#i want to decorate the tree with the harbingers!! i want them to help me put the star on top!

[fatuismooches]

I BRING FOR THEE SOME JOLLYFULL DOTTORE FLUFF....

I wish I could celebrate christmas with Dottore and his segments ommmggg.... IMAGINE all of the segments fighting to have their gift to you opened first 💀💀 full on brawls (while theyre all fighting Zandy comes up to reader and gives them his present LOL sneaky mf)

OG Dottore using the pufflings as ornaments for the christmas tree 💀 reader is NOT amused. All the segments eyeing their presents from reader and having to hold themselves back from pouncing on the wrapped gift. augugushisohobskbbkds

Reader getting them all the dottores theur own personalized gifts, each one unique and they're all so happy and yippeful!!!! 😭

(side note I cannot wait for winter break omg.....) - 🐓

AHH YES!! HOLIDAY SHENANIGANS WITH DOTTORE AND THE SEGMENTS!! <3 Ah you would have to be the one to convince him to do all this stuff... honestly, he considers the holiday spirit and traditions rather a waste of time and doesn't see the point, but, you look so happy and excited! And you've gotten little Zandy on your side too, telling him all the stories and sweet things people do on Christmas. So now he has two gremlins begging him for just a little bit, the tiniest touch of Christmas decoration. Fine.

Admittedly, gift-giving is not one of the segments' strong points, their idea of gifts is rather... well, very Dottore-like, if you know what I mean. But, you still treasure anything they give you, so they don't have that much of a problem! (Though you probably shouldn't answer their question if they ask you what you want. Because then you'll end up with like a dozen different copies of the same gift.) Also, they're very competitive when it comes to this. It's like a battle to see whose gift you liked the best, so please try to love all of them equally because you don't want to deal with an overly gloating segment. (Bb Zandy definitely does that!! Clever little boy taking advantage of the chaos to give his favorite person their gift! Ahh he probably did something handmade like a storybook for you and was worried that it wouldn't be as good since it has no monetary value but, you reassured him you love it dearly.)

NOOOO Prime being mean to the Puffttores as usual!! He picks the lil guys up by that strand of blue hair and hooks them to the tree... and watches as they miserably fail to get free... you immediately unhook the poor babies. If you think about it, your gift is probably like, the first gift they've ever received before. So they are ANTSY about what possibly it could be. One segment was caught trying to open his gift and you gave him a swift scolding. (AHH the image of you carefully wrapping all of their gifts and adding their name tag to each is sooo!!)

Mistletoe traps are a must as well. The minute you jokingly tell them about the tradition of kissing under it, suddenly they are placed in the most random areas of the usually grim lab. You brought this upon yourself.

You also bake some different sweets for them on Christmas morning as well! You leave the trays to cool for a few minutes but when you come back, everything is already gone. Sigh.

[thescribeoflostmemories]

Secret Santa

Yan(?)! Capitano x wife! Reader

(Yes, it's the huntress reader)

Warning: Unhealthy relationship, Lemon Pudding, black-mailing(?), smexy time, inaccurate depictions of drunken-ness, some fluff and crackers. Mild yandere

lil summary: Waifu tried to get away from hubby but ended up bonding a bit with the help of someone during the festivals.

ps. I was in a hurry to make this before the month ends, hopefully next xmas would be me completing the other harbingers (probably)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You have no idea how you got pulled into this, one moment you were fraying your husband for cuddling you in bed (Well actually, you were the one who’s cuddling him) the next you were told by one of the sermon goers named Sister Pangita to aid in carolling for the unfortunate. You tried to deny the invitation (forcefully) but you relent, since it’s not always how you get to enjoy the winter holidays. Even if you get to see your arrogant husband to whom you will gladly ignore the whole night too.

“ So you’re telling us we could get injured?”

“Yep, which is why I asked some soldiers and agents to help us with getting the presents to the recipients.” Sister Pangita says with a wide smile, her curly dark hair tucked under her nun cap.

“Uhm, Sister Pangita?” Raising your hand to catch her attention, her gaze fixated to you , making you shiver in the cold. Even with only one eye, the anxiety you felt never ceased.

“Mm, yes, miss?” Gesturing you to speak up.

“What if someone is in critical condition once engaged?”

“Do not worry, you are free from your burdens if you just hand the presents and list to the next worker.” She speaks as if it were no big deal. But it is concerning to you that there are some people in the group who don't seem to know how to fight.

“Though, it is why we picked a select few like you who are capable of fighting these thieves. After our caroling, I have the soldiers and agents scatter for you to join and aid you in your quest to complete the ending year.” Sister clapped her hands, a smile on her face formed on her sickly image.

You tried, keyword here tried to match their voice, though you end up with a sore one with how much you tried to control your voice with a falsetto. People kept looking at you weird and wondering if you should even be here. 

Sister Pangita had handed you a sack of presents and a list of names who had been good this year. With a sigh you put the list in the pocket of your dress. Your bow and arrows on your back. 

Your husband insisted you wear these embarrassing clothes, your back is exposed to the elements. On your back is a big green bow that holds the dress in a tight fit, green gloves keep your hands nice and warm.

Feet trekked on the snow that did little to no hindrance to your journey. This quest proved to be difficult due to how your monstrous spouse had sheltered you away and did not let you out unless he came with you.

Not noticing a person blocking your way. Your voice got soft from suddenly feeling the coldness on your face. “Oh I beg your-” You look up and see the hulking figure of your husband in armor, his white coat replaced with a red one, outside is decorated like a festive tree…

Silence before closing your eyes and make a U-turn, shouting “Sister Pangita! Sister Pangita! Where are you?! I got a sprained ankle!” Your fast paced walking turned into running to make Capitano lose sight of you. You quickly want to be relieved of your burden of being the festive gift giver.

“Dove!” He called out, the clanks of metal footsteps can be heard growing closer.

“Fuck off!” Cursing at him, not minding if you received stares from other people since they knew you loathe him. The soft clinks of your shoes sound against the pavement, the snow here has already been cleared of.

With a sharp turn you hid between houses. Capitano going past you. And saw a small group of children, “Oh, children!” You called out to them, and they turned to you.

“Yes, miss?” One little boy with long black hair and blue eyes stared brightly at you.

“I think, I saw Mr. Santa over there.” You pointed at Capitano who was asking a person over there if they saw you.

“You did?!” Their eyes lit up and went over to see Capitano, making you chortle a bit and ran off with the sack of your own gifts to bestow to children.

“DOVE!” Enraged roar can be heard in the distance as hurried feet nearly give away your location by leaving footprints.

Soon when you think the chase is over, you are ambushed by the ‘thieves’ that wanted the gifts. Cryo slimes and based creatures partnered with a few people to command them.

“Aren’t you a little old to be expecting gifts!” It wasn’t a question as you drew the bow and aimed it at the creatures to electrocute them.

"Why! Don't! You! Relax! It's a holiday! " Each phrase you released arrows at them, not noticing another one sneaking up at you. Ready to strike, yet it never made an impact on your vulnerable backside. 

The opponent tossed aside as if a rag doll. “Your methods of capturing my attention are perplexing, Dove.” A familiar tone of arrogance called out, or so you think of it as such. 

“And I was hoping to have a nice relaxing evening with just the two of us and not to be accosted, by children!” Ironically, with his heavy armor, he managed to take down half of the enemies matching your speed. 

“I would have enjoyed the event! If you haven’t!” You gave out a few more arrows covering his blind spots while he charged at the ones behind you. “Joined in!”

“Seems they all left.” Indeed, It wasn’t until long after the others had realized going after you is not worth it. The others seemed to have fled and carried away their fallen allies.

A puff of warm breath escaped your lips, pushing back your hair. " The fuck are you staring for?” You had noticed him staring at your back side for a bit there. 

“Nothing, find it quite odd you haven’t run off again.” he replied simply. Making you turn to him, weapons tucked away securely to your back.

"Fuck you." You grumbled. Hand going through your hair again and scratching an itch.

"Sorry but you aren’t in the list." With how on edge you are, you are easily annoyed and replied hastily with.

"Like hell I would have my time spent with you in bed" Stomping off without him again, this time you dragged your small sack of presents… Of course Capitano easily found you and you got lost on the way there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving at the house of one of your recipients, Capitano seemed to be baffled at the notion of going inside. “A chimney, can’t we just put it by the door?” He says looking at you struggling to get up the house, thankfully there’s no fire.

“No can do Capybara, if we just leave it outside then the thieves can just snatch it right up.- Woah!” Capitano was about to catch you but you held your grip on the roof more. You rather fall than get caught by him.

“Be careful.” He says.

“Pipe it, tin can. I know what I’m doing.” You grunt, it’s a wonder why he hasn’t gotten rid of you yet. If you were in his shoes you wouldn’t tolerate the unhealthy relationship. For all you know he has a thing for spouses nagging his ear off or saying terrible things about him. 

While you’re busy climbing up and getting on the chimney, Capitano is actually enjoying the view of that upskirt. Though too bad you climbed too quickly.

Your problem with leaving the gift isn't much to think about since it was late at night. But a rather nice child had left you a note and left some snacks for you, and no cookies were spared on that plate.

Once you got out of the house, you safely got back to the roof. Swinging your arms in preparation to jump down, a bird flew by surprising you and causing you to fall down to his arms. “Told you to be careful, dove.” He laughed using his free hand to rub off the crumb off your lip, you blushed. That earned a smack on his shoulder for that, it wasn’t that hard compared to the previous smacks you had given him.

And so, both of you went to the next recipients to break in through the chimney or lock picked just to drop the gifts off… At this point you were tired. You went ahead of your husband and met a familiar man by the guest room.

“Yo, lil’ firecracker~” He waved at you with a bottle of booze in hand, and how could you say no to an old friend…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your husband wanted to check on you since you looked pretty much tired from caroling and the events of earlier. His thoughts were disturbed by a familiar chuckle from the guest room. Just as he was about to enter, Simeon came out with a bag in hand. Annoyed that this pest just waltz in the house without him being notified. He had to fire who let him in.

" Hey, relax, this happens all the time. But thanks pal, I managed to get in contact with Miss Sandrone!" How optimistic, typical. Leaning his arm on the general’s.

" Bah, don't look so sour bro. " Simeon hiccupped, but he looked off, a heavy scent of booze wafted through his breath. 

"Got you a lil' gift, heard you were complaining about a few things and she wanted some fun… So why not loosen up" he passes the brown bag to the general.

“A lil something- something, a friend of mine made it. Though use it sparingly~" Before Capitano could say anything, Simeon already left, still waddling away from his vision.

Capitano can handle him next time since his main priority is with you, his wife. Once he enters, the armor wearing man is greeted by a surprise. You drunk off your mind, your arms embracing him.

“Dove, you’re drunk. You need some rest.” patting your shoulders, but you didn’t shrug it off unlike the first time he did it.

“I know… It’s just too cold on the bed.” Rubbing your head against him, you aren’t even watching where your hands are going. Trailing on his chest, he pulled back. 

“You should take a bath, I’ll have one of the maids draw you one-” He looked back at you, seeing how you held on to him again so tightly.

"I…  love you~" Your voice muffled against him, his hand on the handle was let go.

“You’re on dangerous grounds, _____.” You heard him but in response you just pulled him to the bed. And you said something you shouldn’t have. But who was he to deny his wife some affections?

That night he's been smothered with kisses and body coated in hickies. You might even see traces of your lipstick on his neck and face if he doesn't cover it up with his armor.

And in the morning, you wouldn’t want to get out of bed until late in the afternoon. It was a good thing that Capitano went away as soon as he woke up early and had you dressed so you wouldn’t find out, if you did he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Can you stop staring? It’s giving me the creeps…” Your face scrunched up in discomfort as you ate some soup. The warmth of the broth eases your pain as your husband just coughs.

“Sorry.”

Dessert time 🍮 warning!

The memory of you between his legs and forcing him open remained in his mind for a good while.  " Mmm… " From within the room, he could hear how hard you're sucking him. He most likely didn't expect to get this sort of gift instead.

Head between his legs, your hands kept him there. You could feel the grip he has on your scalp making you deep throat his entire length into you.

With a loud wet pop, you catch your breath. The large shaft of your husband rests on your head, warm breath fans on him. He couldn't get enough seeing that cute face looking up at him, worshiping him, teasing the red head.

"Chu." You playfully kissed his tip, making him groan softly, rubbing him still, coating his whole member in spit preparing him for the next hole to enter.

He remembered how quickly you tried to strip yourself, ended up getting his help to undo the dress. Everything felt so fuzzy. All you could feel is your apparel never felt so irritating to wear at the moment which was gone in a flash.

"Yes!" You cried, tears fell from your face as your legs holds him closer when he gave one last thrust.

[my-white-canvas]

A song for me to sing

After years of the ever falling snow that had frozen the hearts of many, does one wish to help them know they can move on

Fem!reader

"Dear... The love I have for you... No no no no, that doesn't sound right"

"Is anything wrong your grace?"

"No, nothing, just a client, I've been rethinking their letter for some time now and I still can't get it right"

"Are they looking for anything in particular?"

"Not really, they said something for their lover to know about how much their love is, but I think it's a little cliché so I'm trying to deliver it in a different way"

"And what may that be? Your grace"

"Something to make all women empathize, and make a man's heart yearn"

~~~Present

A mysterious songstress has debuted recently where their songs are made from lost tales of the nation they are currently residing in, which leads many scholars and historians to hoard a chance to see their show.

The fair lady caught wind of this but showed no interest, that is until a letter from the mysterious songstress was delivered to her; why would a songstress want to meet with her? Nevertheless, she was lenient enough to consider this anonymous singer.

The location given to her was hard to reach but even so, it was manageable to get to. There past the withered trees was a woodland of frozen droplets hanging from the cold vines and in the middle of it was a pavilion decorated with silver and crystals shaped in different kinds of flowers.

However, they were all ignored by the fair lady who wanted to get this over with. The harbinger and her subordinates entered the pavilion where they saw the sender of the letter, the unknown songstress who skyrocketed in just a few weeks. You, peacefully stirring a warm cup of tea as your gaze turns to them

You rose from your seat and gestured to them the remaining seats are for them but it was only the fair last that proceeded to sit down "we'll you could sit down on the swings if you'd like" but they didn't even look at your way "very well"

Your look then went back to your arrogant-looking visitor "well it is a pleasure to finally meet you miss Rozalyne" this piqued her interest, no one in the public should have known that name she no longer entertains "it's nice to meet you as well, but who are you exactly?"

Silence filled the air for a moment "you sent me this letter and didn't bother putting your name, not even a pen name" she muses with a mocking tone; waiting for a reaction her brow was raised but all you did was giggle while covering your mouth

"So that is what you were concerned about, I apologise for not introducing myself sooner but that can wait, I have something to talk to you about" the sound of your voice softens. A bell rings and a maid arrives with a cart with pastries and drinks which she places on the table.

"What do you want? Not only do you invite me to a secluded area you also disclose your name to me, make it quick" her voice annoyed, but you also sigh and hand her a paper envelope "here, the reason why I wanted to meet with you"

She opened the envelope and revealed two letters "you sent me a letter to give me a letter?" Her expression was out of patience but kept her composure "well... Yes, but what I wanted to talk to you about was the sender, you should read it first before we go on, best read the one on your left first"

Her eye turned to the letter on her left and started to read it

To my beloved Rosalyne:

I hired a scribe to write this letter on my dying breath, I'm sorry for never having to see you one more time, I'm sorry for having to leave you, I'm sorry if my actions and death have caused you great tragedy, but promise me that you will live the rest of your life without ever worrying about me, that you will keep smiling without any worries, and you will live the rest of your life with happiness. Don't worry it is alright to cry and be sad, I can understand what you might feel in the future but just remember that it will end eventually.

I know my death will leave a mark on you but one day we will see each other again, not soon but that day might come and I will be there. Our love will be always

Sincerely: Rostam

P.S:

Please be a little nice to the scribe, she left her machine for writing because the area's a little hard to get to, she started pressing buttons in the air to memorise what I rambled about. Is she really gonna put that in?

Her tears fell as her face slowly broke and held the letter close to her chest and leaving her heart shattered, you tried to comfort her but the fatuus in the corner were whispering under their breath until one of your maids escorted them out.

Her head rose once more as the second letter was laying on the table, her hand took the letter and read it's message.

There it was, everything she felt the day when she was told her love had passed, put into words on this sheet of paper "Did you... write this?" Her voice cracked from the crying

A warm smile was shown on your face as you reminisce about the time with your last client "Yes, I did. He asked me since I had met many people who may also have experienced hardships of this time, especially the loss of someone dear to them; to put them into words and help people with hearts frozen from such a tragedy be thawed and move on"

"I see..." The fair lady's breath hitched as her tears wouldn't stop, you lent her your handkerchief to wipe her weeping face but you had no other way of knowing how to comfort her so you patted her on the back awkwardly

"... But how were you there? That happened over 500 years ago, how are you still here"

"... I- Well- you see-... I can't lie my way out of this one" you shy away from embarrassment.

~~~~~

The stage was set for the next performance and backstage you and Rosalyne practised the tune of a specific note "I can't believe I agreed to this" regret was only shown on her face "hehe, I thought you'd like to sing this piece" you mused.

You both were called to the stage "well, can't turn back now" she sighed and you both left for the stage but as you both were about to enter a familiar face was in the crowd "why is the Tsaritsa in here?!".

You peeked to see what she was worried about and you too withered in fear, your parent was there, and you rubbed your eyes to see if it was true but they were still there "so... Is it too late to cancel the show?" "Do you think we can switch roles with the other cast"

It was only a few minutes till then so no chance to switch roles, so you both just accepted you fate.

You ditched the concert to Signora and hid where she was forced to keep the event going. Taking a deep breath and an aria of sound was echoing the halls

The melody was vibrant and filled with expression, many had lost their loved ones in the Fatui as they sacrificed their lives for their missions and the harbingers, and at least one of them was able to understand.

Signora ended with a special meeting with the tsaritsa and flipped you along the way, you giggled along the way where your parent was binding behind you

@chocoenvy @lotterymology

Posted this during school LoL

[portal-of-shadows]

Chapter 1 - A Peaceful Life in Verdara

Translated words for this chapter

Draconic (drah-KON-ik) - Language spoken by dragons

Averalas (ah-veh-rah-lahs) - My love / My dear

Adraen (ah-dray-en) - Father

As the radiant sun broke the horizon in Verdara golden rays heralded the dawn. The small house, nestled in the heart of a tall mahogany tree, basked in the gentle morning light. Phillip, a man of mature years with a rugged charm, roused from his peaceful slumber in his cozy, rustic-themed bedroom. Verdara was a world where magic wove seamlessly with the mundane, and Phillip had called it home for many years. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his tranquil awakening was abruptly interrupted by the presence of a familiar troublemaker.

"Orion, not again!" Phillip's exasperation was evident as his mischievous son, Orion, dashed out of the room. Orion's insatiable curiosity often led him into scrapes, but Phillip couldn't help but adore his adventurous child. With a sigh, Phillip swung his legs over the side of the bed and embarked on the morning ritual as familiar as the rising sun. He dressed in his well-worn attire, his favorite hat finding its place atop his head, and as he did, he watched the small blue crystal clipped to it sway before eventually coming to a standstill. Before leaving the room, he paused to gaze at a photograph hanging on the wall. The image captured a happier time, featuring Phillip, his late wife, and their son William in a moment of unbridled joy.

Descending the creaky stairs to the cozy kitchen, Phillip found William and Seraphina, his beloved granddaughter, seated at the worn wooden table, partaking in a simple breakfast. Orion, the source of endless entertainment, flitted around the room, foam sword clutched in his hand, and a makeshift crown perched jauntily atop his unruly hair.

Phillip joined them, a warm smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he settled into a chair. "What plans do you have for this fine day, my dear ones?" he inquired. William, the embodiment of responsibility, set down his breakfast and responded. "I’m going to work on a song using the draconic language so Seraphina can understand it. So, you'll have to keep an eye on this rascal," he said, nodding towards Orion, who had now transformed the tabletop into a grand battlefield.

Phillip chuckled, extending a loving hand to tousle Seraphina's hair. "What about you, averalas?" Seraphina's eyes sparkled with boundless enthusiasm. "I want to work on my garden, I have a new plant that adraen gave me” Phillip's heart swelled with pride and affection for his family. "Then it's settled. Today, I shall go on an adventure of my own," he declared.

Hours later, clad in the attire of an intrepid explorer, Phillip stood poised at the precipice overlooking the vast expanse of Verdara's majestic forest. He inhaled deeply and stepped off the edge, allowing himself to free-fall toward the lush canopy below. Just before he could make contact with the verdant tree cover, his raven wings unfurled with a graceful, awe-inspiring flourish, and he soared into the open sky, carried aloft by the gentle caress of the wind.

As he glided effortlessly through the sky, Phillip felt an overwhelming sense of freedom and exhilaration. The world of Verdara sprawled beneath him, an intricate tapestry of lush landscapes and enigmatic secrets. Eventually, Phillip descended back to the heavily wooded area where he had earlier encountered Orion and Seraphina.  Here, amid the ancient trees and the dappled sunlight, he stumbled upon a mysterious structure that seemed entirely out of place in the natural world. In the middle of the woods, a structure stands, black stone, decorated with red swirls and glyphs.

Intrigued and captivated by the enigma before him, Phillip sat on the forest floor and began to study the structure in earnest, taking meticulous notes and capturing detailed photographs. It was a symbol of the unknown, a harbinger of the adventures and mysteries that lay in wait for him in the depths of Verdara.

With the sun casting long, wistful shadows as it commenced its gradual descent, Phillip recognized that it was time to return home. He soared back towards his welcoming abode, eager to share his newfound discoveries with his sons and granddaughter. Unbeknownst to him, this would mark merely the first in a series of journeys, each one leading him further into the heart of Verdara's secrets and revealing the undeniable connection between the world's mysteries and his own destiny.

As he set foot into the garden, Phillip watched as his youngest son and grand-daughter ran towards him with William following behind slowly. The two young children started to ask many questions about Phillip’s adventures which Phillip gave small responses to before nodding towards William. “Come on you two, it’s time for bed,” William stated, before walking back into the dimly lit interior. “If you two can beat me to the bedroom, I will tell you a story,” Phillip says playfully, watching as the children’s eyes go wide before they start to run towards their shared bedroom.

Chuckling to himself, Phillip walked into the living room where William sat with pencil in hand, looking over his music sheets. The brunette looks up at the blond with a smile, “Will you also tell me a story?” he asks playfully before getting a gentle slap on his shoulder. “No, but you should go to bed here soon William,” Phillip stated before walking towards the children’s bedroom. As he opened the door to the bedroom, he saw Orion and Seraphina slightly bouncing in their beds. They watched with wide eyes as Phillip sat in the cushioned chair between their beds.

As they snuggled under their warm blankets, their eyes shimmered with anticipation. "Grandpa," Seraphina began with a hopeful grin, "Can you tell us the story of how you found us?" Orion nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Yeah! Please tell us." Phillip, with his gentle smile and eyes that held the wisdom of years gone by, nodded knowingly. "Of course, my dears," he said, his voice soft and comforting. "A long, long time ago, I was exploring a forest with uncle Igris very close to the house." Orion and Seraphina exchanged eager glances, completely enraptured by their grandfather's words. "One autumn evening, as the leaves began to fall and the air grew chilly, we decided to take a stroll deeper into the woods than the both of us had ventured before," Phillip continued. "We both had heard rumors about a dragon that lived very deep inside the forest and wanted to see if those rumors were true."

The children listened with bated breath as Phillip's voice carried them into the heart of the story. "We walked for hours, guided only by the dim glow of the moon and the rustling of leaves. Then, deep within the forest, the both of us discovered an opening in the forest," he recounted, his eyes distant as he recalled the magical moment. "That’s where we both first saw Seraphina, with her small iridescence wings and eyes glistening with innocence." The small girl gasped, as Orion’s eyes went wide as he listened intently.

Phillip's voice grew even softer as he continued, "I reached out my hand to her and asked if she wanted to come home with me as Igris stayed behind, and she agreed. William was confused at first but as days went by, he slowly warmed up to her through music and asked if he could be her father.” Tears glistened in the corners of Phillip's eyes as he remembered that fateful night.  Orion and Seraphina reached out and hugged their beloved guardian tightly, grateful for the love and care he had given them all their lives.

As they settled back in their beds, Phillip continued. “Then, a few days after William adopted Seraphina, I went back into the forest and walked a bit further from the opening, because Igris told me that he heard something the last time we were here. As I was walking a snapping of a twig was heard, making me stop in my tracks.” Orion giggled as Phillip continued, “As I walked closer to the noise, a small child, with the same shimmering scales on their wings, was standing in front of me.” The children’s eyes started to fall, and Phillip noticed in a second. “I named the child Orion, and adopted him, wanting another child to take care of. One day, I introduced Orion to William, and I knew that Orion was scared and a bit confused as they tried to strike William.” He stopped, looking at the two children in front of him, Seraphina fast asleep. Before Phillip could continue, Orion started with a yawn, “But I didn’t. I saw Seraphina and I knew that I wanted to protect them because she’s so kind and innocent.” Phillip smiled at his son as he fell asleep.

"From that day forward," Phillip concluded in a whisper, his voice filled with warmth, "you two have been the greatest gift of my life. I found you in the heart of the forest, but it was your love that brought light into my world. Goodnight averalas". Slowly standing, Phillip walked closer to their beds before tucking them both in and giving them a kiss on the forehead. Before walking back into the living room, Phillip turned off the light and shut the door, before letting out a sigh. William waited on the sofa, writing down something before standing up and walking towards Phillip. “You need help getting into bed, old man?” William said playfully, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, only for it to be pushed off. “Go to bed Will, and stop calling me old” Phillip started with a laugh as he walked into his bedroom. Closing the door behind him, Phillip got ready for bed before letting sleep consume him for the night.

[cynettic]

Stay with Me pt.3

Summary - You manage to escape from Scaramouche, if only for a moment before you realize there’s no escape. It only takes until you’re sitting back in your regular spot that you know what you need to do.

Pairings - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Suggestive content, mentions of death, swearing, slight gore / blood 

A/N - Its really hard to make this depressing while I’m vibing to Rasputin. Like no joke- I have it on one of the 1 hour playlists :D

Here you’ll find -  pt.1 and pt.2

He’d left a key.

Scaramouche didnt make mistakes, not while he had you captive in the vicinity of his bedroom. He didnt have room for mistakes, not when you were watching his every movement while he was in your line of sight. 

Sure, he mightve killed a person or two in front of you, but those were necessary mistakes. There was a sign on the door, it specified not to enter. You’d understand that, right?

Thats what he thought at least, lulling himself into belief after belief that you’d be there waiting for him every time. That you’d welcome him with open arms, even if there were chains ensnaring your wrists. That you’d accept your fate at his hands and submit yourself to him.

The Balladeer was a fool.

He’d kept you there for too long, and while you searched for an easy way to escape, time sent your head spinning. Into a spiral that begged only for the wind against your face, back laying on dirt with the familiar chirping up birds waking you up in the morning.

You wanted to go outside.

And when push comes to shove, you had to risk a little more to make it happen. Lure him into bed with kisses while your hands unbuttoned his vest. But what he believed to be alluring contacts was just your way of finding the keys hidden in the back pocket of his shorts.

It wasnt hard to find the one to your cuffs while he was asleep, cuddled in your chest with both arms around your waist as if to get you to stay put. You took the key, hiding them back in his clothing and hoping he didnt notice.

He didnt say anything the next day.

You werent going to wait any longer.

“Oh for fucks sake, why won't the goddamn door open?”

The room was left in tatters behind you, a little gift for Scaramouche once he got back. Turns out a pair of chains can smash up a lot of things, and rage can be used as a great source of strength when contained for such a long time.

But you’d done more than throw the blankets around, cut up the drawers and smash open the windows. Because your fists had bled red when you punched through the glass, puncturing your skin. Your knuckles were an ugly red, bruising already.

Ah, Scaramouche deserved a much better gift.

Gruesome as it was, you rubbed your knuckles against the pale walls. Till the blood stopped coming, till there was a nice little message for the boy which you held so dearly to your heart.

‘Balladeer.’

The first time you’d found out about him being a harbinger he’d told you not to call him by that name. You weren’t someone he associated with by work, you were a treasure to him. That’s why you continued to call him as he pleased, although the temptation always arose.

You were no longer his.

Shoving the door with your hand again, palm fiddling with the handle and groaning when it hardly budged. “Stupid,” you grumbled when the knob began to loosen. Backing up, you charged with your shoulder to the door, full force as the momentum broke the hinges. The door fell down with you along with it.

It was expected, you’d been stuck in the room for a long time, and thats considering you’d sat on the ground for decades. Your body was slight numb, muscles sore and unused for so long. 

“You a-arent supposed to leave your room!”

A young man stood in the hallway along with a woman who looked relatively the same age. The two were wearing uniforms, flinching when you stood up from the debris and off the door. “Excuse me?” You asked, voice unnecessarily icy and stern. But you couldnt care less, you were going to get out of this house, damn anyone who stood in your way.

They both continued to shake when you walked towards them, staggering from side to side. The woman stepped up in front of the man, presenting a brave face. “If you leave the mansion, the harbinger will kill us all!”

“Well then I expect you should be on your way then. Actually…” you gestured to the maze of hallways. “You can lead the way.”

“What…?”

Your hand went limp to your side, an exasperated looking momentarily crossing your face before you sighed. “Im not staying trapped in that room, I’m sorry if that ruins your life, but frankly you're not the one stuck in there are you?” You took an extra step just to intimidate them, eyes wide to make the appearance of crazy. “It would be a great help if you showed me where he hid my vision too.”

“We can show you to the door…” The man began, “But the whereabouts of your vision are unknown, he wouldnt tell us something like that.”

A gift bestowed from the gods, a piece to help me thrive with my ambitions and pursue my goals.

Gone.

You really wished you’d taken to clawing out Scaramouche’s face instead, but you’d take what you got. Right now your main priority was getting out of this place, even if it meant leaving a piece of you behind.

“Door.” Your voice was raspy and there was a terrible feeling that crawled up to your throat, but you didnt have time to be emotional. “Show me where the door is… please.”

The conflict in their eyes dissipates by the time they lead you along, mumbling words between themselves. You didnt bother to try eavesdropping, you were so, so tired. You wanted to go home.

Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

It took a few minutes until you were standing in front of a grand door, almost twice the size of you and just as wide. You then began to notice the decorational plants and furniture that filled the empty space, there wasn't an inch of dust. Even though you could tell none of it was used.

“Hurry,” the man warned when you paused. “I dont know when our master is coming back, but if its soon, we’ll all be screwed.”

You couldnt feel your head as you numbly nodded, hand clenching the knob and flinging the set of doors open. “Thank you,” you merely mumbled, taking your first step out of the house in what felt like forever.

The days after that were a blur, the area around Scaramouche’s house were nothing but void. Empty and filled with forests and vast plains. You knew he didnt like people or socializing in general, but to this extent?

Your only option was to run.

Let your feet take you somewhere, anywhere. It was a constant pattern of running and taking breaks, leaning on a tree and gasping in a few breaths before you were again scurrying through the forest. 

And yet you felt better than you’d felt in past months that you’d been stuck with Scaramouche.

Food became any boar you came across, the claws you’d spent so long hiding with Scaramouche coming to unleash a wrath beyond your comprehension. Till the animal was cut to shreds and no meat was left even to eat. You’d slaughtered it, without intention to eat or benefit for it, you’d killed it just to kill.

“I’m sorry,” you’d sobbed into the ground where you’d buried the harmless animal. Forehead pressed into the dirt as you pleaded for forgiveness to whatever archons would accept it. You couldn't even remember what archons you were supposed to pray to. “Forgive me- forgive me…”

But eventually you found your way around to somewhere you knew. Territory of Inazuma where you could find your way back, back home.

Where was home?

You’d been on the run from the vision hunt decree, abandoning your post for the Kitsune Saiguu for such a thing. Even now that you could return without a vision and as no threat under the decree…

You’d sacrificed everything for your vision.

Where were you to go now…?

Rain patted down, the trees providing only a slight cover as stray drops fell into your matted dirty hair. You didnt mind, it hid the tears that slid down your lifeless face, feet taking you into the far meadows of your hometown. Till you plopped down underneath a tree, knees curled to your chest and arms hugging them close. You were crying.

You were home.

____________________

“Awh,” a ginger haired murmured, elbow resting on the cool wood of the tabletop. “Is little Mouchie sad? I heard your kitty cat escaped~”

A death wish, even fatui that idly minded themselves around the bar knew it. Sipping cold drinks and swirling their cups, the soft chatter was nothing but a distraction from the main course of events. That being the smaller Harbinger who sat sulking in his seat, hunched over with a drink in hand. He’d drank far more than what was on the counter, but everytime he finished a glass, he’d smash it on the ground, watching the fragile glass shatter into pieces.

“I dont have a cat,'' was his only response, tone daring Childe to pursue further. To give him a reason to start throwing the glass in his face instead.

And Childe was an idiot when it came to challenging someone.

“No cat?” The rest of the drink in the taller harbinger’s glass was gone when he threw his head back. “Hmmm, I cant think of what else could’ve had you so enraptured in returning home then~!”

Scaramouche didnt respond, uneven bangs shadowing the bags under his eyes. “Stronger,” he said instead, elbow on the counter and hand outstretched for something. When there was no movement from the man managing the wine, the harbinger looked up. “I need something stronger to drink,” he repeated, voice seething.

“Of c-course!”

The glass was nestled in Scaramouche’s palm in no time, fingers curling around the circular form to down it in seconds. The drink merely slid down his throat in one movement, alcohol burning his senses. It didn’t matter, he was numbed by the growing rage inside of him.

Finally, he turned to the ginger haired boy, eyes hazily dancing along the counter till it reached his fingertips. Up his hand and along his arm, till Scaramouche was staring right into Childe’s eyes. “They escaped,” he admitted softly. “But it’s alright, because I sent something that’ll bring them back.”

Childe paused, raising his drink up away from his lips to pose a question. Hesitation danced along his features before he brought the glass back, he’d rather not provoke the shorter male any further. Wasn’t like he could interfere anyway.

____________________

“That… that…” 

It was preposterous, having returned to that same spot for a day or two and heading back to the hometown you’d once lived in. The one Scaramouche had lived in. There shouldn’t have been an issue, you were solely gathering supplies for the sake of it, ambition driving you to travel far far away.

Out of Inazuma.

It was your new beginning, convincing yourself that you didn't need a vision. Finding some sort of purpose before Scaramouche shattered the vision and your life along with it. You’d seen how people had reacted when it had been ingrained in the statue, neutralized and broken. They lost hope, purpose and aspirations for anything new.

It’s not like the Raiden Shogun took my vision.

But you’d taken that fact for granted, expecting some sort of new start without Scaramouche. A victory, getting away from him just for a split second and getting out of Inazuma altogether, you’d never see him again.

Until you got his message.

“How the hell…” You crushed the note until it was just crumbled paper in your hand, slowly leaning on the stone wall. “Piece of shit… what kind of person even…” 

Not only did he manage to find you, but without making his presence known, he’d tugged at your one weakness with an ease that had you down on your knees.

You threw the paper to the ground, deliberate as you stared past the alleyway. Pensive as you considered your options. Damn, what options did you even have? You’d been an idiot to underestimate Scaramouche, he wasn’t a child, you knew that… but archons he seemed like one when he was with you. Shown you a vulnerability he wanted only you to see. But maybe that had been part of his plan all along, until all you believed was his soft demeanor.

He may act like a child, but he’s a harbinger.

You stared down at the crumbled piece of paper in disgust.

Not only that, but he has no regard for human life.

Either way, you’d lived decades more than him. You could face him, you would present yourself to him just as he expected you to. Even when everything in you rejected the idea, sobbed at the thought of returning to that house, those chains. Being locked up and confined only for the purpose of coddling a small boy, a selfish boy, a cruel boy. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’d figure out a way, and this time you wouldn’t rule out the option of his death.

———————

Oh darling Y/n, how have you been?

I hope this letter reaches you rather soon, we both have much to discuss, no? About me, about you, and much more. You see, I’ve taken up quite a distaste to your little friends. Stone statues in Inazuma as small as Kitsunes truly hold no purpose, what will they do, come back to life? Haha, I should think not. I’ve already arranged to have them demolished, who knows what kind of material they might possess. Ah, and of course I’d show you the finishing product, unless you’re willing to come and have a chat with me once more? Under the Sakura tree like we used to, you’ve waited years, I believe you can wait for me?

I hope this letter reaches you in best interests. I’m always looking out for you after all.

Sincerely, your Balladeer

——————

It was raining.

Beautiful weather as you lay sitting there, feet crossed and tucked in the same you’d often do. After all, there was no need to fear the vision hunt decree or the Raiden Shogun. Let them come, let them take care of you before Scaramouche did.

You werent cold, not when the cold drops dampened your clothing, slipping down the length of your spine and drenching your face. Despite having lived in a luxury residency for such a long time, this was where you were most comfortable, enduring whatever the weather had for you, taking it with a smile. Because you were waiting…

The Kitsune Saiguu was a distant memory.

You were waiting for Scaramouche, the young boy that often bound into the field in lengthy strides, childlike wonder in his eyes. The one who’d cried when the other kids pushed him away, the one that just wanted to be praised. You’d held him in your arms, and now, even knowing the results, you wouldnt have done differently.

He was just a boy.

Just a boy when he joined the fatui, looking for praise that he was given. He created chaos and bellowed orders with a cruelty that was highly looked upon. Told that he was doing well, so he continued to do so.

He’s just a boy.

You wished you’d held him in your arms, if not only for a tad longer. Shield him away from the wrongness of the world, if only for one last time.

Banishing away your hatred for him was hard.

But you found it under the tree, rain soon dimming down to a clouded cold breeze that swept through the meadow. You’d hated him while stuck in the mansion, but you could now see it from a larger point of view. What he did was wrong of course, but you could remember him so vividly now. His small form giggling, tiny arms around your neck. 

“Play with me!”

Was it your fault?

For not holding him tighter? For trying to rectify his bad doings and teach him what was wrong and right? Maybe if your grip was firmer, if you’d spoken to him about the warmth he’d given you that day when playing cards...

“Lazy ass.”

Burying down that pile of worry and insecurities, you took a deep breath in to relax. The edge of your lip perked up, only slightly. “Still terrible with your social skills arent you?”

Slowly securing a dry space under the three with you, Scaramouche sat down. His features were the same ones you’d grown accustomed to at his mansion. Rich clothes, sharp eyes, and the baby face that refused to go away. His movements were soft as he pulled out a deck of cards. The two of you didnt speak as he distributed them between you both. It was tense… no, it felt too much like the warmth form long ago to be tense. You only wished the situation to be different.

“I love you.”

But you could only offer a bitter smile to his words. “I love my vision,” you replied. “I love the Kitsune Saiguu, and I love my friends.”

His touch was gentle when his fingers came to gently cradle your cheek. Holding your face dearly as he peered into your eyes, his were soft. Different from the cruelty he held within, the hatred that burned and destruction that seeked to explode.

You saw a little boy.

Your hand came to press his hand further against your cheek, till you slid his palm to your lips. He appeared so calm when you pressed the first kiss, lips tracing the lines along his palm with all the care in the world.

But you needed to change your view, see him as the man he now was. As the man he had become.

“I love you,” he repeated, and you let go of his hand. It fell limp by his side, cards all but forgotten. There was a much more pressing matter at hand, because you truly needed to see him as he was.

It was necessary if you planned to kill him.

[laughableillusions]

Moving Back Home

AN: Oh boy it’s the first mini-fic of Lindir & Farkas that you all haven’t been asking for but I’m giving to you anyway! I pasted this from my notes (in all its raw unedited glory) so if it’s wonky dw about it...

I hope to write more of these 2 in the future if you all enjoy it!

(I encourage you to read this while listening to Lady of the Moon by 2002)

———————————

The night had already settled in, and both Lindir and Farkas had snuggled themselves into their bedrolls. Lindir decided to go without the tent that night, as it was a clear night and neither he nor Farkas could smell rain coming. The opportunity to gaze at the stars calmed the elf, his mind could jump between the small twinkling lights and his eyes slide across the Aurora borealis. He loved Skyrim, he really did. He loved the cold shivering weather, the crunch of snow under his boots, the large trees and delicate flowers. There was something so comforting about it, something he didn’t really see until now.

Back in Summerset it was hard to get such a view of stars as this, the cities were large and full of light. And the heat kept anyone from even thinking about making a campfire, cold weather was rare and treasured. But even then, his friends preferred the heat. Or at least they did...it was still hard to grasp that they were no longer alive. Lindir hadn’t been there, it was hard to really accept a death when you were never there to witness it.

He sighed, it was no good to dwell on the dead. Besides, it was years ago...he had almost forgotten about Summerset Isles. Something in him bloomed in Skyrim, maybe it was his mixed blood. He perhaps was more Nordic than he believed, but he found himself thriving in cold weather. The shivering cold mornings kept his mind alert. The warm blankets and furs he slept in meant something more to him than a decoration, it was to keep him alive. He remembered being a child and begging Aradnae to buy him a bear pelt from a merchant. She refused of course, he was still small and had no use of it at the time. But the interest of an outsider, he didn’t quite understand why they wore the pelts or what they were used for. Now, ruled under a thick layer of one...he very well could.

And Farkas, his beloved Farkas...just the thought of him put the grief out of his mind. He was warm, he was soft and he loved him perhaps more than Lindir could understand. He remembered reading something in a book long ago about love like this, how one could simply hide their face in a lovers chest and shun the world entirely away. If he could...if he could, Lindir would without hesitation. Every time they parted it felt like they weren’t together long enough, sometimes almost unbearably so. But he must...he had to, or else all of Tamriel would fall into ruin, the world would be consumed and there wouldn’t be anymore stars for them to gaze at.

Lindir turned to his side, there he could see the outline of his beloved’s face. There was something so powerful about this bond...it felt bigger than him, bigger than both of them. He had never felt love this strong before, never had such unrelenting feelings of utter devotion and adoration for anyone. It scared him sometimes, it scared him that he would away from the world if it meant to stay beside him.

“I would stand at his back, so that world would never overtake us...”

Never overtake us...

Even after a year and a half of marriage, he was still blushing at that. even though his face was stained with tears and mud, and Farkas practically limped the way back. Those words never left him, they were etched on the stone of his soul. Like the carvings of old Dovah, it was alive...it was pulsing. The memory of that cold night in the courtyard of Jorrvaskyr, it softened him.

“Darling?” Lindir asked softly, scooting himself closer to the Nord.

“Hm?” Farkas half-groaned. He was obviously dozing off.

“I love you...a lot...” Lindir whispered sheepishly.

Farkas now reanimated, and he turned his face to him. His features were still shrouded in the darkness, and he strained to try and look at them.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

Lindir shook his head and sighed.

“Nothing, I’m just feeling sentimental again.”

Farkas scooted closer, now rolling over to face him. Lindir blushed a little by his interest, and he smiled.

“I just...I don’t know, I really love it here.” He said. “It’s all so much better than Summerset, I feel more at home here than anywhere else...”

He then wriggled himself closer to Farkas, trying to get as close to him as possible whilst keeping snug in his little bedroll.

“I know what you mean...” Farkas answered. His voice was raggedy with drowsiness.

“Well I mean, of course you do. You’re a full blood Nord and Skyrim has been your home for generations-“

Lindir cut himself off and shook his head again.

“I-I didnt mean it like that...”

Farkas hummed a little in response.

“It’s just...I was always looked down upon for my Nordic blood. Nords were seen as barbaric and primitive, but coming here to their homeland I felt...I don’t know, safe?”

“Skyrim is in your blood, and not just the people, but the Land as well.” Farkas said.

Lindir felt tears collect in his eyes. He had always felt out of place in Summerset, he always felt like he had to hide himself unless he was performing. He was regarded as a freak, a “halfbreed” as he was sometimes called. In Skyrim however, the Nords would praise his Nordic blood. Said it made him strong and resilient, they lived life they way he wanted to live it. They were impatient and passionate about things. They lived like they would die the next day, and some of them did. But there was kindness, there was love and happiness. Even as harsh as life was it was still beautiful, Skyrim was more than just Land, more than just the people that lived there. It was home...it was belonging.

No wonder people fought so hard for it.

Lindir sniffled.

“Yeah it is...I-I do belong here don’t I?”

Farkas perked up his distress, his arms now wrapping around the elf.

“Yes, yes you do.”

Lindir nestled his head against Farkas’s chest. His voice beginning to shake.

“Thank you...” He almost whispered.

Farkas huffed.

“Now you have to tell me what’s wrong, I don’t want you messing up my only clean shirt.”

Lindir chuckled a bit and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Ok ok I will, you big oaf.”

Farkas squeezed him a bit in retort. Lindir squirming as he was shoved against him. He let go a bit, letting Lindir have space to talk.

“I just, I never had a proper home before...no place to go back to, no real place. Home was always people, family, but I’ve been through group after group and person after person and well...I never felt like I really belonged.”

Lindir then paused, his cheeks going pink.

“I mean, except with you of course...”

He could feel the blush on the nord when he said it.

“A-and because of that The Companions...I-I mean your family sort of became my family in a sense...”

Lindir felt vulnerable, silly and flustered. It was stupid and he knew it, latching onto someone else’s family because they’re married to them...it felt predatory. But he couldn’t help how much he loved all of them, even when Vilkas was being a smart -ass or Aela being rude. After he married Farkas the responsibility of Harbinger sat heavily on his shoulders, he was responsible for all of them and he did not take that lightly.

Farkas was silent for a moment, he was thinking of a response. Poor man wasn’t very good when it came to words, Lindir didn’t mind it, many times Farkas’s presence was enough to put him at ease. But when Lindir needed counsel, Farkas always tried, and that too was enough.

“They’re not just my family Lindir, you became a part of it when you joined, and you’re still a part of it now, they all love you too. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done.”

“You really think so?” Lindir asked cautiously.

“Yeah...” Farkas was soft but confident in his answer.

Lindir smiled quietly, Farkas never lied. There was something so finalizing about his answer that quelled any suspicion in Lindir. He had done so many things, and was still doing them now. From the Thieves Guild to The Dark Brotherhood now. Not Farkas or the Companions ever wavered in their loyalty and support toward him. Even Kodlak, who he known only a short time accepted him as one of his own.

“Hey Farkas?” Lindir now asked.

“Hm?”

Lindir hesitated for a second.

“I-I want to move back to Jorrvaskyr...”

Farkas pet his hair.

“Mhm...”

The Nord was dozing off again, Lindir could tell. He was as well, all that thinking and talking finally exhausted him enough to sleep. That was alright though, they could talk more about it in the morning.

Lindir snuggled himself against his husband, his home and dozed off to his quiet breathing.

[brooklyn-1918]

Day 25

Characters: OC Angel Moore and The Avengers

Warnings: Fluff, possibly minor language

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! Holy cow, it came so fast. Well, here is the last part of my 24 Days fic. I am insanely proud of my self that I managed to pull this off. Well, if you celebrate Christmas, Merry Christmas to you all. If not, happy New Year. See you all in 2021!

If you would like to read the previous day’s story, you can read it HERE

If you would like to read the background to the OC Angel Moore, you can read it HERE

Olivia launched her small frame onto Angel the second the sun peaked above the horizon. With a groan, Angel sat up, scrubbing at her eyes tiredly. 

“Merry Christmas!” The young child nearly shouted. Her enthusiasm started to scrub off on Angel, who grinned, scooping up her daughter into her arms, and standing up swiftly. Together they laughed joyfully, and Angel settled Olivia in the living room. 

“Hot cocoa or apple cider, Livvey bear?” Angel asked, walking into the kitchen. Olivia placed her chin in her hands and thought for a moment. 

“Cocoa, please,” She replied. Angel nodded and busied herself with fixing both her daughter and herself a mug. 

“Can you please go put on your outfit? Natasha and Wanda are going to stop by before we go to breakfast, and I would like to be there as quickly as possible!” The small girl sprung from her spot on the sofa, crayon in hand, which she threw down and raced to her bag, tugging her dress and leggings out. 

“You need underwear!” Angel called after Olivia. She sighed with a chuckle, shaking her head as her daughter popped back in to grab her under garments. 

__________

A few minutes later, Wanda and Natasha entered Angel’s apartment, neglecting to knock. They knew they didn’t need to. Angel greeted them brightly as she finished pulling her sweater over her head. 

“Merry Christmas!” They greeted each other simultaneously. Natasha scooped Olivia into her arms, hugging her close. The small girl wrapped her arms around the spy’s neck, nuzzling her cheek into the crook of her shoulder. 

“Ready for breakfast, little Avenger?” Wanda asked, poking playfully at Olivia’s side. She squirmed and giggled. Her stomach growled loudly in response, and Wanda nodded. 

“I guess so,” She said. Placing her hands on her hips, she nodded to Angel. 

“Ready?” 

“To eat the food that we spent hours on? Oh absolutely,” Angel playfully chirped. She followed them out the door, and down the hall to the elevators. 

The four of them piled in, talking merry conversations. It had begun to snow outside. A snow flurry that wasn’t projected for this day. Angel was going to have to remember to thank Thor. 

The doors rang, not in the usual single bell that they normally would, but with a jingle of sleigh bells. They stepped out of the glass box, and into the hallway that would lead them to the common area shortly. 

Natasha put Olivia down, and she ran to each member of the team, greeting them both a good morning and a Merry Christmas. Angel walked up to Tony, who was silently examining the glowing tree. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, and a smile on his face. 

Dressed in jeans and a button down shirt, this was one of the most casual looks she had seen him in. Except for that time she caught him in his pajamas, getting food at two in the morning. That, she will forever hold in her heart and over his head. 

“I think Santa brought Livvey bear a few more presents than usual,” She said with a pointed look at Tony. He put his hands up and shook his head. 

“No, hey, don’t look at me. Look at him,” He said, pointing an accusatory finger towards Steve. The blond captain smiled bashfully with a shrug. Angel gave him a look of annoyance, but her features betrayed that she wasn’t too upset. 

“Clint, for the thousandth time, fork goes here, spoon here,” Natasha said, moving the utensils around. He groaned, and began switching the cutlery around. Angel shook her head and moved to help him. 

“Who decorated the table?” She asked over the voices of the other Avengers. A few grumbles, a few shrugs, and a few silent moments. A hand was raised. Shiny and metal. 

“I did,” Bucky admitted. Angel blinked a few times, and smiled at him brightly. 

“It looks beautiful,” She told him. He looked to the floor and smiled, Angel patting his shoulder lightly. He mumbled his thanks and went off to continue setting up the table. 

__________

Twelve people, eleven and a half Avengers. All crowded around a long table, decorated with a red tablecloth, and some of the most glorious smelling food that they had ever smelled. 

Laughing, eating, being merry. 

Peter had shown up, Santa hat webbed to the top of his mask, about a half hour before they sat down for breakfast. He carried a brown sack, where he found it, he would not answer, filled with wrapped presents. 

“Wanda, I don’t know what you put in these, but they are incredible,” Tony said, holding up a miniature quiche. 

“What I did, was got you out of the kitchen,” She retaliated. Tony frowned, but took another bite. A bubble of laughter erupted around the table at Tony’s expense, but he soon took it lightly and smiled with them. 

With joyful energy, they continued eating, chatting, and joking with one another. 

They ate quickly, each one infecting the other with spirit of the season. Each one eager to move on to presents and stockings. 

Thor was the one to call them all away from the table, surprisingly. They stood, abandoning the dishes and cleaning for later, once they were all digested, and moved to sit in the common area, where the tree was alight with thousands of glowing bulbs. 

Olivia would have dove head first into the stack of presents with her name on them, if Angel was not physically holding her back. Steve laughed as he watched her distress, and bent to scoop the squirming girl up, lifting her higher and higher until she sat on his shoulders. 

“I think Santa came,” He said, looking up. 

“SANTA!” She squealed, bouncing up and down as best she could. Steve readjusted his grip on her legs, and walked forward, shaking his head with a huge smile. 

“Oh, Pete, Santa came for you too,” Tony said, tossing Peter a small box, about the size that a necklace might come in. The spider plucked at the ribbon around the wrapping paper, and looked up. 

Steve let Olivia down, and she ran to the stockings, beginning to distribute them around. 

“That’s from all of us,” Natasha drops her voice, placing her hand on his shoulder, and pointing at the box. Peter furrowed his brow, and snapped the ribbon, tearing at the paper. 

He pulled the lid off with a gasp, and looked around to the team. Digging in, he extracted a small card. An identification card. 

“I’m an Avenger now?!” 

“Sure are, kid.” Tony grinned at him, shoving his hands in his pockets. Peter launched forward to give him a hug, nearly snapping his ribs with the force. Although his hug lingered on the billionaire, he gave a bear hug to each team member. Angel embraced him with a hearty laugh, rubbing up and down his back. 

“Congratulations, Peter. I can’t think of a single hero more deserving of this,” She whispers in his ear before letting go. He hugs back just a little tighter before stepping back. 

They settled down onto the couches, or seats, or the floor, and began with the stockings. Then the gifts, turning the entire common room into a storm of jolly paper. 

__________

All too soon, it was time for Angel to bring Olivia back to her father. The child said her goodbyes, and gripped her mother’s hand tightly as they walked out to the landing platform. 

“You have all your things?” 

“Yeah,” Olivia said.

“Including whatever gifts you wanted to bring back to dad’s?” Olivia nodded, clutching her Harbinger stuffy to her chest. It had been a gift from Sam, who said it was for whenever Olivia missed her mom. Angel had nearly burst into tears then and there. 

“Alright, let's go then,” Angel said as she picked her daughter up, tucking her close to her chest. She took a running start, and dove off the landing platform, her wings unfurling as she dropped, jerking her slightly as they caught the cold air. 

“Merry Christmas, my little Livvey bear,” Angel said, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head.

24 Days Tags:

@im-a-light-child​ @nomadicpixel​

[84reedsy]

50 Shades of Christmas: Bam

Part 5 of 5, the finale of the holiday series!

Characters: Bam/OC

Word Count: 1000

Warnings: Steam, language, slight smut

Description: Bam has shown Michelle a side of him that she wants to use the holiday to explore more.

Michelle awoke from her cat nap. Stretching, the blanket moved, almost uncovering her bare body from the trickle of dusky light that filtered through the window curtain gap. The sun was almost set and it was Christmas eve. She smiled as she saw the little rustic tree tucked into the little corner of their little bush cabin.

Other than her stretching moans and the crackle of the wood stove fire, no other noises were around. She was sure Bam was still helping chop wood and ready the middle of the family’s compound for the great Christmas bonfire. The sun set early so even as dark fell they’d still have at least a couple of hours. She glanced at the glimmering purple package beneath the tree boughs. Iridescent snowflakes caught the light and cast reflections on the hewn log walls.

Bam would shake his head at her excitement over the trimmings and trappings of the holiday, though every time she’d wish aloud for some decoration, he’d show up with it shortly after as if he’d just accidentally stumbled across it. She knew he was secretly a ‘Santa’s little helper’ at heart, but didn’t call him out on it as he’d only square his shoulder and deny it.

“They don’t call me Bam Humbug for being the harbinger of the season.” He’d say.

She stretched her muscles again, their slight soreness a welcome reminder of her morning wake-up call. He wasn’t always as kinky as other times, but he clearly had a plethora of stored energy that he could barely wait to expend. She’d been so spent, she hadn’t even been able to redress before resting. Michelle couldn’t fathom the thought all of that love-making and then going to chop wood or any other hard labor for that matter.

She slipped on a baggy t-shirt that sank down one shoulder. She began to brew some peppermint tea, knowing that as much as Bam liked the cold, he would return chilled and would more than appreciate the gesture. She was a little giddy, albeit slightly nervous as well as she glanced again at the purple package beneath the tree. The gift tag had Bam’s name on it, but it certainly wasn’t a gift only for him.

The door swung open and she barely missed spilling hot tea on her hand, startled by the noise and the rush of cold air that swirled through the cabin. Bam’s cheeks were tinged pink, small snowflakes hung in his curls, but his arms were bare as was usual for him. She never could understand how he didn’t have hypothermia on a daily basis.

“Good morning..” She smiled coyly, sipping her tea. Bam’s lips cocked into a smug grin.

“Good afternoon, wife.” His voice seemed unrealistically deep, she had to contain herself from shuddering in its wake. She rose from perching on the chair, bringing him the tea, perfectly steeped. He took it in his hands, inhaling it’s aromatic notes, “You certainly know what I like.”

He sipped the tea humming as it warmed his belly.

“I see you’ve dressed, barely.” He fingered the hem of her shirt that barely dropped below her hips, but just enough to maintain the slightest bit of modesty.

“Well, I thought we could go ahead and do our one gift on Christmas Eve. I figured being naked for that wasn’t appropriate.” She slightly twisted from side to side with excitement.

“With that gorgeous body, covering it is what isn’t appropriate.” He winked, settling in the chair. He reached for a small package wrapped in brown paper with cedar boughs and a pinecone adorning it; Michelle grabbed the purple package. He patted his knee and she happily sat herself in his lap, eagerly exchanging the boxes.

“You first.” He grinned, taking another sip of tea, watching as she opened the package quickly. Inside was a beautiful pair of mittens in green with delicate cabling.

“Oh Joshua! They are beautiful!” She slipped them on immediately, folding her fingers to move the mitten, “I love them!” He beamed slightly, proud she liked his gift. He slowly began opening his, slow enough that it seemed to drag on for hours.

“Joshua! Just open it!” She bounced in his lap a little as he cut the tape on the box open carefully. Moving aside the tissue paper, his hand grasped the leather clad handle inside, pulling out the item, his eyebrows raising slightly.

The leather wrapped tendrils from the device swayed lightly from the handle. Her eyes flashed excitedly as she looked from it to him, waiting for his reaction.

“It’s…wow.” He was stunned. She’d always seemed to like his kinky games, but she hadn’t been as bold as to suggest anything. Apparently her kink had been awoken as well, “It’s a cat-o-nine tails.” His grin spread across his face, slightly devious.

“Yep. Do you like it?” SHe worried her lip a bit, hoping the gift didn’t come off demanding.

“Oh, Michelle…” He flipped it over in his hand, the tendril snapping slightly against the air, “Girl…you know you’re way to this man’s heart.”

She hugged him, giddy; her excitement bubbled over.

Bam looked over the device, turning it in his hand, studying. Slowly he brought it to her calf. The leather was cool, but supple as he slide it up her leg at a snail’s pace. The tickle was intense, her shiver uncontrollable. At her thigh, he lifted it slightly and brought it back with a flick of his wrist. The leather knotted ends of the ropes snapped lightly against her skin, a small sting from each littered across her skin. She jumped but her desire celebrated the slow, warm burn that spread from each point of contact. Bam’s low, lusty chuckle rumbled in his chest. He lifted her shirt upwards, flinging it to the floor. He flicked his tongue over her aroused nipple as his new toy continued it’s ascent up her form.

“Well, what a Merry Christmas this will be for me.”

[this-darkness-light]

Critical Incident Chapter 1

Read it on Ao3!

Pairing: Fritz Howard/Gavin Q. Baker III Rating: Explicit Fandom: The Closer/Major Crimes Word Count: 10,920 Summary: Gavin is taken hostage by two criminals on the run from the FBI, and it’s up to Fritz to save him.

Tags: AU - canon compliant, Major Crimes era, Fritz is still in the FBI though, because I prefer that, kidnapping, hostage situation, bondage, I’m a sick fuck and I cannot lie, BAMF Fritz, some angst

Warnings: non-consensual touching, but the bastard gets his comeuppance, no rape in this fic! 

Tagging: @brieflymaximumprincess -.-.-.-.-Chapter One: The Plot-.-.-.-.- Gavin has waved the last client of the day out of his office and is finishing up the attorney/client contract over a cup of fabulously delicious and much needed espresso when his cell phone rings. Saving his progress, he tugs it out of the jacket of his gray Armani suit and takes a sip of his drink as he checks the caller I.D. Warmth blossoms in his chest when he sees Fritz’s name and picture on the screen. 

Smiling to himself, he swipes his thumb to answer and leans back in his leather rolling chair, staring out the far window at the blazing summer afternoon sky. 

“Hey babe. What’s up?”

“Have you seen the news?” Fritz says without preamble, sounding like a harbinger of doom.

Gavin frowns and tugs the phone away from his ear long enough to throw it some major side-eye. Rude. “Well hello to you too,” he says, swiveling around idly in his chair. Sunlight glinting off the glass coffee table in front of the brown leather new-client sofa stabs his eyes. Wincing, he turns to face the window to his left and stares down at the cars crawling like ants along the already congested streets.

“Just…if you’re near a TV, turn on the news.”

A dozen questions jumble together on the tip of Gavin’s tongue, but the tone of Fritz’s voice tells him not to ask, just do it. Rolling his eyes and grabbing the tiny porcelain cup, because this is not a conversation he can have without caffeine, Gavin sighs himself to his feet and wanders down the tastefully decorated hall to the breakroom. 

But he really can’t help himself. He just has to know. “And why am I going somewhere where I might actually have to interact with my colleagues?” he asks, deliberately slurping the espresso loud enough that Fritz can hear that he’s interrupting Gavin’s post-client wind-down ritual with his gruff, vague orders that put him in danger of having to socialize. 

“Are you near a TV yet?”

Gavin clutches the phone harder than strictly necessary and shakes his head as the beginnings of a headache start squeezing his temples. Sometimes dating an FBI agent has its drawbacks. Sure, the sex is great. Fabulous, actually. But moments like these, where Gavin is abruptly slapped in the face with the reminder that he’s a mere civilian while Fritz is a government agent make him —

He loses his train of thought as he steps into the breakroom and finds several lawyers and paralegals clustered around the wide-screen television. Quirking his brows and canting his head to the side, Gavin absently rinses his empty cup and joins the small crowd. Lucky for him he’s taller than everyone else and can see the screen just fine. A female news anchor in a stylish navy blue business suit addresses the camera as pictures of two men fade into view above her left shoulder: a bald, clean-shaven Hispanic man with cold dead eyes like a shark, and a thickset white man whose face is smothered by a tangled, reddish-brown beard. At the bottom of the screen, a ribbon of text reads ‘Breaking: Two Suspects Escape Custody, Three FBI Agents In Critical Condition.’

“ — were arrested under suspicion of engaging in organized crime, including murder for hire, extortion, kidnapping, and drug trafficking,” the newscaster is saying. The screen flicks to an aerial scene outside the FBI field office. Chaos reigns on the ground as people dart to and fro while others huddle in small groups. Black-and-white LAPD squad cars and black government-issue SUVs whisk into the parking lot or back out onto the street, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

The news anchor begins describing “frenzied” efforts to capture the criminals, but Gavin doesn’t need to see or hear anymore to know why Fritz is so on edge. Backing quietly away from the lawyers glued to the screen before anyone can see him and start a conversation, he leaves the breakroom and heads back to his office. 

“So,” he says as he sinks back into his chair, “I suppose this means you’ll be working late tonight.” Though why Fritz couldn’t just say that to begin with is beyond Gavin. Chewing his cheek so doesn’t actually say that and make Fritz’s day even worse with his snark, he slips off his glasses and and fumbles around in the side desk drawer for some pain killers.

“Pretty much,” Fritz says as Gavin grabs one of the water bottles displaying the firm’s name on the label (so vulgar) and twists off the cap. “Could you — hold on a second.” Something rustles and scratches across the connection and muffled voices rumble in the background, brisk and clipped and, on Fritz’s part, apologetic. As Gavin pops the pills and gulps them down with a grimace, he realizes that Fritz is probably not even supposed to be talking to him right now. The fact that Fritz took the time out of an undoubtedly stressful and highly classified situation to call Gavin and make sure he knew what was going on makes his chest tighten, and he’s glad Fritz couldn’t hear his mental sniping.

Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he jerks the computer mouse around to banish the screen saver and gets back to work on the new client contract to give himself something to do while waiting for Fritz. Muffled voices drone in his ear as he finishes it up a few minutes later, prints it out, and slips it into a blue manila file folder for medical malpractice suits. That done, he shuts down his computer and busies himself tidying his desk, humming tunelessly to himself.

He’s in the middle of organizing the top drawer when Fritz comes back on the line. “Sorry about that,” he says, voice rough and quick. “Anyway. I need you to do me a huge favor and go to the Police Administration Building after you get done at work.”

Gavin, who’s organizing the pens by size and color, squints at that. “Why?” he asks, a handful of pens poised in front of him. 

Fritz sighs, and Gavin knows he’s scrubbing a hand down his face. “Just do it, please? For me?” he asks, a note of desperation slipping into his voice.

And suddenly Gavin realizes what this is all about. Smiling and laughing softly to himself, he plops the pens into their designated slots and shuts the drawer with a snap, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back in his chair. “Sweetie, there are more people in Los Angeles than there are in some states. Some countries, even. I doubt those suspects of yours will randomly stumble across me of all people.” 

“I’d still feel better if you were somewhere surrounded by cops.”

The last thing Gavin wants to do is bother Sharon and her team over something so ridiculous. There are bad guys on the loose, hide me! No, Gavin Q. Baker has more dignity than to go running to Sharon like a sniveling little child. Besides, they’re probably involved in the manhunt, supporting the FBI. Showing up there now would be pointless. “Do these people even know where we live? Or where my firm is?” he asks, idly playing with his tie as he stares at the ceiling, imagining patterns in the random splatter of dots on the tiles. 

“No, but —”

“Then why does it matter where I go? I’m a grown-ass man, Fritz. I think I’ll be fine by myself for a few hours.”

Fritz sighs heavily. “Gavin. Please, just —”

“Love you, Fritz. Bye-bye.” He hangs up before Fritz can protest and tucks his phone back in his jacket pocket so he won’t be tempted to answer if Fritz calls back, which he does. Humming under his breath, Gavin collects his keys and his wallet and lets the call go to voicemail. Really, Fritz is just being paranoid. It’s beyond silly for Fritz to worry about something so improbable, but his sweet concern for Gavin’s safety makes Gavin feel light and weightless all the same.

After twisting the blinds shut to block out the sun, he flicks off the light switch, shuts and locks his office door, and heads out. As he passes the secretary’s desk in the waiting area, footsteps echoing on the white quartz and black granite tiles, she farewells him with a soft “Be safe, Mr. Baker.” Shooting her a broad smile and a playful wink, he pushes open the heavy glass door and heads for the stairwell, waggling his fingers cheerfully in the air.

Fritz — at least he assumes it’s Fritz — calls three more times on his way to the parking garage. Gavin ignores it, drumming his fingers against his leg as he strides through the lobby and out into the relatively fresh air. Honestly, everyone is being absolutely ridiculous. The escapees have probably crawled back into their dark, sleazy criminal underworld by now and won’t poke their heads back out for a good long time. No matter what Fritz might think, Gavin seriously doubts they’re going to spontaneously swarm his car at a red light and drag him into a white panel van or whatever. As he unlocks the door of his burgundy Lexus and slips behind the wheel, he decides to go home. That way he can tell Fritz ‘I told you so’ when nothing happens, and hopefully goad him into dragging Gavin into their bedroom and pounding him into the mattress. The idea makes him warm and tingly and he smiles at his plans for the evening.

Just as Gavin predicts, the drive home is quiet and criminal-free. He spends most of it singing along with the radio and button-mashing the presets whenever boring songs or commercials come on. Not even the typical rush-hour traffic jams spoil his mood. As he finally pulls into the tree-lined gravel driveway of their Laurel Canyon home, his phone buzzes in his pocket and gives the telltale chirp of a text message. After cutting the engine, he takes a moment to stretch and roll the stiffness out of his neck, then tugs out his phone as he locks the car and strolls toward the house, swinging his keys around in his free hand with a rhythmic jangle.

It’s a message from Fritz. CALL ME RIGHT NOW. I MEAN IT!! Gavin snorts fondly. Really, all caps and two exclamation points? My my, how dramatic. Fritz should audition for Days of Our Lives; he’d fit right in. Still, he better call before Fritz has an aneurism or starts shitting bricks. Ha. Fritz shitting bricks. He smirks and chuckles at the admittedly childish rhyme as an old navy blue sedan rounds the corner, engine spluttering like the hillside roads are overwhelming the transmission.

The engine groans to a stop behind Gavin. A door opens and footsteps crunch on the gravel as he swipes a thumb through his contacts list for Fritz’s number. But they have neighbors on either side, so he pays it no mind until he glances around, waiting for Fritz to pick up, and realizes that both of the neighbors’ cars are already there. A slight chill shivers down his spine, but he shakes the feeling off. Fritz’s paranoia is rubbing off on him, that’s all. Obviously one of the neighbors is expecting company, he tells himself as he unconsciously lengthens his stride, nothing sinister about that. Stop overreacting. 

Fritz picks up after two more rings. “Gavin! Where are you?” His words shoot out in a rapid fire jumble that Gavin barely catches.

“I just got home,” Gavin says as he jogs up the short flight of steps up to the front porch and thumbs through the keys for the one to the front door. Behind him the footsteps quicken their pace, pounding into the gravel, and despite himself his breath hitches as his pulse stutters into overdrive. His palms are suddenly clammy and he fumbles the keys. Swearing under his breath, he snatches them up and jams the house key into the lock.

“Shit. Get inside, right now, and lock the door.”

“I’m trying, I just —” The lock snicks open at the same time something sharp pricks between his shoulder blades. Gavin freezes and grips the keys so hard his knuckles turn white as adrenaline floods his veins like ice water.

“Hang up the phone, blondie,” a deep voice hisses into his ear. Gavin shudders and stares unseeingly at the door, blinking rapidly. Oh god, Fritz was right. He was right. What are the odds? What the hell are the actual odds? A strangled laugh tries to punch out his throat, but he chokes it down.

The man jabs the blade into Gavin’s back hard enough to draw blood, making him flinch and gasp in pain. “I said, hang up the fucking phone.”

Gavin’s hands are shaking so hard it’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped it. Swallowing harshly, he slowly lowers his phone in a series of short, jerky movements, letting it dangle limply at his side. Fritz’s tinny voice echoes in the silence, frantically calling Gavin’s name. Shit. Fritz is probably miles away, and he has no idea what’s happening. Shit, shit, shit.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Gavin lunges sideways off the porch and lands next to a copse of trees. Jerking the phone back to his ear, he hurtles toward the neighbor’s yard, hoping she’s near a window and can see what’s happening. “Fritz, they’re here, at the house,” he heaves out as he jumps over the row of short hedges dividing their properties. “They —”

Something slams into Gavin’s jaw, snapping his head back. His phone flies through the air and clatters onto the road as he stumbles and trips over his own feet, flinging his arms out to stay upright. If he hits the ground he’s done, he’s dead. Lurching to his right, he manages to catch his balance and flings himself toward the phone, scooping it up — he can’t leave it, it’s his only connection to Fritz — and sprints across the lawn to the neighbor’s house, a cry for help on his lips. But his throat is dry and his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth and nothing comes out when he tries to scream, like he can’t get enough air in his lungs.

He’s almost to her front door when a hulking arm hooks around Gavin’s chest and yanks him back against an equally hulking torso, and the cold, sharp metal of a knife presses against his throat. Gasping, he cringes away from the blade, instinctively clutching at the man’s arm with his free hand and squirming to escape his grasp, but the man’s hold on Gavin is firm. “Stop moving or I’ll kill you right now,” the man hisses into Gavin’s ear. With a twist of his wrist he presses the blade harder against Gavin’s neck, teasing over his jugular. Gavin stills, nearly hyperventilating as his pulse thrashes in his ears.

“Come on, man. We don’t got all day,” a lightly accented voice calls from the sedan. Hispanic, maybe? Gavin can’t really tell, but he doesn’t have the chance think about it too much as the man with the knife yanks him around and drags him toward the old blue sedan. Aside from his captors’ car, the street is empty. Deserted as a church on Monday. Where are the neighbors? Why is nobody seeing this, stopping this, helping him? This is a nice neighborhood, a good part of town. Things like this don’t happen here. So why is this happening? Why?

As they near the car, the man holding Gavin at knifepoint shifts the blade to the back of his neck and shoves him forward. “Open the door and get in.” His tone promises a world of pain if Gavin disobeys.

Gulping in a breath to try and calm himself down, Gavin does as he’s told. He slides across a spliced vinyl seat with chunks of the underlying foam cushion jabbing through the cracks, then flattens himself against the opposite door, clasping his phone to his chest with shaking hands. The inside reeks of sweat and body odor and stale cigarette smoke. 

Grinning through the scruffy reddish-brown knots snarling his face, the man who snatched Gavin grabs his upper arm as soon as he’s inside and pulls Gavin away from the door, wrenching a shrill yelp from his throat. He’s brawnier than the mug shot on the news gave him credit for. Bulging muscles strain against the sleeves of his stained black t-shirt.

“Hey there, blondie,” the man says, waggling the knife in Gavin’s face in a friendly reminder that he’s now a hostage. “You’re kind of cute.” He flashes Gavin a yellow, tobacco-stained grin and tugs him close enough that Gavin can smell the acrid stench of cigarettes on his breath. Gavin pulls a face and jerks back, wanting to be next to this vulgar oaf as much as he wants to jump in a sewer in his best Armani suit. The man just snickers and hauls him forward again, wrapping a meaty arm around his shoulders so he can’t pull away and stroking his hand along Gavin’s bicep. A ball of lead forms in his gut and bile burns the back of his throat. He swallows it down harshly, because as satisfying as it might be to throw up on his captor, he’s pretty damn sure he’ll stab Gavin for it or slit his throat or stab him and then slit his throat for good measure, and what little short-term satisfaction he’d get is just not worth dying for.

Sirens howl in the near distance like a pack of wolves on the hunt. The bearded man tenses and squeezes Gavin’s shoulder, looking fixedly down the street as though expecting a throng of cops to swing around the corner. A faint glimmer of hope breaks through the smoggy vapors of fear suffocating Gavin’s chest, and he just knows that Fritz is out there right now, looking for him. Fritz will rescue him. He must have known the criminals were in the neighborhood; that must be why he told Gavin to go anywhere but home, only Gavin was too goddamn proud to listen. Please be out there, he says silently to himself like a mantra. Please, please, please.

To Gavin’s extreme disappointment and the criminals’ obvious relief, no cops show up. The driver jerks around in his seat and scowls back at them, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his bald head. “Stop fucking around back there and tie him up.” His voice snaps like a whip.

Grumbling under his breath, the bearded criminal forces Gavin to kneel in the foot space amidst a heap of old fast food wrappers and discarded tissues and cigarette butts, then slots himself behind him, far too close for Gavin’s liking. He chokes on the cloud of B.O. and tobacco that shrouds him and tries to pull away, but the cool metal of another knife slides beneath his chin like a dangerous promise. Gavin’s heart snaps against his chest, mind numb and paralyzed with fear, and he hugs his phone to himself like a lifeline.

Of course the driver notices, because Gavin’s luck is currently for shit. Fast as a snake striking a mouse, he snatches the phone out of Gavin’s hands and tosses it onto the passenger seat out of his reach. “Can’t have you calling for help,” he says with a sneer, pinning Gavin in place with his cold, shark-eyed gaze. “Now put your hands up.”

Mindful of the blade pricking at the juncture of his throat and jaw, Gavin gives a small jerky nod to signal his cooperation and slowly raises his shaking hands to the level of his ears. He’s too afraid his voice will crack or jump an octave if he tries to speak. A pained whimper escapes his lips as the bearded criminal wrenches his hands behind his back, cinching them together with something cool and smooth, like a leather belt. It’s so tight he can feel his hands going numb from loss of circulation.

“You look good tied up,” the bearded criminal whispers against the back of his neck as he manhandles Gavin back onto the seat and drapes his massive arm around him again. “I like it.” Gavin shudders and squeezes his eyes shut to block it all out. This is just a dream. Just a bad dream. He fell asleep at his desk and is having a nightmare based on the news. He’ll wake up anytime now and laugh about it later with Fritz while they’re cuddling in post-coital bliss.

A cacophony of sirens and squealing tires explodes in the quiet street. Gavin snaps his eyes open in time to see a pack of squad cars and black SUVs careen around the corner and skid to a halt, surrounding the sedan. Warmth jolts through his body and his breath hitches as uniformed officers pour out of the cars, guns trained on the sedan, screaming orders for the criminals to come out with their hands up. The police! Yes! Oh thank god. Gavin cranes his neck to see if Fritz is leading the pack, or maybe Sharon and her team. Maybe both. Both is good.

Before he can process what’s happening, the bearded criminal yanks Gavin in front of him like a human shield and positions him so he’s behind the gap between the driver and passenger seats, in full view of the cops outside. A muscled arm snakes itself around Gavin’s waist, pulling him flush against the criminal’s chest, and the sharp edge of a knife jabs against his pulse point. “Back off or blondie here’s dead,” the bearded criminal shouts, angling the blade so it catches the late afternoon light. 

Gavin winces at the assault to his eardrums. He has no idea if the cops can hear anything, but they get the gist nonetheless. From his new vantage point, Gavin watches as the nearest officers exchange wide-eyed looks and slowly shuffle back, obviously waiting for someone in charge to tell them how to handle this unexpected situation. 

For what seems like hours, nothing happens. The cops confer quietly outside, casting furtive frowns at the car. Gavin locks eyes with one of the officers but flushes and quickly lowers his gaze, hating how exposed he is, out on display like he’s some kind of goddamn trophy. Suddenly he’s glad Fritz isn’t here to see him like this, so helpless and weak. Especially after Fritz warned him, practically begged him to go to the precinct. God, he wishes he’d just listened for once instead of being so stubborn. 

Movement outside pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see a tall, dark-haired man in a blue FBI jacket striding forward through the clustered uniformed cops, a bullhorn clutched at his side. Gavin’s heart plummets into his stomach as he realizes who it is and he pulls back, needing to hide before he’s seen, but the driver reaches back and grabs a fistful of his hair to hold him in place at the same time the bearded criminal slices the blade deeper into his neck. He flinches as blood trickles down his neck.

Outside, Agent Fritz Howard raises the bullhorn to his lips. “Israel Espinoza. Joseph McCray,” he says in a deep, authoritative voice that would have Gavin burning up for entirely different reasons under very different circumstances. “Release your —” Fritz’s jaw drops and his eyes widen. “Gavin,” he chokes out, voice strangled even with the bullhorn amplifying the volume. 

Every eye on the street swivels onto Gavin, burning into him like a thousand laser beams. A hot flood of shame washes over him and he can’t bear to look Fritz in the eye. Biting his lip almost hard enough to draw blood, he hunches his shoulders and stares at Fritz’s shiny black shoes. God, he hates himself for letting this happen. For putting Fritz in this position. At this point he’d give anything to make it all end, to just make it stop.

The driver, whose name is apparently Israel Espinoza, slaps the side of his head, and with a start Gavin realizes that he asked him a question. “I said, you know this guy? Answer me,” he snarls, shaking Gavin when he doesn’t immediately reply. The blade snicks his skin again, and Gavin flinches as another stream of blood joins the first.

“I — yes, yes I know him,” he gasps out. Apparently this isn’t good enough, because Espinoza slaps him harder. “How?” 

Gavin knows he should lie and tell them that Fritz is a friend or a distant cousin, anything but the truth, but even now, even here, he just can’t make himself do it. Licking his dry lips, he swallows harshly and says, “He’s…my partner.

”Espinoza’s brows furrow as he glances from Gavin to Fritz and back again. Then a slow, wicked grin settles on his face as he realizes exactly what Gavin means by ‘partner,’ and he grabs Gavin’s phone from the passenger seat, waggling it in the air. Fritz gets the gist and digs his phone out of his pants pocket. Moments later the shrill ringtone fills the car.

“I got your boy here, Agent,” Espinoza says, canting his head at Gavin without taking his eyes off Fritz. A sour taste burns in the back of Gavin’s throat and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, wishing he could spontaneously combust and put himself out of this misery. “You want him back, tell your men to stand down and let us through.”

Fritz is still gaping at Gavin, shell-shocked, the forgotten bullhorn drifting back down to his side. Gavin longs to dive out the passenger door and run to Fritz, letting him know Gavin’s safe, he’s fine, and he’s sorry for being such an idiot, so, so sorry. But he knows even trying will get him killed and that means never seeing Fritz again, and worse, hurting Fritz even more than he already has, and that’s not something he has the strength or the desire to do.

When Fritz still hasn’t said anything a few moments later, Espinoza jerks his head at McCray. The bearded criminal squeezes the handle of the blade and digs the tip further into the juncture of Gavin’s neck and jaw, forcing him to tilt his head back and expose his throat. “Or we can just kill him right in front of you. Your call,” Espinoza tells Fritz. Gavin’s chest is so tight it hurts and he can’t breathe. Being humiliated like this is one thing, but being humiliated like this in front of Fritz? Forget spontaneous combustion. He wishes the ground would bottom out in a sink hole and swallow the car whole.

The direct threat against Gavin’s life seems to snap Fritz out of his shock. Nostrils flaring he takes a few steps toward the car, planting his legs wide, and sweeps the bullhorn back up to his mouth. Several uniformed officers fan out behind him, guns trained at the windshield. “Let me talk to Gavin.” A hot flush burns across Gavin’s face. No, he can’t talk to Fritz. Not when the last thing Fritz said to him was to go to the precinct, and his response had basically been “haha, nope. Bye.” If he’d listened, this wouldn’t be happening. It’s all his fault and he knows it, and he doesn’t need Fritz rub it in. 

But Espinoza shrugs and presses the phone to his ear, and Fritz lowers the bullhorn to keep their conversation private. 

“Gavin.” Fritz’s voice bursts across the line like sunlight bursting from behind a cloud, and a pang fills Gavin’s chest with yearning. He has to swallow hard twice before he can summon the nerve to reply. 

“Hi Fritz.” His voice comes out a shrill, strangled croak. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Hi.”

Outside, Fritz takes a half-step toward the car, then apparently thinks better of it and aborts the movement. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Gavin honestly has no idea how to answer that. He’s definitely not okay, and he’s a little banged up and bleeding, but otherwise not hurt. “I’ve…been better,” he finally says, since this is the closest to the truth he can get. A staticky sound buzzes over the line like Fritz sighed or laughed into the phone. 

Before either of them can say anything else, Espinoza jerks the phone away. “Okay, you talked to him. Now fucking stand down or I’m gonna kill your pretty little boyfriend.” Gavin cuts his eyes at the driver at that. He could die happy if no one calls him that ever again. The unexpected prickle of irritation heartens him and he clings to it like a security blanket, wrapping it around himself to stave off the fear snapping and crackling like a livewire at the edges his mind.

Pursing his lips, Fritz juts out his chin and raises the bullhorn. “How about this. You let him go and then get out of the car and lay on the ground with your hands behind your heads, and we settle this without anyone ending up dead.”

Espinoza just laughs. “You think I’m playing, Agent?”

“No, I don’t think you’re playing, Espinoza. I’m not playing either. I’m completely serious.” Fritz’s voice is calm and steady and strong, like waves rolling against a sandy beach. “Let Gavin go and then slowly get out of the car, and no one gets hurt. It’s as simple as that. What do you say?”

Espinoza’s lip curls and he scoffs at Fritz. “You think I’m stupid enough to fall for that? I ain’t going to prison. If it means I have to kill your boy and run all of you over, I’ll do it.” Signaling the end of their conversation, Espinoza tosses Gavin’s phone onto the passenger seat and revs the engine threateningly, making several of the officers flinch. To their credit, none of them take a single step back.

Gavin tenses and a bead of sweat rolls down his back. He hopes he’s not about to become another collateral damage statistic. Surely Fritz won’t allow that. He won’t let Gavin die here today, not like this. Despite himself, images of his own dead body fill his head, riddled with bullet holes and lying in a pool of blood. It’ll be all over the news, top story for at least a week. ‘Prominent Defense Attorney Gavin Q. Baker III Killed in Police Standoff.’ They’ll show his photograph, the poised, dignified one he took for his picture on the partners’ wall at the firm, and then cut to his corpse on a stretcher, covered in a blood-stained — 

He gasps as Espinoza stomps on the gas and guns the car toward the end of the street opposite Fritz, slamming Gavin hard against McCray’s chest. The officers in their path dive out their way as they narrowly squeeze between two squad cars, ripping off a side mirror and bashing in a bumper. Gavin watches in the rearview mirror as the cops behind them surge forward and open fire. Bullets ping off the car, exploding the back window. Gavin flinches as shattered glass cascades around him, but the knife at his throat and the criminal’s arm around his waist keep him from taking cover.

Cackling like he’s having the time of his life, Espinoza flips off the police and whips around a corner. Gavin catches one last glimpse in the rearview mirror of Fritz charging down the street, gun trained on the car, and then he’s gone.

Espinoza weaves through the neighborhood at gut-wrenching speeds and then pulls out onto a main thoroughfare, blasting by other cars and weaving back and forth between lanes fast enough to make Gavin’s stomach churn. Swallowing hard, he braces his feet against the floorboards, cringing at every near miss and dizzying swerve. All he can think is that they’re going too fast and he doesn’t have on his seatbelt, because right now those are the safest thoughts he can let himself have.

Sirens scream to life behind them and soon half a dozen squad cars roar onto the street in their wake, lights flashing. Up ahead even more black-and-whites join the fray, cutting them off. A tiny bubble of hope swells in Gavin’s chest — this is it, this is his rescue — but it bursts as Espinoza veers hard onto a side street, temporarily thwarting the cops’ attempt to corral them. 

Despite the high speed chase most of the adrenaline from Gavin’s capture has worn off, leaving him shaky and jittery. Unable to keep himself upright, he sags against McCray and stares forlornly out the windshield. A small part of him longs to ask what they intend to do with him. Surely they can’t hold him hostage forever? But the larger part just wants to pretend like the criminals aren’t even there, like this is some kind of joy ride he’s taking with Fritz, even though Fritz always drives five miles under the speed limit and not like a reckless lunatic.

Besides, he’s pretty sure this is going to end in somebody’s funeral. 

Something blunt pokes him in the side, making him jump. “Having fun yet, blondie?” 

McCray. Gavin grits his teeth and pointedly says nothing, watching the buildings flash by outside like he’s getting paid to do it, though he does sit up a little straighter and rolls his shoulders to ease the growing ache in his joints. 

McCray gives a throaty chuckle that grates on Gavin’s already raw nerves. “Ignoring me, huh? Real cute. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.” Chuckling again, he runs his hand up and down Gavin’s side in a very suggestive manner, making Gavin’s skin crawl. Ignore it, he tells himself. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it. Hopefully the idiot will get bored and leave him the hell alone if he refuses to engage. 

Then something hot and wet swipes along the shell of his ear, and he chokes when he realizes it’s McCray’s tongue. Oh god. The sirens swell in volume as Espinoza makes another sharp turn, and Gavin prays the cops catch them before they get wherever they’re going, because he has zero desire to find out exactly what McCray means by ‘fun.’ All the educated guesses his mind helpfully supplies make him want to throw up.

For what seems like a lifetime Espinoza barrels through the city at breakneck speed, followed by what sounds like every cop in Los Angeles. Then the failing sun bleeds out and the day bruises into night, shrouding the city in an almost total darkness that swallows up the navy blue sedan and throws Gavin’s would-be rescuers off their trail. The fear lurking at the edges of his mind grows steadily stronger the darker it gets, shredding his safety blanket of irritation. By the time Espinoza pulls into the back parking lot of a condemned apartment building, Gavin’s pulse is racing again and he’s gulping down breaths to stay quiet. 

Espinoza jumps out of the car almost before the tires have stopped turning, leaving him alone with McCray. Gavin half-heartedly hopes they’ll abandon him here with the car and flee on foot, but of course they don’t. McCray flings open the door and then hauls Gavin out. His knees are wobbly and he almost falls, but the bearded criminal catches him under his arms and sets him back on his feet, shoving him toward a dark, dilapidated building that looks like the next earthquake will knock it down.

A few dying street lamps line the street nearby, casting sickly, flickering orange light onto the sidewalk. Shabby buildings huddle together like they’d all collapse if even one of them fell. The area looks completely abandoned, but Gavin can’t let what might be his last golden opportunity to escape, or at least call for help, pass without doing something. 

Gathering his nerve, he bolts to his left toward the street, screaming “Help!” at the top of his lungs. Running with his hands tied behind his back is awkward, but damn it, he does it. One of the criminals swears, and two sets of heavy feet pound the pavement behind him. He’s almost to the litter-clogged curb and halfway through his second scream when one of the criminals punches him hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground, scraping his shoulders and knees and knocking the breath out of his lungs as he lands in a sprawled heap. Coughing, he ignores his newest injuries and lurches up to his knees, but before he can take off again a hand fists into his hair and yanks him up with a shrill yelp. 

“Shut up,” McCray growls, clamping a huge hand over Gavin’s mouth before he can scream again. But his depressingly short taste of freedom after what seems like hours of captivity has made him wild, and rather than submit meekly like he did before Gavin thrashes in the man’s grip, jabbing backward with his bound hands and kicking at the man’s kneecaps and biting hard on the thick, meaty fingers over his mouth. Howling in pain, McCray releases him and Gavin dashes blindly away, breath bursting in and out of his heaving chest.

He gets maybe ten feet away before someone grabs him and effortlessly flings him onto the pavement, planting a knee into his back to hold him down. Shit. Spitting out gravel and dirt and blood from his newly cut lip, Gavin struggles to throw the criminal off balance enough that he can get away, but the all too familiar feeling of cool, sharp metal slides against his throat and all the fight drains out of him, leaving him gasping and trembling. Even though he just failed spectacularly, there’s no way they’re not going to punish him for attempting to escape. He just knows it.

Right on cue, Espinoza lumbers into view and kicks Gavin in his side, making him cry out as a starburst of pain sends fiery jolts of adrenaline screaming along his nerves. “You little fucker,” Espinoza snarls, kicking him again. “If that FBI agent wasn’t your boyfriend, I’d kill you right here.” Gavin moans and curls as much into a protective ball as he can with McCray’s knee on his back and the knife against his throat. He’s suddenly very, very glad that he told them Fritz is his partner and not just some random friend. Apparently it’s the only thing keeping him alive, though he can’t help but wonder how much longer that will be, FBI agent boyfriend or not. Sirens wail in the distance, and he hopes it’s long enough for Fritz and the police to find him and save him from this nightmare.

“Come on, let’s go.” Espinoza whirls around and stalks off toward the apartment building. McCray finally removes his knee from Gavin’s back and forces him to his feet.“You’re gonna regret that little stunt, blondie,” he hisses into Gavin’s ear, marching him at knifepoint in Espinoza’s wake. Ice floods Gavin’s veins, but he doesn’t regret his brief moment of rebellion. It proves he still has some fight left, that he’s not completely under their thumbs, knives or no knives. Fritz would be proud. At least Gavin hopes so.

Espinoza leads them down a series of dusty, graffiti-streaked corridors lined with broken glass and flaky chunks of drywall before muscling open the door to what was probably once a nice little one-bedroom apartment. Against all odds, because that’s apparently the shape of Gavin’s luck tonight, the apartment still has electricity flowing through the dilapidated fixtures. Ratty green curtains frame the window, and there’s enough grime on the glass to hide the glare of lights from any curious eyes that happen to wander by in a squad car.

Whoever the previous tenants were must have left in a hurry, abandoning most, if not all, of their possessions. Espinoza goes to the window, flicking back the raggedy curtain and peering through the film of muck into the parking lot. McCray nudges Gavin none too gently toward the kitchenette, where two rickety chairs sit in front of an equally rickety round table. The floor creaks under his feet, making him glad they’re not on the second story, and the musty stench of mold and mildew fills the air with the incense of decay. Something shifts and skitters behind the walls and he grimaces. Rats. Oh dear lord, that’s just fabulous.

“Sit down, blondie.” McCray slams Gavin into one of the chairs before he has a chance to comply. 

Apparently satisfied that they weren’t followed, Espinoza joins them in the kitchenette. “Go find something to tie him up with. I’ll watch him.” He unpockets his knife and presses the blade flush against Gavin’s jugular so he can’t make a mad dash for the door. Gavin winces, but at this point he’s too exhausted to do much besides scowl up at the criminal smirking down at him and imagine how he’d look in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit and a life sentence in a maximum security prison. 

McCray nods and disappears. Bangs, clangs and thuds clatter through the apartment as he rummages around. Gavin shifts, trying to get comfortable in the rock hard seat. He fervently hopes they won’t find anything and they’ll have to lock him in the bathroom, which in his very vivid imagination has a window just barely big enough for him to squeeze himself through. He holds onto the daydream until McCray returns to the kitchenette with a thick coil of rope, and his shoulders droop like they’re made of lead. 

A heavy sense of hopelessness settles over him as McCray slips the belt-thing off his wrists and yanks them through the slats in the chair, twining the rope around them in a figure eight pattern and cinching it between them so he can’t wriggle his hands free. He straps Gavin’s ankles to the chair legs next, then winds the rest of the rope around his chest and stomach so tightly it digs into his skin, making it hard for him to breathe. That done, McCray steps back into Gavin’s line of sight and leers at him like he’s a free gourmet buffet. The criminal’s tongue darts out and licks along his parted lips like a worm poking itself out of the dirt.

“I’ll take first watch if you want to try and get some sleep,” McCray says without taking his eyes off Gavin.

Espinoza rubs the knuckles of his free hand along his chin, then shrugs. “As long as you quit messing with the hostage and watch out for the cops.”

McCray nods so fast he looks like a dashboard bobble head on a bumpy country road and strides over to the window, planting himself next to a raggedy sofa. “I’ll stay right here the whole time,” he says, obviously trying for earnest and trustworthy. All Gavin sees is a fox trying to convince the farmer to let him guard the hen house. He stares beseechingly up at Espinoza, willing him to see through the ruse and take first watch himself.

Espinoza grunts. “You better. If I come out here and see you anywhere near him, I’ll gut you.” With that he pockets his knife and disappears down the short hallway into the single bedroom. As soon as his boss is gone, the bearded criminal licks his lips and smirks over at Gavin. An icy fist clenches Gavin’s chest. Even though he knows it won’t do any good, he wriggles his hands and yanks at his bonds, trying to find a weak spot he can exploit to free himself, but McCray obviously knew his way around a rope. All his struggling does his chafe his wrists, so with a frustrated grunt he tilts his head back and frowns up at the loops of loose wire drooping from the cracks in the mold-stained ceiling.

Great job, Gavin. No really, great job. Fabulous, even. He huffs a breath out his nose. Goddamn it. How could he let this happen to himself? Better yet, how the hell did this happen at all? There are literally millions of people in Los Angeles. The criminals had a one in several millions-chance of running into Gavin. So of course they did. He’s almost tempted to believe in God, because the series of implausible coincidences that created this situation smacks of divine intervention, and not the good kind. Plus, if God were real, Gavin could hate him and rant and rail at him and make himself feel better.

One thing’s for sure. When he gets out of here alive — because damn it, he is getting out of here alive — he’s making Fritz give him self-defense lessons.

Lights flash outside, and a tiny golden bubble of hope wells in his chest when he recognizes the red, yellow, and blue lights of a police cruiser. McCray stiffens and ducks to the side of the window, flattening himself against the grimy wall. Gavin strains against the ropes to see outside, but he’s too far away and the glass is too filthy for him to make anything out. Two car doors creak open and slam shut, and something flutters in Gavin’s stomach. They got out! Maybe they’ll see the car, recognize it from the APB that’s surely been issued by now, and comb the area for signs of the suspects. His pulse jacks up as muffled voices reach his ears. If he can hear them, surely they could hear him too. Almost giddy with a new surge of adrenaline, he takes a deep breath as quietly as he can. 

“HE—”McCray is suddenly beside him, shoving something scratchy down his throat and clamping a hand over his mouth. Gavin gags and jerks his head around to dislodge it, but the criminal’s grip is sturdy. With a growl he grabs a handful of Gavin’s hair and wrenches his head back, holding him still. How is Espinoza not hearing this? He must be deaf or dead to the world.

“Shut up or I swear I’ll snap your neck,” McCray hisses into his ear. 

White-hot fury surges through Gavin. His rescuers are right there, right outside, so close. With a muffled snarl he strains against the ropes even as they gouge into him and jerks his hands against the bindings and butts his head back at McCray’s face, earning a sharp yowl, but the man refuses to let go, and the ropes refuse to unravel.

Then the two doors slam shut again and the lights drift off down the street, leaving darkness in their wake.

Gavin’s heart stops and he stares unseeingly at the window. No. No, no, no. They left without even investigating the building, the most obvious place he could be. They could have saved him, could have ended this all now, but they left. They left.

Gavin’s fury abandons him as quickly as it came and he slumps in the chair with a choked sob. His throat burns and with another sob he squeezes his eyes shut against his moldy dump of a prison, not wanting to look at it, not wanting to be here, wishing he was home with Fritz. Hot tears stream down his face, plopping onto his lenses as he breaks down and cries, chest heaving.

He’s so caught up in his own misery he doesn’t register that McCray has moved until rough fingers brush away his tears. Flinching, he jerks his head up to find the criminal squatting in front of him, one hand on Gavin’s knee, the other caressing his face in a mockery of tenderness. “You’re pretty when you cry,” McCray murmurs, running the pad of his thumb along Gavin’s cheek. The hand on Gavin’s knee travels up his thigh and squeezes his hip. Gavin breaks out in a cold sweat and jiggles his leg to shake off the criminal’s grip, but it only encourages him to squeeze again, harder, his thumb sliding between Gavin’s legs. Oh god no. No. No, this can’t be happening. He can’t let this happen, not after everything else. Unable to hold back a whimper as the criminal gropes him, he twists his face out of the man’s grasp and tries in vain to shrink away from the unwanted touches.

“Ah, ah, ah,” McCray says, grabbing Gavin’s chin and forcing Gavin to look at him. “Just relax. Let it happen. You know you want it, been asking for it all day.”

Gavin moans and shakes his head as best as he can. Tears stream down his now burning cheeks as his body hardens against his will. “See? You like this,” the criminal breathes, his eyes blown black with lust. He lets go of Gavin’s chin and slowly strokes him from his neck to his waist, pausing to fondle a nipple beneath his blue-and-white striped Charvet shirt. He presses so close to Gavin that Gavin can feel the man’s hot, rancid breath on his neck.

Breath hitching, Gavin shakes his head again and yells “No! Stop!” as best he can around whatever’s in his mouth. McCray ignores him in favor of leaning in and licking along his collar bone. Gavin shudders as bile burns at the back of his throat, but he swallows it down, has to, unless he wants to choke to death on his own vomit. It’s not at all the way he wants to go, but the way things are going now, it’s looking like a better and better alternative by the second.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bites back another whimper as the man tugs down the zipper to his pants and slips his hand into Gavin’s boxers, coaxing him to further hardness. Another stream of tears cascades down his face. Oh god, he’ll never be able to look Fritz in the eye again after this. If he even gets to look at Fritz ever again. His stomach roils and he sobs, longing to see Fritz, willing him to burst into the room and save him from this. He’ll make it up to Fritz somehow, but if Fritz ends up leaving, he won’t blame him. What kind of freak gets hard when he’s being molested? Even so the idea of being alone depresses him and he dissolves into tears, breath hitching around pained whimpers.

“Shh,” McCray says, pressing closer so their bodies are nearly flush. “Be quiet. You like this. Just be quiet and take it.” Fisting a hand in Gavin’s hair, he tilts Gavin’s head back and bites along his neck. No. That’s what Fritz does. Only Fritz can do that. Gavin struggles to get away, his body clenching with dry heaves.

The criminal’s face tightens and he pulls away, frowning down at Gavin. “Stop doing that,” he says, yanking Gavin’s hair when he doesn’t stop, when he can’t make himself stop retching in fear and disgust. Mouth twisting into a snarl, McCray pulls back and backhands Gavin across the face. He gasps, cheek stinging. Then McCray grabs his face again, hand clenched around his jaw, forcing him to look up at the criminal through watery eyes and splotchy, tear-stained glasses.

“I said stop it,” McCray hisses, “or I’ll —”

The front door flies off its hinges as armed cops swarm into the room.

“Police!”

“Get down on the ground!” 

“Drop your weapon!” 

“Put your hands over your head!”

Despite the thing gagging him, Gavin’s mouth falls open and he gasps as Fritz barges in on the heels of a uniformed officer, gun drawn and trained at McCray’s back. Their eyes lock for a second, and times seems to slow as Fritz stares at him, eyes widening a fraction. Then Fritz’s entire face hardens and those soft brown eyes narrow to flinty slits. Gavin averts his gaze, hot shame washing over him and soaking him to his core.

“Step away from the hostage,” Fritz barks as a cluster of cops breaks off from the group. Moving in formation down the hallway, they rush into the bedroom, shouting the same orders.

In a heartbeat McCray scrambles around the chair and crouches behind Gavin, pulling his knife back out and slotting it against Gavin’s throat. “I’ll kill him. Won’t think twice,” he says, deliberately nicking Gavin’s neck so the cops know he means business. 

Gavin flinches as his skin parts beneath the blade, but at this point his system’s so flooded with adrenaline and he’s so overcome with humiliation he barely feels the pain. Without the criminal blocking the way he’s entirely exposed to Fritz, and surely Fritz must notice the shameful hardness tenting his boxers. He curls into himself as much as he can, but the criminal pulls him back up, forcing his body to unfold. 

“Get away from him. Now,” Fritz says, voice like granite. 

Shouts erupt in the background followed by a series of thuds. More shouting. Then the group of uniformed cops appears in the hallway, triumphantly dragging out a roughed up Espinoza in handcuffs. Fritz shakes his head and gestures with a hand and they pause, eyeing the situation in the front room.

Behind Gavin McCray gives a sharp, hysterical laugh, breath huffing along Gavin’s skin and making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “What’re you gonna do if I don’t? You can’t shoot me or you’ll hit him too. So do both of us a favor and back the fuck up.”

Fritz’s grip on his gun is firm and his aim is unwavering. “I’ll tell you one more time, McCray. Drop the knife and let Gavin go.”

For a second that seems to stretch into eternity, nothing happens. Then everything happens at once. 

Bellowing incoherently, McCray jerks Gavin’s head back and slides the knife across his throat. Gunfire erupts from the left and the knife tumbles from the criminal’s hand before it slices more than half an inch into Gavin, clattering onto the stained linoleum. Seconds later a heavy thud echoes its landing and pained wails fill the apartment.

“You shot me,” McCray shrieks. At Fritz’s signal two uniformed cops converge on him and, based on the scraping and grunting, haul him to his feet. “Police brutality,” he adds as the officers drag him into the center of the room and force his hands behind his back so they can cuff him. Blood seeps from his left shoulder, staining his shirt. Seeing his tormentor in handcuffs and obvious agony makes Gavin go limp with relief. It’s over. It’s finally over. Thank god. 

No, not god. 

Thank Fritz.

As the uniformed cops handle the suspects, Fritz holsters his weapon and rushes to Gavin. Kneeling in front of him, he tugs the gag out of his mouth and tosses it carelessly onto the floor next to the knife. “My god, Gavin. Are you okay? Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Gavin mumbles something vaguely affirmative and drops his chin to his chest, unable to look Fritz in the eye. If he didn’t notice Gavin’s shameful erection before he’s bound to notice it now. His eyes water and burn, but he blinks back the tears even as his chin trembles and his breath stutters like he’s going to start crying again at any second. But he can’t cry in front of Fritz. Won’t. He’s already seen Gavin helpless; he can’t let Fritz see him weak too.

Fritz must sense his distress and runs his hands soothingly down Gavin’s shoulders while making soft, reassuring noises. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now, okay? You’re safe.” Still rubbing calming circles into Gavin’s shoulders and back, Fritz turns toward the cops crowding the front room. “I need one of you guys to come over here and help me untie him.” One of them peels away from the group and instantly starts tugging at the ropes securing Gavin’s wrists. 

It’s all a bit too much for him to take in, and he can’t choke back the sob that punches out his throat. “Fritz. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, you have to believe me, I didn’t want —”

Fritz presses a finger to his lip, shushing him. “It’s okay.”

But it’s not okay. He has to tell Fritz, make him understand that Gavin didn’t want it, didn’t want to be touched like that. Fritz has to understand. “He touched me,” Gavin blurts out as the officer untying him finishes unbinding his hands and moves on to the ropes twining around his chest and stomach. The second his hands are free, Gavin zips up his pants with fumbling fingers and folds his hands over his lap. “He touched me and…he made me…” But he can’t finish, can’t admit it aloud. Heat flushes his face and he hangs his head again, biting his trembling bottom lip.

Fritz gently tilts his chin up, brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean he touched you? What did he make you do?”

Gavin whimpers, sounding pathetic even to his own ears, and looks pointedly down at his groin, which is finally, mercifully, going soft. Fritz follows his gaze, and he knows when Fritz understands when his hands clamp down on Gavin’s shoulders and his eyes harden again into the steely gaze of a federal agent. Gavin swallows thickly, but before he can explain himself, Fritz pushes up and spins on his heel toward the front room, leaving Gavin alone in the kitchenette with the uniformed officer.

Squeezing his eyes shut as a tear slides down his cheek, Gavin presses a fist to his lips to hold back a sob and wraps his other arm around himself. Of course Fritz is angry; he has every right to be. Who gets hard when they’re being molested? He’s sick. Disgusting. Fritz is better off —

A meaty thud and sharp cry ring out from the front room. Gavin’s eyes pop open in time to see McCray hit the floor, blood streaming from his obviously broken nose. He blinks, not entirely sure what he’s seeing until several officers converge on Fritz and haul him away from the criminal. Their voices admonish him for striking a handcuffed prisoner while their faces give away the fact that they don’t give a shit. To them, the sleazeball got what he so richly deserved.

Oh. 

Oh.

Well. Looks like Gavin has nothing to worry about after all. The pressure in his chest eases and he takes a deep breath, slumping back in the chair.

“Police brutality,” McCray shouts again to a room full of deaf ears as two cops lug him back to his feet. One of them yanks the ratty curtain off the wall and half-heartedly uses it to staunch the blood flowing down his face into his beard.

Fritz shakes the officers off and strides back to the kitchenette just as the cop finishes untying Gavin. Before Gavin even has a chance to thank the man, Fritz pulls Gavin up into a tight embrace that squeezes most of the air out of his lungs and crushes his side where Espinoza kicked him, making him suck his teeth in pain. “Don’t you ever do anything like that to me ever again,” Fritz says, voice muffled against Gavin’s hair. “I don’t know whether to slap you silly or, or, or kiss you senseless.”

“You could do both,” Gavin manages to squeak out. 

Fritz just laughs and does neither, squeezing him harder like he’s afraid Gavin is going to vanish if he lets go. Gavin can’t hide the hiss of pain this time, prompting Fritz to ease up on the embrace and step back, though his hands still grip Gavin’s upper arms like vises. “You’re hurt,” he says, giving Gavin a critical once-over. 

Gavin shrugs a shoulder. “It’s nothing.” Honestly, he can’t be bothered to care now that Fritz is here. Whatever’s wrong will heal eventually.

Fritz gives him an ‘I don’t believe you’ look. “It’s obviously not nothing. What happened?”

Gavin shrugs again, but even if he wanted to he can’t make himself lie to Fritz, either directly or by omission. “They kicked me, but I’ll be fine.”

“Because you’re going to the hospital.”

Gavin grimaces. He hates hospitals. Hates the hours of anxious waiting and the antiseptic smell and the endless beeping and booping of machines and, worse of all, the needles. Shots, IVs, those evil things they collect blood samples with, all of them. Just no. Shuddering at the thought, he presses close to Fritz and wraps his arms around him half as a distraction tactic and half as an honest need for comfort after the hellacious day he’s had. “I’ll be fine,” he says again, nuzzling a kiss into Fritz’s neck.

Fritz huffs, but wraps his arms very carefully around Gavin. “Sure. After you go to the hospital.”

Gavin grunts. So much for distraction tactics. He pulls back and looks his beautiful, beloved boyfriend dead in the eye so he knows Gavin is beyond serious about this. “Fritz. I am not going to the hospital.”

Fritz meets his gaze head on. “Yes, you are.”

Gavin glares at Fritz.

Fritz glares at Gavin.

Gavin goes to the hospital.

He ends up staying overnight and most of the next day. After making him suffer through a battery of tests (and the insertion of an IV, because apparently he’s dehydrated and why he can’t just drink water until he’s re-hydrated he’ll never know), the doctors are finally satisfied that he’s not bleeding internally and all his internal organs are fine. Nevertheless, they send him home with strict orders to take the rest of the week off to ‘recuperate,’ because doctors hate lawyers and are probably rubbing their hands in glee at the idea of taking one out of commission. Never mind the fact that Gavin would be the one defending them if they found themselves on the wrong side of a medical malpractice suit. 

Ingrates.

He huffs and puffs and throws a fit, but one look from Fritz and he caves, agreeing to stay home until next Monday even though it’s only Wednesday. Shit. Just shit. Gavin can feel the crazy creeping up on him now.

It’s late in the day by the time they let him go. Crimson throbs at the horizon and fades upward to a delicate pink. Wispy white clouds brush across the pale face of the moon, just a ghostly crescent in the early evening sky. Gavin scowls up at it, still too pissed off at the world to appreciate the natural beauty of a gorgeous sunset.

“I can walk, you know,” he grouses as Fritz pushes his wheelchair through the lobby and out to the patient drop-off area where Fritz’s blue Toyota is idling by the curb. 

“Standard discharge procedure.” Fritz sounds like he’s about to start whistling a jaunty tune. He’s obviously enjoying this way too much. Gavin rolls his eyes and picks at the large bandage covering the cut on his neck where McCray tried to slit his throat. It itches horribly, but Fritz swats his hand away before he can get any relief.

“Leave that alone.”

“Yes, mother,” Gavin snarks as Fritz parks him next to the car and opens the passenger door for him. He manages to stand up on his own before Fritz wraps an arm around him and guides him into the seat like he’s a newborn foal taking his first steps in the world. He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, mindful of the tender bruise purpling his side. “I swear to god, Fritz, knock it off. I’m not going to break.” Fritz just smiles down at him, pressing a kiss to his temple before shutting the door and wheeling the chair back to the hospital lobby. The sunset paints his back in soft pastels as the doors swish open to let him in.

Gavin sighs and leans back in the seat. All sniping aside, he’s nothing but grateful to Fritz, and not just for saving his stubborn ass. Instead of rightfully claiming the bust as his own, he graciously let one of the other agents take credit (and the accompanying pile of paperwork) so he could personally escort Gavin to the nearest hospital. Fritz was probably just making sure that Gavin actually went to the hospital and stayed there long enough for treatment, but still, Gavin appreciates it. Especially since he got to squeeze Fritz’s hand to a pulp when the nurse inserted the IV and had someone to talk to during the long, boring stretches of downtime between tests and results. 

The doors slide open as Fritz comes back outside, breaking into a light jog as soon as his shoes hit the concrete. The fiery sky burnishes his face a warm bronze, like he’s glowing with an inner light. Smiling to himself, Gavin steeples his hands together and taps his fingers against his lips. Fritz truly is the kindest, most patient man on the planet. And so very, very gorgeous. It’s enough to leave Gavin feeling overwhelmed, but in a pleasant sort of way, like the warm buzz of a good wine. As Fritz slams his door shut and shifts the car into drive, drifting out of the parking lot at a safe and responsible ten miles an hour, Gavin is struck by an aching need to show Fritz how grateful he truly is.

He can think of a few ways.

His lips quirk into a smirk as a delicious little plan starts forming in his mind.

-.-.-.-.- 

�

[thegreatpikminzx789]

Beyond the Stars - Chapter 5

Archive of Our Own | Wattpad | Fanfiction.Net

I have been SOOOO behind on writing, and with Etrian Odyssey Nexus on the rise, I figured I should at least get back into writing to prepare for the ordeal that is the upcoming Nexus game. I also hope you don't mind me skipping over Syrik for a chapter, as despite mentioning him a few times, I'll be introducing him later.

Korey, Kyo, and Demetria reach the Council Hall after  Keiko is already looking around at the Hall’s interior decoration and slowly moving to the prince, while Hilda seems to be trying to catch her breath after being dragged by an overly excited Keiko. Upon hearing the trio approach her, she turns to face them.

"Yeaaah, I forgot to mention my sister really loves meeting royal people, Hilda. I think the hype finally got to her head… My apologies for not telling you that sooner." Demetria explained to the exhausted Harbinger, as she stands up, flicking the sweat off her head.

"I’d still appreciate a warning, at least… felt like I ran a fucking marathon." Hilda complained, approaching the trio as Kyo looked around in an attempt to find Keiko. "I assume she went on in to meet the Prince, then?" She asked, as the white haired girl nodded in response to Kyo's question.

"She’s been staring at the interior decoration for some time, and I guess she got tired of waiting and went on without waiting for all of you..." Hilda sighed, as the brown haired Fencer started making his way into the Council Hall. "Well, guess that concludes that question. Let’s not keep his Majesty waiting." Korey addressed, as the four of them, without further incentive, entered the Hall.

As the group proceeds without stopping, they hear Keiko conversing with Ramus, contrasting Demetria’s worry she was likely gonna stir trouble the moment they entered, though it might change soon. "Hope we weren’t interrupting, Your Highness." Korey announced, trying not to come off as rude. Ramus and Keiko turn to face Korey, as Keiko waves at the guild, though mostly at Demetria.

"Oh, no, you’re not. In fact, Keiko here was just about to go out and get you guys… But, seeing as you stand before me, I believe that saves us plenty of time." Ramus addressed, looking at the guild standing before him, recognizing a familiar face.

"Ah, so you’ve brought Hilda as well?" He inquired, as Keiko easily answered before Korey or Hilda could answer the question. "Yep! Korey was pretty nice to offer the three of us a spot in his guild! Hehe~" As she said that, she was kind of close to Ramus, and that could prove troublesome if the guards happened to witness it.

Demetria sighs before walking up to Keiko and grabs her by her Therian ear, dragging her away from Ramus. "If you can stop being in the Princes’ bubble space, the more relieved I will be!"

"Ow, owie, my ear, I’m sorry, I’m sorrrrrryyyyyyy..."

Ramus chuckles a bit before looking at Korey. "I trust you’re the leader of this guild, then?" Korey nodded, and does a quick bow. "The only leader the Lux Guild will ever need. My name is Korey, and to get straight to the point of why we're here, we would like to take the beginner’s mission, Your Highness."

Ramus nodded, quickly understanding that the guild before him is new to Iorys. "Ah, yes, the mission. The mission is simple- in order to prove your dedication to explore Yggdrasil, you’ll need a tree and mud sample from the first floor. And of course, mapping out the first floor is also part of this test. It’s better to be safe than lost." The prince explained, to the guild, before turning to Hilda.

"Regrettably, you’ll have to retake it as well, Hilda. It may come off as unfair to have your new guild-members rely on you for everything, especially given the circumstance of your previous situation." Hilda let out an annoyed sigh, but quickly get's over her minor anger moment. "It’s alright, your Highness. I’m relieved to hear it, if anything." Hilda acknowledged, thankful that she was not rushed to continue where she left off.

It would've put her friends and her guild-members in danger, as they have no knowledge of the first three floors. Better to just roll with the flow and slowly make progress than rushing headstrong into danger. As Hilda continues her train of thought, Ramus grabs a few materials relating to map making, and hands it to Korey.

"You’ll use these to map out the first floor, and for most of the floors the Yggdrasil will have. Marking which areas are important, where things are, and what the floors are like will give us knowledge of what Yggdrasil contains." Ramus begins, before heading back to grab something. Korey hands some of the materials he had to Keiko and Demetria, as Ramus gave Korey two books.

"What are these?" Korey asked, as Hilda grabbed one of the books from him and quickly glanced at the title, and some of the pages within it. "A Monster and Item Compendium. Not every explorer will recall exact details of a monster or item from their memory, so they are essential to remembering which enemies and items we'll find in Yggdrasil." Hilda explained, as she glanced in Korey's direction.

"I can fill in some of these pages for us in advance, but you will all need to get some map training. Especially you, Korey." She continued, as Korey gulped as Hilda's glance turned into a stare. "Why do you make it sound like I'm gonna goof off while the others work?" Korey questioned, as Hilda quickly dismissed his question before handing the book she had back to him.

Kyo turned to Ramus and bowed, seeing as they are ready to leave. "Thanks for taking the time to talk to us, Prince Ramus. It was an honor to meet you." Ramus simply gave the Celestrian Warlock a smile. "It’s no big deal, really. Speaking with the explorers is what will help us all with the exploration of Yggdrasil, and hopefully, solve the mysteries that lie within it."

As Korey and the other start to leave, they are quickly stopped by Ramus, seemingly forgetting to say something. "Before you leave for Yggdrasil, I suggest you prepare yourself by going to Syrik’s shop. You’ll never know what Yggdrasil may bring, so I suggest going there before going to Yggdrasil." Korey and the others nod at his advice, making their way out of the Council Hall and head to Syrik’s shop.

Kyo recounts all the money they had brought with them with Korey, making sure that none of the explorers they pass by steal some of their money without them noticing. "Three hundred is not much to buy us every equipment in the shop, Korey..." Kyo spoke in concern, seeing as half of their money combined isn't enough to buy everything the shop may have to offer.

"Yeah, it might not… We’ll just have to be equally sparring with weapons and armor. It’s better worth trying to find a balance than risk damage over getting severely hurt." Korey suggested, thinking on behalf of not only him or Kyo, but to the rest of his guild-members. It would be a tough balance to keep, considering the source of income may come purely from items contained within Yggdrasil.

"Hilda, is that you?"

A familiar voice reaches Hilda's ears, as she stops and turns to face the familiar voice.

"Father…?" She asked aloud, causing the others to stop and turn to Hilda, before noticing someone approaching them. The armor the man wore was enough to give Korey the idea that the man in question is of the Dragoon class. His black hair and beard could easily match with his black long coat from a glance. Hilda walks up to him as he knelt down to Hilda's height and the two embraced each other in to family hug.

"D’aaawww, that’s heart warming..." Keiko sighed, beaming at the sight of (possibly) a parental figure. "Demetria, is that guy Hilda’s father?" Korey questioned, as Demetria took a few seconds to recall something that Hilda once told them before Korey and Kyo arrived.

"I'm not sure. She did say her father was a Dragoon, but we weren’t introduced to him in person…" Demetria responded, as Hilda and the Dragoon separate from the hug, looking at each other as the man stood up from kneeling down. "I see you’ve finally manage to find a guild." He began, as a smile formed on his face simply from glancing at Hilda's own smile.

"Indeed I have, father. I'm finally going to be heading back into Yggdrasil again!" Hilda grinned, clearly excited about the road ahead of her. "Indeed you are, my lovely daughter." He chuckled, as he approached Korey and the others, looking over the four of them as Hilda walked alongside him.

"So, who is the leader of this guild?"

"That’d be me, sir. I’m Korey." Korey quickly answered, reaching his hand out in greeting. Despite the difference in height, the black haired man greets him back and shook Korey's hand in return. "A fine name, lad. My name is Tyrone. Who might these girls be?" Tyrone inquired.

As if on cue, Keiko proceeded to introduce herself first. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Tyrone. I’m Keiko, and this is my sister, Demetria!" Keiko placed her hand on Demetria's shoulder, giving her the hint to introduce herself next. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Tyrone. This here is Beta."

Beta barks and wags his tail when Demetria called his name. "And I’m Kyo. It's nice to meet you, Tyrone." Kyo smiled, as Tyrone smiled back, letting go of Korey's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you. Especially you, Korey. You gave my daughter another chance where an ungrateful bastard left her." Korey tilted his head in confusion. "Uhhh, thanks? But who’s the ungrateful-"

"It’s best not to mention his name… It just irks me if it ever gets brought up." Hilda cut him off before he could finish his sentence.  "But aren’t we likely to meet him in Yggdrasil, Hilda?" Kyo asked, causing Hilda to think about her own words for a moment.

"...Yeah, you're right, Kyo. Guess that kind of makes it harder..." Hilda sighed, gazing at the ground for a few seconds before Keiko decided to change the subject. "So what brings you here, Mr. Tyrone?"

"Oh, I merely wanted to check up on my daughter. I’ve been meaning to visit sooner, but frequent trips to the labyrinth for materials caught me up recently…" Tyrone explains as he places a hand on Hilda’s head and rubs through her hair, causing Hilda's cheeks to turn red. "After all, she is the only thing I have to call a family."

"Daaaad, stop it, you’re embarrassing me..." Hilda commented, trying to hide her blush from the others. The way Hilda spoke made Korey chuckle for a couple of seconds, before Tyrone lifted his hand from her hair. "I’ll see you later, Hilda. I still need to finish some repairs on the house before I can show it to your friends."

"R-Right. Later, father." Hilda acknowledged, as Tyrone soon headed out from the guilds' sight. Although Keiko kind of had a question that she wanted to ask him, she figured it'd be better if she asked Hilda about it. "You had a house the entire time? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because father has been working on it long before I came around. He’s just finishing up on some final touches on it." Hilda admitted, turning to face Keiko and the others. "Anyways, let’s make our preparations for the first floor. The sooner we get this done, the better."

Hilda continued, looking towards Korey as if awaiting her next move. "Right. Let’s go, everyone." He finally spoke up, as they continued onward to the shop. Despite wasting a bit of time talking to Tyrone, they make it to the shop without any issues.

Soon, the journey through Yggdrasil begins...