth time. “it can’t always be busy can it? we use to go all the time, and it’s not like they’d refuse you finnick. what’s going on?”

“i give you everything you could ever want. why the hell do you want to go out so much? am i not enough? are you- are you seeing someone?” finnick slumped in his seat.

your eyes widened as you rushed over to him, settling on your knees as your hands were placed on his thighs, “finnick how could you say such a thing? i would never do that to you. i swear there’s nothing going on, i just, i’m bored. i’d like to go out with you, explore your district with you, meet new people with you.” finnicks eyes burnt into yours. this is certainly not how he first wanted to see you on your knees, but at least you were whining.

“yeah? you like me? you promise there’s nothing going on?” you nodded dumbly, “yes yes! nothing i promise.” finnick looked down at your hands in his lap, “how do i know you’re not lying?” your hands were on his knees as you straightened your back, coming closer to his eye level, “i promise finnick. you are my husband, i’m with you. i’ll do anything to prove it to you.”

finnick was fighting off every muscle in his cheeks to not start grinning whilst the sad look on his face was breaking your heart, “yeah? anything?” oh this was going to be good. your cheeks were flushed as you heard the words come of out his mouth, “undo my belt sweetheart, show me how much you mean it.” wavering hands hovered over his belt buckle as finnick relaxed into his seat, it couldn’t get better than this right?

wrong.

every time you asked to go out, to meet a friend, to go to the capitol he’d always sulk. and the night would end with you on your knees, him on his to make you forget, or the two of you tangled in sheets.

finnick was finally happy, he had the girl of his dreams after such a long period of sadness, of exploitation and terror. fake smiles and lingering eyes.

he finally got something out of the games.

and his gift?

the victors spoils.

#dark!finnick odair x reader #dark!finnick odair x fem!reader #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair x fem!reader #hunger games x reader

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pers1st · 2 months

Text

afterglow - alexia putellas x reader

part 3 of dancing with the devil, painkillers

pairing: alexia putellas x singer!reader

warnings: mentions of OD

Keira was taken away first. Alexia noticed it as she marched across the damp pitch, a winter coat shielding her body from the cool wind, her body glistening with sweat. Barcelona had won, the way they always did, and Alexia, as the captain, had been the first to call the team into a circle afterwards, in order to listen to Jona's speech, which she knew wouldn't be long today, and thank the fans afterwards.

The chants and cheers had been relentless today. Alexia knew it was the right thing to walk towards them and spend time with them, thank them, but as she watched Lucy, who had spent the last twenty minutes on the sub bench, put her arms around Keira and softly guided her shaking ex-girlfriend away from the pitch, tears shining in her own eyes, Alexia's feet stopped moving. Her gaze followed the women until it couldn't, and they disappeared into the tunnel.

If Lucy cried, something bad had likely happened. If she told Keira, it likely involved you. Alexia's heart was racing at the realization, and she managed to take a total of three rushed steps before a body pulled her shoulders back. Fighting the force slightly as she wriggled in what she knew was her best friend's grip, Alexia's worry soon turned into anger.

"¡Suélta me!" (Let me go), Alexia whispered through clenched teeth, struggling to free her arms of Mapi's grip and follow Lucy and Keira to wherever they had disappeared to.

"No", Mapi sighed, and suddenly appeared on Alexia's side, only letting go of the shoulder closest to her. Ingrid suddenly stepped towards Alexia's other side. It seemed the woman had appeared out of thin air, but your ex-girlfriend didn't have the capacity to wonder where she'd come from, or why the two were escorting her into the tunnel and towards the nearest office. Ingrid peaked through the door and sighed a snip of relief at the realization that the room was empty.

"¿Que pasa?", (What happened?) Alexia asked, her voice softer this time as she realized that something had most definitely happened. And it most definitely involved you.

"It's about Y/N", Ingrid started, leading Alexia to sit in the chair across from the desk before turning the chair around softly, crouching down in front of Alexia. The captain couldn't see the darkness in Ingrid's eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped, or the fact that this whole setup meant very, very bad news.

"Did she call you? Did you hear from her? What did she- what did she say?", Alexia asked, hope suddenly glooming in her. Maybe you had reached out to Ingrid, maybe Keira had reached out to Ingrid, maybe you wanted her back, maybe you'd allow her back into your life, maybe the two of you-

"No, Ale", Mapi sighed, a soft touching finding her shoulder gently. Alexia looked up at the woman who stood in front of her, and only then did she see the tears in her best friend's eyes. Mapi didn't cry often. She was like Lucy in that sense.

"Ale, she-"

Ingrid struggled to find the words to describe. Alexia struggled to find the air to breathe.

"She overdosed. She's in the hospital- it's-", before Ingrid could finish her sentence, Alexia swatted her hand away from her knee.

"No. No, no, no-", she breathed, suddenly the room closing in on her. The walls came flying closer and she could do nothing but allow Ingrid and Mapi to stare at her. Tears spilled from her eyes quicker than she could stop them, but in all honesty, even trying would've been useless. The woman sitting in front of Mapi and Ingrid wasn't the stern faced, dedicated and composed captain of Barcelona and Spain anymore, the woman in front of them was a crying, broken woman. She hid her face in her hands to shield herself at least a little bit, but it was no use.

You had overdosed. You took drugs?! Had this started before the breakup, had she done this to you? Had you done this on purpose? Had you been broken enough to want to-

Had she done this to you?

She thought back to the livestream just a few hours ago. It seemed like an eternity now. It was clear as day now - the way you had wobbled on stage, the way you had been so devoid of emotion, the way everything had just seemed off with you - you had been high. Since when were you doing drugs?! How had she missed this?

It took Ingrid's hand to reach her knee again for the woman to realize she couldn't breathe anymore.

"Ale, please- you have to-"

Alexia couldn't hear the rest of her words, because the sob that left her mouth was one loud enough to, it seemed to her, shake the whole stadium.

Overdosed. Overdosed. Overdosed.

The sobs kept wrecking her frame, even as Ingrid gripped her knee harder in an attempt to steady her captain.

"Alexia", Mapi pleaded, her words barely above a whisper. Had Alexia not been so encapsulated in her own thoughts, in her own pain, she might've realized how odd it was for Mapi to get, she might've realized how close she was to having a panic attack.

But she didn't. She couldn't hear Ingrid begging for her to take a breath, couldn't hear the soothing words the both of them kept repeating over and over again.

All she could hear was your stupid voice and all the stupid songs you used to sing for her. Would she ever hear that voice again?

It was a known phenomenon that the first thing you forgot about a deceased person was their voice. Alexia hadn't heard your voice in over two weeks, at least not in real life - would she ever hear it again? Would she forget it, if you died?

The thought gripped every cell of her body, squeezing and squeezing until the air dispersed from her lungs, until the bile rose on her throat, until she became so lightheaded she had to remove her hand from her face to hold onto Ingrid's woman and steady herself because of how close she felt to passing out.

It was memories of you that spun her head. It was your laugh that she couldn't seem to drown out anymore, it was the way you'd said "I'm leaving, I'm so sorry", it was that night you'd showed up at her flat, ready for the tour of the city she had promised you over Instagram messages, it was that first time you'd ended up in her bed and every time afterwards, it was every hug you had given her when the pressure had been too much, it was every phone call, every facetime, it was you. Everything was you. Every last bit of her thought about you.

If it hadn't been for Ingrid and Mapi, she might've stayed in that ugly and bare office forever. After all, why should she move? With everything she'd been told, she'd never move on anyway. Why would she go back to the city you had fallen in love with, why should she go back to the apartment you'd shared with her, why should she go back to the bed you'd spent so many nights in?

Because Mapi and Ingrid said so, and because Alexia was too exhausted to complain. It was Ingrid who walked her back to the changing room once Mapi had checked it was empty, it was Ingrid who'd guided her into the shower gently, setting out fresh clothes and everything else Alexia needed.

In the end, it was Ingrid who took her clothes off at the realization that her teammate wouldn't move, even if Alexia tried. She'd asked for permission, and Alexia had nodded absentmindedly, something that would've been unimaginable just hours ago. Alexia never let anyone see her in a vulnerable state of any kind, but she was too tired. Too exhausted. That wasn't what made her cry in the shower though.

It was the memories of you.

The way Ingrid took off her clothes was entirely different to the way you had. There was nothing loving (not in that way, at least), about it. Ingrid didn't kiss every inch of her exposed skin, Ingrid didn't giggle the way you did as she removed Alexia's shirt, Ingrid didn't peck Alexia's lips at every chance she got, but the fact that the woman removing Alexia's clothes wasn't you was enough to send silent tears down her cheeks.

The captain didn't even have enough energy to sob for you. The realization only multiplied the tears.

In the end, Alexia didn't know how she had made it back to Barcelona, back to Ingrid and Mapi's spare room, and, in the end, back into the bed you'd once laid in.

Perhaps it was the statement your team had issued mere days after the overdose, stating that you were okay physically, stating that you would begin rehab soon, stating that you would take some private time to deal with all of the past events.

Perhaps it was the fact that you disappeared off the face of the earth for a year. Not a single post, or story to your socials. Not a single song. Not a single show. Not a single message. It was foolish to say that she managed to forget about you, because - let's be honest, it was you she was thinking about every morning she woke up, every match that she would glance into the family section and not find you next to her mother, every medal she didn't get to wear as you made love to her. She could never forget about you. And she hoped that you wouldn't forget about her either.

Still, shock couldn't describe the emotion she felt as a hand tapped her shoulder gently as she stood at the FIFA's best awards, conversing gently with Lucy.

"Hey, strangers."

She heard the words before she could turn around to see you, but she hadn't forgotten your voice. She could never forget your voice.

"Hey, you", Lucy smiled with her teeth as she pulled your body into a hug, so tight that your eyes almost came out of their sockets. Alexia smiled softly as you frowned in Lucy's arms, chuckling at your expressions.

This was the last place she had expected you to be. It was the last place anyone had expected you to be minus Keira, Lucy and their families. All of them were here tonight, and it made Alexia a little anxious to know you'd been here throughout the whole ceremony and she hadn't even noticed.

When Lucy let you go, you looked at Alexia with a slightly unsure expression. You had known she'd be here, but as Keira was finally nominated for the award for the first time, and not just the best XI, you had promised her you'd be there, even if it meant seeing Alexia again.

In all honesty, seeing Alexia again was part of the reason you'd come here, though you'd never admit it. Reaching out to her would've been foolish after everything you'd put her through, clenching complete radio silence for over a year. This was a nice occasion - one where she wouldn't think you'd come just to see her, but could still converse with you (hopefully), without the attention being on the two of you.

Before you could think about mumbling an excuse to leave the two women at Alexia's lack of a reaction to your presence, the woman pulled you into a hug. A hug that was even tighter as Lucy's, which you hadn't thought to be possible. But you didn't fight Alexia's arms around you. You could never fight her touch, could never resist the familiar smell of her perfume and the way her hair covered your nose as you buried your face in the crane of her neck.

"Lo siento", you whispered into her, just enough for her to hear and everyone else to miss, though Lucy did smirk at seeing how tightly the two of you were embraced.

"Not here", Alexia mumbled back and pulled herself out of your arms, smiling softly. Though you were disappointed, you couldn't help the smile of your own. Not here meant somewhere else. You'd get to talk to Alexia again. You'd get to explain, get to apologize. It was what you needed, whether she forgave you or not.

The time came a few hours later at the after party. You had, at this point, escaped all of the photographers, but apparently someone had caught you on the livestream and your phone was blowing up as your manager texted you, asking if you were okay. You were sat at a table with Keira and her family, the woman's head laying on your shoulder softly.

"Cat's out the bag", you smiled slightly as you placed the device back onto the table, not missing how Keira lifted her head to look at you. Your best friend was slightly tipsy, and very tired at this point. The fact that the Barcelona federation had allowed them to stay at the after party had been celebrated before the actual party had even begun, while you had caught up with Lucy's brother, in one of the backrooms where Keira and the rest had gotten ready. By the point she had joined you again, with Aitana on her heels and the rest of the Barcelona women following shortly after, she had caught you in another bone crushing hug, whining about how happy she was you were there.

"Are you okay with it?", she asked softly, analyzing your facial expression as best as she could in her state. You took a sip of your water. It was actual water.

"Yeah. Tomorrow's gonna get even better."

Your album was scheduled to drop tomorrow. No promo, no announcements, no nothing. Just music. Just the most raw and honest music you'd ever written.

"Nervous?", Keira asked, just when Aitana came towards her again. You shook your head.

"¡Ven a bailar conmigo!", the woman shrieked, just as tipsy as Keira was, gripping her hands and pulling her up.

"Go", you smiled. "I'll be fine."

And fine, you were. You loved Keira's parents almost as much as you loved your own, and talking to them was easy, especially when all they could do was gloat about their daughter. However, there was another conversation on your mind. One that wouldn't be as easy. As if she had read your mind, a body appeared behind you, her hands laying softly on your shoulders. Alexia had always been touchy. She had argued that every Spaniard was this way, but when you'd asked whether it was just a Spanish thing and she was touchy with everyone, she had shut up about it quickly, accepting every teasing comment you made about her clinginess.

"Can I steal her for a second?", Alexia asked with her silly Spanish accent, the one that you loved so much. When you looked up at her, her green eyes shone a little.

"Of course, dear. Go on, we'll wait right here!", Keira's mother beamed at the two of you, but her quick words and accent were too much for Alexia to understand, so you nodded up at her instead, quickly lifting yourself from your seat.

Alexia's hand found yours quickly, not caring about all of the footballers, reporters and people in general who were eyeing the movement curiously, as she gently led you through the crowd and towards the hall you'd met Keira in earlier.

She pulled you into a corridor, the warmth of her hand transcending into your stomach as she nudged the second door open. There wasn't much in the room - a vanity, a clothing rack which held various suits and dresses, and an armchair.

Alexia glanced through the room quietly, and you knew she was scanning for a place for the two of you to sit on comfortably as you talked. You knew this because you wondered the same thing. The armchair was spacious, but it was made for one person only. The vanity had one seat, but one seat only.

This time, it was you who held onto her hand, gently pulling her to the floor with you. You lay on your back next to your ex-girlfriend in a similar position, glancing at the ceiling.

"Quiero mirarte." (I want to look at you)

Her voice was barely above a whisper but you heard it anyways, turning to your side to face Alexia, who once again mirrored your actions. With your head cradled on your arm, you glanced at her. Taking every feature of her in, recognizing every dimple, every freckle, the birthmark above her lips. She didn't look older, despite the year the two of you had spent apart.

"Lo siento, Alexia", you whispered.

She nodded. "You should be."

"I'm sorry for just- disappearing. I really am."

"Why didn't you just to tell me?", her voice sounded so fragile, so small, that you suck in a breath.

"Why did you not trust me? I could've-"

"Stop, Ale. Please, let me explain", you pleaded, taking another deep breath as she nodded softly.

"I should've told you, yes. But it wouldn't have done anything for either of us. I was under so much pressure with the tour and everything, and I just-", you paused for a second.

"It wouldn't have changed anything. I wouldn't have let you be there for me, I couldn't. I wasn't ready to be sober, Ale. I'm sad that it took an overdose to realize it, but the good thing is I realized it. And I'm sorry, for everything I put you through. I'm really sorry, please, forgive me."

You didn't think you would beg, but one look at Alexia was enough to completely spin her mind. You would've done everything for her to forgive you. Begging was one of the things on an endless list for her to say it was okay.

The next thing she said, however, had been completely unimaginable for you.

"Yo también lo siento." (I'm sorry too.)

What could she possibly be sorry for?

You had left her without an explanation, after years of loving her, after she had given you reason after reason to spend the rest of your life with her. Then you had almost killed yourself. Then you had completely vanished for a year. And she was apologizing?!

"No, Ale-"

"Sí. I'm sorry. I should've been there, should've realized, I should've reached out and-"

"No." This time, your words held more firmity and less shock. This time, she remained silent, her eyebrows furrowing.

"You couldn't have known, Alexia. I didn't let you be there. I didn't let you reach out. There was nothing you could've done. You did enough- every day for the past year I thought of you and how to make up for this- how to get you to forgive me."

"I have already forgiven you, amor."

You sucked in a breath at the nickname. Then-

"Come home with me."

You couldn't help the shocked laugh that escaped your lips, and you couldn't miss how it made her smile again- those dimples would be the death of you one day.

"You should ask me on a date first."

"Disparates, we didn't do that last time either", (Nonsense) she chuckled, reminding you of the first time you'd ended up in her bed, the first day you'd met her.

"I don't want to do it the way we did last time."

Alexia nodded.

"Okay. But you come home with me. Because I know that you wrote songs about this, and I want you to sing them for me", she smiled, reaching her hand out for you as she turned onto her back, softly pulling you towards her. Your head found her chest immediately as your breaths synchronized the way they always had. In all honesty, sometimes, during the past year, you'd wondered if your lungs worked at a similar pace the way they always had when you'd lay like this.

"I don't have a guitar at your place", you mumbled as Alexia began playing with your hair.

"Sí, you do. You forgot one. The one you bought me to learn", she whispered into her hand that was running through strands of your blonde.

"Did you?"

Your head shook as Alexia laughed, holding you even tighter.

"I tried, but I was- fallido", (unsuccessful) she breathed.

"La reina? Fallido? Increíble", (unbelievable) you answered, chuckling softly. You remembered the first day you'd tried Alexia to play the guitar like it was yesterday, and the awful combination of what you couldn't describe as chords that had echoed through the room and had left both of your expressions frowning.

You had bought her her own, mostly because you were scared she'd somehow break yours.

You would go back to Barcelona with Alexia tomorrow. You would go with her anywhere. You would do anything she asked you to.

"We should probably go back, Keira will be looking for me", you sighed, feeling more content than you had in a long time here, in this shabby room, laying in Alexia's arms with her hands in your hair.

"Sí."

You waited for her to get up, to push you away softly and take your hand in hers again.

"Five more minutes", she hummed. You couldn't resist Alexia. You could never resist Alexia.

notes: final paaaaart! what do you think? this was a pain to write tbh but i'm happy with the way it turned out! there'll be probably be some more blurbs about the two of them just because i rly like this "series"

also, thank you so so much for all of the support! genuinely incredible

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #womens football #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #barca x reader #barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #Spotify

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honeyedmiller · 2 months

Text

An Ode to Forever | Joel Miller

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: mostly pwp, sex in a bathtub with lots of feelings, fluff, tenderness, they’re both so sickeningly in love, smut (vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, joel is handsy af, some butt stuff [lol]), light alcohol consumption, sort of erotic food consumption(not really tho???), use of daddy twice in this (idk what came over me), joel doesn’t have kids in this, no use of y/n.

word count: 3.2k

synopsis: after an arduous day, joel draws a bath to help you both relax.

an ode to how much you love joel miller, and he, you.

a/n: this is a lil valentine’s day one shot i wanted to put out. slowly getting my writing juju back. this is also a follower milestone celebration. thank you to everyone who supports my work. love you all <3

divider by @saradika-graphics

It’d been a rough day.

A day where bones ached, minds were exhausted and all that was yearned for was to be home with each other.

You’d texted Joel that you were stopping off at the store to get some wine because hell, you needed to relax. He instantly texted you back to be safe and that he loves you.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

A true love like this is something you’d never in a million years think you’d ever have to yourself. Someone who cares so much. Someone you can cherish. A love that was all your own. You were so wrapped up in the bliss of Joel Miller, and he, you.

It was the kind of love that was terrifying and beautiful and gut wrenching and so fucking rare. A love that made you feel like you were floating in the clouds, euphoria pumping through your veins every time you looked at him. The kind of love that was a forever thing. Something you never, ever thought you’d have.

He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

The lights were off when you got home. You call out his name, hanging your keys on your designated hook before toeing off your pumps.

“Up here.” He calls back, voice cascading down the stairs. You make your way up and into the bedroom, setting your work bag down before you look around in confusion.

“Joel?” You call out, and his broad frame emerges from the bathroom.

“Hey baby.” He says. You smile softly at the sight of him, body visibly relaxing in his presence. Joel notices and the corner of his mouth twitches upward into a smile.

“Hi.” Your voice is as soft as your expression, allowing him to envelope the whole of your being into his strong, warm arms. He kisses your temple before gently taking the pinot grigio out of your hands, humming at your wine choice.

“Take your work clothes off and meet me in the bathroom.” He gives your forehead a kiss before disappearing again. You cock your eyebrow in confusion, but oblige to his request anyhow. You strip off your clothes, leaving your body clad in just your bra and underwear. The plush carpet beneath your bare feet feels heavenly after a day of wearing those pumps for work.

The cold tile of the bathroom sends a chill up your spine, but you ignore the sensation when you take in all that’s in front of you—a bubble bath with rose petals scattered atop, candles lit on the side of the tub, and a small tray of chocolate covered strawberries waiting to be devoured. Wine glasses filled with two cubes of ice each sit perfectly next to the strawberries, along with the pinot grigio.

You feel the sting of tears immediately. Your eyes move over to Joel, who’s standing with his hands behind his back and a boyish grin adorning his handsome face.

“What—what’s this?” Your voice is meek, eyes glossy and bottom lip slightly trembling.

“I know we won’t get that much time to ourselves on Valentine’s Day, so I thought we’d celebrate a little early. Y‘know, a nice way to relax after a tough day.”

“Joel, honey, this is perfect.”

“Yeah? You like it?”

You turn to face him fully. “I love it. And I love you.” You close the distance between the both of you, pulling him in for a tender kiss. He hums against your lips, enveloping your body into his arms. He slides his hands down to your ass, giving it a playful tap.

He unravels his arms from you before taking a small step back, shucking off his shirt and his pants. He looks at you as you watch him, desire for him pooling your eyes. A glint of fascination crosses his gaze as he studies you studying him.

“One more thing.” Joel says before stepping out of the bathroom. A minute later, soft tunes of Frank Sinatra wafted throughout the bedroom and into the bathroom. He comes back in with a smile on his face as he grabs your hand and twirls you before kissing you. You couldn’t help but smile against him.

He pulls down his underwear and climbs into the tub, groaning at the warm water against his achy bones.

“C’mere, sweet girl.” He nudges his head, holding his hand out to you. You smile and remove your bra and underwear, climbing into the tub with him. The warm water eased the tension that was left in your body, rolling off your shoulders and dissipating into the aroma of scented bubbles. Lavender, you think.

Joel pulls you back against his body, warm and inviting as you lean on him and close your eyes. You sit like that for a minute—still, calm, and silent. It’s what you both needed. Days like this could be more than overstimulating, and Joel knew that. You both basked in the fact that you could sit in silence in each other’s presence and be perfectly content.

You felt movement behind you, only to see Joel reaching for the wine bottle. He opens it with ease and pours the wine into the two glasses, clinking his with yours in a soft ‘cheers.’

Joel set his glass down on the edge of the tub, hands landing on your shoulders. Water sloshed gingerly with his movements. He started to dig his thumbs into the tense muscle. You couldn’t help but groan, head lolling to the side slowly.

“Feel good?” Joel chuckles close to your ear, goosebumps raising at the low vibrato of his voice.

“Mhm,” You manage.

Joel leans his mouth down to the base of your neck, leaving tender kisses in his wake. Your nails trace patterns on his thick thighs, the slow drag pulling at the need for you within him.

Your touch, your smile, your voice, your laugh, you. You drove him absolutely crazy. This man loved you more than life itself. If he could give you the whole world, he would—but for once in his life he knew he was enough.

“I love you, darlin’.” Joel’s voice is nearly a whisper. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your soft flesh repeatedly.

You crane your neck to face him and his hands drop to your arms.

“I love you more, cowboy.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Not possible.”

“Mm.” You muse, leaning in to kiss him. Those same rumbling butterflies stir in your stomach, heart strings pulling at the softness of his lips and how perfect they feel slotted with yours.

His tongue easily made its way into your mouth as you slid a hand into his slightly graying curls. You moaned into him, your other free hand gripping his thigh tighter as the neediness ignites within your body.

See, that was the thing. Joel had you wrapped around his fingers. He knew exactly what made you tick.

His hands slowly slide to your breasts, kneading them with such care before pinching both of your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. You gasp into the kiss at the sensation as it travels down like hot liquid to your core, already pulsing with aching need.

Joel’s small chuckle separates the kiss, and you lean your forehead against his cheek as he continues to toy with your pillowy flesh. Your breathing begins to stagger, mind clouded with the carnal desire for the man who’s stolen your heart.

“Joel,” You’re breathless, legs mindlessly rubbing together for any friction you can get. “Please.”

“Please what, baby?” His chest rumbles with the low vibrato of his voice, goosebumps erupting on your skin once more.

“Fuck. Touch me. Please, Joel.”

“Fuckin’ love when my girl uses her manners. How do you want daddy to touch you?” His voice is a low growl, one hand easily gliding down the curves of your body before his fingertips brush over your mound. You can’t help the soft whimper that escapes you as he easily spreads your legs with his hand, running his middle finger down your slit. “Like this?”

You suck in a breath behind clenched teeth, head dropping back onto his shoulder as he starts to slowly drag his fingers over your slick sex. Even underwater, Joel could feel how aroused you are.

“Answer me, sweet girl. Tell me.”

“Y-yes. God, yes–please—fuck me with your fingers.”

You’ve come to learn how to be more vocal with Joel, always shying away from telling him what you wanted when it came to your pleasure at first. He eventually coaxed it out of you, telling you that there’s no reason to be shy around him. He’d take care of you all the same.

You knew that, but you were still grateful for the man being patient with you when words would get lodged into your throat, seemingly unwilling to be vocalized. It got easier over time, and the confidence you radiated when you and Joel initiated anything intimate was a show he’d always want a front seat to.

You moaned as he easily slipped a finger into you, disappearing down to the knuckle. It was a welcome stretch, his fingers always reaching places yours never could. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

“Another one, please.” You sigh, rutting your hips down to grind onto his hand. He easily complies, this time a little bit more of a tight fit. You moan at the sensation, and Joel has a crooked grin on his face as he starts to languidly pump his fingers in and out of you. He was teasing you, you think, because he wanted to hear you beg him to go faster. And, truthfully, you weren’t above doing so.

“Such pretty sounds you make for me, baby,” He starts to pick up his pace, and you subconsciously bite your lip to quiet yourself down. “Uh uh, don’t go all shy on me now, darlin’. Wanna hear you. Wanna hear how I make you feel.”

“You know—shit—you know how you make me feel, Joel,” You reason with him, “You drive me fucking crazy.”

“Good.”

That was all he said before he picked up the pace of his fingers, curling them to press against the spongy spot in you that had your eyes rolling back and your toes curling. He swiped his thumb over your clit, finding a steady rhythm with his fingers.

One of your hands had his thigh in a vice grip, likely to leave scratch marks on his tan skin while the other held onto the edge of the tub. That same liquid heat traveled throughout the course of your body, pooling at the bottom of your spine. Waiting. Wanting. Begging to be released. You grind your hips down to match his pace, just needed a bit more of a push.

The whimpers and moans that eluded you only added to Joel’s own arousal, the occasional grunt from him reverberating off of the bathroom walls. His cock was solid against your back, and you couldn’t help but think how much self control this man had.

“Can feel your pretty pussy clenchin’ my fingers, sweetheart. You gonna come on them? Hm?” His lips are at your ear now, poking his tongue out to lick your earlobe before nibbling on it.

“Yes—oh, fuckfuckfuck. Right there, Joel, please don’t stop. Pleasepleaseplease—” You’re a begging, whimpering mess before you come undone, whole body shuddering as your orgasm washes over you so intensely.

“There you go. That’s it. My girl always does so well, hm? So fuckin’ well.” Joel praises you, slowly sliding his fingers out of you before running them over your slit once more, featherlight and meticulous. You shudder at the sensation, a choked moan escaping the hollows of your throat.

“What do you say?” Joel teases, riling you up.

“Thank you, daddy.” You laugh softly, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze.

You sit up and turn yourself around, careful not to slosh any water outside of the tub. Joel has an amused look on his face and you huff a laugh through your nose before kissing him. It was passionate, like something you’d see in those romance movies on the big screen.

It’s a silent promise, something that can’t be put into words. It surges through your veins and exists in you all the time, heightened by the very man that made you feel these things again.

You pull apart from him, rubbing your nose against his before you lean back to take in his handsome features. His dark brown eyes gleamed with budding love.

Your gaze shifts to the untouched strawberries, and you pluck one off of the plate before taking a bite. It’s sweet; the mixture of chocolate and the fruit dancing on your taste buds. You hold the rest of the strawberry to Joel’s lips, and he grins before taking a bigger bite. You place the calyx back on the tray, gaze drifting to Joel again.

You grin when you see some chocolate on his bottom lip.

“You got a little…” Your words die in your throat as you lean forward, licking his bottom lip before kissing him again. You move to straddle his lap, hips flexing to fit around the broadness of him.

“Be mine forever.” He whispers against you.

“I’m already yours, Joel. You’ve always had me.”

You trail a hand down his chest, toying with his hair before sliding your palm down his torso as your nails slightly scrape his flesh. You plant soft kisses all along his collarbone, tongue poking out to lick his already wet skin.

Your wandering hand brushes through the tuft, wiry hair that sat atop his aching cock. You hum against him and wrap your hand around his length. He pulses in your hand, heavy and waiting to be relieved. You begin to slide your hand up and down his silky flesh, nipping at his collarbone as you did so.

Joel sucks in a breath behind clenched teeth, eyes closing in pure bliss as he tries to refrain from bucking up into your hand.

“Such a pretty cock. Love it so much.” You muse, and Joel groans at your words. He’ll never get used to you worshiping him and his body the way you do, he thinks.

But, he loves it all the same. It makes his heart fucking flutter, and even though he’ll probably never openly admit it, he loves it. It makes him feel worthy. Wanted. Loved.

“It’d look even prettier buried in that perfect pussy.” He says, and your movements falter for a split second. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his filthy mouth, but it was something you couldn’t get enough of.

You look down at him with hooded eyes and a satiated grin before lifting your hips up to hover over him, swiping his tip over your folds before sinking down on him. You’re slow with your movements, wanting to feel every ridge and vein his pretty, pretty cock has.

You both moan in harmony as you reach the hilt.

“So-fuckin’-perfect.” Joel grits, head lolling back as he takes in the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him so perfectly, like you were specifically made to be there. And you are, you think.

Your hands rest on his shoulders as you start gliding up and down on him, the stretch so welcoming every time you fully sink back down. Joel’s hands settle onto your ass to guide you into a steady pace. He wraps his lips around one of your nipples, giving it a soft bite, and you gasp at the sensation. Joel could feel you clenching around him with every pass of his tongue on your sensitive bud.

One of your hands tangles itself into his curls once more, giving them a little tug. His eyes pop open and he lets go of your nipple with a small ‘pop’, gaze never wavering from yours. You toss him a saccharine smile before kissing the tip of his nose.

“So handsome.” You whisper, kissing every high point of his face before resting your forehead against his once more.

“Yeah?” He asks, fingers grazing down on your ass slotting themselves between the crevice of both cheeks.

“Mhm.” You bite your lip, knowing what was coming. It was something new that you tried around a month ago and really liked, so Joel would implement the action whenever he could.

The tip of his middle finger circled around the tight ring of your asshole, a wicked grin on his lips as your hips stuttered.

“Gotta fill you all the way up, darlin’.” He chuckles as he pushes his middle finger into your tight hole.

Your eyes clamp shut tight, feeling so full of the man you love.

“Fuck, god, Joel– feels s’good.” Your words are slurring together and you’re trying your damnedest to keep the pace of your hips steady, maybe even riding him a little faster if that means his finger in your ass will pump faster, too.

“I know, baby. Doin’ so well. So good for me, hm? Takin’ what I give ya, so full n’ all.” He cooes, nosing at your jaw as your mouth falls slack and eyebrows thread together.

The pleasure coursing through your body is devastatingly euphoric, the sensation of him everywhere driving you crazy in all the right ways.

You know it wouldn’t be long before you fell apart at the seams for him once more.

That deep, throaty growl he does while his eyes are shut in concentration, and the pulsing feeling of his cock is a dead giveaway that he’s going to fall apart for you, too.

“‘M close, Joel.” You’re clawing at his back now, his finger curling inside you as you bury your face into his neck.

Your hips burn from straddling his wide frame, desperate for a break, but you won’t stop. Not until You’re falling apart for him and he, you.

“I know, sweet girl. Can feel ya. Give it t’me, c’mon.” He groans, fucking up into you. His jaw ticks as his teeth clench, feeling you pulsing around him as you cry out his name in pure bliss. Another orgasm crashes through you, eyes rolling back as your body goes limp on his.

It only takes him a few more thrusts before he’s coming, filling you with everything he has. He moans with every stutter of his hips as his chest heaves up and down, body following suit with yours and going completely limp. He removes his finger from you slowly before you lift yourself off of him, already missing the feeling of being so full.

You stay wrapped up in eachother for a few minutes, giving yourselves the chance to catch your breaths. You kiss his chest repeatedly, placing your hand over his rapidly beating heart.

“I love you. So fucking much, Miller.” You laugh softly, tracing patterns on his chest as your head presses against the solidity of it.

The feeling of his beating heart surges life into you. Knowing that you get to exist at the same time as this gorgeous, loving man is a feeling you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There really are no words for it, you think. At least not strong enough to describe the feeling.

“I love you too, darlin’. Forever.”

And then you think to yourself, you’d do life over and over again if it meant you got to meet Joel in every single one of them.

i’m such a fucking sap dude. lmfaooo anyway, hope y’all enjoyed <3

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @endlessthxxghts ; @punkshort ; @joelsgreys ; @pamasaur ; @cool-iguana ; @joeloverture

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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aliensupastar · 11 months

Text

not wrong, but not right

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto/GN!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You do your best to keep your head down at your job. When that doesn't work, Carmy's there for you anyways.

Part II Part III

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, depiction of an eating disorder, vent fic, fainting, hospitals, slightly one-sided romantic feelings?

A/N: PLEASE mind the warnings! as mentioned, this is a vent fic with a reader that has an eating disorder. mostly made for my own comfort/self-indulgence, but i thought i’d post it anyways. title inspired by "ode to the mets" by the strokes, gif by heardchef <3

All things considered, your job could be worse. Honestly, you feel like you lucked out a bit, your hiring process being expedited due to Marcus being the one to recommend you to his boss, given that they needed new workers for their newly opened restaurant — you knew it was a good idea to stay in touch with that guy after high school.

Working front-of-house with Richie could get overwhelming, to say the least. Dealing with him your first few weeks took a lot of adjustment, and a lot of holding back from calling him every foul name in the book. But it all smoothened out eventually. Your coworkers were nice, the pay was decent, the train ride was short. And your boss… well, it didn’t hurt that your boss was nice to look at.

You’re a little embarrassed by it. You spend a little too much time looking at him when you’re supposed to be focused on your prep, and you always stop by the back office to say goodnight before you clock out, but you think you’ve kept it subtle enough to go unnoticed. You’ve gotten a little too good at that, going unnoticed.

“Need me to do anything else before I head out?” You lean against the doorway of the tiny office as you say it, backpack already on and your jacket draped over your arms. Carmy’s sitting in his desk chair, bent over some paperwork and looking a little surprised at your question.

“Uh, no, we’re good here. But if you wanna stick around for a bit, Syd and I are makin’ something out of the food we were gonna have to throw out tonight, you could take some of it home with you. Save time on dinner.” He offers with a small smile. You hate the temptation that immediately springs up in you, because you want so badly to take him up on it. The smell of food in the kitchen is always mouthwatering, and when Carmy’s making dishes instead of being on expo, it somehow smells even better.

You’ve never even tried Carmy’s cooking. You work for one of the most excellent chefs in the country, and you can’t even answer with an honest opinion when people ask you if the food at the restaurant is good.

Despite all that, you shake your head, using the excuse of wanting to catch your train before it gets dark out, and he takes that easily.

“Heard.” He nods, looking like he might want to say more. “Well, thank you, for showin’ up today. You were great.”

“Thank you, chef.” You reply, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the praise. “Goodnight, Carm.”

Before you can change your mind, you turn and walk away, clocking out quickly, but you still hear him say “Night!” from behind you.

When you make it onto a train car, safely on your way back to your apartment, you finally let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Maybe some other day, you think to yourself. It’ll be worth it to try the food some other day.

It had been one incident. That’s what you swore to yourself: one incident, one slip up, and it would never happen again. Besides, you think — or rather, hoped — Carmy’s forgotten about it. It was months ago, and things moved quickly in the restaurant, no time to dwell on things, especially not for the guy who has to run it.

You’d gone out to the back alley of The Bear for a short break. You’d seen the others do it a million times, mostly for smoke breaks, but you didn’t need a cigarette. You needed to sit down, give yourself a chance to catch your breath as your vision started to swim and your ears felt like they had been filled with cotton. And, well, usually you didn’t need breaks like that, usually you didn’t allow yourself to take them like the others did, but there was a lull between the lunch and dinner rush and Richie didn’t need your help in the front, so you quietly slipped out the back door while hastily putting your coat on. Just this once, you let yourself slump against the wall, sliding down until you were sat on the pavement. You don’t even remember your consciousness fading, just your heartbeat thrumming in your ears while your eyes slipped shut.

Carmy found you like that. He had barely noticed your extended absence, too busy catching up on more paperwork in his office before the dinner crowd poured in, and he decided he needed a smoke. It had almost startled him when he finally did notice you sitting there, your presence so quiet it took him a few seconds, before he also noticed you were asleep. He couldn’t blame you for that. He could use a fuckin’ nap these days.

Still, he walked over and leaned down, nudging your shoulder with his hand to rouse you, muttering a quiet “hey.” But you didn’t wake, not even after a couple more pokes. And then he started to worry.

When you came to, it was because of Carmy’s hands on both your cheeks, gently patting your face, his blue eyes wide with panic. You flinched a bit, startling at the realisation of what you'd done, swearing under your breath, and that was enough for Carmy to step back.

“You okay?” He asked, and you nodded quickly on instinct.

“I’m- fine. Yeah, I’m okay.” You stumbled over your assurance, knowing he didn’t quite believe you from the way he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“What are you doing out here? You’re freezin’.” You bite your lip, embarrassed at being caught a bit red-handed, unconscious with your body temperature dropping. You’re usually better than that. Better at hiding behind smiles, concealer over your dark under-eyes, and excuses of being more of a big breakfast person to get out of eating family meals with the rest of your coworkers every afternoon.

“Just tired. I’m fine.” You reply, hoping that’d be enough of an excuse, because everyone here is a little exhausted all the time. You pull yourself to your feet once he stands up from crouching in front of you, trying to convince him to just brush it off. “I'm good to keep going.”

You almost think that he buys that, before he stares at you a little bit longer, and you try not to shrink under his gaze.

“People who are fine usually don’t take five minutes to wake up.” He says. You don’t have a comeback.

“Yes, chef,” is the only thing you can say as you turn and walk back into the kitchen quickly, avoiding eye contact with him and making it through the rest of the day without needing another break, and without giving him a chance to talk to you again before you clock out that day. You don’t even stop by the office to say goodnight.

It was months ago, one time, and it wasn’t supposed to happen again. Not at work, not in the middle of a rush. That was just your luck, you guess, that you would get caught up working front-of-house, running between taking orders with Richie and handing out plates whenever you heard somebody yelling “Hands!” in the back, all while you hadn’t had anything more than water and a coffee in the morning in… fuck, you lost count of the days again.

You pause to take deep breaths and sips of water when you can, but you guess it wasn’t often enough, because one second you’re picking up plates from the expo station and the next you’re collapsing, taking the dishes with you.

When you wake up in a hospital bed afterwards, Carmy’s there. Slumped over in a plastic chair that can’t be comfortable, clad in a familiar checkered wool jacket. He’s asleep, but he’s here, and you don’t have the heart to wake him. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, but your heart fills with equal parts guilt and gratitude at the fact that he’s likely been sat by your side for hours.

You turn your attention away from Carmy for a second, taking in the rest of your surroundings. The cotton hospital gown, the uncomfortably firm mattress beneath you, the beeping of an EKG to your left, and to your right-

Your breath catches when you see it. An IV bag, steadily dripping fluid into you through the needle in your arm, innocuous but sinister.

“Shit.” You breathe out. Now you’re panicking. Now you’re cursing yourself for not being able to hold it together long enough to get through a busy hour, and reaching for the bag to get a better look at the text that you hope and pray details it’s nutritional information, but you quickly snatch your hand back when the privacy curtain is peeled away by a nurse checking up on you.

The sound of the curtain rings scraping against metal wakes Carmy, and the nurse smiles apologetically before turning to you and explaining what you already guessed: you're in ketosis, you fainted due to low blood sugar levels and a high-stress environment, you should take it easy and eat when you get home. You’ll be discharged as soon as your IV bag is finished. Fuck. You nod and smile along with everything she says, lying through your teeth about merely skipping breakfast that morning and thanking her for her time until you can get her to leave you alone again.

Well, alone with your boss, who’s silent through the whole conversation.

You wait for a minute after the nurse leaves, before turning to your right and carefully lifting yourself onto your knees to tug the IV bag off its hook and flip it over, desperately scanning the printed text. You can’t even bring yourself to care that Carmy’s there anymore, even when you can feel his eyes on you, witnessing your silent panic. You can’t help it.

You swear under your breath once you find what you’re looking for. When you do the math in your head, it’s- fuck- it’s hundreds of calories that they’re pumping into you. You hang the bag up and sit back, defeated, unable to do anything but fiddle with the thin blanket draped over your legs and curse yourself for not being more careful.

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Carmy asks gently after a few minutes, breaking the silence. You don’t know why that question makes your eyes fill with tears, even as you shake your head vehemently.

“Nothing’s going on, Carm. I’m okay.” You tell him, trying to keep your voice neutral. He pauses for a moment, making you think that maybe, just maybe, he’ll drop it.

“I know what ketosis means, chef.” You hate him a little bit for catching on. You were so sure you were flying under the radar, you could’ve kept your habits unnoticed if you had just not fainted again.

“Well, like I said, I skipped breakfast. I didn’t have time this morning.”

“Then why didn’t you eat family with us instead?” He insists.

“Because-“

“Why aren’t you eating, chef?”

You know he’s just concerned, as your boss, he can’t have you passing out at work so much. But you also can’t help the irritation that rises in you at his persistence.

“Fuck you, Carmen,” is all you can come back with, and he scoffs. “I felt weird intruding on family when I never eat with you guys normally. There. I’m sorry me not eating this one time got in the way of my job, it won’t happen again.” You try to explain, but you already know he’ll see through that.

“One time, along with the other time you fainted out back, and all the times you’ve refused to even taste a new dish we’re tryin’ out.” Your head snaps up, and you finally take a real look at him, taken aback by the fact that he would even be bothered to remember all that. He meets your irritation with nothing but softness in his eyes. “Talk to me.” He pleads.

You can’t take it. You tear up again, wanting, needing to fight against the temptation to tell him everything because, God, you don’t know how much more you can take.

“I can’t.” There’s no hiding your emotion anymore, your voice thick with tears. “Carmy- I- I can’t take it.”

“Take what?” He asks, his voice still gentle.

“Any of it!” You’re full on sobbing now, desperately trying to wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

“Hey,” He almost coos, standing to move closer to your bed and wrapping his arms around you, bringing your head to rest on his firm chest, and you let him. You don’t object when his hand moves to pet the back of your head while you gasp for breath through your sobs, and he doesn’t object when your hands land on his back, clinging to the white t-shirt under his coat and relishing in the warmth radiating from him.

He doesn’t push you to say more. He holds you while you calm down, your breath evening out eventually, enough to speak straight.

“I can’t tell you, Carmy.” You finally say, practically whimpering. “I can’t get the help you’ll want me to get, because- I can’t stop. I don’t know how, I- I don’t know another way anymore.”

He doesn’t reply, at first, taking in a deep breath while he lets your words hang in the air.

“Okay.” He says quietly. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” You’re relieved at his acquiescence. You don’t think you can take fighting with your boss on top of everything else you have going on.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

“Can I ask you to promise me something?” He continues, making you pause, before nodding hesitantly. “Let me look out for you. You don’t have to tell me anything, just- don’t keep going at it alone. You’ll just end up back here again. Or, y’know, half-breathing and unconscious in the back alley of my restaurant. Trust me, I know.”

You contemplate his words for a bit. You know he’s right, and you know you don’t want to end up in the hospital again. And maybe you owe him this one thing, for being here, for not pushing you like you expected him to, for not firing you after you interrupted his whole day with your bullshit.

“Okay,” You say. “I promise.” He breathes what you think is a sigh of relief, before leaning down and pressing his lips to the top of your head. You stay like that for a little while longer, silent except for the beeping EKG machine and your occasional sniffle.

“You’re freezing, you know that?” He says suddenly, and it makes you giggle; you haven’t held anyone close in a while, not long enough for them to notice you’re always cold to the touch. You know he’s smiling too, feeling his lips against your hair.

“Lookin’ out for me might mean letting me borrow this jacket every once in a while.”

“I’m okay with that.”

#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #the bear #the bear fx #carmy berzatto angst #hurt/comfort #angst #my writing #the shrimp that fried that rice

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illyrian-dreamer · 3 months

Text

Dance with the devil – Part 1

Rhysand x fem!reader series

Summary: You attempt to rob the High Lord of the Night Court.

Words: 3.3k

TW: Violence, death

Notes: Morally grey Rhysand below the cuff 😈😈😈

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

Tick, tick, tick.

That stern voice nagged in your mind, laced with forewarning and impatience that only frustrated you further.

You had just minutes to find the scroll and get out.

With gritted teeth, you leaned closer, drowning out that voice - likely your mothers - as well as the drumming of your heart, waiting for that final click.

You were versed in charming locks, picking them when you had to, just as you did now. And what waited on the other side of this door was worth every swallow of bile, every rise and swell of panic that begged you to think of the consequence - of what would happen if you were caught.

It was only a half-moon prior that you had snuck into the infamous libraries of the Day Court while the city slept, hunting concealed maps and etchings of Helion’s castle. You studied the corridors and winding staircases of the impressive home, squinting through the flickering glow of the small fae light you had allowed yourself to cast, anxious eyes lifting reluctantly every so often, humouring the phantom furl of a page or shiver down your spine.

So you pressed those routes to memory – sewers, plumbing, hidden passageways marked in some maps and not others. They were your only true salvage if things went wrong.

Weapons were now strapped to every part of your leathers that would allow, layers of magic shielding your scent and sound so strong it made your joints ache, as if buckling under their weight.

Easy in, easy out, quick on your feet and don't look back.

That mantra was your only comfort as you silently slipped into the lavish guest suite, a breath of relief that its layout matched your efforts of breaking into the libraries. Because although night never found this court, there was only a small window in which the High Lords were away from their suites, and time was a persistent foe.

It was incredibly risky to break into the guest quarters of the High Lord of the Night Court, especially after Hellion had declared his home a neutral grounds for the High Lord’s meeting. But what Rhysand possessed was invaluable – that scroll of ancient tongue, the only one of it’s kind. It was worth the risk of your own life, of certain death if you were caught.

Careful, gloved fingers sifted through the papers on the desk, making sure not to leave anything out of place.

The details you had gained on the High Lord were valuable – he was neat, more than neat, really – his room immaculate and organised. A paper left rippled, a chair at a slight angle, even a stray hair on the sprawling marble floor – all were things he would surely notice.

But you could tread lightly, could play to that game of fine detail. Nimble as a mouse – that’s how your father had always described you, affection warming his face as he compared you to your boisterous brother.

With a clench of your heart, you forced the memory out. Once you had that scroll – soon. You would be together again soon.

As you crouched low to sift through the chestnut draws, mahogany carved with the kind of finery that made you sick, a hint of gold gleamed from the corner of the room, the light catching your eye.

Padding with quiet creaks from your boots, you allowed yourself only a moment to admire the array of scrolls that lay in the wooden chest – it’s lid tipped open, beckoning to be explored. In the centre perched the most exotic of the artefacts. Boring rings of gold, it winked at you, a true diamond in the rough.

With gentle inspection, you traced the characters etched in it’s casing, a cryptic ode of ancient tongue.

A whisper of magic kissed your face, stray hairs dancing as goosebumps prickling beneath your leathers. It was waft of excitement, danger, magic aged by civilisations – this was a powerful scroll indeed.

With a hand on each end of the casing, you gently lifted the scroll into your satchel, careful not to knock it or disturb the casing. You would return it after all, once traced.

There was a shift in the air then, and a sinking feeling rippled through your abdomen, like a stone dropped into still water.

Get out – that voice urged.

You had spent too long here already.

Swallowing the fastening hammer of your heart, you raised from your knees, eyeing the unsuspecting cupboard – behind it a hidden door, and behind that a winding pathway would lead you clear to the gardens.

You almost scoffed – this was easier than you had thought.

How could the High Lord be so reckless to leave something of this value lying about?

The pit of your stomach deepened.

Too easy – much, much too easy.

An open, gaping well.

Oh gods, this was a–

And then darkness – everywhere.

You gasped, catching glimpses of red and blue as you staggered back. Your back hit something solid – no, someone. Strong arms gripped yours wrists, pinning them behind you. You tried to yell, but your breath hitched as violet eyes glowered amongst the tendrils of midnight smog, choking any sound that whined in your throat.

“Well well, what do we have here?” a sultry voice purred, a refined silhouette emerging from the darkness, tall and broad.

A gleam of teeth pulled with a feline smile, the figure prowling closer. Dangerous, lethal, ever knowing with a hint of cockiness.

And as tendrils of night magic cleared around their master, the High Lord of the Night Court was revealed.

Rhysand’s eyes danced with amusement as he watched realisation set in – your own features taut with horror.

“Hello, Y/N darling.”

You were dead meat.

A heavy, intrusive sensation caused a shiver to rack through you as phantom claws tore through your useless shields, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of your own fear.

Rhysand’s pretty grin only grew.

In a hopeless attempt to flee, you barely moved an inch as you tugged against the impossible grip on your arms.

He was closing in, coldness seeping from him as his magic curling in on itself, devouring any hints of warmth from the room, from your own veins.

And then he stopped, just one agonising pace shy from your heaving chest.

Here he was – High Lord of the Night Court. Wickedly cruel, arrogant and unnervingly calm, a cat who toyed with its food. The legendary villain of whispered rumours and horror stories exchanged amongst children of your village in the court of Dawn, parents so tired from their youngens loss of sleep that he was a banished name from many households.

Your eyes danced with a panic as instincts forced you to look for any chance of survival. Dressed with finery, but not a weapon on him – that was good.

But as the shadows began to clear, another male was revealed perching patiently against the wall behind, blue siphons flickering as he stood with wide legs, arms crossed and face stoic. Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster, waited patiently for your attempt of escape, his own shadows at the ready.

Fuck.

That meant the male that bound you was Cassian – Warlord and Chief General of the Illyrian armies.

You were as good as dead.

Your breathing stuttered as you swallowed the plea for mercy begging at your lips. They were going to kill you, that was certain. You could only hope they would do it quickly.

“My my, Y/N,” Rhysand drawled, his voice playful and sensual. “We weren't certain if you were going to take the bait.”

Placing hands on knees, he lowered himself to your level, those violet eyes captivating you, their depth incomprehensible. You tried to break Rhys’s gaze, but you rendered helpless, realising the cruel use of his magic.

“But I’m so glad this is how we get to meet.”

He was expecting you?

You glared back, your breaths quickening at the dangerous proximity.

If not at his mercy, you would have spat at his condescending manner. But instead you fought aimlessly against Cassian’s hold, the male pulling you back against his chest with a jarring tug, his grip tightening until you felt your pulse in your wrists.

Your mind was scattering with each second, frantic eyes dancing at the High Lord before you. You hadn't expected him to be so… handsome.

“Why, thank you,” Rhys cocked an eyebrow at you, that cat like grin exchanged for a lob-sided one.

Had he just–? You scowled, cursing him silently. His abilities as a deamanti also deeming true.

Rhysand chuckled at your foul words, his laugh unexpectedly soft. “Such a feisty thing you are,” he commented, raking his purple eyes down your body. You suddenly felt incredibly exposed, despite the layers of leathers and weaponry you wore.

“Let me go,” you spat hoarsely, heaving against the General once more.

“You’re not in any position to make that request,” Cassian huffed, pulling back on the little distance you had gained. His voice was gruff as it hummed through your back.

You turned your head to look at the Warlord for the first time. He too, like the other males in the room, was noticeably handsome. His long hair fell into his face as he looked down at you, his eyes almost as amused as his High Lord.

Were you just a joke to them?

“Oh, sweet Y/N, you’re not a joke at all. We’re actually quiet impressed by you,” Rhysand toyed, his eyebrows raised with a mocking tone. “We know you’ve been trailing us for months, Azriel here picked up on your movements in our court a whole quarter year ago.”

You flicked your eyes to the Spymaster, his position and face unmoving at his mention. You couldn't help your scowl at the male who was responsible to securing your death.

“What we didn't expect, was for you to make it this far,” Rhysand continued with a chuckle, his head shaking in playful dismay.

Great – now on top of everything else, you were completely insulted.

“That’s why we set this trap for you. So we could finally meet.”

You frowned at Rhysand. You had been so careful, so stealthy about all your work in spying on the High Lord, slaving over maps and reports until you could no longer keep your eyes open, using the little money you had to buy off secrecy, and always covering your tracks. But it still hadn't been enough.

“Don’t look so disheartened, little mouse,” Rhysand purred, before he picked a piece of lint off his fitted black jacket. “The fact that you were able to break into my quarters alone is incredibly impressive.”

It had in fact, taken a lot of work. To sneak into Hellion’s home had taken three disenchantment spells, and compromised a suite of his guards who were yet to rise from their enchanted slumber. The locks and spells on Rhysand’s chamber were another thing in itself.

“What will you do with me?” you gritted, glaring between the males in front of you, desperate to know your fate.

Rhysand dipped his head back and laughed, his posture too calm, too casual.

“What will we do with you, hmm?” he repeated, and a shrinking instinct finding you, one that you hadn't felt since you were a child.

“Perhaps the question is, what would you like us to do with you?” It was a lovers voice, sensual and suggestive.

You couldn't help the thunder of your heart as his scent filled your nose, crudely laced with arousal as it found you with a phantom wind.

Rhysand was on you then, his face inches from your own as swirls of night filled your vision, his violet eyes the only light you could see.

You gasped at the sight before you – it was beautiful, but so, so deadly.

“I don’t like having my things taken from me, Y/N.” Rhysand growled, his voice now cold, unforgiving. Those same claws that tore your shields now traced the outskirts if your mind, talons sinking slightly in warning.

Despite the little pain, it was instinct to scream.

You tried to make quick peace at the thought of his violet eyes being the last thing you would ever see.

Open your eyes, he commanded mind to mind.

Without realising you had closed them, you found yourself unable to disobey.

Rhysand withdrew as quickly as he had pounced, his darkness disappearing with him as he slid his hands into his pockets, rocking on fine shoes. His behaviour was erratic, such a contrast to the moment before.

“Of course, it would be such a waste of good talent.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t toyed with your very consciousness just moments before.

You watched him pace, your eyes flicking to the spymaster once more, before noting the exits of the room you knew well.

“You don't stand a chance,” Azriel spoke plainly, his hand fingering one of many blades strapped to his strong frame. A warning, from one spy to another.

Rhysand grinned between you two, running a smooth hand through his black-blue hair.

Was he entertained by the idea that you were willing to give a fight?

You felt a low rumble from Cassian’s chest, all three males daring you to challenge them in their own way.

Azriel was right – it was suicide to try.

Rhysand hummed with pleasure, reading your submission as your body sagged every so slightly.

“I’ll tell you what, Y/N. I’ll make you a deal.”

A bargain, a promise, and perhaps a riddle from Prythian’s deadliest High Lord.

“I’d rather you kill me,” you said tightly.

Rhysand laughed again, and you felt the movements of Cassian’s chuckle from behind.

“Oh, sweetheart. Surely there’s a tad more fight in you than that?”

You scowled in return.

Rhysand approached you again, now holding the scroll of ancient tongue.

“What do you know of this scroll?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

You winced. “I don't know anything.”

Rhysand tutted. “Little liar,” he grinned at you, his violet eyes sparkling with challenge. “I’ll ask one more time,” he sang.

You felt them again, and it took all you had to not crumble at Cassian’s boots at the flooding pain as Rhysand dragged a singular, scraping talon across your mind and back.

“Resurrection!” you yelped – a half breath, half scream escaping you as your legs gave out. Cassian held you up, your body rigid as Rhysand’s talon pierced your mind further. The pain was blinding, eliciting a howl from you as your vision flashed with white.

Yet Rhysand’s icy threat cut through. “I have a lot of enemies, Y/N. I don't suppose you are hoping to fetch a pretty penny for anyone who might seek to bring back the rightfully dead?”

“No, n-no!” you gasped, your body spasming and contorting as he continued to toy with you. “Please, it’s for m-my family!”

Rhysand left your mind as quickly as he had entered it. You sagged in relief, Cassian gently setting you down as your crumpled to the floor, your body shaking and twitching.

You had just enough energy to raise your eyes and meet the High Lord’s stare. Gone was his expression of cruel amusement, it was now replaced with a frown of serious, deep thought.

He had seen them – your family, their smiles and laughter as your memory flashed at their mention. That meant he had also seen their deaths, their limp bodies piled for you to find in your own home.

“You wish to resurrect them?” Rhys asked softly.

All you could do was nod. You were sure you weren't noting a sense of sympathy from the male.

Rhys shook his head, his eyes closing. “If it were that easy Y/N, I’d have the missing kin to my own family here today.”

You looked up at the High Lord through heavy lids, exhaustion overcoming your body with an occasional twitch.

“I have to try,” was all you could offer, your voice small and unsure.

Rhysand stared down at you with furrowed brows, serious yet unreadable. After a few moments, he blinked, a few stars returning to his eyes as he raised them to Cassian with a quick nod.

Strong hands unfurled from your arms, and Cassian stepped back, providing you some space on the marbled tiles as you shook.

Death then, at last. May the Mother have mercy, let it be quick, you prayed silently.

A gentle pull of your hand from your face, and your fingers were forced to close around a ovoidal object.

Rhysand was crouched in front of you, his face unreadable as his cold hand kept your fingers pressed to the scroll

“I’ll tell you what Y/N. You find a way to decipher this scroll and bring back your family. And when you do, you share that information with me, so that I may do the same.”

You pulled your hand back, eyes darting between his violet ones as if you read the trick that undoubtedly hid beneath his offer.

“And why in Mother’s name would I trust you?”

He smirked humourlessly. “Unless you prefer the alternative –“ Rhysand’s eyes blackened instantly, and your heart skipped a beat at the promise of death that beheld them. “– I don’t believe you have a choice.”

Make a bargain with the High Lord, or die. Not in a thousand lifetimes could you have predicted an ultimatum so soulless.

“Do we have a deal?” Rhysand offered his large hand as he still crouched before you, his eyebrows raising with a hint of impatience.

You flicked your gaze between Azriel and Cassian. Both of them watched patiently, their stances neutral, obedient of their High Lord’s business. It bothered you – how were both of them so complicit to his evil?

Looking back at Rhysand – you ignored the voice inside you that screamed at you not to trust him.

Letting out a short breath, you lifted yourself to your knees and clasped your hand in his. “It’s a deal.”

A gasp escaped you as a stinging heat spread across the hand held in his, and etched it’s way up your forearm. With wide eyes, you watched the burn and itch of a ink-like pattern forming on your skin. Swirls now covered your once naked arm, the picture of one hand shaking another stark on the inside of your palm. It was your hand in Rhysand’s – a symbol of the bargain you had just agreed to. For eternity, or until you deciphered this scroll you realised, with no lack of nausea.

Rhysand grinned, marvelling the matching tattoo that now tainted his skin. “I’ll be checking in on your progress frequently, Y/N darling.”

Unable to find the right words for you distaste, you snatched your hand away and pressed against your stomach, willing your self not to be sick.

You were now indebted to this hellish, sinister being.

Rhysand appeared as unfazed. “Perhaps you would consider a job in my court with Azriel?” he mused, flexing his fingers as he continued to take in the impressive detail of your bargain. “Again, we were quite impressed with your work.”

He was teasing of course, and Azriel’s hazel eyes winced with humour as all three males watched for your reaction.

You scowled at Rhysand, glaring up at him again. “I prefer my freedom, actually,” you snarled.

Rhysand laughed in his sensual way, before grinning a wicked smile down at you. “Or what’s left of it.

He straightened then, his wig men moving to his sides with grace – a practiced dance for all three.

“I suggest you excuse yourself from my quarters the moment we’re gone Y/N, I’ll know otherwise.”

With a clasp to his shoulders from Azriel and Cassian, the three males were gone in a ripple of odourless night.

Until then, little spy, Rhysand’s voice echoed in your mind.

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

AN: Ok new series let's gooooo!! Welcome to DWTD! Hello morally grey mosthandsomehighlordofthenightcourt 💞😈 I am so so excited to explore this series with y'all. Pleeeeease let me know what you think of part 1, I wrote this over so many months lol I hope it tied together. General tag list is tagged, but if you'd like to join a tag list for this series (DWTD), comment below! La la love you guys, hope you're all safe and doing ok 💞

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shanastoryteller · 5 months

Note

Happy halloween queen!! More Lady Mo please ❤️

a continuation of 52

Something's going on with his parents, something involving the Sect Leader Jiang and Jiang Yanli and his uncle and Jin Guangyao.

All the people he's used to keeping an eye on are running around and disappearing and he doesn't know why.

"You need to calm down," Jingyi says, the elbow he has jammed against his side somehow managing to be comforting. "Whatever is going on isn't going to be helped by you calling attention to it."

"I'm not-"

"Sect Leader Lan and Hanguang Jun and Lady Xuanyu aren't here, which means you're the highest ranked Lan in the room."

Shit. Jingyi is right.

He forces his shoulders to relax and his mouth to curl into a genial smile that if anyone asks he'll say he learned from Lan Xichen, but honestly it was from Jin Guangyao.

He greets Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang and manages several decent moments of conversation with the latter before they're thankfully called away and he's pulled into a conversation with Zizhen, who's thankfully highly ranked enough that Sizhui can get away with talking to him for a bit.

"Sizhui," he says cheerfully, not clapping him on the shoulder or tackling him to the ground like he would normally, which is about as much propriety as his father is ever able to force from him during these things. "I haven't seen you in forever! I heard you father got married. Is she cute?"

Sizhui is mortified even as Jingyi tries to disguise his laughter with a cough. "What? No!"

Wait. That's not what he meant!

Jingyi isn't even bothering to hide his laughter now.

Zizhen's eyes widen and he lets out a soft whistle. "Damn. Well, that's definitely not her then. You think she's single? I'm already composing odes to her wrists. And other things."

He turns around and is instantly filled with relief. That's at least one of his parents accounted for.

Xuanyu is standing there next to Jiang Yanli. She's got her hair up in a traditional Jiang style with several hair ornaments that may be gold but are stylized with lotus blossoms. She has on a light gold inner robe and one of her Lan outer robes, except it's much nicer than what she usually wears. It's embroidered with gold along the edges and along the sleeves, perfectly matching the inner robe. He's never seen her wear anything on her face before, but her lips are a dark pink and there's dark smudging around her eyes.

"Zizhen," Jingyi hisses, "that's Sizhui's mom."

Zizhen blinks. "Well, you were right. She's not cute. She's-"

Thankfully Jingyi steps on Zizhen's foot so he doesn't have to.

#um it won't let me post the previous links?#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #theatricat #untamed

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the-maw-consumes · 1 year

Text

“Have you…ever been in love?”

Steve blinked. That…wasn’t what he was expecting. Still, there’s only one definitive answer.

“Yep,” he answers, popping the ‘p’. “Nancy Wheeler. First semester, senior year.” His mimicked gunshot doesn’t even cover how that felt, but he does it anyway.

“Oh my god,” he hears from the other side, “She’s such a priss.”

Nancy Wheeler is a lot of things; priss, she is not. And maybe she doesn’t need him to defend her, but, still, he hums, “Turns out, not really.”

Robin scoffs as if that’s unbelievable, and maybe it could be. Then, she asks, “Are you still in love with Nancy?”

No, is the first thought in his mind. And, well, it’s strange to think his answer would’ve been different at the beginning of the year, as much as he’d told himself he’d moved on back then. But, the months in between have just made him realize that how he feels for her has changed a lot since October. He loves her, of course he does, and he’ll never really get over her. But, he doesn’t think he’ll ever love her like he did again.

So, after a moment, he says, “No.”

Then, of course, she asks the question he’s been avoiding thinking about: “Why not?”

There’s a lot of answers to that question, but Steve…well, he knows the one that’s most responsible, even if it’s been thrown to the back of his mind. He’s never really brought it to the light of day before—if bathroom lights could be called that. But there’s just something about this moment, sitting with Robin on a probably disgusting bathroom floor with his mind still kinda floating, that makes him feel like it’s safe here. They just went through hell—there wasn’t a better time, right?

“I think,” he starts, “it’s because I found someone who’s a little better for me.” He huffs a laugh, “It’s funny, you know? Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, like, you gotta find your Suzie, you gotta find your Suzie.”

“Wait, who’s Suzie?”

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend. To be honest with you, I'm not 100% sure she's even real.” Steve shakes his head and kinda wishes he’d thought up a better analogy. “But that’s not really the point. Uh, the point is…I think I already found my Suzie. You know—this person is someone I didn’t even talk to in school, and I don’t know why. Maybe Tommy H. would’ve made fun of me, or I wouldn’t be…prom king. It’s stupid.” He sighs. “I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all a bunch of bullshit anyways. I should’ve been hanging out with this person the whole time. I wish I did. I mean, they’re so cool and hilarious—I feel like, the past few months, I’ve laughed harder than I have in a long time. And they’re smart, and a dork, but so passionate—you know, they can talk on and on about so many things, it’s amazing.” Captivating, really, but the second it takes to reminisce about those moments are enough to make him realize he’s been rambling for like, minutes, and he’s gotta stop at some point. So, “They’re honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever even met before.”

Steve smiles to himself for a second, his head still feeling a little flighty—but the silence keeps dragging on beyond that. The smile falls a bit, and Steve really hopes he was careful enough with his words. He really hopes he can trust Robin if he wasn’t.

“Robin?” Steve taps on the stall wall between them, the sound echoing through the bathroom. When the silence just gets heavier, it’s with genuine concern that he asks, “Robin, did just OD in there?”

“No.” He breathes a sigh of relief, then hears it echoed, though weighted, from the other side. “I…am still alive.”

Still, there’s something so heavy in her tone, and a visual confirmation that she is alive becomes essential for him. So, shuffling over to grip the wall between them, Steve slides underneath the stall and lands a little to the left of where she sits, alive and breathing. She smiles a bit.

“The floor’s disgusting.” He huffs and glances down at the sailor uniform that has (probably) seen better. “Yeah, well. I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…”

She breathes a bit of a laugh, and, at the very least, some of the heaviness is gone. Alive and breathing.

“What do you think?” he asks her, almost intentionally vague.

“About?”

“Am I in love with Nancy Wheeler?”

“No,” she grants. Then, very decidedly, “But, I think you’re on drugs and not thinking clearly.”

And the look she gives him feels too significant, too weighted, and he really, really hopes he was careful because the possibility he wasn’t is starting to loom over him. He can’t argue that his mind was in stellar shape a few minutes ago, and everything she’s done since then is just working to form a pit of dread in his stomach. It feels like wishful thinking to consider that nothing she’s said has been outwardly accusing, but it’s still there.

Why did he have to say so much?

No, no, right. The drugs. Robin may be right, he probably wasn’t thinking clearly. And, damn it, this may not be entirely his fault but he does not want the repercussions for it.

“Well, I think I’m thinking pretty clearly now.” Wishful thinking, it is.

“You’re not.” Somehow, her expression feels like an echo of his own worries. “Steve,” she starts, and the dread gets worse, “you’re not thinking clearly about this. Look, you don’t even know this person—” Wait, what? “and if you did know them, like, really know them—I don’t think you’d even want to be their friend.”

Steve blinks. That—That’s what she was talking about? How did she even know who he was talking about? He shakes his head, honestly baffled. “Wait, what? That’s not true.”

She speaks again before he could ask what about everything he said was so revealing, “Listen to me, Steve. It’s shocked me to my core, but I like you—” Harsh. “I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends. And I’m not like Nancy Wheeler.”

Well, Steve thought he was thinking clearly, but he is lost. Somehow, this conversation has escaped him within the span of two seconds, and the moment feels wrong to ask how they got here. But, if he’s going to take any guess at her meaning, he much prefers thinking she’s…supportive, maybe. Indifferent, even. So, he doesn’t think of the ball of dread winding through his chest, and he tries to follow what Robin may be saying. “Robin, that’s exactly why I like you.”

And that is the truth, really. He’s never had a friend like her, if they could be considered friends. This summer has carved a small space for her in Steve’s heart, and the past few days have done numbers on expanding that space. She’s funny and smart and definitely not like Nancy Wheeler, wherever that came from. And he really doesn’t want to lose her, not right now. If they get out of this, he wants to be her friend. He wants to know her better than ice cream shifts can tell him.

Robin scoffs lightly as if that’s not what she needed to believe him. “Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous and, like, obsessed?”

“Yeah?” He nods slightly.

“It isn’t because I had a crush on you,” she says, slowly, as if a plea to make him understand. He doesn’t. “It’s because��” she continues, hesitant in her words, and he desperately wants to know how to make this better because his heart breaks for the expression she has. Then, quickly, like ripping off a bandaid, “...she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

He blinks. “Mrs. Click?”

A breath of a laugh at that, but her eyes plant themselves on the wall. She clarifies, almost resigned, “Tammy Thompson. I wanted her to look at me. But…she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair.” She looks back at him, with watery eyes. “And I didn’t understand because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor and you would ask dumb questions and you were a douchebag!” She shakes her head lightly and he really is trying to understand. “And…And you didn’t even like her, and I would go home and just…scream into my pillow.”

Steve stares for a second, trying to will his brain back into place, his thoughts to something clear, because something is being said here, something important and—

The puzzle pieces click together.

Oh.

Oh!

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” she echoes.

Unwillingly, Steve laughs. A bark of laughter just bursting out of him because, jesus-–this entire situation is so botched. But her face falls and he immediately stops in a wave of guilt and throws himself at reassuring her. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! I didn’t mean to do that.”

Robin looks away again, shrugs. “It’s fine.”

No, that won’t do. Steve shakes his head, vehemently, and taps her hand. “No, Robin, seriously—there’s been a huge misunderstanding here. I don’t have a crush on you.”

That makes her look back at him, eyebrows furrowed “What?”

“I think you’re awesome, Robin, and super cool and smart. I really want to be friends with you, seriously. But I wasn’t talking about you.” And Steve could stop there, but she just revealed…herself to him and he owes it to her to do the same. He knows how terrifying that is. “I was— Jesus.” He laughs again, brushes a hand down his face. And, still, knowing about her doesn’t make it any less terrifying to say it out loud. “I was talking about, um,” Like a bandaid, right? “...Eddie Munson.”

Her eyebrows seem to go to her hairline, but he celebrates the light that’s back in her eyes. “What.”

“Yeah, we uh—” There’s warmth in his cheeks. This is the first time he’s saying any of this out loud. “I don’t know how it happened, but we ran into each other one day and just started talking and…like, hit it off, super surprisingly. It’s crazy, he wasn’t even on my radar back then and now he’s—” Steve cuts himself off before he can start rambling again, rubs the back of his neck. “I really like him. I was talking about him.”

Robin grins. “Holy shit.” She shakes her head, repeats, “Holy. Shit,” enunciating, as if for good measure. He matches her grin.

“I had no idea what you were talking about.” He explains, “I mean, maybe I don’t really know Eddie, but how do you know that? And then you started talking about Mrs. Click’s…” he mimics an explosion in his head. “I thought the drugs completely fried my brain.”

She laughs, finally, her head falling back onto the wall, and he can’t help but follow her lead. It’s a good few moments before they stop, Robin suddenly sobering to hold a hand, saying “Wait, wait, Eddie Munson? You’re hanging out with drug dealer, total nerd, band dweeb Eddie Munson?”

“Hey, hey, I didn’t say you could criticize my taste, Miss Tammy Thompson.”

She scoffs, sounding just a bit offended, “What’s wrong with Tammy?”

“I mean, she’s cute and all but she’s a total dud.”

“She is not!”

. . .

#steddie #platonic stobin #steve harrington #robin buckley #steve harrington x eddie munson #there's plenty of these already i'm sure #but i love changing the bathroom scene around to encompass steddie #and i was incredibly bored so #here this is

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metalhoops · 1 year

Text

Steve was going to die crouched behind a picnic table in an unfamiliar town. That’s how he saw it, anyway.

He’d been looking for Robin. That’s where it all went wrong. She hadn’t shown up for work at the video store that Saturday morning. It wasn’t like her. The two had just started at their new job and it was a goddamn Saturday. Steve had been run off his feet all day.

At the end of his shift, he couldn’t help but look for her. Since the incident with the Russians, both he and Robin had their days where they would disappear, but they’d always let the other know they were safe.

Steve never used to be a worst-case-scenario kind of guy until everything with The Upside Down. All day he’d felt panic rising in his stomach. What if she’d been taken by demogorgons or kidnapped by secret government operatives?

He drove the BMW past all of Robin’s familiar haunts. She wasn’t at home or at Steve’s place. The school was closed, so she couldn’t be at band and she’d have asked him to drive her to the movies.

That’s when he started to check the places he didn’t want to find her. The Junkyard, Lover’s Lake, and the remains of the Hawkins lab. She wasn’t there. It was then he recalled a conversation they’d had last Sunday.

“All right, I’ve got some more evidence,” Robin had exclaimed days before, and Steve had known exactly what she was talking about.

“Well don’t hold out on me, Rob,” Steve pushed, pulling out a notebook he should’ve been using to keep track of people’s late rental returns.

Instead, it harboured two columns and a series of tallies, an ode to their Scoops Days Steve was secretly proud of thinking up. ‘Vicky likes boobies’, proclaimed one column while the other argued, ‘Vicky doesn’t like boobies’. He’d never said he was mature. Plus Steve got a kick out of watching Robin squirm. They’d been trying to work out if Vicky was a viable crush. Steve thought she was but so far the columns were an even split.

“Last night I saw her car parked outside the fairgrounds in the next town over. Any other day of the week and I wouldn’t think it was weird, but Saturday night, it’s a spot, you know?” Steve didn’t know.

“A spot?” He echoed.

“Yeah, you know? Like how skull rock is ‘a spot’ but it’s only for certain kinds of people.” Steve’s brow pinched together and he nodded.

He could imagine what Robin was implying. He’d added another tally to his favourite side and thought nothing more of it until he’d run out of places to look for Robin in Hawkins. It was a Saturday night. It was a long shot, but he’d take it.

Steve drove to the next town over and was surprised to see a smattering of cars at the fairground. There were a handful of boys in their twenties sitting on picnic benches around a boombox playing music Steve was vaguely familiar with. Then there were a couple of girls sipping beer and passing the bottle around.

If you didn’t know, it’d seem like any other half-assed party but if you knew what to look for, you’d know you were in the right place. Steve didn’t know when he’d become the kind of person who knew what to look for.

One of the guys had his hand tucked into the back pocket of another’s jeans. Then, of course, he saw his fair share of coloured hankies, carabineers and key rings. Sometimes, Steve actually listened when Robin talked to him about that kind of stuff. He figured it must get lonely, not having anyone to talk to about those things. He wanted to be a good friend even if he couldn’t relate to Robin. Steve liked girls. That was the beginning and end of it.

He studied each of the partygoers' faces and felt his throat begin to constrict. Robin wasn’t there. Where the hell was she? This had been the last stone left unturned. Now what?

Steve’s heartbeat was a kick drum, threatening to crack his ribs in two as it burst from his chest cavity. His vision began to tunnel and a ringing in his ears swelled to a crescendo as he crouched behind an abandoned picnic table.

What if something happened to her? How the hell was he meant to find her?

Steve felt a hand on his shoulder.

He looked up with a start, almost leaping out of his skin when he saw one of the boy’s faces inches from his. The space was dark, illuminated only by the moon and the intermittent flickering of car headlights.

“Hey. You’re okay. Just breathe with me for a second, alright?” The boy instructed.

His voice was vaguely familiar, but Steve couldn’t string together a coherent set of thoughts. His body was focused on not keeling over. He tried to copy the overdramatised rise and fall of the boy’s chest.

“There you go,” the boy soothed as Steve’s breathing evened out.

“Guessing, it’s your first time here. Don’t worry too much about it. The first time I went to a gay bar in Indy I had a panic attack in the bathroom.” Munson. The voice belonged to Eddie Munson, Steve’s brain supplied at last.

They’d gone to high school together. Though Steve wasn’t sure if the guy had graduated. He vaguely recalled Eddie hating all jocks on principal and Steve had tried to give the boy a wide berth because of it. Turned out he was the type to hang out at gay bars. Okay.

There was no way Eddie recognised Steve. He was being way too nice to him. Maybe Munson was a good guy. Steve hadn’t taken the time to find out back then. Steve hadn’t really been a good person. He was trying hard to be better.

“No one’s tried to push you into anything, right? Because that’s not what this place is about. I might not be able to kick anyone’s ass, but I know a guy who could,” Eddie commented, confirming Steve’s suspicions. He was a good guy.

“No. I’m good... I’m looking for someone,” Steve breathed, hoping maybe Munson would’ve seen Robin.

Then again, if Eddie hadn’t seen her, he’d be outing Robin, which Steve knew was a shitty thing to do. Eddie spoke before Steve had the chance to decide what he was going to say.

“You see him around?” Eddie asked, moving to sit beside Steve on the grass, scanning the crowd.

Oh. Eddie assumed Steve was... That was fair. He was at ‘a spot’. He guessed he could work with that.

“I think he stood me up,” Steve covered, looking for an excuse to get out of there.

“His loss,” Eddie mused, placing a hand on Steve’s knee. Oh, no. Flirting.

“I should get out of here,” Steve stuttered, jerking upwards.

“Right, shit. Sorry. Too strong,” Eddie spoke half to Steve, half to himself as he stood up and dusted grass from his jeans.

“Don’t let me spook you. Seriously. You look like you need a night out. I can sit all the way over there and we can pretend this never happened,” Eddie proposed.

Steve was dreading the ride back to Hawkins, knowing if he went home now, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Steve surprised himself by shaking his head.

“No, I don’t want you to... just... don’t go. This isn’t something I do. I could use the company.” Steve was surprised at the words as they left his mouth. In what world did Steve Harrington want to hang out with Eddie Munson?

“Alright, no funny business, I promise. I’ve got some beer in a cooler. We could keep things all PG-13,” Eddie proposed, leading Steve to where the aforementioned cooler was stashed on a free picnic bench.

“I’ve got to drive back home, but I could stay for a bit,” Steve remarked, sitting down beside Eddie’s cooler on the tabletop.

He tried to focus on the distant music and the sound of passing cars. His thoughts kept returning to Robin. He dug his thumbnail into the table, scratching at the splintering wood as he tried to stop his mind from reeling.

“Is your place far from here?” Eddie questioned, sitting beside Steve and lounging back on his elbows, glancing up at the night sky.

“That wasn’t a preposition, by the way,” Eddie clarified quickly.

“I was just trying to make conversation. Christ, man. I’m shit at this.”

“Shit at what?” Steve questioned absentmindedly, glad to have a distraction.

Eddie grabbed a strand of hair and coyly hid a smile behind it.

“You know. Talking to pretty guys.’

It wasn’t like no one had called Steve ‘pretty’ before. They had. But they’d always done it as an insult. He’d heard the word, ‘pretty boy’, spat through gritted teeth a handful of times, but no one had ever made it sound like a good thing, like something Steve wanted to be.

It was strange. Steve hadn’t been lying when he said this wasn’t something he usually did. He wasn’t gay. He didn’t hang out with men in a way that walked the tightrope between platonic and flirtatious, but he’d gone on a lot of dates with girls, some that’d been far worse than the way his night was panning out. Steve was surprised at just how comfortable and familiar the setting felt.

“I’m from Hawkins,” Steve admitted, feeling Eddie’s keen eyes on his profile.

“Small world. Me too.” Everyone knew everyone in Hawkin’s. It’d only be a matter of time before Eddie placed him. Then what? He couldn’t imagine Eddie would want to hang out with him for long after that.

“I came here with a buddy but I’m pretty sure he’s screwed off by now, you mind giving me a lift? Think we could both use the company.”

Steve was always driving the kids around, that’s what he was good at, and it’d be a distraction. Steve nodded before he could think any better of it.

“I can do that. You say the word,” Steve muttered and followed Eddie’s eyes to the stars.

“Soon, give me a few minutes to enjoy the view”.

That was the one good thing about small towns in the dead of night. The stars could really shine, painting their way across the sky, all milk and moonbeams. For once, Steve wasn’t thinking of the things lurking in the shadows.

He could hardly make out the features of Eddie’s face, but he couldn’t help but think, if this was like the dates he’d been on with girls, this was the point where he’d kiss them. It’d be romantic. At heart, Steve had always been a romantic.

A car pulled up close to the two boys, bathing them in yellowed light. Eddie’s face turned to look at Steve. His eyes swelled wide with recognition. He’d expected Eddie to be shocked, this was the last place Steve would expect to find himself on an ordinary day. What he didn’t anticipate was Eddie jerking back as though Steve had physically hit him, his body tumbling backwards off the bench and onto the grassy lot.

“Holy Hell, Harrington,” Eddie choked out, as he tried to pull himself back to his feet, staggering. Right. Steve should’ve known this wasn’t going to end well. He should just leave now.

“I thought your voice sounded familiar. Christ. Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. Here? Holy shit.”

Steve stood, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, trying to eyeball the best path to the Beamer, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but there.

“I’m going to go...” Steve began but was cut off by a wild flailing of limbs and Eddie’s hand encircling his wrist.

“Sorry. Shit. Sorry. Steve, Stevie. Wait. You surprised me.” Eddie placated, his eyes swollen wide as he looked at his fingers around Steve’s limb. It was as though his body had grabbed Steve of its own volition.

Steve couldn’t help but notice the muffled conversations from the surrounding tables had quietened.

“I get it if you don’t want to take me home, but I won’t tell anyone... you know. Cross my heart, dude.”

Steve hadn’t been worried about that until now. His heart rate sped up again. He wasn’t queer but if rumour got around. His dad would kill him. Steve wasn’t sure that the statement was hyperbolic. Eddie must have seen something in Steve’s face, because his grip on his wrist tightened.

“Promise I won’t. Look, somehow I’ve managed to collect your little flock of ducklings into my D&D club at school. They think you’re a good dude. That’s good enough for me.”

Steve trusted Eddie. He shouldn’t. He told himself he was dumb for doing so, but his instincts won out.

“Well, come on then, if you still want a ride,” Steve grumbled, pulling Eddie along with him to the BMW.

The two talked on the ride back to Hawkins, but all of it was inconsequential. It was just what Steve needed. Eddie rambled about the kids, something he and Steve had in common. It was the only thing Steve knew they had in common besides the fact Eddie thought they were gay, or at least that they both liked men.

It should’ve been awkward talking to Eddie, knowing the guy would’ve slept with him if given the chance, but surprisingly it wasn’t. Maybe that’s how Robin had felt about him at the beginning of their friendship. No. Don’t think about Robin. She was safe. She had to be. Steve would know if she wasn’t.

“What happened to you, Steve?” He heard Eddie ask out of the blue and realised his fingers had been gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned bone white.

Steve didn’t know how to answer the question in a way that wouldn’t spur on deeper probing, so he said, “Nothing”. The reply seemed to tell Eddie everything he needed to know.

“I guess I grew up,” Steve supplied lamely.

“I wasn’t talking about how you don’t hang out with the same dicks from school. You stopped doing that before you graduated. Don’t ask me how I know that. Don’t make me say it. You’ve always been pretty, is all I’ll say. This is different. You never used to look so... haunted.”

What was Steve supposed to say to that? He didn’t say anything, just turned the radio up and wondered how Eddie Munson, of all people, saw right through him.

When they pulled up out front of the Munson’s trailer, Eddie paused, looking Steve over.

“Hey, Harrington? You still all on your lonesome in that big old mansion of yours?” Steve rolled his eyes but nodded.

“Well, would you look at that? Me too. I mean, minus the mansion. Want to not be alone, together?”

“I’ve got work in the morning,” Steve deflected as he found himself switching off the car and following Eddie up to the front door.

“Won’t bother me. I sleep like the dead.”

Steve was a horrible sleeper, not that it would matter. He knew he wouldn’t be sleeping that night. Maybe in the morning if he couldn’t find Robin he should call Nancy. She knew everything about missing friends, about knowing something was wrong and yet feeling like you had no one to turn to. He wished he’d been that person for Nancy years before but he hadn’t and there was nothing he could do about that now.

Steve found himself tucked into the corner of Eddie’s bed. The two boys had stripped off their jeans but kept their shirts on. He kept comparing the night to dates he’d had in the past. He kept thinking how easy it felt to do the same with a man. Steve liked women, he knew that, but he was beginning to entertain the idea he might be able to like men. Couple that crisis with his worries that Robin was somewhere alone and hurting and you had one messy knot of emotions Steve didn’t know how to unpick.

“Night, Stevie,” Eddie muttered, as his hand made its way to rest on his inner thigh. His breath smelled of alcohol.

“This okay?” He clarified. Yes, Eddie was a good guy and Steve wished he’d known that sooner.

“Yeah,” Steve admitted because it was okay, much to his surprise.

When Eddie did eventually fall asleep, he rolled over, keeping one hand on Steve’s thigh and slinging the other over Steve’s chest, somehow ending face down in the crook of Steve’s neck. He smelled of beer and smoke. It was the longest night of Steve’s life.

True to his word, Eddie remained sound asleep as Steve extracted himself from under him come morning. He paused to jot his number down on a notebook beside Eddie’s bed, surprising himself once again. He hadn’t gotten or wanted a second date with anyone in months. He wasn’t sure this was classified as a first date, but it had him wanting more of whatever it was.

Steve parked outside Robin’s place, surprised to find her waiting for him in the driveway, unharmed and applying her makeup with the help of a compact mirror as though it were any other day.

“You look like crap,” Robin noted as she slid into the passenger seat.

Steve could cry. Steve would’ve cried if it hadn’t been for years worth of emotional repression.

“You weren’t at work yesterday,” Steve said by way of explanation.

“Yeah. I went to Indianapolis for my aunt’s birthday. I told you I was going last week.”

Oh. Steve had forgotten. He nodded, then sniffed pathetically, pretty sure he was about to cry. Robin was fine. She’d never been in danger. She placed her hand over his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Dingus, were you worried about me?” She teased, trying to lighten the mood. He shook his head, a blatant lie.

“So worried you didn’t go on one of your crappy Saturday night dates or do you have another story to tell me about how you stuck out with a smoking hot babe... again.” That brought Steve to his second crisis.

“Kind of.” Robin raised a brow.

“Kind of? Steve Harrington, since when are you coy about the people you date? Dude, when it comes to me you have no boundaries.” She was right.

“I think I went on a date with a guy,” Steve admitted, not meeting Robin’s eye as she let out an inhuman squeak.

“I was gone for one goddamn day and that’s the day you decide to date a guy?” She gasped, smacking his arm.

In retrospect, it was pretty funny. Steve’s urge to cry was suddenly stifled as his body rocked with laughter.

“I think I owe you one, actually,” Steve admitted, knowing he wasn’t going to hear the end of it.

Read Part 2 Here

#steddie #steddie Drabble #drabble #ficlet #steddie ficlet #first meeting #pre season 4 #au #steve harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #robin buckley #bi steve harrington #fluff and angst #steve x eddie #Metalhoops writes

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alonetimelover · 1 year

Text

Love on BRITs Awards

Pairings: Harry Styles x Slavic!fem!reader

Summary: After years of being together, six months of being engaged YN and Harry are letting people know they're in love - it just happens to be BRITs 2023 award show.

Warnings: swearing, little Slavic stereotype, some sexual tension (Harry's horny) - nothing explicit, alcohol use

Word count: ~7,2k

“My love, my flower, my baby, my my my! I am home!”

YN could argue with a lot of people on what is the best sound at six a.m. but knew she would win. What’s better than your loving fiancé coming home after a month apart? Even not being a morning person herself, YN smiled in the pillow (Harry’s pillow that she always slept on whenever he was away) only waiting for Harry to jump on the bed right next to her.

“You know, one would think after a month apart you’d be waitin’ for me near the front door,” he whispered in her ear, after gently laying down (surprisingly) on his side of bed, and kissing her cheek over and over.

“One would think after years of knowing me, you’d be aware of me loving our bed very, very much,” she whispered, not being able to hold her smile back. “Especially in the morning, when it’s all just for me.”

“You tease!” Harry laughed while starting to tickle YN wherever she was the most ticklish, earning one of the most beautiful sounds he could think of, her laugh. “Liar, saying you didn’t miss me one bit!”

“Okay, okay! Stop, baby! Hey, stop, please!”

“Tell me you love me more.” He stopped ticking her. Now on top of her, with her hands pinned above her head with his left hand and the right one on her hip, daring to tickle again. Curls falling onto his forehead, too short to be held back by their (yes, they shared it) butterfly hair clip.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He challenged.

“I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Very, very much.” Her voice an octave lower than usual, almost tempting.

And when his grip on her hands loosened she added, “almost as much as our bed.” But Harry was too late to catch on, she was already out of bed and running down the hall, laughing like crazy. With a sigh, he got up and ran after her, passing all the decorations she had been preparing for the whole night, and not catching them. Only thing he was focused on was her.

He loved all of their banter every single time it had taken place. Didn’t matter if it was too silly or too childish like a lot of people would say, he adored every single one of them.

“Stop right where you are.” He pointed a finger at her, after running around the whole house and finally stopping in the dining room.

“Because?” She asked with her eyebrows raised, stopping in her tracks, a smirk on her beautiful face.

“Because.”

He didn’t need to say more. The way he was looking at her, eyes big, almost sparkling. He was admiring her in a baggy shirt, his or hers, he couldn’t say anymore. They got used to sharing their clothes with each other early in the relationship. She was standing right beside the dining table, he only now noticed, was set with a variety of his favourite breakfast food. Flowers from their garden in the big glass vase. A bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket full of ice. And three balloons in the shape of Grammy awards flowing above the chairs.

“My love -” he tried speaking, but words died in his mouth.

“No need to say anything,” she calmed him immediately, making her way towards him. “I am so proud of you,” YN said, standing right in front of Harry. “You are the most delicate and sensible person I’ve ever met. Your work is an epiphany, an ode to all people that inspired you, and a gorgeous testament of your feelings. I am so proud of you, Harry. You did it.”

Speechless. He wanted to thank her, scream to the world about how much he thanked her, and how without her there would be no Harry’s House, no Harry Styles some people admired. Without her there was no Harry. But the overwhelming feeling of love and appreciation for her overtook his whole body. He loved her so much.

“Can I get a kiss from my amazing fiancé?” She asked after a few minutes of silent embrace, head on his chest, hands caressing his back.

And when no words left his lips, and one hand reached for her chin, she knew the answer. The way he held and kissed her said more than enough. ‘I missed you’. ‘I love you.’ ‘Thank you.’

“Take me to bed?”

“What about this breakfast?” he gestured towards the full table.

“You want to eat breakfast or let me show you how much I love you and how proud I am of you?”

“Considering that you prepared breakfast at five in the morning is saying all kinds of love,” Harry whispered to her lips, not wanting to part.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

And then he took her to bed, just like she asked. He found his voice and could thank her in all the best ways he knew, she’d appreciate.

~~~~~~

11.02.2023

“Nervous?”

“Not really, no. Last time was a total blast. They have an unhealthy amount of booze available, stress reliefs,” Harry responded to his fiancee, smiling at her.

They both were getting ready to attend BRIT Awards in London - their first official event as an engaged pair, couple even. People speculated about them for years, few photos taken here and there, some slip ups of Harry’s in interviews and just rumours that gossip magazines just loved to spread. Years after dating and no more than six months of being engaged, they felt ready.

They were aware of the hate they’d get. There was no way everyone would be happy. The World was a cruel place, and being in the public eye didn’t help feeling secure. YN not being famous, not being from an english-spoken country, not being from the overall rich family, nor having a job that payed her in millions were things that people would analyse. Her accent would be a problem for them, her loud laughter, her dress she chose to wear tonight, the statement she wanted to present with herself. But she felt ready. Harry was next to her and they knew whoever hated them, her, wasn’t Harry’s fan.

“You’re not holding your alcohol well, baby. Need to be careful with it, or you gonna crawl to the stage to accept all those awards,” she laughed, smoothing his suit jacket.

“Mhmmm, I do not have your alcohol tolerance. Those Slavic genes are helpful, aren’t they?”

“I could smack you really hard for that stereotypical remark, you know that?”

“Absolutely. I would let you, but -”

“...but it’s true in this case. I hate when those stereotypes are.”

“You know another stereotype about Slavic people?” he smiled cheekily at her, brushing her hair behind her ears. He wanted to see her whole face, glowing.

“Be careful.” She warned him, but knowing that he wouldn’t say anything hurtful or insensitive.

“Yeah, Slavic women have the most beautiful eyes on the planet.”

Trying to cover her blushing and amazement of his flirting even after all those years together, she asked “how many Slavic women have you seen in your life, hmm?”

“Quite a few, I’d say. I played in a lot of European countries where Slavic people live, baby. I saw your mum and grandma. But most importantly, I see your eyes.” He stopped to just stare into them, waiting for the right words to come. “No word to describe them. First thing about you that I fell in love with.”

Flirt. Absolute flirt, thought YN, leaning to kiss his smirk away.

“You’re too good at this,” she whispered after pulling away from his lips.

“What? Honesty?”

Shaking her head with a laugh, she moved away from Harry. There could be no foundation that could cover her blush. And applying more of it would just look too unnatural. There was no place for mistakes on her part. She did one and it was going to be a very different story.

“When are you going to dress up? Harry said when he comes over, we should be already dressed. He wants to just do some touch ups,” Harry, her Harry, asked while following her to the bathroom, where she was preheating the hair straightener.

“I need help with buttons, it has a lower back and -”

“Lower back you say?”

Deciding to play along with him, she added, “yeah, and the cleavage is deep. Oh, and also it’s see through. Lots of lace, too.” She smirked at the end, seeing how enamoured Harry was, almost drooling.

After no words were spoken by him, he ran in the direction of their shared closet, with YN rapidly leaving her comb and following him.

“Don’t look into the garment bag! Harry!” She screamed, wanting to surprise him with the dress she had spent weeks choosing with Harry Lambert.

Slipping towards the bag, Harry caught himself before falling down flat on his face. With a hand on his heart, he tried to slow its beating.

“That was a close one.”

“That was a sign not to do it. No peeking inside, Harry. ”

“Just a little one,” he pouted, eyes big.

“No way. It’s a surprise.”

“If all you said about the dress is true, I’m not going to make it to the show. We won’t make it,” Harry stalked towards her. “Little look inside, two seconds.” He held his two fingers up. “Promise, scout’s honour.” He stole a little kiss from her.

“Bullshit, you weren’t a Scout.” She needed to stop, accepting yet another kiss from her fiance. “It doesn’t count.”

“What if I -”

The doorbell interrupted his persuasion tactics, making him sigh. “You’re lucky. What I wanted to say would make you open this bag within seconds.”

“Yeah?” She challenged, knowing well it would be true, if he’d said it like that.

“Mhm.”

And with one last long kiss to her lips, Harry left to open the door for his overexcited friends.

~~~~

YN was questioning their decision to officially appear together on that award show. Nerves were slowly eating her away, making her palms sweaty, fingers trembling. The realisation of what was to come kindly emerged early enough for her to alternatively chicken out. She wasn’t as ready as she had thought so. The dress Harry L. helped her put on, now embracing her body perfectly was an imminent sign of reality she was about to endure.

“He’s going to faint, YNN. There’s no way he'll be able to contain himself even with us in the room,” Harry said, smirking, smoothing any wrinkles that his careful eye could catch.

“Stop it.” YN laughed dryly. “He needs to. We have, what? Twenty minutes till the car is here to take us to the venue?”

“Something like that. But really, YN. You look absolutely breathtaking. The makeup, hair, this dress? If I say so myself you look like you have been taken out of the most beautiful painting.”

“What’s going on with you all buttering me up, hmm? Is it Harry’s request?”

Lambert sighed, “you need to believe when people appreciate your beauty, inside and outside.” He bettered the front of the dress, laying her necklace right in the middle of her chest. “Absolutely gorgeous, ready to stun anyone in front of you,” he said, now looking into her eyes. Encouraging smile on his face.

She knew to love herself. She taught herself that after years of being overshadowed by lots of people around her. She learned her worth and decided to nurture it. And it only got better when she met Harry. The way he appreciated her, always telling how beautiful she looked, how smart she was, how funny she was. Her confidence only skyrocketed from that moment.

Now, however, the nerves took over. Little YN, from her small town, was looking at her from the mirror. Too big of a dress on her body, tangled hair and dirty knees from kneeling on the ground. But her eyes looking in awe back at her older form. If there was someone she was going to overcome this feeling for, it was her younger self.

“Ready to see your man?” Harry asked with heels in his hand. “He’s fidgeting in the living room.”

“I won’t be more ready, so the best moment is now.”

She put on her classic black Louboutin heels and carefully, with help of Harry L. made her way down the stairs to the living room. The chatter that was heard from upstairs suddenly died, when the clicking of the heels got noticed by her Harry. His eyes shot from his drink, mouth already half open, after taking a look at her legs. Then he could see her whole but wasn’t sure if he actually did till she was standing in front of him.

“You can close your mouth, mate,” said Jeff, laughing at his best friend.

“Shut up,” answered Harry, glancing at him for a split second. “Get out, please.” He added the last word after being gently hit in the chest by YN.

“Just remember you have ten minutes tops.”

When everyone left the room, Harry hid his face in his hands, smiling widely. “Oh my God. Is it possible to fall in love all over?”

“I’m asking myself the same question every day,” YN whispered back, trying to see his face. “Let me see you, please.”

“I’m going to cry,” he laughed. “Oh God, really. I’m gonna cry, baby.”

“What are you gonna do when you see me walking down the aisle?”

“Don’t. That’s going to be very embarrassing. Gemma already knows to be ready with ten packets of tissues,” Harry stated with a smile, showing his flushed face.

“Hi.”

“Hi. You - you look absolutely perfect. Woah, really. I have no words to describe how astonishingly beautiful you look. Spin around, let me take a good look at you, baby.”

YN spinned slowly, a dress flowing around her legs, showing even more of them. The lace complimenting her body in the best ways, adoring her features. The heavy necklace that he could recognise as an engagement gift from his mother to YN, and matching earrings from his sister. Seeing it he could only ask himself: how was it possible to love someone as much as he did YN?

“What d’you think? It’s not too revealing, is it?”

“The most important thing is, do you feel comfortable? Is it too revealing to you?”

“I don’t think so. I wear that nude underwear so as not to accidentally flash anyone. Dress is very comfortable, the lace is actually so soft, look.” YN took his hand in hers and placed it on her waist. “See?”

With a hand on her waist, and a thumb daring its way a little higher, he smiled at her lovingly, “feels very nice, baby. Show me those shoes, now. I only got a glimpse when you were walking down the stairs.”

“I’m gonna fall over trying to show them,” she laughed, knowing that those tiny little heels were going to be the death of her. The balance they required was more than what she was used to.

“Okay, here.” And just like that Harry fell to his knees, not caring about the one of a kind suit he was wearing. “Place your foot on my thigh, baby, and hold onto my shoulders, yeah?”

After nodding her head in agreement, YN gently placed her left heel on Harry’s thigh. Right hand holding his shoulder, slightly leaning forward. Harry moved the dress out of the way, above her knees, and took a good look at those black shoes that were going to absolutely make him feral.

“Well,” he started, “it’s - they’re very, very nice.” His hand was now massaging YN’s calf.

“And quite comfy for being 12 centimetres,” YN said excitedly, not catching on Harry’s mood change.

“Mhmm, you know what?” He was now looking up at her, trying really hard to focus. “Maybe we could -”

“It’s an open living room for fuck’s sake, guys! Have some decency!” Yelled Jeff after having walked on rather compromised position YN and Harry were in.

YN tried to put her foot down on the floor, but Harry was still holding it. “Harry, we’re gonna be late. Let’s move.”

“Listen to your girl, man. People are waiting for you two.”

Harry eventually helped YN balance herself again on two legs and fixed the dress for her. He dusted his knees after having earned a remark from Jeff about ‘everybody knowing you were on your knees for her before the carpet’. Following YN out of the house, passing Jeff he just whispered ‘cockblock’ and caught up with his date.

There was no turning back.

~~~~

“Are there any interviews on the carpet or just photos?”

“Just photos, if they changed the schedule then we just move past them. I’ll send an apology to them, saying we weren’t prepared for them,” Harry answered his fiancee, doing circles on her hand that he was holding. “I’ll be with you for the whole time, yeah? And if you changed your mind, and you don’t wanna take those photos, then it’s okay. You’ll just be with Jeff waiting for me at the end of the carpet.”

“No, I - I promised you to do it. I’m going to.”

“Screw it. If you aren’t 100% sure then don’t. Don’t make yourself do it. I won’t love you less, I won’t be disappointed. I want you to be comfortable and ready. Okay?”

YN nodded her head, a tiny smile on her lips, “I’m ready, as long as you’re with me.”

“Always, baby. Always.” He kissed her hands and they fell into a light conversation with the rest of the people in the SUV.

The venue was crazy. There were people running around, shouting at each other trying to communicate over the loud screams of fans and paparazzi. It was a mayhem, YN had never seen anything like it in comparison to Harry being so used to it, it didn’t make him flinch.

Red carpet just in front of her, with yet another star walking flawlessly on it, having taken photos of them. YN already spotted Lizzo, Lewis Capaldi and girls from Wet Leg sporting their newest, extravagant looks. Now it all was real, she was there ready to commit one of the biggest steps in her life.

“You’re up after Leigh-Anne, love birds. About 30 seconds," Jeff informed them, making his way to the other side of the carpet, where the ‘finishing line’ - as YN called it - was.

“Okay, three deep breaths, baby,” Harry whispered to YN’s ear, not wanting to draw any more attention to them. “Follow my lead, yeah?”

“Always.”

Looking into each other’s eyes, they did the exercise Harry’s therapist taught him years ago. Breathe in for five seconds, hold it for three, exhale for seven. Repeat three times and your blood flow is lower, heart beating less rapid and you’re actually calmer. It always worked on him, some times better than the others.

“Let’s go,” Harry told her, after seeing her calming down enough to deal with all those people behind him.

“Kiss?”

He smiled and pecked her lips lovingly and while holding her hand moved to the centre of the chaos.

If those people were loud before, YN wouldn’t be able to describe how they were when together with Harry she stepped on that carpet.

‘Harry Styles, who is your date?’

‘Who is a pretty lady?’

‘Give me a smile honey!’

‘Change the pose!’

‘Over the shoulder, lady!’

‘Move on, please!’

Eyes were hurting YN from looking at all those flashes. The ringing in her ears from all the shouts, making her uncomfortable. Harry with a hand on her waist was doing a good job and reminding her she wasn’t alone, he was just next to her. Hand on her waist, caressing the skin right above it with his thumb.

“You’re doing great, baby.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, earning even more screams and flashes. “I love you.”

YN turned her head towards him, “I love you, thank you.”

Oh, how much she wanted to kiss him. How much she wanted to just show him how much she appreciated his support right now. But they agreed to limit the PDA to a minimum, at least on the red carpet. There was going to be enough spotlight on them for appearing together.

But Harry had different plans.

“I’m gonna kiss you.”

And he did. It didn’t last more than three seconds but photographers around them behaved like it was a full on hour lasting make out session in the middle of the award show. Just a quick loving kiss, saying more than anybody else than them wouldn’t understand.

“Take some alone photos,” she said after changing their poses two times. “You’re the star.”

Not wanting to let her go, Harry was holding her hand to the last moment it was possible for them to reach each other. His eyes following after her, making sure she made it safely to Jeff without any troubles on the way. Those pictures with a lovesick look in his eyes would break the internet, together with the ones of them together.

“What an armageddon you two caused out there. I knew it would be huge but woah,” exclaimed Jeff after being joined by the couple, Harry having finished his solo photos and immediately being next to YN.

“My ears are ringing and my eyes are all dry. How can you do it so often?” YN asked Harry, fighting the urge to just bury her eyes in her palms.

“Jeff, give me YN’s bag.” Harry turned to his manager, getting the little black bag. “I packed you some eye drops, baby. They do wonders. Let me,” he said smoothly, moving her head so she was looking up. “Don’t blink.”

He put drops into both of her eyes slowly, wiping away the ones that run down her cheeks carefully not to damage her makeup. Looking into her eyes, he couldn’t help himself but smile widely.

“Thank you for being here with me.”

“Thank you for making me feel comfortable.”

At the table that one kind lady - Maria - had shown them to, YN could finally take off her shoes. As comfortable as they were, having not practised enough walking in them, YN could already feel the pain she would have the next morning. Massaging her left foot quietly, not wanting to draw attention to what she was doing, she tried not to lean too low under the table.

“What are you doin’, baby?” Harry laughed at his fiancee.

“My feet are starting to ache and it’s only been two hours of wearing them,” YN pouted, putting the shoes back on after being shamelessly caught in the act.

“Didn’t you say they were comfortable?”

Harry’s hand already reached down to massage her foot.

“They were, when I was wearing them for ten minutes. And stop, someone’s gonna look and have a wrong idea about what you’re doin’ under the table.” YN swatted his hand away, earring a scoff from Harry. She wasn’t the one to refuse the massage.

“You want to switch?”

“My heels for your boots?”

“Yeah, I think I can manage them.” He took a quick look at the suddenly very high heels. “My legs might not look as good as yours but, who knows?” He smirked at the end, remembering their last interaction at home.

“Not happening. I can just have them under the table, I’m not going to move from here anyway, so it’s all good.”

“You sure? I can make Jeff find you something to change,” Harry said, already turning to his friend.

“Yes, I’m sure. Look at me -” she waited for him to face her, “ - thank you. I love you.”

“Mhm, I love you.”

Even though they kissed for the nth time that day it still felt special. Even though it might have been the billionth time they did during their relationship, nothing changed. Same love and appreciation were exchanged.

“Alright, mate. Move on, you need to change and open the show. Harry’s waiting for you in the dressing room,” said Jeff, patting Harry’s back, catching his attention.

With one last kiss and questioning if she was going to be okay by herself (not really, she had Kid and Tyler next to her) Harry ran off backstage to prepare as quickly as possible. He had about ten minutes to be back out there and open the BRITs.

YN sipped on her juice waiting for Harry till starting drinking something stronger. She was admiring the whole arena, looking at fans that were impatiently waiting for their favourite artist to take over the stage. All of the celebrities were sitting at their designed tables, looking much more collected than YN. But who she was kidding, they were in their element. She was very much out of her comfort zone.

“YN?”

She heard from behind her, a lovely voice that could only belong to one person.

“Lizzo, uhm - hi!” YN responded, standing up from her chair and turning to properly greet her fiance’s friend.

“That man wasn’t lying when he said you’re the prettiest woman on earth, girl. Let me give you a hug!”

YN had never met Lizzo before, her relationship with Harry being very private but also them only talking about it with their families and closest friends. She didn’t know Harry said anything about her to Lizzo but wasn’t mad. She seemed like a lovely person and she was according to all the stories that she shared with Harry.

“He slipped about you both after the Grammys. I don’t know how he hid you so well for years,” Lizzo whispered to YN’s ear while still hugging her closely.

“Believe it, we weren’t as careful as you may think.” YN pulled away from Lizzo, but still stood close to her, feeling very comfortable.

“Good for you. Let me tell you something,” Lizzo laughed. “You’re stealing the show looking like this.”

“Says you! You look gorgeous! Can’t wait for your performance, I’ll be up and dancing.”

Slowly moving away to her table, Lizzo shouted pointing a finger at YN, “you better!”

“Please, everyone, move to your assigned places. First performance is to start in two minutes, together with the broadcast. Enjoy your evening.”

YN sat back down, abruptly feeling nervous. She knew Harry would put out his best, but after the Grammys sound problems and Harry’s frustration about it, she feared he might have got that too deep in his head. He was in his element while on stage but that inevitable twinge made her pick on her cuticles.

“O2 arena, please welcome Harry Styles!”

There he was, standing in that red jacket and black trousers, smirking to himself. No worry visible on his face or in his body language. He was home.

YN at the same moment as Kid, Tyler and Jeff got up and started to sway to the music, singing loudly. She was going to have some fun tonight.

“BRIT awards sing it out!” Shouted Harry pointing the mic in the air. His eyes were trying to find his fiancée, just to check if she was okay.

YN and Kid, hugging, screamed the words at Harry, starting to dance around each other, copying Harry’s movements, laughing from time to time. If she was going to enjoy the night, she needed to bury the fear of people judging her. They were going to do it no matter what.

Harry was running on stage, just like on his concerts, feeling the love that was flowing out of the crowd. It was feeding his ego, artistic ego, and YN loved that for him. The confidence he clothed looked damn good on him.

“Thank you, BRITs!” He screamed in the microphone, bowed down and thanked a few more times, grin on his face.

“He’s gonna be back in a minute. He just needs to change,” Jeff informed YN after they all sat down.

“Again? How many clothes does he have for tonight?”

“Red carpet one, performance, accepting awards, later for photos with the awards and probably one for the after party. So about five. You didn't know?”

“He showed me just the two he already wore, bastard,” she giggled at the end.

“Who’s a bastard?”

YN snapped her head so quickly to where she heard her favourite voice from. There he stood in a green suit, silver silk shirt that was mostly unbuttoned that buttoned up and that smug look saying ‘I know it was me’. The cross necklace was diggling on his chest, making YN stop her eyes right there.

“Eyes up here, my love.”

“I’m doing what you’re doing. We’re even.” YN smirked. She caught Harry countless times looking incredibly not-so-careful at her chest and legs tonight. “I’m appreciating the view, just for your information.”

“I do too.”

Harry bent over to place a quick kiss on her lips, “hello again.”

“You did great on stage. We danced for the whole song with Kid,” she whispered to his lips, glancing into his eyes.

“Thank you. How did you get him to move his ass?”

“Not cool man!” Kid scolded Harry from YN’s right.

“He’s a good dancer.”

“Sure. I saw you both. You looked great. Gonna dance with me tonight?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows, now sitting next to her on his designed chair.

“I promised Lizzo to dance during her whole performance. She said that I’m the prettiest girl in the world. Apparently your words, huh?” YN smirked, looking at Harry’s lightly flushed face.

“I might have said that,” he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. We didn’t consult on that.”

“It’s okay,” she calmed him, reassuringly squeezing his hands. “She is very lovely, just like you said she’d be. I can’t wait for her performance.”

The next performances of Wet Leg and Lewis Capaldi they both sat through and sang along, Only when the host introduced Lizzo, YN shot up from her chair, cheering for her new friend. Before meeting her YN was a big fan of her music but also her as a person.

“In case nobody told you today, you’re special!” YN sang to Harry, who got up right after her ready to dance.

“In case nobody made you believe, you’re special!” he sang back, stunning YN.

“You know the words?”

“Of course I do!”

YN moved a little away from their table to more open space, doing a ‘come here’ movement with her finger towards Harry, smirk on her beautiful face. Harry cupped her hands in his, just looking at her dancing, swaying perfectly to the music, feeling it with her whole body.

Just when Lizzo hit the second verse, he spinned her to his chest, embracing her. Right hand on her lower back, left one holding her right.

“Feeling bold?”

“You’re special,” Harry just sang to her, not feeling like answering such an easy question. He’d been and was going to be bold the whole evening.

When the melody changed to 2 be loved, YN moved in front of Harry, pointing one finger in the air, screaming the lyrics. For a split second she wanted to mimic Lizzo’s amazing dancers but remembered the dress she was wearing. Harry put hands on her waist, singing right into her ear.

Soon the next song started and Lizzo started walking towards the side of the stage where YN and Harry were dancing.

“I see you, YN!” She shouted pointing a finger at the woman, smiling widely. “Get it, Harry!”

YN laughed out loud, throwing her head on Harry’s shoulder who was laughing as well.

“She’s fucking amazing!”

~~~~

“Here are the nominees for Best POP/R&B Artist!” announced Mo and the video played, displaying all of the people.

YN squeezed Harry’s hand, reminding him she was right next to him, no matter what was going to be said next. Salma Hayek walked on stage, giving YN a weird feeling of certainty.

“And the winner of the POP/R&B act is the one and only,” Salma deadpanned with a smirk. “Harry Styles.”

In the middle of taking their fifth shots of the night, YN and Harry smiled into the caulks. Putting them down Harry grinned and screamed ‘that’s right!’ giving high fives to people all over their table. Then he turned towards YN hiding in her neck.

“Be right back,” he promised, kissing her neck quickly.

The way to the stage was a bumpy ride because of all the people that wanted to congratulate him. When he finally made it, bowed towards Salma Hayek in appreciation and looked at the screens that were showing him.

“Uhhh, thank you so so much for this. Uhm… first of all thank you,” he paused letting people scream for him as much as they wanted. “Uhh, first of all I know it’s a fan voted award, so to all my fans who voted - thank you, thank you, thank you so so much. I have so many wonderful memories at the BRITs, with these ones being very special to me.” He stole a quick glance towards YN that was standing up amongst all seated people, with hands clasped together near her face. Smile so big adoring her features.

“So thank you for adding to the memories from this night. It is so good to be home. Thank you so so much. Thank you.” And just like that he was off the stage, trying to move as quickly as possible to YN and kiss her properly.

YN didn’t sit down yet, waiting for him to return and give him the biggest hug of his life. She was so proud of him.

“One down!” Jeff exclaimed when Harry finally made it back.

“Don’t jinx it!! Harry responded, not even giving Jeff a look, his eyes glued to his fiancee.

“Celebratory shot?” he asked her, putting the BRIT award on the table.

“One moment.” She took him in her arms and hugged him tightly. “I’m so so proud of you, my love. You deserve it so much,” YN whispered in his ear.

“Thank you, baby. We wouldn’t be here without you, my inspiration.”

Harry leaned down, capturing her lips in his, not caring if any cameras were pointed at them. The alcohol in his system was making him bolder, evoking YN’s words in his mind ‘you’re not holding your alcohol well’. Of course she was right. She knew him better than anyone.

They cheered together for Wet Leg when they accepted the Best New Artist award. And then drank even more shots. They were absolutely going to get wasted. Harry was for sure.

“Harry Styles!” screamed Lucien announcing British Artist Of The Year.

Harry put his head down, chuckling to himself.

“You did it again, baby!” YN said to him, while leaning towards his face.

“Another.” He smirked at YN, making her laugh even more. He kissed her lips swiftly and ran on stage once more.

“Uhm, thank you again. I wanna start by being a little more personal than usual. I wanna thank my family for being the most supportive, understanding, patient, loving family I could ever ask for. I wanna thank my mum for signing me for X-Factor without telling me. I wanna thank Niall, Louis, Liam and Zayn, I wouldn’t be without you here either.” He needed to pause because the scream that those four names caused were out of this world.

“Thank you so much. My fiancée, who’s here with me, I -”

If the noise in the O2 arena could get any louder, it was now.

“I wouldn’t be on this stage, if not because of you, thank you. I am really, really grateful of this and am very aware of my privilege up here tonight, so this award is for Rina, Charlie, Florence, Mabel and Becky. Thank you so much!” He finished his speech, moving on backstage.

~~~~

“Man, you’re wasted,” Jeff said to Harry after God knows how many shots he had had.

“You didn’t see me wasted. Baby, remember me on your Grandfather’s name day? That was drunk, I couldn’t move the next morning,” Harry laughed, throwing his arm over YN’s shoulders, pulling her closer.

They’d already moved their chairs, so they were touching their legs, but it wasn’t enough. Harry needed her as close as possible.

“It wasn’t your best moment, I admit. But grandpa had a field day.”

“How was he sober after all day drinking?”

“It wasn’t as much as you think, you’re a lightweight, baby. Compared to him, you’re extremely inexperienced in this field.”

“True.”

“But you, YN, you’re doing just fine,” Kid joined the conversation.

“Slavic girl!” Harry shouted, earning a slap to his thigh from YN. “Ow!”

“Told you to be careful with words around this topic,” she scolded him playfully, understanding exactly what he had meant. “Good genes, let’s say.”

Harry wanted to say more, but Shania Twain walking on stage made him silent.

“Song Of The Year BRIT award goes to… Harry Styles ‘As It Was’.”

“Go there instead of me,” Harry said to YN.

“Shut up.” She smiled, hugging him. “It’s your night, love.”

“Hello,” Harry started while on stage for the third time. “This album and song was the most fun I ever had making music. Uh, I wanna thank lots of people, Rob, Tom and Tyler. YN. Thank you to anyone who listened and,” he paused searching for someone in the crowd, YN already knowing what was to come. “Thank you, Lewis,” he faced Lewis Capaldi, already walking from the stage towards his Scottish friend.

“What is he doing?” Jeff asked into the void.

“He’s gonna kiss Lewis.”

Jeff opened his mouth in disbelief but soonly, closed it, nodding his head, “it sounds like something he’d do after drinking. You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be? He’d planned it for hours, wanted to thank Lewis for support and congratulate on the album. He sent it to Harry and we listened to it earlier this week. The Grammys are waiting for that man,” YN answered with a smile. Somewhere in the background Harry was pecking Lewis’ lips.

“You never cease to amaze me.” He laughed, sipping on his colourful drink.

Before YN could respond in any way, Harry swept her from her feet, spinning them around.

“Lewis says ‘thank you for listening to the album’ and says he’s gonna kiss you next. He’s collecting them like - what do people on the internet say? Like stones?”

“Infinity stones, yeah. Close enough, Harry. Show me the way,” YN challenged him, earning a tight squeeze to her waist.

“Nope. My kisses.” He leaned towards her, but she pulled away.

“You’re gonna kiss me right after kissing another man?”

“Anyone got a napkin?” He turned to the table.

~~~~

“Baby, look! Stanley Tucci!” Harry exclaimed looking at the stage.

Album Of The Year was the last award for tonight’s BRITs but also the last one that Harry was nominated for. Deep down YN hoped for it to be four out of four for Harry. It would be a confidence boost after the Grammy awards and all the hate people unnecessarily pour on him for other people’s decisions. She just wanted to see him happy.

“And the winner is - Harry Styles!”

Harry screamed, smashing his fists on the table in celebration. YN stood up, waiting to congratulate her fiance for the absolute win he gathered tonight.

“I’m so proud of you!”

“I love you so much. Gimme a kiss, I’m gonna hug Stanley Tucci and tell him I also love him,” he mumbled in her chest. He lifted his head enough to smash their lips together, taking much longer than sober Harry would. But it was his night, he was going to flood his fiancee in kisses even if the whole of the UK was watching him. What vodka could do to the person was beyond him.

“There’s literally no one I love more in the World than Stanley Tucci!” Was the way Harry started his acceptance speech, making everybody laugh. “Wait, besides my beautiful fiancée, YN. I love you, baby, as much as Stanley Tucci, I promise!” He looked at YN, his eyes telling her everything she needed to know.

“Thank you very much. This - uh - this night has been really really special to me and I’ll never forget it. Thank you so much for the welcome home, I appreciate it so much. There’s no place like home. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m so proud to be a British artist out there, celebrating British music. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m gonna celebrate now with my lovely fiancée. Have a good night!”

YN after holding up pretty strongly for the whole night, now was in tears. Experiencing Harry’s success with him, being right next to him was so special and magical that tears sprang to her eyes, slowly making their way down her cheeks. If anyone asked her what she felt at the moment, she wouldn’t be able to pick suitable words. Nothing could explain her absolute pride, love, adoration and respect.

“I have invitations to the Box, you both going?” Jeff interrupted YN’s crying session while admiring her fiance, giggling with Stanley Tucci.

“Harry’s probably gonna sprint there,” she laughed, knowing him well enough. “For sure for a little while, don’t know how long he can last.”

“I wouldn’t bet my money on it.”

“My love! Stanley Tucci said he loved me too!” Harry yelled, while strolling towards their table. “And you too. He said you’re a very beautiful young woman. I think he’s jealous of me. What do you say?”

“I say you are absolutely wasted.”

“Nah, I can handle more shots. Let’s do another round!” he moved to pour more vodka into their glasses. “Wait, did you see? I won the fourth one!” he expressed, showing her yet another BRIT award.

“I saw it. I’m very proud of you. And I love you, too.”

“Thank you!” The smile on his face couldn’t get any bigger. “Can we celebrate now?”

“What have we been doing for the last four hours?”

“I mean -” Harry stood chest to chest with YN, smirking, suddenly looking all sobered up. “I mean I want to -” His face now next to her right ear whispering every dirty thought he had about her during those last four hours. “And then I would run you a bath with bubbles and - and that lavender oil, lit the candles, wash your back and hair. Then I’d give you a massage in bed and -”

YN widened her eyes at all the naughty words Harry was spilling in her ear, his hand doing little circles on her lower back, daring its way even lower. Heat shot through her body, frustration taking over all other emotions.

“So I think four for every award would be perfect, hmm? What do you think?” He took a brief look at her flushed face, feeling proud of himself. “And then I’d help you after all this, read you some Bronte and maybe I’d do the thing you like so much.”

“Thee thing?”

“Exactly that one. So, what do you say? You want to go home?”

Not trusting her speech to come out clear, YN nodded her head timidly.

“Words, baby?” Harry licked his lips, stroking her cheek.

“Yes. Wanna go home.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #slavic!reader

1K notes · View notes

randombush3 · 8 months

Text

roadside romance

leila ouahabi x reader

summary: when leila’s car breaks down, you come to the rescue

words: 2037

notes: this is an ode to british weather and hot mechanics. i know nothing about cars but i learnt something while writing this!!!!

this was requested btw 🫡

It’s just fucking inconvenient. A closure on the motorway means that they have to take a detour down winding, country roads. And Leila has a sneaking suspicion that her car is going to stop functioning at any given minute now that the blinking, red light has become a permanent fixture on her dashboard.

Leila had looked at her friends apprehensively the minute the light had appeared, but Ona didn’t care and Laia was too wrapped up in posting their day trip to Blackpool on her Instagram to offer any worthwhile advice.

So, lacking expertise and a good enough grasp of English geography to find a nearby mechanic, Leila had carried on with their journey. It was only another hour to Manchester after all.

Which leads them to now, stranded on the side of the road. Laia and Leila stood outside of the car, while Ona spreads out as she naps in the backseat, none the wiser to the situation they have landed themselves in.

“Can’t you just fix it?” Laia asks her friend as they stare at the bonnet helplessly. “You seem like you know how to fix cars.”

Leila places an uncertain hand on the shiny metal, wondering if she even knows how to get the bonnet open. “That’s Mapi, not me. I have no idea what to do.”

They try to call someone, but there is no service and no pavement to walk down the road to see if elsewhere has a few more bars.

Frankly, it’s so unlucky that this has happened that Laia and Leila both have to hold in their laughter, not wanting the other to think they don’t understand how bad the situation actually is. Because, being stuck in a foreign country with no service and no knowledge about the inner-workings of a car is quite comical. It would be a great scene of a movie.

It’s Ona, when she returns to the land of the living, who comes up with a solution.

The defender gets out of the car, joining her friends as they sit on the grass verge adjacent to the road. “We’ve just got to wait here and look like three damsels in distress until someone drives past and helps us.” Though Leila knows she could probably think of something better if she really put her mind to it, she agrees to Ona’s plan, too lazy to do anything other than wallow in her misery. Now she’s going to have to take her car to the mechanic, and she hates doing things like that here because she has to drag Hempo with her to translate strong Mancunian accents into normal, more understandable English.

…

“Yeah, I’m coming. The motorway’s just chock-a-block and so I’ve taken a back route,” you tell your impatient sister, who is annoyed that you are late to her daughter’s birthday party. “Don’t be angry with me, be angry with the M6.” She chides you for your tardiness anyway, and you internally curse her for moving to Blackpool. It’s not like she’s a ballroom dancing fan or anything.

The countryside looks miserable when it’s just your car zipping down the empty roads, and it doesn’t help that the grey sky above makes you think it’s going to rain. While you have lived in Manchester your whole life and strive to not get bummed out by the weather, it makes you a little annoyed that the country can’t get its act together. You wish you had the power to teleport to Spain or something.

You pity anyone who is stuck outside as it begins to drizzle.

…

“Can we get in the car now?” Ona whines, completely going back on her plan after feeling the droplets of rain hit the top of her head. “I don’t want to get wet.”

“Please, Leila,” Laia adds. She hopes to sway her friend's adamance to stay where they can be seen, in case a helicopter flies over and lands in a nearby field to offer their aid (which seems more likely than someone driving past at this point).

“No, it’s only a bit of rain,” she tells her friends. A low rumble of thunder echoes in the fields. Ona and Laia raise their eyebrows. “Fine. You two be pathetic. I’ll stay here, doing the saving.”

“Our hero,” Laia replies sarcastically, chasing after Ona as she sprints to the car. “Have fun getting wet!”

It begins to chuck it down.

When a black Ford pulls up, a bit further up the road, coming from the direction they were heading in, and you get out, Leila finds that getting soaked has become worth it.

“Are you alright?” you shout to her, crossing the road and walking along the grass verge to get a better look at what is happening.

“My car is not working!” Leila shouts back.

You frown, approaching the brunette with concern. She has had to sit in the rain so that someone notices her. You’re a sympathetic person.

“Hi,” Leila says shyly as you help her up, wiping the water from her eyes so that she can see you properly.

“Hi.” You give her a once-over (solely for the purpose of checking she’s okay), and then turn to her car. “What’s wrong with it?” She squints at the sound of your strong accent, and you flush red, embarrassed. “What is wrong with your car?” you repeat with more clarity.

“I don’t know.”

“Was there a red light on the dash?” Leila’s vindication comes out in a muttered Spanish swear, before she nods and follows you down the verge to the road. “Can you pop the bonnet? I’ll give it a look.”

And, while you are doing that, Leila is giving you a look. Along with Ona and Laia.

“Es guapa,” an enviably dry Ona comments to her friends as Leila settles in the driver’s seat. You have instructed her to stay put for a moment while you puzzle at the state of her engine, wanting to know what is wrong before you explain it to the pretty woman you have found on the side of the road.

“Y lesbiana,” Laia points out as you tie your sopping hair up into a bun. Your t-shirt is so soaked that it is no longer of any use, so you pull it up over your head, getting to work in just your bra after wringing out enough water to fill a swimming pool. On your wrist is a bracelet from a Pride event you were dragged to by your friend the other day. You are secretly hoping Leila notices it. “Lei, dile tu nombre. Coquetea con ella.”

“Sí, pregúntale cuál es el problema.”

Leila scoffs, unimpressed with herself at how easily they have picked up on her attraction to you.

“Va. Es de Manchester, también.”

“Guapa, local, y lesbiana. Es perfecta.”

“No sé…” Leila starts, undecided as to whether she should let them convince her she has a chance or not.

Just when Laia and Ona are about to list more of your enticing physical qualities, you appear by the door, knocking on the window to tell her to open it.

“Good to see you’ve dried off a bit,” you joke, feeling as though you are so drenched that you will never be dry again. Leila blushes, but you are unsure whether it's because your joke is terrible or because her friends in the backseat have squashed together in the middle so that they can see what’s happening. You clear your throat. “So it’s a coolant leak. Took me a minute to realise half the water on the ground was actually your coolant and not the rain, but I figured it out eventually! The radiator’s hose clamps were damaged and, obviously, they’ve failed…”

But Leila isn’t listening to you telling her what is wrong with her car, because her friends are whispering in Spanish about how good you look topless. And she is inclined to agree with them.

It is only when you stop talking and the white noise of your ramble is no longer present that she realises what has happened, and she snaps out of staring at you. “Perdón, please could you repeat that?” It’s a phrase she has become very accustomed to, after all.

You laugh, and Leila likes the sound of it very much. “There was a leak, but I can fix it for you. If you’d like?”

“Yes!” Ona answers for her, making Leila practically jump out of her skin.

At Leila’s apparent hesitance, you remember you never introduced yourself to the three women in need of a car mechanic. It’s handy that that is exactly what you do for a living. “Fuck, sorry. I’m Y/n.” You hold out your hand for her to shake, and ignore the tingles where your skin meets hers. “I’ll need, like, an hour to do it, but I can. I’m a mechanic.”

“Es tan perfecta,” Laia giggles, poking Leila to remind her to tell you her name too.

“My name is Leila. I am not a mechanic, but can you… teach me?”

It’s an excuse to watch you fix her car.

You both know it.

“Yeah, sure. I have an umbrella in my car, and I’ll need to get my toolkit and stuff. I’ll bring it over, and then you won’t get wet.”

“I already am.”

You blush, though you know it’s probably not what she meant. All three of them speak with strong Spanish accents, reminding you of your grandmother.

…

It takes slightly longer than expected to sort out the clamps, but you don’t mind having an excuse to not go to a little kid’s birthday party. You love your niece, but the thought of thirty hyper five-year-olds running around and begging you to play with them makes you gulp. You’d rather arrive when the guests have left and your niece has crashed from her inevitable sugar-high.

Leila stands beside you as you work, holding the umbrella above both of your heads. You are too focused on your task to see her check you out every so often, but she has left the car door open so you can hear the eager encouragement from her friends. Ona even takes a picture because the scene is so hilarious.

“What does this do?” Leila quizzes as you finish up, pointing at the engine and enjoying the way you answer so effortlessly. “And this? And that?”

You wipe the sweat (and rain) from your brow, sighing as you step back to observe your work. For an impromptu fix-up on the side of the road, it’s not bad. She may need to bring her car into the garage to get it properly sorted once she gets to her destination.

“Could I borrow your phone?” you ask after catching her staring. It gives you a surge of confidence.

Confused, Leila nods, handing it over to you.

“Mi madre es de España.” All three Spanish women feel their mouths open in shock. And horror. And the realisation that you definitely heard everything they have been saying about you.

Leila feels like jogging to the nearest motorway and diving in front of a truck.

“I’ll give you my number and you can update me on the car? You’ll need to get someone to look over it more thoroughly.”

“Sí,” Leila breathes, hoping that you are signing yourself up for that job.

“I’m based in Manchester, so if that’s convenient, you could always bring it into my garage.”

“We live in Manchester too,” Laia helpfully shouts from inside the car. “And she will do that!”

“And… I could also text you a restaurant where you can ask me even more questions about car engines over dinner?” You grin at her, and she grins back.

“Sí, por favor.”

“It was nice to meet you, Leila,” you say slowly, pleased with yourself but dignified to hold in your cheering until your return to your own car.

“Igualmente,” Leila replies, handing you your t-shirt that you had previously discarded onto the floor. She’s still embarrassed that you understood what her friends said about you, but at least that means she now has a date.

Or two.

Or three.

It depends on how many more problems she can find with her car.

#woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #leila ouahabi #leila ouahabi x reader

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