#and yet i have the gumption to tag this one
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🪞 🔮 🍅 🧺 🍯 🌱 The Farmer & The Wizard
PART 1: IN WHICH YOU UNEXPECTEDLY GET THE DEED TO A FARM
❦ STATS ❦ | all other information on this fic including additional warnings can be found on the masterlist
chapter rating: e for everyone, complete fic has an 18+ MDNI rating
chapter warnings: mention of the death of an estranged grandparent (no details)
chapter tags: semi-canon divergent, red thread of fate
chapter word count: 3.2K
This chapter and the rest of this fic are part of this blog's contribution to Fics for Gaza.
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My Dear Little Bug,
If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change.
The same thing happened to me long ago. I’d lost sight of what mattered most in life… real connections with other people and nature. So I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong.
I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: Fox Hollow Farm. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life.
This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honor the family name, Little Bug. Good luck.
Love, Grandpa
Honor the family name? What a load of bullshit. There was no family left to honor. You were an only child and your parents had stopped talking to your grandpa on your dad’s side so long ago, you didn’t have any memories of him. Except for a blurry one, so void of detail it was as if it was a dream or a dream of a dream. In that memory, you could recall the thrill of seeing autumn leaves blustering in a flurry across a gravel drive, the creak of an old door, the smell of dirt, coffee, and aftershave. A pair of strong warm arms. That’s about it.
Now, your parents were divorced and the three of you were estranged. You were a singular island floating in a lonely, tumultuous sea. Things had been stressful at work and in your personal life. That must be why you even considered checking your Grandpa’s place out. The southern coast… that was practically out in the boonies. Scratch that, it was in the middle of nowhere. Zuzu City was the closest big town and even that would be small by your adult standards. You didn’t know if you had the gumption to do what it would take to fix the place up.
Still, although you had no idea why your grandfather had chosen you to take over the place most important to him, it would be a welcome distraction. The words in his letter… you were, in fact, in dire need of a change. How this all came to be at the time you needed it most was beyond your understanding. It was better to leave some things to the unknown, even if you did feel a strange pull to this place you’d been to once as a very young child.
You read the letter a final time before glancing at the attached legal papers. Suddenly it seemed as if the space you’d so meticulously curated to be yours was a touch too sterile. The apartment on the expensive side of town. The new, reliable car. The dinner parties, the expensive alcohol. The shiny executive position to go with it. You’d worked hard for it but also had privilege that so many didn’t. You were grateful for it. Even so, you couldn’t ignore that something was missing.
Perhaps long days and even longer nights, clean air, and more sky than infrastructure were the puzzle pieces you hadn’t found yet.
❦ 2 WEEKS LATER ❦
Your apartment was turnkey on the market and already had three solid offers.
In the end, you decided on saving the expense of a rental car, but doing so meant the closest you could get to Stardew Valley was Zuzu City and from there, you had to take a bus. The whole thing felt spectacularly contrived, much to your chagrin. It was spring and while the city was filled with smog, the moment you hit the long highway out of Zuzu towards your new home it was as if the heavens parted to shine a light on your way. Not a single cloud remained in the sky. Well, maybe one little puff that looked way too much like a pastry waaaay out in the distance.
It was a two hour drive on a four lane highway that somehow turned into a two lane without you noticing. For a long while there was nothing but the music playing in your headphones and stretches of field so green and wide open, you could easily get lost in daydreaming. Rolling hills, green grass, and sometimes a fence. Clair de Lune played in your ears and with the surprisingly comfortable position you’d found leaning your head on the window, it didn’t take much for you to drift off.
The bus jolting to a stop is what wakes you on a sharp, snorting breath as your eyes snap open. For a moment, you’re disoriented, unaware of where you are or if you are, in fact, a real person. A headache has begun throbbing at the base of your neck and your mouth is dry. Late afternoon sun streams in the bus window and the driver, a little graying man in a smart blue uniform is standing over you.
“There you are, I was beginning to think I couldn’t wake you. We’ve reached the end of the line. I’ll give you a moment while I open the cargo hold. I have a schedule I have to keep to though!” He says it brightly, smiling as big as can be, the expression crinkling his eyes shut above his rosy cheeks. You nod as he turns and spryly makes his way down the middle of the bus and out the doors.
You do take a moment, but only a small one, to stare out the window. It’s a small bus station, barely even a station at all really. There’s a small awning under a tree that houses an automatic ticket printer. It seems both too modern and too ancient, a monolith, to be here in Stardew Valley. There’s a wooden bench and a cobbled pathway that looks as if at one time there was a lot of foot traffic that has since dwindled. In the distance a wooden fence, fallen into disrepair.
Still, you take a breath and even within the confines of the vehicle, you can taste the crisp freshness in the air. On top of that, there’s green everywhere. In the trees, in the grass, in the wildflowers. In the button-up shirt on the other little old man standing expectantly outside the bus looking in. He’s wearing a brown newsboy cap and overalls, with a golden yellow tie. That must be the mayor. Mayor… Lee? Lemony? Lewis? That’s it, Mayor Lewis.
The mayor had been good friends with your grandfather. He had said as much over the phone when he called to confirm you had gotten the letter and legal papers in the mail. Mail didn’t get lost in Stardew Valley, it was too small but he didn’t known how things worked in the big modern city. He had told you he would meet you to take you to your grandfather’s, well, your farm when you got into town. That was two weeks ago and if you were being completely honest with yourself, you had forgotten that little detail. It was just as well because your fancy cellphone with “unparalleled” service had one little tiny bar; no pulling up Maps here.
Uncertainty roiled in your gut, truly the first bit of apprehension you’d felt since you’d started this process. Maybe this was literally the most foolish thing you’d done in your life, more foolish than breaking into the public pool after hours with your friends your senior year of high school and getting caught by the cops. That had been your last hurrah the summer before you all went to college. Perhaps this was a last hurrah as well. Except, there was no scholarship money waiting in the mail for you this time around. This would be all on you and while you were comfortable with what you had access to for the ball to get rolling, it was different spending your own money than money given to you. Money given to you didn’t count, it wasn’t real.
There was no time like the present. You grabbed your carry on, the one you’d had since high school with the fraying handles and the faded One Direction key chain, and stepped out into the later afternoon. Lewis, who was rocking on his heels with his arms clasped behind him, loosed a beaming smile in your direction. You smiled back, determined to make the most of this first impression.
“Mayor Lewis?” You made it a question even though you were certain it was unnecessary. He nodded enthusiastically and you shook hands. The driver had unloaded your singular suitcase from the hold and gave a mock salute to the two of you as he stepped back in the bus. The doors closed with a wheeze and a loud click before the idling engine was idle no longer and the wheels began rolling the bus back out of town. The mayor broke the amicable silence first.
“You must be exhausted so I’ll walk you straight to the farm and leave you to get settled in! Can I help ya with any of your bags?” You were inclined to let him assist so you handed him your carry on and grabbed your rolling suitcase; a fine film of pollen already collected over its surface. Thank god you’d brought antihistamines. You had an annoying feeling that your allergies would be acting up.
“Uh, Mayor—” he held up a hand.
“Please, call me Lewis. Your grandpa and I were much too close for you to be calling me by a title instead of my Yoba-given name.” Yoba. You hadn’t heard or thought of that name in a very long time. So the mayor was at least somewhat religious, you decided to assume.
“Oh, yes, all right. Lewis it is then. Can I clarify, did you say walk?” Another huge smile broke out across his face, bringing crows feet and laugh lines prominently to the surface. It was humanizing in such a way that you already felt a pang of endearing familiarity towards him. He did remind you vaguely of your grandpa, or what you could remember of him.
“Yes! It’s really not far, just down this dirt road here. I took the liberty of assuming that you would want to stretch your legs a little after that long drive. Your grandpa rode his horse until the very end but I’m sure we could fix ya up with somebody’s old truck if you’d rather use that for transportation from now on.” Your eyebrows shot up your forehead. The mayor must have seen the look of confusion because he rambled on, “Magpie’s a sturdy little gelding, but if he’s too much for you to keep, I’m sure I could help you find him a good home.”
There was so much to consider. You had told Lewis that you planned on fixing the place up but you still hadn’t answered the question that lingered heavily on your mind about what came after that. Did you really plan on uprooting your whole life permanently? Crickets chirped in the hedges lining the pathway. The sun sparkled through the trees as it set in the west. The air smelled heavily of daffodils and lilac. Even without seeing the farm, you already felt a strange pull behind your ribcage, like a string was tied around your heart and was tugging. In what direction, you couldn’t quite tell.
It really didn’t take any time to reach the farm at all. You’d been so wrapped up in further conversation with Lewis that you hadn’t noticed it was a twenty minute walk and sure enough your stiff hips and back welcomed the light exercise. He reminded you that there were a couple chickens that had already been locked up in their coop for the day but as sunny weather was predicted, you’d want to let them out in their run the following morning. The main living structure, a small cabin with a single room and kitchenette, still had utilities running. There was a little toilet room inside as well and a small bathhouse out back for any of your bathing needs. If the pipes groaned when you turned the water on, well, it really wasn’t a problem but if any issues arose from it, he could recommend a handy man to you.
You passed the mailbox and took a mental note that it was one of the first things you’d be fixing; it was leaning so precariously on a rotten wooden post you were surprised it was still standing. When the little cabin came into view as the two of you opened and shut the entrance gate behind you, you felt a tightness begin to unravel in your body. There was an apricot tree hanging over the tiny covered patio. Frogs chirped in the distance from the creek that ran around the far edges of the property. The chicken coop sat close to a bend of that creek next to another west facing entrance. You could also see the overgrown mini forest of trees you had as well as an overabundance of grass and weeds and stone that would need to be cleared.
“Well, here it is, Fox Hollow Farm! I don’t want to overstay my welcome so you let me know if there’s anything you need but otherwise, I’ll let you get settled in for the night.” You assured him as long as there was hot water in that bathhouse and a made bed to collapse into, you think you’d make it through the night. “Good. Robin and I’ll check back in on ya tomorrow morning!” You couldn’t remember exactly who he’d said Robin was but if they were as welcoming as Lewis, it didn’t really matter.
After Lewis had unlocked the cabin and handed you the key, it was very apparent that you weren’t even in the mood for a shower. You waved at him as he left, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. The place smelled dusty already, even though it had only been vacant for three weeks. The wooden floor groaned beneath your feet, but only slightly, as you dropped your duffle bag to the ground and rolled your suitcase just inside the door. You walked to the sink, wiping a hand over the dirty window to look out back. There was a wooden structure with floor to ceiling glass windows making up its four walls. That must be the bathhouse. There was an old coffee maker on the bit of counter space and a singular wooden mug. It was expertly carved and worn down from years of use. You wondered absently if someone local had crafted it.
There was a little basket on the table that was pushed up along the southern wall of the house. You sighed in relief when you realized there was a bag of fresh ground coffee, a loaf of bread wrapped in a cloth, a few clean carrots, a block of hard cheese wrapped in beeswax, a stick of butter in the same fabric, an aged roll of salami, six chicken eggs, and a glass mason jar labeled “Fig Jam” in looping cursive. When you opened the fridge there was an even bigger jar full of milk. You had a sandwich on the drive but you couldn’t resist digging straight into the loaf of bread, cracking it open with your fingers and tearing a hunk off to stuff in your mouth.
The outer layer was perfectly crusty while the inside was fluffy and practically melted in your mouth. You couldn’t wait to eat some of it with the butter and jam and cheese and eggs for breakfast.
After a bit more exploring from which you discovered adequate cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink and a perfectly made bed with an old soft patchwork quilt, you slipped off your shoes and unpacked pajamas from your suitcase. Sliding into bed here somehow felt a thousand times better than it had in your apartment for months. You fluffed the pillows behind you and pulled out your laptop, choosing not to solve the bed conundrum the first night here. Unsurprisingly there was no internet and your phone was definitely not going to be a good hotspot whatsoever. It was apparent you weren’t going to get any work done.
It was so peculiar; you knew you had been here once but… you really had no memory of the place. You didn’t didn’t think you should feel a kinship to it like you were. There was a small wooden nightstand next to the bed and on it there was an old dog eared copy of The Wizard of Oz. Your own books wouldn’t be here until tomorrow or the day after so you decided to crack it open.
For Jack: We always did love this book, even when we were kids. I saw it the other day on a shelf in a little book store on my trip a few towns over. Hope you like it.
The note scribbled in the inside cover was signed “Lew”. As in Lewis? Your grandpa and Lewis really were old friends then. He must be taking this harder than you would have guessed. You would make sure to invite him over for coffee and offer your condolences. Yes, Jack was your grandfather but you didn’t really know him. The light on the nightstand didn’t provide much light but you flipped to the first page of the book and read:
"Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife."
No sooner had you read two pages than your eyes fluttered shut. You tried to keep them open but to no avail so you flipped the light back out and snuggled into the sheets, completely forgetting to turn the white noise on your phone. It had been a necessary portion of your sleep routine for years and years and years.
But tonight, you fell asleep without it, the song of the night filtering in the window you’d left open next to the bed.
Gojo Satoru woke from a deep slumber, sat upright, and squinted his eyes to look about his room. There was nothing out of place. His tower window was open; it always had to be when he slept, except for some days in autumn and for most of the winter season.
He strained to listen, thinking a nocturnal animal must have disturbed his sleep. Again, nothing amiss. He could hear the crickets and the frogs, and in the very far distance, the notes of a mockingbird’s song trilled to him over the cool spring air.
He laid back down, the moonlight shining in the window spilling over his bare chest and illuminating his white hair. If he just breathed slow enough to also slow the sudden rapid beating of his heart, he could go back to sleep. Meditation was something he did often so it didn’t take much. But he couldn’t stop the tugging sensation somewhere behind his ribcage. Strange.
Something had changed in Stardew Valley and he was going to find out what.
This work and its digital elements (credit for pixel art to ConcernedApe) are © Kait of @kaitsawamura 2020-PRESENT. I do not own any rights to Stardew Valley and any subsequent settings/characters, but this work is heavily inspired by that amazing game. Please do not alter or copy this work. Please do not repost this work to other platforms without my express permission.
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x reader#stardew valley#stardew valley au#fics for gaza#fic: the farmer and the wizard#kait writes
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#genuinely this is worth less than the fire text i just made about alan's a cups#and yet i have the gumption to tag this one#mashblr#helen speaks#my mash
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Zeke is a light sleeper and no one can convince me otherwise
pairing: zeke x fem!reader
tags: canonverse, postcoital aftermath (so kinda nsfw) (is it though, im still a little confused)
cw: they kinda have forbidden fuck-buddy relationship here, zeke is kinda a softy here, also zeke being a light sleeper is cuz of abuse in the childhood
wc: 1,6 k
Cold wind escaping from the window brought your body to shivers, merciless bites at the flesh of your exposed forearms and thighs bringing you back from your sweet sleep. An exasperated sigh escaped your lips at unpleasant realization - you had to get up and close the shutters or else you'd freeze to death.
The fact that you were bare under the skimpy cover of blankets wasn't of any help either. From the corner of your forcefully peeled open eye, you noticed a chain of clothes thrown at the floor with no care and left there for the duration of the night - they were yours, most likely. Out of the two of you, only you were too hungry for a cock to mind the orderliness. Not that he was against this, anyway.
As you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up straight, ready to venture out into the cold of the room, his hand caught your wrist.
"Where are you running off to?" the strain in his voice took a feigned hurt as he pulled your wrist towards him in an attempt to make you fall back into the enveloping yet poor warmth of the bed, "Away from me?"
You turned your head to see him and there he was - lying on the creased soiled sheets, most of the blanket on his side yet bunched up at his hips and barely covering his toned stomach and thighs. His eyes have been on you all that time. So strange to meet his gaze without the barrier of glass lenses. Icy blue and bright, there was not a shadow of drowsiness to them as he took in your naked form. How long has he been awake?
Prying your hand away from him and standing up, you retorted with a huff, "Well, since you were the last to fall asleep and failed to close the window last night, I'm doing it in your stead right now"
The corner of his lips curled at such a toothless rebuke. As you were nearing the window, he changed his position rolling on his side to keep his unbroken gaze on you. Anticipating to capture each one of your careful movements as you trotted lightly on your tiptoes across cold floor.
Sometimes you found yourself baffled by his affection for you and its enviable consistency. Under no light did you ever not captivate him. Like a moth to a flame - it blinded him to the prospects of all possible negative implication that your relationship may and would inevitably bring. After all, in the eyes of everyone you're merely comrades. And comradery didn't exactly entail fucking each other all throughout the night till dawn.
Even now, you couldn't comprehend his lingering gaze. Your body was far from clean - littered with spit stains from his far-from-careful kisses and sticky with sweat, especially on your inner thighs where some of his seed leaked from you - yet he still looked. Consumed, even. Or perhaps it was just him reveling in the fruits of his efforts from this night that evidently by no means were in vain.
"Shame, I thought I made sure that you had no strength in you left to rise to your feet and close the window in the morning," the ice in his eyes began to melt with sun rays spilling over his face. "Not what I was hoping for. "
Your eyebrow quirked in curiosity, "In a freezing room with an open window you were not expecting me to close it," you swallowed a mischievous smile. "What were you hoping for, then?"
Zeke retorted in a blank expression, almost aloof, "You know exactly what I was hoping for."
"You're expecting too much from the likes of me, Captain Yeager," you shot back, barely holding back a grin from splitting your face and stooping to a level lower than his.
Ah, insufferable as ever, almost annoyed with your feigned lack of gumption. He'd never say the words first and neither would you.
"Why are you awake in the first place?" you asked instead of carriying on with you taunts, "and at such early hour, no less?"
Drowsiness was still weighing on you as your jaw went numb with each yawn you were desparately trying to stifle, yet he didn't seem to be affected by an abrupt stop of his sleep at all.
Zeke answered with strange poise and affection, "You were thrashing around in your sleep, I thought something might be wrong." He broke off eye contact, seemingly not interested to see your reaction as if his explanation bore little significance.
"And how long have you been awake?"
Zeke pursed his lips for a moment, clearly disgruntled with the recent turn of the conversation, "An hour for certain."
Your mind in its eternal frivolousness convieniently generated images of Zeke lying by your side, watchful over your sleep whilst neglecting his. Did he simply stare? Or put his hands on your body in a subliminal attempt to lull your uneasy mind with his touch? And did your body respond? The warm knot in your stomach traveled to the tips of your ears.
Oblivious to his annoyance, you cracked an endearing smile as you continued to stand near the window leaning on its sill, "I didn't know you were a light sleeper." with your gaze you try to meet his eyes, hopelessly averted from you, "Is it a recent development or have you been like this since childhood?"
"Since my childhood," the tone of his voice falling to never heard before depths.
Shadows grew on his cheeks and bridge of the nose as Zeke clenched his jaw and frowned. Then, he looked at you - now, without his glasses, he eyes seemed even more raw than usual.
Only now did you realize that in this mindless exchange you may have overstepped with your remarks. You hoped he's not too upset with you for your stupi curiosity. The tackiness on your inner thighs stirred your mind with new force as your eyes finally caught a glimpse of the door to the bathroom.
Still naked and very much freezing, you moved past his bed to the bathroom picking up your discarded clothes on the way, "I have a shift early in the morning so I better start getting ready." you muttered as you were closing the door, "Besides, i don't wanna stay up to late to let everybody in the internment zone see how i frequent your place."
As hot streams washed over you warming up your cold extremities, you let your mind wander in the nice sensation. You found comfort - if not twisted pleasure - in the knowledge that you may not restrict yourself in your usage of hot water since it's Zeke who would be paying the bill. For an honorary Marleyan it wouldn't be a grave expense. And strictly speaking, he also bore part of the blame for your disheveled state and would gladly fuck you to the same state all over again. The memories from previous night coiled up in you as you voiced a slight discontent at the fact that you wouldn't have time for this today anyway.
The air in the room was thick with steam and scent of cheap soap by the time you were done cleaning up. All the muscles in your body, previously tense, grew more and more relaxed after the heat treatment. Whilst standing in front of the mirror inspecting your face neck in search of any damning evidence of passionate sex, you nearly lost yourself.
So much so, that you failed to heat the sound of the door handle turning and hinges creaking. By the time you noticed Zeke, he'd already snaked his arms around your waist, beard prickling at your shoulder as he rested his chin on it.
"When does your shift start exactly?" a whisper poured into your ear.
You were thankful that he - unlike you - was already dressed, lest the laughably small space between your bodies would be too unnbearable, "In two hours but it's on the other side of the internment zone."
You shot up your eyes to the mirror. In there you could see Zeke's form towering over you yet desparate to envelope your fresh body. A low hum vibrated through your skin all the way to your heart. There's still time, you had the insolence to assume Zeke's thought process. Though it was pretty obvious that he was extremely pleased with this fact as he weighed down on you even more, his eyes closing.
A soft chuckle escaped your throat at the utter lack of personal space he's granted you, "But i still have to get ready," your mindful words failed to repell him.
As he lifted up his head, from the corner of your eye you could notice his unblinking gaze locked on your features, "Even in your sleep you're very beautiful," he said with an unwavering calmness to his voice, "So tranquil. Even the sniffles you make are adorable."
Constricted from movement in the cradle of his posessive embrace, you can do nothing but to look at him through the mirror's reflection. The most neutral expression was painted on his features, as if the words falling from his lips weren't radiating almost intoxicating level of endearment.
The curiosity got the better of you, "Was it the first time for you? Watching me?"
His hot breath fanning over the shell of your ear, you felt his lips pressing against your temple. The warmth spreading in your chest made it hard to make a single inhale.
"Every time you stay, you wake me up and i watch you till i fall asleep again," confession rolling off his lips so easily.
Suddenly you felt so overflowing with tenderness, it was making you numb. Laying your head back against your shoulder, you looked back at his eyes. Without the glasses, their gaze felt even warmer, the heat radiating on your features.
"Are you up for some coffee? I've made some in the kitchen"
#zeke my clingy baby#attack on titan#aot#shingeki no kyojin#zeke#zeke yeager#zeke jeager#zeke x reader#zeke fluff#zeke yeager x reader#zeke oneshots#aot oneshots
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hi here's the very rough(!) first chapter of a fic that i'm not done with.
if anyone wants to beta or just offer feedback i would be grateful :') but i'm writing this very slowly and don't plan on seeing it done for at least a few more months
March x Healy
Summary: 1980. March and Healy take your classic "reunite me with my estranged adult child" case and may or may not wind up getting involved with a cult, irritating 80's toys, shady business, gardening, and drugs. Oh, and they're pretending to be boyfriends because that's totally a perfect cover??
Rating: 18+ for the eventual porn
Length: I'm gonna guess 30k? I'm at 15k rn and we're maybe halfway through. frankly i got no idea
Tags that aren't exhaustive and mostly aren't applicable to this first chapter, but just a sneak peek: pretending to be boyfriends and there's only one fucking bed anyway bitch, March wearing jeans
The thing about kitsch dolls was that they were supposed to be cute. In abundance they became disturbing. An uncanny noise of soft pastel abstraction, dotted with innumerable eyes, staring at you from living room walls and display cabinets. It didn’t help that almost all of them were religious; angels with halos, praying children, robed biblical figures. March felt like he might combust if he made direct eye contact with the teeming mass of holy ceramic.
“March, did you write that down?”
Holland whipped his head toward Healy, and then at their client, and then at his open, empty notepad. See, you shouldn’t have that many dolls in one room, it’s distracting. It’s weird. “Sorry, ma’am, could you repeat that?”
“Benjamin Larry Hooper. We called him Benny.”
“Bejamin….L… Hooper… Benny.” March mumbled, pen dashing across the page with a show of gumption.
Mrs. Hooper nodded at him, all patterned dress and curled hair, hands placed politely on top of their respective thighs. “He was fifteen when he left, he’ll be twenty-six now. Tall for his age, I’m sure he’s giant by now.”
Holland wrote in big block letters: DOB 1953 TALL
“This is my most recent picture of him, just a few months before he left.” Mrs. Hooper, Francis, reached across her doilied coffee table to hand Healy a framed photograph. It was obviously some kind of family reunion, the photo lined with folks like a tin of sardines. “That’s Benny.” she said, tapping a young man sitting cross legged in the very front row.
Benny Hooper looked like any other fifteen year old at a family reunion, irritated or bored or both. He had a great mop of hair, a downright halo of pitch black curls reaching every direction. The slacks and short sleeved button-down were probably not his normal choice of attire, so that wouldn’t be helpful even if the kid had disappeared less than a decade ago. The shot was too wide to memorize the details of someone’s face on top of being old. The Benny in the photo hadn’t even finished puberty yet. Overall, the photo wasn’t great.
“Very helpful, thank you. We could use any other photographs you have, too.” Healy smiled pleasantly the way he did. It was freakish, the way the guy could go from deadpan bruiser to soft-eyed teddybear in an instant.
Holland smiled along, ignoring the everpresent eyes of Mrs. Hooper's kitsch, even though he knew that there was no chance in hell they were finding Benny Hooper.
-
“There’s no chance in hell, man.” March lit his cigarette in the passenger seat and donned his sunglasses.
Healy tapped his fingers where he rested his arm in the open window. “We have a lead.”
“If you wanna call maybe seeing a glimpse of someone you haven’t seen in eleven years driving a truck a couple of times a lead, sure, we have a great lead. Can we stop at Hammy’s? Told Holly I’d bring home dinner.”
“Y’know, I bet I could count on two hands the number of times you’ve gone proper grocery shopping since I’ve known you.”
“That’s not true, you went grocery shopping with us like two weeks ago.”
“And you bought eggs, bread, a gallon of neon colored juice, a gallon of whiskey, and five frozen pizzas.”
“Are those not groceries? Is that not sustenance?” March waved his cigarette for emphasis.
“Anyway,” Healy redirected, taking the turn toward Hammy’s, “all we have to do is stake out the spot she saw the truck, right?”
“If everything worked out just that easy we’d be out of a job, Jack.” March took a drag from his cigarette, thanking the stars that loaded, aging ladies were willing to shill out for the most unfeasible asks imaginable time and time again. Healy let it sit because he knew it was true by now, well over two years down the line as a PI.
“Why do you think the kid really left?” Healy asked after a while, expertly flat when Holland had figured out eons ago that the guy really was invested in each case, even the small ones.
“I don’t know, too many doilies? An aversion to puce colored carpet? I wouldn’t stay long either.”
Healy ignored him. “I find it hard to believe he just up and left for no reason.”
“Maybe Mrs. Hooper’s chicken is dry.” Healy purposefully hit the curb pulling into Hammy’s, jostling March’s cigarette nearly out of his hand. “I mean, it’s not like it matters. Even if we find the kid, he’s not comin’ back. Ten fuckin’ years. Remember that girl, Arrow or Rainbow or whatever she named herself?”
Healy grunted in reluctant remembrance. They’d found her after a long, boring two months and by the end of it all she’d had to say was ‘thanks for letting me know my family's looking for me, you can go now.’ Not that it mattered much to Holland. They made out with enough money to take a couple of weeks off so they could take Holly to Catalina Island. She got food poisoning on the first day but still claims it was the best trip they’d been on in years (which wasn’t very meaningful considering they’d gone on maybe three of them since she was little).
“Guess you’re right.” Healy parked the car in the crowded parking lot. The line at Hammy’s was always so damn long. “Not getting paid to psychoanalyze the guy.” He sounded reluctant. Any time Healy couldn’t slip in one more act of Good it made him feel like a failure. It was something March secretly admired, however harebrained it was. He glanced a punch off Healy’s shoulder before getting out of the car. “That’s the spirit.”
-
“So why do you think he really left?” Holly asked through a mouthful of burger.
“Jesus, you two should become shrinks.” March grumbled.
Healy sat comfortably sunken into the couch, a March sitting cross legged on the floor on either side of him. “It might be useful to know.” he added.
“Right. Like maybe you’ll be able to narrow down what kinds of places he’d go if you knew.” Holly agreed.
“Our only lead is a truck. Anyone can drive a truck. I don’t care why he’s driving it. All we have to do is follow.”
“So you admit, it’s a lead.” Healy pointed at him with a french fry.
“It’s a crumb of a lead. It’s the suggestion of a lead. It’s a lingering scent of maybe a lead.”
“Says the guy with no sense of smell.” Healy winked at Holly, who bit her lip to stop her smile from blooming. “A lead’s a lead.”
“Did you notice anything about Mrs. Hooper’s house? Like, anything that might make someone want to run away?” Holly was fifteen and already putting in more work than March.
“Yeah, puce carpet.”
Healy nudged March with a socked foot. “She seemed nice. Boring, maybe. Said her husband died a few years ago and her other kid’s off at college somewhere, so the house was pretty quiet.”
“Boredom could drive someone away.” Holly said thoughtfully.
“And if it did that still gives us absolutely nothing to go on. Some kids just hate their parents, alright? Guy probably just hitchhiked to New York or something.” March said.
“Sounds nice.” Holly murmured under her breath. Healy nudged her with his other foot.
March, begrudgingly, loved the gentle way Healy mediated. Fatherhood was something Holland hadn’t really been prepared for, much less being the single dad of a teenager. It didn’t help that he was a big time fuckup or that Holly was too smart for her own good. Having another person in their lives— having Healy in their lives— was a saving grace.
Recently, Holly had started dating her first boyfriend. Or at least the first that she’d admitted to when she’d lost all plausible deniability after that time they’d picked her up from school and seen her drop some young punk’s hand like a hot iron. It was a point of contention now, between Holly and Holland. Boys were pigs, and Holland would know, he used to be one. It was one of the endless number of things Healy had become referee over, but also something Holly had adopted a near constant attitude because of.
“So when are you starting the stakeout?” Holly asked, fiddling with the cracked straw of her milkshake. March looked at Healy for an answer. He was always better at managing their schedule. Unlike March, he usually remembered what day of the week it was. Healy looked back at him and shrugged. Wasn't like they had another case on, much to the dismay of their wallets. “Tomorrow, I guess.”
Holly got that look on her face. “Can I come?” Tomorrow was a Saturday.
March shook his head. “Don’t you have normal teenage things to do? Shouldn’t you be like sneaking vodka out of someone’s mom’s cabinet on a Saturday?”
Healy chimed in before she could argue. “It’s gonna be boring anyway, Holl. You’ll be sitting in the backseat twiddling your thumbs all day.” She knew that. She’d been on stakeouts with them before. But Healy’s say was more valuable to her than her dad’s, apparently, so she dropped it.
It was late when Healy headed home, agreeing on the asscrack of dawn to reconvene and start their stakeout.
“Why doesn’t he just live here? You guys spend every day together anyway.”
March wandered into the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of rye. Their (second) rental, real house unbuilt as ever, was always so still when Healy left. Another item on the laundry list of things March tried not to think about. “Because he’s a grown man, Holly, with his own house.”
“I wouldn’t call that dump a house, and anyway it’s an apartment. He should be sleeping here and not in an attic with a laughtrack that plays until two in the morning.”
“Well then you can invite him to stay for a sleepover next time. You guys can paint nails and read magazines.” Holland wasn’t stupid. He knew that wasn’t really what girls’ sleepovers were like. One time he’d walked in on Holly and her friend eating donuts and saying such depraved things about Joe Strummer that he’d vowed to not open the door without knocking ever again. He never looked at that Clash poster on her wall the same way.
Holly scoffed in time with the ice tinkling into Holland’s tumbler.
-
The sun shone way too brightly for Holland. When he’d woken up he’d still been a little drunk, but now out of the house and into Healy’s car a hangover had eagerly seeped in. They’d agreed to start the stakeout before the sun came up, but March had skillfully convinced Healy to take him through a drive-thru breakfast and they were running late. He now nursed a coffee as the sun rose into the perfectly wrong spot in the sky. They watched cars zip lazily by from the corner of a parking lot.
“I just think it would be good to have a dog around.” They’d had this discussion every other day for a month now. March wanted a dog in the house for the very logical reason of alerting them to intruders, Healy nay-sayed because he was a killjoy with no imagination.
“I’m telling you, March, putting in a doggy door just isn’t gonna be enough for a German Shepherd. And we all know you’re not gonna walk it.”
“Why do you even care so much, man? It would be my dog.” And more importantly, why did Healy even have a say in whether or not they got a dog?
“I care because I’d somehow get stuck taking it out half the time. And your sorry ass wouldn’t train it. We’d have an untrained, overpriced menace tearing around the house.” The house. Not Holland and Holly’s house, but The House.
“Well, whatever, even if that was true it’d make a good guard dog, right? No one’s getting past a pent up, feral German Shepherd. Might shit on the carpet but it’ll take a guy’s dick off. Balls too.”
“You should really consider a shrink. I think you’ve lost your damn mind.” Healy shook his head, but Holland caught his smile.
“You taking new patients, doc? I’ve been told by my teenager that I’m a headcase.”
“I could make some room in my busy schedule. Gonna cost you about the same as a purebred German Shepherd, though.”
March smiled and leaned back into his seat. Absolutely nothing of interest was happening outside at all, which was just fine now but give March three or so more hours and he’d start going stir crazy and the headache wasn't helping.
Mrs. Hooper had seen the truck twice, once in the morning and once in the early evening, which gave them an unfortunately broad window of time. She’d described it as a white, short cab semitruck, maybe a GMC, with a small trailer on it, which narrowed it down almost not at all. It sounded like every third short haul semi chugging around Los Angeles, of which there were many. Very many.
The only thing they had to go off of was that the second time around she’d seen what she thought was some kind of blocky hand-lettering on the driver’s side door, done in “nearly illegible” multicolor. When Healy had asked what she meant by “multicolor” Mrs. Hooper had only elaborated as “horribly garish.” So at least there was that.
The odds that the guy driving the bespoke truck was this Benny person were essentially zero. That was about half their cases these days, desperate longshots funded by desperate rich people. The other half was still taking photographs of idiots who fuck with the curtains open. It was wearing a little thin. Couldn't people invent more important problems to investigate? Whatever. A job’s a job’s a job.
The coffee in March’s cup had gone cold just in time to meet the creeping heat from outside. He downed the tepid sludge before wrenching the little metal fan out of the back seat and plugging it in. It whirred to life gracelessly.
“Hey.” Healy tapped him on the arm, which startled and excited Holland enough that he flung his empty coffee cup onto the floorboards.
“What—what, you see something?”
A short cab semi puttered toward them from a distance, aiming for a perfectly timed red light. Healy pulled up the binoculars and squinted through them, waiting for the cab to pull into view enough to see the driver’s door. March’s breathing was shallow in anticipation.
The truck moved, and Healy tutted, and March could see the glaringly blank door even without the binoculars. “Driver’s blonde. Ginger beard.” Healy said, still staring through the eye pieces like the truck and driver might magically change. “False alarm.”
“They’re all gonna be false alarms. This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack, only the needle was never in the haystack to begin with.”
Finally, Healy let the binoculars fall into his lap. “I ever told you how much I love your optimism?”
#the nice guys#the nice guys fanfiction#march x healy#healy x march#nice guys#holland march#jackson healy
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3 4 6 7 9 14 17 25 29 (30) 32 33 42 50
30. Tag someone you want to talk to but have been too shy to message.
we're putting this at the FRONT of the ask so that it doesnt have to read through a whole damb post to find out where the tag is. anyway @amber-gimlet im so sorry i haevent messaged u about the Lore and shit yet if youre free tonight i will do it after i wake up!
3. Ever done any drugs?
i mean nothing illegal. i take a lot of prescription drugs. well maybe not 'a lot'. but yknow.
4. What piercings do you want?
none! dont have any interest in them
6. Describe your dream home.
i dont really have a dream home. theres a big house near where i grew up that had a roof you could go up on and stand wistfully at the edge waiting for your wife to come back from her whaling trip. i would like a house that lets me do that.
7. Who are you jealous of?
i mean if theres anyone whos immortal.
9. Do you watch porn?
i mean if hentai counts, very very rarely.
14. How would you spend a million dollars?
pay off my car. buy a house. move.
17. Are you angry with anyone right now?
mmmm nope!
25. Describe your perfect Friday night.
i run dnd very well and everyone loves me for doing it so good and then i lay in bed for the rest of the night.
29. What’s the most overrated movie?
i watch movies so rarely. all the ones that people like i havent seen. the ones i have seen i mostly liked.
32. If you could live in a fictional world, what world would you pick?
almost said vampiress lord bc thats the best vampire lore but i would probably not end up becoming a vampire. so um. uhhh.. uhhhhh.... i cant think of any off the top of my head that could make me immortal. vampiress lord and i hope and pray real real hard.
33. If money was no object, what would your wardrobe be like?
tbfh money is already no object re:clothing the thing that actually gets in my way is being really lazy and not being able to find flannels i want. my tastes are extremely cheap so if i had the gumption i could afford the clothes.
42. Describe the hottest person you know.
hwat the fuck does that mean. dr. anarcha marion. final answer. (sorry i like. dont find people hot most of the time)
50. What’s your favorite kind of weather?
overcast, warmish but not so warm i cant wear a jacket. it smells like rain.
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Hello my mental health is the worst it’s been all year. If not longer
I could verify this by going through my vent tag but I am not going to because that takes time. This trait of mine is part of the problem but I’m not in a place to fix that right now.
ANYWAYS why am I like this. I have some inklings as to why.
Work is now opening an hour sooner. Meaning I have to wake up earlier and I have been losing sleep as a result. This is not good for the Mental Health
Current drama with a coworker that I am not going to go into that because it’s complicated and rather stupid.
Today was supposed to be my Tax Day where I did my Taxes but I was hit by dread this morning so I didn’t get around to it until like 5PM and then realized I don’t have one of my W2 forms and I can’t go looking around for that because my dad will tell me how stupid I am and how I never care about anything and am doing this on purpose. And I actually can’t care about anything I feel, but it’s not like I’m not trying it’s just that I have no soul.
I cannot give my friends the attention they deserve. I am burnt out I have no energy left for being a friend and yet there are people who miss me. And I can’t be there often enough for them not to miss me. I am neglecting them and I am a terrible person but I need to be alone.
I really do feel that I have reached my full potential. There is simply not enough caring or gumption or whatever it is I’m missing in this body of mine to achieve anything further. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move out or date or even get a job I like better than DQ. I’m done being closeted in my parents house and I’m ready to quit early.
I can’t quit early. Firstoff I have friends who care about me, and I can’t imagine what it’d do to them. I’ve got a baby niece in the house too who smiles when she sees me so I gotta live for her too. And that’s not mentioning how difficult and impractical non-painful methods of dying are. Seriously. Best option I have is locking myself in the walk in freezer with a CO2 canister, but I learned from a cool book I read that high concentrations of CO2 will make you feel like you’re suffocating, and the best gas for that purpose is Nitrogen. Which costs money and is very conspicuous.
I also don’t want to die. I just want the suffering to be over, and death really seems to be the only way out aside from Miracles like universal housing passing within the next year or two, or I attain Godhood and can just do as I please. I think about dying and it makes me want to cry. Being on the verge of tears for long periods of time really does something for my perception of my mental health, being that I haven’t been like this since the family dog died. Maybe crying would do me good.
I should probably get a therapist but I don’t have time or energy for my friends, scheduling these things takes time and effort and I don’t want to have to talk to my parents about it. I should probably get antidepressants. Also my laundry basket from yesterday isn’t even all the way filled up and it’s 9:58. And I have work tomorrow but no uniforms. God I just need to rest.
BUT HERE’S THE THING ABOUT REST. I’VE ALREADY HAD A WEEK OFF OF WORK BECAUSE OF THE FEVER. MY JOB IS UNDERSTAFFED AND I CANT MAKE THEM SUFFER THROUGH THAT AGAIN AT SUCH SHORT NOTICE.
Anyways I have been putting no effort into finding a place since like last year, or finding a therapist. Or really anything. I’m not sure if I can even do that. I have reached my limit. I’m simply not much substance. I’m nice to have around and talk to but quite frankly I don’t have it in me to actually survive on my own. I don’t have it in me to die either. So who knows what is going to happen. I’m going to rot forever. Dying a slow death with nothing but fantasy to dull the edges.
I have a friend who’s offered to let me crash at their place, but I can’t take them up on that offer because I’ll just be the same lifeless rock that I am. Forever. And I can’t do that to them. If I can’t break free on my own then I’m afraid I never will. My chrysalis will just stay gathering dust. Sapping resources. I need to grow wings but I don’t know if I can.
So here I remain. Closeted at my parent’s house. Probably forever. The brain does not engage. I’ve been dead for years but the body still breathes. This is all I am and it is not enough. I’m gonna pretend I live in Star Wars now until I forget the useless thing that I am. I have work tomorrow.
#vent.tw#Suicide mention#Literally I cannot kill myself. I lack the executive function and the conviction#If I had enough motivation to get sleeping pills or nitrogen or whatever I’d have enough to get an apartment and be free from this mess#God. I’m going to die of old age#Anyways I was considering going to a friend over this but I have not invested enough in those friendships to just dump this on one of them#Out of the blue
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20 Questions Writer Meme
I wasn't tagged but I did steal this from @skywalking-through-life because it looked fun.
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
31. 11 are public and are from my current fandom while 20 are user-locked and are from previous fandoms.
2. What's your total ao3 word count?
1,140,336. About 900k of that is from my current fandom. :P
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Currently, I write for A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones
4. What are your top five fics by kudos?
Probably everything in my current fandom lol
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I do! I know it is a common complaint in the writing fandom space how fandom community has been replaced by content creation and consumption, and I figure that one of the ways to fight back against that is to have a two-way chat in the comment section. I also figure that both me and the reader are in this fandom for a reason and I also like chatting about the thought process behind my stories so I enjoy the thread gabs!
6. What's the fic you wrote that has the angstiest ending?
Me, who kills Jon off as a hobby: *laughs nervously*
7. What's the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?
Think I'll stick to current fandom for these questions but probably interlude: la danse d'hiver, the only time I will likely ever write a Babies Ever After/Targaryen Restoration ending. It maybe ties with the silhouette of a single memory, but the caveat with the latter is that everything in canon still took place so maybe it's more on the sweet side of bittersweet.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Not really? I've had a handful of stray comments that probably didn't need to be written but to be honest, I'm roasted on the reg by a pair of 6-year-olds. No one can hurt your feelings like a child with no tact so I usually shake my head and laugh at the rare bits of negativity.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I do love to see an aunt bang her nephew. So yes. Very much so lmao
10. Do you write crossovers?
Fusion, sure. But I haven't really written a crossover since my days writing for The Dresden Files/Sherlock and that was entirely due to a whole OC storyline I created with my partner-in-crime
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I know of. Hopefully not.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Someone translated the gather, the bend, the bringing forth into Russian. Kudos to them because even my eyes go crossed when I work up the gumption to reread that monstrosity.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
In the past, yes! Not anymore though because my writing schedule is absolutely shit-faced.
14. What's your all-time favorite ship?
I've had a lot of OTPs. Clearly, I'm sailing on the Jonerys ship currently but I've had at least one or two for each fandom I've written for.
15. What's a wip you want to finish, but don't think you ever will?
Arcana, mostly. I grew disillusioned with the canon source and its author so there's a good chance this one will never be finished.
16. What are your writing strengths?
I am my worst critic so I'll just say I'm good at typing a lot of words that sometimes are coherent and pretty.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Pacing, which is a real fucking problem since four of my multi-chapter fics over the past couple of years have been (or are going to be) well over 150k.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
There are usually snippets of High Valyrian in some of my ASOIAF/GOT fics but I'm not sure of that counts.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Sailor Moon! :D
20. Favorite fic you've written?
Oooh. That's a tough one. I like all of my fics for different reasons. They each speak to me in a different way. I may love the complexity of one, the writing style of another, the themes of a third, and the characterization of yet another.
I will say that the two fics of mine I reread most often are the silhouette of a single memory and where ruin also exists.
•
Tagging @sweetpeapod @aeide @ragingrainbow @mrpinniped @thebright1 @zavocado @arielchelby @jellybeanficwriter if you're interested!
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15 with moone :-)
15. finding excuses to be alone with each other [x]
Erik’s lying on his back in his bunk, an arm slung haphazardly across his eyes. The afternoon light is bright as it beams through the blinds slotted across the window, warming his room and casting parallel rays across everything – the floor, the bed, his body stretched long above the thin sheets. He doesn’t move a centimeter as a set of knuckles rapping softly on the door announces the presence of a visitor. The door is opening before he even has the chance to gather enough energy to peel himself off the mattress.
There’s only one other person in the barracks who has a key to his room, so the sound of boots being unlaced and slid off as the door shuts is of no consequence to Erik.
The person in the room isn’t a stranger, and today Erik doesn’t quite have the gumption to properly host a guest. Any other day, he’d be at the kitchenette, heating up a pot of coffee, maybe digging out a few oranges to peel and share.
He doesn’t even have to move his arm as the mattress he’s on dips with the weight of another body. He gives a halfhearted rumble and scoots towards the wall to give his guest a little more room.
“Bad day?” Mun asks as the warmth of her figure fills the space where only sunlight had been before. She tucks her hands beneath his shoulder as she drops her head onto his chest, and Erik can’t bite back the easy smile that breaks the slack expression on his face.
“Me too,” she continues, without giving him any time to answer at all. “A whole shipment of Hecatian artifacts went missing in transit. Brass thinks it all got returned to Hecate. I had to make, like, a thousand excuses to get away from the inquisitors.”
Erik can’t disguise the hitch in his chest – not with her head so close, not with his heartbeat thudding strong beneath her ear. He feels her head lift, feels the shift of her hair as she turns to look at him.
He moves his arm, just a little – everything is fuzzy for a second as his eyes focus, and then Mun sharpens into view. Her glasses are skewed around her nose, her expression accusatory as she props herself up on an elbow.
He grins at her. “I stole a whole shipment of Hecatian artifacts.” He finally moves his arm, hooking it around her waist and anchoring her to his side. With the other he pulls her glasses off her face, carefully folding them before setting them gently into the nook in the wall where he keeps other mementos – an old set of dog tags, a blue ribbon, a photograph of Ezra that’s a little damaged but stretched into a black plastic frame regardless.
Mun mumbles disagreeably but starts to nestle anyways, hooking a leg between Erik’s knees. “One of these days you’re going to get caught.” She snips, her voice half-muffled by the fabric of Erik’s black coveralls. He can feel the curve of her mouth – smiling – against his chest.
Erik gives a little hum of agreement, watching her closely as she reaches up and twines her fingers into the chain hanging around his neck. She fidgets with the flat silver tags bearing his name and rank, the insignia of the guild and the symbol of his order. “Haven’t been caught yet,” he reminds her, drawing his free hand up to brush some hair away from her face.
She worries about him. She always has.
Erik sighs. “You know, I had to tell my captain that I had to go to R&D again. Just to get back here.”
Mun peeks up at him. “Again?”
Erik nods. He’s a regular at the Research and Development department at headquarters, coming in every few weeks or so for some sort of repair to his cybernetics. The engineers know him by name and joke that he’s the best guinea pig they’ve ever had – troubleshooting the ghostwalking technology so nobody else has to.
“He believed me.” And then, changing the subject – “Sorry about the inquisitors. They’re brutal.”
Mun wrinkles her nose.”I don’t think they’ve ever had fun before. Ever.”
Erik chuckles at this. “What did you tell them to get them to let you go?”
Mun thinks for a second. Then tilts her head, a wicked smile overtaking her sharp features. “I told them I was expected at R&D.”
“I’ve never been more proud of you.”
Mun giggles, then gives the chain around Erik’s neck a tug as she cranes her face towards his own. “So you’re free for the rest of the day?” She hedges, her mouth pausing in its trajectory infuriatingly close to Erik’s.
Erik’s brows knit together, frustrated. “Yes,” he grumbles, bringing his head forward to try and close the gap – but she pulls away, a cruel temptress in a turtleneck sweater.
Mun presses a forefinger to Erik’s lips. “Did you actually go to R&D?”
He groans. “No, I didn’t. Why is this relevant?” His hand tightens around her waist, trying to goad her into a less frustrating proximity.
“Because yesterday you told me that your hearing aids were bothering you. Did you get them fixed yet?”
His voice is tight as he watches her lips move, reading her words as she talks. “No.”
Mun frowns, sitting up in earnest this time. “Why not?” The absence of her figure is chilling against Erik’s side, like someone’s just dunked him in an ice bath.
“Can we talk about this later?” His hands cage her hips, no longer concerned with the softness of her hair. He can’t hide the whine in his voice, gaze locked on the movement of her lips.
She finally seems to notice his discomfort as his fingers knead into her waist, lashes low over his eyes. "Fine, but I'm going with you to R&D tomorrow."
Yeah, yeah, thinks the sergeant, stretching his knees as she swings a leg over his abdomen and settles against him with her hands on his chest. R&D. Got it. Her fingers grab for the tags around his neck again, tugging him upwards and into her waiting hands.
When Mun finally obliges Erik with a kiss, her mouth is soft and smiling, her hair a dark curtain around his spinning head.
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WIP Wednesday
@andr0leda tagged me to share a WIP this week, and I've been slowly slowly slowly chipping away at this warden/vega thing, set right before the comfort audio. I don't remember who has and hasn't been tagged yet, so I'm going to tag @taelonsamada @dominimoonbeam @glassbearclock aaaand @colloquialcolival
Anywho, excerpt from WIP:
As soon as the Solitaires enter, Vega stands back to watch. He isn't surprised to see his Warden set themself between the trio and the ward. Isn't surprised that they refuse the chance to just walk away.
He's almost proud. He's mostly annoyed that they won't just step down against such poor odds, but he has to admit that he admires their gumption.
They hold their own well, at first. If it had been a fair fight, one-on-one, with no ward to sustain, he has no doubt they would have trounced any opponent. But it isn't, and the Solitaire pressing at weak spots in the ward splits their attention. Still, they last longer than he expects.
But the demon they're fighting gets his hands on them, slams them against the wall by their neck, and it's over. Should be over. Vega ignores the one pressing at a weak spot in the ward she found and watches the winner of the spar closely, eyes narrowed.
#wip wednesday#decided that the warden side of things is going super slowly#so maybe shifting a bit may help unstick the whole thing#look I know vega is bad news but I just think he's neat#my neat little potato okay#redacted audio#redacted vega#redacted warden
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UM HELLO MY BELOVED FRIEND?? MY HERO AND INSPIRATION?? I saw that you followed me and HONESTLY thought it was a mistake, and then when the follow persisted I was paralyzed by trying to write a message to you that was both cool and casual and grateful and now im in finals for my masters program and then i was like, "its been too long of me not saying anything shes gonna think im an ass" so please dont think im an ass, i literally have opened this app and just lit up every time i see your username and am just putting all my messy joy in a little note (WHICH feel free to not publish lol its a mess) but omg so many thoughts I want to talk to you about and also how are you and have you seen jacob c in concert yet and how amazing was it, but alas FINALS have literally turned my brain to mush (and how is it that i always seem to come across your stuff just as i fear finals are going to kill me? it was during winter finals that i found gumption, and I recently had the supreme pleasure of reading devils haircut ((SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THE MAGIC SECTION IN PARTICULAR AND THEATRE SETS AND THEATRE LORE, this fic really made my brain go brrr)) and now i see that you have a new fic up titled after a regina spektor gem???) Ordinarily I'd be like, you're killing me with this good content *italian hand gesture*, but honestly you and all of your thoughts expressly give me life sO anyway I hope you're doing amazing and that spring is treating you right (many flowers, no allergies) and I hope we can chat some more soon
STOPPPPP my dearrrrr you are the sweetest!!! TRUTHFULLY - I couldn't believe I *wasn't already* following you!! I have this bad habit of running all around friendo's blogs just checking in and making sure everyone is doing well (mother goose style), and then I'll have a moment where I'm like "wait... I'm NOT following them???" But I quickly resolved this little issue as soon as I noticed it 😂
OMG I would neverrrrr think you're an ass are you kidding me??? You always leave such thoughtful messages, so absolutely no worries there!! I hope that your finals went (or are currently going) swimmingly ✨✨ rest up and hydrate and be gentle with yourself during this time, you deserve it with how much brainpower you're using.
I see Jacob Collier in liiiiiike two ish months??? (math is literally my downfall) but STILL, I am very excited to witness his genius in person.
AWW I'm so happy you liked that fic, that was such a fun one to write (especially about the M*cb*th curse 😈). And your tags on the spring fic were SO incredibly sweet, they had me STITCHES!! Thank you sooooo very much for always being so kind, you have a heart of gold! Pleaseee have the loveliest day and a restful weekend to recover from your studies!! ☀️💕🫶
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Everything about S1 of TMA from like, the last five episodes on is just really hype, but the final two episodes--which, alongside the closing statement of MAG038 really just feel like one long finale--kick it up to an wholly new level.
And it's very cool.
MAG039 is here,
and so is the worm wife
(and her worm kids)
(who are very hungry)
MAG039 is entirely and definitely my favourite episode of TMA thus far. It's got so much.
archives crew interactions. jon's facade finally cracking. joe spooky.
Okay so. I'm going to be all over the place with this episode because FUCK chronology apparently
So in my last post I mentioned I was going to leave my thoughts about the Table (You Know The One) for this one because. Well.
(Two for two for homophobic furniture :/)
Ironically the night before I listened to MAG039, I was discussing TMA with friend @jackassrabbit and we got to talking about the statements that had really gotten us, and I mentioned a very early statement that had still stuck with me--MAG003, "Across The Street."
I actually mentioned this in a post really early on in my liveblog tag, but the gaslighty unreality of someone being replaced but only you knowing is a deep seated irrational fear of mine. So I remembered this statement because of this conversation with my friend.
And then my friend said this:
Which, uh. Definitely put me in the mind to be paying attention and remembering MAG003, both because I was intrigued and it is, again, a personal fear I was now bracing for.
When I was joking in an earlier post about Sasha having the gumption of a horror movie final girl I should have know that was me cursing her to not have their survivability.
my friends who like to bully me so much
rest in peace queen
the MOMENT she went into artefact storage I was like Oh No She's Dead because I was now VISCERALLY REMEMBERING the MAG003 table and the fact that it was in there
Audio work was a lot for this episode actually btw
I had to yank my earphones out when Sasha screamed ):
HONESTLY I'm sad she's gone and I'm gonna be stressed about the FAKE SASHA NO ONE REALISES IS FAKE for forever but at least she went out as episode MVP
Saving Tim. Corkscrewing Jon's worms. Setting off the fire alarm. Going to bug Elias about Saving Her Boys. Sasha James I have feelings for you and now they are sad ones.
Speaking of feelings. Jon ♡
Glad to see him finally having that mental breakdown (they would soon regret this statement); when I said that I thought his skeptic act was breaking down around him j didn't think it was like. Actually an act?
Like Jon as a paranormal happenings denier has been super interesting because it wasn't a case of flat out denial, because there were things he clearly did believe in even if he was trying to rationalize it, so his confession that he's been feeling Watched this entire time and has been suffering Rampant Paranoia is...i have thoughts but theyre not solid yet. They're percolating.
Thinking back to how tired and strung out he seems post "real" statements now like I noticed with the knowledge that he Feels Watched during them is also like Oh That Makes Sense
BTW "you didn't...die here, did you?" would 100% win funniest line in any other episode but unfortunately here it has to compete with joe spooky, so
This conversation between Jon and Martin made my heart go aww though.
God. In any other episode Tim would have won MVP (unfortunately for him Sasha exists and never will again so SHE gets play of the game). Even though he didn't quite take the crown I love him.
WORM WKFE
hi jane
she says only one word but I love her so much
God this got long I will. Give MAG040 it's entirely own post and end this one here, I am so sorry.
#lyre does tma#rest in peace to an absolute queen#two of them actually#i am now just imagining how jon must react each time a statement DOES record digitally since we know theyre doing those too#a lot more of them actually#so actually it's probably more like#jon will be working through a box of statements#and he'll find one that glitches out his software#and just feel this DREAD creep over him as he suddenly feels like He Is Being Watched#i wonder how much of his paranoia is warranted and how much is just jon sims flavoured
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9/28: Meeting Abdirack, the Loviatar Priest in the Goblin Camp.
(a rewrite of day 9 prompt of @writ3rstears #BG3FicFeb, as i wasn't happy with the quality of the original. exploring the peculiar relationship between Astarion and my Tav, a gnome bard named Marrow.
CW for: not safe but (relatively) sane and consensual bdsm, graphic descriptions of wounds, sadism & masochism, implied/referenced abusive relationship, implied/referenced sexual abuse, and the normal bevy of trigger warns you'd associate for a character piece with Astarion)
Marrow’s an anomaly.
First impressions weren’t strong. No skills in combat other than quick wit and quicker word; seemingly incapable of picking up on a simple ruse. The only thing that saved their first meeting from ending with intestines on the roadside was sheer gumption and a thick skull, and a near-plead for Astarion to join their group. The spawn usually wasn’t one to easily agree, but they’d have nothing else to go on in the countryside — he wasn’t even sure where they landed — and the gnome had spit the first bit of logic to make sense.
So he’d tagged along.
Within the next six hours, Marrow would prove to be quite a character: talking their way into the grove, into favor with the tieflings, and somehow managing to placate the murderous druid. Their curiosity and insistence of following every available lead gave them their first possible path to tadpole removal: the existence of Archdruid Halsin, a renowned healer trapped within a goblin camp, all members of a cult following an unknown god by the name of the Absolute.
That’d earned a few more days of his company, at least until they reached the goblin camp.
On their way out of the Grove, they’d swayed the infamous Blade of Frontiers to their endeavor. Within a day, they’d tracked down the demon Wyll had been tracking — who’d just proven to be a particularly fiery tiefling. After memories of Avernus haunted all their heads, Marrow talked down Wyll’s murderous quest within a matter of moments, and found another powerful ally for their side.
That particular bit of diplomacy had forced Astarion to take stock of the situation.
In a group full of secretive clerics, overenthusiastic tieflings, the Blade of Frontiers, a murderous githyanki warrior, and well — him — Marrow served as a means to an end that none of them would be capable of accomplishing on their lonesome.
Their moral center was as straight-on as an arrow, until they lied in the draw of the bowstring. That blank little smile, indulgent and sincere all at once, had a way of teasing secrets Astarion nearly envied. They balanced indulging each and every member of their little group, and weaving along the delicate path to progress with that infuriating curiosity.
Within the next two week and a half weeks, Marrow’s gut instinct had uncovered:
Those bearing tadpoles are known as True Souls, the chosen of the Absolute
A hidden dungeon underneath a blighted village, and a blatantly-cursed book
A bunch of spiders in a cave underneath said village (one of the few adventures the gnome had immediately noped out of)
A hag’s lair, who proved another possible source of Tadpole removal, but nobody was willing to let her pluck out an eye
The goblin’s camp, and an effective method of bluffing their way inside.
That’d been the point Astarion started to wonder how to best secure his place in the group. Seduction was straightforward, simple, the most secure method he’d known, yet — even the most brazen of his flirtations were disregarded like trash. He almost would’ve been insulted, if he hadn’t caught the bard’s blatant admiration of Karlach’s biceps.
So he’d been back at square one, until Marrow had approached him with a deal.
“There’s very little I can depend on right now. This group is all we’ve got. And I know for a fact that you will always act in your own best interests.”
It had been a shockingly astute read, and a simple deal. Keep doing what he was doing, and Marrow would insure he was fed.
Every instinct he had was screaming it was too good to be true, too selfless to sustain itself.
He’d said yes anyways.
Marrow was too sharp, too curious, and too effective at organizing their lackadaisical mockery of a mercenary group to ignore anymore. Too genuine, too kind, too well-intentioned, despite the fact they were trying to save their own lives. They kept insisting on helping others, and it kept working out in the group’s favor so Astarion couldn’t even complain.
They were an unknown quantity. He couldn’t be sure what was real or fake.
They were still a threat, and they’d earned his respect for it.
Nothing about them made sense.
Until the priest of Loviatar.
Astarion can see it in the bend of their spine, the half-veiled look in their eye, the near-perfected cries of pain.
Marrow’s done this before.
…
A day spent scouting out the goblin camp. Astarion could think of a million things he’d rather be doing, yet the gnome had insisted he come. After their little scuffle the other day, and their unwelcome— but not unwanted — gift, he’d opted to clear the air, and acquiesced to their request for his company for the day’s duties.
Marrow had bluffed their way into the ruins, received a brand of the Absolute without even flinching, and insisted on exploring the decrepit ruins of the Selunite temple for the sake of ‘intel’. Their scrounging had turned up the names of the three individuals they’d need to assassinate to reduce the group from ‘organized threat’ to ‘manageable’. But they’d insisted on exploring further despite Astarion’s suggestion of simply shanking their way out of the issue —
And that led them to the anomaly among the goblinfolk.
A priest.
Astarion was only moderately intrigued. Their little leader’s reaction, however —
They’d paused.
That caught a modicum of his attention.
The bard just… stood for a moment, looking up and down the length of his body. Taking in everything the oddity had to offer: black ornamental leather, a pale visage rivaling his own bearing more scar tissue than clear skin, a mace so decorated it could’ve been ornamental, if it weren’t for the lovingly-sharpened spikes.
“Are you here to assist with the prisoner?”
The priest’s voice is utterly bored, regarding their party with the bare curiosity.
Marrow’s gaze drifts between the goblin torturers lounging against the far wall. They’d talked the goblins into leaving the room, and let the prisoner go to run free just half an hour ago.
“...Yes, though we’re just passing through for the moment. I thought it’d be best to let him wallow in his own fear for a while.” They lie.
“Credit’s due where credit’s due. One’s own mind is often their worst enemy,” He muses, nodding carefully in approval. His own gaze travels to the pair of goblins on the far wall, who’re preoccupied crackling with some crude joke. “While I was thrilled to be invited here, I must confess I find the goblins and their methods… crude and primitive. Pain without purpose is a terrible thing, wouldn’t you agree?”
Shadowheart’s managed to keep a straight face, idly nodding along. Astarion pointedly steps in front of Wyll, whose face is so screwed in disapproval he may as well be constipated. Something clicks behinds Marrow’s eyes, and that signature blank smile is fixed on their face like a mask.
“Wouldn’t a follower of Loviatar revel in pain?” The gnome muses.
…A follower of Loviatar? Interesting. Insightful.
The words are like a fresh glass of water for the priest. He immediately straightens up, smiling.
“You know the Maiden of Pain? How refreshing!” He’s so delighted he almost claps. “I’m Abdirack, here on behalf of our lady’s inquiries into the Cult of the Absolute’s efforts. And you’d be…?”
Marrow simply raises their freshly-branded hand, flashing their recently-received brand. The flesh is still red with freshly-generated scar tissue; gnome’s palm smudged with soot. A fresh wound, presented without hesitation.
The priest’s eyes widen at the sight, nostrils flaring. His eyes flick over the whole of the bard’s little body, genuinely curious — finding no lie in what Astarion recognizes as deliberate nonchalance.
“...Did you know, little one,” He offers factually. Astarion’s heard the same tone straight out of street Vendors at Wyrm’s Crossing. The type that’s nearly desperate to make a sale. “There’s more to those of us who worship through pain than you’d think?”
The gnome’s expression is one of near-innocence and knowing curiosity, blinking up at Abdirack. “Oh?”
“While we worship through pain — admittedly, often our own. But it’s an intimate and loving thing, one that we offer up.” Abdirak elaborates, like he’s listing job benefits. “If you were to permit it, I can show you, first-hand.”
Oh, a show?
“I must see this. Don’t you dare say no.” Astarion quips, the words escaping before he can stop them.
Marrow glances back, one eyebrow quirked in surprise. He meets their gaze with a simple smirk. If their little leader insisted on wasting their time with this lunatic, the least they could do is provide free entertainment.
“Go ahead,” Shadowheart chimes in, trying and failing to hide her curiosity. “I’m sure you’re in need of a little… penance.”
Marrow twists further, both eyebrows going up. Astarion’s gaze jumps, and he can’t repress a snicker. Shadowheart has the decency to blush, ducking her head.
“...I wouldn’t let his skilled hand anywhere near me.” Wyll tries, gaze jumping between the three.
Poor Blade, he’s so out of his element.
The little bard turns back to Abdirack, who’s still staring expectantly. “...I’ll admit, I’m curious.”
The salesman’s grin on Abdirack’s face grows, morphing into something near-lecherous,. “Oh, I have something exquisite in mind,” He murmurs breathily, leaning down over top of the gnome — forcing them to look up. “Both Loviatar and I are interested in how you handle pain, dear one”
They nod.
“Should you be satisfied, you will most assuredly receive her blessing. Face the wall, and we may begin.”
Marrow starts to strip.
The flute and rapier go first, carefully set upon the floor. That’s anticipated, expected.
But their little leader just keeps going.
The jerkin goes next, their thin golden belt hitting the floor. Marrow carefully folds the patterned leather, handing it off to Shadowheart — who’s too surprised to do anything but take it. Their thin doublet follows, untucking their ascot and working the shirt off over their head, tucking them into the Bag of Holding at their waist.
Wyll averts his eyes at this point, his gaze shifting to the floor.
Much to Astarion’s surprise, the gnome wears an overbust corset, compressing the soft curves of their torso. They reach around to their back with surprising flexibility, and the strings are undone in a matter of moments with practiced hands. It’s whisked away with no ceremony.
The bard’s now bare from the waist up. Even Abdirack’s surprised, but it only lasts for a second.
(Something like bile pools in the back of Astarion’s throat, but he forces it down with a swallow.)
“...How very bold of you. Willing to bare flesh to meet Loviatar’s embrace?”
They shrug. “There’s really only one proper way to get flogged.” They offer. The priest nods in approval.
Marrow steps into the blood-soaked hollow that serves as an improvisational altar for Loviatar. Much to Astarion’s surprise, the gnome takes a moment to position themselves. Spreading their legs and bending at the waist, the bard clasps their hands together like a mockery of prayer, pressing their forearms against the stone. Their bare back bows, and they turn their head just enough to look over their shoulder.
Abdirack’s smiles like his birthday and Midwinter have come all at once.
Their gaze drifts back to their companions, silently curious. Wyll’s gotten over their embarrassment to turn back to their little leader, his expression a mixture of shock and curiosity, like they’re seeing Marrow in a whole new light. He’s not the only one — Shadowheart’s blatantly staring, eyes roaming over freckled shoulders and the curve of their waist. She tongues her lip, and then hisses as the wound on her hand alights in retribution.
Astarion’s simply crossed his arms, staring expectantly.
(Something about this is achingly familiar.)
“Do your worst.” They state, nodding in assertion.
“The pain you experience will cleanse you,” He offers. “Do not fight it.”
His arm reels back, and the spiked edges of his mace their right shoulder, crossing the expanse of their back. He cleaves a series of long, shallow slashes across the expanse of bare flesh Hard enough so that blood beads at the edges, gentle enough he doesn’t render the gnome to shreds.
Astarion can appreciate a professional.
Marrow appreciates it too — the high keen that makes the way out of their mouth is straight out of a harlequin novela, fingers scrambling at the stone. A dusty blush rises to their cheeks, and that sweet sound ends in a warbling whine.
“...Your voice sounds so sweet, dear one.” The priest murmurs, voice husky. “Keep going.”
The bard is panting, but they put on a brave face — nodding their head without looking back, burying their face in their arms.
“Oh-ho, bravo!” The spawn calls, clapping his hands. “Encore!”
“...Don’t wear them out entirely, priest.” Shadowheart adds. “I might have a use for them, yet.”
“...Uhm,” Wyll adds, pulling at his collar, voice suspiciously high-pitched.
“Pain is proof that we’re alive,” The priest hisses. His next strike comes down across the opposing shoulder, raking a bloody X into the expanse of their back. Marrow nearly screams, high and wonton, echoing in the hollow of the desecrated temple. The goblins in the back are starting to look moderately interested. “Revel in it.”
“...Not the worst technique, priest. Good wrist movement, lots of enthusiasm…” Shadowheart murmurs, crossing her arm and putting a finger up to her lips. The cleric glances at the rogue. “Would you have joined up if you’d known they’d be indulging in this sort of thing, Astarion?”
“I mean,” He tilts his head in consideration. “I had my hopes.”
“...As long as they’re into it?” Wyll tries.
Marrow’s fingers have curled into fists, their shoulders shaking. A long moan spills from their lips, choking with tears at the end.
“That’s it, dear one. Let Loviatar hear you.” The priest murmurs encouragingly, entirely oblivious to the conversation behind his back. He holds out the mace, twisting it — watching flecks of blood glint in the guttering candlelight.
Marrow sniffles, nods, and sags, leaning into the wall for support.
Smart. It’ll only hurt more if they’re tense.
“Let the sting of flesh wash away your pain.” The priest murmurs in a way of warning.
The last hit connects at the top of their spine. The spiked edges of the mace dig deep, the priest’s fine control lose in way of enthusiasm, cleaving a bloody trail in triplicate down the length of their spine.
(Relaxing into the pain so it hurts less. The slight, artful sobs between strikes. The fingers scrabbling at raw stone, trying and failing to find a grip.)
Marrow’s knees buckle. They land in the blood puddle at the base of the altar, screaming in earnest this time. The sound goes on for what feels like far too long, before it fades into a shaky groan, taking heaving breaths like they’d just finished running a marathon.
They don’t rise, but they twist their head — glancing back at the priest and their audience.
“Sweet child,” Abdirack murmurs “You bore the pain like a true believer.”
“I’m proud to have served you this penance.”
The bard turns to face the stone again. Gripping the space between bricks, they slowly pull themselves to their feet. Blood begins to drip down their back as the movement twists new wounds, thick like syrup. They can’t hold back their wine as they stagger to their feet
(Before getting up, turning back to check. The ones they were trying to impress. Their target audience.)
“...Thank you,” They try. That sweet voice is rough, bright eyes glazed over. “I enjoyed myself.”
Astarion can distantly registers Wyll’s strangled wheeze, and Shadowheart’s breath catching. The world is consumed by the quiet where blood should be rushing, his heart beating double-time. An unfortunate perk of undead life — the body has so few ambient background noises to distract itself.
All he’s left with — undeniable in the horrible void of thought, bright and blatant in his mind — is that Marrow’s
done
this
before.
…
Marrow refuses all healing before leaving the goblin camp.
They stumble back to camp with nothing but their jerkin, unsecured except for a single button at the top. Shadowheart stays close, occasionally redirecting their wandering gait when they threaten to trip. Astarion shadows their little leader, watching blood pool at their waist. Wyll brings up the rear.
“Oi!”
Karlach’s joyful voice cuts through the haze surrounding their somber little procession, waving as they wander into camp. She’s standing near the firepit, poking the coals with her boot. Gale sits nearby, stirring their makeshift stew for the night. Lae’zel silently polishes her sword across from the tiefling.
The barbarian moves to stand, jogging over to where the four have stumbled back into camp. She’d normally help haul in whatever Marrow insisted on scavenging during the day. “Welcome back,” She calls — only to stop short, almost skidding.
Astarion glances up.
She looks terribly concerned, bordering on horrified.
Ah.
She must’ve caught sight of their little leader.
The gnome’s entire body is drenched in blood. Nearly bathed in it from the knee-down, trickles escaping the wounds on their back and pooling at their waist. Their rapier and flute are nowhere to be seen, dressed only in a vest that leaves little to the imagination — eyes slightly glazed and still blankly smiling regardless, still in the floaty headspace from well-done flogging.
Astarion can recognize that for what it is. The respite only afforded to truest of masochists.
He’s just… not sure how to make sense of it, yet.
“...Hells, Soldier!” She exclaims, dropping into a crouch. Her voice draws the eyes of the others. “What happened?”
“Things.” They answers succinctly
There’s a quiet thunk as Gale drops his spoon. Lae’zel glances up.
“What sort of things? You look like you’ve been keelhauled under a ship!” The barbarian exclaims, tail lashing in the dirt.
Marrow glances down, and then back up.
“Ah, right. This probably looks messy.” They admit, smile twisting into something more sorrowful. They rotate on the spot, shuffling in the direction of the lakeshore.
“Messy!?” Karlach chokes.
They pause long enough to glance back, raising their arms to fiddle with the button securing the jerkin. “...Wyll, you’re in charge. Explain what we found out at the goblin camp?”
The Blade of Frontiers gives a shocked nod. Karlach nearly snarls in frustration, glancing wildly between the gnome and the rest of the group.
“At least let me — “ She starts, moving to her feet.
But the bard’s jerkin hits the ground. Karlach stops short again, making a sound like she’s been strangled, red face flushing maroon
Their back is a clotted mess of scrapes and scabs in the shape of a six-pointed star. There’s a clotted knot dead-center in their spine where all three strikes crossed over each other. Gale chokes in the background, Lae’zel tilts her head like a cat, and Karlach…
Karlach tries again.
“Marrow...?”
Her voice is soft. Almost scared.
The softness from their party’s most boisterous member freezes Marrow on the spot, like someone caught them by the collar. They look back over their shoulder with a tiny wince, pained grin putting nothing to ease.
“I’m alright,” They murmur. Astarion can’t tell if they’re lying or not. “Most of it isn’t my blood, anyways. I’ll explain later, okay?”
Karlach looks pained. In the background, he can see Lae’zel nodding in approval, and the vampire barely represses a snort.
“Promise.” They reassure, holding up a hand with two fingers crossed.
The tiefling hesitates, but eventually gives the tiniest of nods.
Marrow smiles sweetly, before resuming their shuffle towards the lakeshore, feet dragging in the sand. The gnome pauses just long enough to grab the bathing bucket — the wooden pale with the knotted rope handle, full of every soap, oil and sponge they’ve pilfered so far — before disappearing behind the privacy of the rocks that separate the riverside from camp.
…
Astarion follows Marrow’s path down to the riverside as the day turns to dusk, towel and camp clothes thrown over one arm. He can feel Karlach’s burning gaze fixed on his back until he rounds the rocks — he’s not sure if it’s concern or jealousy. She’d been sitting by the fire, staring at the coals ever since Shadowheart had explained their encounter with the priest of Loviatar.
The spawn had been following the gnome’s tentative flirtations and the tiefling’s growing interest out of sheer boredom. There’s so little to pass as gossip this far in the backwoods of Faerun, following his teammate’s growing affections was about as entertaining as it got. As far as he was aware, this was the first time Marrow had been anything other than outright indulgent with Karlach. They’d normally receive any of her attention with a smile that could put Selȗne to shame, a level of cheese that made Asterion want to vomit.
Marrow’s blatant disregard threw her entirely off-guard.
Poor dear. He may need to do something about that later.
…Speaking of doing something.
Marrow is sullenly sitting on their knees in the shallow water, head bowed. A mage hand with a sudsy rag in-hand floats nearby, carefully attending to their blood-soaked back. The blood runs thin with each pass of the rag, yet more rises to replace it
He’s not surprised they haven’t healed themselves yet. But there’s only so much longer they can revel in this pain.
Astarion sets his towel and camp clothes on the log he’d usually use to watch the sunset. He strips in silence, picking up the stump he’s used as a makeshift stool, before wading into the shallows next to Marrow. It’s pleasantly bracing after a day of fighting, nice enough for a brief dip — but the bard’s been down here for nearly an hour.
“You’re going to catch a cold if you spend much more time soaking in your sins, darling.”
Marrow’s ear flicks in acknowledgement. The gnome doesn’t glance his way, but they reach out to give the bathing bucket a little shove.
“Ah, I didn’t even need to ask! How thoughtful of you.”
Still no reaction.
The spawn plops the stump into the sand before carefully sitting down, helping himself to a bar of chamomile-scented soap as the bucket bobs closer. The gnome hoards cleaning supplies more closely than gold. It’s one of the few points of common ground he’d found with Marrow. They both have a near-fanatical need to be clean at the end of the day, but they’d usually bathe in separate groups.
Or more specifically — Astarion would wait until everyone was asleep before venturing to the riverside. This was the first time he’d bothered joining someone while it was still daylight.
“You know, maybe I should do this more often. It’s rather nice to bathe while it’s still daylight. It’s not like I ever had the chance to enjoy a sunlit soak.”
They start to turn their head, but catch themselves before glancing back — returning their gaze to the middle distance.
Damn. Normally they’d take any chance to talk about their companion’s lives prior to the nautiloid, aggravatingly ever-curious.
The vampire huffs, sudsing up the sponge. “Darling, work with me here. Normally you’d never shut up. You’d practically jump at any chance to get involved in my business. Sullen just doesn’t suit you.”
Out of the corner of their eye, they can see the gnome roll their eyes.
Progress.
Time to unsheathe the longsword.
He lets them both sit in silence for a moment. It stretches on and on as he scrubs the day’s sweat and goblin blood off into the waters of the Chionthar. After a solid minute of unnatural silence, he heaves an overexaggerated sigh. Like he’s just actually that concerned.
They glance in his direction. Good.
“You’re worrying Karlach, you know.”
Marrow straightens up with a wince, shuffling in the sand just enough to shoot a look of concern his way.
“Oh, now that got your attention?” He can’t keep the derision from dripping into his voice, immediately dropping the facade in favor of teasing. “I’m insulted, darling.”
They roll their eyes again. “What do you want, Astarion?”
Astarion opens his mouth, then closes it — taking just a moment to look at the little leader.
Marrow, in short, looks like a despondent, recently-kicked kitten. Back hunched, they’ve somehow shrunk from their grand height of three-foot-nine — tall for a gnome, a fact delivered so decisively in response to one of his short jokes it had made the vampire spawn cackle for a whole afternoon — that they’ve gone from diminutive to outright pathetic. Their sandy-blond curls are a sudsy mess, their arms crossed over their front, and those brown-green eyes.
Out of every possible aggrievance, they’re pouting.
“...Is it really so much to believe that I’d want to check up on you, after that particular spectacle?” He tries, aiming for sympathetic nonchalance.
“Yes.” They return flatly.
“...You know me too well, darling.”
They sit in mutual silence, until it’s Marrow’s turn to sigh.
“You really just can’t a gnome bathe in peace and enjoy their afterglow?” They murmur, leaning forwards to dunk that sodden mass of curls into the water, face submerged.
…Afterglow?
Astarion smiles in delight, quietly snickering to himself. That explains so much.
When they emerge from the water, he’s managed to wrangle it back to a knowing smirk.
They glance his way, gaze flat.
He raises one eyebrow. “Afterglow, darling?”
Marrow’s eyes widen. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Astarion can almost smell the heat rising in their cheeks as their freckles are subsumed in blush. He can’t keep his grin from creeping up to his fangs
“Oh no, darling. Let’s explore your choice of words a little,” He refutes, propping his elbow up against one knee, resting his head on his hand. The gnome is usually so hard to get a read on, whether they’re true to their word or lying between their teeth. Embarrassment this blatant? It’s an utter delight. “And stamp down that blush, you don’t have the blood to spare.”
The gnome gives a long-suffering sigh, dragging their hands over their face and pushing their wet hair back. “You really broke routine and came down here to bathe with me, just to gossip about… that?”
“Yes,” Astarion shoots back. “You’ve been getting yourself involved enough in my private life. It’s only fair that we have a discussion about that particular performance of yours.”
Their brow wrinkles. “Performance?”
“Well, it was a performance, wasn’t it?”
“How can you be so sure? Maybe I’m just that much of a screamer.” They shoot back.
He might’ve found it funnier if the humor wasn’t so defensive.
“...Darling, at least give me the dignity of being honest with me. I can recognize a performance when I see one, no matter how spectacular it may be,” He refutes. Marrow’s almost glaring.
“...One actor to another.”
Marrow’s glare doesn’t quite melt, but — it shifts, softening at the edges. Expressing sympathy without the disregard of their anger. He’s pretty sure they picked up that look from Shadowheart.
“So.” He implores, still smirking.
Marrow sighs. They look down at the water, and then up at the sky — like either hold any sort of answer. Or excuse. Astarion’s not sure what they’re looking for.
“I just…”
The gnome’s visibly struggling to find the words. They’ve never hesitated before. Astarion leans in a little, giving an encouraging hum.
“I wanted to see what it felt like,” They try, looking at their hands, clenching and unclenching their fists. Trying to grasp at the words. “When it occurred of my own volition.”
He knew it!
Marrow was an anomaly, but they weren’t an anomaly in a vacuum any longer. Nobody could balance on the knife’s edge of sincerity and deceit without learning how to wield truth and fiction like a blade. And where the pen was mightier than the sword, well. He could probably call the little bard’s hands inkstained.
Astarion waits for the satisfaction of knowing, knowing something was off about them, they were lying, that he was right, and —
The silence has stretched on too long.
“Oh.” He manages.
“Yeah,” They try. Rather than making eye contact, Marrow their head back — staring up at the sky. “Masochism can be a pretty effective survival strategy, when it needs to be.”
What’s appropriate to say in this sort of situation? Satisfaction has wholeheartedly abandoned him, but sympathy’s a foreign concept. The spawn shifts, sitting up and leaning his back enough until he can follow their gaze, seeking some nonanswer in the stars.
It’s not like he expects an answer of course. It’d only taken Astarion a hundred years before he’d forsaken divine intervention. All he had was himself.
So now?
The words slip out unbidden.
“I understand.”
The gnome doesn’t react. At least, not viscerally. He hears them turn in the water, mismatched eyes wandering over his body.
He glances down to meet their gaze.
Marrow’s looking at him. Not like they’re peering past his skin, trying to look at the surface of his soul — those bright eyes often feel like they’re trying to suss out the source of all his secrets. They’re just. Squinting at him.
Like he’s a particularly weird bug.
It’s maybe the least sexual way anybody’s ever looked at his body.
“Yeah?” They ask.
Inquiring about everything and nothing all at once.
“...Yeah.”
The gnome hmmphs. Like it’s just that simple.
“Well,” He tries, unable to bear the silence between the two. He knows they have common ground, and he’ll avoid stepping on it with every ounce of decorum he can manage. “Is it any better, when it’s your decision?”
“...Yeah,” They admit.
“Good,” He refutes, reaching for the soap he’d discarded earlier. “It should be.”
Marrow’s mage hand dissolved somewhere over the course of the conversation. They turn away to reach for where the sponge was making a break for it, leaving their back to Astarion.
“...Hey, do they look clean enough?” The gnome ventures. Astarion glances over. The scrapes are red and raw, aggravated rather than soothed.
“...You did a shoddy job, darling.” He answers.
“Hey, I couldn’t exactly see what I was doing.”
“Give me that.” He responds, snatching the sponge from their grip.
Marrow just blinks, but shrugs. Astarion shuffles his stool closer, hooking the bathing bucket with his foot. Once the gnome’s within arm’s reach, the vampire digs through the bucket until he finds the balsam-infused bar of soap they reserved for washing wounds.
He soaps up the sponge, before dragging it over the gnome’s back. Marrow hisses, but doesn’t resist. The vampire works to scrub off the dirt, grime, and scabs they missed in their first pass, slowly lathering his way down the gnome’s back.
…Astarion can’t remember the last time he did something like this. Astarion’s not sure why he’s doing this. Marrow’s an outright annoyance. Too kind, too clever, too generous with their own blood — shed or donated. They have a tendency to champion every annoying bit of good he couldn’t even afford to think about for two hundred years.
An absolute anomaly.
(One he could relate to.)
If he can’t seduce his way into a place of security, he could probably endear himself to this bleeding heart of a bard.
“You make me miss bathing with Karlach.” They complain, head in hands, trying not to tense under the pain.
“Of course you’d miss her, darling. Your affections are as plain as the day.” He informs them. The gnome twitches, but still huffs a laugh.
“She heats up the water you know.” They deflect. Astarion pauses mid-scrub, peering over their shoulder.
“Really?”
Marrow spares him a look over their shoulder. “As long as you’re a couple feet away, the water’s usually a pretty tolerable temperature.”
“...I might need to actually start joining your evening bathing sessions.” He muses.
Marrow drops their head again, and the two lapse into a passing resemblance of a comfortable silence. Astarion eventually finishes, letting the sponge drop into the water and leaning back with a satisfied hum. The scrapes are still red and raw, but…
“Oh, hey! they aren’t throbbing anymore.”
“...You really need to go see Shadowheart, darling. Or at least pick up your flute and play that healing ditty.” He nearly scolds. “Is raw river water even good for this sort of wound?”
“Lesser restoration will take care of any sort of infection, and cure wounds will knit the skin back together just fine.” They retort. Astarion simply scoffs, reaching into the bathing bucket and pulling out a cup, using it to rinse the remainder of suds off of their back.
“Well, we need you in one functional piece, I’m afraid.”
Marrow flinches, but doesn’t complain as the cold water sluices down their back. After a moment, they sigh — and carefully shift to their feet, keeping their core stock-still, trying not to aggravate their wounds any further.
“I suppose it’s getting a little cold for those of us with warm-blood.” They grumble, balefully looking towards the shore. “Kind of wishing I brought a towel down, though.”
“All bards need to suffer under their own hubris eventually,” Astarion responds. “Consider yourself lucky your lesson only involves flashing everybody on the way to your Traveler’s chest.”
He can feel the exact moment those bright eyes land back on him. He twists, ready to flirt-retort and gross them out, but — those eyes are fixed on his back, squinting.
Ah, yes.
That.��
“Scarification?”
“Mhm. Cazador’s work.”
“Heh, we’re nearly matching.”
“You wish, darling.”
“...Question. Why’s it in infernal?”
“...Infernal?”
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Power Hungry (m)
Pairing: Ceo!Mingyu x Ceo!Gf (Honey)x Bby!Gf(Baby)
Genre: smut
Word count: 2.2k
tags: 3rd POV, threesome, Polyamory, voyeurism, cunnilingus, heavy wlw content, breast play, brief mention of hickeys, pussy slapping, spanking, unprotected sex, cream pies, dirty talking, mommy kink, squirting, degradation, choking
author note: after about a week of suffering, all i thought about is what kind of things i’d do with my imaginary gf because girls are so pretty and hot and what i’d do if i had one are endless. ngl, i forgot this was a mingyu fic like half way through just because im like GIRLS. I’ll be back on my chan agenda soon enough. He’s never left besties, he has me on a chokehold. my moots and carat friends keep it that way. also I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT FOR THE TOUR. i have yet to go until now and finally I HAVE PEOPLE TO GO WITH??? my antisocial ass is having an identity crisis.
Baby knew herself to be very charismatic and she’s used that knowledge to her advantage. How she loves attention and loves being spoiled. With every little thing she asks for, someone would deliver it on a silver platter. All she needs to be is pretty. What more reason is there to not give her what she wanted?
“Mmh, more, please…”
Mingyu pants heavily in her ear. His cock slides from underneath her effortlessly. His veiny hands firmly grasp her thighs, the pads of his fingers denting her soft flesh as he bounces her frame over his full length. He speeds faster with his hips, fucking her with more gumption, her walls pulsing around him. Her pretty voice, like music, echoed in the cavernous bedroom. God, did he love her voice.
“Shh, keep it down in here.”
Honey could barely hold it together in the guest room next door. She had no choice but to barge in with her voice on mute in an attempt to silence the two-thirds of the couple announcing their pleasure to the entire world.
“S-sorry, c-can’t help m-myself. Mingyu, s-so good.” Baby squeaks.
Mingyu side-grins in Honey’s direction, planting kisses along Baby’s neck as thanks. Her soft whines were dampened as she bites down on her lower lip, watching Honey frantically take one of those dreaded business calls. Honey simply rolls her eyes at the cocky man before returning her attention to the person on the other line.
“Yes, we can meet Friday. We’ll discuss what’s appropriate for the project.” Honey’s eyes linger on the glistening beauty that was Baby’s flooded cunt, mentally counting every time it swallows Mingyu whole, his fat cock nudging a small bulge from her stomach.
She could’ve shut the door and gone back to take her call in the other room, but the opportunity seemed to fleet away along with her focus. Honey’s eyes flutter towards Baby’s gaze, who is enveloped in the euphoria of her capacity being filled. Her nails spread her cunt wide achingly, offering Mingyu more room to pump inside her, the back of her head resting over his shoulder.
“We’re not settling for any less than what’s in our agreement—”
“Mmh, baby, your pussy is so tight and wet for me,” Mingyu whispers just loud enough for his other girlfriend to hear, but soft enough for the person on the other line to barely comprehend the voice in the background.
The arousal pools in Honey’s panties, a wet spot staining the thin silk fabric. She glared back at Mingyu who was losing himself in the moment. His own grunts drowned out his thoughts, not that there was much going on in there to begin with.
“Uh, is this a bad time?” The electronic voice pursues.
“No, continue.” She places a seat on the dresser, crosses a leg over another, and clenches her arousal. Taking a deep breath in and out, she tries to not lose her mind from the live-action porn in front of her.
Baby stares back at her longingly, missing her bossy girlfriend's gaze every waking second. Although Mingyu was doing his job, quite well might she add, Baby was greedy. She needed Honey’s attention as much as Mingyu’s and she was hell-bent on having it. Baby’s lips purse in her girlfriend’s direction, shaping her lips to her pristine girlfriend’s favorite word, over and over until she’d crack.
“M-mommy…mommy…mommy…”
Honey lets out a huff of frustration.
“You know what, Choi, I think there's something that really needs my attention right now. Be prepared for my call in the next 24 hours.” Honey readily hangs up the phone and sets it aside before approaching the distracting pair.
One red-bottomed foot over the other, she meets Baby’s eyes, places a singular manicured nail over her girlfriend's clit, and presses on it like a button before tugging against her premoistened surface. Baby whines, now unable to hold back her moans as Honey stares deeply back at her.
“Do you think Mommy’s okay with Baby being a loud little slut while she’s on call?”
“‘M, sorry, mommy,” Her eyes bat in anticipation.
Mingyu scoffs, coming to the whiney girlfriend’s defense. “Come on Hon, Baby girl can’t help herself. She’s just a little mess.”
“Maybe you’re right, Gyu. She’s just a messy little slut. Does his cock feel that good you can’t shut up for two seconds?” The tip of her fingers slap against Baby’s cunt, Mingyu feeling his girlfriend flinch on top of him.
Honey places her free hand on the back of Baby’s head, tugging at her scalp, emitting a whine from her pretty red lips. “Y-yes, but I wanted mommy’s attention t-too.”
“Fuck, honey, do you hear that?” Mingyu exclaims, stroking her hair that was pointing in all directions, “isn’t she just the prettiest little thing?”
A corner of Honey’s lips perks up, “The prettiest. Does Baby girl want Mommy to make her feel good too?”
The sweet girl nods, unable to form comprehensive language for the other one to hear.
“I’m gonna need to hear that out loud, Baby.” Honey strikes another slap to the girl's wet cunt.
“Yes! Yes mommy, please. I want you, please.”
Honey elicits a hungry moan, unbuttoning her blouse to display her expensively clad breasts. In her heels, she bends down in a squat, her pencil skirt riding up around her waist, spreading her girlfriend’s pussy nice and wide with her thumbs. Mingyu’s cock taking up most of the space wasn’t so much of an obstacle, but a way to kill two birds with one stone. She licks a flat stripe from the back of his length to Baby’s slit, her tongue prying to fit between them both.
“F-fuck,” Mingyu shudders, his grip tightening around Baby’s thighs.
Honey smiles, her tongue matches the pace of Mingyu’s thrusts, plunging inside her girlfriend’s pretty pussy, tasting their boyfriend’s work. Baby’s sap is as sweet as she is beautiful, Honey engorges on her cunt, savoring the vicious liquid on her tongue. Baby’s breath hitches, “Mmh, mommy…”
“You like that, Baby? You like me and mommy spoiling you?” Mingyu manages to breathe out.
She only whimpers as Honey and Mingyu simultaneously take their sweet time with her. The flick of Honey’s tongue tickles Baby’s clit and Mingyu’s shaft. Mingyu bites down on Baby’s neck, white teeth marks denting the inflamed hickey on her neck, feeling herself closer and closer to her climax. Honey manages to land another tight slap on Baby’s little clit, smiling manically when her girlfriend yelps.
Mingyu eyes his domineering girlfriend feasting on their third, “How does Baby’s pussy taste, Honey?”
“So sweet.” She moans. “You’re fucking her so nice and hard. Don’t stop.”
Honey's hands land against either side of her girlfriend's thighs, spanking it until glows red, and her tongue fully plants in between Mingyu’s cock and her walls, holding inside and curling the tip, and stimulating it enough for Baby to snap. Clenching her stomach for dear life, Baby begins to feel her release spraying all over the sheets and before she knew it in Honey’s mouth. Her abdomen shakes uncontrollably, a sprinkler of her sweet release all over her girlfriend’s tongue, chin, and down to her chest. Honey shuts her eyes and catches the drippage, smiling as hard as the devil would from a new soul to steal.
“Baby. You squirted all over mommy’s mouth.” Mingyu points out knowingly with a chuckle.
Honey wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, swallowing all of Baby’s arousal lingering in her mouth. Using the same hand, she presses it to Baby’s neck, stroking it gently before squeezing, watching Baby’s breath leave her body. “Mmh, baby. You know what happens when you squirt without letting us know beforehand.”
“I-I couldn’t help it, Mommy’s tongue, and Mingyu’s c-cock, felt so good together.”
Honey scoffs, but pressed a sweet kiss on her quivering lips, Mingyu considerately places Baby on the bed, her body sprawls on the sheets like a starfish. Standing up, Mingyu puts an arm over Honey’s shoulder and kisses her cheek, his nose tracing over her cheek. “How should we punish her, Hon?”
Honey grabs Mingyu’s waist, pulling him in for a kiss. He proudly prods inside with his tongue, Baby’s juice still fresh in her mouth, and he proceeds to kiss wherever Baby spilled. His tongue flat on Honey's skin, licking across her jaw, then neck, then collarbone, down to even her fingers. Honey moans his name, reminding him she likes coddling sometimes too.
Her hand cradles his full length, stroking it from tip to base, just how he likes, making him feel on top of the world. He grinds against her half-naked body, a leg of her hooked around his body, dragging it down his toned frame. They giggled harmoniously like they were in their own world, but there was no way they’d forget their precious baby girl.
“There’s only one to do that, Gyu: we don’t let her breathe.”
Honey takes Mingyu's hands to undo the clasps of her bra, then her skirt, and panties follow soon after, making sure Baby watches. She guided him back towards Baby, still helplessly exhausted in bed. She crawls over her, dragging her nails over Baby’s limp, lifeless body before capturing her lips. Tirelessly engaging, Baby follows Honey’s lead. Honey barricades her in between her legs, her hands falling on her breasts fondling them playfully, tugging her nipples.
“Do you like how much attention Mommy is giving you,” Honey exerts as her pussy starts to grind against Baby’s wet cunt lips, “Look how needy you are. It makes me want to play with you more.”
“Mmh, you’re so good to me, Mommy.” Baby whines like a sweet melody, vibrating under Honey’s touch.
The woman on top shakes her head knowingly, “You talk too much.”
Honey pulls her body up and fed her girlfriend her tits, who instinctively mouths over a nipple in a daze and simultaneously massages the other. With half-open eyes, Baby lustfully looks up at Honey, the girl's tongue dragging in loops. Mingyu, who was off on the sidelines in observation, stroked the ammunition, ready to set fire to either lovely pretty holes in front of him.
Dipping his knees in the bed, he slips his fingers around Baby, soaked to the brim in her own arousal, easy for a pair of fingers to make their entrance. He hooks them and in a beckoning gesture, he repeatedly hits a spot she has mentioned loving. Her moans were undeniably delicious, and her body moving achingly again Honey.
He then leans down, gathers a ball of salvia in his mouth, and spits it hard on the center of Honey’s cunt. The girl on top shudders, reacting to something she’ll never be used to, but maybe one day she could. As much as mean she is to both her partners, she likes it rough just as much as Baby does. She was the original baby after all.
Mingyu spanks Honey’s cheeks, stinging red, inducing a small yelp. His cock props to her slit, spreading his salvia, slow and sloppy. He squeezes it between their stomachs, thrusting between both girls like they were his own personal playthings, and then pushes inside Honey, causing her to lose her balance, “Mmpf, G-Gyu.”
“Cat got your tongue, Hon?”
His hips flick towards another pretty pussy to fill up. Matching his speed with his fingers that took home in Baby. His eyes flutter shut, drowning in the girls’ fits of passion. Baby was still suffocating by Honey’s chest and squirming as Mingyu sends her over with his mere fingers. Meanwhile, Honey’s head knocks back and forth in the air, eyes rolling back into her skull, “Yes, Gyu…Fuck…”
He giggles, “God, you’re still so cute when you want to be.”
“F-fuck you…”
“What do you think is happening right now?” He teases.
“W-wait til…we’re back…I-in the of-f-fice…”
“We almost got caught last time there, remember?”
Honey starts panting, the racing in her chest gradually beating out the race of Mingyu's hips, she clutches the sheet, finding herself putting more weight on the girl beneath her than necessary. Baby tries catching her breath, caressing Honey’s sides with a smile, “I think mommy’s really close, sir.”
“Oh, is she?”
“Baby, y-you’re…not…supposed to…say…” Honey grunts.
Mingyu leaves you a stern scoff before taking his hands away from Baby and stabilizing himself to Honey. He thrust in full force, her walls squeezing around him like a tube of toothpaste would, her voice letting out staccato paced breathing. Mingyu pushes against her ass to see them in motion, pounding her until she begs for his relief. “Mmp, Gyu–shit, I’m–ah…please just cum in me already…”
“You can take him, right, mommy? It’s not too much?” Baby cups Honey’s face, looking at her girlfriend with adoring eyes, kissing her cheeks sweetly.
Honey whines. “Baby girl, please–”
“Yeah, Honey, can you? How is it taking my cock?” Mingyu taunts.
Honey shakes her head frantically, twitching uncontrollably until you climax on Baby, kissing her with much grit, until she feels the twitch falter. Mingyu cums soon after. “S-shit, shit!”
A stream of obscenities comes out of him loudly and coherently. He releases deep inside Honey, oozing out her and dripping down to Baby’s cunt. Not ending until he pulls it out and sprays ivory ribbons on his girls’ bodies, erupting fits of flirtatious laughter from them both.
“That’s a big load,” Honey points out knowingly, still panting.
For a moment there’s silence. It’s only bliss on their minds and nothing else. They could do this a million times and it’ll never get old. It was perfect to them. It was always perfect.
“Is it cuddle time now?” Baby asks hopefully.
Honey chuckles, embracing the sweet girl and peppering kisses all over her face, “Gyu, call someone for hot towels.”
“Way ahead of you, already in the bathroom.”
Mingyu goes to grab them and cleans up the crew, receiving smiles as thanks, and soon joins them under the sheets. Baby is comfortably sandwiched between the two. He drapes his arm over Baby, his hand softy stroking Honey’s hand. Honey tucks her arm under Baby’s neck, tickling Mingyus shoulder. The girl in the middle draws them in close, snuggling her head in Mingyu’s shoulder and kissing Honey’s hand. She then sighs in bliss. “Finally.”
Honey meets Mingyu’s eyes in an infatuated smile, to which he matches your expression. She mouths the words to him, “We’re so lucky.”
“I know.” he mouths back, letting the girl between them finally sleep peacefully with the ones she’s grown to love.
#Kim mingyu#mingyu#mingyu smut#kim mingyu smut#seventeen smut#kim Mingyu imagine#kim mingyu fanfic#kim mingyu poly#seventeen poly#seventeen x you#seventeen x reader#seventeen mingyu#mingyu x reader#mingyu x you
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Delaying the Inevitable - Chapter 22B -
A New Year
Book: Open Heart 3 (Post Series)
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC, Tobias Carrick x MC
Rating: Chapter: Teen
Summary: Extended Series WIP – Love Triangle. In this chapter: It’s New Year’s Eve and it’s time to celebrate; there is a party at Naveen’s, will a private celebration follow?
Category: Extended Series (WIP)
Warnings: Language (I’m sure at some point… it’s me)
Prominent Song: This factors in a lot again, if you want to take a listen: To Make You Feel My Love
A/N: Here is part 2 and we enter a whole new arc. Leaving the other notes from before. Enjoy!
A/N 2: Ethan stans. Tobias stans were patient. See if you can do the same. 😊
A/N 3: I’m leaving these two things as a permanent note: This is a love triangle – that means Casey loves more than one person. I’ve made that clear from the start. Casey won’t make her choice until the final chapter. So no, it’s not a foregone conclusion. I’ve made that clear for a while. And while Team Ethan, and Team Tobias, and Team God I’m Torn exist out there, there is only one that matters to me and that is Team Casey.
A/N 4: I hope those who are not happy with the current arc stick around, but I can’t force you. 😊See you tomorrow, folks.
CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS
If you wish to be added or removed from tags, please let me know. Comments and reblogs always appreciated. 😊
Casey returned home alone from the Edenbrook holiday party. She was a mix of raw emotions. Relieved. She finally knew that Tobias cared for her… loved her… though that came from Bryce, not him… but she believed it. She almost gave in to her feelings for him… but the universe seemed to step in to stop that… and what did that mean? She really thought that maybe this was the night… she would come home truly with him, they could finally be together. And here she was alone. Sure, she could get up the gumption to talk to him tomorrow, or maybe he’d do the same for her, but would they? Frustration, excitement, fear, bewilderment, relief, tension… and that was just the tip of the iceberg.
She unzipped her dress and threw it on the floor. Too anxious to shower yet, she laid back on the bed staring at the ceiling. This had become somewhat of a habit for her as of late. She stared at the ceiling for over two hours. Ignoring the texts from her friends that were pouring in. She knew them, they probably assumed she and Tobias were… otherwise engaged… if they only knew. Finally, she text him to see how things were going. His reply:
Can you bring me fresh clothes when you come in tomorrow? I’ll be here all night.
She contemplated getting dressed and joining him at the hospital. But was the hospital the place she wanted to have that conversation? And he was there for a reason, it wasn’t exactly time to bridge the idea of a possible … a possible what? She flipped onto her back in frustration. There was so much to take in. Tobias had been in love with her this whole time? In love! She laughed to herself, how many times did she tell him what an idiot that woman was for not seeing what she had in him… she may have even threatened to kick her butt once…. No wonder he chuckled at that visual. How did she not see this? Their connection… was so intense from the start. But she didn’t have these feelings for him then. She was madly in love with Ethan. But she always loved Tobias, immensely, as a friend. But looking back… if he felt as much as Bryce said he did, how much had she hurt him? Not intentionally, of course, but he was still so good to her even though… oh, God, how could she have been so clueless.
Part of her wanted to run to Tobias in a big romantic gesture. The past few years taught her that we never know what tomorrow holds, and we should not deny ourselves even a moment of happiness. Happiness… the thought of running to him, holding him in her arms and pulling him into an unexpected kiss… the look in his eyes, the feeling in her heart… she beamed as she hugged her pillow tighter. But the flipside… he didn’t like her, he loved her. And she finally accepted it… she loved him too. This wouldn’t be light, this wouldn’t be wait and see… this would BE. And what if it didn’t work. Maybe the universe was conspiring to tell them something tonight because, as much as she desired to give in, she had to use her head. After all, another thing the past few years had taught her, the heart often lies.
___________________
“Hector, I get it, but how long are we talking here?”
“What? No! That’s too long.”
“A picture isn’t going to suffice! UGH! OK, I’m taking a step back, I don’t want to be that asshole. It’s Christmas, you’re busy, this was a big project, you needed to track down rare parts…. So, I’m going to stop it… but could you get it to me any sooner? Even if you don’t have the replacement parts in it. Before the end of the year? OK. I can deal with that.”
“Listen, you get it to me by New Year’s Eve and I will take you to see the Red Sox when you’re in Boston, deal? OK, thanks man, sorry if I was an ass.”
“Oh, she is. You have no idea how special she….” Tobias stood in astonishment as she suddenly stood before him, in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t seem to know what he said.
“Anyway, Hector, I’ve got to go. Thanks again.”
“What are you doing home? I thought I was bringing you a change of clothes?”
“Well, I ran into Ethan as he was arriving. When he saw I was there all night he told me to go home and sleep, I could come back around noon. The idea of my shower and bed sounded really appealing, so I took him up on it. I didn’t want to wake you; I was going to leave you a note.”
She smiled, “I’m glad you’ll get some rest. How is Mr. Cortez?”
“He’s holding his own. If he makes it through today, I think his chances are great.”
“Well, I’ll check in on him when I get there.”
“He’d like that, he likes you.”
“He’s unconscious,” she smiled.
“He’d still like it,” he said yawning.
“T, go hit the shower and bed. Noon will be here before you know it.”
“In will but, I just wanted to tell ask you… did you hear me yelling at some poor soul when you came out here?”
“Yeah, but I was still asleep, so I don’t know what you were yelling about.”
He sighed. “Your Christmas gift. It’s not going to be ready for Christmas. I have some other little things, but this was the gift that…”
“Tobias. That’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. You got me all in the spirit this year, and I wanted to do this right.”
“And we will!”
Seeing him dejected, she pushed further.
“T, you know that material things don’t really matter to me, right? You can give it to me when it gets here, I don’t mind.”
“I know, but… wait… I have an idea. Did you switch shifts on Christmas?”
“Yeah. I forgot to tell you it’s finalized, I’m working for Dr. Henderson so she can be home with her kids, she said she’d cover for me on New Year’s, so I can go to Naveen’s party after all.”
“There we go! Since we’re both working Christmas anyway, we will just open our gifts together on New Year’s Day.”
“Well, everything except our stockings, buster. THOSE get opened before our shift that morning. Santa and his reindeer fill them, so, obviously, there will be no delays there.”
Tobias chuckled. “Now, I haven’t done this in a while, but do the reindeers actually enter the condo because, if they do, I may want to put something down to cover the carpeting.”
“What kind of reindeers do you think Santa employs, Tobias? They are very house trained. Stop your worrying and go to bed.”
“Yeah, the fact that I’m entertaining this conversation tells me, I need sleep desperately!”
They turned toward one another, it would have felt like the most natural thing in the world to place a kiss on each other’s cheek, but they smiled and each went their own way. They were back.
____________________
The next couple of weeks flew by. It was not unusual for the hospital to be busier than usual during the holiday months, and this year was no aberration. The longer hours meant that time at home together was limited and, when it occurred, they were both exhausted. Casey considered bringing “it” up a couple times, but the timing never seemed right and, truthfully, it still made her nervous. She kept telling herself she wanted to take time to think on it, but one day she realized, what more was there to think about?
Tobias could not get the thought of what would have happened if he did not get the page that night. They were so close. He felt her kiss on his lips and then it was gone. But he only had himself to blame. He dedicated the damn song to her, but he couldn’t muster up the nerve to ask her to dance. He had only danced with her dozens of times before, but now, everything had changed. It was on him. Old Tobias was somewhere sneering, and he wondered if, maybe, he should listen to him… just a little… but then again, maybe not. But there was someone he better start listening to. If his mother didn’t see “results” soon, she would be landing at Logan Airport any second now.
____________________
Tobias was the first up on Christmas morning. He didn’t care if they had work and it meant little to no sleep, he wanted to surprise Casey with her favorite breakfast, his French Toast. She was always so happy when he made it, and seeing her reaction was all the reward he needed to make this small sacrifice. He shook his head and laughed as he entered the kitchen. Not only did Casey leave out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, but there were a few carrots for the reindeer. She could not be any more endearing, and he could not adore her anymore. He was doing his best to keep his voice down, but in spite of his best efforts, she was still up just twenty minutes later.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he smiled.
“Merry Christmas!” She grinned.
They embraced and stayed in it for as long as they possibly could.
“Why are you up so early? Santa didn’t even come for his cookies yet,” Tobias grinned.
“I uh, wanted to hide all evidence of this before you woke up,” she laughed.
“What? Are you kidding? I’m insulted you didn’t ask me to help you put them out. Next year, you’ll know better.”
“I was also going to make you a frittata for Christmas breakfast.”
He raised his eyebrow.
“I mean I was going to get up to heat the frittata I bought at Whole Foods last night, and try to convince you I made it myself,” she laughed.
“Well, then we will have that along with my French toast.”
“You’re making your French Toast!” She beamed.
“I sure am.”
Casey let out a little squeal and began jumping up and down.
“Best Christmas EVER!”
“I’ll remind you of that at work later.”
They spent the next hour talking and laughing over breakfast. They opened their stocking stuffers and marveled at how Santa filled them without even stopping to eat his cookies. He was just that busy, Casey surmised. Knowing the cafeteria would be working with limited staff today, Tobias packed lunch for both of them, complete with Christmas cookies. Before they knew it, they were in his car, dressed in scrubs, on their way to work. Just another day… except for the Santa hats on their heads. It dawned on Casey in most ways, they were already a couple, it was just taking that next step that seemed so hard.
____________________
The week passed and it was finally time to usher the old year out and welcome the new. Casey, in particular, found it very poignant. It had been quite a roller coaster of a year.
Naveen’s New Year’s Eve bash at his home in Cambridge had become a highlight of the holiday season. It was a relatively new tradition, he started hosting it each year after he cheated death. He said facing his own mortality made him want to welcome each new year granted to him with his dearest friends and family, most of whom hailed from the halls of Edenbrook. It was always a fancy, fun affair, and something everyone looked forward to all year. If the excitement for the holiday party was an eight on a scale of one to ten, this was a full ten.
“Will everyone be at Naveen’s tonight?” Harper asked after the morning meeting ended.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” Casey answered, “Naveen’s party is always a highlight of the year.”
“Which isn’t necessarily a good thing,” Tobias chuckled.
“And why is that?” Harper asked.
“The goal is to start the year well and push that higher all year round, not to make the New Year’s celebration the pinnacle.”
“Well,” Casey said, “It’s like my dad’s New Year’s toast, ‘May the best of your last year, be the worst of the new,’. Let’s make it the best moment ushering it in, and make sure it only gets better from there on.”
“I like that!” Harper smiled. “What about you Ethan, you on board with that?”
“The sentimentality in this room is beginning to make me itch… but I promise to try.”
“That’s all we can ask for, Ethan,” Casey said with a soft smile.
His eyes met hers briefly before looking away.
“Well, in an attempt to be a good boss today. Why don’t you try to get your rounds done early and, as long as there are no emergencies, let’s get out as early as we can? OK?”
Tobias smiled, “You’ll get no arguments from me.”
“Well, get out of here. I’ll see you all there tonight.”
Casey turned around just before leaving the room.
“Ethan?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad to see that you’re going.”
He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
“Thank you, Casey. Me too.”
____________________
Casey’s phone did not stop chiming all day, not at work, and not when she arrived home.
Tobias smiled as he walked into the kitchen, staring down at his phone. Casey was sitting at the counter laughing as she tapped away on hers.
Casey looked at Tobias and chuckled, “Lahela is such an ass!”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“This is going to be fun tonight.!”
“It sure is. But I’m here to register a complaint.”
“About?”
“Why didn’t I get a preview of the dress this time?”
“You didn’t get one last time! You took it upon yourself to peek in my garment bag.”
“Why did that sound far more perverted than it is?”
Casey laughed and slapped his arm.
“Don’t make me call Vivian on you.”
“Oh, please no! I’ll behave. I’m going to go shower. How long do you think you’ll be before you’re ready?”
“An hour, give or take.”
“Want to meet out here. Then maybe we can have a drink at the bar in the lobby before we go.”
“That sounds great,” she smiled.
“So, if I spring for drinks, do I still have to wait on the dress.”
“I can’t be bought that easily, Carrick.”
She turned off her phone and stepped into the shower, filled with excitement for the evening.
She stood in her room staring at her reflection it the mirror. It was happening again. Only, this time she was afraid to leave her bedroom and walk out into the apartment, and this time, she knew why. She and Tobias had slipped right back into their same old routine since the holiday party, and Bryce was ready to disown her for it. She was still scared; she still was on the precipice of wanting to take that plunge and wanting to pull back and run. Yet, she knew very well why she bought this dress, she just didn’t realize it would come with the butterflies floating around in her stomach as accessories.
Your basic black dress is on the hanger ready to go, you can turn this down fifteen notches if you want to Casey.
She looked at herself in the mirror one more time and she smiled. “Yeah, but I don’t.”
She opened her bedroom door and with total confidence, she began walking down the hallway toward the living room to wait for Tobias. She was no more than five feet away when she heard his doorknob click. His head was turned down at first, that’s when she saw him in his crisp black tuxedo. She stared at him and wondered if there was any way she could resist him tonight.
Holy shit….
Then he turned toward her. She covered her mouth and took a small step back when she saw his silver bowtie and pocket square. He looked up and caught a glimpse of her, inhaling deeply as his eyes widened.
“Wow….”
Once again, she took his breath away. So seeing her doubled over and laughing was not exactly the response he had been hoping for.
“Case, uhm, I mean, I know you don’t see me in a tux every day, but… is it that amusing, somehow…”
“No! No, it’s just….” She began laughing again, it was becoming infections. Even though he didn’t know why he was laughing, he found himself doing it too.
“OK, either you started drinking early, or I need to go and change…”
“No!” She said walking toward him. “No. You look, you look absolutely gorgeous. It’s just, don’t you see?”
He eyed her from head to toe, barely able to contain his yearning.
“Oh, I see… dear God, I see… but I don’t think I’m seeing what you are.”
She walked over and stood in front of him, straightening his tie, then his lapels, brushing his pocket square against his chest.
“We match. What on earth made you pick silver?”
He smiled as it dawned on him.
“Oh, yeah, your dress is silver, isn’t it?”
She raised her eyebrows, “Really, Dr. Carrick? What exactly were you looking at that you didn’t even realize that my very sparkly dress was silver?”
A smirk spread on his face.
“Shut up.” That was all he could muster.
“It’s not the first time we’ve done this, you know. Remember the time when we….”
“… when we met for lunch at the Seaport. Yeah,” he smiled, “I remember. We said it would do nothing to quell the rumors about us.”
“Yeah, well, this should just put them completely over the top.”
“Let them talk,” he smiled. “Well, we are early as planned, so why don’t we go get that drink?”
“I would love to!” Casey smiled, “but not downstairs.”
“No?”
“It’s going to be packed, and noisy, and we will have plenty of that at Naveen’s later. Let’s just enjoy some quiet time alone here before we go. Besides, you make the best damn Cosmo I have ever had!”
“You embracing your inner Carrie Bradshaw again, MacTavish?”
“Can’t a girl just want a Cosmo?”
“You can want whatever you like,” he grinned as he placed a perfectly poured Cosmo in front of her and slid onto a stool opposite her at the breakfast counter.
“Now that we got all that laughing out of the way, I have to say that…” he turned his head away blushing. “God, I can’t even look at you. You look… beautiful doesn’t begin to cut it.”
“Thank you,” she blushed, “you look rather incredible yourself.”
“It’s too bad no one will notice me tonight. No one will be looking at anything but you.”
“Nah, they’ll get bored of me in time,” she giggled.
“Not if they have a pulse.”
They had another drink. They talked and laughed about the most inane things, like how each of them has caught a shirtless Bryce flexing in the on-call room mirror for no apparent reason at all; or the way the night janitor always grumbles at Tobias when he passes him in the hall, but always sings an Italian song to Casey, calling her Bella. He made fun of the way she gets far too excited over bagels, and she reminded him that he did pretty much the same thing when her mom brought them up from Philly. Finally, their glasses were empty, and their laughter wound down. Jackie and the girls text saying their Uber arrived and they were on their way. Raf just arrived at Bryce’s, and they were about to do the same thing. Tobias stood up and taking both glasses in his hand.
“Well,” he said walking into the kitchen, “I can make us another drink, or we can begin heading out. What will be, beautiful?”
Casey stared at her hands folded on her lap, her face scrunched in thought. She loved Naveen’s party, and everyone was so excited, she knew it would be an incredible time. She had been looking forward to it all day, but...
“Tobias, how would you feel about blowing off the party? I think I’d like to spend the night at home, just you and me. Would you mind?”
A smile slowly spread across his lips.
“I was kind of thinking the same thing.”
She clapped her hands and squealed.
“This will be perfect! Our own little celebration! No noise, no people! We can do silly things, but we should stay all dressed up! That would make it even more special!”
“I can cook us dinner….”
“No, no! Let me order! There has to be someplace that will deliver. I don’t want you wasting time in the kitchen.”
“I can call the concierge. I’m sure we can get…”
“… the chocolate mousse cake. Oh my God, yes! Get the chocolate mousse cake! But I’m ordering pizza!”
“Pizza?”
“Yes, pizza, champagne, chocolate mousse cake and us… what sounds better than that.”
“Not a goddamn thing.”
“Well, I mean there is The Twilight Zone marathon….”
“And the fireworks at midnight, can’t get a better view than from here.”
“That’s right, we wouldn’t see them at Naveen’s house.”
“We absolutely wouldn’t. Oh, and if we’re home tonight, we can open our gifts tonight, no need to wait until tomorrow”
“Yes! This is the best idea ever, T!”
“I’m so glad I thought of it!”
“Hey,” she said slapping his chest, “you can’t go taking credit for my idea!”
“Well, I mean you just said it first, I was thinking it. Plus, some of the elements of the evening… all mine.”
Casey rolled her eyes, “OK, we’ll share the credit! But the big question, who tells Naveen and our friends?”
“I’ll handle Naveen, you tell the crew?”
“Sounds good. I’ll just text Sienna, she’ll tell everyone. If I do the group text thing you know how that will blow up!”
____________________
Sienna couldn’t hear her phone buzzing above the noise at the party. But when a half-hour passed and Casey had yet to arrive, she began to worry. She took the phone out of her pocket and saw the message:
“Hey, Si. Tobias and I are a bit tired, so we decided we’re just going to stay home. He’s telling Naveen, but I didn’t want you to worry. I hope you guys have fun!”
Sienna’s smirked devilishly.
“What’s going on? I’ve never seen that look on your face before,” Raf asked.
“Jesus, he’s not kidding, what’s up Si?” Aurora added.
Sienna cleared her throat and read the message to her friends, enunciating every word.
“Tired my ass!” Jackie said giving Bryce a high five.
Aurora shook her head, “Do you two always need to high five?”
“In circumstances like this, HELL YES!” Bryce exclaimed. “Oh my God, it’s happening, I can feel it, it’s happening. I need to sit, I’m lightheaded.”
Everyone laughed at him.
“Bryce, try to take it easy, it’s not happening to you!” Sienna laughed.
“So, explain your diabolical grin!”
“Oh, I can’t!” Sienna said jumping up and down, “Aaaaaggghhh, finally!”
Raf raised his beer, “Well, what a way to ring out the old year!”
“I hope he got condoms,” Jackie said shaking her head.
Sienna slapped her arm as the others chuckled.
“Jackie! We have no idea if… I mean, for all we know they’re sitting on the couch right now watching the Twilight Zone marathon! And that’s fine with me, I’m just glad they’re spending some time alone together. This is so exciting!”
“Yeah, I saw that dress, Si. Twilight Zone. I’m sure that’s what they’re doing,” Aurora said taking a sip of her drink.
“Wait! You saw the dress? I want to see the dress! Let me see! Let me see!”
“Bryce, you’re acting like a three-year-old!”
“Well, that’s a one-year improvement over the last time we all hung out. So I deserve a reward, let me see the damn dress.”
Jackie handed him her phone and his eyes popped.
“Oh, oh yeah, they’re watching the Twilight Zone. That is a let’s just lie on the couch and watch the Twilight Zone dress if I have ever seen one.”
He handed the phone to Raf, “If that’s all they are doing, I will never believe a word of any of the legendary stories I have heard about Tobias Carrick… or Casey… ever again.”
“I’m with you, bud,” Bryce said clinking his glass against Raf’s.
The friends all laughed as Harper and Ethan approached them.
“Hey, everyone,” Harper smiled, “Happy New Year.”
“Well, not yet Auntie,” Aurora smiled.
“We’re getting there dear! Has anyone seen the other half of our team? We thought we’d all go say hello to Naveen together before we do our own thing tonight.”
“Well, actually,” Sienna said quietly, “they decided not to come tonight. I know Casey looked pretty tired after work and…”
“… and she decided she’d rather stay at home,” Jackie said crossing her arms.
“Oh, well, then I guess we can go represent the diagnostic team on our own, Ethan. Let’s go say hello, thank you, guys.”
Harper led Ethan off by his elbow, “Are you ok?” she whispered when they were a safe distance away.
“Of course, I’m OK, Harper. Why wouldn’t I be, OK?”
Harper nodded and, as they approached Naveen, Ethan stopped in his tracks.
“You know what, Harper. Tell Naveen I’ll speak to him in a little bit, I think I’m going to stand on the terrace for a bit, get some fresh air.”
Harper smiled, “Of course, you know where to find me if you need some company.”
He didn’t go outside immediately, he stood at the top of the staircase, taking in the partygoers below. Most of the people he knew from Edenbrook were there, many with their spouses or significant others. Those who weren’t were in big groups of friends. Everyone seemed happy and he felt… alone. Of course, he knew he wasn’t. He had Naveen, and Harper, and his father, and even Floria. He didn’t have Casey or Tobias right now, but that wasn’t their doing and, he had a suspicion that, if he played his cards right, he would be able to count them among his friends again.
He planned the remainder of the night in his head. He would join Naveen, Harper or Floria, and make the best of things. But he knew, this wasn't the life he wanted to lead. That whole lie he tried to sell Casey, she knew it was BS from the start, he was never trying to convince her, he was trying to convince himself. So here he stood, living the life he designed, and now all he wanted to do was escape it, but he had no idea how.
The hell with the terrace.
He walked back down the stairs looking around intently, finally, he saw the person he wanted to see and his feet couldn’t bring him there quickly enough.
“Naveen!”
“Yes, my boy! I’m so glad you came tonight.”
“Naveen, I need to speak to you.”
“Oh, I’ll step away then,” Harper said.
“No, no, you should hear this too. I need out. I need out of this hell I created. Naveen, give me those numbers, I think it’s time I get the help I need.”
____________________
Casey and Tobias were sitting on the floor of his opulent living room, wearing their formal attire. They ate pizza straight from the box and drank top-shelf champagne from expensive crystal flutes that Casey was certain cost more than one of her paychecks.
“This is fucking incredible!” he said pouring them another glass, “I very well think this may be the best New Year’s Eve of my lifetime.”
“Ohhh, and that is a lot of New Year’s Eve’s!” She winked.
“Bite me.”
She giggled, “It is an amazing night. But let me guess, that’s because you love the Twilight Zone so much, right?”
“Not even a little. It’s because I’m so thrilled you are not making me watch Grey’s Anatomy again.”
“That’s just because you’re jealous of Dr. Avery! Besides, they aren’t having a marathon. But, Mr. Picky, I’ll offer the remote to you. What would you like to watch?”
“Me?”
“No,” she said looking around the room exaggeratedly, “I was asking one of the many others we invited tonight for their opinion.”
“You know, you are such an unbelievable wiseass, MacTavish. Some days, I wonder why I put up with you.”
She took a sip of her champagne and grin widely, “I bet you have lots of reasons!”
Tobias smiled and shook his head. “What I would like to watch is you opening your belated Christmas present. Shall we do it now?”
Casey looked at her watch. “It’s 11:30. If you want to do it before midnight, no time like the present. Get it… the present?”
“Oh, man. How about this… gifts, decadent chocolate mousse cake, then the fireworks at midnight. How is that for a plan?”
“If medicine doesn’t work out for you, you can definitely be a cruise director, Tobias.”
“Medicine has already worked out for me, Casey.”
“To a degree,” she smirked.
“Oh, you’re on a roll tonight… I almost want to take your gift back,” he smiled as he placed the box in front of her.
“Don’t you dare! I love presents! What I don’t love is buying them for you, though. You are impossible to buy for! Even Vivian couldn’t help, and God knows she wanted to.”
“I’m sure she did.”
“Is there anything that you want that you don’t have?”
He never removed his eyes from hers. “More than you know. But anything that you give to me will be treasured, I hope you know that.”
She rolled her eyes and handed him a present. “Well, this is a step above the socks, gloves, and lip balm I put in your stocking, but… after all you’ve done for me, I wish I could have thought of something more for you.”
“Stop it! Come here,” he said pulling her into a hug on the couch. “Casey, material things, they’re nice and all, but I’m fortunate enough that I can get the things I want. But some things money can’t buy. What you have given me from the start has been priceless. First, you gave me a chance when everyone wrote me off. Now, look, they had their reasons for doing so and I can’t even say that I blame them, but you refused to take their word as law. You gave me a chance and wanted to see for yourself.”
“Yeah, and sometimes what I saw wasn’t all that cool back then.”
He laughed, “No, it wasn’t. But you still saw the good underneath it that no one else wanted to see. I decided to change who I was for me because it’s what I wanted. But I won’t lie, you and the handful of others who saw something good in me, you helped me believe I could do it. That, and your friendship, and the joy and light you have brought to me, to my home, and I don’t even mean the decorations. I know I will love whatever is in this box but, Casey, it will never compare to everything else you have brought to my life.”
“T,” she said giving him another hug, “You should have told me that before. I am still paying off med school.”
They both laughed and it lightened the mood.
“Case, you didn’t go and spend…”
“I’m just joking! It didn’t spend a lot. Come on – open it…”
Inside the box were three Christmas tree ornaments, each had a photo from the Pictagram post she put up earlier in the month, the one that Vivian we so excited over. Tobias smiled.
“Oh my God, Casey. These are perfect.”
“I just figured you are it was so nice to see you so excited about the holidays this year. And you’re Mom told me that you were so excited over the photos we posted…
He shook his head and laughed.
“Oh, she said that, did she?”
“You mean you don’t?”
“No. I do. I absolutely love them, but … my mom….”
“Yeah, that is kind of what was I thinking too! But, you like them? I know it’s not a lot, but…”
“Casey,” he went to rub cheek, but quickly lowered his hand. “They’re perfect.”
He gave her a quick hug.
“Now, open yours!”
“Ok,” this is an odd-shaped box!”
“Yes, be gentle opening it. The contents are very fragile.”
She looked at him incredulously.
“Tobias? Do you even know me? Why would you get me anything fragile, you know how clumsy I am!”
She opened the box and pushed through the thick paper scrunched up inside, then she went silent.
“Oh my… Oh my God….”
She lifted the metal doctor’s kid out of the box spinning it gently in her hands.
“Oh my God! This is almost the exactly…”
She flipped it over and saw her name, painted on the box by her grandpa over 25 years ago, on the bottom. Her eyes flashed up to Tobias’s.
“This… this can’t be it… it was lost, it was lost in the move, I haven’t seen this since I was twelve years old and….”
“It wasn’t lost,” he whispered, “Well, it was, but then it was found. Your parents found the box, but it had been crushed and, since you already accepted that it was gone, they didn't want to hurt you all over again. Your Dad kept it all these years, hoping that he could have it repaired one day, but he never found anyone who could. But he didn't have the heart to throw it away. Over Thanksgiving, I told him I was going to get you a similar one and he gave me the pieces and well, mom, knows Hector and...”
Casey threw her arms around him, tears on her cheeks.
“Tobias, I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you even remembered. I have… I have no words….”
“So you like it?” he smiled.
“Like it, I just can’t believe you did this. This is, this is a piece of my grandpa, this is getting a piece of my life back,” she said choking back tears. “Tobias, I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. But what you should do is open it up. You haven’t looked inside yet. He restored all of the original pieces, except for the tongue depressor and the band-aids, but they are antiques from the same period, Hector was able to hunt them down. I know you said you wanted to display it once you were a doctor and you’re one of the best doctors I have ever know. Your grandpa would be so proud of you, Casey.”
Casey grabbed a napkin and held it to her face as she cried.
“Leave it to you to go and ruin my makeup. There go the Pictagram photos for tonight.”
“Oh, hell no! There will be photos. You’re every bit as beautiful now.”
“You’re amazing.”
He tenderly put his hand over hers, “No, you are. Now, if we want that chocolate cake before midnight.”
“Oh, we want it before and after midnight!”
“You stay here, I’ll go get it for us.”
“OK.”
Casey couldn’t stop staring at the doctor’s kit. She couldn’t believe her dad saved it all this time. She couldn’t believe Tobias remembered the story. She couldn’t believe he brought this back into her life. Tobias came back into the room, two plates of cake in his hand. Casey didn’t take hers yet, and following her lead, Tobias left his on the coffee table as well.
“What do you want to do now?” He asked.
“Hmm… I can give you an exam?”
“Don’t tempt me,” he grinned. “We really don’t have a lot of time until midnight, and we will want to see the fireworks.”
“Well, there is still a little time to kill. I know what I want to do. I want to dance.”
“Dance?”
“Yes, you do know how?”
“Shit, you know I know how! You’ve seen my moves.”
“It’s been a while.”
“Stop lying, Casey. You know they’re unforgettable! So, what will it be? Club? Hip Hop? Disco? A little waltz perhaps?” He laughed.
Casey stood up and walked over toward him. She smiled as she bumped him out of the way with her hip.
“You wait over there, Carrick,” she said motioning across the room. “Let me pick.”
With a few taps of her fingers her selection was made, and she turned around to face him with a timid, yet enchanting smile on her lips. He could not take his eyes off her. She drifted across the room toward him as if she were floating on air. His smile, his heart, and his anticipation growing with each step.
He didn’t hear the first chords of the song as it began to play, how could he when he was so captivated? She was all that mattered, nothing else, only her. But the first words broke through just as she stepped in front of him….
“When the rain is blowing in your face,
and the whole world is on your case,
I could offer you a warm embrace,
to make you feel my love…
His breath hitched and his wide eyes met hers. He grabbed her hand and spoke, his voice, barely a whisper.
“You knew?”
There was no need for words, the light in her eyes and the delicate smile resting on her lips was all the confirmation he needed.
“Casey, I.…”
“Sssshhhh,” she gently placed her finger to his lips. “Tobias Carrick, will you dance with me?”
With a shuttered breath, he cautiously dropped his hands to her hips, “Casey MacTavish, I would be delighted to dance with you.”
Their eyes locked and their smiles doubled in size. Her hands clasped behind his neck as his fell to the small of her back, pulling her, ever so delicately, closer to him. He gasped as she moved her hand to caress his cheek.
This can’t possibly be happening.
Her head tilted and she gazed into his eyes. She was hoped he didn’t realize just how much she was trembling, what she didn’t know was that his body was trembling in time with hers.
This is really happening.
Can she hear my heart beating?
A single tear raced down her cheek and his thumb was there to wipe it away before it had a chance to fall. And there it remained, tenderly caressing the face he loved, the face that he had committed to memory, the one he had only seen like this before in his dreams. But tonight, as he stared into her sapphire blue eyes, he could see as much love and affection as he had for her, starting right back at him.
I’m not dreaming….
He lowered his forehead to hers; she felt his warm breath on her face.
“Tobias,” she whispered as she nuzzled her head into his shoulder.
His face fell into her flowing blonde locks, he inhaled filling his senses with her while she pulled him into a tighter embrace. No space remained between them and neither feared the pounding of their hearts because they were perfectly aware that they were in tune with one another. They were beating so loud that she felt it before she heard it, he was whispering the lyrics into her ear....
“I could make you happy make your dreams come true,
Nothing that I wouldn’t do,
go to the ends of the earth for you,
to make you feel my love,
to make you feel my love….”
The room fell silent. The song had ended but their embrace did not. Each of them was so overjoyed to finally be in each other’s arms, the way they had dreamed of, they could not bear to break free. Casey slowly raised her hand up to his back and placed it on the nape of his neck. Pulling away, ever so slightly, she looked up to him and their glistening eyes met. They smiled, but in their reverie, they did not speak. The moment lingered endlessly until his face began to lower his face towards hers, but she pulled away, never taking her eyes off his. She whispered softly.
“Tobias?”
“Yes?”
A smile crossed her lips as she slowly exhaled, the anxiety and fear that had crippled her were gone, it was time and she felt… free.
“I love you.”
His world stopped spinning and he looked around to make sure this was not yet another dream, for that’s the only place he heard those words from her before.
He shuddered as one of his hands reached to stroke the back of her head.
“You love me? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she nodded, “I love you, Tobias. So much.”
He stopped a sob from escaping, before breaking out into the brightest smile she had ever seen.
“Casey, I could never begin to express how much I love you. God, I love you so much.”
He placed his fingers under her chin and gently lifted. He lowered his head and their lips met, for the first time. Barely touching at first then falling into a soft, lingering kiss. So gentle, so tender, it felt like a welcome home. Their bodies trembled as they let go to gaze into each other’s eyes and when then they came together again, the passion that had been smoldering inside of them finally became a flame. They clung to each other desperately, grasping at each other as if to confirm this was real and their lips never parted; not even when he lifted her off the ground gently spun her around him.
He placed her back on the ground, there was so much to say, yet they found themselves at a loss for words.
“The fireworks are about to start,” she grinned.
“Well, we don’t want to miss them,” he said extending his hand, "let's go."
She took his hand and they ran to the balcony, giggling the entire way.
He grabbed a blanket as they raced past his bed and headed out the glass doors. He fell back into a chair, the same chair he sat in the last time she was here to watch the fireworks on the fourth of July. On that day he gazed at her as she sat next to him, his heart ached because he knew she would never be his. But tonight was not seated next to him, she fell into his lap and her arms looped around his next. He wrapped the blanket tightly around them, though neither felt the frigid cold.
He pulled out his phone for the time, then the countdown began.
10 – 9 – 8 – 7 – 6 – 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1
“Happy New Year, Casey.”
“Happy New Year, Baby.”
The fireworks were magnificent, not that either of them knew. The radiant colors illuminated their faces as they kissed, and kissed, kissed.
Casey’s hand caressed his cheek as she smiled at the look of wonder in his eyes. Taking his face in her hands, she whispered.
“Tobias, please make love to me.”
He exhaled and pulled her to him. They were both lost in a deep, passionate kiss and their lips never parted. Not as he stood up, nor as he lifted her and walked to his room.
A new year had begun.
(Supplemental Steamy Chapter Coming Soon... :) )
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Sam Winchester's Love
Summary: You are in a relationship with Sam Winchester. You don’t feel deserving of his love as your depression causes you to sink into a deep rut. Sam does some research about depression and responds to your lapse in happiness with a gentle approach that ends with him showing you just how much he loves you.
Word Count: 2906
Warnings: talk of depression and suicide/death, angst, and all the fluff with some smut added in there.
A/N: First- I’ve never written smut before. So be nice! Second, I struggle with depression and anxiety, and wanted to write a fic that expresses what would help me (or hopefully anyone struggling as well) feel appreciated when I’m low. I bolded symptoms of depression to help people see what it feels like to have depression. These are not the only symptoms. If you identify with one or more of the symptoms, I encourage you to reach out to someone and start a conversation. It could be a complete stranger or a loved one. (I'm always a listening ear, too!) Whatever you’re most comfortable with. All “Google results” are from my own google search. The crisis text line is a real resource for you to use, if you find yourself in a mental health crisis.
Also tagging a couple people who might like to read. Sorry if that's overstepping! @winchester09 @that-one-gay-girl @supernatural-harrypotter7 @winchest09
The one good thing about living in a bunker was that there were no windows. Your room that you shared with Sam Winchester was no different. It meant no morning sun could wake you up, and you could keep the room as dark and cool as you wanted to. And on this particular morning, your depression had you keeping the room as dark as you possibly could.
You knew the boys would be wondering where you were, since it was 10:30, and you were always up by 8:00. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t get dressed, brush your teeth or hair, or even get your legs swung over the edge of the bed. You were so emotionless that you couldn’t even cry. You simply didn’t care. Nothing felt important to you. You had no motivation to do anything except lie there in the gloom, curled around yourself, stuck in this dark rut.
You had no idea how much time had passed while you stayed there, motionless, until Sam came in, knocking softly as he opened the door. Your eyes glanced over to him and you could see the surprise and concern on his face at discovering your lack of activity.
“Y/N? Love, what are you still doing in bed? It’s 2:00 in the afternoon.”
You sighed. “I don’t care,” you said softly. “Nothing matters to me right now. I wish I would die. Then I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone anymore. No one would miss me.”
Sam knew you struggled with depression, but in the short time you’d been together, he had yet to see a truly deep depressive episode. It scared him, and he replied, “What? Y/N, I would miss you! You’re scaring me.”
You moved your head marginally to be able to look at him for real, and asked, “Would you let me be? I just need to be alone.” Your tone was expressionless, and it freaked Sam out.
He nodded and slowly and quietly closed the door. Once the door was latched firmly, Sam beelined for his laptop. He’d be damned if he was going to let you suffer alone and in silence.
Opening his computer, he typed in “symptoms of depression”. Among the results were, “fatigue, sleeping too much or too little, feelings of worthlessness or hopelessness, loss of interest in activities that once brought pleasure, appetite loss, feelings of sadness, loneliness, or ‘empty’ feelings, thoughts of suicide or death”. His eyes widened. You met every single one of those criteria for identifying depression.
Determined to help, he next googled “how to help someone with depression”. The answers ranged from helping the loved one cope, to opening a conversation with the loved one and getting them to talk about their feelings. Asking questions such as “What caused you to start feeling like this? How can I help you right now?” Stating things like, “You’re important to me. Your life is important to me,” or “You’re not alone, I’m here for you.”
One resource he found as he researched fervently was the crisis text line. It was a number (741-741) someone could text and speak to a certified individual about whatever their crisis was. Sam noted that in the back of his mind as something to bring up to you.
Sam nodded as he read. He knew he could do all these things. His biggest goal for you was for you to feel supported and loved. Seeing you in the state you were in concerned him and it had almost sent him in a tailspin of worry. But he would remain strong for you. You needed Sam to lean on if you were going to get up to see the light.
Sam noticed Dean wander in and motioned him over.
“Hey, I gotta talk to you about Y/N. She’s in a really bad depressive episode. She said she wanted to die.” Sam’s heart rate sped up with fear just saying those words. He swallowed and continued. “I’ve been looking up depression online and I think I know how to help her. But I could use your help.”
Dean quickly responded, “So that’s why she’s still in your room. Of course. What do you need?”
Sam answered, “I’m going to have a conversation with her and see if I can’t convince her to get out of bed. Actually, once we finish talking, I’m going to carry her out if she won’t walk. But I want to give her some ideas of simple things we could do as a group that would help her snap back to us.”
Dean nodded in agreement. “I think you’re on the right track. I dated a girl for like, a week, years ago who had depression, and getting outside really helped her she said. Maybe we could go on a walk with her down to the lake. Or hell, even loop around the bunker’s perimeter a few times.”
“That’s a good idea. I was also thinking something easier, like a movie night squished between us - something to show her she’s loved and not alone. Or maybe making dinner with us, so that she’s up and about but doesn’t really have to do much.” Sam ran his hand through his hair as he thought out loud.
Dean grinned. “Oh we’d show her she’s loved. She’s like my sister. She’s not going anywhere.”
His grin faded. “Hey, what if we took her on an easy hunt? Tried to get her back in the swing of things? Maybe it would distract her from the depression.”
Sam shook his head thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. She said she wanted to die, which makes me think that she might do something stupid on the hunt, like try to get killed. Or even just make a stupid mistake because her head isn’t in the game. No, I don’t think a hunt is the right option for her right now.”
“Of course. Duh. I should have known that,” Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation at his cluelessness. ‘I wouldn’t want to put Y/N in danger.”
Sam sighed. “Well, we’ve got some ideas. Let me go talk to her and see what I can get her to do. We’ll be out in a bit one way or another.”
Dean nodded and headed to the kitchen to grab a bite and some coffee before doing his own research on your debilitating ailment.
----
You still hadn’t moved since Sam had come into the room. Your mind felt empty, like everything had been drained from it. You just lay there quietly, waiting for nothing.
The door opened slowly, and Sam silently came in, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t say a word, just got in the bed with you and wrapped you up in his arms to hold you close. Your back against his chest, he tried to shelter you with his body, as if he could protect you from the dark thoughts. Sam wanted you to feel his love first before he tried to say anything. The two of you stayed like that for several minutes, the only sound in the room was the sound of two humans breathing softly. You hadn’t even known, but his touch was what you’d been needing. You soaked in the moment, grateful Sam was giving you space before speaking.
“Y/N?” Sam kissed the nook between your shoulder and your neck. “I want you to know you’re not alone. I’m here for you every step of the way.”
You didn’t respond, but it created the first semblance of emotion you’d felt all day. You could feel your eyes start to well up, not understanding how he knew exactly what to say to you.
“I don’t know what triggered your episode, but I think it would help if you talked it through with someone. It doesn’t even have to be me. You could text the crisis help line, and speak to someone through that. What do you think about that?” You could hear the hesitation in Sam’s voice, as though if he spoke too loudly or firmly he’d break you.
Sighing once again, you summoned the motivation to speak. “If I talk to anyone, I’d like it to be you.”
You could feel the smile on his lips as he again kissed you.
You drew in a shaky breath and decided to describe to him how you were feeling. You told him in a whisper about how you had no motivation, no gumption to do anything. How you felt worthless and unlovable. You told him how you felt he’d be better off if you just died so you weren’t a burden anymore and how you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything today. As you spoke of your symptoms and feelings, you could feel a couple warm tears dripping into the crook of your neck and shoulder.
Once you finished, you felt Sam take a couple steadying breaths, clearly attempting to get himself together. “My love, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. If I could take this all away I would. But I’m here. I can share the weight of your burden. You mean the world to me. You are the farthest thing from a burden on me. You are the shining light in my life, guiding me and loving me. You have given me a reason to fight on. You are what I hold on to in my dark moments.” Here Sam paused, unsure whether he was overwhelming you or even getting through to you.
You turned in his arms so that your chest was facing his, your arms pressed against his chest as you brought your head to tuck under his. “Sam, I can’t tell you how much that helped me,” you said softly.
Sam took that as a cue and gently unwrapped one of his arms from your back and brought your head up to his. Tenderly, he pressed his lips to yours, sending you the message “I love you”. You allowed yourself to respond, capturing his lips with yours. Your kiss was sending the message, “Thank you.”
The two of you kissed delicately for a minute before your body began to respond. You pressed your mouth more firmly against his and adjusted your body to press closer against Sam’s. You brought one hand up and began to run it through Sam’s hair, something you knew he was crazy for. As the kiss began to become more passionate, you grabbed Sam’s hair at the roots and gently pulled, letting him know it was ok to take this a step further. He moaned a little against your mouth at the feeling of his hair being tugged on and involuntarily ground his hips into yours.
You automatically responded by thrusting your hips back against his. Sam broke the kiss long enough to look at you with an unspoken question in his eyes. You nodded, understanding his desire to show you just how much he loved you. Sam rolled you onto your back before resuming the kiss, running his tongue along your bottom lip, lazily requesting access to your mouth. You granted it, and began to explore his mouth with your own as if it were your first kiss. You could feel Sam slowly grinding against you, not rushing, but clearly feeling the need for some friction. His erection was bumping against your abdomen, and both of your breathing began to get shorter and heavier.
Not breaking the kiss, Sam lifted himself up on one arm and began pulling your nightshirt over your head. You allowed your lips to leave his only long enough to get the shirt out of the way and immediately brought your mouth to Sam’s again. His free hand roamed across your stomach, tracing lines in circles and random shapes as he made his way up to your breasts. Your breathing hitching, you moaned into the kiss as he began to massage your breast, pinching your hardened nipple. Your hips began to grind back against Sam’s, now also needing friction. Your arousal was beginning to pool between your legs, and you weren’t wearing panties.
Sam began to move his kisses down your jawline and to your neck, where he sucked through his teeth, determined to leave his mark on you. You cocked your neck to the side to allow him full access but he was already moving lower, taking your nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, sucking on it. He pulled off it with a pop, and moved to the next one. Sam then continued to work his way down your body, kissing every inch of your stomach, navel, and down to your inner thighs. You shuddered, his lips so close to your slick folds. Sam smiled against your leg. “You like that, sweetheart?” All you could do was whimper in response as you ground your hips desperately. “Ok,” he murmured. “Ok, love. Let me show you how much I love you.”
Sam ran his tongue between your folds and immediately you felt the tightness in your core begin. He knew every sensitive spot, every place to make you writhe in ecstasy. He sucked on your clit and slowly stuck a finger in your hole. You threw your head back, eager for him to insert another, which he obliged. He bent them and ran them against your walls, curling and pumping. Your juices squelched a bit, letting Sam know just how ready for him you were. He continued to run his tongue in swirls around your clit and through your folds as he finger fucked you. The tightness in your core becoming unbearable, you could feel your release coming. You moaned loudly and stuttered, “S-Sam, I’m gon-gonna…”
“Cum for me baby. Come on, that’s it. Good girl,” he praised as your orgasm exploded, pleasure coursing through your body, your pussy clenching around his fingers over and over again as he rode you through it.
You lay limp against the sheets, unable to form words. Sam looked up at you and chuckled. He slowly brought himself up along your body to recapture your lips with his, putting all his love and passion into the kiss. “Now do you know how much I love you?” he asked. You smirked. You could feel his erection pressed between your bodies. You wanted to feel him deep inside you, filling you, satisfying you. “Mmm I’m beginning to,” you murmured. “I might need you to show me more.” Sam smirked back at you and said, “As you wish, my love.”
He lined himself up at your entrance, rubbing his cock in your juices. Slowly, he pushed in, letting you adjust as he went. That was one thing you loved about him. Sam never rushed your body. He worshipped it. Once he was fully sheathed, he pulled halfway out, and slowly thrust back in, creating a slow, lazy pace that made you two feel like you had all the time in the world. As he thrust, he grabbed one of your legs, and put it over his shoulder, giving him a new angle, to get him deeper.
You moaned and your pussy clenched around his cock as he hit places that gave you waves of pleasure. He groaned as you clenched around him and sped up his pace, his balls slapping against your skin. Sam took his free hand and started rubbing your clit again, trying to help you get to your climax. His other hand held your hip in place as his pace picked up even more, almost becoming erratic as he got close to his release. You threw your head back again as you felt the familiar tightness building in your core. “Oh don’t stop. Oh Sam. Oh my god. Don’t .. don’t… ahhh!!” You came loudly and harder than last time, your back arching and your pussy milking Sam’s cock for all it was worth. Sam grunted - he couldn’t handle it, the tightness, the pulsing - and released inside you, jerking his hips, spurts of cum coating your walls.
Sam gently pulled out of you, his cum dripping from between your legs. He got up and grabbed a towel from the closet and quietly cleaned you up, careful to not be too rough. You lay there in heaven, a stupid smile on your face, unsure if you’d even be able to walk the next day. Sam crawled back into bed with you and gathered you in his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and said, “Do you believe me now? How much I love you?”
You smiled adoringly at him and whispered, “Yes, I do.”
Sam grinned. “Good. Because we have an activity outside the room that we’re going to do. And you need to be clothed for it.” He winked at you cheekily. “Dean and I were talking, and we brainstormed something the three of us could do that would help you feel less alone. So, let’s get UP,” he rolled you on top of him and then over him to get you to the side of the bed. “And dressed, and then we’ll go meet Dean.”
You smiled again at him, and good-naturedly shook your head as you got dressed. The darkness was gone for now. You knew it would be back, but you had ammunition to combat it the next time it came a-knocking. Sam Winchester’s love.
#supernatural#supernatural smut#supernatural fan fic#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester#spn fic#deascheck
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Chapters: 8/?
Rating: Mature
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel/Boromir (Son of Denethor II), Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, (It's Denethor guys.), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boromir Lives, Fix-It, everyone has their issues but it's nothing worse than in My Land is Bare, Boromir pOV, Grima POV
Series: Part 3 of swimming through fire
Summary:
The last instalment of the Boromir-Lives LOTR rewrite. Helm's Deep has concluded and we are on to the Return of the King.
Boromir and Gandalf are off to Gondor to see what they can do to help. Aragorn, because he likes to take the most whack routes possible, is to drag the remainder Fellowship through the paths of the dead. No one signed up for this.
With our Rohan compatriots: Grima continues to be a hot wreck who is actually managing himself not half-bad, all things considered. Eowyn just wants to really, really fight the baddies. Theoden thinks everyone needs to cool it for ten seconds. Eomer has never heard the word "chill" in his life.
Anyway - things continue to go pear shaped.
--
Obligatory Excerpt:
Anyway, here is a scene: Éowyn discreetly tucking away armour, shield and sword.
Gríma believes he is certain of her motives and thinks it an interesting decision. It is certainly within her nature, for she does desire to be a rider with as much enthusiasm as Gríma desires to never be a rider. But, she is also dutiful. And honourable. Respectful of her uncle and brother.
A goodly portion of Gríma thought he would never see the day where she no longer performed the ideal of sister and niece. Yet, strings stretched too far do break. Gríma admires the gumption. He would not have it, were he in her place.
Passing by he says, ‘Nice day for it.’
She replies, ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’
Grima, never not shit disturbing.
Eomer: Haven’t you learned by now?
Grima: Learned what??
#lord of the rings#LOTR#writing#cycles of song#swimming through fire#Grima Wormtongue#Eowyn#Eomer#LOTR Fic
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