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beansbeware · 4 years ago

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Beans’ Bagginshield Recs

Here it is! My first rec list eight years since I first started shipping Bagginshield. When this lockdown started (and ended and started again) I found myself re-reading OG/classics and discovering new ones. Sifting through my AO3 history I realized I have read and already forgotten so much fic over the years. For a while, I though the ship had run its course but as we can see now, Bagginshield lives! Check back for updates as I discover (and remember) more fics. Pay attention to the tags and trigger warnings!

I Sang In My Chains Like The Sea by orphan_account for lincesque, IronPanda

In which Bilbo is a Jaeger pilot candidate, and Middle Earth stands on the brink of destruction. (Pacific Rim AU) [Wasn’t sure how this one worked but man it did]

At the Turn of the Year by northerntrash

They say that strange things live in the woods, fair folk and things more spirit than man; don't step between the old oaks, parents mutter to their children, or they might find you, and eat you. Thorin never believed that, but now winter is settling into his bones, the shadows are growing longer through the hoar frost, and he is lost among the trees.

And it was there that Thorin met him, that strange, laughing creature, walking barefoot through the bracken.

Canon-ish

Homeward Bound by perkynurples for 61Below

His life slips away from him on an elven boat carrying him overseas, and there is one last journey Bilbo Baggins must take if he truly means to arrive home.

Sansûkh by determamfidd

The battle was over, and Thorin Oakenshield awoke, naked and shivering, in the Halls of his Ancestors.

The novelty of being dead fades quickly, and watching over his companions soon fills him with grief and guilt. Oddly, a faint flicker of hope arises in the form of his youngest kinsman, a Dwarf of Durin's line with bright red hair.

(Follows the story of the War of the Ring).

The Great Shire Conspiracy by Avelera for Emsiecat

Ten years later, Bilbo can't even go to the Green Dragon without a dwarven tourist buying him a beer and sobbing over Bilbo's great tragic love affair with Thorin Oakenshield. Which would all be quite touching and heartbreaking, if not for one little thing...

Dark (generally not a fan but this one made the cut)

Pain-Bearer by lilithiumwords (unfinished)

In an alternate reality, Erebor was never taken by Smaug, and the War of Dwarves and Orcs never happened. The Orcs invaded the Shire, slaughtering hundreds and taking countless more as slaves. Bilbo is slave to Azog, the Dwarf King's mortal enemy... until the Dwarf King rescues him.

Dwarves! in the Shire

Selling to Hobbits by HildyJ

Exiled from his kingdom and living on the mercy of others, Thorin is determined to make his own way in the world for him and his family. And the annual Summer Fair in Hobbiton sounds like the best place to sell enough of his crafted goods to do just that.

Oak and Mistletoe by HildyJ (series)

After a life dominated by a strange form of sickness, Thorin is sent to the Shire to seek a cure only Bilbo Baggins can offer.

Erebor - Nope, Never Fell

A Most Sensible Idea by HildyJ

Bilbo Baggins isn't sure about this. Not one bit.

Frodo is definitely too young to enter into an arranged marriage with a dwarven king called Thorin Oakenshield. It's a good thing that Bilbo is there to chaperone him through their courtship.

After all, there's no chance that a fussy hobbit bachelor would ever catch the eye of a king.

Signs and Meanings by HildyJ

It shouldn't matter to Thorin that the visiting hobbit cook doesn't speak his language. But it does.

Per Aspera by northerntrash

Deep in the dungeons of the Kingdom of Erebor, in an old, unused storeroom, lived a Hobbit.

In which Bilbo Baggins, a strangely successful thief, makes a mistake, and meets a Prince.

Erebor - Rebuilding

Mother-Tongue by northerntrash for HildyJ

Forget-me-not: a small flower, with four petals, which are normally found in shades of blue with a pink or white centre. These are traditional flowers of intent in the Shire, used to express true love, and remembrance.

In which Bilbo plans to leave Erebor, and Thorin tries to understand why.

Previous Engagements by Lunarflare14

After the Battle of Five Armies Thorin and Company have a new task: rebuilding their reclaimed home. Suddenly Bilbo finds himself up to his ears in responsibility and he surprises himself with how well he can navigate negotiations with elf dignitaries, farmers in Dale, and a dwarf king who has patience for neither.

But as Spring approaches a caravan from the Blue mountains brings something everyone had nearly forgotten: the dwarf woman Thorin promised his hand to many years ago.

Which is fine. It's all fine. It wasn't like Bilbo was falling in love with the king or anything.

That would be tragic.

And I'm Your Lionheart by Lee_Whimsy

Bilbo lingers in Erebor while Thorin recovers from his wounds, and soon finds himself caught up in politics, romance, and the occasional kidnapping. Ensemble cast. AU. Eventually Thorin/Bilbo.

Fix-Its (Gawd we need them)

An Expected Journey by MarieJacquelyn

For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right?

Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

though the stars walk backward by baggvinshield, killaidanturner

Bilbo wakes, always in Erebor, with dark shadows to one side and the first light of a terrible dawn to the other.

An Expected Journey by MarieJacquelyn

Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

Over Your Shoulder by northerntrash

The battle is over, and the lost have been counted. There is too much death, too much blood, and in the middle of it sits one small Hobbit, left quite alone but for a body on the ground and the memory of what might have been. But he is a tenacious creature, and if there is one thing that he has learnt, it is not to give up hope.

In which Bilbo Baggins goes on one last journey, and doesn't come back alone.

Historical Setting

The Ghost And Mr Baggins by perkynurples

They say that everything can be cured by saltwater - sweat, tears or the sea. Bilbo Baggins chooses the last option, taking his recently orphaned nephew and moving to the charming Oak Cottage, overlooking England’s grislier shores. The house charms him instantly, and though he knows nothing at all about the sea, or about making ends meet on his own so far from everything he’s known his whole life for that matter, he’s quite determined to stay, and see his nephew get better, odd sounds in the night be damned. He’s living in a modern world, after all, and the nonsense he’s been hearing about the house being haunted by its former owner, the mysterious Captain Durin, is just silly superstition… isn’t it?

Hobbit! Thorin

I've Grown a Hedge Around My Heart by pibroch (littleblackdog)

Thorin Brandybuck, just recently come of age, still lives in his family’s smial in Buckland, with his parents and two younger siblings. Thorin is an odd duck amongst his relations and neighbours-- unsociable, grumpy, shy, and awkward. And beyond that, he looks rather strange even for a Bucklander, strongly favouring the thick, dark haired build of his Stoorish blood.

It defies all sense and reason why Bilbo Baggins, an exemplar of all the respectable traits Thorin lacked, would ever desire a friendship with him.

Bilbo, as Thorin discovers, is not always as sensible as he appears.

Marriage (or something like it)

An Unexpected Proposal by Eareniel

As Bilbo sat smoking in his empty hobbit hole, he couldn’t help but wonder – when did his life become so boring? Or better yet – when did his old life stop being enough?

He suspected the answer to that question lay somewhere around the time when he had refused Thorin Oakenshield’s offer of marriage.

Something Blue by Lapin

Thorin marries Bilbo after the Battle of Five Armies, a marriage of convenience, not love. Slowly, they must come to make the best of it, Bilbo resolves. After all, he's a Hobbit. They make the best of things.

Magical/Super Powers

On Adventures and Other Forms of Conduct Unbecoming of a Wizard by manic_intent for beingevil

For as long as even the old Gaffer could remember there had been a wizard living in the hill at Bag End, overlooking the Shire. As wizards went, this one wasn't the wandering sort, always out to lure gentle folk out onto nasty adventures, or even the powerful kind, the sort that lived in high towers, reaching out into the ways of the world.

Modern Setting

Old Stone, New Fires by northerntrash

Bilbo was not sure what he had expected when he had agreed to supervise the restoration of Erebor House, on the lonely tidal island in the North sea, but it was not this. The winters up here are cold and harsh, and there is a strange feeling on the air, thick with the brine of the sea and secrets to which he is not privy; there is some part of the long and troubled history of the place that has not been spoken of, a shadow between the broken family gravestones and the caves beneath the cliffs, dark and dangerous.

Perhaps it is all in Bilbo’s mind, but as the nights grow longer, he starts to doubt it, and as Thorin sinks ever deeper into black and incalculable moods, he will have to find what has been lost, before it takes them all.

For This by northerntrash

Thorin Durin had lived in his new flat for approximately eighty four minutes when things started to go terribly, terribly wrong. The wrongness came in the form of a package, delivered to his door, wrapped in brown paper and string, with a small tag wishing him a very sincere welcome to the building.

Nothing Gold Can Stay by perkynurples

Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

Love-In-Idleness by perkynurples

Taking Bilbo Baggins, a successful movie actor who is only just getting used to the perks and intricacies of becoming A Face People Want To See, and putting him together with Thorin Oakenshield, with his very traditional (read: slightly backwards) ideas about what constitutes Real Art and Real Talent, might very well be viewed as just some clothead’s idea of a joke. But there are jokes, and then there are carefully calculated risks the size of controversial reproductions of classic Shakespearean plays - for Bilbo, it is the chance of a lifetime to prove himself to all those who have ever deemed him too one-dimensional to even attempt stage, while Thorin has the opportunity to get out of the rut that’s been hindering his career for so long now, and shine in a role worthy of his talent once again. That is if the two learn how to share the same space for more than ten minutes without wanting to tear each other’s hair out. The course of true love never did run smooth, after all…

If There Were Water by stickman

Bilbo Baggins might be in over his head. He’s purchased an old stone house atop a hill overlooking a city he doesn’t know, and plans to live quietly, largely ignoring the rest of the world. But it’s early April, the rainy season, and the roof leaks, and there's something strange about Bywater House that he can't quite figure out.

Thorin Oakenshield is in his fourth month of trying to reconcile his own grief with his failures at anything remotely resembling a competent single parent, living out of a shoebox flat with Fíli (seven, sullen, and stubborn as hell) and Kíli (five, resilient but cracking), working crap jobs and hating everything including himself.

Under the cover of rainy afternoons and sleepless nights, roof repairs and building restoration, Bilbo and Thorin try to figure out how one navigates isolation, and how one breaks out of it. Every step they manage to take forward finds them dragged back again; every question asked has too many answers, or too few. This is a story about living in a world where everyone is on their own, always, and how things go on.

How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us by stickman

Bilbo is a harried 1st year British literature Ph.D. (early 20th century fiction) who happens to have an interest in spatial narrative structures, a lack of time-management skills, and a tiny apartment with a lot of books and very little furniture. He’s stressed, always, and doesn't quite know where he belongs. He tells himself that really, this is, in fact, what he wants to be doing. But sometimes, as much as he loves books, he gets an urge to do something with his hands.

Thorin is a disgruntled M.Arch. 1 in his last year who can’t be arsed to shave and frightens his students, and, frankly, his profs, but his work is top-notch so no one can really say much. They can, however, bully him into running a hands-on design workshop on Saturday mornings, which is complete crap, because he’s used to drinking his Friday nights into oblivion so showing up at Milstein at 7:45 the next morning and trying to teach in a room of wall-to-wall windows as the sun rises is not at the top of his list. Besides, no one ever shows up.

Except one morning, someone does.

The Boy You Met (At The Coin Laundry) by Lee_Whimsy

Bilbo accidentally spends a summer in Ireland. One rainy day, Thorin appears in the hotel laundry room, naked and dripping wet and about to propose. (But not, unfortunately, to Bilbo.)

Gandalf, Thranduil, and a handful of Spanish footballers all guest-star.

Hooked On You by Chamelaucium

Thorin should have learnt not to trust his brother and sister by now.

Come with us on holiday, they’d said. It’ll be fun, they’d said. A nice break from work.

Yeah right. All this holiday had brought him was being knocked around the head, acute hay-fever, and the biggest, most ridiculous crush ever on the cute, golden-haired fishing instructor.

One-Sided Conversations by northerntrash

"Thank you for listening," Thorin said, getting to his feet. "I hope to be able to return the favour, one day."

The man on the bed didn't respond, but since he'd been in a coma for longer than Thorin had known him, that wasn't entirely surprising.

“One”/Soulmates

you lick your lips (you taste like years of being alone) by perkynurples for stopchasingflowers

Thorin Oakenshield was born without the longing, and has spent his whole life merely observing others as they pursued a feeling unknown to him until they finally found their One. He has made his peace with the prospect of being alone, and has been faring well enough, but little does he know the fates have a different story in store for him.

Things We Grow Together by serenbach

Dwarves are born with a bone-deep knowledge of their One, but Thorin stops feeling the pull of his after the dragon attacks Erebor. Needless to say, he is surprised, and not initially pleased, to find his One living behind a round green door decades later.

Hobbits find a seed that represents their innermost self and can offer it to someone else to plant. This creates a bond as strong as deep roots in the earth between them. It is just like Bilbo, after years of thinking that no one would want his, to offer his soul-seed to a dwarf that does not understand gardening metaphors.

But just because they have found each other does not make the quest to reclaim Erebor any easier, and in the end a sacrifice is still made.

Thorin has to trust in the strength of the bond between himself and his One, because otherwise he will never believe that the sacrifice was worth it.

Colour-struck by northerntrash

Soul mates are like adventures, Bilbo had often consoled himself. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things that made you late for dinner. It was no great hardship that he had never met his, even if he couldn't tell which of his petunias were blue and which were purple.

Quest-ions

Discovering Mr Baggins by Eareniel

The story of a Hobbit, told through the eyes of the dwarves.

Thorin Oakenshield's Majestic Diary by Fruitsie

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain and Totally Majestic Badass of Middle Earth, does not have a raging hard-on for Bilbo Baggins.

No, seriously.

Just read his diary.

Call You Home by northerntrash

In which the Company are entirely too nosy about matters that are supposed to be a secret, and Bilbo learns that being concerned about propriety is overrated when you could be making friends instead.

Time Travel (because walking Middle Earth is not enough)

Of an Arcane Binding by Salvia_G

An inexplicable magic ties Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, to Thorin, dwarven prince of Erebor

#bagginshield #thorin x bilbo #the hobbit #fic rec #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield

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sweetaspiesammy · 4 years ago

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"In hbo supernatural I feel it in my soul that sam, while feeling the intense low of demon blood withdrawals, would try to replace that high by snorting coke and popping pills #extra angst bonus points for dean thinking he did the right thing by forcing sam off of it but also knowing he fucked up bc sam is worse #and it’s so much easier for sam to get his hands on street drugs and dean can’t watch him 24/7 #and now sam’s not even helping people #he’s just destroying himself faster"

Gemma PLEASE this has so much potential omfg I need it. Now I’m thinking of what would happen if Sam overdosed on pills and how scared to death Dean would be and how much he’d blame himself for the way he forced Sam to detox from the demon blood. This is the sort of dark sad angst I love can I just have a bit.. please? Just what would happen if Sam were to od if you’re willing. I know this could be a whole fic or even series but I won’t push it too much. Either way I love this idea and your blog ❣️

First off sorry this took me a bit to get to, you’ll see why in a sec, but wow thank you!! It makes me so happy when people like the weird ideas that float around my brain 😂💕

And second, since you asked so nicely for what would happen if Sam were to OD... well... here you go... (prepare for angst)

Tw: drug overdose

When Dean walks into the motel room, Sam’s curled on his side on the floor with an empty orange bottle clutched in his fist. Sam doesn’t acknowledge him entering. He doesn’t move or say a word. Dean rushes to his side without hesitation. Dean gets a closer look as he kneels down by his unconscious brother and notices the paleness of his face right away.

Dean pushes Sam flat onto his back, panicked. As his own heart races, he feels for Sam’s pulse. It’s weak. Sam’s hardly breathing.

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice feels lodged in his throat. He smacks Sam face a little, just to jostle him. “What did you do?” Dean whispers in frustration.

Sam doesn’t answer. The empty pill bottle in his hand is answer enough.

Dean forces himself into action. He gets to his feet and pulls Sam up with him. Dean hooks his arms under Sam’s armpits and drags him towards the bathroom. It takes some effort but Dean gets himself and Sam into the tub. He doesn’t bother getting rid of their shoes or clothes. Dean doesn’t have time to waste.

The shower turns on with a nudge of the handle and Dean leans back in the tub and sits. Sam slumps back against his chest. The cold spray of the water hits Sam’s face and Dean hopes—prays—it’s enough to wake Sam up. His heart beats out of his chest against Sam’s back as he waits for Sam’s eyes to flutter open, for his body to twitch, for him to do something.

Sam remains unmoving.

Dean blames himself. If he hadn’t forced Sam off of the blood in such a cruel way, maybe—just maybe—his little brother wouldn’t have turned to such a destructive alternative. If only he had protected Sam in the first place, if he hadn’t let Sam go down such a dark path, or maybe if he had pulled him into the light sooner, this never would’ve happened. Sam wouldn’t be lying half dead in Dean’s arms if he had just taken the time to help his little brother rather than punish him.

Dean snaps from his guilt as he remembers something he saw—in some show or movie, he doesn’t remember—and decides to say screw it and gives it a shot. Dean pries Sam’s mouth open and stuffs his fingers down Sam’s throat. He’s trying to trigger Sam’s gag reflex, to get him to expel the drugs from his body.

Finally Sam reacts. He starts to sputter around Dean’s digits. Dean pulls away just as Sam spits up his stomach contents, pills and all. Dean’s never been so relieved.

Sam takes heaving breaths, trying to reclaim oxygen. Sam’s soaking wet, shivering, eyes hazy as he starts to regain an understanding of his surroundings.

“Dean?” Sam rasps out, throat obviously sore as his head lolls back against Dean’s shoulder.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Dean tells him. He brushes Sam’s wet hair from his forehead so he can look into those hazel eyes. Dean needs to see them look back at him. He needs to know that Sam is still here.

Dean nearly sobs in relief when Sam’s tired eyes meet his. “You scared me, Sammy,” he croaks out, then forces a weak smile. He wants it to be reassuring, but for himself or Sam he doesn’t know.

“Don’t act like you care,” Sam mumbles, eyes sliding shut. He’s still bitter. Maybe Dean deserves it. He never should’ve locked his brother in the panic room.

Despite his dismissive tone and words, Sam curls in on Dean. Even tucks his arms around Dean’s waist a little as he shifts around. As much as it kills him, Dean doesn’t know how to fix this. He can’t. Not right away. Instead Dean just wraps his arms around Sam as his little brother lays against his chest and tries to bring Sam some sort of comfort. Dean just hopes it’ll work.

#asks #my writing #tw: drugs #tw: drug overdose #sam and dean #angst #gencest

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star-puff · 4 years ago

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la lune (i)

tsukishima kei x f!reader

warnings: ghost!au; implied(?) death; occasional profanity; angst, fluff, comedy, a whole potluck of feelings

word count: 1.1k

welcome to the beginning of my ghost!tsukki fic, the first part of my mini series! i must admit, choosing tsukishima as the main character for my next fic was quite a difficult task, a multichapter fic at that. his little tsundere ass was just a lot to handle and get right :’) but we managed to persevere, and here we are! the fic just wouldn’t be the same without him, so without further ado, i hope you enjoy a little piece of my heart ♡

chapters: i. lumière ; ii. lune ; iii. aimer

In death, Tsukishima is silent and watchful.

He was expecting more from the afterlife, to be honest; maybe a grand welcoming from other spirits meant to guide him, or a solemn grim reaper ready to take his soul. Instead, Tsukishima opens his eyes to see himself lying on his bed—his heart still, breath stolen from his lips.

Laughing wryly, he thinks this is just his luck. To die this young after all his efforts to get where he is now, Tsukishima wants to ask if this is a punishment from his past life. Well, he supposes it’s his past past life now. Not that it really matters anymore.

He feels lighter, unbound from the earthly chains that tied him to the world of the living, but Tsukishima is focused on the way his body peacefully rests, like this was just an ordinary morning. As if he would wake in a few minutes and everything would go back to how it was. The thought of this draws out another laugh.

Tsukishima wonders who will find him. Maybe Akiteru in the afternoon, when he drops off some of their mom’s homemade cooking for lunch, or Hinata, when he shows up at his house uninvited to bug him about playing monthly volleyball with the old Karasuno team. He hopes it’s not Yamaguchi. He would probably take it the hardest, worrying for hours and hours after unanswered texts and calls only to find his worst fears coming true.

A sigh leaves him, and Tsukishima stares at his hand, trying to fight the dread pooling in his stomach when he can almost see the pattern of the floorboards through it. The first Truth hits him all at once, knocking the faux apathy he holds so dear to his heart straight out of his system:

He’s dead.

The second Truth hits Tsukishima soon after, somewhere in between the mayhem of his body being found and the ambulance being called:

No one can see him.

Albeit, this comes as less of a shock to him. He is what the world calls a ghost. Stuck inside the confines of the place in which he passed, unknown to anyone else, Tsukishima decides to spend most of his time watching the world through the window.

There’s usually nothing much to see, even in the summer—an occasional kid that bikes through the streets, an elderly couple that takes morning and afternoon walks, a dog in need of its daily exercise. It’s all the standard suburban neighborhood life, at least from his experience when he was alive.

Sometimes, he watches a couple of highschoolers passing a volleyball to each other in the park across his house, and it makes his heart nostalgic in a way he doesn’t want to admit. Tsukishima sees them and sees a baby crow and a king, practicing late into the night to prove their place on the team. He sees a murder of crows that wished to reclaim their clipped wings and soar into the sky.

His ceiling is low, his walls suffocating. The sky seems so out of reach, even through paned glass—Tsukishima doesn’t think he even remembers how it feels to fly.

A wave of bitterness washes over him, leaving him a darkened shade in the sand. Tsukishima knows this is just his isolation talking, whispering illusions into his mind, but resentment festers regardless. He is left abandoned, fixed in a single place while everyone moves forward without him.

So what? the voice inside him mocks. It’s not like you’re alive anymore for it to matter to anyone else.

And here is the third Truth:

Everything feels empty until he meets you.

It doesn’t seem like much at first, just another person moving into the area. Tsukishima wonders distantly if they’re going to live in the house with the family that just recently moved out, maybe bring a few kids to brighten up the community, but curiosity quickly shifts into panic when the moving van parks right outside of his house.

He rushes to the front door, his mind racing. Tsukishima was foolish, too comfortable in the monotony of his day-to-day life. The muffled voices grow louder with each passing second, until there is a jangling of keys and the door opens.

Tsukishima freezes, his eyes wide as you enter the house, preoccupied with the person you’re talking to on the phone haphazardly tucked between your shoulder and ear. The box in your arms looks a bit too heavy for you to handle on your own, judging by the way you have to adjust your grip on it every few seconds.

“No, exactly, that’s what I’m saying—” you say, a huff coming soon after. “It’s okay, I’ll call you later, bye.”

You set the box down and look up; Tsukishima swears he sees your gaze catch on his figure for a split second, but you turn away back to the van, ready to move the rest of the boxes inside. Right, I’m invisible.

The reminder sobers him a little, allows him to calm his nonexistent heartbeat. He trails behind you as you enter again with the rest of your boxes, careful not to accidentally bump anything and arouse suspicion from the newcomer. The realistic part of his mind pipes in, a little more sarcastically than he would like to hear in this moment:

Oh, it’s not like there’s anything to be suspicious about in this house. Not like someone died in here and their spirit is haunting the place or anything.

Tsukishima sneers at the voice, biting back with the same sarcasm. At least he’s not vengeful; he’s completely unproblematic.

You say as you’re following her around the house.

He’s done talking to himself. It was his house, it’s not like he chose to be trapped here. Still, he continues to follow you, going from room to room unpacking everything. If he looks on the bright side, he won’t be as bored as he was looking out the window all day. Granted, he feels a sense of an invasion of privacy, being given a roommate he didn’t ask for, but as a ghost, Tsukishima learns that months of staring at the ceiling in a deathly quiet house gets old fast.

As if on cue, a loud crash sounds and his head snaps to where it comes from, only to find you on the floor with an abandoned ladder against the cupboard and a broken vase beside you.

“Wow,” he drawls, the first time he’s spoken in months. You tense slightly at these words, and Tsukishima frowns. There’s no way you can hear him, unless he’s somehow magically come back to life. He shakes his head and scoffs. As if.

“Well!”

Tsukishima startles.

“Looks like I didn’t need that vase after all!”

Great. He’s roommates with a girl that talks to herself. At least the house will be more entertaining than he originally thought.

“So,” you begin, swiveling to look directly at him. “What’s your name?”

Oh.

What the fuck.

taglist? empty. requests? open!

#tsukishima x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #tsukishima kei #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x you #haikyuu fanfic #tsukishima fanfic #ghost au #meg writes

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scavengerfive · 4 years ago

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An Ornament Hung

Another year, another Abel Secret Santa fic. I went a bit overboard with this one, but I hope @when-sanpape-arts enjoys their Secret Santa gift. Sam wasn’t the best beta last time, so I got Maggie and Rajit to help me this year. Still, without any good proofreading softwares on Rofflenet, there was only so much we could do.

I would like to thank @runnerzero, @notforconsumption, and @goblinsharkz for putting all of this together and posting it on the Noticeboard (did Janine clear it?).

This takes place in some obscure limbo of my first year in Abel (OOC: though there are some mentions of future characters - though no real spoilers). Merry Christmas! Hpappy Holidays! Enjoy before my neuroticism kicks in, and I start editing every single mistake I spot.

Summary: You're not quite sure if you believe he is who he says he is, but he does have the laugh and the sleigh. Plus, his reindeer almost ran you over. He needs your help to save Christmas, but you're leaving it up to him to convince Janine because you'd rather not have latrine duty... again.

---

“Good job, Five!” Sam crowed after you exited the shop, shoving the doors shut behind you and quickly pushing over a pile of molding wooden beams to block them. “That should keep those zombs from following you. Did you get the supplies?”

You tapped the headset twice and looked down at your bag, holding it open so your head cam could see the inside, then you took off, keeping an eye out for any stray zombies that had splintered off from the horde you had just trapped. You hadn’t expected them to follow you in, but you made sure they couldn’t follow you out.

“Fantastic! Come on home then, Five,” Sam continued. “You did magnificent today. I’m sure I can convince Rajit to let you have a hot shower when you get back. Just go on right ahead and make a right when you get to the sign up the road. Head due west. You shouldn’t run into anything too big. Maybe a few shamblers, but you can stay ahead of them, right, Five?”

You tapped three times this time and beamed when he laughed.

“Cheeky, Five. Now, just ahead, you might have to--hold on, what’s this? I see something on the scanner… I can’t--wait--no… I don’t--hey, Five. Do me a favor and take the next two lefts and head towards the block of flats by the old theatre. I need your eyes--well, your head cam’s eyes--eye? Just--turn here.”

You knew Abel was the other way, but you trusted Sam and followed his directions without hesitation. It looked like something interesting caught his attention, and his curiosity demanded to be satiated, using you as its vessel. Not that you minded, and now, you were intrigued as well.

As you approached the flats, you could hear the ambient moans of zombies growing louder as you neared, and you took extra care to be quiet and stealthy in case you stumbled upon any. You crouched by a wall, sliding along it. Your nose had just about grown numb to the rancid scent on the wind, yet you had to swallow back a gag nonetheless.

There was an unfamiliar panting and grunting noise also gaining volume as you stalked towards the junction. You leaned forward to peek. The scattering of pebbles and sounds of clopping and, strangely, bells were your only warnings before a brown form barreled around the corner. You jumped back, tripped over a crack in the pavement, and fell on your bum, scrapping your palm on the rough ground.

“Five?” Sam called, sounding baffled. “Was that--was that a reindeer?”

Your head whipped around, and you caught sight of the tailend of the creature before it disappeared down the road. You tapped twice.

“Last time I checked, reindeer were not a native species in these parts. Perhaps, it escaped a zoo--or a sanctuary. Do we have any of those near here? And--am I mistaken, or did it have bells on it?”

You pushed yourself to your feet and jogged around the junction in the direction where the reindeer had come from. You could definitely hear more than a few zombies ahead.

“It should be just ahead, Five,” Sam said as you skulked. “I can see a horde of zombies surrounding a house. I think there is someone trapped on the roof. They might need help. Think you’re up for it?”

Tapping twice, you sped up, following the moans.

“Um… Five? Is that--is that a sleigh? On its side?”

Yes. Yes, it was. It was tipped over on its side, one of its runners up in the air. The red painted wood was scratched and splintering in spots, and there were reins from the front rail piled on the ground, torn or unhooked. A red sack was tumbled out of the back, deflated on the ground.

“Oh, no. Tell me you’re not about to be chased by zombie Santa and his elves, Five,” Sam whined. “That would be so not holly jolly.”

You prodded the bag with your foot. It seemed to be empty, and you contemplated picking it up when you heard a deep voice bellow over the moans of the zombies just out of sight.

“Oh, ho, ho, no! Dasher! Dancer! Prancer! Vixen! Come back here! Comet! Cupid! Donder! Blitze--where is Blitzen? Comet? Where is-- no! Back here! Chocolate fudge!”

You easily found the owner of the voice, and… Sam wasn’t too far off. A crowd of maybe fifteen zombies or so surrounded a two story house, its front door broken open. You suspected some may be inside, but the ones outside had their attention fixed upward where a familiar (in reputation) figure was on the roof. He limped along the edge of the roof, scratching his great white beard. His other hand was clutching a red hat with a white poof at the end, an accessory to the bright suit he wore over his rotund frame.

Your brain short circuited, but where you were rebooting, Sam was freaking out.

“Five! It can’t be! No! Come on!” he denied before flipping completely the other way. “Santa! It’s Santa! Five, that’s Santa! The Kris Kringle Saint Nick Santa! Surrounded by zombies! Santa is surrounded by zombies! Santa is about to be bitten by zombies and turned into a zombie! Father Christmas is about to be zombied!”

The radio operator inhaled loudly, reclaiming the air he had expelled with that breathless outpour.

“Five, you have to save him! If he dies, Christmas is over! You have to save Christmas!”

You tapped four times, and Sam quieted, letting you focus. You didn’t have time to think too hard on whatever was happening or who exactly you were seeing, but you did know how to help someone in a crisis like this. This was familiar.

You pulled out your noisemaker and turned it on before leaving your cover. Zombies were immediately attracted to the newer, more persistent noise, and you soon had a tail that you began to lead away from the house.

“Cut through those two building, Five,” Sam directed, sounding a bit calmer, falling into routine, but he still had a manic tinge to his voice. “If you hop that fence, you can lose them and circle back! Yes, that one. Oh, brilliant, Five! You went right over it. No problem. Okay, left around this house, and back to… Santa. Santa! Five!”

Four taps as you made your way back to the house, noisemaker off and back in your pocket.

“...but it’s Santa Claus, Five. Okay. Okay. I’ll calm down.”

The… man was still on the roof when you approached it. There were about two zombies still persistently moaning up at him. You unclipped your bat, and sneaking up on one, you whacked it from behind, nearly taking its whole head off. The body squelched on the ground, and you quickly dispatched the next one that turned to you. It was over in seconds.

“Oh, hello, Runner Five!”

You looked up at the greeting.

“...you know Santa, Five?”

Sam had no right sounding that betrayed, and you were just confused. How did he know who you were?

“It seems you are here to help me out of this pickle I’ve got myself in,” Santa (?) said jovially, like he wasn’t trapped on a roof. “I’m afraid I cannot get down the same way I got up. My ride seems to have suffered a--tragic accident. By the way, have you seen any reindeer? They wandered off.”

“...no. No way,” Sam exclaimed.

You just--you couldn’t--you walked around the house, locating a small shed by the back. You pushed at the door, the swollen wood resisting a bit before giving. Holding your bat at ready, you slipped in. It smelled musty rather than decaying, and you saw a few abandoned tools and supplies which you began to pack into your bag, wishing you had collected that sack (Santa’s sack?). There was a ladder like you had hoped, and you grasped it, lifting slash dragging it behind you.

“Ah, yes. That should work brilliantly,” Santa said as you reappeared, not looking the slightest bit concerned that you had abandoned him. “You are a clever one, aren’t you?”

You extended the ladder and leaned it against the side of the house, holding its side to steady it. “Santa” moved slowly, swinging a leg onto a rung and working his way down the ladder until he was on the ground again--like a normal person--not that this was the first person you’ve seen on a roof--but his roof activity had implications that didn’t just involve being trapped by the undead.

You backed up as he brushed his suit off and plopped his hat back on his head, eyeing him warily.

“Five?” Sam called quietly. “Does he really have ruddy cheeks?”

...who didn’t in this weather?

“Runner Five,” Santa said in a deep, warm voice with a great big smile. “I am so grateful you came along to help me. I must say I found myself quite puzzled on how to get myself out of that situation.”

“Does this mean you are on the Nice List?” Sam asked, then gasped. “Five, ask him if he has a Nice List? Am I on it?”

You tapped three times, and "Santa’s" gaze followed your hand as it dropped. He looked intrigued.

“Oh, is that Sam?” he asked, eyes studying the headset.

You froze while Sam squeed.

“HE KNOWS MY NAME!”

“Mr. Yao, what is going on in here?”

“Oh-um, Janine…”

“Why isn’t Five back yet with the equipment?”

“Um--you see--the thing is, Janine--that--”

You gestured at "Santa" to follow, and he started limping after you. Now that he was on ground level, you could see a wound through his torn trousers's left leg, but you couldn't see what kind. Nowadays, it was really important to know the cause. You stopped, unwilling to risk it. He looked at you expantantly, and you gestured at his leg.

"Ah, this old thing? Well, not old," "Santa" amended, both of you clearly seeing the still drying blood. "One of the runners of my sleigh caught my leg when my reindeer startled and took off without me. They're still not used to the current state of things unfortunately and can be quite skittish."

...whatever.

“Mr. Yao," Janine pushed, and you could almost hear her arms-crossed stance of pure intimidation.

“...Five just saved Santa!" Sam broke.

"...what? Mr. Yao, must I remind you that Santa Claus is not real?"

"Have you seen my sleigh by the way? Or any of my reindeer?" "Santa" asked, once again tailing you as you headed back towards where you had originally come and towards Abel. "I will be needing them if I am to fulfill my seasonal duty and get back home."

He was really committing to the role, wasn't he? Though, you had to give him points. You were almost run over by a reindeer.

"Uh-Five just sa--look for yourself!" Sam exclaimed at his wit’s end. “Five, look at him again.”

There was a rustling, and you turned your head, making sure your head cam was facing “Santa”. He waved.

“Hello, Janey,” he greeted, beaming. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? How is little Tommy doing? Haven’t heard from you two in a long time.”

Sam’s sounds were pitched and incoherent, but Janine’s voice, low and tight, was clear, and you suppressed a shiver.

“Bring him in, Runner Five,” she ordered. “I would like to have a chat with him.”

“Janine! You cannot interrogate Santa!”

“Oh…” Santa breathed when you led him around the junction, and he spotted his sleigh. “Oh, dear.”

He limped over to it, and you followed after him, keeping an eye out for any of the zombies you had led astray earlier. Sam was supposed to be your eyes in the sky, your guy in the chair, but he clearly was trying to wrap his mind around this situation. You understood Janine’s wariness because you were too. How did this stranger not only know who was on the other side of the link but also all of their names?

“Who’s Tom?” Sam asked.

“No one. Forget you ever heard that name. Get Runner Five home.”

“...and she is gone,” Sam said after a pause. “An open book, isn’t she, Five?”

“Santa” caressed the side of the sleigh, his gloves catching on the splinters, and he pulled back. For the first time since you’d encountered him, he looked somber. You watched him walk around it then slowly crouch to examine the reins. He grasped a torn end, frowning. Abruptly, he dropped it and stood, brushing off his gloves and smiling at you.

“I suppose I must go with you to Abel,” he said, bending over to pick up the red sack by the sleigh and throw it over his shoulder. “It was one of my stops. I think I’m going to need your runners’ help.”

Sam inhaled, and you buckled in for his next outburst.

---

Despite his bum leg, “Santa” managed to keep up with you (after you slowed down a bit). As Sam yelled, “Raise the gates!”, you and “Santa” passed under a hail of bullets and through the outer gate. As the siren blared and quieted, a guard stepped forward to do your bite checks, eyeing “Santa” with bewilderment.

“Hello, George,” “Santa” said with a warm smile. “Is Lizzie doing well?”

George stopped in the middle of your examination and stared wide-eyed at the “Santa”. So did you.

“How-how-do I know you?” George sputtered, half between reaching for his weapon, but he looked more confused than hostile.

“Not as well as you used to, but Lizzie did mention that she was worried about you since her mum got hurt.”

“How--when have you spoken to my daughter?”

You caught George before he could get too close to “Santa”, and another guard steped forward to guide him back.

“Thank you, John,” “...Santa?” said offhandedly, looking at George. “I haven’t had the pleasure of talking with the young lady, but she still wrote a letter this year despite the apocalypse.”

“You expect me to believe you’re actually Santa Claus?”

As usual, some people were drawn by the gate sirens, curious to see who was out of the township and what they brought back, but instead of wandering off, they stopped to stare, calling over other people until a small muttering crowd was beginning to form. It’s not everyday that Santa comes to town.

“I don’t expect belief from anyone,” “Santa?” said, unmoved by the tension. “I am who I am. Hello, Sam!”

You turned to see the radio operator squeezing his way through the crowd, his headset hanging off center around his neck. He forced himself through, stumbling forward as he pulled himself free. Stopping, he stared, eyes wide.

“...Santa?” Sam called out tentatively, clutching his hoodie.

“It’s good to see you, Sam,” “Santa (...what?)” said kindly. “I’m sorry to hear about your engineering degree, but I’m glad you’re putting your interests to use to help your friends.”

Sam lit up and rushed forward.

“I--it’s nothing really,” he said, suddenly bashful. “I just talk people’s ears off and hopefully get them out of trouble.”

“Sam, don’t tell me you believe him,” George said incredulously, still glaring at “...Santa”.

“I mean--look at him,” Sam said, gesturing at “Santa (...?)”. “And Five found his sleigh and almost got ran over by a reindeer. Tell them, Five!”

You flashed a thumbs up when the guards looked for confirmation.

“He was probably a mall Santa,” George countered.

“Or just crazy,” John added quietly, speaking up for the first time.

“Mr. Jones and Mr. Monroe, did you finish conducting the routine bite checks?” Janine’s stern voice cut through.

The two men startled to see Janine who had somehow managed to sneak up on all of them. “Santa (...)” smiled cheerfully at her.

“No, ma’am,” George mumbled.

“Get to it then.”

John dealt with “Santa (... …)” while George finished up your examination, all the while Janine watched with Sam buzzing next to her.

“Mr…?” Janine prompted as you both were cleared, and you handed over your bag to have the supplies emptied and sorted.

“Claus,” “Santa (...?)” supplied. “Or Kringle if you’d rather. I do prefer Kris.”

You could roll with that. Kris was shameless in the face of Janine’s disapproval, but it’s not like she could make him say otherwise.

“Mr. Kringle,” Janine said, her face twitching, but she maintained her cool demeanor. “I would like to have a private word with you.”

“I usually wouldn’t deny your request,” Kris started, “but I must say I have an urgent matter that I would like to discuss that I do not believe we would have time to get to if I allow you to question me.”

“And what is that?”

“I am incapable of completing my route without my sleigh and my reindeers, and I believe I need the help of your runners to complete my task.”

“You must be joking. Are you suggesting--?”

“Janey--um, Ms. de Luca,” Kris interrupted, correcting upon receiving Janine’s death glare. “I would not joke about such a matter. It is my job to maintain hope in this season, and with the world in such a state, it is ever more critical that Christmas--”

“Mr. Kringle! I do not have tim--”

“Must I prove it then?” Kris said, his gaze sharp.

Janine opened her mouth then closed it after a moment of deliberation. Folding her arms, she shifted her weight onto one leg, hip jutting, and gestured at him to continue. The small crowd had grown larger and nearer, eager to see the outcome of this. You could see Jody pushing her way to the front with Simon just behind.

“I usually depend on the unconditional belief of children and the few older True Believers,” Kris said, glancing at Sam for a moment who saw the look and gasped. “But if I must make you believe to gain your help, so be it. Runner Five, please take this.”

You grasped the sack he handed you. It was light and, looking in, appeared to be empty. Kris rubbed his hands together then reached into the bag, pulling out a wrapped box that was definitely not in there before. Your jaw dropped.

Peering at the name on the little card, Kris called, “Molly Harrison.”

There was a pause before you heard Ed shout out, “No, Molly! Come back!”

The little girl appeared, pushing through the legs of the larger folks around her. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold under her wide eyes that stared up at Kris. She toddled forward, clutching Mr. Rabbit in her arms, just as her father caught up, swinging her up in his arms despite her squirming to get away.

“Ed,” Kris greeted, stepping closer carefully and holding out the box. “I’m sorry about Becca.”

Ed scowled but took the gift, looking around at everyone watching him.

“And what’s this then?”

“Something for Molly and Mr. Rabbit.”

Ed did a double take, scrutinizing Kris before putting his daughter down. When he was sure she wasn’t going to run off, her mood shifting towards bashful as she clutched her father’s trousers, hiding behind them, he unwrapped the box. He pulled out a knitted hat, turning it over before freezing.

“Where did you get this?” Ed breathed tightly.

Sam perked up like you while Janine shifted subtly forward to see what was off. It was a knitted blue cap Molly’s size with a white “M” woven into it.

“She started it early,” Kris said gently. “She needed to keep her hands busy, but she didn’t get to finish Mr. Rabbit’s, so I did the honors.”

“Mr. Harrison,” Janine prompted after Ed stared at Kris for so long.

“Um--it’s Becca’s work,” he said, having to clear his throat a few times. “She made me one just like this a few years ago, with an “E”, you know--for um Ed... and she said she wanted to make one for Molly because it would get cold, and she didn’t want the cold to get Molly anymore than dem zombs.”

He swallowed, looking down at Molly who was toying with his trousers, obliviously gnawing on her stuffed rabbit’s ear. He turned the hat inside out and pointed at the thread.

“Here. You see this knot,” Ed said. “Even though you’re not really supposed to, she always knots the end three times after she weaves the finishing stitch back in just to make sure it won’t come loose… I know this is her work, but I haven’t seen it before.”

The box was tilted enough in his slack grip to show a smaller matching hat with an embroidered “R”.

“Five,” Kris called, keeping a gentle eye on Ed, and you stepped forward. “I usually don’t have gifts for adults, barring a few, but I thought this year needed to be extra special.”

Kris reached into the definitely empty sack and pulled out a smaller box (f-ck that), handing it to Ed who took it after staring at it for a few seconds. He didn’t hesitate to open this one, and he revealed a few compact disc cases, newer looking than anything you’ve seen in a while. You could see race cars on the cover.

“How…” Ed trailed off, and he looked at Kris with a look of growing awe and disbelief. “You can’t be.”

Kris grinned, tapping his nose. A slow smile crossed Ed’s face before he let out an abrupt laugh, shaking his head. You ignored Sam repeatedly slapping your arm, incoherently squealing under his breath.

“I think I’m going crazy,” Ed muttered then added a quiet, “Thank you,” with a small but sincere smile.

“Take care of this special girl,” Kris said.

Kris waved at Molly who waved back shyly, babbling and giggling. Ed packed all the gifts back into the larger box and picked up Molly, balancing everything and stepping back, still staring at Kris.

“A--an intriguing display, Mr. Kringle,” Janine said slowly. “However, I do not bel--”

“Not done yet, dear,” Kris interjected (casually missing her glare this time), reaching in the sack that you helpfully held up, curious to see where this was going.

“What he get you, mate?” you could hear Simon questioning Ed.

“Driving games. I… I told Jack and Eugene I wanted a few,” Ed muttered, pulling the knitted hat on over Molly’s head then one on Mr. Rabbit, much to the tot’s excitement.

“George, for you and Lizzie,” Kris said, tossing the gifts to the hovering guard then reaching in for more.

He started calling out names, and each person came forward, at first with caution and exchanged glances. But as gifts were unwrapped with shocked gasps or excited exclaims, there was less hesitation each time, an eager energy taking over the gathering. Rajit started crying when he unwrapped a professionally printed version of his novel. George stood stunned, clutching the doll Lizzie had been asking for and the old board game they used to play as a family on game nights.

“Okay, okay! Everyone calm down!” Janine yelled, dampening the growing cacophony. “Please move along.”

There were protests, but eventually everyone but the runners and Sam left (though people hovered nearby). Sam had his hood pulled tight over his head, vibrating in place. Janine turned to Kris who was waiting with a satisfied expression. She pinched her nose before looking heavenward.

“I--I cannot believe I am saying this, but um,” Janine managed before sighing. “...what do you need us to do, Mr. Kringle?”

Sam whooped.

---

“All right, Runners! Are you ready to save Christmas?” Sam said through your headset an hour later, his voice giddy.

No one had managed to calm him down since Kris asked if he could sit with him in the comms shack, his leg making him unable to help with the physical journey. You readjusted the red sack you had tossed over your shoulder, identical ones in the hands of the other runners. Kris had pulled more out of his original “dimensionally transcendental or perhaps it contains a transversable Einstein-Rosen wormhole--how do you keep it from collapsing without an infinite source of exotic matter--the implications it has on the modified theory of general relativity blah blah blah” (according to Chris who you ended up tuning out) “Magic Sack of Wonders” (according to Sam).

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Simon said through the comms link.

“Ready, Sam,” confirmed Jody.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sara sighed, done with everything before it even started.

A cherry “Ready!” from Maggie, “Let’s get this done” from Evan, confusing muttering from Chris’s side of the link, and affirmations from the rest of the runners. You tapped twice, and the siren blared at Sam’s direction.

“Raise the gates!”

---

“So, what’s the plan, Sam?” Sara said minutes later after you and she split up from the other runners who had other settlements as their destinations. “One that won’t have New Canton shooting us down where we stand. Five and I are not exactly on their Nice List. Not after the stunts we pulled.”

Jody and Simon were heading to Brunswick, Maggie and Chris to Red Settlement, Fiona and Charlie to New Skoobs, and Evan and Bonnie were making the long journey to Mullins, planning on taking one of the motorbikes Ed had told them about for part of the journey.

“Um--you each have those tree ornaments S-Santa gave you?” Sam said, voice cracking.

“If you die from overexcitement on us...” Simon jokingly threatened through your headset.

The radio operator giggled manically then cleared his throat, quietly coaching himself to some level of calm under his breath.

“We’ve got them, Sam,” Jody responded.

“Good. Good. So, they, um--they’re magical ornaments, and they uh make people trust you more--am I getting that right, Santa?”

“Magic’s not real,” Chris muttered. “If anything, it would be complex scientific phenomena that we cannot yet explain. If I could ju--”

“Maybe later, Chr--uh Ten. Okay?” Maggie soothed, diverting him from another ramble.

The relief was shared and audible among you all, more than one sigh coming through the link.

“Call me Kris please, Sam,” Kris said before speaking to you all, casually over the wheeze of the radio operator. “They each contain a remnant of what some would call the Spirit of Christmas… or of the Holidays. When you turn them on, they should remind everyone in your vicinity of the holiday season, what it smells like, tastes like, sounds like to them.”

“You can’t be--”

“It’s okay, Chris. You can debate Santa later.”

“People tend to be calmer and more welcoming in response,” Kris continued, ignoring the interruptions. “Just don’t turn them on too soon, or you may find yourself too relaxed to react to threats in your environment, say… the zombies approaching Runner Seven’s projected route from the east. Sam?”

“Right, Sa-Kris,” Sam said, taking a breath before continuing. “Runner Seven, I need you to speed up. You should be able to pass ahead before they intersect you.”

“Got it, Sam,” Evan said. “Come on, girl. Let’s outrun some zombies.”

You heard Bonnie bark once excitedly, and the Head of Runners chuckled. You and Sara were making good time, and you figured you could be there and back before the sun set too much--assuming New Canton actually cooperated and didn’t--you know--mow you down with prejudice. Kris was humming under his breath, and you snickered when you recognized “Run, Rudolph, Run”.

“So… Kris,” Sam said after a few minutes, trying and failing to sound casual. Kris hemmed, and Sam continued, “Do you read all the letters sent to you every year?”

“As many as I can. I get quite a lot,” Kris said. “When I’m working, sometimes, I’ll have an elf read them outloud to me.”

“Really?”

Kris chuckled.

“Nah… I mean, not anymore. It’s not the Dark Ages--the original one anyways. I have an audio program on my computer that can read them to me.”

“Wow… Five, Eight, turn left up ahead. You’re almost to New Canton.”

“Can see it up on the hill,” Sara responded. “Ready on your mark.”

“Good. Wait until you are spotted.”

“Received.”

The old castle grew larger on the horizon, and you and Sara took a less direct route, hoping to get closer, so they could be in vocal range and not just rifle range.

“I’ve seen your letter on Rofflenet,” Kris said.

Sam choked, coughing. You tapped the headset once paused then twice.

“I’m fine, Five,” he assured, voice rough. “What do you mean? I didn’t--I haven’t written a letter in years--I mean--”

“Sam, I have received a letter from you every year since you’ve learned to write, and I’ve read every single one of them,” Kris said gently. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing wrong with being a True Believer. It’s actually remarkable you’ve managed to hold onto your belief in the magic and joy of Christmas all these years.”

“My mum--she would help me write them when I was a kid,” Sam admitted. “And when I was older, she would ask me if I wrote mine yet. I thought I was too old to be writing to Santa, but she said you’d be sad if I stopped. I guess--I just…”

“I’m sorry about your parents, Sam, but I’m certain they’d be proud of you if they were here.”

There was a sharp, wet inhale before the line was cut from the comms shack. You looked at Sara, but she had her eyes forward, scanning the castle looming before you. You could just make out figures on the high walls when an intercom came to life.

“Runners from Abel Township! Stop where you are, or we will shoot to kill!” a soldier’s voice boomed over your heads. “You have some nerve coming this way again!”

“Five,” Sara called, pulling out her ornament and clutching it tightly. “Time to--oh, G-d. I can’t believe I’m about to say this.” She breathed. “Time to turn on our magical ornaments.”

You grinned at the pain in her voice, pulling your ornament until the halves separated. Turning them in opposite directions, you pushed them back together with a click. There was a pause. You held your breath.

The ornament began to light up, and you could hear the crackling of firewood and heady taste of cinnamon and apples coated your tongue. Your mouth started watering, chest panging as you took a deep breath filled with the strong scent of roasted pine cones.

“Do not make me repeat my--what…” the voice faltered. “What is…? Do you smell cookies, Tim? It’s… double chocolate chip and fudge. Just like my Nan’s… I--I haven’t smelled…”

The intercom died, and you could see figures converging before a few split off and disappeared below. The longer you stood there, the warmer your fingers felt, like when you would stretch them out over the flames. You heard a quiet sniff, but Sara was already turning away, a hand subtly brushing over her face. You looked forward again.

The intercom came on again.

“Abel Runners! Approach with your hands in the air! Guards will meet you at the gate! You better have a good reason for being here!”

“--aven’t heard this song since my pa--” another voice said in the background.

The intercom cut off, and you and Sara looked at each other before holding up your hands and walking forward.

---

It went--as well as one could expect. You endured the jeers from the guards that gave way to shock then confusion and elation as you did what had worked at Abel. When you reached into your “empty” bag, rifles aimed at you, you always found your fingers brushing one box more with the name of an individual present. When you handed it over to the suspicious recipient, you got to watch the skepticism melt away as their eyes widened, unbidden smiles breaking through.

Each reaction caused your smile to grow larger, a warm feeling filling you as eyes lit up. You were starting to get really into this, and you could even see Sara bantering with the guards and joining in with the teasing when guards got gifts that, though it was something they wanted, was a bit embarrassing to open up around their fellow colleagues.

“Do you have a central area where we can leave these, Robbie?” Sara asked the guard from the intercom who had a great sense of humor that didn’t come across when he was threatening to shoot… figures. “At this rate, we’ll be here all week.”

“This way,” Robbie said, a small smirk on his face as he dramatically bowed and gestured for you to proceed with him. “The mess hall should work. We just set up a tree some of our runners cut down. The kids are decorating it.”

People stepped aside as you passed by, watching with wariness or confusion as the guards around you joked and regaled you and Sara with some runner shenanigans or New Canton events. When someone drifted into your vicinity, they would pause, faces scrunching up as the magic of the ornaments enveloped them. Some would laugh, beam, look around wildly, or start to tear up. You gained a few followers, New Canton residents just as curious as Abel’s.

By the time you reached the mess hall, the crowd behind you was large. They spread out, filling up the room slowly as you and Sara headed towards the sizable tree surrounded by children who were attaching handmade decorations with the help of adults. You could see popcorn chains, paper ornaments, cotton, and more. It was haphazard but beautiful nonetheless.

The children looked up and backed away as they stared at all the people entering. Their minders pulled them closer when they recognized your Abel gear. You and Sara stood there in front of the tree, trying to decide your plan, ignoring the people muttering behind you. You kneeled down and started laying out gifts one by one, occasionally handing one to a curious child who had wandered over to see what you were doing, the gift always belonging to the person nearest you. However, you recognized a problem quickly, and so did Sara. She stepped back and turned on her transmitter.

“Sam, Kris,” she called. “We cannot pull these out one by one.”

“Turn your bags upside down,” Kris instructed. “Carefully.”

When both you and Sara did so, gifts came tumbling out. The voices around you got louder, people shouting and moving closer with each materialized box. You walked backwards, following the perimeter of the room, children rushing after you to pick up boxes and pile them closer to the tree. That allowed you to loop back.

Soon enough, large piles surrounded the tree even as people passed boxes around. Children were running around with their new toys and clothes, tugging at their parents’ sleeves. People gushed over their hammers, new boots, playing cards, and packets of hot cocoa. You saw more than one person crying over their half opened box, being consoled by someone else, but there was always a watery smile on their face. Laughter filled the room, the grim faces easing under more than the thrall of your ornament which was only a remnant of the Spirit of the Holidays, paling in comparison to the full joy and cheer that went beyond this room, spreading through the settlement.

You had more than one set of small arms wrap around your legs, and without malice or distrust, people greeted, thanked, and joked with you, handing you a cup of hot cider you sipped at carefully when you paused for a break.

You saw Sara examining a new knife a New Canton runner received, showing the younger woman a few moves. Robbie and Tim watched, their rifles abandoned on their backs as they asked questions or threw in some pointers. Someone had started singing some carols, and more and more people joined in, laughing over mis-sang or forgotten lyrics.

Even so, you knew there were more people than gifts you poured out. You tapped on Sara’s shoulder and held up your sack before miming it towards the people around you.

“Five wants to know if they can leave their sack with someone in New Canton,” Sara relayed. “I suspect there are more gifts to give.”

“The magic of the bags and ornaments end at midnight on Christmas night,” Kris said. “No harm leaving it behind.”

You flagged down a runner who had 20 on her armband.

“Hello. Hi. What’s this?” she said as you handed her sack. “Oh, you’re giving me your magic bag of endless presents. How exciting. I am curious to see how this works. It looks very empty, but I watched you pulling out box after box. Let’s see if I can do it too.”

She reached in, face lighting up as she felt something, and she pulled out a box. She squinted at it, turning it around in her hands until she found the card tucked under the bow.

“And it has my name on it! Archie Jensen. That’s brilliant. Can’t wait to see what’s in it. I wished for a lot of things.”

She tried to hand the sack back, but you held up your hands, shaking your head.

“What? You don’t want it back now?”

You shook your head again, and she frowned before realization dawned on her face.

“You have to go now, don’t you?” Archie asked, and she looked sad when you nodded. “Shame. Well… don’t get bitten or blown up or shot or who knows what else. I hope to see you again, Runner Five. Hopefully we won’t be trying to kill each other because our leaders are fighting again--like we aren’t all just trying to survive. Living killing the living while we have dead trying too.”

You held out a hand, but she pushed past it to hug you tight enough that you were certain your ribs shifted a bit.

“Bye, Five. Bye, Sara,” she said, clutching her box and the bag to her chest, beaming.

It was a while before you could really leave as people wanted to personally wish you well and happy holidays. Before you and Sara made your way out, you attached your frosted ornament to their tree and admired its soft glow.

“Let’s go, Five,” Sara said, Robbie waiting by her side.

You nodded, looking back once more before running towards them.

---

You and Sara turned your backs on New Canton, looking out at the setting sun.

“We should be able to make it back before dark if we’re quick, Five,” Sara assured. “We’re heading back out now, Sam.”

“All right. Head home, runners. You did great work today,” Sam said proudly. “Even zombies can’t stop Christmas.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” Kris chimed in. “Well said, Sam.”

Sara’s sack was also gone, but she still clutched her ornament for comfort or assurance--who knew. Your fingers still felt comfortably warm, and you could always catch a faint wisp of fresh pudding.

“Me and Four are finishing up here,” Simon reported, shouting over the sound of children laughing and people singing in his background. “We’ll leave once Jody digs herself out from under a pile of imps.”

The squeals pitched before he cut his transmission. Evan reported that he was nearing Mullins Base and would be staying overnight while Maggie and Chris were still at Red Settlement. Charlie and Fiona had just reached New Skoobs themselves, and they said they were probably staying there as well.

“So, Santa,” Simon spoke up when you and Sara were halfway back to Abel. “Got any presents waiting for us back at Abel? Us Runners must be on the top of your Nice List.”

“You, Simon Lauchlan, have been on my Naughty List since the day you released three pigs in your school when you were fifteen,” Kris said drily.

The comms link was flooded with laughter and jeers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Simon said, a smirk clear in his voice. “The ladies find it nice when I’m a little naughty.”

Your groan wasn’t alone. Charlie even booed.

“Did you really release pigs in your school, Three?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. It was a prank me and my mates pulled. We painted three pigs with 1, 2, and 4 and let them loose. It took them all day to catch them, but they spent a week looking for a fourth pig. It was worth getting my ears boxed by my mum when we got caught. Best prank I ever pulled. Still proud of it.”

“Of course you are,” Jody said, sounding out of breath.

There was a child screaming right by her microphone, causing you to wince.

“You alright there, Four?” Sam asked.

“Just finishing things up,” she said. “Be on our way back now, Sam.”

“Good. Goo--”

“Sam. Will you take a look at this?” Kris interjected.

“Let me see… oh. Uh oh. That’s--that’s not--Five, Eight. I don’t mean to alarm you, but well… about twenty zombies are converging on your location. I don’t understand--they’re coming from different directions. What is attracting them?”

You smiled at Sara, certain that Sam will figure it all out because he was really smart. Sara had a serene expression, and she winked at you. You giggled.

“...are you laughing, Five? Your laugh is lovely, but this is not the time to laugh. More are approaching. You and Eight need to speed up.”

You covered your mouth, but more chuckles escaped. Still, you did pick up the pace with Sara matching you. You could hear the whistling groans growing closer, but you focused on your warm fingers and roasted pine cones and warm pudding.

“They’re surrounding you two! There’s almost forty now,” Sam sounded more stressed than you thought was warranted. “What is happening?! Okay, okay. No need to panic. Five, Eight, you have a small window. Keep going the direction you’re heading, but you have to pick up the pace, or else they’ll cut you off.”

“Don’t worry, Sam,” Sara said warmly. “Five and I will be fine.”

You saw the zombies shambling out from behind buildings and trees, coming from all directions. There were a few in front of you, but you gave them a wide berth. The sound of their moans was thunderous.

“I would have to disagree… why do you sound so calm?” Sam asked as you ducked under a zombie’s arm.

“Sara, Five,” Kris called. “Did you turn off your ornaments?”

“Five left theirs at New Canton, but I still have mine. I didn’t want to risk those guards shooting us in the back, so I kept it on. Plus… it smells like sweet potato pie. It was my boys’ favorite.”

You wiggled your warm fingers.

“Do you think that’s what’s attracting the zombs, and why Eight and Five aren’t taking this seriously?” Sam asked.

“It’s definitely what’s keeping them so calm--too calm,” Kris said, “but I wasn’t aware of it having any effect on the undead.”

“Umm… I have a theory,” Chris piped up over the link. “You said the ornaments trigger sensory cues that people associate with festivity and the holidays. Could it be possible that they can tap into residual brain activity? Though the brains have mostly decayed, the zombies may still be drawn towards the source of the stimuli.”

“It’s… possible,” Kris granted. “Never had the chance to test it. It sounds reasonable.”

“Eight, turn off your ornament,” Sam ordered.

Sara hesitated but did so, and your fingers cooled, the scent of pudding giving way to rotting flesh. You jumped back as a zombie swung at you. You managed to stay on your feet and skirt around it.

“Sam!” Sara yelled. “We need an out. Now!”

“Just run!”

You could practically feel fingers brushing your back, and you swang your bat at a zombie reaching for you as Sara impaled one through the eye with her knife, a squelch following a wet smack.

“Ooh…” Sam cringed before crowing, “That’s what I call teamwork! Keep going though. You can’t fight them all.”

“Five?” Sara called. “Do you hear that?”

Through the moans and groans, you heard familiar bells and clopping. A great pair of antlers butted a zombie to the side, the reindeer shaking its head with a grunt. It scrapped its hoof on the ground, looking at you and Sara as you ran by it. You weaved and jumped through zombies, seeing your narrow path of escape closing by the second. You heard another squelch, and you had to behead your own zomb soon after.

“Hear what?” Sam asked anxiously.

“Just a bl--dy reindeer, Sam,” Sara panted, a painful sounding cough working its way out.

“Five, whistle at it,” Kris commanded. “Loud and clear.”

You did so, and you heard hooves clattering over pavement behind you. You glanced back to see the reindeer charging towards you, mowing down any zombies in its path. You suddenly heard more bells and hooves approaching, and a second reindeer then a third appeared, rounding the corner and running straight towards you and Sara.

“Five,” Kris started, but you already had a hand out as the antlers came up beside you. “Grab on.”

You did and swang yourself up on the reindeer’s back, grabbing at the torn reins from which hung the golden bells that rang so sharply amongst the moans. You wrapped your hands in them, bending low and bracing your legs, feeling the creature’s solid muscles moving under your thighs.

“You must be joking,” Sara coughed, but she ran towards one of the other reindeer despite her protests.

“Come on, Eight. How many people get to say they rode Santa’s reindeer?”

She didn’t bother dignifying that with a response and managed to clamber up on her chosen mount. Your reindeer lowered its head and whipped a zombie out of its way. You cheered, giggling wildly. Moving faster than you ever could on your feet, the reindeer carrying you and Sara burst free just before the zombies closed in, and you left them in your dust, their moans fading in the distance as the sun set.

---

By the time you saw Abel, the sun was nearly gone, and you had collected six more reindeer and four more runners. All of the reindeer ran behind you in pairs with you on the one leading in the front. Simon finally stopped clutching at his reindeer like it was going to throw him while Jody rode like a natural. Maggie looked less shaky and was keeping an eye on Chris who looked green around the edges.

You patted the head of the reindeer you rode. Though it was panting, your reindeer kept going, quick as a comet which you realized was its name from the loose tag on the back of its neck. Good boy.

“That’s what I call riding in style, run--no, riders,” Sam said. “Raise the gates! First wave of Santa’s elves are back for the night.”

The reindeer balked but did not flee from the sirens, and you coaxed them though the gates, swinging down once Comet settled. You stroked his head, grinning. You felt very sore from riding bareback, but it was better than being eaten, so you couldn’t complain. You saw Maggie helping Chris down, steadying the runner as he swayed, rubbing his back soothingly.

“You did good work, runners,” Kris said. “Sleep easy knowing you brought much joy in a time that very much needed it.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m knackered,” Sam yawned.

You groaned as the others jeered. The late shift guards approached, eyeing the reindeer cautiously. You submitted yourself to your bite check.

“Being an operator is hard work too,” Sam protested, his grin audible. “Sleep well, runners. You did great.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Jody said as he signed off.

“What do you think they’re going to do with the big guy?” Simon asked.

“Hey, Five,” Sara called, stealing your attention as she tossed you her ornament. “Give this back to Kris or hang it on the tree for me. I don’t care. I’m gonna check in with Janine.”

You nodded, eyeing the ornament as she left, but besides its one unfortunate side effect, it was still pretty neat (and magic).

“What do we do with the reindeer?” one of the guards, Joe, asked quietly, but you were already walking away, your feet dragging.

You vaguely remember turning on and hooking the ornament on the tree in Abel’s square, your fingers warming and smelling pudding and pine cones, before you fell face first into your cot and passed out.

---

Abel was a different place when you woke up Christmas morning. The first sign was the candy cane hanging outside of your room when you stepped out in your gloves and scarf. Curious, you pulled it down, and you looked, seeing more hanging on the doors of other runners. Shrugging, you stuffed it in your pocket.

You exited the runners’ quarters and stilled, eyes widening. Paper snowflakes hung from fairy lights and tinsel that were wrapped around the comms shack nearby. You realized that it wasn’t the only building that was decorated while you slept. So were the runners’ quarters and all the buildings you could see as well. Soft holiday music drifted in the air, emitting from the intercoms.

As you wandered towards the square, you could hear activity, the sound of shrieking, laughter, and talking growing louder. You saw people admiring the tree, and you could see why. First off, it was not that tall or green last night, and it was gorgeously decorated with tinsel, lights, popcorn, and ornaments, some handmade and others well crafted. There were also some gifts piled under it, but not as many as you would expect for how many people resided in Abel.

Yet, people buzzed with excitement, the situation becoming clearer as you drifted through towards the kitchen.

“--found it right outside my room. I haven’t seen a complete deck since the outbreak. They were worth an arm and a leg before.”

“They’re so warm, and they are just my size too!”

“It will make my job so much easier. My old one was growing really dull, and it j--”

“Runner Five!”

You turned to see Jack jogging towards you, Eugene trailing behind him with his crutches.

“Glad we caught you,” Jack said, beaming. “We heard you had a real adventure yesterday, and we thought perhaps you might want to talk about it.”

“Hello, Five,” Eugene greeted much calmer, eyeing his partner with fond exasperation. “Sleep well?”

You nodded, grinning as Jack rolled his eyes at this clear waste of time.

“Me and Gene want to interview you. Nothing like a grand tale of zombie grinches and Christmas miracles to bring hope to the people,” Jack continued. “Just let u…”

You didn’t have time to wonder why the radio host trailed off, eyes widening, when you felt a puff of air brush your neck. Wet lips nibbled at your hair, and you turned. Comet grunted at you, nosing your clothes. You stood still, unsure what to do.

“He’s looking for sugar,” Kris said, coming up behind his reindeer and stroking Comet’s side fondly. “You don’t happen to have a sugar cube or candy on you, do you?”

You frowned before perking up, reaching in your pocket and pulling out the candy cane. Comet reached for it, but you held it back, looking at Kris.

“He can have one,” Kris said. “More than that, and he’ll upset his stomach--again.”

The reindeer grunted. You unwrapped the cane and held it out, smiling as Comet gobbled it up, petting his neck.

“I wish I had a camera,” Eugene muttered behind you.

There was a flash, and you blinked your eyes clear to see Charlie grinning.

“Guess who got a camera for Christmas!”

“Ooh! Take a picture of me and Genie,” Jack crowed.

He posed with Eugene who shifted his crutches to the side to wrap his arm around Jack’s waist, smiling. Charlie took multiple pictures, and before the last one, Eugene pressed a kiss to Jack’s cheek, setting the other man’s face ablaze in time for the flash.

“Eugene!”

Eugene swung his way to peer over Charlie’s shoulder as she shook out the little pictures the camera emitted. He cackled as he got a good look at the developing photo, Charlie laughing with him.

“I’ll be keeping that,” Eugene said, taking the photo with a grin when it was done. “Get a tan, Jack. You go from ghost to tomato in seconds.”

The reindeer butted you, checking you for more treats, but you just stroked Comet’s head, nosing him back.

“He’s taken a liking to you,” Kris commented. “He’s usually much more temperamental.”

You wiggled your nose at Comet who snorted in your face, his breath warm and rank. You gagged, and Kris chuckled deeply. You looked at him, taking the time to study him and his new appearance. He had changed into overalls and flannel, looking at ease despite the cold weather. He saw you looking.

“I didn’t bring a spare suit,” Kris protested, and you held up your hands in surrender, grinning as he laughed more. “The good doctor took care of my leg as well. Now, will you show me the way to the kitchen? I’m feeling peckish.”

Your stomach growled on cue, and you nodded, weaving your way through the people, many of which moved aside, watching the mythical man trialing after you with a reindeer. You ignored it, listening as Kris told you a little bit about his travels before the apocalypse.

“I was always fond of Egypt. Their kahks are delicious.”

“Five! Over her--Oh, Kris! Hi!”

Kris chuckled as Sam waved wildly, beaming out from under the great red hat that was perched on his head, slipping over his brow. Maxine had to push it back up before it fell off his face, and he shot her a grateful smile.

“He deserved it,” Kris explained at your glance. “Santa’s True Believer. He doesn’t know it yet, but that hat will bring him much fortune if he manages to hold onto it.”

Simon, Jody, Maggie, and Chris were at the table as well, and you saw Fiona at another. She and Charlie must have gotten in earlier.

Chris didn’t even look up from the red sack he was examining in his lap, but Maggie smiled from beside him, waving and moving over to let Kris in after you approached with your trays, and you squeezed in next to Sam, brushing shoulders with him. Comet lingered by the table, people skirting around him though they watched him with curiosity.

You tapped your nose three times, pointing at the hat, and Sam stuck out his tongue.

“I think I rock it, right, Maxine?”

“It’s definitely--something,” Maxine dodged, smiling at you. “Morning, Five. How are you feeling?”

You see-sawed your hand, and she hummed sympathetically, her head bobbing.

“If you need anything, come see me later.”

You nodded, rubbing your sore legs.

“Coming to the party later?” Simon asked.

“Janine cleared it?” Jody asked with a frown.

“Nope,” he snorted. “Coming?”

“I’ll probably stop by.”

“That’s the one Jack and Eugene were planning, right?” Sam asked, stealing a banger off your tray, smiling innocently with it shoved in his mouth.

Disgusting.

“Yup. They said they’ve got the good booze,” Simon tempted.

“Whiskey, and I’m in,” Maggie said.

“I’m sure I could scour up some, Maggie,” Kris said with a mischievous smile.

She quirked a brow, and when he grinned, she laughed.

“Good luck getting your sack back from Chris. I just barely managed to stop him from unravelling it.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Chris mumbled to himself, running his fingers over it.

“It’s all right, Chris,” Maggie said, patting his shoulder. “It’s magic.”

“It’s advanced technology.”

“Okay.”

“Sam Yao, please report to the comms shack,” Janine said over the intercom, drawing people’s attention as it briefly interrupted the ambient music.

Sam sighed but pushed himself up.

“I have to get Evan back to Abel. I’ll see you at the party later, right, Five?”

You nodded, and he grinned, taking his empty tray with him. You fed Comet some boiled carrots and beans, his lips running over your palm for every scrap.

“I have to go too,” Maxine announced. “I want to organize my supplies before tonight. I plan on getting completely wasted. Don’t get any fatal injuries between today and tomorrow because I won’t be any help.”

You snickered.

“What did you get, Five?” Jody asked once Maxine left. “I got new knitting needles and some really good yarn.”

Your brows furrowed, wondering if you had perhaps overlooked your own box.

“Oh, I have not yet given Five their gift, Jody,” Kris said, smiling at you. “I wanted to deliver it personally since they did save my life yesterday.”

“Bet it won’t top my new football,” Simon challenged before you could respond.

You bared a sharp smile at Simon as Jody elbowed him. He protested, rubbing his arm, overacting the severity of the pain.

“I made an exception this year, Simon, but you are still on my Naughty List. Remember that.”

“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, Santa.”

---

At the party later that Janine totally did not know about (she was in the corner sharing a drink with Sara who was holding a plate of sweet potato pie), you sat comfortably in the rec building with the quickly knitted elf hat that Jody threw at you (before she started on another, having already completed one for Simon, Maggie, and Chris) on your head.

Sam was coming back over from the buffet table, balancing cups filled to the brim with various drinks. He still wore his Santa hat with pride despite how much ribbing he was subjected to. Maxine gratefully accepted her cup, following through with her plan to get utterly sloshed tonight.

“Runner Five. If I may steal you for a moment.”

You looked up at Kris, who waved away another child, and stood, following him to a corner, avoiding Jack and Eugene who found and were making good use of some mistletoe. You looked at Kris who was reaching in his pocket. He pulled out a small wrapped box. You took it curiously.

“Be assured, Five, your friends have met all your desires, hiding their gifts for you away by the tree,” Kris said. “You have been a good friend to them, and they wish to show you their gratefulness. All the practical matters have been left to them. I have something a little more… metaphysical that I believe you have deserved. Open it.”

You used your nail to tear and peel back the wrapping, prying open the lid. Inside was a familiar golden bell, one of the many you saw sewn onto Comet’s reins. You picked it up, shaking the bell to hear its sharp jangle.

“Five, if you should ever be in great need of something, hold the thought of it in your mind and ring this bell,” Kris said, catching your eyes gravely. “It will only work once, so I trust that you will use it wisely.”

You clutched the bell tightly in your hand, giving a determined nod, trusting his word. The bell slowly warmed in the heat of your palm. You would be careful with it.

“Stay alive, Five, and take care of you and your friends,” Kris said. “They’re counting on you, and I know you are up to the challenge. Happy Christmas.”

Kris pressed a finger to his nose and winked before fading before your eyes.

You blinked, staring at the wall confused. What were you doing in the corner by yourself? Weren’t you just… You turned and walked back to your friends, shaking your head.

“Nice hat, Sam,” Simon teased. “Did Five get that for you?”

“I… I’m not sure,” Sam said, clutching the red hat in his hands, frowning, but he shrugged, putting it back on. “I rock it though, right, Maxine?”

“It’s definitely--something,” Maxine slurred intoher cup.

“Five!” Sam called. “Where did you wander off to?”

You felt like you were missing something, but you couldn’t grab hold of it. You just shrugged, sitting next to him and accepting your cup with your free hand.

“Whatchu got there, Five?” Maggie asked.

You frowned, and she gestured at your other hand curled around something. You peeled back your fingers, revealing a golden bell that glistened brightly in the light.

“Where’d you find that?” Sam asked, peering at it, his hat’s bobble flopping in his face.

You… you weren’t sure, but you felt it was important. You shrugged and pocketed it, reaching out to tug Sam’s hat down over his face. He sputtered, spilling his drink a bit, and everyone laughed, falling over themselves in joyful (and drunken) abandon if only for tonight. Your chest was bursting with happiness, and you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face all night, pressing your cheek to Sam’s when Charlie called for you all to pose.

Her camera clicked and flashed, letting out a pop. Your face ached from smiling.

---

‘Twas the night after Christmas, and all the through the township

Not a corner was sans gayful laughter and friendship

Children shrieked as their parents smiled on

Friends teasing and jeering and bursting in song

Huddled with his runners laid a young operator

No longer a child yet still a True Believer

And at his side was faithful Runner Five

A willful spirit who will fight for Abel to thrive

There is much they will face, but for now they cheer

Knowing that, in this moment, they had nothing to fear

And though midnight passed, and magic faded from their minds

On the tree in the square, an ornament hung and still shined

10 notes · View notes

foramomentonly · 5 years ago

Text

In the Dark I Know That You Do

Summary: I have a headcanon that Alex slept with a photographer overseas and, as a result, some tiny art gallery in New York is displaying artfully erotic black and white photographs of him. He signed the release form when it dropped in his inbox because the pictures made him feel powerful and sexy, and he figures no one he knows will ever see them.

Then I thought: What if Michael sees them?

Author’s Note: I feel the need to say that this fic, and all my other fics, like my blog, is Maria-friendly. Just putting that out there.

Title is lyrics from "I Want You To Love Me" by Fiona Apple.

Read on AO3

Alex hears a soft, shuttering click and turns his head.

“This okay?” Josué asks, lowering the camera from his face and smiling softly. “You’re just—so fucking gorgeous, man.”

He’s squatting naked across the room, just returned from the studio’s tiny bathroom. His thighs are thick and meaty, the muscles corded as they support the weight of his body. The sight of them makes Alex burn, makes the vivid memory of him grinding down on Alex’s cock, riding him single-mindedly as Alex gripped those same thighs tight flood his senses. Alex feels weightless, somehow simultaneously above his body, and very much in it; he feels every scratch of the stiff sheets underneath him, every delicious ache from the evening’s activities, but they only serve to elevate this heightened feeling that Alex is good and right and glorious. Alex laughs, runs a teasing hand up the length of his own naked torso, his fingers catching in his dog tags.

“It’s okay,” he says, and Josué grins, raising his camera again, the lens re-focusing and the rapid-fire, fluttering click resuming.

Alex stares down the lens, willing the camera to stop time, to capture and hold him in this moment and this feeling forever and for real. He’s twenty years old; he’s free, he’s whole, and he’s alive within himself for maybe the second time in his godforsaken life, since the moment time failed to stop in the first place and Jesse Manes had crashed into the shed and into Alex’s sacred space, defiling it and him and the only thing that had ever felt right to him. The only person. Because time, unfortunately, doesn’t work like that.

Alex hears the soft buzz of his phone vibrate on the wooden table and looks down.

“Shit,” he breathes, picking up his phone and staring at the name and subject line next to the little e-mail icon: Josué Medina, Photo Release.

“Is something wrong?” Maria asks from across the table, and five pairs of inquisitive eyes focus in his direction.

They didn’t plan this gathering, but Michael, Isobel, Max, and Liz were having a drink when Alex wandered into the Pony, and it seemed rude not to sit with them. Traffic petered out as the night went on, and Maria eventually joined them, and before he knew it Alex is nursing his third beer at a reclaimed wood table with five people who’ve been in his personal orbit for so long that it never occurred to him they haven’t actually spent much time together as a group. It’s awkward.

“Who’s José Medina?” Isobel asks, leaning shamelessly into Alex’s shoulder to better read his phone screen. Max, sitting on her other side, pulls her back.

“Iz, personal privacy?” he chides.

“It’s Ho-sway,” Alex corrects, sounding the name out phonetically. “And he’s someone I knew—Jesus, seven years ago?”

“Oooh,” Isobel drawls, “so he’s an ex.”

“He’s not an ex. He was—”

“An itch?” she supplies, and Alex kind of hates her.

“Sure,” he says, rolling his eyes and pretending to miss the way Michael’s briefly flash with something unreadable when they cross gazes across the table.

“So, this is a booty call?” Liz asks, chin in her hands and eyelashes fluttering suggestively. “Is he passing through town and never quite got you out of his system?”

Alex forgives her much easier; her blood is basically tequila at this point in the night.

“Seven years ago,” Maria cuts in, redirecting the conversation kindly. “You were overseas at that point, right? First tour?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I was on leave in Italy. He was—well, is a photographer, from the looks of the e-mail, but at the time he was just a student. I don’t know why he’s sending me a release form.”

Alex scans the e-mail. It’s brief pleasantries and apologies for popping up unannounced in Alex’s inbox, all written with that easy, magnetic confidence that drew Alex in so many years ago. And then there’s the ask:

There’s a call for submissions for this arthouse photo book on queer military personnel as erotic subject. It’s not fetish; it’s art. It’s a tiny press and less than fifty people will ever see it, but it would be a big deal for me. I want to submit the photo attached and I need your consent. I know it’s intimate and I understand if you aren’t comfortable. But a guy can try, right? If it helps, it’s just for us, you know? It’s not going mainstream anytime soon.

Alex doesn’t understand half of what he’s reading; well, he’s unfortunately very familiar with the dark side of fetish since he lost part of a limb and gained a prosthesis. It’s the reason he’ll never re-activate his Grindr account. But the rest goes completely over his head, so he just taps the icon to open the attached image file.

It’s.

It’s intimate, all right.

Erotic, for sure, though the image stops short of full nudity.

And, before he can really fully process what he sees, it’s tugged out of his hand by Isobel’s bony fingers.

***

Michael is trying to focus on the conversation around him—on Maria, beautiful and loose by his side; on Max, reserved, but happy, flanked by his best girls; and decidedly not on Alex, staring at his phone with a dazed expression, lips parted softly and quirked in a barely-there smile. He shouldn’t care that Alex is receiving an email from a long-lost fling, or that he’s staring at said email as though transported. Michael is so fixed on not watching Alex out of the corner of his eye that he misses Isobel leaning over to pluck Alex’s phone out of his loose grip, and jumps at Alex’s cry of protest.

“Excuse me!” Alex says, turning towards her incredulously, but making no move to take his phone back.

“Damn, Alex,” Isobel whistles, tapping at his phone with two fingers to enlarge and then zoom in on the screen. “Save a horse, ride an Airman.”

Alex rolls his eyes, but there’s a proud, playful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Lemme see!” Liz cries, reaching across Max for the phone. Max looks back and forth between Liz’s grabby hands and Isobel sliding the phone her way, then shoots Alex a plaintive, deer-in-headlights look.

Alex shrugs.

“Isobel probably already forwarded it herself,” he says easily, and Isobel nods shamelessly.

Liz picks up the phone eagerly, mouth dropping open in an exaggerated grin, hand on her chest, faux-scandalized. Michael watches Max’s eyes dart over in curiosity, then quickly away again, back straightening and eyes fixed forward. He coughs gruffly.

Liz passes the phone across the table to Maria. Maria hesitates, looks questioningly at Alex.

“It really is fine,” he assures her, eyes sliding to meet Michael’s gaze next and raising a brow, almost in a challenge. Michael gazes over Maria’s shoulder and inhales sharply.

The image is in black and white, maybe so it will pass as high art rather than cheap erotica. Though Alex in the picture looks anything but cheap. He looks—He looks fucking sinful. He’s lying on his back on a small, messy pallet bed in what looks like a sparsely-furnished studio apartment, clearly post-coital. His hair is short and messy, soft tendrils sticking out at wild angles. He’s clearly naked, but his closer leg is bent at the knee, foot planted on the mattress, preserving some semblance of modesty. Michael notices with startling clarity a small bead of sweat caught mid-roll down the crease of his hip. One arm is thrown over his head languorously, the other resting on his chest, long fingers tangled in his dog tags. He’s thin, the outline of his ribs visible thanks to the stretch of his arm, but his body is toned and tight, the small swell of his bicep and the curve of his quad and calf muscles evident even at a distance. His head is turned towards the camera, dark, hooded eyes gazing directly down the lens, full lips quirked as though in acknowledgment of his audience.

It’s the expression that truly unsettles Michael. He knows that look. Intimately. Has spent hours and days and years, a whole lifetime coaxing that look onto Alex’s face with his hands, his mouth, his reverent touch, and all the other ways he’s pressed unspoken truths into Alex’s skin. Alex is at peace, lazy and comfortable and confident in his body, in its form and how he’s using it. This is an Alex blissfully alive and shameless in his own skin, absent the unrelenting control with which he holds himself back, the careful disassociation and denial of his own needs and desires. This is Alex basking in himself rather than swallowing himself whole. It’s intimate and sexy and, until now, Michael had thought only he had seen Alex like this. Only he had earned it.

Michael tears his eyes away from the screen, away from an Alex that’s no longer just his to focus on an Alex that isn’t his at all.

“So, this guy wants to display it or something?” Liz asks.

“Sort of,” Alex says. “There’s some kind of art book he wants to submit it to.”

“Would you get paid?” Maria asks, and Alex snorts, taking his phone back from her when she holds it out to him.

“I posed for it for free, so I think that window is closed.”

“So you knew he was taking it?” Michael asks abruptly, and Alex furrows his brow.

“Yeah,” he says slowly.

Michael is suddenly aware of several pairs of eyes on him, and he nods hastily and stammers, “Good. You know. That you weren’t—that you didn’t not know.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Isobel asks, examining her manicure. She seems bored with the conversation now that there’s nothing in front of her to ogle.

Alex takes a breath, looks down at his screen again.

“I’m gonna sign the form,” he breathes, and Liz actually claps in delight.

“You sure?” Michael can’t stop himself from asking, even as Maria kicks him with the heel of her boot under the table. “Doesn’t seem like something you’d be into, is all.”

Alex narrows his eyes and quirks his lips teasingly, but there’s a bite in the tone of his voice when he asks, “You trying to slut-shame me, Guerin?”

“Never,” he drawls in return.

Their eyes lock and their smiles slowly fade.

“I would never,” Michael adds, softer and more sincere. Alex nods once, looks away.

“It’s a gorgeous photograph, Alex,” Maria says, smiling warmly at him. “If you want to share it with the world, I say go for it.”

“And I say let’s go for another round,” Isobel declares, holding up her empty glass, officially over it. “Michael, I believe this one is yours?”

“It’s mine, actually,” Alex says easily, effectively ending the conversation. He grips the table for support as he slides out of his chair and stands, pocketing his phone as he goes. “I’ll be right back.”

***

They’re saying hasty good-byes in the parking lot, Liz and Isobel piling into Max’s car, Max extremely sober behind the wheel. Maria heads back inside to help her staff close up, and Michael stands quietly with Alex, waiting on his rideshare.

“You seem pretty sober to me,” Michael comments, pulling his jacket tighter around his torso.

“I’m tired,” Alex admits, “and my leg is bothering me. It’s just easier for tonight. I’ll pick up my car tomorrow.”

He glances sideways at Michael.

“You don’t have to stand out here with me,” he says. “Go inside and help Maria.”

“Why’re you releasing that picture?” Michael blurts, not realizing the words he’s speaking until they’re out there, irretrievable, and Alex turns slowly to consider him.

“I liked remembering how I felt when Josué took it. I felt free,” he says quietly, and Michael is shocked he’s even deigning to answer. “I was far away from Roswell and everyone in it. I felt strong, like I was in control for once. Maybe if the photo’s out there, that feeling won’t seem so far away.” He smiles mischievously. “And, I mean, I looked good. Hadn’t been too long since basic.”

Michael catches his gaze, holds it.

“Did I make you feel free?”

Alex’s smile is small, but genuine.

“You used to,” he breathes. “For awhile you were the only thing that made me feel that way.”

Michael feels his whole body release, as though he’d been holding in a breath, clenching every single muscle unconsciously. Alex shakes his head.

“What?”

“That’s too much pressure,” he says. “No one person can be everything good for someone else.”

Michael looks down and kicks at the dust and grime of the parking lot with his boot, and thinks of Maria.

“I told you I couldn’t be your medicine,” Alex continues, “but I think I was doing the same thing to you. Maybe that’s why I reacted they way I did when you started acting out.”

They let his confession hang in the air between them before Michael, now in possession of a one-track mind apparently, speaks.

“So you aren’t worried someone you know is gonna see it?” Michael asks softly.

Alex shakes his head.

“That’s why it feels safe,” he says. “New York, the 'art scene.' That’s a whole nother world.”

Michael nods, stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“So, what if someone wanted to see it?”

Alex looks at him blankly.

“What if I wanted to buy a copy?” Michael explains. “I mean, you’re right. You were in spectacular shape back then.”

Alex bursts out laughing.

“Not like now,” Michael goes on, grinning as Alex’s shoulders shake. “You really let yourself go, private.”

The silence between them as their laughter dies is the most comfortable of the night.

“I’m okay with that,” Alex murmurs as a car pulls into the lot and a notification pings on his phone. “Good luck tracking it down, though.”

“Alex?” the driver of the car asks, rolling her window down an inch.

“Yeah,” Alex says, and pulls the car door open.

“Night, Guerin.”

“Sweet dreams, Fabio.”

It takes Michael three months to find the book after Alex mentions that it's out and his photo made the cut, and it takes some intense eBay stalking at that, plus he's out $60—indie press, my ass, he thinks as he clicks purchase.

#rnm #rnm fic #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #isobel evans #max evans #liz ortecho #maria deluca #maria-friendly #my fic #background miluca

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sandalaris · 4 years ago

Note

20, 35 for aLiN, 50 and 54 for the writer asks!

Thanks! XD

I answered 54 here!

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

Completely unedited, but a snippet from the Kate-centric, post season 3 fic. (although this has been edited for here because it holds some potential spoilers for later on in the fic and at least one misleading line)

“You need to find a way to reclaim your body for yourself,” Kisa continues as if Richie had never spoken.

“Is that what you did?” Her voice sounds lost and she doesn’t like it, but she can’t stop herself from clinging to the thought that she won’t always be like this, the hope that she can get better.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I had sex with Richard.”

Seth chokes on his drink, coughing loudly into the suddenly silent kitchen. Kate can’t see Richie’s face, can’t take her own stunned gaze from the woman before her, but he must be doing something because Kisa looks past her with a softened eyes and parted lips, before returning her attention firmly back to Kate, effectively ignoring both brothers.

“I cared for him and wanted him. But most importantly I trusted him. Physical connection with someone you trust can be a very powerful thing.”

“I don’t trust a lot of people,” Kate blurts out, clinging to the last part like a lifeline as her cheeks burn.

“Now hold on,” Seth cuts in, words spilling forth in a rush to take control of the conversation. “Let’s just take a fucking breath before we make any rash decisions here.”

“Kate?” Richie says quietly, a warning and a question and a promise all at once. And Kate knows, has seen the darkest depths and bright, blinding edges of Richard’s tortured soul, has the taste of it etched into her very existence.

Kisa must hear it too, because she almost freezes, thoughts shuttering behind her dark eyes as she carefully holds her body in a practiced state of relaxation. Seth’s protests grow louder.

“I don’t think sex is what I need,” Kate says slowly, and the room goes quiet, Seth tapering off from where he’s been holding a one-side argument against the whole conversation with the room at large.

35. Tell some backstory details about one of your characters in your story ________.

Let’s see, who have I not given background details on yet? And that won’t also give away future spoilers....

Scott still sets a party with his lacrosse team in this, but since Kate shows up a day later in this fic than in canon, it happened before she gets to Bethel. Under all that desire for revenge (a lot of which is misplaced anger from being a kept chained up at Narciso’s feet for three months) the core of what Scott wants is acceptance so the party goes a bit different. Scott leaves, for starters, when his hunger starts to threaten his control, snagging a neighbor’s pet and then hiding from the sun at home. So while Scott hasn’t killed quite so many people that Kate personally knows/knows about, he’s still the angry little murder bean he is in canon.

Mild-ish spoilers: Kate’s return to Seth has had positive ripples (Seth doesn’t keep Sonja around, Richie is forced to take off his blinders and see how actions affect other people, Kate has someone else backing her for her confrontation with Scott), because Kate is observant and sees the good in people. But a less-than-positive result is that Freddie’s still all alone in his own journey and will be worse off for it.

50. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

Hmm, gotta think about that.

Probably my weirdest-yet-serious fic is a body swap BtVS fic with the whole scooby gang. I actually wrote a good chunk of it out before I lost it all in a computer death and decided not to rewrite it. It got weird in how I decided it was more of a conscious swap over a soul/body swap and so Xander (who was in Willow) had to figure out how to do the spell to get them back to normal, and Dawn (who was in Spike) had to deal with not having a soul, or rather everyone else had to deal with her not having a soul, etc. I’m sure I’ve probably had weirder ideas, but if I can’t write something for whatever reason (like it being too weird) I typically just leave it be.

I did write a The World Ends TBBT fic, which I suppose can be seen as weird, but I think that has more to do with my love of post-apocalyptic stories. (I’ve written a lot of them, lol)

Less serious, but I don’t know how “weird” it is vs plotless and cliche and an utterly self-indulgent FDtD “fic” (it’s more of an exploration in What If) involving time travel that I’ve never written a single word of, letting it exist entirely in my head, but will also happily ramble away about because, like I said, its a very self-indulgent story and I’ve thought about it a lot.

Happy rambily mess that just skims over it while still being really long:

Post-series!Seth and Kate find themselves at the Dew Drop Inn inside the RV moments before a very human Richie comes in with a very human Scott at gun point. Confusion abounds all around and all seven of them, including past!Seth and past!Kate, end up traveling into Mexico with bickering and arguments and everyone’s confusion over how comfortable and familiar future!Seth and Kate are with each other, but Richie’s the one that notices his brother’s new tattoo and puts two and two together, which leads him to decide that he’s Making That Happen. Future!Seth immediately declares they are not going to the Twister and past!Seth does NOT react well to having anyone, even himself, barging in and trying to take charge and becomes a stubborn irrational bastard over it (they may come close to blows on several occasions). Richie and Scott have a bit of geek out over timelines and alternate realities, and future!Kate decides they still need to go to the Twister but she is going to do everything she can to protect her family.

Once at the Titty Twister they find future!Scott and future!Richie (because my brain went humans at the Inn and culebras at the Twister for semi-justifiable reasons), and a big debate begins on who is going in and who is staying in the RV, which is an entire scene that reveals a lot all around. (Jacob notices future!Kate and Scott’s reaction to seeing him and realize what it means that there’s no future him popping up.)

Before all hell breaks loose, things go a little different, with future!Seth sticking by Jacob’s side and past!Richie still playing matchmaker with his time’s Seth and Kate (no Richie and Kate kiss here, which I actually don’t mind in the show, but for some reason do end up getting rid of a lot in season one AUs. But it just makes sense that a Richie that’s trying to hook a girl up with his brother would not kiss said girl), etc. Once the culebras come out, things go much the same as they did the first time, only this time future!Scott rats out Tanner for being on Carlos’s payrole and future!Kate lets slip that he tried to sacrifice her after past!Kate says that he hit on her, and future!Seth decides the future doesn’t really need him anyways and shoots him.

Future!Seth insists he’s the one who’s going to go into the heart of the labyrinth after past!Richie (who still gets shot and bit, but he expects it this time) since he knows how to handle that shit, and since they don’t need to find Scott this time, the Fullers, Freddie, and past!Seth all end up in a different area that still shows them moments of truth/their past, but makes everyone else witness it too (because self-indulgence!) which gives a nice glimpse of the future and insights.

Meanwhile, future!Freddie left the Dew Drop Inn and is with his family trying to explain what’s about to happen to Margaret and fix his marriage before his past self fucks it up. Because Freddie/Margaret have my heart.

#asked and answered #fdtd #sethkate

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buttonso · 4 years ago

Text

Breathe With Me: DELETED SCENE

So I saw a prompt for Trivia Tuesday urging folks to share behind-the-scenes details on their work or to share deleted/changed things. I am pretty guilty of writing whole-ass scenes and then changing my mind about them, but I hang onto the stuff I cut. I like the dialogue in this... dialogue is my favorite thing to write.... but it did not fit with the pacing of the chapter.

It was originally in chapter 15, which is a smutty chapter, and this long bout of between-scenes dialogue just didn’t feel right. I may end up repurpose parts of the conversation but, right now it seems unlikely.

SO... this snippet itself is totally SFW but it does acknowledge the existence sex (which is a very NPR-style disclaimer, lmao). 1,169 words.

((if you have read the fic, this originally went in chapter 15, just before they returned to the farmhouse))

“I… came pretty close to doing something stupid, back there,” Aura said after some time walking in silence. “If you’d insisted on it, I probably would have let you take me without any protection.” It was weighing on her mind, and the silence of the woods was becoming oppressive.

“…I’m ashamed to say that I felt the same…” Harvey admitted after a moment, staring into the darkness ahead. She glanced at him, but he seemed to be avoiding her gaze.

“Guess we’re not that old…” Aura remarked with a faint chuckle. “Still capable of at least considering acting like dumb, horny teenagers, even if we pull ourselves back from the brink.”

“Would it be so terrible?” Harvey asked, his voice quiet and serious. A faint note of alarm crept up Aura’s spine.

“I have a feeling it would be really hot.” She answered flippantly. She knew what he meant, but just had to yank his chain a bit, trying to stay on her toes ahead of what could potentially be a serious conversation.

“No, not…Not actually doing it, but… the result…” He was still avoiding looking at her and Aura held in a sigh.

“Is this your way of asking me if I want children?” She knew that he did; he’d flat out told her already that he wanted a family.

“I wasn’t sure when the appropriate time to ask was…” He said at last. “We care for one another… and I know I want a life with you. I’d want that life to include children, someday…” He trailed off.

There was no doubt in Aura’s mind that Harvey would be an excellent father; the man practically had ‘nurturer’ tattooed on his forehead, for goodness’ sake. But as to whether she would be a good mother…well, that, she was not so sanguine about. “I’m… not opposed to the idea of children,” She said after a moment. “If you’d asked me five years ago, the answer would have been an emphatic no. But now…” She shrugged. “Maybe living here is changing me… or maybe I’m just getting more settled, finally. But…” It was difficult to articulate her concerns, and she took a moment to think before continuing. “I like kids… but I never fantasized about motherhood. I don’t have any idea how… how to be in a normal family. It never seemed like something that would be possible, until recently. I kind of always figured I’d ultimately end up alone…” She sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry… I know you were hoping for a simple ‘yes’… but all I can give you is a wishy-washy ‘maybe’.”

“I was hoping for the truth,” Harvey replied. “I don’t have any more experience in being part of a traditional family than you do, after all. To be honest, I’m just relieved the answer isn’t that emphatic no.” He paused, then added, “I know you said you needed time. I’m not asking you to promise me anything right now.”

“I know…” Guilty unease squirmed in her stomach all the same. Am I actually considering it because I want it… or because I’m afraid to disappoint him?~ It was an uncomfortable thought. ~My entire life and the way I live it has changed so much in the past year. I like my new life here… and I love him.~ That, at least, she was sure of, but the unease was growing, when she should have found comfort in that simple fact. ~But if he wants a perfect wife to keep house and look after a bunch of kids all day… I…I can’t ever be that…~

Silence stretched between them for a long moment. “I’m sorry… today was supposed to be fun and now I’ve made things too serious,” He said, his tone carrying a bit of forced levity.

“Oh, today’s still plenty fun, and it’s not over,” She answered quickly, squeezing his hand, guilt stabbing at her, her face heating unpleasantly. “We’d have to talk about it sooner or later… but…” she sighed. “One thing I can tell you for certain… I’ve never met a man that I was even willing to consider settling down with, before you… that has to count for something.”

“It counts for a great deal,” Harvey said, sounding so relieved she stopped in her tracks.

Well, may as well get it over with. “I will warn you… I’m not likely to ever be a housewife in pearls, high heels and an apron,” Aura said, doing her best to keep her tone light. She forced a small laugh. “I mean… really, can you imagine? I’d look ridiculous.”

“…I’m imagining it right now… to be honest, it’s an appealing mental image…” Harvey said after a moment’s thought, in a faraway tone. That startled a more genuine laugh out of her, despite her trepidation. So, he was still in a good enough mood to make jokes. Good sign.

“I’m serious,” Aura pulled her hand free, nervously running it through her hair. “I… just don’t want to get your hopes up about being someone I’m not.” The gnawing unease was a physical pain now, deep in the pit of her stomach. Why hadn’t she just let the subject drop when he’d tried to give her an out?

“I know. And I appreciate your honesty.” Harvey reached for her hand, reclaiming it. “You just told me that you love me the way I am. Well… I love you the way you are. When I picture a life with you, I’m not thinking of an idealized wife. I see… well… something not so different from what we have now. Again… I’m not asking you to agree to anything, or promise anything… I just… feel better, knowing there’s a chance.”

Relief flooded her, along with an unexpected emotion she couldn’t quite name, but she actually felt herself getting a bit choked up. ~Really? What is wrong with me?~ She smiled shakily, hoping he couldn’t see the tears trying to work their way out. “Really, Harvey… I was already going to take you to bed, you don’t have to lay it on so thick,” She said, trying to sound casual, but it came out a bit damp and strangled and, much to her own embarrassment, she sniffled.

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, then turned her hand over so her palm was facing up. He traced the callouses and scratches on her palm and the pads of her fingers, and her breath caught in her throat. There was nothing erotic about the gesture, on the surface, but her body was reacting well enough, a little jolt running from her hand, through her arm and into her body, the familiar sweet, warm ache growing in her core, easing away the anxious pains.

“Are we close to the house?” He asked in a low voice, his gaze fixed on her hand.

“Ah…” She swallowed, then tried again. “Yeah. Almost there.”

He slid his palm against hers, lacing their fingers together. “Good… please, lead the way.”

So... even though this scene did not make the cut for the fic, if you wanna read the whole thing it can be found at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158031/chapters/60962605

#stardew valley fanfic #stardew harvey #farmer aura #breathe with me

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factoffictionwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Tiva Fic Amnesty #11

Here’s the start to a reunion fic - pre 2019 madness. I wrote this several years ago, so Cairo wasn’t a thing. This was all I got around to writing before it was forever banished to my ‘unwritten’ folder.

Ziva leaned against the doorframe, a warm mug of coffee in one hand and a sippy cup filled with tea in the other (cooled to room temperature and decaffinted, of course). She watched them sleep for a minute, Tali curled protectively around her stuffed dog and Tony curled protectively around her.

Kelev had been a last minute addition to the go-bag. The dog had been a gift from none other than Schmiel Pinkus on the little girl’s first birthday. He had been struggling with several health issues at the time, but that hadn’t stopped him from visiting his girls to celebrate one full year of a new life. The old man passed away just a few weeks later, and Tali had been really affected (as affected at a one-year old can be). The little dog, the last gift given by a man who fawned over both of the David girls from the moment they were born had become a true staple around their home. An absolute necessity, to be honest. And Ziva had become so accustomed to the little toy being glued to her daughter’s side that she found it very hard to part with it. It was bad enough she had to separate from her daughter, did she really have to lose the stuffed dog as well? Couldn’t she just keep it with her and let it’s presence act as a stand in for the curly haired girl? Would that be so terrible?

But in the end, the dog had made the trip to America because, frankly, Tali would not be able to sleep without him. And his comfort would be even more important as the girl started to realize that her mother was gone.

She had used similar logic when deciding to stuff the old photo in the bag as well. The photo had sat on Tali’s changing table since the day she was born. The girl knew the photo like the back of her hand. Seeing it would bring her peace and joy. And if it sparked some sort of memory for Tony as well, then it was two birds with one frame, was it not?

Tony stirred slightly, perhaps drawn back to consciousness by the enticing scent emanating from the mug.

He tightened his arms around his daughter for a moment before opening one eye. He looked around the room until he noticed Ziva standing there. He squinted up at her.

“That coffee?” he asked, his voice gravely from sleep.

She nodded.

“For me?”

She smiled as she pushed off the frame and made her way around to his side of the king bed he currently shared with a 2 year old. She set the mug on the side table before moving around to the other side, slowly shaking her daughter’s shoulder and offering her the sippy cup.

Tony sat up reluctantly, watching the way Ziva’s small, fragile hands caressed their daughter’s hair and listening to the soft lull of her voice as she mumbled something in Hebrew that caused the toddler to perk up and reach for the tea.

As Tali sipped happily, Ziva looked back over at him, “It is only noon. You will likely need the caffeine if you are to make it through the rest of the day.”

He nodded and reached for the mug, choosing to believe that the warm was from her hand holding it before and not just from the warm liquid, “Jet lags a bitch.”

She shot him a look before brushing curls out of Tali’s face. No cursing around the child. He would have to get used to that.

Tali yawned and moved to be closer to her mother, snuggling up on the woman’s lap, her dog all but forgotten on the bed beside her.

“Someone is still tired,” Ziva cooed as she watched her daughter, “If only there was something less addictive to help keep her awake.”

“Sugar?” He asked as he sipped from his mug.

Ziva shot him another look.

He held up a hand in surrender, “Sorry. I’ve only been doing this parent thing for about a week.”

She winced just a bit at the accusation in his voice. He silently scolded himself. Now was not the time to be angry with her. Now was the time to make amends. To get his family back.

“Are you hungry? I was thinking about running down to that cafe across the street and getting some sandwiches or something. I can bring it back here if you want.” She barely glanced at him as she adjusted the toddler on her lap, who was once again fast asleep.

Tony looked at her for a minute. Her hair was down with only the front pinned out of her face. She was wearing a thin, flowy white shirt that buttoned in the front with a black tank top underneath. She had on jeans with frays and rips around the knees. She looked younger somehow. Like she spent the past 3 years figuring out how to turn back the clock and reclaim her youth. In a way, he supposed she had. No better way to turn back time and redefine your life than to raise a kid.

Then he looked down at Tali. Her sandy curls wild from sleep. Her fuzzy purple pajamas sitting sideways on her body from all the twisting and turning she did in her sleep (definitely Ziva’s kid). She looked peaceful. More peaceful than he had ever seen her. He felt like he was getting just a glimpse into what their lives had been like before he became involved. The two girls, smiling and laughing with each other, spending all day playing together and all night sleeping beside each other.

That was the first thing Tony noticed when he visited the burnt remains of her little Israeli farmhouse: the charred pieces from the supposed nursery did not contain evidence of a bed.

“Tali started sleeping with Ziva when she outgrew her crib. They both seemed happier with that arrangement, so they never got around to buying another bed,” Orli explained as she carefully walked through the debris.

He stared at the metal frame in what was left of what he assumed had been Ziva’s room, trying to picture her curled up beside a sleeping Tali.

“They were pretty close, huh?”

Orli stopped walking and turned to look at him, “Ziva was everything to that little girl. And Tali was the same for her mother. They were best friends. Completely inseparable.”

Tony nodded as he bent down to pick up an odd object that kept catching the light. He held it up. A picture frame. Not wood, but some sort of weird wire design. The glass was broken, and the picture inside was blackened with soot, but he swore he could make out the figure of a woman holding up a little girl in what looked like a princess dress.

“She told me that Tali was her savior. After you left years ago, Ziva was… well, she wasn’t happy. She hardly spoke to anyone and was truly struggling to find her place here. But when she found out she was pregnant, I think it gave her something to live for. She immediately started making plans and buying supplies. She was determined to be a good mother. She was determined to give that little girl everything.”

“Everything but her father,” he mumbled as he carefully slid the photo out from under the glass and stuffed it in his pocket. If this trip didn’t end the way he planned, he would ask Abby to try and fix the photo. There was a chance it was the only one of mother and daughter that would ever exist.

Orli moved closer to him, being careful not to overstep her bounds. She knew Tony didn’t like her, but she also knew that it was her job to make him understand.

“She regretted that, Tony. More than she would even admit out loud. I saw it in her eyes as Tali watched TV or played with her toys. When she looked at that girl, she saw you. And that was both her greatest gift and her most torturous possession. She wanted to tell you, but she knew you would be mad that she had waited so long.”

“Well, she wasn’t wrong.”

“Yes, I know. And she thought about it constantly. If she hadn’t been in such a dark place when she first found out she was pregnant, maybe she would have been willing to tell you then. But the fact was that she waited, and she wasn’t sure how to fix that. But she loves you, Tony.”

It had taken him several hours to process her intentional choice of words. Loves. Not Loved. Just like he had told Gibbs that Ziva loves Paris. Maybe he and Orli would get along better than he thought.

So the next day he booked two tickets flying into Charles de Gaulle and was on the way to a tiny hotel he remembered from their visit when he stopped by the infamous cafe where the two of them had eaten before catching their flight back to the states all those years ago. He and Tali sat on the sidewalk, splitting an order of Pain Aux Raisins and talking about their next steps (or more like him talking and her mumbling along as she pretended to understand his questions about strategy and coverage).

“So, what do you think? Should we get some sleep and wake up in the morning ready to search? How about we split up? You head toward the Eiffel Tower, I’ll head toward the Arche and we meet at the Louvre?”

Tali nodded excitedly as she reached for another pastry, and he laughed quietly to himself. He let himself wish, just for a second, that he had brought senior along with him. It would be nice to leave Tali with him and know that she was safe and taken care of so he could focus on the search. But, oh well. This was something the father-daughter duo would do alone. An important bonding experience.

And a bonding experience it was. The two made funny faces and laughed together through the whole walk to the hotel. And maybe it was the laughter, or maybe it was the busy parisian streets, but either way he had been completely unaware of the slim figure following behind them at several paces. Unaware until he turned toward the large glass doors of the building and saw a familiar reflection behind him.

“Ima?” Tali asked as she leaned forward in her seat and tried to see around the side of her stroller, unsure of whether or not she was seeing correctly.

Ziva stepped around him without a word and offered the little girl what appeared to be a plushie of the Eiffel Tower before bending down to kiss her head, “Shalom, Motek.”

Tali smiled and looked down at her new toy as Ziva stood up and turned toward him.

“Hi,” she said simply.

“Hey,” he replied dumbly.

She nodded slightly, as if showing that she accepted his greeting before stepping around him again and motioning for a taxi.

The three of them were silent as they were driven to her little two bedroom apartment farther up town, and she barely had to glance at the two to know that they were both exhausted from their flight and still very much functioning in a different time zone than their current one. She ushered them into the back bedroom and insisted they sleep it off. He noticed that the sheets smelled like her as he slid underneath them and pulled his daughter closer to his chest, and he’s pretty sure it was that comfort that had both of them slipping into a ridiculously sound sleep.

And now, some 12 hours later, the three of them are all sitting in a bed together discussing lunch plans. It was all so domestic.

He watched Tali reach up and grab a fist full of her shirt, sensing that her mother was talking about leaving again, if only for a few minutes. He felt about the same way.

“Nah. We can all go down together later.”

She looked up at him confused, “You are not hungry?”

He shrugged, “I am. But I’d rather we all go together.”

Her eyes narrowed at him, but only for a moment. Then they turned shy - apologetic even. She couldn’t fault him for being cautious. She’d developed a reputation for running lately.

#changing gears now #no longer part of that old multichapter fic #amnesty #tiva #tiva fanfiction #fanfic #factoffiction #factoffictionwriter #factoffiction amnesty week #which has turned into amnesty week+

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years ago

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little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 15 of 29)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29 Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Paul makes Gene an offer on getting rid of the curse.

He sat there on the mattress for longer than he needed to, staring at his hands, gaze traveling up his wrists to his forearms to his shoulders, sloping down dully from there to his cleavage. Assessing the same damages he’d gotten accustomed to over the last seven days. But it was different now. It wasn’t an effort at calming himself down the way it had been at first, a bizarre sort of compare and contrast. Reassurance that he wasn’t completely unrecognizable, if only to himself. He hadn’t been male model material as a guy; he wasn’t Playboy material as a girl. Same moles, same scars, same bad chin. Top-heavy like he’d always been. Basically devoid of a waistline like he’d always been. All the old hated imperfections had carried over, right down to the microtia. It had been a cold comfort then, but now he was ticking off each flaw as another demerit, another reason he might get turned down at the pass.

Intellectually, none of that was going to make a difference. It didn’t take much for girls, if they wanted it. Not looks, not money, not anything. It wouldn’t take much for him. He could get laid. It wouldn’t even be the first time he’d fooled around with another guy.

It wouldn’t even be the first time he’d fooled around with another guy while he was like this.

The door opened without warning. Paul jerked back on the mattress, scrambling unsteadily to his feet, expecting it to be Carol standing there, come back to throw another couple bitter words his way, or a drunken VIP.

“Paul?”

Instead, it was Ace. He was sweaty, with his shirt disheveled, belt and fly undone, hair slightly matted. No underwear, which wasn’t surprising, but the sum total wasn’t a sight he’d seen in awhile. He must have been in one of the other rooms earlier.

“Hey.”

Ace did a bit of a double-take at the sight of him, eyes lingering on his chest before he seemed to right himself again, stepping fully into the room.

“Hey, listen, I saw a chick with freckles coming out of here crying, was that her?”

That sounded about right. Paul’s stomach curdled.

“Yeah. I just talked to her.”

“But you’re not back.” Ace had his hands out, gesturing towards his own imaginary breasts as if he needed to. Maybe he thought Carol had cursed him into thinking he was normal again. “She didn’t turn you back.”

“No kidding.”

“What the hell did you tell her, man?” Ace paused. “What the hell did you do to her, anyway?”

“Nothing.”

“’M not buying it. She’s got Paul Stanley, Junior in the fucking crib at home, and she’s mad he ain’t got your eyes.”

“There’s no baby.” No use explaining it to Ace. He wouldn’t understand. Paul didn’t think he got it himself, not really. Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Ace tilted his head.

“Whatever. Her husband leave her after she fooled around with you, then?”

“There’s no husband, either. I just hurt her, that’s all.”

“Real specific. Well, if you won’t tell me…” Ace drifted off idly, yanking a hand through his hair. Paul was oddly grateful that Ace hadn’t bothered zipping his pants back up, not because he wanted a look at his dick, but because it was a weird bit of normalcy. A sign Ace actually saw him for who he was. “Do you wanna have me go after her? Fuck, Paulie, if she didn’t think you were gonna pay her enough to fix you, then I’ll—”

“It’s not like that.” Paul clasped the watch on his forearm. Twenty minutes. He had all of two left. He didn’t want to stay here thinking about it. He didn’t want to tell Ace. “Look, she told me how. I’ll get it taken care of.”

“But what’s she want you to do?”

“I said I’ll get it taken care of.” He crossed the room, pushing past Ace to get to the door. “Ace, I’ve got to go.”

“Jesus, is it that bad? Hang on there. Lemme get Peter and Gene, we’ll help you out, this isn’t all on you, y’know.”

“It is all on me.”

He could hear Ace fumbling to follow him, but Ace wasn’t fast at all. Ace was prone to stumble around even without heels or alcohol. He had to be loaded right now, loaded and tired from getting off. No way he’d stayed sober tonight for his sake. No way.

But he didn’t have a reason for running from him. He wasn’t scared of Ace, just scared of what he represented. Another guy whose current livelihood now depended on Paul fucking someone. Anyone. It didn’t matter who. It shouldn’t matter who.

Paul ran straight into the dance floor in a bid to get rid of him. A bid that worked. The crowd of writhing bodies swirled around him, enveloping him, a sick sea of warm arms. He had to shove at and past what felt like dozens of people, but Ace wasn’t behind him anymore. He couldn’t even hear Ace calling him over the blaring music.

But that wouldn’t matter for long. Even if he fell or just got distracted, it wouldn’t take long for Ace to get back up to the VIP floor. He had to hurry. The blond doorman was back at the floor’s entrance, happy enough to let him past. Racing upstairs, he grabbed Gene, who looked pale and worried, tugging him by the sleeve.

“Paul?”

He took off the watch, putting it in Gene’s hand.

“Let’s get out of here. I got what I needed.”

Paul’s hand in his didn’t feel as comfortable as usual as they stepped out of Studio 54. He looked distant, harried. But every time Gene tried to push for an answer, he just shook his head and told him to wait. He rolled up the glass partition almost as soon as they got into the limo.

“What did she say? She’s lifting it, isn’t she?”

“She’s not lifting it. She’s having me do it.”

Oh, no. They’d need those spellbooks and sigils after all. Gene’s heart thudded in his chest.

“If we have to, then we have to.”

�� “I have to, not you.” Weird how Paul was sounding both more and less like himself with every passing day. That old acerbic clip he’d first heard out of him at seventeen (“yeah, I write songs”) was inching back in. “It’s not that bad.”

“So what do you have to do, then? Summon a demon or something? Pledge your soul to Satan?”

Paul didn’t crack a smile.

“No. I just have to sleep with somebody.”

Gene raised his head.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” A dry laugh. “I dunno. I guess you and the guys don’t have to worry about the tour now.”

Gene let out a breath. That’s great was almost on his tongue. All right was a close second. But a look at Paul stopped him from either. For something so simple, so easy, he didn’t look happy about it. He didn’t even look relieved. He wasn’t wearing his usual distracting pout, either. He just looked… deflated, somehow. He looked like he’d just gotten stood up for senior prom.

Maybe he just wanted approval. Bolstering-up. Gene’s lips were suddenly dry as he started up again.

“What do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you want to get it taken care of?” Gene hesitated slightly, waiting on a suggestion that Paul wasn’t offering. Stupid to hope. Despite getting him off last night, despite the kissing earlier, Paul didn’t seem to be considering Gene as an option. Probably better for both of them, really. He’d have enough to sort out as it was once Paul got back to normal. “Pick some guy up at a bar tomorrow?”

“Pick up some guy?” Paul repeated. He almost looked—offended, maybe even hurt.

“Or… would a girl work?” Gene didn’t know if it would, but maybe that was the real source of Paul’s distress, the thought of having to get penetrated while he was like this. Maybe it made him feel vulnerable. Maybe he wanted to reclaim some of his masculinity before he actually had it back in the literal sense. God knew Gene had robbed him of plenty of autonomy without even meaning to, directing him on where to go every single day, making all the phone calls for him, buying his food, clothes, everything.

Yeah, that was probably exactly what Paul wanted, to get to sleep with a woman again. It wouldn’t be that hard to orchestrate; there were plenty of lesbian bars around. He’d be safer picking up a girl than a guy. It might even be fun for him, a weird bit of fetishistic wish-fulfillment. Picturing Paul with another chick wasn’t a bad mental image, either. He’d probably be shy about it at first, lying down, tan nipples peaked, breasts heaving, as some pretty little thing pushed apart his thighs, lapping and sucking against his warm, slick folds, it—

“I’d be a fucking lousy lay for any dyke right now.”

“You would’ve been a lot lousier last Tuesday.”

Paul looked away, shoulders slumping. He kept twisting the skirt portion of the dress between his hands, then staring at his hands, something Gene had never known him to do before. He had a myriad of other tics, like sticking his tongue past his teeth when he was nervous or trying to concentrate, but this wasn’t one of them.

“I’m tired of going to clubs, Gene. And I’m tired of involving other people.”

“Then…”

“We could take care of it ourselves at home.”

Gene’s mouth went dry. His dick, the perpetual traitor, was half-hard just at the thought of fucking him, his leather pants as unyielding as a vice trap. He shifted his legs, but it didn’t help. Not that it really mattered much. Paul still hadn’t glanced his way again.

“You want to?”

Paul was silent at first.

“It-it makes more sense, doesn’t it? You’re right here. And I’m not stupid, I know you wanna—”

“But do you want to?”

“I wanna get back to normal.” Evasiveness too obvious to be believed. “I’ll let you. You’ve been wanting to this whole time, anyway, might as well get it out of the way.”

He couldn’t argue with that. But there was something weird about the way Paul was putting it. Get it out of the way, like it was a chore. It hadn’t felt like a chore when he’d gotten him off prior. It sure as hell hadn’t felt like a chore to kiss Paul during the dance. Or to have Paul kiss back, eager and wanting, pressing up tight against him, trying so hard to leave no space between them. It hadn’t been a chore at all. He’d liked it. He’d liked it a whole lot.

He’d thought they might sleep together if the curse lasted long enough. Had been within a hair’s breadth of suggesting it just before Paul saw Carol. But he’d figured there was a good chance they’d fall into it some afternoon or evening anyway, if not on the dance floor. Something banal and domestic. Laying around in bed turning into fooling around, turning into fucking, just as natural and uncomplicated as it would’ve gone with any girlfriend. Even more so. Gene hadn’t had a girlfriend in years that he hadn’t slept with long before she’d gotten the title.

Gene hadn’t really thought past that. But now, knowing that sleeping with Paul would end the curse entirely… it felt funny. Uncomfortable. Like it’d just thrown a wrench in the way everything was going. He’d still do it, sure, but combined with the way Paul was acting, it didn’t sit well.

He reached over, tapping Paul’s arm. Paul jerked a bit, turning to face him.

“It’ll be good. Hey, we can even take a picture if you want.”

“A picture?” Paul’s brows furrowed.

“Yeah, for my photo albums.”

He’d meant it as a joke. But Paul stiffened up in response, lips drawn in a tight line, and he turned his head towards the window.

“Sorry. I didn’t—”

“It’s fine.”

The rest of the limo ride was quiet. He didn’t try to touch Paul any, no more reassuring taps or handholds. Not that it mattered. Something seemed to be already ruined.

By the time the driver had stopped at Paul’s, Gene almost asked Paul if he’d changed his mind, or wanted to wait. He wouldn’t have blamed him any. But Paul’s mind seemed set. As soon as they were back in his house, Paul was stripping off his shoes and pantyhose in the foyer, tossing them on the floor. He was waiting on Gene, watching him with a gaze Gene couldn’t really read, as he tugged off his boots.

“Give me just a second,” Gene protested. “We’ll get there.”

“Okay.”

Gene followed him to his room once he’d gotten rid of his boots and socks. He sat down on the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt, feeling weird about it—he didn’t normally strip completely when he slept with someone, and maybe Paul wouldn’t appreciate being treated any differently. Or maybe he would. Paul wasn’t so much as looking in his direction, sitting next to him on the bed’s edge, hair gathered over one shoulder. Gene figured it was so he could unzip his dress, but Paul hadn’t yet reached behind him to tug the zipper down.

“Are you sure about this, Paul?”

“Yeah. Course I’m sure.” Stiffly, Paul shifted backwards, until he was fully on the bed, long legs splayed apart but somehow tense.

Gene finally got his shirt off. Then Paul seemed to react again, shifting to his knees, one hand clasping Gene’s bare shoulder while the other started to unzip and shove down his pants, leaving them hanging just a bit past his hips. Gene reached behind Paul, fingers headed for the zipper of his dress, but Paul shook his head.

“Don’t.”

“Hey, this is a little uneven here,” Gene tried to joke. The consternation on Paul’s face made him stop. Maybe Paul was just nervous and gearing himself up. He’d at least have to take off his panties to fuck.

“I’ll get to it, okay?”

“Okay. Take it easy.”

Gene took a breath as Paul’s fingers reached his boxers. Tension was still practically emanating from Paul, even as Paul began to yank them down. It just made Gene feel all the more wary. He hadn’t gone for a kiss or a grope or anything; the only touching Paul was doing at all was just to try and get Gene’s clothes off.

He grabbed Paul by the wrist before he’d gotten his boxers more than an inch or two down. His grip wasn’t hard, but Paul froze up anyway, instantly dropping his hold on Gene’s boxers, looking strained, almost caught.

“Gene—"

“Hold on,” he said quickly. “We’ve got to talk first. How do you wanna do this?”

“I don’t care. However you want.”

“However I want?”

“It’s not that much leeway, is it?” Paul’s mouth twisted. “I’m up for it. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Would you stop asking if I’m sure?”

“Okay. Okay.” Last night hadn’t been like this. Forget last night, two hours ago hadn’t been like this. Gene wasn’t sure what to do. He reached out, hesitating before slipping a hand underneath the dress, past the nightie and the bra, cupping one breast. Paul didn’t really react. Just sat there, stiff as ever, and after a second or two, he withdrew his hand.

“You don’t want foreplay?”

“It’s not that.”

“I won’t touch you anywhere you don’t want it, but—”

“Look, it’s fine. Touch me wherever. I told you I don’t care. Can’t you just go for it? What’s holding you up?”

“You are. You’re acting strange.” Oh. Oh, wait a minute. Gene felt like he was William Tell without the expertise, endlessly trying to shoot a target blind, but he thought he might have hit on it. An explanation for why Paul didn’t want to strip. It still didn’t quite feel right, what with how Paul was picking out low-cut tops and short-shorts of his own accord, and it didn’t account for all of his behavior, but—“Do you want the lights off?”

“I haven’t fucked around in the dark since I was nineteen.” Paul’s expression changed as soon as the words fell out of his mouth. “Not… not actual fucking.”

Not last night, he meant. Gene nodded.

“Then…” God, this was awkward. “I don’t know how to make you comfortable. What do you want here?”

“Nothing! I told you, it’s fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I am. You’ve got millions on the line here. Go ahead.”

“It’s not about the money.” Bewildering just to say that, and more bewildering still to mean it. Paul stiffened like he was expecting an injection. “Something’s not right. I’m not going to do this unless you’re really up for it.”

“I am up for it! Christ, what do you want? A striptease?” Paul yanked his bra straps down past his shoulders, unhooking the clasps in the back, pulling the bra out from under the dress through the sleeves. He tossed it against the wall. Gene looked away, but Paul grabbed his arm. “Go for it. Why won’t you go for it?”

“You’re scared, that’s why.”

“I’m not scared! What the hell do I have to be scared of?”

“I don’t—”

“You think I’m afraid of being hurt, is that it?” Paul snorted. “I can take that.”

“That’s not exactly—”

“Try taking it up the ass sometime, that’s a lot worse than—”

“I don’t mean that kind of hurt.”

Paul didn’t respond immediately. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the insistent tick of the clock on the nightstand. Paul had let go of his arm at some point, his hands finding and clasping his own knees instead.

“Don’t be an idiot, Gene. Don’t turn me down because you don’t think I can handle it after.”

“Paul, listen,” Gene started, reaching for Paul’s hand. Paul’s fingers curled against his knee, but he didn’t pull away. “It’s not about handling it. You’re stressed out, and that chick made it worse. We can try again tomorrow, if you want.”

“I want to right now.”

“No, you don’t.”

Paul drew his hand back from beneath Gene’s.

“How the hell would you know what I want? I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Isn’t that good enough? Can’t you do it for me? Y-you’ve done everything else!”

“Not like this.”

Paul got up from the bed, stalking out the bedroom door. Gene yanked up his pants and followed him, grabbing the back of his arm.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.” Paul yanked his arm away, walking faster. He grabbed the jacket Gene had bought him from where he’d left it on the living room couch, snatching up his keys and wallet from the coffee table. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Paul, don’t.”

“Don’t what? You won’t do it for me.” A rattled gasp for breath as Paul yanked the jacket on. “You’ve got no say in it.”

“It’s late. I don’t want you going out there—”

“Without you chaperoning?” Paul started to laugh, the sound strange and throaty. “You don’t think I can do anything. You want to pick someone out for me? Scope them out?”

“No!”

“I bet y-you’d rather me stay a girl. I won’t. You can bet your ass I won’t.”

“I don’t—Paul, that’s not it, something’s bothering you. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“There’s nothing to regret. Fifteen fucking minutes and it’ll be over.” Paul was stepping into the heels he’d kicked away in the foyer earlier. Gene reached for his arm one last time, hand lingering in the air. “You don’t understand a damn thing. You think I—y-you think—” he started, then wrenched open the door, slamming it shut in Gene’s face.

He could have stopped him. Grabbed him at the door, or even yanked him back inside from the driveway. Maybe he should have. But he didn’t want to humiliate Paul any more than he already had. Didn’t want to manhandle him, didn’t know what he would’ve done afterward. Paul didn’t want to talk, that much had been obvious. He might have tried to throw Gene out of the house next. He wouldn’t have gotten anywhere with him.

Paul had left his stockings on the floor. Gene picked them up, tracing a finger across a run right down the side of one leg. Then he crumpled them in his hand and walked back to Paul’s bedroom, before he had a chance to see the taillights of Paul’s car disappear into the night.

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #gene simmons #gene simmons x paul stanley #ace frehley

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littleoldrachel · 5 years ago

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i am burned out (i smell of smoke) - part two

guys. the response to this has just been. unreal. thank you so much for all of the kindness and support you've shown me and this little fic. i couldn't be more grateful. y'all are wonderful and i don't know why i was so nervous to post in the first place. thank you.

for now, part two! (look, it's gotta get worse before it gets better!!! (it will get better though, i swear))

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn’t have to do it alone.

word count: 3.6k ish ( part 1/5 | part 2/5 )

warnings: mental health issues

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse? jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

ii.

He’s not better in the morning. Waking up is an unpleasant experience for Virgil at the best of times, only gratified by a large mug of coffee or the necessity of a rescue, but today -

Virgil is aware of the heavy weight on his chest before he even opens his eyes. It’s even larger than it was last night, sucking him dry of what little energy sleep has reclaimed.

Virgil glares down at his chest, half-wishing there was some outwards sign that something is wrong on the skin there. But there are only the same patches of bruises and still healing scars as adorn his whole body.

He takes a deep breath, and feels the strain of it against this heavy weight.

Is he getting sick? He can’t be - he’s only just had the flu, dammit! He has a job to do, and Scott will never let him get away with flying Two whilst sick again if their last shouting match about it was anything to go by.

And even if he were getting sick - which he’s not - that chesty ache is different to this weighty nothingness. Instead of feeling ill, he’s just… tired.

A Scott-like voice sounds in the back of his head, though it’s far harsher than Scott could ever be: concentrate on your job - on the people who need you.

But it’s right. That’s what he needs to focus on - that’ll be what gets him out of this awful funk.

(Because that’s all it is. A funk).

(It has to be).

It’s not better the following morning either. Nor the morning after that, no matter how many rescues he pushes himself through.

His go-to coping mechanism has always been music, and so he makes his way to the piano without even bothering to raid the kitchen for breakfast/lunch. He’s not hungry, which should probably trigger alarm bells but he’s too tired to care.

Instead, he plonks himself down on the piano stool, lifts the lid to his precious instrument, and stares at the keys, waiting.

Only, nothing swells inside of him, desperate to be expressed - no emotion, no thought, nothing.

Virgil has never been in front of a piano and felt nothing. Even before he could play, the very sight of a piano had him awestruck. He remembers his mother playing L.O.V.E just to make him smile, stressing over his finals with endless Rachmaninoff, and pouring out his grief through his own stormy compositions. The piano is and always has been less of an instrument and more of a mouthpiece, a beating heart, a lonely soul that he has bound to himself. For a child stricken mute by tragedy, a teenager struggling in his siblings’ shadows, an adult who can never save them all, his piano is the best way he’s found to dig those feelings out of himself.

Scott has always said Virgil feels things too deeply. He’s right - even in this nothing-ness state, the depths of it are chasm-like inside him.

And so, because he knows Scott would want him to try, Virgil half-heartedly plays the opening melody to one of his most recent compositions - a gentle, comforting little thing - but stops almost at once in frustration.

He just doesn’t feel like it.

(The upset this causes him is almost better than the awful emptiness because at least it’s a goddamn feeling).

The one place he feels semi-normal is the gym. At least there, he can distract himself with the burn of straining muscles and the clanging of too-heavy weights.

At first, even the thought of venturing down here and working out is Too Much, and he can’t quite bring himself to do so.

But then -

The image of a child buried beneath rocks he's too weak to lift propels him forward, a sharp twinge of anxiety in his chest.

And so he rows until his shoulders are throbbing, pounds the treadmill till he can’t feel his feet anymore, presses weights more suited to the exosuit than a man.

His whole body is trembling with exertion as he runs through some cool down stretches. As he makes to stand, his vision tips sideways, flecked with dark spots.

It's a good twenty minutes before he tries again, this time leaning heavily on the weights racks.

He pushed too hard and he knows it. Thank God his brothers weren't down here to see it or he would be in serious trouble.

But it has helped, at least a little. It quiets the worry in his mind that he's useless and the guilt of lives lost. The endorphins of exercise lessen the load on his chest momentarily and though he hurts all over, he'd rather this physical pain than the ache of feeling nothing at all.

Virgil hasn't drawn anything in weeks now, despite the not-so-subtle hints from John that he would really, really like something new for his room on Five (and honestly sending Virgil breathtaking photos of double-ringed galaxies would usually have him mixing up colours at once).

He wants to draw John something - heck, he just wants to draw something. Or maybe, he wants to want to draw something, but every time he sits down with a sketchpad or canvas, his mind empties and his heart is tired.

Like now, curled up in the window seat of his room with a pencil and pad in hand. It's been well over an hour and the page is still glaringly blank, both physically and mentally.

A knock at his door startles him, and Alan's head pokes round it. "Hey, Virg, you busy?"

Virgil throws the pad and pencil aside, almost grateful for the distraction from his utter failings as an artist. "Never too busy for you, Allie, what's up?"

"Oh wait, you were drawing?!" Alan hurries over, reaching for the pad. "That's great, it's been ages - can I see?"

He turns over the pad before Virgil can stop him and deflates. "Oh."

"Sorry, Alan," Virgil says, tugging the pad back so that he doesn't have to see the disappointed worry in Alan's eyes. "Waiting for inspiration to strike."

"Oookaaay," Alan says slowly, "but if you're busy, you should have said... It's fine if you are! I can ask John instead. Or Brains."

"I'm not busy, honestly. What is it you need?"

Alan looks torn. "But your art time is so important to you.. and you haven't had time in weeks."

Virgil sighs, "it's not that I haven't had time. I just don't feel like it at the moment." He means it to be reassuring - confirmation that whatever Alan needs is more important than doing fuck-all - and it's the most honest he's been in weeks.

But instead, Alan looks even more worried. "You don't feel like it? … why not?"

Shit. It's easy to forget with King Smother Brother in the building that his younger brothers have learned from the best. Virgil doesn't know what to do. There's no way in hell he's spilling how horrible he feels all over his littlest brother. And so he does something that will only make him feel worse in the long run but that might disperse the concern in Alan's eyes.

"I mean… I wanted it to be a surprise," Virgil says slowly, hating himself for the way Alan brightens at his lies. "But I've been working on something special for John's birthday."

Alan beams and it's almost worth the guilty squirm in Virgil's chest. "Can I see?!"

"No, no, it's - it's not ready yet." Or started, planned, conceptualised… he's gonna have to get his shit together to fix this lie.

"Okay, okay. Aw man, I can't wait to see it, Virg!"

The guilt only swells, and with it, anxiousness. "What was it you needed, Allie?"

"Oh! Right, yeah, it's Physics."

Virgil blinks. "Isn't John your go-to guy for that?"

Alan bites his lip. "Yeah, but you have an Engineering degree. And also…" Alan sighs and flops down on Virgil's bed. "I don't get it and John's great except he doesn't get why I don't get it and-"

"Say no more." Virgil has himself been on the receiving end of John's frustrated rants; not only did he have to bear the humiliation of asking his younger brother for help, but he came away from it feeling even more stupid and hopeless. Thankfully, he'd had a Jeff to explain it to him in terms he could understand - it's a choking grief when Virgil realises that Alan doesn't have that same luxury.

"It's this equation," Alan is saying, dragging Virgil back to the present. "I just don't get it."

A glance at the page and Virgil feels much steadier. He knows physics, and for once, this is a situation where he can help without failing anyone.

Both on rescues and at home, Virgil has always been the focused, steady rock upon which his brothers can ground themselves. And he's still that, even worn out and perpetually empty, it's just a little harder to maintain it. He's vaguely aware that he's sort of falling apart and he should probably tell someone, even if it means Gordon will be flying his precious 'bird for a while. But the larger part of him is still working to convince himself that he's fine, because he should be fine.

The facade slips a couple of times and each time there's a cost that leaves Virgil so angry at himself, at his uselessness that he can't bear to face anyone.

Scott watches his usually perfect aim fail three times in a row, and is forced to launch himself out of Thunderbird One to fire his own grappling hook. It takes on the first go because he's Scott fucking Tracy, but they’re too close to the ground thanks to Virgil's ineptitude and there's blood everywhere - oh God, it's everywhere - and Virgil is left with shaking hands staring at the man whose wounds Scott is desperately trying to plug.

John hears when he blacks out momentarily in the tunnel system beneath Mexico City. It's just a temporary dizziness from the heat of the packed soil (is what he's telling John, even though he doesn't remember the last time he ate, and forces himself to choke down an energy bar in guilt) but it distracts his brother from wherever else he is needed and Virgil hates himself for it.

Gordon is the one who wakes him sweating and yelling from a nightmare. There's such worry in his younger brother's face as he asks about the dream, but Virgil can't bring himself to explain that it was his father going up in flames over and over, as it has been for months now. A week later, when it's Scott's face replacing Jeff Tracy's, Virgil wakes to a panic attack, but Gordon is nowhere to be found.

Alan seizes his arm at a landslide in south Wales, drags him to a man who is pale, sweating, clutching his broken leg, and Virgil goes into medic mode at once. Bind the leg, treat for shock, arrange transport to the nearest hospital.

Except the man never makes it to the hospital.

Because there’s a hard, swollen bruise up his ribcage that should have indicated internal bleeding. And he didn’t spot it - why didn’t he spot it? He has one job: help people, and he can’t even fucking do that right. The man dies on the way to the hospital, and Virgil can’t breathe. Alan tries - bless his good, generous soul - to reassure him, reminding him that there’s relatively little they can do for internal bleeds, they aren’t equipped for that kind of injury, but Virgil pushes him away with a roughness he’ll later regret.

He’s falling apart and this feeling wasn’t supposed to affect rescues, it wasn’t supposed to be a problem he actually had to face. This wasn’t supposed to happen, why did this happen, why, why, why -

Scott is the one who drags him away from his bedroom, where he’s taken to moping alone.

He doesn’t even knock, simply sweeping through the door in shorts and a tank top, trainers dangling by the laces. “Right, get changed, we’re going on a run.”

Virgil, who hasn’t moved (can’t move) from his bed since getting back from a rescue a few hours earlier, glares up at him. “Nope.”

“Move it.”

“Make me.”

Scott narrows his eyes. “You know I can.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Virgil regrets the words the second they leave his mouth, because no way in hell does he have the energy to wrestle with Scott right now, but his older brother does something much, much worse.

He tickles him.

Virgil goes into survivor mode: kicking, flailing, shoving Scott away all whilst breathlessly begging him to stop. When Scott finally relents, Virgil flops back on his bed, panting.

“I - hate you.”

“I know,” Scott says cheerfully. “Now, get dressed.”

They begin on Scott’s usual circuit across the beach, chasing the trail up under canopies of forest, and then break away to run alongside the cliff-edges. Most of the heat of the day has faded with the sun, but it’s still warm enough that they’re both sweating by the end of the ascent. Scott pauses at the crest of the cliff and stands silhouetted against the sunset. Virgil slows to a halt next to him.

"What's wrong?" Scott says suddenly and Virgil almost flinches.

"Nothing," he says. It's enough of a half-truth that he doesn't even feel guilty at the frustration in Scott's eyes.

Scott stares at him. "Please don’t lie to me, Virg. Are you getting sick? Are you injured?”

“What - no, I’m not - I’m not lying -”

“Because I swear, if you ever pull that ‘pushing through pneumonia for the mission’ bullshit again, I will ground you for life-”

“Scott, I’m not sick!”

“Come on, Virg, you’ve always been a shit liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then what’s going on with you?! This is your favourite route." He sweeps a hand over the view of endless ocean, soaked pink and gold beneath the setting sun. "Normally you're urging us to get back so you can get it all down on a canvas, and today, you haven’t even noticed. Please, Virg?” Scott takes a step towards him, resting a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. Talk to me?”

The unbridled concern in Scott’s tone hurts and Virgil simultaneously wants nothing more than to fix it and to stop being its cause.

Except that - he's fine, he's okay, he's coping with whatever this is. And he doesn't even know what this is so he would rather set himself on fire than trigger another of his brother's nightmares.

“I’m okay, Scott, really.” Scott shakes his head and Virgil doubles down. “I am, I’m just tired.” (So tired, so fucking tired but no amount of sleep seems to help). “It’s been a crazy couple of months.”

Scott frowns, and Virgil forces himself not to cringe at the intensity of his brother’s stare. This feeling is shaping him up to be a damned good liar, and Virgil hates it.

“You have been looking tired,” Scott says eventually, and Virgil sighs internally. “Do I need to give you leave to rest up - and tell me the truth, Virg, I swear to God -”

“No, no.”

Don’t leave me alone with this feeling and nothing to distract from it.

“Swear it?”

Virgil nods and watches the relief bloom in his brother’s eyes. He almost doesn’t hate himself for it, because he’s trying his damnedest to convince himself that he is fine, even though it’s becoming increasingly apparent he’s really, really not. But he doesn’t know how to explain how empty and tired and fragile he feels, and so he can’t.

“No more skipping family dinners though, Virg. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you aren’t around at mealtimes lately, I miss you.”

The thing is, he's just not hungry anymore - not for Scott's special blueberry pancakes, nor for authentic Italian pizza from his favourite restaurant courtesy of Gordon on the way home one day. He's especially not hungry for Grandma's (literal) rock cake, no matter how hurt she looks by his rejection.

Virgil knows he's losing weight - he can feel it in the looseness of his uniform around his limbs and in how he has to cinch his belt a little tighter than before. He also knows that in intensifying his workouts, he should be increasing his intake to match.

He’s also not sleeping - or at least, not sleeping restfully. His nights are riddled with horrific dreams that he wakes from in a panic, or he spends hours unable to switch his mind off for all the terrible thoughts echoing round it.

The thing is - he can't quite bring himself to care about it all. He’s finding it so hard to care about anything at all (besides his family and the rescues, of course, though even these are draining him beyond all reason), least of all himself.

After one sleepless night, Virgil wanders aimlessly through the house in the groggy rays of the rising sun. Scott will already be on his morning run and Gordon will be halfway through his pre-breakfast swim. And Virgil -

He should be in bed, dead to the world, only to be woken up under dire circumstances or so help me, Gordon -

Instead, he finds himself in front of his piano. It’s been long enough that a film of dust has settled atop the lid, and he traces his finger through it absently, then decides to try. For Scott, if not for himself (definitely not for himself).

He rifles through boxes of sheet music waiting for something to grab him. When nothing inevitably does, he snatches up whatever’s sticking out sideways, and begins to play. The notes are familiar enough that he closes his eyes, waiting to lose himself in the melody.

But that tug never comes.

Virgil finishes the piece just as empty and useless and tired as he started it, and opens his eyes to see Gordon standing there, toast in hand.

“Morning,” Gordon says grinning wickedly. “Long time, no see, Mr Piano Man.”

“Hey,” Virgil says quietly, filing the sheet music away again. He’s not in the mood for Gordon’s joviality right now - then again, when is he ever these days? He feels guilty for thinking it at once.

“What’s wrong?” Gordon demands, his eyes narrowed. He leans across the piano and Virgil glowers at those buttery fingers.

“If you get grease on my piano, Gordon, you won’t live to regret it.”

“Sheesh. Someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. But seriously, what’s up?”

“Gordon. I mean it.”

Gordon rolls his eyes so hard it must physically hurt him to do so, but raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. Now will you talk to me?”

Virgil looks down at the keys. “Why would anything be up?”

“Well,” Gordon says slowly, “numero uno, I don’t remember the last time I got to have crunchy peanut butter on toast, which means you’re not eating us out of house and home, which is Highly Suspicious Behaviour. Y dos, you only play that when you’re feeling down.”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Virgil says, caught off guard enough that he doesn’t even attempt to deny it.

“I listen,” Gordon says indignantly. “Chopping is what you play when you feel sad.”

“Chopin.”

“Bless you.”

Virgil half-smiles, in spite of himself. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled.

And there’s a moment, where he thinks: tell him, tell him there’s this horrible feeling inside of you and you’re afraid it’s going to swallow you whole, and he’s going to - he wants to - he means to, but-

“I’m okay, Gords, honest. Just nostalgic.”

Gordon looks at him with eyes far older than his years. “You know it’s okay if you’re not okay though, right?”

“Sure.”

“I mean it, Virg. You’re always here for us. Let us be here for you too, yeah?”

There’s a lump in his throat and Virgil can’t trust himself to speak, so he nods vigorously instead. His brother looks uncharacteristically sad as Virgil makes his excuses to hurry off to the gym and it hurts, all these lies hurt, he’s hurting so much.

He’s just dropped the weight when the floor lurches beneath him and he staggers.

Hm. Low blood sugar.

The medic in him is furious at himself, but that guy is also buried beneath a thick layer of exhausted indifference, impenetrable sadness and an overwhelming nothingness.

And so, Virgil does what he does best. He keeps going.

Keeps going through the motions of gym, rescue, take care of brothers, rescue, repairs, sleep, gym, rescue, because what else can he do?

Until he can’t.

There’s a day that dawns bright and beautiful like every single goddamn day on their tropical island. The birdsong is melodic, the butterflies are a tapestry of colour, the sea sparkles beneath lazy golden rays.

And Virgil can’t get out of bed.

Not won’t, not doesn’t want to - physically cannot.

The weight on his chest has finally become heavy enough that it pins him beneath his covers and he cannot shake it off. Every single particle of the emptiness inside him has insidiously become a despair so absolute and almighty that Virgil cannot bear it inside of him but is powerless to get it out. It’s the worst feeling he has ever known - worse than watching his mother die before his eyes, worse than his father turning away from him in his own grief, worse than trying to keep a splintered family together with frayed nerves and a broken heart. He’s not okay. He’s falling apart.

It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to accept these as facts, rather than fears.

But the realisation only makes him feel even more alone.

#thunderbirds are go #virgil tracy #littleoldrachel writes #happy belated birthday nutty!

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fulcrumahsokaamidala · 5 years ago

Text

Saturday Spectacular #6

Happy Saturday!!! So this is me thanking awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and all the time they put into their fics. ♥️ I want to recommend spectacular fanfic stories I read this week! ♥️ They are posted in the order I read them. All posts will be tagged #saturday spectacular fic rec

Some Things Are Meant To Be by @pimsiepim | Arrow | Completed

Summary: Three years ago, Oliver went on a cruise on the Gambit and never came back, leaving Felicity devastated. She forced herself to move on with her life, trying to forget that the love they had shared was one she'd never get to live again. Except Oliver didn't die on that boat. But no matter how much he wants to, he knows he can't come back. Too many things happened, and the only way to keep his loved ones safe is to stay as far away from them as possible. It all changes when Felicity starts questioning the circumstances of the accident that took him away from her... ***The sequel to His Girl Wednesday*** You don't have to read HGW to understand this story, but it might fill in a few blanks ;)

Semper Fidelis by @oliversmuse | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Oliver Queen is a member of the Bravo Squad, a team that specializes in search and rescue, covert infantry and translating foreign documents. He is known as one of the best and even though he is one of the youngest recruits he advances quickly. While serving he meets Lance Corporal Felicity Smoak, a young woman with skills in hand to hand combat. Despite the fact they butt heads they fall in love and soon start to talk about a future together. However, when her plane disappears on a mission in China and she is presumed dead, Bravo Squad searches frantically for her, only to find her plane and her bloody dog tags. Five years later Oliver runs into “Megan” at a coffee shop near that gym he has been running with his friends. She has lost her memory from the plane accident but has had dreams of Oliver and the Bravo Squad. With the help of his friends and team mates, can he help her reclaim her past and fall for him once again?

and we’re somehow caught up in a web of lies by inlovewithimpossibility | Arrow | WIP

Summary: After their encounter with the Count and Moira’s release from prison, Thanksgiving is upon the residents of Starling City but when an article arises in the gossip magazines that throws both Oliver and Felicity under scrutiny, the two of them somehow find themselves caught up in the most elaborate lie they’ve told. What was supposed to be a relaxing week at the Queen cabin in New Hampshire for Oliver and a week celebrating Hanukkah and Thanksgiving alone for Felicity turns into a week at the cabin of acting, the Queen women and bubbling not-so-platonic feelings.

Did I Forget to Mention That My Dad is a Supervillain? by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When Felicity told Oliver about her father, she wasn’t lying per se. She wasn’t completely honest either. It’s just that ‘my dad left us’ sounded better than the truth.

Or: A Series of one shots in which Felicity’s dad is a supervillain and we see how Oliver and the team finds out.

Airplanes, Coffee and Deadlines by @hope-for-olicity | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Felicity begins working at a national newspaper where she has always dreamed of working. On her first day, she meets a very interesting photojournalist. The two will eventually work together but sparks fly immediately.

Alpha by @oliversmuse | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Oliver Queen was a powerful vampire that was captured by a group experimenting on hybrids. Turned into a hybrid that is half vampire and half wolf he is strong, fast and deadly. While in captivity he meets Dr. Felicity Smoak a hermatologist who is called in to monitor his feedings. All Oliver wants is to be free, away from the experiments and being in a cage, and strangely he feels he can trust Dr. Smoak. There is also an unspoken attraction between them that is forbidden. Can he convince her to set him free or will her attraction to him tempt her to keep him close?

Providence by @so-caffeinated | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Will Queen has struggled in silence in the year since he was shot. But when a shadowy crime lord known as Domino targets the only woman Will’s ever truly loved, fate forces him to confront his demons in ways he never could have imagined… Whether he wants to or not. Amelia Prescott has fought to take control of her life since learning two years ago that her personal and professional worlds were manipulated by others. But nothing can prepare her for just how hard she’ll have to fight to set her own course, especially when her heart belongs to a damaged man and a crime lord threatens her every professional move… And her life. Destiny brings them together, but as chaos reigns and personal demons haunt Will and Amelia both, it may also threaten to tear them apart.

(i want to) save that light by @callistawolf | Arrow | WIP

Summary: What if one little thing changed in the history of Arrow? What if, instead of going to Laurel’s apartment after discovering the extent of Merlyn’s plans for the Glades, Oliver stayed at the foundry and talked to Felicity instead? This series of short vignettes explores some of the ripple-effect changes that could take place throughout the next season as a result of this one, fortuitous change.

The What If Harassment Alternative by portlandborn | Brooklyn Nine-Nine | WIP

Summary: What would have happened to Peraltiago And our intrepid detectives, if Amy had reported her mentor captains ugly behaviors?

Closure by @oneofthosecrazygirls-fics | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Laurel and Oliver get some closure.This fic is part of the What Should’ve Been ‘verse. It can be read as it’s own standalone fic if you want, but it makes more sense within the context of the ‘verse as a whole.**NOT FOR LAURIVER FANS**

Pieces of Always by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34 | Arrow | One-shot collection

Summary: Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end.

Our Version of Events by @machawicket and @geneeste | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Action star Ollie Queen is trying to clean up his image and land parts that require him to do more than appear shirtless while fighting stuntmen. Pop star Felicity Smoak wants to be seen as an adult in time for the release of her new, grittier album. And talent manager John Diggle’s got an idea about what coverage of Oliver and Felicity’s brand new (and totally fake) romance could do for them both.

The Road Less Traveled by @oneofthosecrazygirls-fics | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Canon divergence/fix-it AU. Everything that happened in the series up through 4x11 happens as it did in the show and this fic diverges from there. Direct sequel to “Swear This One You’ll Save” and “Have Your Cake (And Eat It Too)” so make sure you read those first before reading this one. This fic is part of the What Should’ve Been ‘verse.

Let's escape (And just get away) by fangirlforeverything | Arrow | WIP

Summary: The night of the Undertaking Felicity and Oliver both needed to forget what had happened. Now two months later, Oliver is back and Felicity is pregnant.Rewrite of season 2.

I wear high heels (she wears sneakers) by @mogirl97 | Supergirl | WIP

Summary: “Lena. It’s not just about football.” Kara waved her hands around emphatically, “It’s about school spirit and hanging out with your friends—“ Lena didn’t want to bring up the fact that she didn’t have any friends to hang out with. “—and watching me obliterate a bunch of guys’ egos and going out for celebratory Big Belly Burger afterwards.” ~A Supercorp High School AU~

Artemis by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When the Queen’s Gambit sank, two people were stranded on Lian Yu. Five years later, four came back.

Daughter of the Demon by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: What if in 1988 while traveling through Las Vegas Ra’s al Ghul bumps into a nice waitress named Donna Smoak and they have one-night stand together? A little bundle of joy named Felicity Smoak is the result. In 2014, the Demon Head becomes aware of his youngest daughter’s existence.

The Ravager by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Slade Wilson’s plan for revenge against Oliver took time, money and no shortage of lives to pull together. His plan didn’t anticipate Felicity Smoak. How will his plan change now that his lost-lost daughter is working with the very man he’s trying to destroy?

Felicity of Themiscyra by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Years ago, Donna Smoak left the island of Themiscyra and her sister Queen Hippolyta behind to live in man’s world. She never told Felicity the truth about where she came from. As a result of the Undertaking, Felicity discovers some of her Amazonian abilities and makes an interesting new friend: Diana Prince.

The Daughter That Was Left by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Before the Gambit, Oliver Queen met QC intern Felicity Smoak. When he boarded the Gambit, he left something behind. Now, five long years later someone is waiting for him.

The Roommate by GameOfOlicity | Arrow | WIP

Summary: AU. Where Oliver is a cute nerdy guy going to MIT and finds himself having a beautiful blonde as his roommate. Oliver and Felicity become really good friends. Oliver is soon going to find out how hard it is not to get attached to his blonde friend.

I Scream But No Sound Comes out by @laxit21 | Arrow | WIP

Summary: When Oliver returns from Lian Yu after five years, he comes back

Fifty-Three Minutes by @realityisoverrated-fic | Arrow | One-shot

Summary: Between Queen Consolidated and the Justice League, Oliver, Felicity, and Tommy haven't been alone together in over a month. They have fifty-three minutes before other responsibilities have them separating again.

The Microchip Chronicles by CSM | Arrow | WIP

Summary: Post 713. Follows the next nine months of Felicity’s pregnancy.

different. What happened there damaged more than just his body. How will his friends and family deal with this new Oliver?

“Time for a story” Drabble Series by @smkkbert | Arrow | WIP

Summary: This fic shows Olicity and their life as a (married) couple with family. Although Olicity (and their kids) are the protagonists, other characters of Arrow and Flash make appearances.It started as a drabble series, but developed more and more into a full domestic AU.

#saturday spectacular fic rec #weekly fic recs

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alia-turin · 7 years ago

Note

Promt list #29 & 31 with Gladio/fem!reader. Please and thanks.

Prompt list - Still taking requests

Okay anon. For the love of God I hope you are 18+ because that is NSFW. Like a lot.

Also I had no idea if you mean 1 fic with both of these prompts, or two separated fic so I wrote one LONG fic. I hope you like it. I developed a a whole multichapter fic in my head and had to shorten it so there is the result.

Fic Prompt: “I never imagined myself in a wedding dress.”and “I’m yours, in every way you’ll have me.”Rating: M, NSFWCouple: Gladio x ReaderNotes: Fic takes place after the alternatibe ending of episode Ignis (spoiler follows) where Noct manages to reclaim his throne and is alive and well.Summary: It has been eight months since since Noctis reclaimed his throne. The danger of demons has long passed but the kingdom is facing other difficulties. The reader is a young lady part of one of Insomnia’s noble families.

Tagging you guys because I think you might be interested. @lazarustrashpit @jojopitcher @themissimmortal @birdsandivory @fromunseeliecourt (if anyone else wants to be tagged on future fics, please send me a message)

It has been eight months since the King reclaimed his throne.Insomnia and the whole kingdom was still mostly in ruins, refugees were tryingto get to their homes only to find them destroyed. Everybody was celebratingthe victory over darkness, but everyone had lost so much in the past ten yearsthat this celebration seemed short lived.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the white dressfitting perfectly your body, but you were so anxious that you couldn’t appreciatethe view. Eight months ago, you were living amongst the ruins of Old Lestallumwith what was left of your family. You were thirteen when Insomnia fell and youhad to learn very quickly how to live in the new world. Not everything was badof course through these ten years. You made new friends, you learned newthings, but life was chaotic and the King coming back had restored some orderbut it wasn’t what it used to be. Ruins and broken memories were all over theplace.

“You look amazing!” Iris was standing behind you, looking atyou in the mirror giving you the warmest smile.

“I never imagined myself in a wedding dress.” Your voicecame out shaken with stress and excitement.

It was true. For a very long time you had thought that yourworld would be ruins and darkness. Getting married, ever, has never been onyour mind, even after you came back to Insomnia it seemed like something thathappens to other people but not to you, never to you.

“Gladi will lose his mind.” Iris added with her cheerfulvoice.

Yes, Gladio. Your husband to be. That was anothercomplicated story. You two had met while you were still in Old Lestallum. Yourolder brother and Gladio had developed a friendship and that was how you were introducedto him. You found him charming and handsome from the first time you met him,you had flirted with him few times, and he never shied away from it, but againeverything was so complicated at that time. You were attracted to him and neveracted on your feelings, and he either never had feelings toward you or was justtoo busy helping his friends prepare the world for the King’s return. Once theKing had returned and light was restored to the world, things had started slowlyto run as before. Your brother had taken your late father’s place on the king’scouncil and was working day and night for the restoration of the kingdom. But asall the demons were gone, other dangers were threatening the kingdom and theold games of politics and intrigue were back. People had suffered enough; theking and his retainers had suffered enough but there were always people whowere going to abuse that and this ‘new’ world wasn’t an exception to it.

“I might lose mine mind before the end of the day.” You admitted,turning around to see how the dress fit your back. It was beautiful dress youhad to admit. You felt bad that your family could afford a dress like thatwhile there were still people sleeping on the street. The dress was startingjust below your shoulders, reveling your collarbones and shoulder blades. It showedthe curves of your body and underlined everything that mattered. It was a workof art.

“You will be fantastic. I wish I could look as good as youdo on my wedding day.” Iris was going to add something else, but then a knockcame on the door. She opened the door for your brother who walked in and smiledwarmly. You couldn’t find it in yourself to smile back. Not because of him butbecause you knew what followed and your whole body was starting to shake in anxiety.

“You look beautiful, sister.” He walked towards you andshowed you his hand. It was beautiful silver necklace with two dolphins. Samedolphins that were on your family’s crest for centuries. Funny how all thesesymbols suddenly started having meaning again. Eight months ago, nobody caredif your family had a crest or what’s on it. “May I?” he held gently the edges ofthe jewel and you pushed your hair away to allow him to put it around your neck.It was beautiful.

“Thank you.” Your voice was shacking and you were doing yourbest to cover that, but not very successfully.

“We need to go.” He offered you his hand and you weregrateful for his gesture. Your body was trembling with anxiety and you weresure you would fall down the stairs.

There was a crowd in front of your mansion, or more like theruins of your mansion that was being rebuilt even at that moment. The peoplecheered and waved, your brother in his usual noble role answered them with awave and you knew you should follow his example but you couldn’t find it in yourself.There was a gorgeous white car waiting for you at the entrance and you wereglad to get in it as soon as the driver opened the door for you.

“Give me your hand.” Your brother said as he sat next to you.“You should be happy today, not a ball of nerves.”

You gave him your shacking hand but didn’t answer. The peopleoutside were cheering and you found all that ironic.

That whole wedding was a political play and you knew it.Even if part of you was happy that Gladio would be the one standing next toyou, you couldn’t get it out of your head. What if he didn’t want it? What ifit all was going to turn to ashes, same as the world you used to live in? Butthe King needed to make the kingdom stronger and that was one step of many hewas undertaking. Of course, there were the people as well. All these poor soulsgathered down the streets now, enjoying the wedding. The coronation made everyonehappy and gave them hope, but after the coronation there were only bad news. Rebuilding,food supplies, security…the reason this wedding had turned into such a big dealwasn’t just the political implications, but also to bring hope. People likedcelebration and needed distraction from what was around them. They needed tosee that life was slowly going back to normal hence that wedding had turnedinto such a big thing, it looked like a royal wedding without actually being aroyal wedding.

The car stopped at the citadel and you took a deep breath. Withany luck you wouldn’t trip going up the stairs. The driver opened your door,but you waited for your brother to go around the car and offer you his hand. Assoon as you came out of the vehicle, people started cheering louder. At leastthat was working. At least they were happy and one of the purposes of thatwedding seemed to be fulfilled. You looked up at the Citadel still amazed howbig that place was. Slowly you went up the stairs, they seemed endless, andpart of you hoped they were endless.

The citadel was decorated in silver and blue, flowers wereplaced in the hallways. The ceremony was going to be in the throne room, whereall the people of importance were gathered.

“You will be fine.” Your brother told you before both of youwalked into the throne room.

You were so stressed you could barely see anyone around.There were familiar faces among the guests but you didn’t recognize anyone.Your eyes were fixed at the other end of the room, where the king was patientlywaiting to start the ceremony. Gladio was standing with his back towards you,as the tradition dictated. He wasn’t allowed to look at the bride until she wasat the altar. Prompto and Ignis were standing next to him as his best men, bothdressed in their uniforms. As you walked slowly toward the king and yourhusband-to-be you saw Prompto leaning toward Gladio and whispering something inhis ear. The dark-haired man almost turned around but his friend stopped him.

One more step and you were there, at the very front. Yourbrother gave your hand to Gladio and stepped back. You could feel your heartpounding in your chest. The king was just in front of you, giving you the warmestsmile you had ever seen in your life. Slowly you turned your head toward Gladio.He was staring at you. As soon as your eyes met his, he gave you a charmingsmile. Like his friends he was dressedin his uniform which you had to admit made him look extremely handsome. Lookingat him, took some of your stress away, after all he was your biggest crush and underthe layers of anxiety and concerns there was happiness.

“You are so beautiful…” he whispered and his eyes were stillfixed on yours.

“Told ya!” Prompto smiled behind Gladio’s back.

Everything that happen afterwards felt like a dream that youwere just watching but not actively participating. The King started with theceremony but all you could focus on was Gladio’s eyes. The more you looked athim, the calmer you felt, the initial stress and anxiety was still there butyou felt more in control of them. Even if all the voices and sound came asdistant background, you still managed to say ‘I do’ when you had to, no ideahow your brain managed to switch back to the real world in the right moment. Ignispassed the ring to Gladio and he gently put it on your finger. Iris passed youthe other ring and you put it on his finger, his hands were so much bigger thanyours.

“You may kiss the bride.” The king finally said with a widesmile.

You could see Prompto pulling out his camera, but in thatsame very moment two strong fingers lifted your chin and Gladio’s lips pressedagainst yours. You could hear the people in the room cheering and clapping, butall you could think about was Gladio’s lips and how warm they felt againstyours. He slowly pulled away from you, his eyes pinned on yours.

“Come on!” He chuckled and before you realize he wascarrying you in his arms out of the throne room down the hallway. He walkedoutside and let you step on the ground in front of the crowd. The people werewaiting to see you, shouting loudly and clapping. The King and everyonefollowed you, the crowd getting louder as they saw Noctis. He was loved andcertainly officiating the wedding of one of his best friends had malted someheart today.

After all that was time for the feast another nerve wreckingevent in your books. The king was generous enough to provide one of the largerballrooms for the event and it looked magnificent. Decoration, flowers, all theguests with their beautiful attires. Gladio and you walked into the room,everyone congratulating you. The band started playing which was an invitationfor your first dance as husband and wife.

You admired how natural and calm Gladio was through thewhole process. You were a ball of nerves, while he skillfully grabbed yourhand, placed his other hand on your waist and led you to the dancefloor.

“You really look amazing.” He said as you were following hislead on the dancefloor. “I always thought you were beautiful, but I was leftspeechless today.”

“Thank you…” you could feel your face turning red because ofhis words.

“You need to relax. I won’t bite you. Unless you want me to.”He gave you one of his charming smiles and by the Astralas you were lucky hewas holding you otherwise you might have fallen right there in the middle ofthe ballroom.

The rest of the event went as expected. People congratulatingyou, eating and dancing. You barely ate any of the food, later you wouldn’teven be able to recall what the food was. You danced with your brother, theking, Prompto, Ignis and several times with Gladio who was having a lot of fun.You were enjoying the event as well, but your heart was still beating too fastand the anxiety wasn’t completely gone. It all seemed surreal, a ball in themiddle of a world that has just been destroyed but not rebuilt.

At the end of the evening you and Gladio ended up alone inhis bedroom. It has been a long day and yet due to the high adrenalin you didn’tfeel tired.

“Finally, alone.” Gladio groaned as he took his jacket offand threw it on one of the chairs. “Come sit with me.” He grabbed your hand inhis and sat on the edge of the bed. Just getting close to the bed made yourheart beat fast again. Nevertheless, you followed him and sat next to him.

“We need to talk.” He was still holding your hand. “I knowthat is probably not what you have always dreamt of and I know that arrangedmarriages suck, but I promise you, I will do everything I can to make that workfor you.”

“Well…” thoughts were running like crazy in your head and itwas hard to focus on what you wanted to say without sounding like absoluteidiot. “I have always had a big crush on you…I never thought I would getmarried, see myself in a wedding dress…not talking about marry you, just ingeneral to anyone. But part of me is happy it is you.”

“Part of you? What about the other part?” he reached for yourchin and lifted your face up making sure you were looking him in the eyes.

“I’m scared. Eight months ago, we barely had running water.Six months ago, I was back to my own home and my own bed, but neither of themfelt familiar. The world is back to normal but it isn’t. The buildings arebeing rebuilt, but there is so much. You walk down the streets and you seepeople trying to survive. There are no demons but that doesn’t mean everythingis fine. And here I am. Serving a purpose to force restart the world.” You triedto look away but his fingers were still on your chin preventing you to moveyour head.

“When we, the council, decided to do that, I might haveasked your brother for your hand. There were few options which were going tobring us the political stability we need so badly, I choose you. But I insistedon him asking you and you agreeing.” You didn’t know Gladio had asked for you,but it was true. Your brother had presented to you the political situation andhad asked you if you would agree. You could have sad no, but you didn’t. “Ihave always had crush on you.” He continued. “I jus never acted because I havebeen so busy with working with Iggy and Prom, preparing the kingdom for Noct, Ididn’t want to give you hope where there might have been none. But I am happyit is you.” He leaned forward his lips gently kissing yours.

“I’m glad it is you.” You finally managed to say as his lipsparted with yours.

You both stood in silence for a bit, your eyes traveled tothe bed.

“You don’t have to do that if you are not comfortable.” Gladiosaid, as if sensing where your thoughts were lingering.

“No, I want to. I have been wanting you for some time nowjust…”

“…just it was never the right moment.” He finished the sentenceand got up. “Come.” He helped you up and you found yourself in his arms. “If you want me to stop, just say so and Iwill.”

You didn’t say anything just nodded in agreement and Gladiosmiled back. You were suddenly aware how small were you next to him. Your facewas barely reaching to his chest and his frame was so much bigger compared toyours. You carefully reached for his face, your fingers caressing his roughskin. Slowly you moved your hand further done to the collar of his shirt andclumsily you started undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Relax. That’s supposed to be good, not forced.” He leanedforward and whispered in your ear. His hands went over yours and helped you workon the rest of the buttons. As he pulled his shirt off, you couldn’t helpyourself but stare. His chest and arms were all strong defined muscles, and itwasn’t all just for show, you knew there was strength under his skin. You couldfeel pleasant heat between your legs and all you wanted right now is pull himon top of you on that bed to feel his body against yours. “Turn around.” Gladiotold you and you felt a bit disappointed he was taking that sight away from you,but you followed is request. You couldn’t see what he was doing but you couldfeel it. He leaned forward, his lips gently kissing your exposed neck. Hecontinued kissing down your neck and your shoulders while his fingers traced yourspine and reached for the strings of your dress. You were surprised how nimblehis large hands were while undoing the strings of your dress. His kisses werecontinuing now down your back, where your dress used to be. You felt himkneeling behind you, his hands pulling the dress all the way down, his lipskissing your lower back. Gladio stopped there, his placed his rough hands onyour waist and turned you around, he was still kneeling, and even if his facewas reaching to your stomach he still looked so much bigger than you were.

“Wouldn’t have waited all day to take that dress off if Iknew what was under it.” He chuckled and placed hungry kiss on your tummy. Yourheart was beating too fast but this time it wasn’t anxiety or stress, but excitement.You wanted him more than anything and you wanted him take off the white bra andlace panties off of you and throw you on the bed. “You are so beautiful.” His handsreached for the clasp of your bra and made short work of it. His mouth howeverwas kissing down your tummy until it reached your panties. His hands moved toyour hips and gently pushed you to sit on the bed. “You need to lie down forthat to work better.” He said giving you one of his typical smiles. You didn’teven need to think about what he said. Your body relaxed down on the softmattress while Gladio was pulling your panties very slowly, his lips kissingthe newly exposed skin. Short moment later you were completely naked andexposed in front of him but surprisingly that didn’t bother you as much as youthought it might.

“You are so wet…” he groaned as he ran a finger between yourfolds which made you shiver with pleasure. “I love that.” That was the lastthing he said before pushing a finger gently in you and running his tongue overyour clit. You moaned in pleasure, your body arching toward his. His tongue wasrunning all over your most sensitive spot when he added second finger in youmaking you dig your fingers in his hair. You moaned louder as you could feelyourself getting close, his lips and fingers pushing you so gently towards theedge. You muttered his name as your body shook in pleasure, Gladio stillkeeping his mouth between your legs allowing your orgasm to pass. When youfinally calmed down he kissed his way up to you, pulling you up gently so yourwhole body could be on the bed. He grabbed your breasts firmly in his hands,one of his hands pinching on your nipple still too sensitive from your orgasm.The other nipple he took in his mouth, sucking on it and playing with it withhis tongue. You could feel yourself getting excited again, wanting more of him,not just his fingers and tongue regardless how could they felt. You reachedbetween the two of you undoing his pants and reaching inside to feel him. Aloud gasp came out of your lips as you felt his size in your hand. You startedstroking him slowly feeling the wetness from precum on his underwear, but youcouldn’t stop thinking how big he felt under your fingers.

Gladio moved all the way up, his eyes were now on the samelevel as yours. He kissed you passionately his tongue exploring your mouth ashe pulled his pants and boxers down. You opened your legs further, partially toshow him you wanted him in you, but also trying to avoid any discomfort thatmight follow. Your arms ran down his back feeling tight muscles under your fingers,your breasts pressing hard against his strong chest.

“Just relax” Gladio whispered in your ear and slowly pushedin you. For your surprised it wasn’t painful. He was going slowly, allowing youto get used to him and looking in your eyes for any signs of discomfort. Oncehe was all the way in he stopped.

“I want you to know that I’m yours, in every way you’ll haveme. Always.” He said before crushing his mouth against yours. You couldn’trespond your tongue was tangled with his and moans of pleasure were muffed byhis lips as he started moving in and out of your heat. Your legs were wrappedaround his wanting to feel as much of his as possible, your fingers ran throughhis hair.

You had no idea how much time you spent like that, betweentouches and kisses, you could feel yourself coming close again. As if readingyour mind, he reached with between your legs running his fingers on your clit.

“Gladio…” you couldn’t finish that as you your orgasm cameviolently through you making your body tighten around him. He groaned, comingright after you and relax his body on top of yours.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to crush you.” He almost mumbledthat as he rolled over, but pulled you close to him, his arms wrapped aroundyou. “I think we can make that work.”

You both laughed.

#gladiolus amicitia #gladio #gladio x reader #gladio x fem!reader #final fantasy xv

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