#she celebrates it on the day she escaped to the surface
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Cross The Line (Prologue)
« Doing something outside the bounds of acceptable behavior. »
Mina x gn!reader
synopsis - being a regular at urgent care raises suspicions but apparently also temperatures which results in the blurring of a few lines
wordcount - 1.5K
T/W - mentions of diverse injuries, stitches, and the hospital obviously. resident!mina, patient!reader angst but also fluff that’s not really fluff bc its just angst disguised as fluff. yearning if you will.
A/N - i made my research after writing🧍♀️girlie is NOT supposed to be alone with the patient but oh well. we’re here for the plot. happy mina day to all who celebrate!!
Mina’s movements were calculated. Precise, and accurate. She never let any room for the unexpected. It was too dangerous.
Her attention was consumed by the monitors, checking and writing down any anomalies she deemed important enough ahead of your transfer to a surgical unit. You’d come in with an open wound on your cheekbone, and pain in your arm which she quickly found out was a fracture in need of surgery.
She was known to be effective, eyes sharp and catching any detail that dared try and escape her. Like how your heartrate slightly increased on the monitor when she came in earlier, or the way you looked at her whenever you landed in the building.
She tried to ignore the familiar sense of déjà-vu washing over her, but her questions kept increasing in number. She never knew the reason behind your visits, but the nature of your injuries gave her a few clues. A broken nose, scratches, cuts and open wounds, hematomas… Five visits in the past two years, an unusual average, enough to leave an imprint on any Resident.
Something about you was odd. It pulled at a curiosity she’d vowed to ignore unless in name of the patient’s wellbeing, and you were especially good at tempting her.
For whatever reason, she was the one assigned to your case for every one of your visits. A twist of fate maybe. She’d call it incredible bad luck if she hadn’t grown that damn soft spot.
As frustrating as tending to you could be, the hours it took to do so allowed her to get a glimpse of the person behind the entire Unit’s favorite gossip column. Though that glimpse remained very surface leveled.
You were incredibly hard to read through your blatent lies, and it scared her. It made her see through herself more than she probably ever could you.
In short, she was attracted to you.
“What are you thinking about?” Your voice was soft despite the slight rasp in your throat. It almost made her forget about her surroundings.
“Nothing.” She cleared her throat, tearing her eyes away from your figure as fast as she’d found it.
You chuckled, your mind a little fuzzy from the local anesthesia. “Come on, we’re past that.”
Her fingers halted their motion against the clipboard in her hands, something you barely noticed but still had the strength to smirk at. It wasn’t hard getting a reaction from her, but it was hard to catch it.
You smiled to yourself, closing your eyes as the effects of the anesthesia lingered. That was something you usually kept to yourself, and Mina’s attention didn’t fail to catch that detail either.
"You know, it’s getting hard to believe you're not getting hurt on purpose." She sighed, pushing her glasses back up her nose.
"I would never break a bone on purpose.” You mumbled, wincing slightly as you adjusted yourself on the examination table. “Hurts like hell…"
"Thought you'd be a little tougher," Mina remarked in a tone that pushed your eyes open.
It was colder than you were used to. Icy and slippery.
"Yeah, well… we all have our limits, Mina." You replied quietly.
"It's still Dr. Myoui to you.”
You nodded, pursing your lips apologetically. The words would have pulled a laugh out of you if they’d ever come out of anyone else’s chest, but you knew better around her.
"What happened this time?" She asked, and the question surprised you. A glance at her eyes, now on you only out of respect, and you found out it wasn’t her own will.
Don’t be difficult, they begged. So you played along.
"Fell off a skateboard," You responded with as casual of a demeanor as you could.
She stared at you in silence, leaving you a few custom seconds to see if you'd tell her the truth this time. Instead, you offered her your best smile, and she had to hold her own back. "Do you even have a skateboard?"
"Do you need that information to treat me?"
"Just wondering."
"You seem to do that a lot…" You trailed off, leaving the words hanging in the air.
Mina left that as the last of them to be spoken for a long while, turning her focus onto some more medical nonsense you could never decipher to save your life.
Maybe that’s why your eyes always landed on her.
She could feel them, following her every move around the room, and it was hard not to meet them.
A silence you were used to settled, the quiet hum of the room fading into the tension hanging in the air.
You feigned interest in your hospital bracelet to escape it, but the sight of your own name made you look away from it. The blank ceiling was enough to distract you, but only for a moment.
Not staring at her was an effort you struggled to make even with a sound mind. The first time you’d seen her, it took you a full minute to blink. It had pulled a smile out of her, and the words she used to point it out echoed in a blurry memory.
How safe you felt in her hands that night, you sought the feeling ever since. In vain.
Your gaze bore into her, merciless against the composure she desperately tried to hold on to. Each of your visits tested it in a way she had yet to see. To feel. She would resent you if she doubted your intentions. If she doubted her own.
"How long until it's not anymore?" Your voice broke the silence, startling Mina into meeting your eyes again.
This anesthesia seemed to guide you into an uncharted territory, where the boundaries of her professionalism blurred, seeping through her fingers with your every word.
She seemed lost in the place your words had suddenly lured her into, so you offered some guidance.
"How long until I can call you Mina?"
The question lingered in the air, pulling at the veil you’d draped over your desires.
It seemed you were close to baring them, Mina exposing a glimpse with a soft bite on her bottom lip.
You’d sculpted a fragile bridge. Cracked and vulnerable to the slightest movement. You enjoyed dancing around it, but one wrong step and it all comes crumbling down.
Mina hesitated, eyes avoidant and voice soft as she stepped forward. "Maybe once you don't get hurt anymore," she murmured.
This wasn’t the first dance she invited you to. It was rare, you weren’t used to it, but you’d rehearsed enough to guide yourselves through it.
“You know, I'd love to see you somewhere else. Outside these walls, preferably," You confessed in a whisper, wary of the thin curtains separating you from the bustling building.
Those almost slipped her mind. You could tell by the silence that followed.
She put her clipboard on a free space of the table, far enough away to keep it from becoming an obstacle. Her hands reached for your injured cheekbone, carefully examining the cut she’d stitched moments ago.
A breath caught in your throat at the touch and attention, long enough to bring a few changes to the data displayed on the screen not too far from you. A change she didn’t fail to notice yet again as she went to retrieve her notes.
A quiet laugh escaped her lips, catching you off guard. You could only watch her write down whatever conclusions she’d pulled out of her observations, waiting to see if it was safe to carry on.
“Do you feel any pain?” She asked.
“Uhm...” You hummed, focusing in order to identify any pain other than the one in your heart. “Slightly. Now that you mention it.”
Mina nodded and carried on with a bunch of questions about your well-being. You answered all of them honestly, words leaving your mouth without much thought.
“Do you feel lightheaded? Any dizziness?”
“No.”
“Are you feeling thirsty, or hungry?”
“A little thirsty.”
“Can you tell me your name and where you are right now?”
“My name is Y/n, and I’m in… at the urgent care.”
"Where would you like to see me?"
Her voice had dropped a couple decibels on that one. It took a few more seconds for you to sink it in and match an answer.
"Somewhere a little more… colorful?”
Wait…
Your eyes left the spot they’d blankly focused on on the floor to find hers still ignoring you.
“I mean… I don't know, I didn't think that far," you admitted, complying to her silent wishes.
Mina let a smile slip, a rare sight that let you peek at the depth of her feelings, and her thoughts allowed her to fantasize about the world outside. The one she could share with you. "That would be nice," she admitted softly.
Your smile mirrored her own, "So… Is that a yes?" you probed, and she chuckled, ignoring your question once more as she wrapped up her duties.
Just then, a couple nurses stepped into the room, asking Mina to take you away for the transfer you were long past due for.
Your arm was in a far worse state than your face. Or your heart.
"See you in three months, Y/n.”
-
part.2
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dorothea
pairing: jenna ortega & female reader
summary: in which jenna left her small town to chase down hollywood dreams, that meant leaving you too.
word count: 1.5k
author’s note: fully based on taylor swift’s song dorothea. lmk what u think!
Growing apart.
It was like a curse.
A curse that nobody could escape or prevent from happening. It happens to the best of people. Even to people that thought they'd be friends for an infinite amount of time.
It happens to everyone as they grow up. You find out who you are, what you want, and everything might be different from what your best friend want to do.
Although that wasn't the case for you and Jenna.
Like two peas in a pod, that's what family and friends would use to describe your friendship. You were always together and never apart.
Sleepovers every weekend and playdates for hours on days that were free. Shared birthday parties and same celebrity crushes. Same dreams for the future and same fears of dying or aging.
It wasn't shocking, really; you and Jenna were more alike than she was with her own siblings.
You sometimes found yourself wondering if Jenna ever stopped her busy lifestyle to think about you and what you used to be.
If she ever thought about the nights were you found yourself in each others rooms, pulling all nighters and gossiping about whatever til it was almost sunrise.
Laughing until your stomach's began hurting, which always ended up with your parents telling you guys to quiet down.
Or when you guys would run down to the park and play on the swings, whenever you had spent hours listening to your mom and dad fighting, sometimes even trying to joke about the things they had yelled. Making a lark of the misery.
When you guys would write your own scripts, for the movies you guys were going to direct when growing up, where you would be the stars.
Or when you would act them out, whether it was in recess at school, or in the middle of the night.
That was all memories now, just thoughts that would eventually come back to the surface of the mind, in a faded and distant manner.
Jenna had other people to relive those memories with now. Shiny new friends that she had managed to get since she left town, the small settlement were everybody knew everyone.
Everybody knew who Jenna was in the town where you grew up, but they knew who you were too. Now everyone in the whole world knew who Jenna was, and you remained being known in a petite village, nowhere else.
The only place you would see Jenna now was at a tiny screen in a cinema hall or in vogue magazines. It was where you and her had planned to be together. Supermodels in fancy clothes, like the clothes you would steal from her older sisters.
However, you had nothing but good and well wishes for her, you truly hoped that she was living her best life, and based on the articles and headlines you saw, it looked like she was.
Just because you weren't able to get the life you wished for didn't mean she couldn't have it, she wanted it too, and she deserved it, you knew that.
The town was the same as it ever was. Nothing had changed since Jenna left for other things, which she probably would've have liked.
Jenna had always wanted to just get away.
Away from the small town where you could barely have any secrets without everybody figuring it out.
Ever since you were six years old, you and Jenna had been making up a whole plan on how everything would go down. The plan of escaping to Hollywood.
How you would make it there after hours of trains and buses, and when you would arrive, everyone would know who you were, the second you stepped a foot into the town.
And even though Jenna already got that, without having to escape in secret and without anyone knowing. You hoped she knew that it would never be too late to come back to your side. Even after the way she left you.
Although you knew she wouldn't return home, especially not since you knew how her eyes looked when she was acting back when you were younger. All filled with stars of excitement and wonder, you could remember.
You didn't see that glow in her eyes anymore, not on social media nor in articles about interviews. She looked tired, tired from being known and always being in the spotlight, tried from being known for being in contact with other famous people.
And if she ever started to doubt her current friends; unsure if they were consorting with her because of her popularity or not, either that or if she was just overly tired of them, you hoped she was aware that she would always know you, if she wanted to.
Jenna was currently one of the most known actors in the whole wide world, people talked about her everywhere. She was like a queen, part of the royal family, but the 'none regal' kind.
She was selling dreams by just signing autographs, partnering with make up brands to sell products, being in the cover of magazines of all kinds, she was selling everything. And from her you'd buy anything.
Did she ever stop and think of you?
Did she ever think about the time you skipped half of the high school prom just to piss her mom off?
You remembered that night like it was yesterday. None of you had dates for the night, and eventually you guys got bored of all the dancing and seeing couples kissing, so you ran off, making her mother go absolute insane; she was all for the proms and pageant schemes.
Jenna also loved dressing up and playing with clothes, you always used to do that when you were having play dates as kids, and embarrassingly enough it happened a few times while you were older as well.
Now Jenna was dressing up in fancy clothes for what it seemed like every week, cameras constantly flashing onto her for perfect pictures, people screaming for her attention.
Everybody wanted to be her. Everybody wanted to be Jenna Ortega.
Even your friends spoke about her and how they wanted to be a famous actor in Hollywood. However, you couldn't find yourself focusing on that.
All the thoughts that came to mind was if Jenna still had the same soul as the one you met under the bleachers.
It had been in the first day of first grade, when the teacher had been introducing the class to all of the rooms and halls.
And when it had been time for the gym area to be shown, you got scared of all the people and ran behind the bleachers to hide. By the time you'd gotten there, a brunette was already there.
She was shorter than you, her hair was the same length as yours, and eyes were darker. A friendship necklace was draped around her neck, and when you had asked her who the other half belonged to, she had replied that nobody had it, and that you could have it if you wanted to.
You would probably never find out if she was the same person with the same generous soul now, you weren't sure if she even remembered the time you first met, if she even remembered you at all.
She probably didn't remember the time you guys had your first kiss with each other. It was only practice for future reference and eventual middle school crushes, but it was still a great memory of yours.
Memories of her were something that fogged your mind at least once a week, but they probably didn't affect Jenna at all. She went on with the shows and interviews, not looking influenced at all.
But it was great. You loved watching Jenna fulfill her dreams, even though you never got a chance to be a part of them like it had been planned.
You hoped that she would eventually find her way back to you, because it would never be too late for that, although it might've felt like that some days.
Jenna was known over the whole world, but like you two had talked about in previous years, you knew the Hollywood life came with lots of stress and pressure. So you knew that was a struggle she was going through.
She would eventually grow tired of being famous, that's something you had thought multiple times, that she would eventually become tired of being known for knowing famous people. And if she ever did, you would be happy to tell her that she would always know you.
Your head would always perk up whenever Jenna's name was mentioned, you would always greet her family members if you saw them, you would think about her on her birthday, and pray that she would think of you on yours.
Jenna was still so unconditionally important to you, and you wanted nothing but the best for her.
She would always know you, if she wanted to.
#jenna ortega x reader#tara carpenter#tara carpenter x reader#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x fem!reader#vada cavell x reader#wednesday addams x reader#mabel x reader#melissa barrera x reader
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LOVE LANGUAGE
pairing: jung wooyoung x choi san x fem! reader
word count: 2,8k
tags: smut but the fluffiest (still, mdni!), slice of life, comfort, non idol au, polyamorous relationship (woosan x reader), fingering, begging, sooo much praise, dirty talk, suggestive language, nicknames (baby, princess, darling, good girl, sweetheart...), just the three of them being stupidly in love <3
synopsis: after a long, tiring day at work, all you want to do is come home to your boyfriends and cuddle with them. Of course they fulfill your wish, but with something more. A little surprise for you.
| a/n: I know all the smut one shots or drabbles I’ve written have the same tags. it’s just that I can’t bring myself to write idk something more hardcore? ㅠㅅㅠ I just write whatever comes to my head but with my preferences, which is vanilla sex essentially with a looot of nicknames and praise. next time I’ll try to do something a bit rougher and more passionate. ♡
You’re having a hard day.
You’ve already lost count of how long your boss has been talking to you, reminding you how much he hates mistakes in a company like his. His eyebrows furrowed together as a sign of frustration. You’ve honestly forgotten what you had originally started talking about. The more the man continued speaking, the more entangled you became with his words. After being scolded by your superior, you sit down in your desk chair and take a sip of your already lukewarm coffee. A gesture of disgust curves your lips
You sigh, leaning back in your seat. It’s too much to bear for it being eight-thirty in the morning, you repeatedly think about how much you want to yell at your boss to fuck off. He’s had you like this for weeks, busy with projects that don’t even concern you, but rather the other team his stepdaughter is on.
Of course, he wouldn’t make her work like he makes you work. Baggy eyes? In her lover’s daughter's eyes? Over his dead body. Your blood boiled every time you scanned her carefully every time she entered a room, almost always surrounded by three girls who followed her like fans, more like stalkers you think, smiling as if she was a celebrity, while you were trapped at your desk, doing her job.
You remember that time when you deigned to complain to your boss about this situation. “You get paid to work, not to complain. Go back to your desk” were the only words he said to you. Choking with all your strength the desire to suffocate him with your own hands, you replied with a “Yes, sir” with your hurt pride held high.
At some point in the morning, Miss Everybody-loves-me walks by your desk, her finger pressing to the surface of it as it runs over it, collecting dust particles from her fingertips. In her other hand resting her Starbucks drink.
“New project?” She says, showing a row of white, perfectly arranged teeth.
You shake your head, “It's the same one from the other day,” You reply, “Yesterday.” A tone of annoyance highlighted in your voice.
She nods repeatedly as if she understands you, as if she is being empathetic with you. Hypocrite. “My bad. I really thought you’d have it ready by today. You know, because the executive meeting is tomorrow and—.”
“Yes,” You say loudly. Of course you already know that you have to have it ready for tomorrow, it’s for that same reason that you haven’t been sleeping properly the last few days. Because you’re busy doing the work of the bitch who was in front of you, talking to you, “Yes, yes. I already know that piece of information. Thank you.”
“Just stopping by to remind you.” A giggle slips past her lips, the desire to want to smack her growing bigger and bigger, “Keep up the good work! Bye.”
She presses her longest fingers against her lips and then peels them away, sending you a flying kiss. You’re grateful she left, you can’t hold back the urge to finally shut her up with a good smack on that stupid smile of hers. A low “shit” escapes your lips as you watch her turn around and face your desk again, still not leaving you alone. “Oh, by the way. I hope you liked the coffee. Before I left my place, I saw that there was still that cup of coffee that I hadn't finished a few days ago. Four days have passed? I don’t know, nor do I remember. Anyway, bye.”
You finally watch as her anatomy disappears as she walks further. You turn and bitterly scan the coffee mug resting on a small oak table not too far from you. Your fingers hold the mug’s handle and throw it right into the trash. You want to scream at this exact moment, and the only way you find to relieve your miserable morning anger a little is to scream into the sleeve of your blazer.
The morning passes with difficulty and you smile for the first time today when you take a quick look at your watch and realize there are only two minutes left until you finish your workday. You had successfully completed the project and its presentation for the meeting you have the next day. At least your day was productive—after all.
Those are the longest two minutes of your life, but when they are finally over, you almost run towards the exit of the large building in which you’ve spent almost eleven hours of your day locked up.
In the blink of an eye, you’re already parking your car in the garage of the apartment where you live with your other two boyfriends. You know they were already home, probably cooking, watching a movie, or playing. As usual.
In about five minutes you’re already inserting your key, the sound of the locks and their mechanism working correctly to unlock the door being the only thing you could hear. Once the door is wide open, you cross the threshold and kick off your heels which have trapped your feet from a long day at work. You feel like you’re floating when you finally touch the warm floor of your apartment, and you trudge to your room, finding San leaning against the bed’s headboard, smiling at finally seeing you after a long day. A book resting on his right palm and his glasses decorating his beautiful face. The sigh that leaves your lips is inevitable. A soft smile is placed on your lips.
“Sannie.” You murmur, your arms outstretched for him to wrap you in a hug as you walk towards him.
“My love,” he crawls to the edge of the bed where he reciprocates your hug.
Your cheek resting against his flat chest, his hand gently caressing your hair. Through your nostrils, you can perceive the combination of that lavender shampoo you bought him a few months ago and soap. He smells so good, you thought to yourself. Him cooing at you like you were a baby is an image you want to keep in your head forever. You swear you can give into his arms as the tiredness starts affecting you.
You manage to hear the sound of a door opening. Then you turn round and find your other lover, Wooyoung, his hand drying his damp hair with the help of a small towel. However, you can’t see him, because your eyes have closed involuntarily while you enjoyed San's loving hug.
His eyes shine when he sees your figure. “There’s my girl.” He approaches you and San. His lips make contact with your other cheek.
Finally separating from San, they can ask you how your day was.
You sigh to look them in the eyes. “Terrible. Everything was so overwhelming today.” You pause, “Too much paperwork, too much.” You repeat it a second time, this time even more exhausted.
“Mm,” San murmurs, “Do you want to talk about that?”
“Not really. I just want—”
Wooyoung interrupts you to say, “Did that bitch have anything to do with it?” He says referring to Bora.
A loud gasp leaves your lips as you remember that she’s also been part of your day, “You have no idea what she did to me today,” You tell him what happened with your coffee. A soft giggle comes from San, the same person you just denied wanting to talk about your day.
“That bitch. How dare she?” San lets out an annoyed ‘mhm’ when he hears him speak. Your chivalrous San never uses that kind of insult to refer to women. He never actually insults women, “What? She deserves it. Look what she did to your girl today!”
“Our.” You correct him, a smile decorating his lips as he hears you say that.
“Yes, that. Ours.” You cup his chin and pull him to your lips to place a kiss on his cheek. His smile growing even bigger as San shakes his head at him.
A sigh leaves your lips, “To be honest, I just want to take a bath in the tub.”
“With bubbles?”
“And massages?” San adds after Wooyoung.
You can’t contain your smile, your boys’ hearts melting at the sight of you, “You guys want to bathe me? Really?”
“As if we haven’t seen you naked already,” Wooyoung speaks, your palm crashing against his side in a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment.
Your boyfriends guide you to their spacious bathroom. San heading to the bathtub while Wooyoung rummages through the drawers, looking for the bubbles he mentioned to you a few minutes ago. Your body collapses in slow motion against the cold porcelain of the tub, San holding you securely in his arms like a baby.
“You’re home now. You don’t have to worry about anything else, okay?” He places a quick kiss on your forehead, “Let us take care of the rest.”
Tiredness barely allows you to give him one of those smiles that your boyfriend falls in love with so much, “Found ’em!” You turn to meet Wooyoung with a victorious smile on his lips.
It takes several minutes for the tub to fill almost completely. When it does, Wooyoung undresses in a flash and climbs into the bathtub, keeping you company. San was still sitting behind you on the wide edge, his hands working your scalp so you don’t even have to worry about washing your hair.
You hum under his touch, your body gradually relaxing. Meanwhile, Wooyoung starts putting bath bombs of your favorite scents. The delicious aroma of vanilla and coconut invading your senses.
You feel San’s laborious hands leave your hair and subtly dry it with a towel. Now his hands move down to focus on your shoulders, his fingers exerting gentle pressure against your skin. Again, you hum as you felt him work that area.
“We know how hard you work every day. And how hard you try, and we love you so much for that.” You’ve already lost count of how many kisses San has pressed against your forehead, “That’s why we want to take care of you,” He paused briefly, “Tonight and always.”
A genuine smile forms on your lips. You really had no idea what you’d done to deserve two great boyfriends, so caring and affectionate. Your love for them can’t be described in words and neither can theirs for you. You melt after hearing their words, only being able to utter a soft ‘thank you’, hoping they understand that that ‘thank you’ was much more than the meaning of the word itself.
Wooyoung’s hand brushing against your skin as it goes down is what takes you away from the sweet words of the man behind you, his eyes never disconnecting from your gaze. You finally understand the way your boyfriends want to pamper you. And you’re not against their intentions at all.
“Just relax, my love.” Wooyoung whispers, “I’ll make you feel so good.”
Heat flushes through you as he drags his hand even lower, your legs unconsciously opening a little more, your cheeks turning a cute red. You hum when his fingers caress your folds softly, leaning your head against San’s forearm.
“Young-ah,” His name is nothing more than a simple breath of air in the silent bathroom, “Please.”
“What is it, princess?” San’s low voice resonates inside your ears, “Tell us what you want.”
“P-please,” You beg, “Touch me.”
“I am touching you, love.”
You let out a minimal desperate pant. “Come on. Don’t tease, Woo”
“I’m not teasing, babe. I’m just doing want you’re telling me to do, aren’t I?” He scoffs. Your hips slightly rocking against his hand looking for some friction.
You let out a long sigh and with that your last trace of bashfulness, “Please. Put your fingers inside me, Woo. Please.” You give him your best doe-eyes, you know it worked when he emits a 'fuck' under his breath.
Wooyoung dips his middle finger into your heat, the sound of your stickiness being drowned out by the warm water, how wet your cunt is being a secret between your boyfriend and his fingers. Thanks to the habit of doing this almost every week, he now knows where to touch, when to increase his pace, and above all, how to drive you crazy with just his long phalanges.
You don’t know when your eyes closed, but you know it was because of the satisfaction that was overtaking you. You unconsciously raise your hips in an attempt to get his fingers even deeper into you.
For a moment you think San was enjoying the view in front of him with fierce eyes, hungry for you. You imagine him lightly pumping his cock behind you, a sight for sore eyes.
That is until you feel a pair of hands rest on your breasts, skilled fingers touching your nipples, varying in a pattern of touching and pinching them.
“I’m—” You can’t even formulate a coherent word, everything just being overwhelming in a good way, a very good way.
Wooyoung hits the soft, right spot and you tremble beneath him, your back arching beautifully. Your lips vocalize a precious moan, “Wooyoung, baby. Don't stop.”
“Fuck, your moans are so pretty,” San says as he reclines and attaches his lips to the side of your neck, leaving cute lovebites that will surely turn purple by tomorrow morning. You’ll have to take care of that, but later. Right now you’re trying to hold onto the last piece of sanity you have left.
“Definitely our favorite sound,” Wooyoung replies, his fingers pumping into you faster, “Are you close, my love? Gonna cum on my fingers?”
His husky voice just pushes you even closer to the edge, “Yes, yes!” San sucks sharply in the right place as you cum. A long moan leaves your lips as you tremble beneath Wooyoung, him helping you ride your orgasm the best way possible.
Your eyes shut the moment you come. A few seconds later, you feel movement in the waters, as if someone has left and entered again. You think it’s Wooyoung, who came out to get a towel and dry you off, but when you feel a hand, different from the one that had been touching you until a few seconds ago, caressing your inner thighs you open your eyes meeting San’s.
“Hi, beautiful.” He admires your blissed-out expression for a moment, “Can you give us another one?”
You whimper, trying to hold yourself together, “I-I don’t know, Sannie,” You try to say “no” since you’re still sensitive and kind of overstimulated, but you just don’t want to admit it. Somehow you turn to your shy self again. It only lasts a few seconds though. His fingers make their way into your arousal and a hot, loud moan escapes from your lips.
He starts pumping his fingers into you at a fast pace, barely bearable for you. His movements cause you pleasure and pain at the same time, after all, you haven’t fully recovered from your previous orgasm and your boyfriend is already pushing you toward the abyss of pleasure again.
“Oh, princess,” He murmurs with the sweetest voice, “You’re being such a good girl for us.”
Wooyoung now is occupying the sit San was in, behind you. He reclines and murmurs right into your ear, “Come for us, darling. Just let it go. We’ve got you.” His voice is so unrecognizable, so fucking deep.
Your visual field begins to be covered by small black dots that get bigger and smaller, overstimulation causing this effect. Your body trembles in a sudden rush of heat, finally releasing into the now lukewarm water with a loud, long moan that sounds more like a cry. The small tears caused by pleasure slide beautifully down your cheek, dripping down your chin and mingling in the water. Your body feeling as if a fresh wave of water has washed over it.
“Mm,” San starts, “The only bad thing about doing this in the tub is that I can’t taste you, but honestly seeing your face as you come undone for us is more than enough.” He presses a kiss against your slightly open lips. Your blissed-out gaze making them fall even more in love with you.
“I... I love you both, so much. Thank you for doing this for me.”
“You deserve to be loved and pampered for everything you do for yourself and us every day. You’re amazing and we’re so proud of you.” Wooyoung mentions.
If you had the strength to cry right now, you would. However, sleep is taking you over so you can only mutter, “You both mean everything to me.”
You really have no idea when you fell asleep, but it’s okay. You know perfectly well that your boyfriends are going to set everything up and snuggle you in bed.
Wooyoung watches as San sees you with all the tenderness in the world. He was about to tease him saying that he was going to scare you if he kept looking at you so intensely, when he heard a cute, low snore.
“Did she fall asleep?” Wooyoung asks.
“Like an angel.” San replies, still admiring you.
“Well, let’s get her into a pair of pijamas so we can cuddle with her in bed.”
They both dry themselves off before taking you out of the tub. Seeing you so adorable and soundly asleep makes them share one of those looks of theirs.
Yes, they have a big, painful boner with no relief, but tonight was all about you, so they decided to put their needs aside and focus on you and making you feel good, loved and important. Because you are, because they’re willing to give their lives for you if they had to.
Because you’re their everything and they love you more than the word itself could mean.
#ateez smut#woosan smut#woosan#woosan x reader#choi san#choi san smut#jung wooyoung smut#jung wooyoung#wooyoung smut#san smut#san fanfic#wooyoung fanfic#ateez scenarios#ateez
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Whispering Pines
I plan for this to be a two-part piece, at least, as there are many mushy and maybe even spicy things planned for it—but today is my birthday and I’ll be away from my computer for a few days to celebrate.
I really hope you enjoy reading it in the meantime.
Big fluff, 18+ only.
In a world where infected roam the earth and surviving has become a daily battle, life is as good as it can be. Perfectly fine, by your standards, until Abigail Anderson entered the picture.
From the moment you saw her shredding all competition in the gun range, she stirred something inside of you that now clouds your mind and distracts you from almost everything else.
The term “crush” makes sense to you now, with the overwhelming burden of longing and unseen affection absolutely crushing you into miniscule particles of dust, drifting hopelessly at her feet.
Your infatuation has pushed you into a range of activities you wouldn’t have pursued otherwise. While it has undoubtedly made you a more capable soldier, it is unfortunate that the attention your accolades have received is not something you can reciprocate, even if you wanted to.
It’s not just her striking smile, or her perfect blend of rugged and soft features—not the sheer strength she exudes when she ambles through the chow hall in her tank top, cargo pants so snug across her muscular thighs it makes your knees weak.
It’s just her. A beautiful amalgamation of countless quirks and habits that, for some wicked reason, forces your senses to impossible heights when you desperately need them to subside.
“Are you hearing me right now?”
“Shit, sorry,” you say. “Go again.”
You lower your head apologetically, Manny’s face expressing absolute scandal when he notices the broad-shouldered goddess that diverted your focus from him. His very best friend and comrade, naturally.
When he waggles his brows at you and calls Abby over, your stomach swoops so low that the rapid beating of your heart contradicts the notion of standing still.
“Manny, don’t—Manny! Oh, Jesus Christ.”
With a brief, calculating glance at your fidgeting form, he meets Abby halfway, abandoning you in line.
As you lose focus on your surroundings, panic draws emphasis to the position of your hands. You become acutely aware, contemplating whether they should rest in your pocket or if that would come across as too deliberately cool.
You avoid watching them talk amongst themselves, the air thick with secrecy, because obviously if you don’t see her, she can’t see you and then you can vanish without a trace, escaping to a haven that grants respite anywhere but here in the damn burrito queue.
When you reach the front of the line, you snatch up your lunch with such speed that the person serving you may have mistaken your haste for a bad mood as you swiftly exit through the nearest doors and into the hallway.
“I can’t believe you,” Manny pants, trying to catch his breath as you fumble with your overcrowded keyring. “The first woman who’s ever tried to escape my charm.”
“I find that hard to believe,” you snicker. Metal jingles aggressively as you struggle to enter your apartment. “God, what’s wrong with this damn thing?”
In a display of cunning, Manny unveils a spare key, undoubtedly gained through some act of thievery, and shoves you aside. With a kick, he swings the door open and stretches his arm above your head to hold it for you.
“Do I even want to know?” you ask, gesturing at the stolen key.
“Probably not,” he chuckles.
He rests against your kitchen counter and, realizing you won’t ask him to go, hops onto the hard surface. He devours his meal, one enormous chomp at a time, legs casually swinging as you wander through your suite, trying to regain your appetite.
“So,” Manny says, balling up the wrapper before tossing it at your head. “You’ve got it bad for my girl, huh?”
“You’re actually the worst, do you know that?” you say. “I hope you never get laid again.”
Laughing uncontrollably, Manny tries to catch the messy wrapper you toss back at him, causing him to nearly tumble off the counter.
“That’s what you get, sucker!” you exclaim. “Looks like you won’t be making the softball team, after all.”
With a snort, Manny jumps down from the counter and starts rummaging through your mini fridge, in search of something to wash down his lunch.
“We’ll see after this weekend who is the real sucker.”
“What does that mean?”
With a voracious gulp, he drains the last drops of your juice rations, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He’s finally seeking retribution for all the snacks of his that you’ve been helping yourself to.
“Manny, what did you do?” you groan.
An abrupt knock at your door startles you, as Manny’s knowing look turns your mouth bone-dry.
“I’ll go wash up. You better get that,” he says.
With a leisurely pace, he saunters down the hall, his footsteps creating a gentle rhythm as he heads towards your bathroom and out of sight.
Thunderous knocks continue to echo through the room, causing your thoughts to scramble. You smooth out your shirt and fuss with your hair, taking a few calming breaths before flinging open the door.
A pair of bright, curious blue eyes greet you on the other side, setting your cheeks on fire. Swallowing hard, you stand there speechless, desperately grasping for something significant to say. Knowing what Manny told her would provide some helpful context, but that shithead has left you in the lurch twice today.
Abby sizes you up, her attractive face adorned with a growing smirk that spotlights her confidence.
“Hi,” she says with a warm smile, extending her hand for a friendly handshake. “I’m Abby.”
“Hey, yeah—I’ve noticed. I know,” you blurt, feeling yourself internally recoil at the gibberish spilling from you like a waterfall.
As you both stand there, the handshake lingering for an unusually long time, Abby’s amusement at your expense only seems to intensify. As she patiently waits for you to decide when it ends, her eyes crinkle cheerfully at the edges. By the time you pull away, your whole body feels sweat dappled and flushed.
Manny shouts from somewhere inside the apartment, sending your shoulders straight to your ears. “Are you going to invite her in already—where are your manners?”
His outburst earns a gratuitous eye roll from Abby, who then tilts her head with empathy towards you.
“Would—you like to come in?” you stammer.
“Yeah,” she says. “That’d be great.”
----------------------------------------
A few times each year, Abby takes charge of organizing events for the younger generations on the FOB. She leads a series of survival challenges—scavenger hunts, fishing and hunting, target practice, crafting competitions, herb, and plant identification—to help keep morale up and to preserve strength in the community.
Although you haven’t taken part, you’ve heard positive feedback from soldiers and their families on base. It’s a good thing too, since Manny has kindly stepped in and volunteered you to help Abby with the next one.
“I know it sounds corny, but it really helps build teamwork and keep everyone active,” Abby explains, referring to a relay race she wants to set up outside the walls.
“No, not at all—it sounds awesome,” you say.
“I was going to go solo, but if you want to come along, I’d appreciate the extra hands,” she says. I usually camp for a few days and build everything myself. It’ll be nice to have some company out there.”
Abby’s fingers find a loose thread that is spindling out from a tear on her jeans, and she starts to fiddle with it. Manny clears his throat, prompting you to join the conversation rather than staring at her like she’s an enchanting extraterrestrial.
“I love camping!” you squeak, putting Manny on the verge of collapsing with laughter as he hears the sheer excitement in your voice.
It wouldn’t be completely terrible if the couch swallowed you whole, but despite your nerves, Abby does a decent job of making you feel relaxed in her presence.
“Yeah? Do you have a tent and everything?”
It’s clear that the universe is conspiring to make you look like a fool, so of course you don’t have camping gear of your own. To be honest, you’ve always been thankful for the opportunity to choose your work while off base because every time you observe your unit setting up camp, it reminds you of how complex it all seems.
Your inclination is to prioritize keeping everyone fed and using your expertise in weaponry and stealth. If you attempted to pitch a tent with only tarps and some rope, someone would inevitably wake up in a puddle.
“I’m not so great with the tent erecting stuff,” you say, mentally cuffing yourself the minute you hear yourself speak.
You’ve never uttered the word erecting in your life before now.
You avoid glancing at Manny’s face, aware that he’s eagerly anticipating the chance to mercilessly ridicule you. With a sugary, lopsided smile, Abby boldly extends her middle finger towards her best friend. You can bet that he is making all sorts of faces behind your back.
“We can share mine,” Abby offers. “If that’s cool with you.”
“Sure, that works for me,” you say with a nod, trying like hell to stay composed against the heat climbing your neck.
Abby bites her cheek to suppress a smile.
“Good, it’s all settled,” Manny says, slapping your back. “Just you and Abby, all alone in the great outdoors.”
----------------------------------------
“I’m going to kill him,” you grumble.
Upon hearing the news of Manny finally pairing you and Abby together, Nora is giddier than you’ve ever seen her. While assembling a medical kit for your camp out, she gives you a cheeky look.
“That girl needs her shit rocked,” she says, bouncing her flawlessly manicured brows. “If you want my vote, I say you send her home to us limping.”
“Oh, my god! I’m never going to get my face to calm down.”
You press your palms to your forehead, desperate for a cold cloth.
Nora’s bright, warm giggles fill the room, matching the kind-heartedness she emits.
“There’s no way Abby isn’t dreading this,” you say, passing a roll of gauze to Nora’s outstretched hands. “You should’ve been there—it was like I forgot how to talk or something. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Well, if I know her as well as I think I do,” Nora says with a grin. “She probably found your mess pretty damn cute.”
“You think so?”
“Totally. She digs the dorky ones,” she shrugs, handing you the fully stocked medical kit. “Just be real with her, okay? Everything with Owen did a number on her. I’d hate to have to kick your ass when you get back.”
“I don’t think this is that kind of trip,” you say. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
Leaning against the desk, Nora twirls a pen in her hands, lost in thought. The Salt Lake Crew, as you understand it, formed an unbreakable bond, strengthened by the shared experiences and obstacles they encountered while growing up together side by side. Though some challenges they faced have become distant tales, her face still carries the etching of the profoundness of their connection.
“I’m going to tell you something because I trust you, but please don’t make me regret it.”
The sound of the pen tapping against Nora’s thigh is quick and incessant as she gathers her thoughts. A small puff of air escapes her as she studies you intently from a distance.
“Fuck it,” she says, her lean hands gripping the tabletop. “Abby gets these—bad dreams, okay? Not all the time, but when she does, it can be rough. It’s why she goes out there alone.”
“Oh,” you breathe.
“Yeah. So, it’s a pretty big deal that she’s bringing you along this time,” Nora explains. “Please be good to her.”
----------------------------------------
The two of you venture outside the gates in the early morning, the scorching heat prickling your neck. The drought-stricken summer is the hottest you can remember in ages, dry grass crunching beneath your boots as you trek on.
You bring your shirt up to swipe at your sweaty face, drawing Abby’s gaze as it travels down your body.
This time, it’s her face that flushes with a rosy hue as she realizes you caught her stealing glances.
“It’s cool of you to help me out,” Abby says, redirecting attention. “Even though it’s boiling out here.”
“I thought about bailing, I’m not gonna lie,” you chuckle.
The heat and Abby’s quick pace are leaving you out of breath, but you’re determined to keep up.
“Why didn’t you?” she asks.
You reflect on Nora’s words and how she pleaded with you to treat Abby honourably. Her advice was to be authentic, and even though vulnerability can be frightening, you’re going to bite the bullet.
“I’ve wanted to get to know you for a while,” you admit. With the sun piercing through the trees, blinding your vision, you tightly clutch the straps of your backpack and hang your head. “I hope that’s not weird.”
Abby stops in front of you, and it momentarily obscures the bright rays of sunlight, offering you instant relief. The freckles sprinkled along her sun-kissed skin become more prominent, enhancing her natural beauty. She’s so pretty it makes your chest ache, and your thoughts run wild.
Kneeling, she hunts through her bag and pulls out a crumpled ball cap. When she stands up and carefully places it over your head, making all the necessary adjustments, flutters stir between your ribs.
“This hat is weird,” Abby says, her soft smile contrasting with her words.
Before continuing the journey, she pauses to fix a few messy tendrils of your hair, her touch lingering behind your ear for a split second. It’s enough to overlook the blazing temperature outside, mistakenly convincing you it’s only a sensation within your body.
“What about you—where’s yours?” you ask.
Despite her attempt to hide it, her smile is unmistakable as she tilts her head away.
“It looks better on you.”
“I highly doubt the accuracy of that statement,” you quip.
If you had known she was such a sweetheart behind closed doors, you might’ve summoned the courage to approach her differently. Life is brief, and it dawns on you how much time you’ve squandered in fear.
Amused, Abby shakes her head and then gestures for you to follow her. You would willingly accompany her to the deepest depths of the earth if she wanted. Fortunately, you’re already experiencing a preview of that, with the summer heat threatening to sear you like a salmon steak.
Abby jogs ahead of you, her eyes hooked on something beyond the treeline. You match her speed, eager to discover what has caught her interest.
She leads you to a lake, with its surface as clear as crystal, mirroring the vibrant emerald hues of the surrounding trees. Wildflowers bloom at the water’s edge, cradled between pebbles, their petals a delicate splatter of yellow and purple. A family of ducks glide gracefully across the surface, leaving ripples in their wake.
You wish you had something to offer them.
“Please tell me we’re going swimming,” you say, spellbound by the lush oasis and the promise of a refreshing dip. “I haven’t been to the lake for years.”
“Oh, fuck yeah,” Abby says, beaming at you. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”
Her teeth graze anxiously over her bottom lip, examining you—her watchful eyes appearing filled with hope that she didn’t unintentionally cross a boundary.
“Only in my bathtub,” you say with a nervous giggle. “But I guess that doesn’t really count.”
“You’re a total dork,” Abby teases. “It’s kind of growing on me.”
“I’ll take it,” you say, delighting in the way she impishly scrunches her nose at you. “So, are we doing this or what?”
“You first,” she says, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she flicks at the brim of your hat.
When you toss it aside, Abby lifts her shirt up and over her head, balling it up to pitch on top of her bag. Her smooth, honey-blonde braid sways between her exposed shoulder blades as she widens her stance, unfastening her leather belt. Her back is a landscape of tight, defined muscles that leave you feeling dizzy.
Abby’s gaze meets yours as she looks back, a trace of wonder dancing in her eyes.
“Like what you see?” she asks.
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Happy Birthday, Captain - Law x Fem!Reader - Oneshot
DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece or the art featured above. This is a fan created work.
Y/n stared at the calendar, uncertainty wavering through her stomach and causing nervous bouts of nausea. In her lap sat a beautifully wrapped box, its yellow speckled paper adorned with a brightly colored bow. Trembling fingers toyed with the shiny ribbon, bending it slightly as a sigh fell from painted lips.
October sixth. The date mocked her from across the room, circled with enthusiasm and boasting in large penmanship “Captain’s Birthday!”
It had taken several of her crewmates’ begging, along with her own, to convince their grumpy captain to agree to any sort of celebration.
“It’s just another day. There’s no need to make a big fuss over my aging.”
She could still hear his gruff voice as the scene replayed in her memory. After enough pestering, he’d finally relented to a small gathering in the Polar Tang’s mess hall accompanying tonight’s dinner. There would be a cake prepared by the ship’s cook, Jean Bart, and everyone intended to present a gift of some sort. But the sleep deprived captain had adamantly refused any additional festivities.
That was all right though. Being able to celebrate his birthday, no matter how grandiose or quiet, was all that mattered. She hoped that despite his initial refusal, she’d be able to make this day a special one for him.
“Ouch!” Stinging pain erupted from her fingertip that had been manipulating the ribbon. Looking down she saw crimson begin to pool lazily on the skin’s surface, threatening to overflow onto the pristine wrapping below.
Quickly, she stood and placed the box down before rushing out of her bedroom. Hurried footsteps carried her towards the sickbay, the injured finger having been thrust into her mouth instinctually. The taste of metal coated her tongue.
Entering the room, she immediately began searching for the first aid kit. Cabinets were opened and rummaged through one handed before a cough brought her attention to the desk tucked along the room’s far wall.
Turning with a sheepish expression, she smiled around the digit still held between her lips. Golden eyes framed in dark circles bore a quizzical look as her captain stood from his seat. A sigh of indignation escaped Law as tattooed hands removed a pair of glasses from atop his nose before placing them, folded neatly, beside the open medical textbook he’d been studying.
“What have you done this time?” His tone was not unlike a parent’s - energy lacking and patience worn thin by far too many demands.
Her eyes dropped to the floor as the finger was removed from her mouth, fresh blood seeping from the open wound within seconds of air exposure. “Just a paper cut.” She held the injured digit up for him to inspect.
Law’s expression morphed from one of annoyance to a softer look. He moved past his subordinate swiftly, opening a cabinet she’d yet to search and withdrawing a package of bandages.
The Surgeon of Death. Dr. Heart Stealer. Trafalgar D. Water Law. Captain of the Heart Pirates. He went by many names, some more appealing than others. But to her, he was simply her beloved captain.
As he reached up once more to close the cabinet door, she felt her eyes wander south. Those spotted jeans were quite tight, leaving little to the imagination.
“See something you like, Y/n-ya?”
Her gaze snapped up immediately, a deep blush overtaking her features. He’d caught her, and the look he wore only added to her embarrassment. She couldn’t decide which was more enticing; to wipe that smug smirk from his face or kiss it. Her brows furrowed in annoyance.
Of course she harbored romantic feelings for her captain. Who wouldn’t? The man was tall, dark, and handsome. A dedicated doctor, a skilled fighter, and a fearless leader. If only he wasn’t so painfully aware of his own charms.
“Shut up.” She sounded like a child as she turned away from him, her arms crossed and cheeks puffed out in mock defiance. Law only chuckled as he took her hand in his, gently wrapping a bandage around her injured digit.
“Careful with the attitude.” A brief pause elapsed, the man seemingly mulling over his words. “I’d hate it if I had to punish you.” His voice betrayed his shit eating grin.
A playful gasp escaped the woman’s lips as she yanked her hand away, clutching the appendage close to her chest. “I am very well behaved, thank you.”
“Is that right?” A devious glint formed in his eyes as he moved closer to his companion. When she’d backed into the wooden desk, muscular arms seized the opportunity to trap her against the large surface. Leaning in close, Law growled before speaking into her ear with a husky tone. “Then maybe I should reward you instead.”
What was happening? Her captain had never shown such interest in her before, nor had he ever made any type of advance on her. Was checking out his ass really all it took to break his stoic demeanor?
“Umm, Captain?” She looked up at him with wide, doe eyes. Trying her best to look innocent, thick lashes fluttered beneath raised eyebrows. She’d hoped to confess her feelings during tonight’s birthday celebration, but this was completely unexpected.
As if being awoken from a trance, Law shook his head before backing away from his subordinate. “Sorry, Y/n-ya.” He rubbed the back of his neck while directing his gaze anywhere but at her. “I don't know what came over me. Please, just forget that anything happened.”
Was he hurt? Had she misread his intentions? No. He was obviously trying to make a move on her, and she’d chosen to react surprised instead of receptive. But more than that, was her captain being vulnerable with her right now?
“Hey.” A gentle hand came to rest on the man’s arm, bringing his attention down to her smiling face. “I was just a little surprised.”
At her admission, Law’s eyes morphed from guilty to hopeful. Seeing this change, an idea popped into the woman’s mind. “Would you like one of your gifts a little early?”
Confusion crossed Law’s features for the briefest of moments before his companion lifted to her tiptoes and gently pressed her lips to his. The kiss was soft, careful - as though she were afraid anything more would cause the man before her to crumble. She lingered for only a second or two, but the affection she expressed in that small span seeped into Law’s soul like a burning flame. Her retreat began before he could even think to kiss her back.
When she pulled away and allowed her feet to fall flat, there was a deep blush covering both their faces. The pair remained silent like, her hand still on his arm and their forms a breath away. Their gazes were locked, conveying a million emotions and sentiments without a single word.
And then Law smiled.
Not his usual smirk. Not a smug grin. But a true, genuine smile.
“Happy Birthday, Captain.” Her words came as a timid whisper, afraid to break this pristine moment they’d created.
“Happy birthday, indeed.”
***
“For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! Which nobody can deny!”
The Heart Pirates sang loudly, a chorus of off-key voices echoing throughout the Polar Tang’s metal halls. The mess hall had been decorated with banners and balloons, confetti strewn about and music playing in the background. A table had been set to one side, hosting a large pile of gifts and sweets, centered around a large cake reading “Happy Birthday!” In yellow and blue frosting.
The man in question currently sat before his entire crew, a conical hat strapped to his head and a scowl of disapproval painted across his face. His ears were ringing as a result of their awful singing. His stomach hurt from all the cake they’d made him eat. And the damned hat he’d been forced to wear was causing a massive headache. When would this annoying celebration end?
“Captain! You should open your presents now!” Bepo’s voice was full of enthusiasm as he brought a pile of wrapped gifts to his friend.
Law took the first package and thanked the polar bear before opening it.
“That’s from me!” Shachi spoke through the crowd, his anticipation palpable.
When the bright red paper had been removed, Law held a small stuffed bear with the Heart Pirates’ jolly roger embroidered onto its chest. The bear looked similar to Bepo, though its white fur wasn’t nearly as soft as the real thing.
“Thanks.” Law’s tone was flat as he sat the toy down and reached for another present.
Many of the crew had gotten him gifts that were surprisingly thoughtful. Ikkaku had gifted him new cleaning supplies for his sword. Penguin had gotten him a new lab coat with his name and Jolly roger printed across the breast pocket. Even the stuffed animal from Shachi was right up his alley - though he’d never admit aloud his love for all things soft and fuzzy.
When it came time to open Bepo’s present, Law was met with a new hat. It looked similar to his old, circular brimmed one. though this new hat more closely resembled a baseball cap. The fabric was the same soft, speckled design he was fond of. Without a word, he removed his current headwear and replaced it.
“Me next! Me next!” Y/n came forward carrying her gift to Law. Bright yellow paper mimicked the submarine’s exterior and the spots splattered across it were reminiscent of his hat and jeans.
Law took the box gingerly, surprised when it was heavier than he’d anticipated. He raised an eyebrow in puzzled amusement before noticing the woman’s stance.
She bore a wide smile, her eyes dancing with anticipation. As though her energy were too great for her body to contain, she hopped lightly from one foot to the other. The sound made a little tip tap with each step against the steel floor.
Law couldn’t help but chuckle at her childlike excitement.
Placing the hefty gift onto the table, Law removed the wrapping and couldn’t believe what lay before him. There, sitting on the table in pristine condition sat the complete saga of Sora, Warrior of the Sea. The plastic shrink wrap still clung to each volume, catching the fluorescent lights in streaks of artificial shine.
“How-?” He was speechless. He hadn’t told anyone of his near obsession with the comics. Sure, every kid in the North Blue knew of the fictional battles between Sora and Germa 66. But they were in the Grand Line - most of his crew were from scattered parts of the world and wouldn’t even know the series existed.
His heart swelled at the amount of love and care his entire crew had shown him through their gifts.
“I saw you eyeing it a few islands ago.” She spoke with a smile on her face, knowing she’d struck gold.
“Thank you, Y/n.” Law spoke from his heart, the awe and appreciation he felt evident. He quickly rose and pulled her into a hug, leaving the entire crew stunned.
For the second time that day, the woman found herself uttering three words which she hoped conveyed her feelings as they reached her captain.
“Happy Birthday, Captain.”
#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar law x you#trafalgardwaterlaw#trafalgar one piece#one piece#trafalgar law#fluff#birthday#one piece oneshots#oneshot#romance#x reader#trafalgar law x y/n
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𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧
Steve doesn't really like the holidays, but he likes you. So, he makes some concessions. Rainbow lit, tinsel-covered, pine tree-smelling concessions.
6k words, christmas centric, fem!reader who celebrates christmas, mutual pining, gingerbread houses, mistletoe, ugly sweaters, friends to lovers, idiots in love, allusions to s4.
❆
Steve hates Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it and he won't, not when you love it the way that you do — quietly, and yet every movement hints at your excitement.
Your hands are basically shaking when he lugs the new box onto the desk. It's adorable.
"Thank you for doing this," you say, meeting his eyes and sending him one of your too-nice smiles. Kind that makes him nervous and sick and excited all at once.
"I don't know why you're so eager. They're the same cheese-fests this year as last year," he says.
You lean over the counter enough for him to smell your perfume. "That's not true. You said you have The Christmas Star, right?"
"Ten whole copies."
He pulls open the cardboard box and digs for your desired tape. The case is cardstock and crisp with newness, and it squeaks as he pulls it up and displays it against his chest.
You beam. "Yes. How much? Expensive 'cos it's new?"
"Not with the employee discount," he says, placing the tape down neatly.
Your smile turns shy. Steve has always thought you were pretty, in the same way he thinks that grass is green and stars shine at night, but lately you've turned to a sweetness that has his teeth aching if he thinks about it, all manner of terrible emotions flooding his idiot brain. Jealousy, protectiveness, and — he shudders — affection. Even now he's tempted to round the desk and make up an excuse to touch your arms, or your hands. Your face.
"Thanks, Steve," you say softly.
"Of course. There has to be one pro to working in this dump, right?"
"Is it a dump? It looks super clean."
He hesitates. "We had to fix it up. Holiday decorations are coming in tomorrow."
"Make that today!"
You both turn to see Robin struggling out of the back room, two boxes held in her arms and hiding her face. She stumbles to the desk and Steve leaps to help her, unveiling her grinning face. There's a meanness to her eyes that Steve abores.
"Well, yesterday. Keith says they got here last night, which means today is officially the first day of Family Video Christmas."
"It's November," Steve says, narrowing his eyes.
"Thirty first!"
Robin pries open one of the huge boxes and thrusts both hands in unafraid, pulling out streams of green and silver tinsel like festive innards. Her eyebrows jump up. "Nice," she says appreciatively.
"I almost wish I worked here."
"You can stay and help," Steve says.
Your laughter makes his chest hurt. "I can't. I have decorating to do all by myself next door." You straighten your Palace Arcade polo and your black, plain skirt. "Do I look okay?"
Steve has a terrible lapse in judgement wherein he thinks about telling you exactly how you look, lips pressed together ready to make a 'b' sound, but he stops himself in the nick of time. Friends don't really do that.
"You look fucking adorable," Robin says, having wrapped the tinsel around her neck in a makeshift scarf. She sparkles as she turns to Steve. "Doesn't she?"
"Adorable," he says tightly.
You scratch under your ear. "Thank you.”
You promise to come back at the end of the day for The Christmas Star and escape before Robin can poke fun at your shyness.
The door closes behind you and Steve buries his face in his hands. His cheeks are hot.
"That was pretty bad. Better, though," Robin says, an air of genuineness about her that he knows she doesn't truly possess.
Steve scrubs a hand through his hair, temper welled to the surface quick and uncomfortable as usual. He pushes it down and turns away from Robin and the glaringly bright Christmas decorations rather than say something snappy that she doesn't strictly deserve.
"Maybe by Christmas you'll be able to look her in the eye."
"Maybe by Christmas I'll have friends I actually like."
"Points for quickness," she cheers. Steve can feel her moving to stand beside him. "But ultimately weak."
"It could happen."
"Could it?"
He rolls his eyes and starts to log The Christmas Star under his name for you. Employees get pretty good privileges, like reduced rates and nulled late fees. You could keep it 'til the 25th, if that's what you want.
Robin drapes tinsel over his shoulders. "I really, genuinely think that, despite your bad posture, your hair, your clothes," — Steve scoffs — "and your dismal taste in movies, she likes you."
He's so distracted by her (mostly) joking insults that he doesn't quite hear the end. Then, when it sinks in, his incredulity lends itself to a new target.
"What?"
"Steve," Robin says flatly.
"She likes me?"
"I think so. She's not coming in here every day for me."
"How should I know? I'm not exactly a good judge of it."
Robin taps her foot against his. They're overly familiar if not overly affectionate friends, and he relents in his bad mood, pulling the tinsel from his shoulders with a dejected sigh.
"I doubt it. She was excited about the new movies." Not me. He doesn’t think you'll be back tomorrow.
"Why aren't you excited?" Robin asks.
"You know I don't like the holidays." His agitation is clear in his annoyed hand gestures, fingers furling and unfurling. "Weeks of torture. Cranky moms walking around like somebody shoved a candy cane up their-"
"Steve, that's like, ten percent of the holiday season! There's a bazillion other things to like about Christmas."
He snorts. "Like what?"
—
Steve doesn't know how she managed it, but Robin has someone orchestrated the older gaggle of their friends to sit down anywhere but next to him. When you arrive, late and full of abashed apologies, the only seat empty is the chair to his right.
You collapse beside him and the December chill outside follows you. Cold emanates off of your clothes. You peel out of your black denim jacket and press the back of your hand to his.
"Cold, huh?" you ask.
He swallows around nothing. "Cold."
Your touch lingers. If he were your boyfriend, he'd take your cold hands in both of his and blow on them generously. He'd rub your stiff knuckles until they were loose and your fingers limp.
Robin opens her arms and a half a dozen boxes clatter into the middle of the table, upside down and on their sides. Steve turns his head to read the font, and then promptly sits up.
"No," he says.
"Steve," Robin pleads, already turned away to retrieve a wicker basket full of candy. "Don't be a loser."
"Too late," Eddie says, painted nails digging into the cardboard flap of his box.
"You don't want to make one?" you ask Steve.
"Gingerbread houses are a little elementary school, aren't they?" Steve turns to Jonathan imploringly. "You agree, right?"
"No," Jonathan says with a laugh. "Me and Will still make them every year. El's getting good at them, too."
"Will made one with a door that opens last year," Nancy says, pride for her boyfriend's brother clear in her pert smirk.
Steve rolls his eyes. "That's good for him, and I mean it, but why are we doing this? Tell me there's beer, at least."
"Yes!" Eddie cheers, slapping his thigh. "Harrington, you're finally saying something I can get behind. I have a little something extra in the van, just say the word."
"There's beer," Nancy says emphatically.
Eddie pretends to die in his chair. You giggle like crazy at his dramatics and set about opening your box, fanning gingerbread walls and roof panelling out over the table.
Steve feels old resentment for Eddie bubble up like it never left. He wants to be the one who makes you laugh like that, all sweet and secret like you're trying not to make a fuss but you just can't help it. The resentment fades when you reach across from him and open a second box, laying supplies out in front of him one by one.
"I think we should be a team," you tell him.
"That's not fair," Eddie says.
"Can it, Munson-"
"We can all be teams," Robin says, returning with a blessedly cold six pack, three piping bags, and a handful of metal tips. "You two, me and Eddie, Nancy and Jonathan."
Steve doesn't miss her suggestive eyebrow wiggle, and neither does anybody else. You turn to Steve in confusion. He shakes his head vigorously in a rapid and untrue show of I don't know, arm weaving under yours to bring your attention to the bigger piece of gingerbread. "This is the floor, right?"
Steve’s surprised by how good of a team you turn out to be. Your gingerbread house takes shape slowly. Steve holds the pieces in place and you apply the icing seams like caulking, smoothing the lines out with your index finger and licking it clean. You’re a picture of happiness, happy jabbering interspersed between singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio and warding off insincere insults sent your way.
"My grandma can decorate better than that, and she's pushing ninety. She has glaucoma."
“Cut the shit talking, Eddie,” you warn, flicking him with a jellybean. It hits his neck, and his retribution comes in five more aimed at your gingerbread house.
The sides wobble unsurely.
Steve frosts the roof, assuming it’ll be easy. It isn’t easy at all, and soon any cuteness you’ve made is ruined by his ugly hatching. He winces, then frowns, then glares, eyebrows furrowed in agitation.
Jonathan and Nancy are the ones to beat. Both nerds, both neat. Jonathan’s an artist and it’s obvious he does this every year, their house made up of pretty white swirls and gem decorated doors and windows. They're bantering quietly, insincere declarations that make Steve jealous — not of Jonathan, exactly, but of their relationship as a whole. They fit together in a way Steve and Nance never had. They’re effortless.
Robin and Eddie make a good go of it, surprisingly. Steve had expected Eddie to throw the competition before he could lose, and hates to be proven wrong. Dorks combined with too much imagination, their gingerbread house has become a sort of macabre scene with a dead gingerbread man outlined in the snow surrounding, and icing stalagmites rise under the roof’s overhang.
You pull your chair in as close to Steve’s as you can, your knee pressed into his thigh and your elbow glancing off of his bicep every time you place a jellybean.
“There,” you say, pulling back. “That looks awesome, doesn’t it?”
It’s a hot mess. Unbalanced, too much icing on one side of the roof and not enough on the other, you lean back into Steve’s chest, your skin to his skin and your hair smelling of jasmine, appraising the work you’ve made just as it begins to fall apart. The weight of the roof becomes too much and the walls split either side of one another, in both slow motion and fast. Steve sees it happen incrementally, and it’s too quick to stop.
Your gingerbread house collapses.
“Fuck,” Steve says. “Fucking fuck.”
You get second place.
“It looked good when it was actually standing,” Nancy reasons, her lies obvious in her raised pitch, her queasy shifting.
“It did,” you agree.
Steve’s self-loathing abates ever so slightly.
“Pity win,” Eddie says with a cough.
You laugh like crazy, and Steve decides gingerbread houses are for kids.
—
After the gingerbread house disappointment, Steve thinks things cannot get worse. He is swiftly proven wrong.
It's his turn to host a party, Robin's idea, and Christmas crawls ever closer. When he closes his eyes at night he can see the faces of every annoyed mom asking for The Christmas Star. Carols play in his ears unbidden. He finds himself humming songs he hates out of nowhere and clamping his mouth shut hard enough to chip a tooth every time.
You love decorations, and so he and Robin have spent the last hour making his big empty house something fit for a rom-com, wreaths and tinsels and rainbow flashing lights. You love Christmas music, and so the stereos dialled to a cruel thirty in preparation for your arrival. You love cookies, and so, to Steve's amateurish expense, plates of sugar cookies line the kitchen countertops, along with all the finger foods one could ever desire.
Though in Steve's case, that's none. He hates Christmas parties, reminded of his parents' misaligned efforts to earn favour with equally pompous parents. He and Tommy would hide out in backyards with stolen booze, and when that got too cold they'd shuffle inside, warm in their chests and numb in their fingers.
He frowns at the memory and wizzes it all away. Tommy was an asshole. Steve was an asshole, he still is. This party isn't for his parents.
It's for you.
Not that anyone can ever, ever know.
"What do you think?" Robin asks, pulling at the edges of the sweater she's changed into.
It's a movie reference he should understand, but doesn't. "I love it."
She smiles. Rare for them to operate above dry sarcasm and quick wit. Christmas makes Robin squishy, like she's forgotten how shitty the world is, and Steve wants her to have a good time tonight. This includes being nice (which he should be more often, anyway).
"Go change. She'll be here soon."
"Who, Nance?"
Robin tips her head back. "Oh, yeah, Nancy. Definitely who I meant."
He flips her the finger, putting an end to their Christmas niceties. She's still laughing as he climbs the stairs and barrels into his room. He doesn't bother closing the door even as he hears the doorbell ring. The pizza should be getting here around now.
Steve doesn't rush. He’d left cash on the countertop. Robin can deal with it.
He ducks forward and pulls his polo up the length of his back, hair puffed out like a cloud. He'd set aside his ridiculous reindeer sweater on the top shelf of his closet. Or, at least, he'd thought he had. He searches once, twice, and then gives in to his short temper and drops his face into his hands.
Stupid Christmas. Stupid sweater. Stupid party.
He hears your inhale like a whisper. Breath caught in your throat.
"Steve," you say, sounding surprised.
It's his room. He's not sure what's so surprising.
You're standing in the doorway looking angelic, all things considered. Your features softened by powder, wearing a white Christmas sweater with dainty beaded snowflakes and a plaid skirt. You look pretty, and Steve's not one for dramatics but he wishes he was dead.
"You look nice," he says pathetically.
"You, too," you say. You clear your throat. "I mean. Uh-"
"You okay?" he asks, pushing hair out of his eyes.
Your smile falters. You look at his naked chest. Steve worries he's making you uncomfortable and turns as nonchalantly as he can to his closet again, says, "I can't find my sweater. It's…" He lifts a bundle of jeans up. "Horrifying."
"I can help."
You step into the room. Each footstep silent, you've already discarded your shoes. He looks down to your stockings and then up again, ignoring the blush that wants to emerge at the sight of your thighs.
"It's brown, and it has a weird red thing hanging off of it. Rudolph's nose."
You step close enough that he can feel the heat of your arm and run a hand down the shelves. It takes a couple of seconds at most and you've found it, pulling it from the pile carefully. He loves the way you move, each inch deliberate.
You press the sweater into his chest. His hands come up, his fingers cover your own.
When he's with you, Steve feels as though everything — every movement, every moment — is broken down into its finest details. He thinks he could draw your fingerprint if asked, each miniscule line embossed into his skin as you touch him.
"Steve?"
But that's ridiculous.
"Thanks. I think I got tinsel in my eyes or some shit," he mutters, averting his gaze.
"You're welcome. Robin sent me to see what was taking you so long. I'll tell her it was a Rudolph related crisis."
You stroke his arm.
He loses his shit internally, hand reaching for your retreating figure as you turn your back. He doesn’t know why. Maybe he would’ve kissed you.
"Steve?" you ask, now standing in the doorway.
He recalibrates, muddled. "Yeah?"
"Get dressed,” you encourage. You give him a short smile, blinding, and laugh quietly as you leave.
He's hopped up on hope as he gets dressed, a smile plastered over what had felt to him like a seasonal scowl. He's no idiot; arm-touching, your tinkling laughter. Maybe his crush isn't as hopeless as he'd thought.
He smooths down his hair for much longer than necessary, listening as the door opens and closes and opens again, friends trickling in with happy hellos and complaints about the weather. It's cold but too wet for snow, and evidence of it trails in from the front door through the hallway where shoes lie discarded in clumsy pairs.
He picks over them and finds his friends, ones he made willing and otherwise, draped over his living room like old throws. Max and Lucas have stolen the couch where they sit laughing, clearly gossiping about something. The rest of the lunch club stick close by, bowls of snacks already claimed and in cross-legged laps.
"Steve," Jonathan says, "what the fuck is that?"
"Fucker," Steve says. He's the butt of too many jokes, then, and he glares at Robin even as she plates him some still-warm pizza.
"Sorry," she mouths.
You curl up on the couch next to Max. He appreciates the unlikely friendship you've formed, sort of a sistership. You only know her through Steve but he genuinely thinks you'd pick her over him, and that makes him like you more.
That's all he does, lately. Finds new ways to fall in love with you.
"That is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen," Max says.
Fucking Christmas.
—
Steve's been in a bad mood since he came downstairs, and you're not okay with it. Despite your shameless meltdown in his bedroom at seeing him shirtless, you don't quit. You spend some time with Max on the couch, and when she seems a little less agitated you track him down.
He's definitely hiding.
"I think Max's glasses are hurting her nose," you say.
Steve looks over his shoulder at you, and he smiles, the slopes of his face kissed by the open refrigerator light. "They'd hurt anyone. The lenses are like, five inches thick."
“Poor girl,” you mumble, more to yourself than him.
He turns back to the fridge and pulls out a two litre of coke. “You want a drink?”
You shake your head. His hair looks incredibly sweet from this angle, and you don’t mean that in a condescending way. It curls toward the bottom of his neck, that tiny bit too long compared to his usual cut. His neck moves as his head swivels, and there’s ligaments, there’s muscle, the bump of his Adam’s apple, all of it commanding attention. You think about stepping forward to touch him, his neck, to curl your finger around the side of his throat and hold him in place. If there’s one thing about Steve lately, it’s that he’s always fucking moving. He can’t sit still. He looks between you and the empty glass in question, twice, a third time.
“I don’t read minds,” he says eventually, near pleading.
You decide some flirtation is in order.
“I’m glad you can’t,” you say lightly, crossing what’s left of the kitchen tile between you to stop at his side. You pretend that you’d wanted a drink, taking a glass down from one of his cabinets so he can fill it for you. Something he could’ve done himself. You hope that’ll be clear enough for him — the blatant want to be close.
It isn’t, unsurprisingly.
“What’s that mean?”
“Well, I think…” You lower your voice,a private confession. “That sometimes what I’m thinking, it might be- Uh, telling.”
Poor Steve. That hadn’t come out anywhere as smooth as you’d anticipated. It’s harder to tell him now you’re confronted with him, his every detail. And Steve, sweetheart, angel Steve, he misses the mark. Forget different pages, Steve’s reading a separate chapter, and your flirtation reads as a deeply unromantic confession.
“Is there something wrong?” he asks.
“No,” you say. “Of course not.”
His eyebrows jump and his forehead crinkles. “You sure?” His protective tone melts into something softer. “Let’s hear it, whatever it is.”
Steve isn’t patient. You know that about him. His temper is short and fierce. You like how hot he runs, love his agitated pouting and his dark-eyed scowls — he’s handsome in every expression.
He isn’t patient, but he tries. He’s kind, and if you wanted to sit and talk about the hypothetical that isn’t bothering you, he’d listen.
“I actually wanted to ask if everything was alright with you,” you say gently.
His hand wobbles, fastening the coke cap. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I’ve noticed you don’t really like Christmas.”
He smiles, and soon the smile catches, a shy lip bite that has you fighting with your hands to keep them where they hang at your sides.
“You got me.”
Steve pushes the twin glasses of coke back and then turns around, resting the small of his back against the countertop. You step in front of him without thinking, head ducked to catch and keep his eyes. They’re such a lovely brown, light and earthy, potted with white dots from the fluorescent kitchen light like falling snow as his eyes slip down. You swear, Steve is looking at your lips.
“Is there something I can do?”
It’s a terrible time to ask because you genuinely mean it, you’re not just trying to cop a feel. He doesn’t smirk or laugh as you’d thought he would, he only smiles.
“Thanks, but I’m good.” He tips his head back, criminal, neck arched and ever-enticing. “Fucking sick of this itchy straight jacket,” he groans, pulling at the collar of his sweater like he’s hot.
He is hot. You’d both benefit from a sudden winter breeze.
His head drops, eyes lit with confusion. “What? Something on my face?”
“Something,” you agree.
You look behind you to check what you’d thought you’d seen was truly there. When it is, you turn back to Steve with a feigned concern. “Here, come step into better light.”
You hurry into the doorway, frowning.
Steve frowns in turn and follows you. You give the game away without meaning to, looking up at the sprig of mistletoe pinned sloppily above you.
He sees it. He lights up. The happiest he’s looked all month, Steve scrubs a hand over his face and into his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he comes to meet you. Your stomach flips with excitement, because oh shit, he looks like he wants to kiss me.
“Butler, I’m in need of one of your finest cokes, please.”
Oh, no.
Eddie bounces into view with a certified shit-eating grin, hair decorated with tiny metallic baubles. His sweater is surprisingly normal, a black and white knitted affair with reindeer and snowflakes.
He comes to a stop beside you. “What’s happening?”
Don’t look up, don’t look up, don’t look-
“Shit, hey! Mistletoe.”
Eddie opens his arms. You sigh, to his delight, and lean in so he can give you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You try to look at Steve and find your view blocked by a mass of hair.
“Wow, sweetheart. And I thought we were friends,” Eddie says good-naturedly.
You scrunch your hand in his sweater to push him away, not unkindly. Guilt gets the better of you and you pat the place over his heart. “We are.”
He makes a kissy sound and dives in toward your neck. Startled, you squeal, stumbling away from his rabid affection and back into the kitchen. He follows, though he doesn’t try anymore kisses.
“Harrington! I wasn’t joking about the coke. Can I-“
“Help yourself,” Steve says.
He sounds miserable.
—
There isn’t time or opportunity to smooth things over with Steve that night. Actually, a week becomes two, and neither do you kiss nor talk about kissing. You want to explain to him what he probably already knows — you really had been standing there for him, hoping for a kiss, a proper kiss.
He’d looked crushed. You don’t use the word lightly. Steve looked as though somebody had stepped on his chest and pressed all of their weight against his ribs. Frazzled, unhappy. You can’t get the look out of your head, and Christmas doesn’t feel so cheerful with the gap that yawns between you, an icy crevice.
You try to explain and things get in the way. At the video store, you show up with a plate of apology cookies hoping for a second chance and suddenly the radio breaks and gets stuck blaring ‘Here Comes Santa Claus’ like a storm siren. You meet up for games night with a twig of mistletoe in your purse hoping to be a tad more brazen about it and he sits on the opposite sofa, doesn’t take any pee breaks, effectively foiling your plan with inactivity. You ask him out for hot chocolate over the phone and he can’t come.
“My parents are flying home. I gotta pick ‘em up from the airport.”
You don’t know whether he’s lying or not. His parents actually being home feels outlandish. If he is lying, he doesn’t want to see you, and if he doesn’t want to see you…
He doesn’t like you. Not the way you like him.
You worry you imagined the whole thing, his enthusiasm, his starry eyed smile.
So you’re giving it one last shot. If it doesn’t work you’ll spend your Christmas heartbroken and sulking, but if it does you might actually get to kiss him. It’s a huge thing, and your hands are shaking with more than the cold as you bump up the small step to Steve’s front door.
The green wreath hanging below the peep hole jitters as you knock, a fragrant twining of pine and cinnamon sticks.
The door opens all at once.
“Hi,” you say, biting the tip of your tongue. “Hi, I’m, uh-“
The man who’s answered, who you summarise to be Steve’s father despite never having seen him, looks disinterested. “Steve,” he calls. “One of your friends.”
He walks away with nothing else to say, a dark brown liquid lapping at the sides of his small glass. You pull the wrapped box in hand closer to your chest, shifting from one numbing foot to the other as a small tumbling sound comes from upstairs. A pair of hinges squeal, and Steve is halfway down the stairs before he’s even looked up.
He slows as he approaches the bottom.
He’s in pajamas. Sweatpants, nondescript, but his too-tight shirt clearly of the Christmas variety. A snowman smiles over his chest.
“It’s laundry day,” he says.
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t go out with you-“
“Steve,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“Is that… for me?”
The box in your hands is wrapped modestly. You hadn’t wanted to shove Christmas down his throat, trading reds and greens for a shiny silver paper pressed with fine glitter snowflakes.
“Yeah. It’s for you.”
Steve stares at you. You stare back.
“I’d invite you in, but…” He shakes his head. “Let me get my coat.”
Steve doesn’t close the door, to his father’s annoyance, deep grumbling echoing from the kitchen area. You watch him shove his socked feet into a pair of sneakers and scramble to grab his coat and a scarf.
“Okay?” he asks, stepping out onto the path and closing the door behind him.
You don’t answer, distracted by his hands suddenly held up, the scarf thrown neatly around your neck. He does a single knot and tucks it under your jaw. “Awesome,” he says.
You walk down his street. Hawkins is half woods, and soon you’re weaving between naked trees, no destination in mind, not one unspoken feeling acknowledged between you.
“Why do you hate Christmas?”
It’s just dark enough for Steve’s clouded breath to show against the sky. “I don’t,” he says.
Your footsteps break over leaves so frosted they crackle.
“I mean, I guess I do,” he says. “I don’t know. I think I want it to be better than it is.” He stops under a tree that’s clinging to its last handful of leaves and gives a low-hanging branch a playful shake. “I never enjoyed it, as a kid. Or, I don’t remember. I’m sure I liked it when I was still snot-nosed.”
“So, last year?”
He chuckles warmly. “Exactly.”
You walk a little further, too awkward to hand him his gift.
“I don’t hate it. But it’s cold, and everyone’s rushing, and the bad outweighs the good.” He sounds tired.
He breaks your heart like that.
You stop walking and Steve takes your cue, the two of you toe-to-toe, your sneakers dirty, his socks odd. One white and one grey.
“I got you this because… um, I have something to tell you. I don’t think I can say it out loud, but- but I hope it adds something to the scale.” You extend the box slowly, your fingers stiff with the cold. “You deserve some good. You deserve a lot of good.”
You laugh, flustered, and Steve joins in, chest lifting with it as he accepts his gift.
He rips off the wrapping paper, at first carefully and then less so, shoving little pieces into his pocket as he goes. You take the bigger scraps from him so he can look at the box itself.
Your gift is actually multiple gifts contained inside, and the first isn't technically a gift at all. The Family Video copy of The Christmas Star.
"Is this-"
"I've been meaning to give it back to you. I'm sorry, I know it's not a real gift, I just figured- I mean, you've never seen it. I thought we should watch it, and that you'd like it if you did. Or maybe you'll hate it, and that would be fine too."
He nods and moves to the next gift, lips twitching with an emotion he won't share.
"That's your size, hopefully. I asked Robin but she didn't know. I kept the receipt."
Steve smiles at you. "Would you hold this?" he asks.
You put your hands out and take the box back, worried, but he's only unzipping his coat. Quick as a flash he's shrugging into the sweater head first. It's a simple thing, red wool, soft to touch. A Christmas sweater, though there's no decoration beside a tiny holly leaf embroidered at the collar in dark green.
"This is fucking sweet," he says.
You agree. He looks good.
A shiver racks his spine.
"Put your coat back on, you're gonna freeze," you say gently.
He beams at you. "My dead body will be the best dressed in the morgue."
"Don't joke about that!"
He laughs and gets back into his coat, zip right up to his neck. He still looks cold.
The third present is a gingerbread house kit. The fourth, a sprig of mistletoe. They're obvious now the sweaters in action, and Steve seems mildly confused by them. You leap to explain.
"I thought, I mean- I want a do-over." You tilt your cheek toward your shoulder, scared and fond at the same time. "I wanted you to kiss me. I think you wanted to kiss me, and then Eddie," — you laugh loudly, cheeks burning with the cold — "was being himself. And Steve, I brought that stupid plant with me to Robin's house last week hoping we'd be alone, and to work the week before. But you're hard to pin down."
You take a deep breath before continuing, eyes determined at his collar, "If you don't want to kiss me, that's okay. That's why I brought the gingerbread house, because ours was awesome before it fell apart, and I'm pretty sure Robin gave us a dud on purpose. We made something really cool together, and I think we can do it again."
"I did want to kiss you. I do."
You bite the inside of your lip, nose scrunched up in happiness. "You do?" you ask, and there's this feeling in your chest like you could burst, and all the cold shrinks into nothing. You're warm in your arms, your fingers, your fingertips.
His hand comes up to his face briefly, shielding his eyes. "Am I obvious?"
"Am I?"
His exhale tickles your cheeks. "No," he says breathlessly. "No, you're not."
He says it like it's a good thing. A great thing.
"Everybody else knows," you say similarly.
"I know."
He brings a hand to your cheek. It's cold, cold as your face, but he still winces and rubs at the apple with his thumb. "You're freezing," he says as he inches forward.
His lips are warm. More gentle than you'd imagined, hesitant, and the box you're holding stops him from getting as close as you want him to get. He kisses you once, then he pulls away and kisses you again, his lips slightly parted.
It's better than you'd thought it would be. His palm stroking your cheek, the pressure, the heat. Knowing he wants to kiss you now as he wanted to then.
"No fucking way," he says, tilting his head back.
You tip your head back too. Something wet falls in your eyelashes, a drop of rain.
Not rain. "It's fucking snowing," Steve says.
It's snowing. Because it's Christmas, and the powers that be are on your side.
"Happy Christmas, Harrington," you say jovially.
You're given another kiss in reward. Reward, or to shut you up. You're not sure.
—
Steve is impartial to Christmas. He doesn't want to get into it but he will, because you love it.
The snow — the snow, which had fallen thick and fine as powdered sugar, which you adore, and which makes coming to see you in the days leading up to Christmas near impossible. It's something out of a movie, Steve, seriously, and you need to appreciate what's happening.
The music you play when he comes to see you, records on your record player and cassettes in your tape deck lying on your chest, knee to knee and thigh to thigh with him. Your quiet humming; you won't sing, but the small sounds alone are enough to make him want to kiss you (though everything does now). He can't hate Here Comes Santa Claus when you hum along under your breath, lips skipping over the skin of his bicep, your hand scratching a rhythm into his hair.
Everybody knows Santa's coming, I don't see why they have to have a whole song about it.
Are you jealous? I'll write a song about you. Or maybe I can steal one. You ever hear Santa baby? We can make it Stevie baby.
Christmas music? Not his thing. You calling him baby? Fine, he can get behind it. At least until January.
Christmas sweaters! He fucking hates them. They're ugly, they're scary, he doesn't wanna walk around with a pom pom on his chest thank you so much, but he has to allow them. Has to. If only so he can watch you get dressed with one eye hidden in your pillow and the other wide open. Thank little baby Jesus in the manger for Christmas sweaters so you have something to tuck into your skirt, so you have a reason to wear a skirt at all, and a reason to take one off.
Christmas snacks he can get behind. Or, he can get behind this. You on the couch, a needle threaded in your hand. A bowl of popcorn in his lap, and your face as you lean back.
He throws a kernel and it lands in your open mouth.
You both holler, twin expressions of unadulterated joy, popcorn spilling over the sides of the bowl. You just look so happy, he climbs on knees to steal a kiss. A smiling kiss, the very best kind.
"Aren't you supposed to do this stuff before Christmas eve?" he asks.
"I've been a little busy."
Steve digs his face into your neck so you won't see him blushing, hands curling around your waist in an impromptu hug. Yes, he supposes you have been.
You kiss his temple sweetly.
"Merry Christmas," he murmurs. He really, really means it.
❆
thanks for reading! im so out of practice but hopefully this is okay!! i meant to post it yesterday but anyhow, i hope you enjoyed <3
#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x reader fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington fic#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things#christmas#reader celebrates christmas#christmas centric#stranger things 4#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction
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𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 - 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤 𝐬𝐳𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐥𝐚𝐢
• 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: ��𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫.
𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐬.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲.
He'd returned home from the celebration, Liverpool had won the Premier League which had completed their quadruple dream - and he couldn't have been more elated, this was everything he could have asked for and then some, his phone had been buzzing with texts messages from old friends and family members — yet despite all of that, despite the elation coursing through his veins, he never forgot her.
Even more so, upon his phone vibrating to remind him that on this very day — both of them had went on their very first day following a lifetime of denial due to their close knit friendship.
__
The pair were at the local carnival enjoying the festive atmosphere when he decided to try and win her the teddy bear.
" Domi! " She giggles at his failed attempt at throwing the ball at the target. " That’s not how you do it "
He shot her a glare, " Then you try! " he grumbles.
She grabs the ball, aligning her aim to throw the ball until it perfectly hit the target, he looks at her in bewilderment. " How did you do it? "
A coy smile adorns her lips, " I had some practice "
__
A ponderous sigh escapes his lips, it’d been two years since their split; as much as he tried to move forward — pretend as though his ache has lessened, just the mere the thought of her was enough to send him on a rollercoaster ride of arduously moving emotions.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone vibrating, he averts his gaze downwards to see the screen flashing with a name, her name — she was calling him.
He’s quick to press the ‘answer’ button, placing the device on his ear. " Hello " he says with a shaky voice.
" Domi " Her soft familiar voice envelops him like a blanket on a cold night.
" Baba " He breathes out with a soft smile. " I can’t believe you called "
She giggles and he could have sworn his heart nearly escaped his rib cage — " How can I not call Domi? you’re a Premier League champion, I’m so proud of you "
His heart thuds rapidly at the revelation that she might have seen the match. " You … you uh .. you watched the match? " he whispers as he stood near the window, his gaze shifting towards the clear sky.
" Of course I did " She responds with a soft tone. " I couldn’t miss it for the world … I’ve seen every match you participated in — I was even " she paused before murmuring softly. " I was in the stadium when you won the Europa League "
His eyes widen, his mind drawing back to the very day, Liverpool had won the Europa League trophy. " You were there? why didn’t you …? " the question remains incomplete as he hoped she’d understood him.
A soft sigh escapes her lips as she says, " I was scared, figured you’d forgotten about me "
He chuckles softly, a hint of dejection lurking underneath. " Baba, of all my accolades in football … none of that truly mattered, when I had lost you in the process "
She’s quick to respond, " Domi, it wasn’t your fault … you had no choice "
He groans, " You’re always so fucking forgiving, if I hadn’t listened to my father " he sighs softly.
" Domi " She interjects with a soft and a deep tone. " I know that your father’s intervention wasn’t at all … the best, but hey, you got to do what you love, break free from his hold "
Tears brim in the corners of his eyes, dejection surfacing through his words as he says, " But at what cost? I lost you "
" Domi, you never lost me "
That one simple phrase was enough to silence the voices in his mind for now, " But you’re still in Paris, and I’m here "
" I have about two years left of my studies and you’re thriving in Liverpool, the holidays are coming up " She says with a soft tone full of hope. " We can meet again "
He smiles softly, watching as the stars twinkle up in the sky. " Promise not to laugh if I start crying? "
She giggles, " I can’t make any promises "
A wave of comfortable silence falls between them before he breaks it by saying, " Baba? "
" Hm? " She hums softly.
" I love you to the moon, never forget " He murmurs an all too familiar phrase.
" And I love you … see you soon " She says.
" See you soon " He says.
The moment he ends the call, a few stray tears escape, rolling down his cheeks as he looks at the stars in the sky — his mind drawing back yet another memory, a joyful memory.
__
She runs up to him, an excited expression decorating her features — " Guess what? "
He grins in amusement, wiping the sweat off of his forehead. " What? "
" I submitted my drawing to the contest and they accepted it it — I’m gonna participate " She squealed in pure elation.
He tugs her close for a warm embrace, pressing soft pecks on her forehead. " I’m so proud of you baba " he whispers.
She looks up to meet his soft gaze, full of pride and unconditional love. " I wouldn’t have done it without your love Domi, thank you "
He beams in response, chuckling when she buried her face in his chest. " I love you baba, never forget "
__
And they never forgot their love.
#dominik szoboszlai#dominik szoboszlai x reader#dominik szoboszlai one shot#dominik szoboszlai blurb#dominik szoboszlai angst#dominik szoboszlai fluff
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And I Am Left Here Withering
"Can this day get any worse?" Joel had asked.
The universe responded yes, three different times, each response more heartbreaking than the last.
Joel would've preferred the universe proving him wrong.
word count: 1250
ao3 link
The first thing Joel heard was an explosion.
And his first instinct was to look up. Needless to say, he hadn’t completely moved on from Skynet and the TNT minecart traps. But no TNT could be spotted, thankfully. He didn’t think anybody would risk their hearts by creating a Skynet 3.0.
His second instinct was to assume that it was the Wither. If only he knew how badly that would come back to bite him later on.
His third instinct was to check his communicator, in case someone died. He didn’t see any lightning flash in the sky, which he thought was weird.
Joel pulled out his communicator, just in case he missed something, and—
Oh.
Oh, no.
For a moment, he thought he was experiencing déjà vu. He gritted his teeth and he tightened his grip on the communicator, nearly destroying it. Hot red blood pumped through his veins, speeding up his heart rate and he thought he was going to go snap. Joel behaved this way when Jimmy died first in Limited Life. When he had failed to sacrifice himself for him.
But there were two major differences this time: 1) Joel wasn’t a red name (yet); and 2) it was Lizzie who died first.
He blinked rapidly. Once, twice, five times, because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He didn’t even see the death message in the chat. Does anybody even know what’s happened to her?
Joel sent a few messages, alerting everyone of Lizzie’s sudden departure. He was right: nobody knew what happened and responded with shock. Jimmy responded with happiness.
Joel wanted to be angry at Jimmy’s inconsiderate response but he couldn’t be. For the first time since these games started, Jimmy wasn’t the first one out. He remembered the last game. Joel wanted to sacrifice himself for Jimmy, he wanted so badly to free him from that cycle. And he failed.
He failed and he went insane and it ended up being his downfall.
Joel was happy for Jimmy, he really was. However, it was difficult to express his happiness considering the news he just received.
He had a suspicion that Scott was somehow involved in Lizzie’s death and that just made him feel even worse. Because, like the idiot he was, Joel just had to send his wife to kill Scott. He didn’t see lightning in the sky, so she didn’t even die in the overworld.
He remembers Lizzie telling Joel that she’d lure Scott into the End and try to push him into the void. Now it only seemed reasonable to assume that Lizzie fell into the void instead. Joel would’ve felt better if Lizzie dragged Scott down with her.
So, Lizzie was dead, Jimmy was celebrating, and Joel was craving vengeance even more than before. Though he failed his task, he would kill Scott. He was only a yellow name for now. And, there was a somewhat bright side: the canary could finally escape the mines.
—----------------------------
Unfortunately, the canary could not escape a warden and a Wither. At the same place. At the exact same time.
Joel, trying to calm down after hearing about Lizzie’s death, was killing some zombies. Mainly for experience, but also because mobs were the only things Joel could legally kill. Then, a series of explosions and some muffled shouting could be heard on the surface. Now, this has to be the Wither, he thought. Secretly, Joel hoped he would be wrong.
But when went up to the surface, he found that he was, unfortunately, 100% correct. A Wither was flying in the dark sky, hot on Scar’s heels and firing skulls at him. The fact that Scar was still alive and not taking any wither damage was pretty remarkable. If only he wasn’t luring the bloody Wither to Joel.
So Joel had to run from Scar and the Wither, hoping they’d both leave him alone. As he ran, Joel wanted to say “could things get any more chaotic?”
And then he saw a warden chasing Etho.
Apparently, the universe felt “bad” for always proving Joel wrong so it wanted to prove him right for once. He’d rather be wrong for the rest of his life.
He just wanted to breathe for a moment and collect himself. But obviously, the universe can’t let him catch a break.
Lightning flashed in the sky and Joel felt his already-fracturing heart crumble into pieces. He didn’t want to check his communicator, he just didn’t want to because he didn’t know if he could handle the truth. He saw Tango pull out his communicator, shock written all over his face. And Joel just had to look over and see—
“JIMMY!”
Once again, he felt his sanity slipping. He was already in a horrible state but to lose his wife and his best friend, barely ten minutes apart from each other… Joel wanted to curse this world and its twisted sense of humor.
Tears stung Joel’s eyes and his breathing became more ragged. This wasn’t happening, this wasn’t happening. He nearly fell to his knees in despair but he knew he had to keep running. And, as if the universe wasn’t already having a blast, Joel heard Grian scream.
“Mumbo, LEAVE!” Grian cried, followed by a flash of lightning and Grian screaming Mumbo’s name in distress.
If Joel had any sanity left in him, it had disintegrated the moment the second lightning bolt struck. The only reason why he was still keeping himself together was because he wasn’t red, and the bloodlust hadn’t kicked in. Never has he wanted to be red so badly, to hurt someone and get revenge and take out the rest of this bloody world.
How could he lose three of the people he cared about in rapid succession? Lizzie died trying to kill Scott (the fact that Joel was responsible for it left a horrible taste in his mouth); Jimmy couldn’t run from the warden fast enough; and Joel barely even got to know Mumbo and he was already gone. They barely had any time to spend together because of the stupid task mechanics that separated the Mounders more than it brought them together.
He had surpassed his breaking point. He wasn’t even red but he tasted blood in his mouth and his heart was pounding in his ears.
(Everyone he loved had withered away but Joel was still here. But he didn’t know if he wanted to be here.)
—----------------------------
The Wither was defeated but that didn’t mean shit to Joel. Not when it felt like he’d lost everything.
Part of him wanted to wither away as well. But that would mean giving up. Joel was a lot of things but he sure as hell wasn’t a quitter.
Skizz told Joel to win for Lizzie. Well, Joel was going to take it a few steps further and win for Lizzie, Jimmy, and Mumbo. He’d rise above this somehow.
Exhausted and on the verge of tears, Joel walked back to his fairground, clutching a wither rose in his hand. He doesn't remember when or why he picked it up, but holding the stem gave him a little bit of stability. He couldn’t tell if he was bleeding from the withering effect, the thorns in the rose, or from his nails digging into his palms but it didn’t bother him. He had more important things to worry about, such as finding a way to kill Scott.
In the end, the florist could only send regards to himself.
#꒰☆彡꒱— karma speaks#꒰➳꒱— writings#secret life spoilers#secret life#trafficblr#trafficsmp#life series smp#secret life fanfic#smallishbeans#joel smallishbeans#(others are mentioned but i wont tag them here)#so... session 6 was something wasnt it?#(title from unraveling by the crane wives)#i was thinking how much the song fitted joel in this session + how he responded to the deaths
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GOLDEN HORIZONS AND BOLD TIDES
Hey guys! You remember my update about my Goldenheart Little mermaid fic that's been discontinued because I don't like the summary I made and that I'm gonna rewrite it in a different plot? Well I am while collabing with @long-distance-muse we've come up with some HC/Summary and stuff before the actuall fic cause why not (＾＾)人(＾＾)
HERE ARE SOME HEADCANONS/SUMMARY
• Valerin Adopted Bal when he was 2 years old, since his parents were killed that time and the incident gave him a scar on his face which makes him a prince of the merfolk kingdom
• Bal is a curious mer since forever, quite and shy yet he had an enchanting voice that would make anyone fall for him.
• Valerin would often tell stories of the world above from her point of view cause she knew how curious Bal is, and he loves hearing them.
• Merfolks below 16 are allowed to go above the surface if their acompanied by anyone above 16 which is the age of their adulthood.
• A merfolks life span is up to 300 years but when a human and a mers lips joined together for the first time, a mers lifespan would be cut into 200 and the human's lifespan would be the same.
• Merfolks would began to age really slowly when they reach 20 and so would a human if the 2 would kiss.
• When merfolks die their body dissolves into seafoam after their last breath and left what they last wore during their deaths.
• Bal own a garden where his most colorful flowers are gathered together of a circle like the sun.
• When Bal was 13 the noticed the guards brought home a statue of a young man around his age or maybe a year older and it was a head till it's chest.
• Bal somehow was mesmerized by it's young and handsome face, so he ask Valerin to keep the staue as a display for his garden and placed it in the center of the flowerbed and stare at it all day.
• Bal was also known for staring above, when the seas were calm, he would perch himself on a rock and stare upward for hours, watching the dim and distant star, lost in his own thoughts.
• On his 16th birthday the first thing he saw were the fireworks blasting off with different bright colors and stars in the sky so he sat on the nearest rock to gaze at it all night till the morning.
• A while after that night he found Nimona when she was in their shark form when he was collecting human items and together they would explore shipwrecks for human items.
• Nimona could have been adopted but prefer to be his Ward and Bal just accepts it.
• Nimona's still a shapeshifter and mistreated but the humans so she fled to the sea and decided to have her signature form as a mershark.
• At the age of 20, when Bal and Nimona went to the surface he spotted a ship with so many lights and music playing with the fireworks launching at the sky.
• Bal and Nimona reached the lifeboats to get a closer look, and from Bal's pov, he was amazed from the sight, so much joy, laughter, lanters glowing bright and music playing beautifuly with crafted instruments, and people were celebrating.
• But what caught his attention was him, Ambrosius, a Noble from a long bloodline of Knights, the center of attention and the man from his statue that must have grown.
• His heart was fluttered for he could not take his eyes of Ambrosius not even Nimona's voice can stop him.
• Soon a great big storm came, damaging everything from the ship, people panicked as Bal and Nimona got off the boats cause the humans are about to escape.
• Ambro wasn't able to reach the surface as he was drowning, Bal knew he was gonna die and had to save him and swim as fast as he can.
• The storm had calm while sun rose at it's peak, as Bal place Ambro laying down on the sand.
• For a moment Bal couldn't help but gaze at Ambro, his scaley hand carrassing his strong strucured face.
• He slowly placed a soft kiss in his forehead, breathing as Ambro had slowly opened his heavy eyelids halfway through but closes them again.
• Suddenly Bal heard footsteps of running and some shouting, meaning humans are coming so he heads back to the water as fast as he could and hid himself behind the rock.
• As the humans ran towards Ambro, they immediently carried his unconcoius body as Bal watches over while hiding.
• As he swam back to the sea, he couldn't stop thinking about the night he saved Ambro, how he first caught an eye on him and gaze into him.
• Every night he swims to the same shore where he dropped him off, sat on the rock on the shore, watches over Ambro sitting on the balcony as the moon shines bright, wandering on who saved him.
• He was desperate to tell Ambro that it was Bal who saved him and desperate to become human.
• He had no choice but to seek the sea witch as Nimona carefully and quietly follows him.
• Once he enters it's home, the seawitch didn't show her face but only it's eyes and tentacles.
• Bal asked and begged the witch to become human and so the witch agrees to do so.
• She warns him that if he gains true loves kiss with Ambro, before the morning after a year of being human, he'll have the ability to become human and merman anytime he wants, but if he doesn't he'll die and turns into seafoam.
• She also warns him that every step he takes would feel like he's walking on knives and broken glass.
• The seawitch reminds him that her offer isn't free since he must pay the price and that price would be 2 things he owns: his Arm and his tounge.
• So Bal accepts the offer as he lets the witch cuts his arm off and his tounge with her tentacles.
• After giving his tounge and arm to the seawitch, she immediently gathered everything to make the potion.
• Before handed the bottle to Bal once she's done, she also reminded him that he has to drink it on land before sunrise, and once he drinks it he'll feel the pain as if a swords pierce right through his body.
• Once Bal left the seawitch with the bottle he held onto, Nimona swam towards him begging him not to do this cause she doesn't want to lose him, his kissed her forehead and continues to swam up to the surface.
• Once he reaches the land, while the moon is at it's peak, he instantly drank the potion till it's empty, he groaned as if a knife plunged through him then his body collapsed as everything went to darkness.
• When Bal wakes up, the first thing he saw was Ambro looking at him, asking his name, and if he's alright, but since Bal couldn't speak, he stayed silent.
• Bal is taken in by an enchanted Ambrosius who feels a strange inclination to the mysterious stranger.
• He gets cleaned up and dressed in finery, which is when Nimona sneaks in and chews him out since Queen Valerin is worried and they’re mad that he just left them despite her asking not to leave them too (could be used to set up conflict on a sequel) but they ultimately understand how love can make people do stupid things so she lends her help as long as Bal doesn’t do anything stupid like turn into seafoam.
• In his rooms which Ambro gave Bal to rest in, he was trying to practice walking, it was hard and painful at first due to the seawitch's warning, but he learns to get ignore her and gotten used to walking more.
• Bal haves dinner with Ambs and they get to know each other better. Ambs starts theorizing that Bal might be royal because of his etiquette, wit and hopes so cause he down bad right now.
• The next day, they go on a date in the village, and they accidentally cause a scene where Bal’s feet hurt too much that he collapses and Ambs catches him. But that makes the hood he wears fall down, revealing that the noble was in town with a stranger.
• This makes it to the director, who is a guest who was staying with the insistence of Amb’s parents to help them set him up for a political marriage that would increase their political power while making Ambs happy. But the director just wanted another noble in the palm of her hands.
• For almost a year, the Director starts sabotaging their hangouts and tries to constantly embarrass Bal to the point that he is ‘commoner’, there are rare times that her plan worked but most of them didn't.
• Nimona catches on to her plan and informs Bal, who goes toe to toe with the director in the court.
• Ambs sees Bal in his element, and realizes that it was Bal who saved him from the storm, he wants to marry him whether he’s a noble or a commoner.
• Director realizes that the stranger is more of a threat than she realizes, so she switches tactics and instead of trying to chase him out, resolves to kill him.
• Nim, Bal, and Ambs notice and react differently. Nim tries to find a solution to bring Bal back to the sea where he’s safer. Bal starts second guessing because of one trap where Nimona got hurt in. and Ambrosius realizes that the person he loves is in danger and resolves to confront and stop the director before she kills him.
• Ambs confronts the director and is backed into a corner of either he marries the woman she arranges for him or his lover dies and he agrees to save Bal, and Bal overhears that Ambs agreed to marry another and is heartbroken.
• Looking for Nimona to make sure they go back safely and to turn into seafoam from despair.
• For the afternoon till sunset, he sat on a rock at the shore thinking about his death, and for the first time now as a human, tears from his eyes had shed down through his face from all the pain and suffering he's in, all of those sacrifices for nothing.
• Nimona finds Ballister in tears, learns about what happened, and shows him the dagger that she trades her hair for the seawitch, and tells him that he can return to a merman if he just draws Amb’s blood.
• Bal is conflicted but he doesn’t wanna leave Nimona alone with all the hair they have given up for (cause death is significantly harder to arrange visits for) and hides the dagger under his pillow.
• Ambs bursts in, sees Nimona and Bal, Nimona shifts and hides behind Bal and Ambs is afraid. Now Bal realizes he truly has to pick between the sea and land.
• Bal shields Nimona behind him and approaches Ambs, hugging him sadly before leading him to his bed. He beckons Nimona closer.
• Nimona explains situation, Ambs shares his side, lovers realize they can’t be together and Ambs takes the knife and lightly drags it over his heart, just enough to cause blood to spill on Bal.
• Bal faints from the pain of transforming again then lands on Amb's arms, he carries his body to the sea, where Queen Valerin waits for them after Nimona spilled the beans.
• Bal spent the next few weeks in his room in sadness thinking how he never got to say goodbye to Ambro, that 2 worlds can't be together, and most importantly that he trade his tounge, his arm for nothing, forever will he spent the rest of his 300 years of living in silence, but alteast he'll keep his memories of him.
• Valerin ensuing shovel talk and slight respect for the human who cared enough for her son to agree to a loveless marriage.
• Not only Ambro's parents find out the Director's plan but also that Bal was a merman and it was him that saved Ambro, and gave him their blessings immediently.
• Ambs sets Bal down and kisses him on the lips, magic sparkles, Bal got his voice back and finally can now be human-merman.
• Val is impressed by the power of their love and grants Ambs the power to turn into a merman, his life span would extend into 200 years with Bal and offers them to wed in the oceanic courts.
• They wed, kiss, all the wedding night stuff if you’re into that and officially adopt Nimona.
• Head back to land the next day to a fuming Director, shows off the wedding rings, Queen Val shows up in her ocean queen glory and demands the director’s arrest for threatening her heir.
The redesign of Merman Bal is coming soon along with some art and more. But right now enjoy on this list that me and the amazing @long-distance-muse made together
(This is a mixture of the Hans Christian Anderson, Disney and some little inspiration of @mvjerbs Prince Ballister AU)
#ballister boldheart#nimona#ambrolister#ballister blackheart#ballister x ambrosius#ballsius#goldenheart#little mermaid#au#mermaid#merman
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Bouquet of the Frontiers - Wyll Week One Shot
Wyll Week Day 2 - Flowers
This is my entry to the Wyll Week Fanworks event that's running from 3rd-9th March - Please take a look at the other wonderful entries!
It's the night of the Tiefling Party, and despite being a true hero and helping keep all of them safe, Wyll finds it difficult to join the merrymaking. He chooses a quiet spot by the water, away from the noise and celebration, reflecting on everything that's happened in the last tenday. His friends, however, don't want to let him sit out there alone. One by one they drop by, giving him gifts that mean more than they first appear.
---
Click Here to read on AO3
5,701 words
Spoilers
Act 1 only.
Canon Compliance
The party is canon, most of the rest isn't. Though all of the flowers are real, and the symbolism matches mostly to modern European interpretations.
Other Notes
I'll include pictures of all the different flowers at the end of the piece!
Mood/Song
Life is a Flower by Ace of Base
"When every race is run
And the day is closing in
I don't care about the world
I'm living for the light
Don't cry for me today' ah ah ah
We live in a free world
I whistle down the wind
Carry on smiling
And the world will smile with you
Life is a flower
So precious in your hand
Carry on smiling
And the world will smile with you"
-----
FULL ONE SHOT FIC BELOW THE CUT
-----
Bouquet of the Frontiers
The sounds of the celebrations were filling the camp. Songs and laughter, drinks raised, stories swapped between old friends and new ones. But for Wyll… It was all a little too much, at least for now. He slipped away not long after the first bottle was opened, taking a lesser vintage for himself and a few pieces of simple food from the table.
It was quieter to sit by the water’s edge, looking out at the moonlight reflecting on the rippling surface, grateful that it wasn’t mirror-smooth to show his reflection. He subconsciously reached up and touched his horns, pulling back in an instant as if he had touched a heated pot on the stove. His head ached, still unused to the balance of extra weight curling around and back;, the horns themselves were sensitive at times, too.
Everything had changed. Again.
Wyll had just about accepted his fate in leaving his home behind and taking up the mantle of the hero, stepping in to help the refugees from Elturel the moment he found them after escaping the grasp of the mindflayers. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, though. Or in this case, out of Avernus and into the pitfalls of a contract written by one who stretched the truth to its limits.
He didn’t regret it, not for a second. The loud laughter booming from the Tiefling woman in the middle of the party was a comfort. He would gladly accept the torture of feeling his entire body being transformed before killing Karlach, who was a victim of the Blood War as much as he was. She was having fun. Laughing, smiling, making friends with anyone who took long enough to realise she was more than she appeared to be on the surface. The irony of the thought escaped him as he continued to fret over his own changed looks.
“He looks sad.” The voice of one of the children - he couldn’t remember which - broke him out of his thoughts.
“Come on, quickly!” Several more followed, giggling, the sound of small footsteps carrying mischief quickly came closer.
“Now hold on just a moment-” Wyll tried to stop them, though he feared reaching out in case one of them got hurt.
“Nope!”
“Not gonna!”
“Come on, Mister, you’ll look nice!”
The group of them were working like a terrifyingly efficient team, leaping and scampering around him, weaving vines around his horns before taking his hands and pulling him to his feet.
“Careful, I don’t want to-” They cut him off again with their giggling, as the vine wove around his outfit, each of the children swapping around to dance with him as he was wrapped and decorated. “What is all this?”
“You weren’t at the party.”
“So we brought the party to you!”
“You look pretty…”
Wyll couldn’t help but laugh. “Pretty? The stone eyed monster is pretty now?”
“Mmhmm.” The children nodded, all in agreement with their assessment.
“Thank you, I think.” He patted each of them on the head in turn, a little regretful that he didn’t have any treats to give them.
“Alright, tiny soldiers, hup hup!” Karlach appeared with a beaming smile, ordering her small army to line up with sharp salutes. “At ease, now go on back to the party - Gale and Rolan said they’re going to do some magic tricks soon!”
“Magic’s a bit boring…”
“Everyone will be distracted though, not looking at their pockets.”
“Oooh! You’re right!”
Before either of the adults could stop them, the miscreants scampered off back to the main party, giggling and conspiring with one another as they went. “Are you sure it’s safe to let them go pickpocketing?” Wyll raised an eyebrow towards Karlach, but her smile didn’t fade.
“Oh, they’ll be just fine! Didn’t you get into a little trouble at their age? Or were you running around with a pot lid and spoon playing the hero to stuffed toys?” She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow.
“I didn’t go around stealing from anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.” He sighed a moment, taking a seat back on the fallen log he’d been on before. “Sorry, Karlach, I’m not the best company right now. Go on and enjoy the party, please - don’t stay out here on my account.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” She took a seat nearby, leaving enough space to not worry about an accidental touch burning him. “So, what’s eating you? Is it the horns? Gods, they’re a pain sometimes.”
Wyll watched her as she talked a mile a minute, the brightness of her eyes never dulled, her gestures adding to the feeling of how passionate she was as she spoke.
Karlach pointed to the stump of her horn, rough from the break. “When I first lost this one, gods it was so hard to get used to. My balance was off for weeks! And I kept reaching up or ducking through doorways on that side like it was still there - ridiculous, right?”
“No, not ridiculous at all.” He looked at her with concern. “Does it still hurt?”
“Come on, Wyll, that was meant to make you smile at least a little!” She poked the stump of her horn. “I feel it, a little, but less and less with time. Part of my devilish charm now, might as well own it.”
“You’re not a devil, Karlach.” He looked deep into her eyes, the softness in them clearer than ever as she blinked, perplexed. “I wish I had seen that sooner.”
“No use dwelling on the past, soldier. Plenty more problems ahead to kick us in the arse all over again.” She looked over his shoulder for a moment, leaning around and plucking something from the bushes behind him. “Well, will you look at that. Just like us!”
The flower she quickly placed in his hand - before it could char in her grip - was strangely familiar. The centre of the blossom was a large pale yellow petal that curved in an almost egg-like shape, with a hole like an open hood in the middle. At one end of the oval, there were three dark burgundy petals, one rounded and curled, but the other two were thin and twisting, curled out to the sides-
“Just like our horns.” She repeated, quieter this time, her eyes fixed on the delicate bloom. “Well, you’re already decorated with leaves, why not add that one too?”
“An infernal flower for a cursed fiend?” He contemplated it, hesitating until she corrected him.
“Enough of that. You know already, don’t you - it’s not what we look like that makes us who we are. Besides, it’s pretty, right? So it suits you.” Karlach patted him on the shoulder, standing up to leave again. “I’ll leave you to it, but you know they’d love to see you. Out there. Where the actual party is.”
“I’ll…” He paused, looking at the flower once more before tucking the stem into his hair at the base of his horn. “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Karlach.”
“Don’t mention it, soldier!” She beamed, smile brighter than the moon, tail swishing behind her with a spring in her step as she left him to his thoughts for a while.
He didn’t have long to himself before another voice cut through the bubble of quiet by the water. “So this is where you’ve been? And you took the good wine, I see.” Wyll turned to see Shadowheart approaching, empty chalice in hand and a wry smile. “Mind sharing a drop?”
“I’m sure they have a better vintage back there.” He said, even as he was picking up the bottle to top up her goblet as well as his own.
“Maybe.” She replied, already taking a seat beside him. “But then you’d be out here on your own, wouldn’t you?”
“You don’t need to be here on my account.” He countered, watching her expression for any clue as to what she was really thinking. The cleric kept everything close to her chest, so it was hard to tell what she really wanted.
“You don’t need to be so suspicious - Karlach mentioned you might be getting some headaches from your…situation.” She gestured to his horns, pulling a couple of herbs from her pack. “The wine certainly won’t help with that, not by morning anyway. So take these, and make them into a tea. Consider the drink as payment, if you must.” A wry smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, cheer up, Wyll. They’re celebrating all of us, you know.”
“I feel more like a decoration than a guest right now.” He gestured to the new adornments to his outfit.
“So you do.” She smiled, reaching back into a pouch at her side and drawing out a stem of large violet flowers. “Do not touch this one with your bare hands, and definitely don’t get it near your food.”
“You’re giving me poison?” Wyll leaned back involuntarily as her gloved hand came closer with the plant.
“It’s not poison if you treat it with care.” She took a little of the vine that was around his right horn and wrapped it gently around the blossoms, being cautious to secure the stem without damaging them. “Call it…a reminder. That even though something might be dangerous, it can also be quite beautiful.” She wiped her glove carefully with a clean cloth, rinsing with a little water from her flask.
“Are you still talking about the flowers?” He took a sip of his wine as he watched her stand.
“Maybe,” she smirked. “Hold still.” She laid her bare hand on his forehead for a moment, a wave of cooling and soothing magic washing through him, the dull throb at the base of his horns melting away, and even a few lingering bruises from the day’s battles healing in an instant.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Wyll looked up at her, trying to find the right words for gratitude but falling somewhat short.
“No, I didn’t. But I wanted to.” Shadowheart began to walk away without leaving a chance for him to reply, though she did call back over her shoulder. “Thanks for the wine, Wyll. Perhaps next time we can share more time with it as well.”
—
The next voice to disturb the peace carried a familiar lyrical quality. “Wyll, darling, why are you out here all by your lonesome? No dance partner catch your eye for the evening?”
He looked up to see the owner of the voice sauntering over, carrying with him half a bottle of wine and a few white flowers. “Not you as well - is this entire camp determined to turn me into a bouquet?”
“And what would be wrong with that?” Astarion grinned, a hint of sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Have you forgotten the old tradition of fair maidens giving flowers to their gallant knights on the eve of battle?”
“You’re not a maiden, it’s not the eve of battle - it’s the night after it - and I’m hardly a knight.” Wyll argued, though he made no move to get up or leave as the pale elf began to place the blossoms at different points on his outfit.
“Oh, details, details. Does it matter? They suit you.” Astarion took a couple more moments to check the positions of the flowers, before standing back with a satisfied nod to himself. “And you, my dear warlock, have plenty of the qualities of a knight. Heroic, chivalrous, and that dreadful habit of being all too ready to throw yourself onto the sword to save someone else’s sorry hide.”
“We all have a duty to protect those who are weaker than us, to stand up for what’s right.” Wyll sat up a little straighter, feeling the slight swell of an older pride stirring in his chest. “You would do well to remember that, yourself, sometimes.”
“Perish the thought - no, I’ll leave the good deeds to you, darling. The whole shining armour thing never suited me anyway. Clashes terribly with my complexion.” He ran his fingers through his hair for a moment for emphasis on the last part, smoothing it to just the way he preferred his waves to fall. “It suits you, though. Better than that stern look, at least.”
“It’s never too late to change, Astarion.” The warlock tried to appeal to the vampire’s better nature - if he had one. The man didn’t seem entirely evil, but he was harder to read than Shadowheart.
“That wine really is going to your head isn’t it~” Astarion laughed, brushing off the comment and turning to leave once more. “Do remember to have a little fun sometime, Wyll. Happiness isn’t deadly, you know.”
Wyll leaned back, taking a moment to look up at the stars. He wasn’t unhappy, not entirely. But if even Astarion was trying to cheer him up then maybe he should at least make more of an effort.
The sounds of the party grew louder again, the bard starting a new bawdy tune, with the crowd clapping along.
Later. An effort can be made later, when it is a bit calmer. He reasoned to himself. Plenty of night left.
—
Dammon’s footsteps were so soft that Wyll barely noticed the Tiefling approach until he was standing right next to him.
“Do you know what they mean?” The blacksmith asked quietly, gesturing above. “The stars, that is.”
“I have no idea,” Wyll laughed, the warmth of the wine making the corners of his mind just a little fuzzy around the edges now. “Do you?”
“They’re beautiful, I know that much.” Dammon turned to look down towards him, the sparkle and warmth in his expression not so dissimilar to the twinkling of the constellations above. “We can give them our own meanings, though, can’t we?”
“Then what meaning do you see up there, out in the dark?” He couldn’t help the curiosity, and the blacksmith’s presence alone felt somehow calming.
“Freedom.” Dammon replied simply, a hint of something deeper behind bright eyes. “To be out here, looking up at the stars - it means we’re still alive. And that we’re no longer trapped in Avernus.”
“We’ll get you all to the city, somehow.” Wyll felt the need to reassure him, noticing the edge of fear between calm words.
“We should be able to make it most of the way.” A new voice joined them, as Zevlor strode into view. “So this is where the man of the hour had disappeared?”
“It is quieter here, at least.” Dammon reached into the pocket of his apron, pulling out some small pinkish red flowers, similar to daisies but with a deep orange centre of pollen, the petals curling back a little. “These make a nice addition, if you don’t mind?”
“Please, go ahead.” Wyll shrugged, accepting his fate to become a walking bouquet, but not averse to the gentle nature of the Tiefling threading them into the back of his locs with care.
“A fitting choice,” Zevlor hummed, nodding his approval.
“Our Blade needs to remember that the same sword that cuts flesh can also slice a cake.” Dammon stood back, looking to be in deeper thought for a moment. “I hope someday that’s all you’ll need it for, and that I can go back to making tools and decorations, rather than instruments of war.”
“Your steel has been a great help to all of us.” The old warrior patted his shoulder kindly. “Go and check on the young ones, won’t you? They’ve been giggling to themselves a little too much for comfort. I need to rest my old bones a while, and that looks like as good a place as any.”
“I’m not sure I can keep that lot out of trouble, but maybe I can distract them for a minute or three.” Dammon gave Wyll a short bow, his tail raising behind him as part of the gesture. “Take care of yourself, my friend. I hope we meet again soon.”
“You, too.” Wyll replied, a little lost for words for a moment as he considered how easily, and sincerely, Dammon had called him friend.
“Good fortune is hard to come by, but serendipity found us with both of you.” Zevlor mused, watching the blacksmith leave before taking a seat next to Wyll.
“Serendipity? It feels more like one long nightmare to me.”
“I know nightmares. Mine are filled with my mistakes…” The old warrior softened, the edge of pain carefully hidden again behind a kind sincerity. “You are no mistake, Wyll, nor are you a nightmare. Only a knight, and a fine one at that.”
“That might depend on who you ask.” He felt the old conflict in the shadows of his mind - the wish to live up to an impossible standard, and the fear that he had already lost that chance.
“We’re the only two on this log - and of the two of us, you’re far more worthy of the title.” Zevlor laid a hand on his back for a moment, careful to avoid the vines and flowers, a gesture akin to a proud parent. “You will find your way, in time. Ah, and of course there is this.”
“Not you as well…” Wyll sighed with half a smile as the paladin pulled out a single beautiful violet flower. Three larger petals on the outside - with dark veins, a white band, and a yellow centre - surrounded narrower violet and white striped petals in the centre.
“I’m afraid so. If you’ll allow an old man to be nostalgic for just a moment, I’ve always been fond of these.” The tiefling fixed the stem to Wyll’s shirt over his heart with a small pin. “They suit you perfectly.”
“You make it too hard to argue.” He looked down at the new addition to his outfit, a question tugging at the back of his mind. “Do they mean something to you?”
“A simple flower can mean a lot.” Zevlor smiled, a far off look returning to his eyes again. “But I think perhaps you should make them mean something to you.”
Wyll touched the edge of the petal with a careful thumb, thinking over for a while what a blossom might mean beyond just something pretty to look at.
The two sat quietly for a while together, sharing a bit more of the wine and enjoying the sounds of their friends having a much louder gathering in the centre of camp. The laughter, cheers, and even the sounds of pointless arguments between friends who didn’t mean a word of insults thrown with drunken vigour - it was a comfort just to be near.
“It has been a pleasure, Wyll. I should go and make sure that everyone stays in one piece until morning at least. Should our paths cross again, I would consider us to be more than fortunate.” Zevlor groaned quietly as he stood up with a stretch. “Perhaps it would be even more fortunate should we meet again somewhere with comfortable seats.”
“I’d settle for a rickety bed at this point.” Wyll complained with a smile.
—
It was a little longer before the next visitor arrived to Wyll’s little corner of serenity. “Lae’zel? I didn’t expect you to drop by”
“Tchk. Expectation would mean being predictable. A swift way to earn defeat.” She admonished him for his words, but not unkindly. A hint of playfulness flickered across her eyes. “I hear we are to pay tribute. With these.”
“Is everyone in on this?” He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly as if trying to work out who had come up with this devious plot. Not that he was going to complain; it felt rare for the Gith before him to make such a gesture, and he had no intention of insulting someone who wielded a sword that large without breaking a sweat.
“Perhaps. I was intrigued. Is this a usual custom?” Lae’zel came closer, carrying several long stems with a ball of tiny blossoms at the top of each. The smell of onions was strong which he quickly realised were from the flowers themselves.
“These are…unusual?” He stayed still as she threaded them through the vines on his shoulder, like a decorative pauldron of petals.
“And what exactly is usual?” She hissed, though without any malice in her meaning. “Should we not be celebrating? There is strength in knowing what you’ve won…and enjoying it.”
Wyll shifted slightly as he caught her eye and the hint in her words, a little unsure of what to do with it. “Hard to join the party when I look like this. Like a monster.”
Lae’zel laughed, her face breaking into a genuine and wide smile of amusement. “This? These horns, a few scars and ridges? Your horns are weapons, should you need them, and scars proof you are alive. That’s no bother to me, no more so than the fleshy noses and small ears of your kin.” She peered closely at his face for a moment, a little too closely. “As long as there are no ghaik tentacles, you are just fine.”
“Well, that’s…reassuring?” The smell of the flowers was clearer now they were so close, but he found himself not minding the unusual scent. It was interesting to learn more about what his companions liked, and to a degree how they saw him.
“They suit you.” She stepped back, nodding firmly with her choice. “Come and find me later, if you want to share a fresh bottle.” She indicated the empty wine by his feet, long since emptied with Zevlor’s help.
“I’ll keep it in mind.” He gave an appreciative nod as she turned and walked back to the main celebration, seemingly satisfied with the brief conversation.
—
“Would you like to see a magic trick?” Gale’s smile was wide as the great Wizard of Waterdeep stood in front of Wyll dramatically, cheeks a little flush from the evening’s events.
“Don’t tell me - there’s something up your sleeve? Behind my ear?” He teased, already checking behind his head just in case.
Gale rolled up his sleeves with more performative flair, demonstrating there was nothing there. “Not at all, my dear warlock! That would be far too derivative and predictable, so no, far be it from me to bore you with those old parlour tricks.”
“You do remember I know magic as well, don’t you?” Wyll smiled, still wondering where this was going, but entertained nonetheless.
“Well, yes. But do you know…THIS!” Gale’s hands moved in the quick gestures of prestidigitation that Wyll knew well, the faint hum of an old melody singing through the Weave around them as the Wizard looked perplexed. “No, wait, that’s not right…it was…THIS!” A rather crude symbol appeared on Gale’s own forehead this time.
He stifled a laugh, as best as he could. “Are you sure that’s what you-”
“No, no… No idea what that just did, but I’ve got it this time!” The third casting produced a shimmering blossom in the Wizard’s fingers, the illusion sparking around the edges with the frayed Weave pulled into shape by his drunken spell. “There. This will do just perfectly.”
The rich pink petals were soft and layered on each bud, open and closely packed around the stem. Wyll took it and fixed it to one of the few remaining spaces on his outfit carefully, hoping the magic might stabilise a little more. “But this one is an illusion, it’ll only last an hour, won’t it?”
“Well, that’s the beauty of all flowers, is it not? Are they any less beautiful just because you know they’ll be gone in a few days? Are the petals less bright because they’ll wilt?” He wasn’t sure if Gale was still talking just about the plant any more, as his smile slipped for just a moment into a far off look. “Personally, I think they’re more special because we only have them for such a short time. We treasure them whilst they’re there, make the most of every moment we have to admire their beauty, burning them into our memory where they can never truly wilt.”
“I must admit, I’ve never thought of it like that.” He found himself a little lost for words, fingers lingering on the edge of soft petals.
“Well, it would also be a shame for them to be all gone before the night is over, so I did bring some real ones too.” The spectral form of Mage Hand floated out from where it had been hidden behind the wizard, carrying three more of the same flowers in a small bouquet of pale pink, rich magenta, and a vivid violet.
“You are full of surprises, Gale of Waterdeep.” Wyll couldn’t quite hide the genuine astonishment at the gesture.
“I told you so.” The wizard winked. “I dare say there’s plenty to all of us that we don’t yet know - some more than others, of course - but that’s where the fun is. Although, it really is more fun out there, with all of our companions and their secrets. Who knows what Shadowheart might let slip if we give her just a bit more wine!”
“Soon.” Wyll nodded. “I just need a little more time, if that’s alright.”
“I shan’t force you.” Gale smiled, leaning down a moment to straighten the magical flower, the magic symbol still on his forehead. Wyll contemplated telling him, knowing the spell would last an hour if not erased, but truthfully he didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Thank you for allowing a humble wizard to entertain you for a while, at least.”
It was hard not to laugh again at the bow and flourish that followed his parting words, but perhaps it was intentional after all? Well, he thought, someone’s going to tell him soon enough.
—
Sure enough, the laughter from the camp - and the indignant cry of mock-injured pride that - followed it carried clearly on the night air.
“You could have told him.” Halsin chided gently, sitting comfortably on the log beside Wyll.
“And deprive everyone of the fun?” He replied, a hint of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
“You sound brighter than you did earlier - and you look it, too.” Halsin gestured to the array of flowers adorning Wyll’s body and outfit.
The look brought forth a question, one that had been playing on the back of his mind for a while now. “Did you put them up to this, Halsin? Turning me into a walking bouquet?”
“Don’t you think I am a bit old for pulling pranks?” The druid smiled warmly, his deep voice just as welcoming and soft.
Wyll nudged the large elf gently with his elbow. “You’re only as old as you feel, or so they say.”
A low laugh bubbled up with the response, still neatly evading the question. “In that case, I must be older than the Oakfather himself!”
“He’s preserved you well.” The wine brought the words forth without much more thought beyond how the moon lit the druid’s admittedly handsome face. “Sorry, what I meant to ask was why? Why has everyone been so insistent on giving me flowers?”
“The children started it, I believe, when they decided to cheer you up with some games. They remember you looking out for them in the Grove, standing up for them, telling them all sorts of stories in the short time you were there.” Halsin began. “Did you know that ivy is known to represent loyalty? One of your many strengths. A fine choice.”
“Plants have meanings now?” Wyll looked across the array of leaves and petals again, already wondering what they might be.
“They do, and they always have.” The druid pointed to the first, the one Karlach had plucked from nearby. “This one here, Cypripedium, the Lady’s Slipper Orchid. It means protection against curses, hexes, and malevolent spells.”
“Isn’t that ironic? That something that looks so devilish is meant to be protective against them?” Even the petals looked like the curling horns of an infernal beast…
“Are your horns, or Karlach’s, or even Zevlor’s, are any of them a mark of true evil? There is more to nature than what is on the surface.” Halsin reminded him of how Karlach had spoken, how there really was no match between her hellish traits and the boundless positivity and kindness that radiated even brighter than her mechanical heart.
“Then what of this one? Shadowheart told me it carries deadly poison, hiding behind the pretty appearance.” Wyll was careful not to touch the flower that the cleric had carefully bestowed on him, just in case.
“Fitting for her, isn’t it? Look at the layers. A beautiful flower, hiding deadly poison, almost the opposite of your devil horned orchid. Aconitum Napellus, monkshood. To some it might mean misanthropy or treachery-”
“That’s hardly a comforting thought.” A slight shiver chilled his spine, fears yet to ease until Halsin continued.
“But to others, it represents chivalry and knights who stand against those principles.”
“I wonder which she will turn out to be…” Wyll wondered aloud.
“No doubt your influence may be of help there.” Halsin patted his shoulder gently, cautious to avoid the various carefully woven plants. “Similar to Astarion, perhaps - those ones were his, were they not?”
The warlock looked to the delicate white flowers, placed carefully and deliberately to balance the aesthetic like a florist arranging a bouquet. Quite unlike how some of the others had simply found a space to add their own offerings. “They remind me of stars.”
“As well they should, they’re often called the starflower. Ornithogalum umbellatum, they represent trauma, mourning, but more importantly welcoming pain without repressing it.” Halsin’s voice grew quiet for a moment, dropping to almost a whisper. “I cannot tell you if they are more for you or for himself, but it wouldn’t harm you to work through everything that troubles you, unlike the man who hides it all behind an easy smile.”
“That’s not a very comforting thought.” Wyll felt a pang of that pain sting at his heart like a thorn. There was a lot he still needed to mourn, and that was no secret. And they had all witnessed… He wasn’t quite ready to think about that just yet. “Please tell me that at least Dammon’s isn’t so depressing?”
“The starflower is still beautiful despite the pain, and perhaps it is more symbolic that Astarion trusted you with something so personal…but the blacksmith’s gift was far more positive, much like the giver.” The druid’s voice grew a note more hopeful again, along with his words. “Echinacea, the coneflower. It represents a spiritual warrior and a shield, and the blossom is also well renowned for its healing properties. It represents protection as much as strength.”
“Almost like he gave me a shield…”
“Your well-being is important to your friends, Wyll, you would do well to keep that in mind before you make any risky decisions.” Halsin seemed to be looking right through his eye in that moment, past the flame-tinted iris, and speaking directly to his heart. “Zevlor, too, his gift is one of protection. The Iris may have a simple name, but the meaning is layered. There are some who see it only as hope, valour and victory, but it may also represent pain, wisdom, and protection from evil spirits.”
“A gift as complex as the one who gave it,” Wyll smiled. “I can think of none better from a paladin of his experience.”
“And I am certain he would be grateful you called it experience instead of age.” The druid smiled and pointed to the next flowers, the faint smell still clear in the night air. “Lae’zel chose an interesting one for you, Allium, the same plant as the onion in your stew.”
“That explains the aroma.” He had to admit it was surprising for a beautiful flower to have such a strange scent, but it was beginning to grow on him as the night wore on.
“The interpretation is fitting too. Mostly referred to as simply strength, those little blossoms are also nature’s way of saying you’re elegant, you’re perfect. You do not have to be a rose to be admired by those who appreciate you.”
“That is…surprising.” Wyll considered the words, wondering if she knew all of those meanings when the gift was presented.
“I should say that your companion is more surprising than you give her credit for, too.” Halsin winked, the meaning behind it completely lost on the warlock who was already looking at the next flowers.
The last ones to be given, one magical, and three more entirely natural. “Gale already talked more about these a little, though I couldn’t tell you if that was anything accurate or just the wine making its what into his thoughts.”
“Those come from the same family as the humble cabbage.” Halsin began, already hinting a little of his own interpretation in the origin. “Matthiola incana, to give it the proper name, quite simply represents lasting beauty. His way of saying you'll always be beautiful to me.”
Wyll felt the blush rise to his cheeks, each and every person who had visited him had given him something quite wonderful and filled with meaning. Whether they knew it or not, they had covered him head to toe in affirmation, validation, and a warm feeling of acceptance that threatened to sting at his eye with tears…he could probably blame that one on the onion, at least.
“There is one more.” Halsin held out his palm, a small seed growing in his hand and rising to a tall stem with a cone of tiny pink flowers. “Epilobium angustifolium, fireweed. I think this one most fitting for you. Bravery and humanity, Wyll, qualities that you embody entirely.” The druid fixed the flower front and centre, before standing up and offering a hand.
“I’m not sure…” Wyll hesitated still. The party was still loud, and he felt almost a fool to walk in there as a living bouquet. Reluctantly he stood, careful not to let a single petal fall to the ground.
“Just for one song?” Halsin offered hopefully. “Although you may find yourself hard pressed to leave after one alone… You will not find yourself lacking in dance partners.”
---
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ENDING NOTES
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This was a lovely prompt to work on, so I'd like to add in the flowers for you here at the end so you have a better idea of how they look.
Please keep in mind that many of these flowers might be pretty but are actually poisonous. There are poison cures in BG3, magic, potions, and resistances. We don't have those in real life! Please do not pick, touch, eat, or even sniff any flowers that you are not certain are safe. This is also just general life advice!
Karlach's Flower - Cypridedium, the Lady’s Slipper Orchid.
Shadowheart's Flower - Aconitum Napellus, Monkshood
Astarion's Flower - Ornithogalum umbellatum, Starflower
Dammon's Flower - Echinacea, Coneflower
Zevlor's Flower - Iris, Iris
Lae'zel's Flower - Allium, Onion
Gale's Flower - Matthiola Incana, Cabbage
Halsin's Flower - Epilobium angustifolium, Fireweed
Ok and that's your floral lesson for the day! I hope you enjoyed my entry to Wyll Week - please do go and give all the other creations over on @lovewyll and on the tags some love, there are some absolutely beautiful pieces that deserve to be shared and seen~
#WyllWeek2024#LoveWyll#wyll ravengard#baldurs gate 3#bg3 fanfiction#bg3#fanfic#bg3 wyll#baldurs gate wyll#shadowheart#karlach#halsin#astarion#zevlor#dammon#gale of waterdeep#lae'zel#sfw fanfic#fluff#sweet fanfic#flowers#flower#day 2 flower#meanings of flowers#flower meanings#Spotify
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i don't like that solas vallaslin rewrite scene post because a) a lot of solavellan writers have tried addressing that or something similar and it always makes me roll my eyes when we all forget the classic takes and repackage them as new, b) a lot of people on reddit and tumblr and elsewhere have wished for the same thing, c) it always misses the even bigger problem with the vallaslin scene to me.
in that scene, solas stops short of telling you that the gods were evil.
the marks might have been slave markings that were turned, over the ages, into marks of pride and belonging in the culture of the Dalish. and that story is about the Dalish surviving, persevering, and clawing back what makes them connected to their past, when the world would stamp them out.
That's a great story and one that should be respected. Solas acknowledges this twice.
But the vallaslin isn't just a mark of adulthood and a mark of being Dalish. To them, it is not tied to escaping slavery -- because the Dalish don't know that story, until Lavellan finds out in the grotto from Solas that the vallaslin were slave markings.
The vallaslin are dedications to the gods.
To the evil gods who are very much still a threat to Thedas, and very much Solas's enemies.
The more and more we learn about the Evanuris, the more and more the religious practice of worshiping the Dalish gods stands out. The Dalish are very religious. Your Lavellan might or might not be, if you headcanon--and many players aren't religious, or at least are agnostic. Maybe to your Lavellan this is solely about the 'slave marking' part of what Solas tells her in the grotto.
But there is enough dialogue in DAI that Lavellan *can* be very devoted to the gods. And throughout the other games and media, worship of the Dalish gods is important to their culture. With the gods not being locked away forever, not being dead and distant, and being very much evil, that practice feels like the real problem behind the vallaslin scene.
Yeah, I think Solas is "shackled to the past" but not about this. We don't know what his plan really is, we don't know what he really cares about so much in elvhenan that drives him to bring about an apocalypse now. We don't know fully what he thinks was better, or worth bringing back, or worth undoing, besides the 'magic used to be everywhere and we didn't used to hate spirits' bit. There's more to it than that, that we have yet to see.
But we DO know he views the Evanuris as his enemies; we know from him, and from much of the supplemental material (Hi, Hormak) that they were incredibly cruel and monstrous to their people; we know they are not dead, and they are not permanently locked away; we know that they may be unleashed in the future. The Dalish worship them, and dedicate themselves to them, and invoke them in their lives.
We have the very ominous phrase: "Belief makes you more."
From a Bioware-critical/fandom angle, it is uncomfortable to tell a group heavily coded as indigenous and ancient that actually, all of their history is a lie. It's uncomfortable to tell them that actually, Historically Oppressed Group, you were once just as bad as the people who oppress you now.
Sure, you can change the formula of the vallaslin so he can't take it off of Lavellan. Have Lavellan say with even more gusto that now she'll take this knowledge back to her people, so they can truly celebrate all that they've overcome and reclaimed.
That doesn't change that this is a deeply religious group and a religious practice tied to the biggest threat to his past, and to the future.
I think it's a very surface level reading to think that Solas looks at Lavellan and sees 'slave.' She is indomitable, she is Dalish, and he has said before what he admires about her--and her people.
With all that we know, it seems like it's so much more than that. And I think it's pretty shallow to ignore that.
Fans have tried to headcanon this away in a million directions. A popular one: "What if the 'Evanuris' were just really powerful mages who had taken on the names of the true elven gods as an intimidation factor? That way the Dalish aren't ACTUALLY worshiping evil beings, and their whole culture isn't a lie." Sure! then Solas is 'shackled to the past.' If you headcanon that, then the vallaslin and the names of the gods were never really about the Evanuris, so no harm done that the Dalish still worship them. Solas is totally in the wrong for wanting to remove the marks of slavery and god-dedication from Lavellan's face.
There are other options. But yeah I think a lot of these 'rewrites' miss or forget beyond a really surface level understanding of Solas, the Dalish, and religion lol.
#blue vagueblogs#fandom critical#blue can't have fun#someone peed in blues wheaties#or whatever#kicking a hornet's nest on a saturday#delete later
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LOVE AND WAR
001; I CAN BRING YOU IN WARM
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Warnings: guns, violence, alcohol, drunkness, blood, knives, allusion to slavery
Summary: you had spent your entire life running, from corellia, from your family, from the empire and now from bounty hunters. But when one man sees how you care for his child, what is he going to do with himself, especially as he finds himself falling for you
Wordcount: 3.9k
Daiyu was the worst planet you’d ever been on and it wasn't for the lack of nightlife or for the lack of interesting jobs but because of its weather. With a dark black hood over your head, hands pressed into the pockets as you walked through the crowded cities, you scanned the area for anyone with a bounty puck.
This time 6 years ago, you were one of the most celebrated people in the entire galaxy. You had people fawning over you left right and centre, you had more medals than you could possibly want and you had everything. Or so you thought.
You tried not to think about that time of your life too often and on a planet like this, you didn't have to think about much about anything for too long of a time. It was easier to sit there in one of the bars, a drink in your hand as you drowned in the neon lights and the large crowds that swarmed the city.
However, the planet required you to constantly be looking over your shoulder, always watching out for the next person who was going to try and attack you, whether it be imperial sympathisers, random drunken men with no impulse control or bounty hunters.
You had spent your entire 20s saving the galaxy, joining in on the rebellion and whilst your brother and your best friends got to sit pretty in their Jedi training camps or their coruscant apartments or their thrones, you were stuck living day by day, hiding from bounty hunters.
There was no way to determine when you changed from the hero to the girl being hunted down by Bounty Hunters every other week but you assumed it had something to do with Lady Proxima, a tall white grindalid who looked after you - more like worked to the core - after your parents death.
She was the one who had set the bounty after you nearly eighteen months ago now and though you wished you could escape it, you had no regrets for trying to kill her - the act that landed you with a bounty in the first place.
In the distance, you spotted the nearby nightclub and cantina and it wasnt hard to distinguish its flashing lights from the dark dreary weather on Daiyu. You looked around, pulling the hood off your head as you took shelter under the opening to a loud nightclub. You looked around before stepping inside, entering the world of drugs and mayhem and forgetting.
Hesitantly at first, you pushed your way through the mass of people that had grouped in the middle, dancing along with the live band in the corner. You pushed past a human and a zabrak making out in front of the bar as you tried to make it to the alcohol as fast as possible.
You pulled a chair back at the bar, your jacket now draped over your lap as you called out to the twi’lek at the bar to bring you a drink. In a few seconds, she placed the drink on the bar in front of you, waiting for you to slide a handful of credits across the smooth surface before walking away.
You reach for the shot glass on the table, swirling it around for a second before pulling it to your lips and downing the glass in one fluid motion, throwing your head back before putting the glass back down on the table.
The burning feeling was present in the back of your throat, causing your nose to scrunch up in a mix of disgust and euphoria as you allowed the drink to overwhelm your senses. You opened your eyes, pushing your lips together as you looked at the bartender again, hand raised to signal her over.
Before she made it over to you, another man slid up next to you. He was a slimy man with greasy blonde hair that was sticking to his temple and the way that he looked at you, almost like a stick of meat, made you sick to your stomach.
“You want to buy some death sticks?” He questioned, his voice hoarse like he'd been smoking them all morning - and it wasn't even 12 o’clock yet, not like you’d be able to tell that with the dreary grey weather on the planet.
You had dealt with your fair share of assholes at bars - actually, you had dealt with your fair share of assholes in general - but today you were not in the headspace to fight with him.
It had been nine years since the day that you had lost your best friend, a memory that you didn't want to spend too much time thinking about. All you wanted to do was drown in your liquor and forget about the troubles of the world, to just watch it spin around you.
“She doesn't want to do that,” a deep voice said and you felt chills run down your spine at the sound of it. There was something about this low, almost modulated voice that drew you to him and slowly, you turned around to see a man standing there.
He was tall and still but the most recognisable feature was that he was covered in armour. It was glistening, multi-coloured in the club's neon lights and there was no expression in his body language and you couldn’t see his face to determine what he was thinking either.
You took a deep breath in, eyes narrowing on the man. You two were looking at each other - or at least you assumed he was looking at you - and neither was moving. The man trying to sell you death sticks just rolled his eyes, standing up and tucking his seat in before stumbling towards the group of people to sell too.
You hadn’t realised that you’d been staring at the man for too long, an uncomfortable amount of time really, but when you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, you looked away from his visor and back at the new shot on the bar in front of you, “I don’t need to be saved,”
He didn't make a noise, just reaching into his pocket and before you could panic and imagine him pulling out a blaster and shooting you point blank, he pulled out a holo-puck and you couldn’t figure out which scenario was worse. You stared at your face as it spun around on top of the holo-puck, your name plastered at the top of it.
Your eyes trailed from the puck to him and he hasn't moved a muscle. There was something uncovering about the man and you couldn’t tell whether it was the fact that you couldn’t see his face and recognise any emotions, or if it was his regular demeanour.
“I guess this means you’re not going to buy me a drink,” you teased, standing up from your seat at the bar. Now standing up, you realised how tall he was, towering over you as you tried to find an escape plan.
He didn't laugh at the joke and you assumed his face was as emotionless as his body as he stated, “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” The modulator made his voice deep, the sound reverberating through your body.
Your breath hitched in your throat because although you should be scared of this emotionless bounty hunter who was probably here to kill you, you werent. There was something about him that you couldn’t put your finger on that made you feel intimidated yet secure.
“What does cold entail?” You questioned, hoping the slight fear bubbling up wasn't too obvious in your voice.
He tilted his head to the side slightly. Nobody had ever asked him that before and if Din was being honest, you weren’t like any bounty he had hunted down before. One, you were definitely the most beautiful bounty he had ever encountered. And two, you were the most calm; everyone else would either be running or begging at this point but you were doing neither, just staring him down like you could see through the visor.
“Carbonate,” he stated, his voice cold.
You felt a shiver run up your spine at the word, and not the good kind of shiver. There weren't many things that scared you in this universe, maker, you’d even encountered Darth Vader himself bur carbonate, that was what scared you. You’d seen someone you cared dearly about be stuck in there for half a year and you’d seen what it could do.
He noticed your shift in demeanour at that movement. Whilst your face didn't react to the words, he could see the flash of fear in your eyes, a small crease appearing between your brows.
“Well then Mr Mandalorian, I think I might have outstayed my welcome,” you stated and before he could respond to what you said or even comprehend it, you were ducking down under his clas arm the knife which appeared in your hand dragging along a slit between the pieces.
He swore under his breath, eyes scanning the room before seeing someone with a similar hood to yours running out of the door into the pouring rain and when you made the mistake of turning back round, hood falling from your head, his eyes met yours and he started running through the crowd.
Din shook his head as he pushed through the high and intoxicated people of the planet, knocking one or two of the down as he tried to make it up for the maker forsaken club.
When he got outside, the rain hitting his armour, he scanned the area for you but he had no idea where you went. He shook his head, unsure how he could’ve lost you.
The sound of a vendor yelling and a crate of fruit falling to the floor in a near alleyway was a telltale sign of escape and he decided to hitch his bets and chase down that way and lucky for him, the maker was on his side today as he saw you running round the corner, wet from the rain.
He chased after you, feet carrying him as fast as he could as he raced around the unfamiliar streets of Daiyu. He didn't know why you were being hunted but he didn’t care, as long as it gave him enough money for petrol and food for him and Grogu.
You looked behind you, swearing out loud as you trod in a puddle, broken shoes filling with water. You kept going despite the pain in your legs and the burning in your lungs. You’d be damned if you survived Darth Vader himself but a Mandalorian took you out.
Stopping round a corner, your hands on your legs as you caught your breath, you thought you’d be okay and you were. You found the best way out but then you saw a group of men shooting at this round ball.
You watched as they laughed to themselves, shooting at this thing that you suddenly recognised as a pram. That’s when you spotted a small green alien sitting behind the pedestal, looking up at you.
Every instinct told you that you had to keep running from that Mandalorian bounty hunter that was pretty ready to ‘take you in cold’ but your morals told you that you had to save the little baby from whatever these rogue gang members wanted from him.
You sighed, shaking your head as you pulled your blaster out, closing one of your eyes as you shot one of the three men in the head, killing him instantly. The next shot hit the second man in the stomach and he doubled over, hands on his stomach as the other man searched for where the gunshot came from.
He let out a yell as he noticed you, the two men shooting at you and you managed to take them both down before rushing down and grabbing the child. He was small and green and as you held him in your arms, he reached out for you with little green hands.
“What’s your name, little one?” You asked, watching as he grasped one of your fingers with his little hand. He just babbled and you assumed that he was too small to answer you so you smiled, giving him your name.
When you heard more yelling and blaster fire, you assumed that there were more gang members and you hid behind a wall, hearing them yelling about finding the child.
“They're talking about you kiddo?” You questioned, voice quiet so that they didn’t hear you. He cooed, a mischievous smile on his face and you assumed it was him.
You didn't know what to do, just waiting and looking around and hoping that they had passed. You had also managed to escape the Mandalorian that was after you and as soon as you got this kid back to his family, you were going to get off of this planet and find the next hiding spot, maybe .
That's when you heard more blaster fire and the body of one of the gang members fell down at your feet as you shielded the child from its view.
You assumed that they were all dead when it went quiet and you stepped out hesitatingly, blaster in one hand and the child in your other. He cooed, smiling up at you as you looked around, “Listen, don’t be worried, i'm going to find your parents,”
You felt a presence behind you and froze up, turning around and looking up at The Mandalorian who had been hunting you down earlier. He was wet from the rain as well and when he noticed that you had a little child in your arms, he tilted his head in confusion.
Now it was your time to start bartering and you stepped back, holding the child closer to your chest, “Listen, take me in warm, I don’t care, just let me find this kid's parents,” you said.
Din felt his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you, an insanely beautiful bounty, holding his child to your chest protectively. There was something weird about the feeling bubbling up in his chest, one that he’d never felt before.
The child reached his little arms out, giggling to himself as he tried to reach for Din and you looked at it confused, “He’s mine,” he stated, a small bit of emotion evident in his voice.
Your brows furrowed as you looked down at him, the child cooing in your arms as you placed him back down in his slightly battered cot. He used the controls, going back over to Din and looking up at him.
“You’re an awful parent, leaving him here alone,” you said, your blaster still in your hand. You
Din smiled to himself under the helmet, glad that you couldn’t see his amused reaction to your comment, “I didn’t, he must have escaped my ship,” he stated, that cold tone to his voice.
You sighed, looking up at him. You brushed your wet hair from your face, only now realising that you were still standing in the rain, “You gonna take me in warm Mr Mandalorian?” You asked, hands held out in surrender.
He cocked his head to the side and you definitely recognised that movement as confusion, “You’re just giving up like that?” He questioned.
You shrugged your shoulders, “I’m not going to be able to convince you to let me go,” you stated and he nodded, reaching into his back pocket, eyes narrowed and focused on her; he didn’t understand why she was just letting him take her away.
He had his hands on the restraints, about to put them on her when more gang members sped around the corner, looking around for the two of them - and by that, they were looking for Din and Grogu.
The Mandalorians head was spinning with the events of the days and his oddly submissive bounty and as he looked at the people who were hunting down the child and trying to kill him, he knew he had to make a rash decision that any other day he would scold himself for.
He turned to you, pushing your hands down and putting the restraints back onto his belt, “Can you shoot?” He asked, his voice still cold but now you could sense a bit of fear in it. It was strange, how you could feel this emotionless man opening up to you little by little but you could.
“Can I shoot?” You teased, repeating the question back at him before pursing your lips together and nodding, “Of course I can,”
Din nodded, looking down at you just as the gang members looked into the alleyway, one of them exclaiming that they had found the child and you wondered what was so interesting and lucrative about this kid that this many people were ready to die for.
He looked back at you, taking a few steps forward, “Stay in front of the kid okay,” he stated and you nodded, watching as he began shooting at them.
You looked back at the child who put the lid over his pram and you turned back and started shooting, the sound of blaster fire echoing through the alleyway.
This morning when you woke up in tha5 small, damp hostel, this wasn’t how you expected the day to go. You would never have imagined that you would be standing in the pouring rain, fighting alongside the man who was trying to take you in as a bounty so that you could protect his son.
You slid down, the rain making the cobblestone pavement wet as you slid under the man's legs, slicing through his thighs with your knife and watching as he collapsed down, your knife jamming into the back of his neck. You pulled it out with a grunt, wiping the blade on your trousers before grabbing your blaster and shooting the man behind you.
Din watched in awe, he shouldn’t feel this way towards anyone, especially not towards a bounty but the second that he had laid eyes on you in the cantina bar, he knew there was something special about you and now, as you stabbed men to protect his son, he shouldn’t have felt as turned on as he did.
You turned around, spinning on the heel of your foot as you shot another one, watching him fall down with a scream. It was the last man and as you took a deep breath, pushing your wet hair out of your face and looking at the Mandalorian, you smiled.
He watched as you stepped over the myriad of bodies on the floor, using the pad of your thumb to wipe some of the blood that had splattered on your chin away and you walked up to the cot, watching as the child opened the lid.
He chuckled at the sight of you and you smiled back at him before looking up at the Mandalorian. Your smile fell as your eyes landed on his helmet, unable to see what he was thinking and he was glad you couldn’t see underneath because he was sure that from the heat on his cheeks, he was blushing like a schoolboy.
There was an awkward silence that fell as you looked around at the bodies that littered the floor of the alleyway and you held your hands out again, “Take me in warm?” You questioned.
You could hear the faint sound of his breath hitching in his throat through the modulator as he pushed your hands away. He watched as your brows pulled together, a deep crease appearing between them as you looked up at him, "They won't be needed,"
You chuckled, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your lips, "You might be the nicest bounty hunter I've ever encountered," you stated and Din knew that if you could see under his helmet, you'd have teased him for the way his cheeks were bright red as he looked at you.
Being in his mid thirties, he had spent the best part of twenty years hidden under the helmet and away from the world and with his helmet on, he could be as expressive as he wanted, a superpower that was working overtime right now.
"Lets go," he said, keeping his head held high as the child followed in the hovering pram next to him.
You had so many questions that were trying to bubble up to the surface but you pushed them away, not wanting to agrivate the man who was being so kind to you whilst holding your life in his hands.
Some people looked at you as you walked alongside him and now you wondered if the attention was from the gunfire earlier or from the large Mandalorian you were walking with.
You looked up at him, continuing to walk. You’d only encountered one mandalorian before and he had been a bounty hunter too but you knew that’s not all they ever did. The one you were walking with now hadnt told you his name unlike the last one and this one was a lot more quiet and reserved.
There were so many questions swimming in your head and it made you dizzy as you wondered what this man wanted and why he was being so kind. Why did he have a kid? Why was he green? Was the Mandalorian green? What was your bounty for? What did he want?
“You okay?” He asked, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts and that’s when you’d realsied you’d stopped and had been staring at him for at least thirty seconds. He had his head cocked to the side, one hand on his hip as he stopped as well a few feet in front of you.
He was waiting for your answer and you nodded, a smile appearing on your face to try and be polite as you started walking again, “Just got lost in thought, its been a long day,” you stated, tryin to make your excuse sound plausible. You couldn’t just explain that you’d been staring at him.
Din hummed in response, continuing to walk alongside you, guiding you in right direction towards a ship that you recognised as a razor crest. You walked towards it, one hand brushing over the cold and slightly wet metal of the ship as you looked back at him, eyes wide, “You have a Razor Crest?”
He nodded, walking over to you, “Let’s go,” he said and your face dropped as you watched him walk up the ramp, remembering that you were just a bounty to him like you’d already forgotten that.
He didnt notice and just watched as you walked up the ramp as well, looking around at the room and watching as he picked up the child and placed him on the floor. The little child giggled, running in the direction of the cockpit and you just watched, as smile on your face.
Din looked back at you, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the smile on your face and when you made eye contact - or he made eye contact with you - he gestured to the cockpit, “You probably want to come sit down, we’re going to jump into hyperspace soon,” he explained.
You nodded, muttering a thank you as you squeezed past him into the cockpit, seeing the child having already strapped himself into the seat behind the pilots seat. Din came in, his hand brushing against the child’s head which made him laugh, before he sat down in the pilots seat.
You strapped yourself in, eyes focused on the front window as you felt that familiar presssure of hyperspace, watching the blue lights in the distance get closer, laughing you three into an unknown destination to you. But you were so ready for it.
So this is the first chapter of the bounty x bounty hunter series and I hope you enjoyed it, I really love the concept and can't wait to expand on it. If you liked it, I would love to hear any feedback. Also, I am going to be opening a taglist so if you want to be added, just send an ask or comment on here, I don't mind. Hope you enjoyed it :)
Taglist:
@babygirlrex0504
#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin#din djarin x female reader#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x y/n#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian#mando x reader#mando x you#mandalorian x reader#mando and grogu#mando fanfiction#mando x y/n#the mandolorian s3#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin angst#din djarin fic#din djarin fluff#star wars#star wars fanfiction#love and war; din djarin
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I was thinking about Duergar after listening to Critical Role S1. I don’t care too much for the blatantly evil brush they used but I still want them to be antagonistic. Reading the Explore D&D article on them I took that and looked for inspiration. I thought a blend of the paranoid police state of Stalinist Russia with the political intrigue and back stabbing of imperial Rome. Vast underground cities of brutalist architecture. A culture of conformity, order and a nihilistic outlook. Atheist philosophy cults of the forge or other practical oriented ideologies. Power by any means is a virtue in this society so mages and warlocks are also prevalent. Holidays and celebrations are scheduled well choreographed events. Individuality is scorned. Even hair styles and clothing are limited and enforced by literal fashion police. Gulags are kept well stocked with routine purges of dissidents and a thriving slave trade. All this keeps their cities nearly impenetrable but also undercuts their expansion. Trade with the outside does exist but it’s extremely bureaucratic. They make FANTASTIC concrete.
Footnotes on Foes: Duergar
The problem with the grey dwarves is that they're a little too close to their surface world counterparts compared to the other underdark Wario fantasy races. There's a literal night and day difference between elves and drow , humans and grimlocks, and to a lesser extent gnomes and svirfneblin, but if you looked at surface dwarves (traditionalist, work in metal and stone, warriror culture) there's really nothing all that different about the Duergar other than a grabbag of magic powers and the Duergar being SUPER assholes all the time, while surface dwarves are only assholes some of the time.
I’ve tried a few different versions of the duergar in my writing including mercenary legions of migratory exiles hunting through the underdark looking to conquer territory, and willing collaborators and footsoldiers for illithid colonies, but I think this ask specifically gave me something cool to work with: A focus on Psionics is what ahould seperate the duergar from regular dwarves, with the totalitarian state described above ramped up to its fantasy world extreme by the fact that the secret police can read your mind, and if they can’t find evidence of thoughtcrime they can use mindfuckery to put it there. The social conformity is seen as a way of detecting rebellious thoughts as if they were social contagion.
This also gives the grey dwarves a distinct aesthetic that is separate from vanilla dwarves: Crystals, be they shaped into weapons or architecture or floating about the heads of psionic casters, which goes to supplement their already textual psychic powers. As an added means of differentiating them, talk about how duergar metalwork is shit, soldiers wearing slave-foundry pig iron while their commanders wield elegantly carved sceptres of nightmare infused rock.
Also, just to have a bit of fun, have the duergar low-key anxious about the existence of the sky, to the point where many of them believe it's a myth made up to scare them as children.
Hooks:
Despite the draconian control they keep over their own populace, the rigors of living in a realm of ever shifting stone require the Duergar to utilize numerous means to secure the territories around their grim cities: Fortress outposts built to control passage in and out of their cavernous realms, psionicly propelled vessels of iron plate that prowl great tunnels like levitating battleships, treaties and client-state contracts with rival and subjugated creatures set up as buffers. Travelling through underdark controlled by duergar is a different sort of dangerous then normal travel in the below.
Escaping from prison before she could be lobotomized, a powerful psion has made it to the surface world with a gang of fellow thought-criminals, working as mercenaries using their unusual skills and eventually forming a rivalry with the party.
The earth writhes. A series of violent quakes cause damage in several cities across the kingdom, setting off numerous small disasters and the appearance of subterranean monsters that'll keep the party and the powers that be busy for weeks. When the cause is eventually determined, it's discovered that in a hunger for more pisonically charged crystals, a duergar warlord has awoken a primordial which now thrashes against its restraints and shakes the world as its pained excavation continues.
Art
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their way of life.
397 words, no explicit content.
warnings: soft!jake, lots of fluff.
notes: this little fic is dedicated to @little-worm-grant ! the ideas you give me are insane. happy valentine’s day. 💗
—
Valentine's Day had never been Jake Lockley's forte. As a man of few words and gruff demeanor, he often found himself at a loss when it came to matters of the heart. But this year was different. This year, he had Layla el Faouly by his side—a beacon of light amidst the shadows of his tumultuous existence.
With a sense of determination and a touch of nervousness, Jake had planned a simple yet meaningful date for them to celebrate Valentine's Day. He knew Layla deserved more than his usual stoicism, and he was determined to show her just how much she meant to him.
Their date began with a game of Pokemon Go—a shared passion that brought them closer together with every step they took. As they wandered the streets of the city, laughter and camaraderie filled the air, weaving a tapestry of memories that would last a lifetime. With each Pokemon they caught and every gym they conquered, Jake couldn't help but marvel at the sheer joy that radiated from Layla's smile. In her presence, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of wonder and possibility that he had never known before.
As the sun began to set and the city lights twinkled in the distance, Jake and Layla retreated to the comfort of his car—a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world outside. Snuggled close together, they shared a chocolate shake, the sweetness of the moment lingering on their lips.
But it was when Layla reached for a piece of candy from the glove box that everything changed. As her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the Tamagotchi nestled within, she felt a surge of emotion welling up inside her—a mixture of surprise, gratitude, and overwhelming love. With trembling hands, Layla turned on the Tamagotchi, her heart skipping a beat as she beheld the digital pet she had created for Jake months ago, still alive and thriving. In that moment, she realized the depth of his love and devotion—a silent testament to the bond that bound them together.
Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Layla leaned in close, pressing a gentle kiss to Jake's lips—a silent declaration of her love and gratitude for all that he was. And as the words "I love you" escaped her lips, carried on the wings of the night, she knew that this Valentine's Day would be one they would never forget—a testament to the power of love to transcend even the darkest of shadows.
#moon knight#layla el faouly#moon knight fanfiction#mcu#marc spector#mcu fanfic#steven grant#fanfic#marc x layla#may calamawy#oscar isaac#jake lockey#jake x reader#jake lockley x reader#valentines day#marc spector fluff#jake lockley fanfiction#jake lockley fluff#marvel fluff
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Tales of Arcadia Halloween Fic recs
Any TOA fans out there looking for something spooky to read around Halloween? Well then this is the the list for you! A compilation of my favorite horror and Halloween themed Tales of Arcadia fics. Some of these are safe for all ages, but some do lean hard into horror, so mind the tags and read with caution.
Arcane Blight @avirxy Do you like horror? Do you like Tales of Arcadia? If the answer is yes to both then stop what you're doing and read this. Takes place in an alternate universe where Jim is the new kid in Arcadia, and he quickly realizes that this innocent looking town has dark secrets lurking beneath the surface. To say any more would ruin a lot of the truly gut punching, jaw dropping twists and turns this story has.
The Changeling Masquerade @earth-ambassador-jim Takes place in the author's changeling Toby au. Shows how exactly changelings celebrate Halloween, but with a sinister twist.
Tear Me In Two (The Moonlight Will Anyway) @avirxy Two words. Werewolf Claire. In a monster hunter au Claire gets a nasty bite from a lycanthrope and the whole group struggles with the consequences. One of my all time favorite pieces of werewolf media for the absolutely phenomenal way it explores what it means to unleash the beast within.
Through the Veil @pinkytoothlesso11 This one's just getting started, but holy hell what a start! Jim doesn't given much credibility to Eli's ramblings of monsters and conspiracies in their town, until he witnesses someone he trusts performing a horrific ritual on Halloween night that brings everything he thought he knew into question. Now Jim and his friends are far from home and lost in a world hostile to human kind, and no guarantee that they'll make it home safe.
Something's wrong with Arcadia @earth-ambassador-jim When Jim and team Trollhunters aren't running around causing problems, what does the average Joe think of the strangeness going on in Arcadia? Bular and goblins and changelings shown from a mundane point of view in a way that's absolutely chilling.
31 Days in the Darklands @xdeusxmachinax Not technically a Halloween story, but takes place near and on Halloween with tons of horror and spooky imagery. I always give it a re-read each spooky season. In the wake of an unconventional treaty Strickler struggles to keep balance between Trollmarket, the Janus order, Arcadia, and the Darklands but the universe seems to sabotage him at each stage, and there's more than just pumpkin spice in the air this year in Arcadia.
Snippets, Snails, and Trollish Tales @whitherwanderyouspirit Some mostly Stricklake centered Halloween one shoots ranging from sweet to spooky to downright terrifying.
The Manor atop the Hill @avirxy A Haunted House story like you've never seen done before. When a desperate and frightened Jim follows his mother into the mysterious mansion on the outskirts of town he finds himself trapped in more ways than one. No one has lived in this house for as long as anyone can remember, but it is far from empty. Forced to rely on ghosts and a mysterious girl, Jim has to keep his wits about him if he wants to escape with his life, and his soul, intact.
cave bestiam @rosemaidenvixen Based on the online two sentance horror story "A girl heard her mom yell her name from downstairs, so she got up and started to head down. As she got to the stairs, her mom pulled her into her room and said, “I heard that, too.” But staring Barbara and Jim.
Fear of Fears @rosemaidenvixen An alternate take on my sunshine au. Jim decideds to sneak out on Halloween by passing his troll form off as a costume, a decision that will ripple outward into horrific consequences.
Tales of All Hallows Eve @rosemaidenvixen Collection of my Halloween themed one shots and drabbles.
Dig your eight graves @rosemaidenvixen Eight teens from Arcadia wander far from home and suffer a brutal attack from an evil that was much closer to home than they could ever imagine. Alone and traumatized, one of them makes a bargain in order to reclaim what was taken from them. They gain everything they ask for and more, but lose more than they ever thought possible.
A Bunch of Hocus Pocus @rosemaidenvixen A collection of 31 spooky and Halloween themed one shots for Tales of Arcadia and The Owl House, released one per day each day of October until Halloween.
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Shadowheart/Nocturne, A9? I know i'm giving a fluff prompt and I'm gonna get angst in return but tbh no problem with that lol
Lol, this is a good way to ensure that I don't just angst bomb everyone again. Thanks for requesting this one! Can I even write fluff for them...
You can send a prompt from this list + a ship or platonic pair, and I'll write a ficlet!
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A9. Celebrating one character's firstmorn (birthday!)
The heavy bag at Shadowheart's hip flopped against her as she ran through the streets of Baldur's Gate. Darkness guided her way as always, the only light in the Lower at this hour the scarce candlelight peeking through windows. Luckily, her darkvision covered the spots where that feeble light failed her. Her face stung a little, but she was too focused on her escape to care all too much.
She turned the last corner to safety and slipped through the hatchway nestled in berry bushes at the rear of the House of Grief. She descended the ladder slowly, making sure the patchwork bag at her side didn't pop open and pour its precious contents down the shaft.
When she pushed past the sentries questioning where she'd gone, Shadowheart made her way to the slats in one corner of the cloister. It was easy for one her size to get through without anyone noticing.
In their spot within the hideaway grotto, Nocturne sat and waited. Waited with her knees tucked under her and her hands clasped together in prayer.
Shadowheart sat behind her without saying a word. She unfastened the flap of the bag and withdrew her prize. It sat on a plate alongside several candles. She settled the candles into the soft surface, whispering a word of power to scatter flames across their short wicks.
The light and sound alerted Nocturne, who turned. Her horns glittered against the flames and her harsh, purple eyes scanned the cake in front of her.
"What's this?" she asked, her voice small.
Shadowheart sat up on her knees. "Happy firstmorn, Nocturne."
"How did you—?" Nocturne lifted her head, her eyes widening when she saw Shadowheart. "Gods, what happened to you?"
"Oh, this?" Shadowheart touched the bruise that bled and stung under her eye. "Could've been worse."
"Could've been...? Shadowheart," Nocturne whispered. She leaned over and touched Shadowheart's face, a smile growing on her own. "Did you steal this cake?"
"Of course."
"For me?"
"Who else?"
Nocturne's palm on her cheek felt better than any healing word, any tincture-soaked sponge. Her thumb graced Shadowheart's face for a moment.
"It's beautiful." Nocturne didn't look away from Shadowheart while she spoke. "If a bit crushed."
Shadowheart smiled. She whispered, "Did you want anything else? Any other gift?"
Nocturne nodded in answer. Her hand didn't leave Shadowheart's face. The sounds of the cavern spring trickled alongside distant murmurs of Sharrans in the cloister.
Hesitating for a moment, Shadowheart tried her best to remember what she'd done for all of Nocturne's other firstmorns. All those days she deserved. There was nothing there, though. All of it given as a gift to Lady Shar, now lost.
So she did what she thought made the most sense.
She leaned over the cake, accidentally smashing it with her knee, and pressed her lips against Nocturne's. Felt Nocturne giggle against her.
She kissed her and Nocturne kissed her back.
This was supposed to be her gift. Not mine.
Yet Shadowheart could not stop kissing her.
#bg3 fanfiction#shadowheart#bg3 nocturne#shadowheart x nocturne#my fic#anotheropti prompt fics#OK look I tried to keep NO angst at all in there but it's just impossible not to spice one of their fics with it#a light morsel of angst#a side dish of sorrow if you will
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