#You come into *MY* hospital as a stranger? And you Bitch at me? Not following me not even Laytonblogger...

[shittyclive]

That's it I'm shaving him in headspace now.

(Loud audio.)

[pucksandpower]

Be My Sanctuary

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles never expected to play Prince Charming to a stranger after a race, but when he comes across you being beaten by your boyfriend, he can’t just stand around and do nothing … it turns out to be exactly what you both needed

Warnings: domestic violence, abuse, and serious injury

The sun dips low on the horizon as Charles Leclerc and Fred Vasseur make their way back to the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with post-race energy, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

“That was some driving out there,” Fred says, clapping the Monégasque on the back. “P2 is nothing to sneeze at.”

Charles grins, his eyes bright despite the fatigue etched on his face. “Merci beaucoup. It felt good to be back on the podium. I think we’re really starting to find our rhythm with the car.”

“Agreed. If we can keep this momentum going-”

A sharp crack cuts through the air, followed by a cry of pain that makes both men freeze in their tracks.

Charles’ head whips around. “Did you hear that?”

Fred nods, his expression grim. “It came from over there.” He points towards a secluded area behind one of the hospitality units.

Without hesitation, they break into a run, rounding the corner just in time to see a man’s hand connect with a woman’s face. The sound of the impact turns Charles’ stomach.

“You stupid bitch!” The man screams, his face contorted with rage. “Do you have any idea how much money I lost because of you? I told you not to come to the race! You’re bad luck!”

You stumble backward, your hand pressed to your cheek. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut up!” The man lunges forward, grabbing you by the arms and shaking you violently. “You cost me everything!”

Charles feels a surge of anger course through him. Without thinking, he sprints towards the pair, Fred close on his heels.

“Hey!” Charles shouts. “Let her go!”

The man’s head snaps up, his eyes wild. For a split second, he looks startled, but then his face twists into a snarl. Before Charles can reach them, the man slams your head against the brick wall with a sickening thud.

You crumple to the ground, unmoving.

Charles tackles the man, driving him away from the fallen woman. They hit the ground hard, and Charles feels the air rush out of his lungs. But adrenaline keeps him moving, and he manages to pin the larger man down.

“Fred!” He calls out. “Check on her!”

As Charles struggles to keep the man subdued, he hears Fred’s sharp intake of breath.

“Charles, she’s not responding. There’s ... there’s a lot of blood.”

The words send a chill down Charles’ spine. He glances over his shoulder and sees you lying motionless on the ground, a dark pool spreading beneath your head.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Charles shouts, hoping someone nearby will hear. He turns back to the man beneath him, who’s still thrashing and cursing. “Stop moving!” Charles hisses, pressing his forearm against the man’s chest.

“Get off me!” The man spits. “This is none of your business!”

Charles feels a fresh wave of rage wash over him. “None of my business? You just assaulted someone!”

Fred’s voice cuts through the chaos. “I’ve called for help. They’re on their way.” He’s kneeling beside you now, his jacket pressed against your head. “But it doesn’t look good. She needs immediate medical attention.”

The sound of running footsteps approaches, and suddenly there are more people around them. Charles recognizes some of the faces — other drivers, team personnel. Someone pulls him off the attacker, who’s quickly restrained by security.

Charles stumbles to his feet, his heart pounding. He makes his way over to where you lie, dropping to his knees beside Fred.

“Is she ...” He can’t bring himself to finish the question.

Fred shakes his head. “She’s alive, but barely. We need to keep pressure on the wound until the paramedics arrive.”

Charles nods, placing his hands over Fred’s on the makeshift compress. He looks down at your face, so pale and still. “Hold on,” he whispers. “Just hold on.”

The wait for the ambulance feels interminable. Charles keeps his eyes fixed on your chest, watching for the slight rise and fall that tells him you’re still breathing. He’s vaguely aware of the commotion around them — people asking questions, security trying to keep everyone back.

“What happened?” It’s Lewis’ voice, tinged with concern.

Fred answers, his voice low and tight. “Domestic violence. The boyfriend ...” He trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Jesus,” Lewis mutters. “Is there anything we can do?”

Charles looks up, meeting Lewis’ worried gaze. “Just ... pray, I guess.”

The sound of sirens cuts through the air, growing louder by the second. Charles feels a small measure of relief, but it’s quickly overshadowed by fear as he looks back down at you.

“Stay with us,” he murmurs. “Help is coming. Just stay with us.”

The paramedics arrive in a flurry of activity, gently but firmly moving Charles and Fred aside. Charles watches, feeling helpless, as they work on you with practiced efficiency.

“Severe head trauma,” one of them says. “We need to move her now.”

As they lift you onto a stretcher, Charles catches a glimpse of your face. There’s a bruise blooming on your cheek, stark against your pale skin. Something twists in his chest, a mixture of anger and an emotion he can’t quite name.

“I’m going with her,” he says suddenly, surprising himself.

Fred puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charles, I don’t think-”

“I need to make sure she’s okay,” Charles insists. He looks at Fred, pleading. “Someone needs to be there for her.”

After a moment, Fred nods. “Alright. I’ll handle things here and meet you at the hospital.”

Charles climbs into the ambulance, his eyes never leaving your still form. As the doors close and the vehicle lurches into motion, he reaches out and gently takes your hand.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says softly, “but you’re not alone. I’m right here with you. And I promise, you’re going to be okay.”

As the ambulance speeds through the streets, sirens wailing, Charles finds himself holding onto your hand like a lifeline. He’s not sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

The paramedic working on you glances at Charles. “You know her?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, I ... we just found her. Her boyfriend was ...” He swallows hard. “We stopped him, but not soon enough.”

The paramedic’s face softens with understanding. “You did the right thing. You probably saved her life by intervening when you did.”

Charles nods, but the words bring little comfort. He can’t shake the image of your head hitting the wall, the sound it made. He squeezes your hand gently.

“Fight,” he whispers. “Please fight.”

The rest of the ride passes in a blur of medical jargon and the steady beep of monitors. When they finally arrive at the hospital, Charles is ushered into a waiting room while you’re rushed into emergency surgery.

He paces the small room, unable to sit still. His mind races with questions. Who are you? Why would someone do this to you? Will you be okay?

Time seems to stretch endlessly. Charles checks his phone, sees messages from Fred and other concerned friends, but he can’t bring himself to respond yet. Not until he knows something.

Finally, after what feels like hours, a doctor approaches him. Charles stands, his heart in his throat.

“Are you here for the young woman brought in with head trauma?” The doctor asks.

Charles nods. “Yes. Is she ...”

“She’s out of surgery,” the doctor says. “We’ve managed to relieve the pressure on her brain, but the next 24 hours will be critical. Are you family?”

Charles hesitates. “No, I ... I was there when it happened. I rode here with her in the ambulance.”

The doctor’s expression softens slightly. “I see. Well, I can tell you that she’s stable for now, but still unconscious. We’ll be monitoring her closely.”

“Can I see her?” The words are out of Charles’ mouth before he can think better of it.

The doctor considers for a moment. “Normally we only allow family, but ... given the circumstances, I think we can make an exception. Just for a few minutes.”

Charles follows the doctor down a series of hallways, his heart pounding. When they reach your room, he pauses at the doorway, suddenly unsure.

“Go on,” the doctor says gently. “Talk to her. Sometimes patients can hear even when they’re unconscious.”

Taking a deep breath, Charles steps into the room. The sight of you lying there, surrounded by machines, makes his chest tighten. He moves to your bedside, carefully taking your hand once more.

“Hey,” he says softly. “It’s Charles. The guy from before. I don’t know if you remember, but ... I’m here. You’re safe now.”

He stands there for a long moment, just holding your hand and watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. It’s strange, he thinks, to feel so connected to someone he’s never even spoken to.

“I don’t know your story,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I want you to know that you didn’t deserve this. No one does. And when you wake up — because you will wake up — you won’t be alone. I promise.”

A nurse appears in the doorway, signaling that his time is up. Charles gives your hand one last gentle squeeze before reluctantly letting go.

As he leaves the room, he turns back for one last look. “I’ll be back,” he says. “Stay strong.”

Walking back to the waiting room, Charles feels a mix of emotions he can’t quite sort out. But one thing is clear — something has changed. And whatever happens next, he knows he’ll be there to see it through.

***

Days blend into one another as Charles maintains his vigil at your bedside. The rest of the Formula 1 circus has long since departed, but Charles can’t bring himself to leave. He’s made arrangements with the team, grateful for their understanding, and settled into a routine of sorts.

Each morning, he arrives at the hospital with fresh flowers and a determination that today might be the day you wake up. He talks to you, reads to you, and sometimes just sits in companionable silence, the steady beep of monitors a constant backdrop.

On the fifth day, as Charles is midway through reading an article about the benefits of having a dachshund, he notices a slight change. Your fingers twitch, almost imperceptibly. He leans forward, heart racing.

“Hey,” he says softly, taking your hand. “Can you hear me? If you can, squeeze my hand.”

For a long moment, nothing happens. Then, so faintly he almost misses it, he feels a gentle pressure against his palm. His breath catches in his throat.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “You’re doing great. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Slowly, painfully slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Your gaze is unfocused at first, confusion evident in your expression as you try to make sense of your surroundings.

“It’s okay,” Charles says, keeping his voice low and soothing. “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe now.”

You blink a few times, your gaze finally settling on Charles. Your brow furrows slightly, and you open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Charles advises. “Your throat might be sore from the tube. Here.” He reaches for a cup of water with a straw, holding it to your lips. “Small sips, okay?”

You take a tentative sip, wincing slightly. After a moment, you try again to speak. Your voice is raspy, barely above a whisper. “Who ...”

“I’m Charles,” he says. “I was there when ... when you got hurt. Do you remember anything?”

You close your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. “Jake,” you murmur. “He was angry ...”

Charles feels a flare of anger at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, but he keeps his voice calm. “That’s right. He hurt you pretty badly. But you’re safe now. He can’t get to you here.”

You shake your head slightly, wincing at the movement. “It wasn’t his fault,” you say. “He just ... he gets upset sometimes. I shouldn’t have gone to the race. I knew it would make him angry.”

Charles frowns, recognizing the pattern of self-blame common in abuse victims. He takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Listen,” he says gently. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. No matter how angry someone gets, they don’t have the right to hurt you. Ever.”

You look away, tears welling up in your eyes. “You don’t understand. Jake ... he loves me. He just has a temper sometimes.”

“Love shouldn’t hurt,” Charles says firmly. “Love doesn’t leave you in the hospital with a skull fracture.”

Your eyes widen slightly at this information. “Is that ... is that what happened to me?”

Charles nods solemnly. “You’ve been unconscious for five days. The doctors ... they weren’t sure if you’d wake up at all.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I don’t ... I don’t know what to do now.”

“You press charges,” Charles says without hesitation. “What he did to you was a crime. He needs to face the consequences of his actions.”

You shake your head frantically, wincing again at the movement. “No, I can’t. He’d be so angry. He ...”

“He would what?” Charles presses gently. “Hurt you again? That’s exactly why you need to do this. To protect yourself and maybe even others.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, tears falling silently. “I’m scared,” you finally whisper.

Charles squeezes your hand. “I know. And that’s okay. Being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. But you’re stronger than you know. You survived this. You can survive what comes next, too.”

“But where would I go?” You ask, your voice small. “Jake ... he made me drop out of school. I had to quit my job. I don’t have anywhere to go, or any money, or ...”

Your words trail off as a fresh wave of tears overtakes you. Charles feels a surge of protectiveness, coupled with a deep anger at the man who has left you in this situation.

“Hey,” he says softly, waiting until you meet his gaze. “I know we’ve only just met, and this might sound crazy, but ... what if you came to stay with me for a while?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I live in Monaco,” Charles explains. “I know it’s far from here, but maybe that’s a good thing. It would give you some distance, some time to figure things out without having to worry about ... about him finding you.”

“But ... but I couldn’t,” you stammer. “I don’t have any money, I can’t pay rent or-”

Charles shakes his head. “I’m not asking for rent. I’m offering you a safe place to stay while you get back on your feet. No strings attached.”

You look at him skeptically. “Why would you do that for a stranger?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his answer. “Because when I saw what was happening to you, I couldn’t just walk away. And I can’t walk away now, knowing you need help. Maybe it’s not my place, maybe it’s crossing some line, but ... I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

You’re silent for a long moment, and Charles can almost see the wheels turning in your mind as you weigh your options.

“What about your job?” You finally ask. “Don’t you have races to go to?”

Charles nods. “I do. But I have a big apartment, and there’s plenty of room. You’d have your own space. And when I’m away for races, I have friends who could check in on you, make sure you have everything you need.”

You bite your lip, looking torn. “I don’t know ... it’s a lot to take in.”

“Of course,” Charles says quickly. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take some time to think about it. But know that the offer is there if you want it.”

Just then, a nurse enters the room. Her face lights up when she sees you’re awake. “Well, look who’s back with us,” she says warmly. “I’ll go get the doctor. He’ll want to check you over.”

As the nurse leaves, you turn back to Charles. “You should go,” you say. “You’ve already done so much. You don’t need to stay.”

Charles stands, but he doesn’t move towards the door. “I’ll step out while the doctor examines you,” he says. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come back after. We can talk more about ... everything.”

You hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Okay,” you say softly. “And ... thank you. For being here. For caring.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “Of course,” he says. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

As he steps into the hallway, Charles takes a deep breath. He knows he’s getting involved in a complicated situation, one that could have far-reaching consequences. But looking back at you through the doorway, he knows he’s made the right choice. Whatever comes next, he’ll be there to help you through it.

The doctor arrives, and Charles settles into a chair in the hallway. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through the messages he’s neglected over the past few days. There’s one from Fred, asking for an update. Charles types out a quick reply.

She’s awake. It’s complicated, but I think she’s going to be okay. I’ll call you later with details.

As he hits send, Charles leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, for either of you. But for the first time in days, he feels a spark of hope. It’s a start, he thinks. And sometimes, that’s all you need.

***

The sunlight glints off the sleek exterior of the private jet as Charles helps you up the stairs. He can feel the slight tremor in your hand as he guides you inside, noting the way your eyes dart nervously around the cabin.

“Welcome aboard,” Charles says with a warm smile, hoping to put you at ease. “Make yourself comfortable. We’ve got a bit of a flight ahead of us.”

You nod, your lips pressed into a thin line as you sink into one of the plush leather seats. Charles settles in across from you, watching as you fumble with the seatbelt.

“Here, let me help,” he offers, leaning forward to assist. As he clicks the belt into place, he notices your knuckles turning white as you grip the armrests. “First time flying?” He asks gently.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

Charles shakes his head, his expression kind. “Not at all. But I fly a lot, so I’ve gotten pretty good at spotting nervous passengers.”

The engines roar to life, and you jump slightly in your seat. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t realize I’d be this scared.”

“Hey, no need to apologize,” Charles assures you. “It’s a completely normal fear. Did you know that even some drivers get nervous on planes?”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really? But you guys race at insane speeds for a living.”

Charles chuckles. “I know, it sounds crazy. But it’s true. I think it’s about control. In a car, we’re in charge. On a plane, we have to trust someone else.”

You nod, seeming to relax slightly at his words. But as the plane begins to taxi, your grip on the armrests tightens again.

“So,” Charles says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me about what you were studying before ... well, before everything happened.”

You look at him, confusion briefly replacing the fear in your eyes. “What?”

“You mentioned you had to drop out of school,” Charles explains. “What were you studying?”

A small laugh escapes you, tinged with irony. “You’re going to think this is ridiculous, but ... I was studying law.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Law? That’s impressive. Why would I think it’s ridiculous?”

You shrug, a hint of sadness creeping into your expression. “Just seems a bit ironic now, doesn’t it? Studying law and then ending up in a situation like ... like mine.”

The plane begins to accelerate down the runway, and you squeeze your eyes shut, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Hey,” Charles says softly, reaching across to place his hand over yours. “Look at me. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. Charles can see the fear there, but also a flicker of determination.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Now, tell me more about your law studies. What made you choose that field?”

You take a deep breath, clearly making an effort to focus on the conversation rather than the plane’s ascent. “I’ve always been interested in justice, I guess. Helping people who can’t help themselves. I wanted to make a difference.”

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “That’s admirable. And you know what? I don’t think it’s ironic at all that you were studying law. If anything, I think it shows how strong you are.”

The plane levels off, and some of the tension leaves your body. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, leaning back in his seat but keeping his hand on yours, “you chose a field dedicated to justice and helping others. That takes courage and compassion. The fact that you ended up in a difficult situation doesn’t change who you are at your core.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his words. “I never thought about it like that,” you admit.

“Have you thought about going back to school?” Charles asks. “Finishing your degree?”

You shake your head, a flash of pain crossing your face. “I can’t. I don’t have the money, and even if I did, I can’t go back to my old university. Jake ... he knows where it is. He’d find me.”

Charles nods, understanding. “What if you didn’t have to go back to your old university? What if you could start fresh somewhere new?”

You look at him skeptically. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Charles says, his mind racing with possibilities, “there are online programs you could look into. Or, if you prefer in-person classes, there’s the International University of Monaco. It’s a great school, and it would be close to where you’ll be staying.”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Monaco has a university?”

Charles nods, a grin spreading across his face. “It does indeed. And they have a law program. I could help you look into it if you’re interested.”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “I don’t know. It’s been a while since I was in school. And the cost ...”

“Don’t worry about the cost,” Charles says quickly. “Consider it an investment in your future. And as for being out of practice, well, that’s what studying is for, right?”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You make it sound so simple.”

Charles shrugs. “Maybe it is. Sometimes we overcomplicate things in our heads. But the truth is, if it’s something you want to do, there’s usually a way to make it happen.”

The plane encounters a patch of turbulence, causing it to shake slightly. Your grip on Charles’ hand tightens, but you don’t close your eyes this time.

“Sorry,” you mutter, loosening your grip slightly.

“No need to apologize,” Charles says. “I’m here if you need a hand to hold. Or a distraction. Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me about your favorite class from when you were in school?”

As you launch into a story about a particularly engaging Constitutional Law seminar, Charles can’t help but notice how your eyes light up. It’s the most animated he’s seen you since you woke up in the hospital, and it fills him with a sense of hope.

The rest of the flight passes in a blur of conversation. You tell Charles about your favorite professors, the most interesting cases you studied, and your obsession with Legally Blonde while growing up. In turn, Charles shares stories from his racing career, the challenges he’s faced, and the lessons he’s learned along the way.

Before either of you realize it, the captain’s voice comes over the intercom, announcing your descent into Nice.

“Oh,” you say, surprise evident in your voice. “We’re here already?”

Charles grins. “See? Not so bad, was it?”

You shake your head, a small laugh escaping you. “I guess not. Thank you, Charles. For ... well, for everything.”

As the plane touches down on the runway, Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “And hey, this is just the beginning, right?”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and excitement in your eyes. “Right. The beginning.”

The plane comes to a stop, and Charles stands, offering you his hand. “Ready to see your new home?”

You take a deep breath, then place your hand in his. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

As you make their way down the steps of the plane, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but looking at you now, seeing the spark of determination in your eyes, he’s filled with hope for what the future might hold.

The Mediterranean sun greets them as they step onto the tarmac, warm and welcoming. Charles watches as you take in your surroundings, your eyes wide with wonder.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe, gazing at the azure sea in the distance.

Charles smiles, feeling a surge of pride for his home. “Wait until you see the rest of it. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

As you walk towards the waiting Ferrari, Charles finds himself stealing glances at you. There’s still fear and uncertainty in your eyes, but there’s something else too — a resilience that he admires. He makes a silent promise to himself, right there on the sun-drenched tarmac of the Côte d’Azur, to do whatever he can to help you rebuild your life.

“So,” he says as you slide into the passenger seat, “shall we swing by the university on our way home? Just to have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Yeah,” you say, a small smile playing at your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

***

The quiet of the night is shattered by a piercing scream. Charles bolts upright in his bed, heart racing, momentarily disoriented. Then realization hits him like a wave — it’s you.

Without hesitation, he leaps out of bed and races down the hallway to your room. He bursts through the door to find you thrashing in your sheets, eyes squeezed shut, still caught in the grip of your nightmare.

“No, Jake, please!” You cry out, your voice raw with fear. “Don’t hurt me!”

Charles is at your side in an instant, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he says softly but firmly. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s just a dream.”

Your eyes fly open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, you recoil from his touch, still trapped between nightmare and reality.

“It’s me,” Charles says, keeping his voice calm. “It’s Charles. You’re in Monaco, remember? You’re safe here.”

Slowly, recognition dawns in your eyes. “Charles?” You whisper, your voice trembling.

He nods, offering a reassuring smile. “That’s right. I’m here. You’re okay.”

The tension leaves your body all at once, and you collapse against him, tears streaming down your face. Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you sob into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Charles soothes, running a hand gently up and down your back. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just a nightmare.”

You pull back slightly, wiping at your tears with shaking hands. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I feel so stupid.”

Charles shakes his head firmly. “You’re not stupid. Nightmares are normal after what you’ve been through. And I’m glad I woke up. I want to be here for you.”

You take a shuddering breath, trying to calm yourself. “It felt so real,” you whisper. “I could feel his hands on me, hear his voice ...”

“But it wasn’t real,” Charles reminds you gently. “He can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t let him.”

You nod, but Charles can see the lingering fear in your eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, I ... I just want to forget.”

“Okay,” Charles says, understanding. “Is there anything I can do? Maybe get you some water or tea?”

You bite your lip, looking uncertain. “Could you ... would you mind staying? Just until I fall asleep?” The words come out in a rush, as if you’re afraid to ask.

Charles feels a surge of protectiveness. “Of course,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

Relief washes over your face. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Charles helps you settle back against the pillows, then hesitates for a moment. “Is it okay if I ...” He gestures to the other side of the bed.

You nod, shifting over slightly to make room. Charles slips under the sheets, careful to maintain a respectful distance. But you surprise him by moving closer, seeking comfort in his presence.

“Is this okay?” You ask, your voice small.

“Of course,” Charles assures you. He opens his arms, offering an embrace without pressure. “Whatever you need.”

You hesitate for just a moment before curling into his side, your head resting on his chest. Charles wraps his arms around you, feeling the rapid beat of your heart against his side.

“Try to relax,” he murmurs. “Focus on your breathing. In and out, nice and slow.”

You nod against his chest, making a conscious effort to steady your breathing. Charles can feel some of the tension leaving your body as the minutes tick by.

“Charles?” You say after a while, your voice soft in the darkness.

“Hmm?”

“How do you do it?” You ask. “How do you stay so calm and ... and kind, even when I’m such a mess?”

Charles is quiet for a moment, considering his words. “You’re not a mess,” he says finally. “You’re healing. And that takes time. As for staying calm ... well, I’ve had my own struggles. I know what it’s like to need someone in your corner.”

You lift your head slightly, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath. He’s never been one to open up easily, but something about the quiet intimacy of the moment makes him want to share.

“Seven years ago now, I lost my father,” he says softly. “It was ... it was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. There were nights when I thought the pain would swallow me whole. But I had people who stood by me, who helped me through it. They taught me the importance of being there for others in their darkest moments.”

You’re silent for a long moment, absorbing his words. “I’m so sorry about your father,” you say finally. “That must have been awful.”

Charles nods, feeling the familiar ache in his chest. “It was. But it also taught me something important. Pain doesn’t last forever. It changes you, yes, but it doesn’t define you. You can come out the other side stronger.”

“Do you really believe that?” You ask, a hint of doubt in your voice.

“I do,” Charles says firmly. “I’ve seen it in myself, and I see it in you too. You’re stronger than you know.”

You’re quiet again, and Charles can almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. “I want to believe that,” you say eventually. “But sometimes it feels like ... like I’ll never be whole again.”

Charles tightens his embrace slightly. “Healing isn’t about going back to who you were before,” he says. “It’s about becoming someone new. Someone who carries the lessons of the past but isn’t defined by them.”

You nod slowly, considering his words. “That makes sense,” you admit. “It’s just ... it’s hard to see that future sometimes.”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “But that’s why you’re not alone in this. I’m here to remind you of that future when you can’t see it yourself.”

You lift your head again, meeting his gaze in the dim light. “Why are you doing all this for me? You barely know me.”

Charles is struck by the vulnerability in your eyes. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding.

“Because when I saw you that day, something inside me just ... knew I had to help,” he says. “I can’t explain it rationally. But I believe that sometimes, people come into our lives for a reason. Maybe I’m meant to help you heal. Or maybe you’re meant to teach me something. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to be here for you, if you’ll let me.”

You study his face for a long moment, as if searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, you lay your head back on his chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “Just focus on healing. And remember, you’re not alone in this.”

You nod against his chest, and Charles can feel your body relaxing further. Your breathing becomes slower, more even, and he knows you’re drifting off to sleep.

As the night deepens around you, Charles finds himself wide awake, acutely aware of your warm presence against him. He’s never been in a situation quite like this before, and he’s surprised by how natural it feels.

He thinks about the past few days, about the small victories you’ve already achieved. The way your eyes lit up when you toured the university campus. The quiet determination in your voice when you asked about application procedures. The shy smile that appeared when he showed you around Monaco.

Charles knows the road ahead won’t be easy. There will likely be more nights like this, more nightmares to soothe. But looking down at your peaceful face, finally relaxed in sleep, he feels a surge of hope.

Whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there to face them with you. And somehow, he knows that together, you’ll both come out stronger on the other side.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the windows, Charles finally feels his own eyes growing heavy. He allows himself to drift off, still holding you close, a silent promise of protection in his embrace.

In the quiet of the early morning, as the world outside begins to stir, there’s a sense of peace in the room. It’s fragile, perhaps, but it’s there. And for now, in this moment, it’s enough.

***

The first rays of sunlight filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Charles stirs, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He feels a weight against his chest and looks down to see you still nestled in his arms, your breathing deep and even.

For a moment, he simply watches you sleep, struck by how peaceful you look compared to the night before. He’s careful not to move, not wanting to disturb your rest. But as the room grows brighter, he sees your eyelids begin to flutter.

You blink awake, confusion briefly clouding your features before recognition sets in. “Charles?” You murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morning,” he says softly, offering a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”

You shift slightly, seeming to become aware of your position. A blush creeps across your cheeks as you pull back a bit. “I’m ... I’m okay,” you say. “I’m sorry about last night. You didn’t have to stay.”

Charles shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to stay. I’m just glad you were able to get some rest.”

You nod, running a hand through your tousled hair. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if ...”

Your voice trails off, but Charles understands. “Hey,” he says, gently tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to think about that. You’re here now, and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “You’re right. I just ... I’m not used to someone being so kind without expecting anything in return.”

Charles feels a pang in his chest at your words. “Well, get used to it,” he says, injecting a lightness into his tone. “Because that’s just how things work in the Leclerc household.”

You laugh softly, the sound warming Charles from the inside out. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” Charles grins. “It’s in the contract. Kindness, comfort, and an abundance of croissants. Speaking of which, are you hungry? I could whip up some breakfast.”

You nod, sitting up slowly. “Breakfast sounds great. But you don’t have to cook. I can manage.”

Charles waves off your protest as he sits up as well. “Nonsense. I insist. Besides, I make a mean omelette. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried my secret recipe.”

Your eyebrows raise in amusement. “Secret recipe, huh? Do I get to know what’s in it?”

Charles taps the side of his nose conspiratorially. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it? You’ll just have to trust me.”

As he moves to get out of bed, a thought strikes him. He hesitates for a moment, then turns back to you. “Actually, before we head to the kitchen, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

You look at him curiously, a hint of apprehension in your eyes. “Oh?”

Charles takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. “I was wondering if ... well, if you might want to come to my next race with me?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Your next race?”

Charles nods, watching your reaction carefully. “Yeah. It’s in a couple of weeks. I thought maybe a change of scenery might be good for you. Plus, you’d get to see what I do up close. But if it’s too soon, or if you’re not comfortable with the idea, I completely understand.”

You’re quiet for a moment, biting your lip as you consider his offer. “I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just ... the last time I was at a race ...”

Understanding dawns on Charles’s face. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I should have thought of that. We don’t have to go if it brings up bad memories.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s not that. Well, not entirely. It’s just ... I’m worried about being recognized. What if Jake sees me on TV or something?”

Charles leans forward, his expression serious. “Hey, look at me. If you come to the race, you’ll be under the full protection of the team. No one gets near the garage without proper clearance. And as for TV, well, we can make sure you’re not caught on camera if that’s what you want.”

You still look uncertain. “But won’t people wonder who I am? I don’t want to cause any trouble for you or your team.”

Charles can’t help but smile at your concern. “Trust me, the team has dealt with far more complicated situations than this. If anyone asks, we’ll simply say you’re a family friend. No one needs to know the details.”

He watches as you mull over his words, hope building in his chest. Finally, you look up at him, a small smile playing at your lips. “You really want me to come?”

Charles nods emphatically. “I really do. I think it could be good for you. A chance to create some new, positive memories associated with racing. Plus,” he adds with a grin, “I’d love for you to see me in action. I promise I’ll try to put on a good show.”

You laugh, the sound lightening the mood in the room. “Oh, is that so? Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

Charles shrugs, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “What can I say? I aim to impress.”

You shake your head in amusement, but Charles can see you’re still hesitating. “You don’t have to decide right now,” he says gently. “Take some time to think about it. The offer stands whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, looking grateful for the lack of pressure. “Thank you, Charles. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

“That’s all I ask,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Now, how about that breakfast? I believe I promised you a life-changing omelette.”

As you make your way to the kitchen, Charles can’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. He knows he’s taking a risk by inviting you to the race so soon, but something tells him it’s the right move. He’s seen glimpses of your strength over the past few days, and he believes that this could be a crucial step in your healing process.

In the kitchen, Charles busies himself with preparing breakfast, stealing glances at you as you settle at the counter. You still look a bit hesitant, but there’s a spark in your eyes that wasn’t there before.

“So,” he says as he cracks eggs into a bowl, “while you’re thinking about the race, why don’t you tell me more about your law studies? Any particular area you’re most interested in?”

You perk up at the question, and Charles listens intently as you launch into an enthusiastic explanation of your passion for human rights law. As he watches you speak, animated and engaged, he feels a warmth spread through his chest.

This, he thinks, is what healing looks like. Small steps, day by day, reclaiming pieces of yourself. And if he can play even a small part in that process, well, that’s a victory more satisfying than any podium finish.

As he serves up the omelettes, Charles makes a silent promise to himself. Whatever you decide about the race, whatever challenges lie ahead, he’ll be there. Supporting you, cheering you on, just as fiercely as any fan in the grandstands.

Because in this moment, watching you take your first bite and exclaim over his “secret recipe,” Charles realizes something important. In helping you find your strength, he’s discovering new depths of his own.

***

The energy in the paddock is electric as Charles makes his way to the Ferrari garage. He can feel the excitement buzzing through the air, the anticipation of the race to come. But today, there’s an extra flutter in his stomach that has nothing to do with pre-race jitters.

He spots you standing near the back of the garage, looking a bit overwhelmed by the flurry of activity around you. Your eyes light up when you see him, and he can’t help but smile.

“Hey,” he says, approaching you. “How are you holding up?”

You give him a small smile. “It’s ... a lot. But exciting. I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

Charles nods, understanding. “I know it can be overwhelming at first. But you’re doing great. And I have a little surprise for you.”

Your eyebrows raise in curiosity. “A surprise? Charles, you didn’t have to-”

He cuts you off with a grin. “I wanted to. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Charles leads you to a quieter corner of the garage where his race gear is laid out. He picks up his helmet, turning it so you can see the design.

Your eyes widen as you spot the purple ribbon painted prominently on the side. “Is that ...”

Charles nods, his expression softening. “A domestic violence awareness ribbon. I had it added for this race.”

You’re quiet for a moment, your fingers hovering over the ribbon without quite touching it. When you look up at Charles, your eyes are shining with unshed tears. “Why?” You ask softly.

Charles takes a deep breath. “Because I want to use my platform to raise awareness. And because ...” he pauses, meeting your gaze, “because I want you to know that you’re not alone. That there are people out there who care and want to help.”

You blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. “Charles, I don’t know what to say. This is ... it’s incredible.”

He reaches out, gently squeezing your hand. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that when I’m out there on the track today, I’m racing for you and for everyone who’s been in your position.”

You nod, unable to speak. Charles understands the emotions you’re feeling — he’s feeling them too.

A voice calls out from across the garage. “Charles! Five minutes!”

Charles turns back to you. “I’ve got to go get ready. Will you be okay?”

You take a deep breath, composing yourself. “I’ll be fine. Go. And Charles?” You meet his eyes, a small smile on your face. “Thank you. For everything.”

He nods, giving your hand one last squeeze before heading off to finish his pre-race preparations.

The race itself is a blur of adrenaline and focus. Charles pushes himself to the limit, hyper-aware of the special helmet he’s wearing and what it represents. When he crosses the finish line in second place, his heart is pounding with more than just exertion.

As he pulls into parc fermé, Charles can see the crowd of reporters already gathering. He takes a deep breath, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, as soon as he steps foot in the media pen, he’s surrounded by microphones and cameras.

“Charles! Congratulations on P2!” One reporter calls out. “But everyone’s talking about your helmet today. Can you tell us about the ribbon?”

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “The ribbon on my helmet today is a symbol of awareness for domestic violence. It’s an issue that affects millions of people around the world, and I wanted to use this platform to bring attention to it.”

Another reporter jumps in. “Was there a specific reason you chose this race to highlight this cause?”

Charles pauses, carefully considering his words. “I believe that as public figures, we have a responsibility to use our voices for good. Domestic violence is a problem that often stays hidden, and I want to help bring it into the light.”

“Will the helmet be part of any specific initiative?” A third reporter asks.

Charles nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Yes, actually. I’m going to be auctioning off this helmet, with all proceeds going to charities that combat domestic violence and support survivors.”

There’s a murmur of approval from the gathered press. “That’s a wonderful gesture,” one reporter says. “Can you tell us more about why this cause is so important to you?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes briefly scanning the crowd. He spots you standing at the back, partially hidden behind a barrier. Your eyes meet, and he draws strength from your presence.

“It’s important because it’s a problem that affects so many people, yet it’s often overlooked or ignored,” Charles says, his voice steady and clear. “I ... I have seen firsthand the devastating impact it can have on someone’s life. And I want to do whatever I can to help break the cycle of violence and provide support for those who need it.”

There’s a moment of silence as the reporters absorb his words. Then the questions start flying again.

“Have you partnered with any specific organizations for this initiative?”

“Do you plan to continue raising awareness for this cause in future races?”

“How do you balance your focus on racing with your desire to address social issues?”

Charles answers each question thoughtfully, his passion for the cause evident in every word. As the press conference winds down, he can’t help but feel a sense of pride. Not just for his performance on the track, but for using his platform to make a difference.

As he makes his way back to the Ferrari garage, Charles spots you waiting for him. Your eyes are bright with emotion, and he can see the pride and gratitude written all over your face.

“That was amazing,” you say as he approaches. “I can’t believe you did all that.”

Charles shrugs, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “It was the least I could do. I hope it helps, even if it’s just a little bit.”

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping you. “A little bit? Charles, do you have any idea how much impact something like this can have? You just brought attention to this issue in front of millions of people.”

He nods, the weight of what he’s done starting to sink in. “I just hope it makes a difference. That it helps someone out there feel less alone.”

You reach out, squeezing his hand. “It already has,” you say softly.

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a voice calls out from behind him.

“Charles! A word?”

Charles turns to see a familiar face — Federica, a respected journalist he’s known for years. She approaches with a warm smile, notepad in hand.

“Federica,” Charles greets her. “How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” she replies. “That was quite a statement you made out there today. I was hoping we could talk a bit more about it. Off the record, if you prefer.”

Charles glances at you, silently asking if you’re okay with this. You nod encouragingly.

“Sure,” Charles says. “What would you like to know?”

Federica’s expression turns serious. “I’ve known you for a while now. This isn’t just a random cause you’ve picked up. There’s a personal connection here, isn’t there?”

Charles takes a deep breath, weighing his words carefully. He feels you shift closer to him, offering silent support.

“You’re right,” he says finally. “It is personal. I can’t go into details, but ... I’ve seen up close how devastating domestic violence can be. And I realized that I had an opportunity to do something about it.”

Federica nods, her eyes softening with understanding. “That’s very brave of you, Charles. Both to take this stand and to admit the personal connection. Can I ask what made you decide to do it now?”

Charles glances at you again, a small smile playing at his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve been inspired by someone very brave. Someone who showed me that it’s possible to turn pain into purpose.”

Federica follows his gaze, her eyebrows raising slightly as she notices you for the first time. “I see,” she says, a knowing look in her eye. “Well, I think what you’re doing is wonderful. And I would be happy to help spread the word about the helmet auction, if you’d like.”

Charles nods gratefully. “That would be amazing. Thank you.”

As Federica walks away, Charles turns back to you. “I hope that was okay,” he says softly. “I didn’t want to say too much, but ...”

You shake your head, cutting him off. “It was perfect. Really. I ... I don’t know how to thank you for all of this.”

Charles reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You don’t have to thank me. Seeing you here, seeing how far you’ve come ... that’s all the thanks I need.”

For a moment, you just look at each other, a wealth of unspoken emotions passing between you. Then, impulsively, you step forward and wrap your arms around Charles in a tight hug.

He returns the embrace without hesitation, holding you close. In that moment, surrounded by the noise and chaos of the paddock, Charles feels a sense of peace wash over him.

This, he thinks, is what really matters. Not the podiums or the points, but the ability to make a difference. To help someone heal and find their strength again.

As you pull back from the hug, Charles sees something new in your eyes. A spark of determination, of hope for the future. And he knows, without a doubt, that this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

***

The late afternoon sun streams through the windows of Charles’ Monaco apartment, warming the living room. Charles is sprawled on the couch, idly scrolling through his phone, when he hears a sudden gasp from the kitchen.

“Oh my god,” your voice carries through the apartment, a mix of shock and something else Charles can’t quite place.

He sits up, instantly alert. “Everything okay?” He calls out, already moving towards the kitchen.

You appear in the doorway, your face flushed and your eyes wide. You’re clutching your phone like a lifeline, and there’s an energy radiating from you that Charles has never seen before.

“I ... I got in,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles furrows his brow, confused for a moment before realization dawns. “The university? You heard back?”

You nod, a smile breaking across your face like the sun emerging from behind clouds. “I got in, Charles. They accepted me!”

The joy in your voice is infectious, and Charles feels his own face split into a grin. “That’s amazing!” He exclaims, stepping towards you. “I knew you could do it!”

What happens next seems to unfold in slow motion. You close the distance between you in two quick steps, and before Charles can process what’s happening, your lips are on his.

The kiss is brief, a burst of spontaneous happiness, but it sends a jolt through Charles’ entire body. For a split second, he’s frozen, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of your lips against his.

But as quickly as it began, it’s over. You pull back abruptly, your eyes wide with shock at your own actions. “Oh god,” you stammer, taking a step back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ... I was just excited and I ...”

Charles can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear that you’ve crossed a line. He wants to reassure you, to tell you that it’s okay, more than okay, but you’re already backing away, words tumbling out in a rush.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please don’t be mad, I-”

“Hey,” Charles cuts in gently, reaching out to catch your hand before you can retreat further. “Stop apologizing.”

You freeze, uncertainty written all over your face. “But I-”

Charles shakes his head, a soft smile playing at his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. In fact ...” he takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You ... you have?”

Charles nods, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand. “I have. But I didn’t want to rush you. I wanted to give you time to heal, to find yourself again.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing his words. “So you’re not ... upset?”

Charles can’t help but chuckle. “Upset? No, definitely not upset. More like ... thrilled. And maybe a little disappointed in myself for not making the first move.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” Charles confirms. He takes a step closer, his free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. “In fact, if you’re okay with it, I’d really like to kiss you again. Properly this time.”

You nod, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your eyes. “I’d like that,” you whisper.

Charles leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to change your mind. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you meet him halfway, your lips connecting in a kiss that’s soft and sweet and full of promise.

This time, Charles is fully present in the moment. He savors the feeling of your lips against his, the warmth of your body as you step closer. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless. Charles rests his forehead against yours, a smile playing at his lips.

“Wow,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Charles agrees. “Wow indeed.”

For a moment, you just stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Then Charles remembers what started all this.

“So,” he says, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You got into law school. We should celebrate!”

You laugh, the sound light and carefree in a way Charles has never heard before. “I almost forgot about that for a second there.”

Charles grins. “Well, we can’t have that. It’s not every day you get accepted to study law at the International University of Monaco. This calls for champagne!”

He starts to move towards the kitchen, but you tug on his hand, pulling him back. “Wait,” you say softly. “Before we celebrate ... can we talk about this?” You gesture between the two of you.

Charles nods, his expression turning serious. “Of course. What do you want to know?”

You bite your lip, suddenly looking uncertain. “I just ... where do we go from here? I mean, I like you, Charles. A lot. But I’m still ... I’m still healing. And I don’t want to complicate things or ruin our friendship if-”

Charles cuts you off gently, taking both of your hands in his. “Hey, look at me,” he says softly. When you meet his gaze, he continues. “I like you too. A lot. And I understand that you’re still healing. I don’t want to rush anything or pressure you in any way.”

You nod, relief evident in your eyes. “So what do we do?”

Charles smiles. “We take it slow. We keep being friends, but we also explore these new feelings. And most importantly, we communicate. If at any point you feel overwhelmed or want to slow things down, you tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, a small smile playing at your lips. “And what if ... what if I want to speed things up sometimes?”

Charles feels a warmth spread through his chest at your words. “Then we can do that too. As long as we’re both comfortable and on the same page.”

You nod, looking more relaxed now. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good,” Charles says, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, about that champagne ...”

As Charles moves to the kitchen to fetch the bottle, he can’t help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him. This thing between you is new and fragile, but it’s also full of potential. And he’s determined to nurture it, to give it the time and care it needs to grow into something beautiful.

He returns with two glasses and the champagne, finding you settled on the couch. As he pours, he can’t help but steal glances at you. There’s a glow about you that has nothing to do with the afternoon sun — it’s the light of new beginnings, of hope for the future.

“A toast,” Charles says, handing you a glass. “To new adventures in education and ... other areas.”

You laugh, clinking your glass against his. “To new adventures,” you agree.

As you sip the champagne, a comfortable silence falls between you. Charles finds himself marveling at how far you’ve come in the past few months. From the scared, broken woman he first met to this confident woman embarking on a new chapter of her life.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, noticing his contemplative expression.

Charles smiles. “Just ... how proud I am of you. You’ve come so far, and now you’re starting this new journey. It’s inspiring.”

You blush slightly at his words. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. Your support has meant everything.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Charles insists. “But I’m glad I could help. And I’ll be here to support you through your studies too. Although,” he adds with a grin, “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be with law textbooks.”

You laugh, leaning into him slightly. “I’m sure you’ll find ways to be helpful. Moral support is important too, you know.”

Charles wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Well, in that case, I’m your man. Moral support is my specialty.”

As the afternoon fades into evening, you and Charles talk about everything and nothing. You discuss your hopes for university, your fears, your dreams for the future. Charles shares stories from his racing career, anecdotes he’s never told anyone else.

And through it all, there’s a new undercurrent of electricity between you. A spark ignited by that spontaneous kiss, fueled by the promise of something more.

As the sky outside turns a deep indigo, Charles finds himself marveling at the unexpected turns life can take. A few months ago, he was just a driver focused on his next win. Now, he’s sitting here with you, on the cusp of something that feels bigger and more important than any championship.

“What are you smiling about?” You ask, noticing his expression.

Charles pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Just thinking about how sometimes the best things in life are the ones you never see coming.”

You snuggle into his side, a contented sigh escaping you. “I couldn’t agree more.”

***

Five Years Later

The sun shines brightly on the streets of Monaco as Charles stands before a modest but elegant building, his heart swelling with pride. He glances at you, standing beside him in a crisp power suit, your eyes sparkling with excitement and determination. It’s a look he’s come to know well over the past five years, but today it seems to shine even brighter.

“Are you ready for this?” Charles asks, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You turn to him, a radiant smile spreading across your face. “I’ve been ready for this my whole life,” you reply, your voice steady and sure.

Charles feels a surge of love and admiration wash over him. He remembers the scared, broken woman he met all those years ago, and marvels at the strong, confident woman you’ve become. His wife. His partner in every sense of the word.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice calls out, drawing their attention to the small crowd gathered before them. “We are here today to celebrate the grand opening of the Leclerc Center for Domestic Violence Support and Legal Aid.”

A round of applause breaks out, and Charles feels you squeeze his hand tighter. He knows how much this moment means to you, how hard you’ve worked to make it a reality.

The speaker, a distinguished-looking woman in her fifties, continues. “This center represents a beacon of hope for those who have suffered in silence, a promise that they are not alone, and that help is available. And we have two very special people to thank for making this dream a reality.”

She gestures towards Charles and you. “Charles and Y/N, would you like to say a few words before we cut the ribbon?”

Charles looks at you, silently asking if you want to speak first. You nod, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who has found their true calling.

“Thank you all for being here today,” you begin, your voice clear and strong. “This center is more than just a building. It’s a promise. A promise to every person out there who’s suffering in an abusive relationship that there is hope, there is help, and there is a way out.”

Charles watches you speak, feeling a swell of pride. He remembers the countless late nights you spent poring over law books, the tears of frustration and determination as you fought your way through law school. And now here you are, a fully qualified attorney, using your hard-earned skills to help others who were once in your position.

“I stand here today not just as a lawyer, not just as the co-founder of this center, but as someone who has been where many of our future clients are right now,” you continue, your voice wavering slightly with emotion. “I know the fear, the doubt, the feeling of being trapped. But I also know the incredible strength that lies within each survivor. And it is my deepest hope that this center will help them find that strength, just as I did.”

As you step back, wiping a tear from your eye, Charles pulls you into a quick, supportive hug before stepping forward himself.

“When I met my wife five years ago,” he begins, his voice thick with emotion, “I was just a driver who thought he had it all figured out. But she opened my eyes to a world I knew little about, and showed me that sometimes the most important battles are the ones fought off the track.”

He pauses, looking out at the crowd. He sees familiar faces — fellow drivers who’ve supported this project, team members who’ve become like family, and new faces too — survivors, advocates, people who believe in the mission of this center.

“This center is a dream that we’ve shared for years,” Charles continues. “A dream of creating a safe space where survivors can find legal support, counseling, and most importantly, hope. And while I may not be the one providing legal advice,” he adds with a chuckle, earning a laugh from the crowd, “I promise to support this center and its mission in every way I can.”

He turns to you, his eyes shining with love and admiration. “And to my incredible wife, who has been the driving force behind all of this — thank you. For your strength, your determination, and for showing me what true courage looks like every single day.”

As Charles steps back, the crowd erupts in applause. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as the official hands you a large pair of scissors.

“Are you ready to do the honors?” The official asks.

You and Charles share a look, years of unspoken understanding passing between you in that moment. Together, you step forward, positioning the scissors at the purple ribbon stretched across the entrance.

“On the count of three,” the official announces. “One ... two ... three!”

With a satisfying snip, the ribbon falls away. The crowd cheers, and cameras flash as you and Charles stand before the open doors of the center, your shared dream finally a reality.

As the crowd begins to file inside for the reception, you turn to Charles, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “We did it,” you whisper. “We really did it.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, not caring about the cameras still flashing around them. “You did it,” he murmurs into your hair. “I just followed your lead.”

You pull back, shaking your head with a fond smile. “We’re a team, remember?”

Charles laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “How could I forget?”

As you make your way inside, greeting guests and answering questions, Charles finds himself reflecting on the journey that brought you both to this moment. The ups and downs, the challenges and triumphs, all leading to this day.

A familiar face approaches — Federica, the journalist who had interviewed Charles after that fateful race five years ago. “Charles, Y/N,” she greets you warmly. “Congratulations on this amazing achievement. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

You nod, your professional demeanor sliding into place. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

“This center is quite different from the usual celebrity charity projects,” Federica begins. “Can you tell me what inspired you to take such a hands-on approach?”

You and Charles share a look, silently deciding who should answer. Charles gives a small nod, encouraging you to take the lead.

“For us, this isn’t about charity in the traditional sense,” you explain. “It’s about using our resources and platform to create real, tangible change. As a survivor myself, I know firsthand how crucial legal support can be in escaping an abusive situation. But I also know how intimidating and overwhelming the legal system can seem.”

Charles watches as you speak, marveling at your eloquence and passion. He remembers the early days of your relationship, when you would sometimes struggle to find your voice. Now, you command the room with ease.

“Our goal with this center,” you continue, “is to provide comprehensive support — legal aid, counseling, practical assistance — all under one roof. We want to remove as many barriers as possible for those seeking help.”

Federica nods, scribbling in her notepad. “And Charles,” she turns to him, “how do you see your role in all of this?”

Charles straightens, his expression serious. “My role is to support this center and its mission in every way I can. Whether that’s using my platform to raise awareness, helping to secure funding, or simply being here to show that everyone can and should be allies in this fight against domestic violence.”

You reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Charles feels a surge of gratitude for your unwavering support, both in this project and in his career.

“And how do you balance this work with racing?” Federica asks.

Charles smiles. “It’s all about priorities. Racing is my passion, but this center, and the work we do here, that’s my purpose. I’m fortunate to have a team and sponsors who understand and support that.”

As Federica thanks the two of you and moves on to speak with other guests, Charles turns to you. “You were amazing,” he says softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

You lean into him slightly, a soft smile playing at your lips. “We were amazing,” you correct him. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

Before Charles can respond, another guest approaches, asking for a tour of the facilities. As you lead the way, explaining the various services the center will offer, Charles hangs back slightly, simply observing.

He watches as you point out the private consultation rooms, the children’s play area designed to make the center welcoming for families, the state-of-the-art security systems put in place to ensure client safety. Your eyes light up as you describe the pro bono legal services, the partnerships with local shelters and support groups, the education and prevention programs you hope to implement.

In this moment, seeing you in your element, Charles is struck anew by how far you’ve both come. From that terrifying night in the paddock to this day of hope and new beginnings, it’s been a journey neither of you could have anticipated.

As the day winds down and the last of the guests depart, Charles finds you standing in the main reception area, looking around with a mix of awe and determination.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, wrapping an arm around your waist.

You lean into him, letting out a contented sigh. “I was just thinking about all the lives we’re going to change here. All the people we’re going to help.”

Charles presses a kiss to your temple. “You’ve already changed so many lives, you know. Including mine.”

You turn to face him, your eyes shining with love and gratitude. “We’ve changed each other’s lives. And now we get to pay it forward.”

As Charles looks at you, his partner in every sense of the word, he knows that whatever challenges lie ahead, you’ll face them together. Just as you always have.

“Ready to go home?” He asks softly.

You nod, taking one last look around the center. “Yes,” you say, your voice filled with quiet determination. “But we’ll be back bright and early tomorrow. We’ve got work to do.”

Charles smiles, taking your hand as you walk towards the exit. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[ferrstappen]

the first one l Charles Leclerc imagine

a/n: so, I just KNOW Charles is a girl dad. I know three is his sweet spot, but idk if the boy would be the middle child or the youngest. what do you think? also, I'm working on requests and the collection pls trust me, but I'm a law student trying to hold my life together and not having a nervous breakdown every day <3

this first piece of dad!Charles is from this request <3

pairing: Charles Leclerc x female reader.

genre: dad!Charles, fluff.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, not proofread bc I don't have time for that shit.

summary: Charles tries to prepare to be the best dad for his daughter, even if she's just two days old.

It wasn't fun being heavily pregnant.

Yes, the illusion and excitement of a baby coming to complete your family was an emotion neither you nor Charles had the proper words to explain. Friends and even strangers affirmed it was going to be the most magical moment of your life, that you wouldn't even be able to imagine life before your daughter.

But that wasn't relevant now, it was the furthest thing on your mind, sleep being the only thing remotely important at the moment, and it didn't seem to come as a faint light was coming from the opposite side of the bed.

Charles was shirtless, probably cold while slightly propped on some pillows, reading something on his Kindle, a small frown noticeable between his brows. He clearly was very concentrated on whatever he was reading, the only thing that made his attention shift was the light groan you let out. Of course Charles' instantly put his attention on you, the muscles on his neck showing with the fast movement.

"What happened? Are you okay?" He asked you, his eyes fixed on your figure, very carefully placing his hand on your swollen belly.

"No, I'm not okay because I can't sleep and I have to sleep since your daughter is sucking every bit of energy and space left on my body, and to make matters worse, the light of your kindle makes it impossible to sleep," You said with a pettish tone, but Charles wasn't fazed, after almost nine months he was used to the mood swings. "I'm so sorry, honey. I'm being such a bitch I'm sorry," and before you could stop, tears started streaming down your face, and that gained a reaction from Charles.

"No no no no, chérie. It's okay, it's just the hormones, it's fine," He carefully rubbed your swollen belly, feeling how the baby moved relentlessly. "Why do you move when mama is trying to sleep, mignonne?" Charles asked his unborn daughter, knowing with certainty she was listening to him.

"Because she's your daughter, why else?" You answered and he laughed, playfully rolling his eyes. "What are you reading in there, anyways?" This time you placed your hand on his hair, knowing Charles loved the little touches of affection.

He sheepishly smiled, "It's this book I found about pregnancy and the first weeks of the baby," he answered with a quiet tone, likely waiting for you to mock him.

Instead, fresh tears started streaming down your face, again. Sending Charles into a panic, again. "No no no no, chérie!"

✨✨✨✨

The apartment looked like a mess, the baby had arrived just two days earlier and didn't have time to even think about cleaning the extremely spacious penthouse overlooking the ocean, only focused on the little lilac bundle sleeping on her crib.

Since you left the hospital in the morning, where you asked for privacy and to not have any visitors, friends were constantly texting if now was a good time to visit you and the adorable newborn. You could've sworn every person in Monaco had made their way inside your family home.

First it was Carmen and George, with Alex and Lily, with a gorgeous bouquet of lilies for you, and carrying a large Zara kids bag with multiple cashmere onesies and clothes that would probably last a couple of weeks since, as Charles read on his book, babies grow up "very fast". Charles got a pat on the back.

Then followed Fred, with a huge basquet for both you and Charles, courtesy of the entire Ferrari team, and lots of small Ferrari merchandise.

Fred wasn't even out the door when Carlos and Isa quietly made their way inside, now with a bouquet of pink roses and a gorgeous and timeless Louis Vuitton baby blanket. Again, Charles received a pat on the back from Carlos as you carefully placed your daughter on Isa’s arms.

Charles had the biggest dark circles you’d ever seen under his eyes, and you probably looked worse, dealing with the recovery of your own body after giving birth. Right when you thought you could take a nap, Max, Lando, Kelly and Penelope arrived.

Of course they tried to make a statement, with multiple balloons, Gucci and Burberry bags for the baby. Of course Max was a natural holding her, cautiously kneeling for Penelope to see her. Lando nervously laughed and the only thing he was able to say was "she's so tiny", telling you he'd hold her when she was a little bigger.

It was almost 3 PM when Charles forced you to lay down, reminding you of the stages of healing after giving birth as he read in the book. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, waking up every ten minutes because, apparently, mother instincts didn't take very long to kick in. That's why you immediately woke up when you heard low voices, quickly recognizing the voices of your in-laws. Carefully getting up and trying to look presentable, you walked towards the nursery.

No one noticed you, both Arthur and Lorenzo enthralled by their niece while Pascale held her, whispering sweet nothings in French as her granddaughter placed her tiny hand around Pascale's thumb.

Then, Charles demeanor changed.

You could see it as soon as Pascale placed the baby in Arthur's arms. His back tensed and he stood straighter, instantly moving closer towards his younger brother.

"Arthur, you have to hold her head," Charles told off his brother, carefully placing Arthur's hand on the baby's head.

He still was standing closely and worried, hand on his chin while staring at his brother. "No, Arthur don't move your arm like that," Again, he fixed his brother's arm. "No, Arthur fix your stance, you need to hold her still," His breathing was getting faster and then he couldn't take it anymore.

Arthur was perfectly holding her, but Charles simply couldn't bare with the fact of his brother making a microscopic wrong move and something happening to his daughter, his mignonne, é carina.

"No, give her to me, you're doing everything wrong." Charles carefully took his daughter off Arthur's arms.

Ignoring Arthur's shocked face and Pascale's amused expression, everyone noticed how the baby nuzzled in her papa's arms, instantly yawning and moving her hands as if she was trying to reach him; Charles instantly relaxed, feeling her against his chest and knowing she was okay because she was with him.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I think he's kind of overprotective," You said entering the room. Pascale immediately approached you, asking how you were feeling and how much pain you were in.

"Poor her, honestly. She's doomed to have Charles as her shadow forever, she won't be able to go to school or anything!" Lorenzo chimed in, making everyone laugh, except for Charles of course.

"You haven't told us her name! We've been calling her mini (Y/N)," Arthur asked, admiring his niece from afar.

The only reason Charles lifted his gaze was to find your eyes, which you took as the cue to take your place next to your family, resting your head on Charles' shoulder.

"Josephine. We are still thinking about the second, we're seeing if Jules fits," You announced, Charles giving a bright smile to his family.

"I'm thinking of Josephine Sofia Jules Gia Leclerc," Charles said. Everyone in the room looked at each other with curiosity.

"She is not having four names, Charles!" The answer came quickly from you, the tone revealing this wasn't the first time it was discussed.

"Okay then, three?"

Josephine, that's what's clear.

[hippolotamus]

Not sure if you are still doing wip tag for in case you are TSoA Coma!Eddie and buddie actor AU sounds so good

I am always down to discuss WIPs. Thanks so much for asking! Both of these WIPs came about from listening to Taylor Swift (nobody look at me) 🙈

TSoA coma!Eddie (also asked by @stereopticons)

a combination of everything has changed, and The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. To the surprise of no one this is an angsty lil thing that opens up on a memory of Buck reading a passage of TSoA to Eddie. Then it switches to present day in the hospital, with Buck watching over his husband, once again waiting for him to wake up from a medically induced coma. It will be told from Buck's POV with tiny sections of Eddie trying to find his way back. Previously posted snips here and here.

Buddie actor AU aka lights, camera, bitch smile

Associated T Swift song: I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

The only snippet that exists so far is here and I only have a few details sketched out at the moment.

Eddie is a well established Hollywood actor whose life is an outright mess following his latest girlfriend leaving and his son choosing to live with Eddie's parents. (Basically following the timeline of S7 but without Kim). His agent, Anita Mills, chooses to take a step back from him and gets him set up with Bobby Nash - agent to previous Hollywood Bad Boy Evan Buckley. While Buck has cleaned up his act it doesn't mean he doesn't still come with a boatload of insecurities underneath it all. The fic will follow a strangers/rivals to lovers structure as both men learn to deal with their shit and be the people they long to be.

ask me 'bout my wips

also tagging some belovedswho showed interest in one or both of these @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @tizniz @rainbow-nerdss

@elvensorceress @dangerpronebuddie @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @hoodie-buck @bekkachaos

@steadfastsaturnsrings @cowboycart3r @bucksbiawakening @bi-buckrights

@queerbuckleys @loveyouanyway

[luvtonique]

It happened again

Someone told me they don't believe I grew up in LA.

I am fucking baffled, man. Literally gave the exact address of my old house, the Elementary and Highschool I went to, the mall I used to ride my bike to, the bike trail I used to ride my bike on, and even pointed out the highway where I rode my bigwheel and had a cop following me because he saw a 6 year old kid riding a bigwheel by himself and was like "Where are your parents" and I went "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers" and he went "Good kid" and just followed me home instead of making me get in his car to make sure I was safe cause my mom was looking for me and called the cops.

And he said "You could have just googled those."

How the fuck is "I grew up in Los Angeles" so hard to fucking believe do you know how goddamn high the population is in LA? In 1990 (I was born in 88) the population of Los Angeles was 3.485 million.

That's 1.3% of the entire population of the united states, which may seem like a small number but that's fucking enormous. Consider that there are 50 states and 19,000 some odd cities, and 1.3% of the entire population of the country was in Los Angeles alone.

According to a quick google, 46% of LA in 1990 was white people, too. So that means there were roughly 1,603,100 white people in LA in 1990.

BUT ACCORDING TO FUCKING ACTUAL RETARDS ON THE FUCKING INTERNET WHO REFUSE TO BELIEVE WHITE PEOPLE COULD POSSIBLY HAVE GROWN UP IN LA

IT IS LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR MY WHITE ASS TO HAVE BEEN BORN IN A HOSPITAL IN BELLFLOWER AND GROWN UP ON GODDAMN PONDEROSA STREET.

IMPOSSIBLE.

THERE'S NO WAY JAY GREW UP IN LA STANDING ON DAVION'S PORCH WITH HIS HOMEBOYS DAVION, JULIAN AND SMALLS LISTENING TO BUSTA RHYMES WOO HAW WOO HAW GOTCHU ALL IN CHECK I GOT THAT HEADBANG SHIT THAT MAKE YOU BREAK YA NECK.

HE'S WHITE.

WHITE BOYS DON'T EVER COME FROM LA.

I swear to God, the argument power of you fucking morons on the internet is just putting your fingers in your ears and going "La la la la I can't hear you" and then blocking the person you're arguing with and going to your comfort group Discord to tell your friends you were just attacked by a racist or a transphobe, and it's infuriating. You are the most insufferable people on this planet and you contribute nothing to society you TikTok snorting OnlyFans model wannabe pieces of shit. You will continue to push people away, cover your ears, and block people until you die cold and alone with not a single person who ever truly loved or respected you because you are completely meaningless and live only to leave a layer of scum in your wake that helps your bitch slug-ass move across terrain.

It baffles me every single day that I, an actually retarded person, my brother, an actually retarded person, and multiple of my actually retarded friends have the basic brain functions capable of understanding that "I grew up in LA" is not a contentious or hard to believe statement.

But these people on the internet, these scumsucking stupid fucking morons who constantly rant and rave about how stupid their opponents are, are dumber than actual retards. That is baffling. I don't know how we got where we are as a society.

I hear people say "Idiocracy is real now"

This is so much worse than Idiocracy man.

[yallemagne]

Lenore Posting

One of the most influential lines in vampire literature was in a poem that features no vampires: "Denn die Todten reiten schnell" from Lenore by Gottfried August Bürger.

For fun, I must first address that this phrase also appears in what is considered Bram Stoker's first draft of Dracula: Dracula's Guest.

Impelled by some sort of fascination, I approached the sepulchre to see what it was, and why such a thing stood alone in such a place. I walked around it, and read, over the Doric door, in German: COUNTESS DOLINGEN OF GRATZ IN STYRIA SOUGHT AND FOUND DEATH 1801 On the top of the tomb, seemingly driven through the solid marble—for the structure was composed of a few vast blocks of stone—was a great iron spike or stake. On going to the back I saw, graven in great Russian letters: “The dead travel fast.”

Why it is in Russian when the engraving on the tomb is in German and why proto-Jonathan is able to read both languages when his first draft self knew not even a lick of German, I cannot say. What I can say is that Styria is a reference to Carmilla, of course, and we know from the engraving: "sought and found death" that the Countess likely committed suicide, which is often deemed a sin in Christianity that can condemn one to vampirism. Eternal life as punishment for seeking death against God's will. You could take this paired with the quote as a reference to Bürger's Ballad of Lenore, in which a grieving woman curses God for the death of her beloved and is punished with death... but it doesn't fit as well as it should. That bitch Dolingen ain't travelling nowhere.

Okay, okay, right to the book:

The parallels to Bürger's ballad start before the line is spoken. The driver drives dangerously fast, urged on by his other passengers, much to Jonathan's chagrin. How was it that Lenore was led to her death? A man resembling her beloved, Wilhelm, appeared on a horse and bid her to join him to go to their marriage bed. On the way, he rides wildly, distressing her. He inquires:

“What ails my love? the moon shines bright: Bravely the dead men ride through the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?” “Ah! no;—let them sleep in their dusty bed!”

(By the way, here, "Denn die Todten reiten schnell" is translated as "Bravely the dead men ride through the night")

"You are early to-night, my friend." The man stammered in reply:— "The English Herr was in a hurry," to which the stranger replied:— "That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift." As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger's "Lenore":— "Denn die Todten reiten schnell" — ("For the dead travel fast.")

Here, the reference is a better fit. Jonathan's fellow passenger makes the comment in reference to the stranger, who we know is the Count, being one of the dead, or rather, Un-Dead. He's travelling. Rather fast. As the dead do.

As the ballad goes on, "Wilhelm" invites a passing funeral procession to drop their mourning and sing him and his bride cheery marriage songs, which they do.

The driver and passengers (who could, in a way, be described as Jonathan's funeral procession), do not follow the Count, instead leaving for Bukovina, lamenting their failure to outpace the dead. But no matter, they are replaced by the wolves, whose singing is praised by the Count:

"Listen to them—the children of the night. What music they make!"

Now, Dracula isn't putting on the familiar face of Jonathan's dear Wilhelmina, but he does still come in disguise. And even when he introduces himself properly as Count Dracula, his hospitality is a façade to trap Jonathan and lead him to his doom.

[dameronology]

timing's a bitch (s.h) - 3/5

spring '86

i almost had you and i almost wish you would've loved me too - almost, bowling for soup (x)

"if you have chemistry, you only need one other thing...timing. but timing is a bitch" - how i met your mother

a.k.a a.k.a the three times that steve harrington chose the wrong moment, the one time that you chose the wrong moment, and the one time you both got it right (series masterlist)

You didn’t come back to Hawkins until Spring. 

It was nothing to do with Steve. Actually, nothing had changed with him. Aside from looking at him and realising that he was single-handedly responsible for the best night of your life, he was still Steve to you. Steve, who you had shaken hands with and agreed that neither of you would ever mention the hook up. Steve, who had insisted you both have a mature conversation about your fight. Steve, who had continued to drive to the city every other fucking weekend since then so you could spend time together as best friends. Just best friends. Nothing else. Even though you shared ice cream at Coney Island and stalked through Battery City at six in the fucking morning to admire the views. You shared a bed and many demons but here you were. Best friends. 

Spring Break came around quicker than you expected. You’d been eager to spend more than a singular weekend at home and actually catch up with your old friends; coffee with Nancy and record shopping with Eddie were all on the agenda, but Steve had insisted on booking you up for most of the week you were home. In some way, hooking up had accidentally brought you closer. All signs of co-dependency that you would rather have ignored than face in couples therapy. Who had the money? 

That night had played on your mind over and over again, as had the other night that you and Steve almost-but-didn’t actually hook-up. That word, you’d found, had come up a lot in recent months: almost. You almost slept with him. You almost took Steve up on his offer of a relationship. You almost begged him to stay the morning after you fucked. So many almosts in the space of just a few months and it was starting to fry your brain. You’d gone fourteen years without ever thinking of Steve as anything more than a friend; fourteen years pitying whichever girl he was trying to woo that week. You’d never anticipated that you might one day be one of those girls. 

It didn’t feel as bad as you thought it would.

Your first day home, as promised to your parents, was spent at their house. It was unpacking and lunch and then catching up on what you’d done since Christmas - though you refrained from telling them who you had done -and then finally, around sun down, they released you from their grip to go and meet your friends at the lake. Steve, as promised, pulled up outside your house at 8:02PM. 

He met you half-way up the garden path, taking you in his embrace.

“Hey, stranger!”

“Hey, Steve,” you laughed. “I only saw you last week-”

“- in New York,” he cut you off, releasing you from his grip. He ran a hand over your hair with a grin. “Seeing you in Hawkins is…different.”

You frowned. “Different how?”

“Just different,” he shrugged. “C’mon, everyone’s already at the lake.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you huffed, following Steve to the car. “My mum was talking my ear off for like three hours about my Aunt Fiona’s operation.”

Steve smiled. “Don’t apologise. I visited her in hospital last week and she’s doing okay.”

“You visited my aunt in hospital?”

“Well…yeah,” he said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve known her basically my entire life.”

“It’s not that,” you replied. “It just looks really bad that I didn’t come from New York earlier to see her-”

“-it’s okay, you’re busy,” he shrugged. “Besides, I will always be Fiona’s favourite. The Golden Child.”

You chattered back and forth until you reached the lake. 

As promised, Nancy was already down there with the gang and, true to her nature, she’d brought everything you could possibly need. A tent, towels, stuff to make s’mores when the sun went down. Evening was slowly creeping in but it was still very warm out - maybe seventy or so degrees - and the water looked beautiful under the pink sunset. Save for a few other groups dotted about the shores, the lake was pretty quiet. That meant that the group had spread out a little. 

Still, that didn’t stop them all piling in your direction as soon as they saw you get out of Steve’s car. Nancy first, and then Robin, and then finally Eddie Munson wrapped his wily arms around you and dragged you over to where they were sat. There was no pointing in screaming and kicking - he was freakishly strong after all - because that would only encourage him even more to dump you straight in the lake. So, you were grateful when he dropped you on the ground and handed you a beer from his cooler. 

“Beers are on me, ladies,” he grinned proudly. “Stole ‘em from my uncle.”

“And they say romance is dead,” Robin muttered. 

“So,” Nancy rolled her eyes at them, pulling the attention to you. “How’s New York? How’s college?”

“It’s amazing!” you grinned. “The city is amazing and college is amazing and…it’s amazing.”

Steve leant over to you, voice lowered. “Say amazing one more time and we might believe you.” 

“I wanna go to a proper one next year when I’m done with this community college bullshit,” Eddie chimed in. “I hear the hook-up culture is amazing at the inner-city ones. Better than it is here, I hope.”

“I mean…yeah, it’s good,” you shrugged. “Depends where you go, though.”

“There must be so many guys in New York,” Nancy said. “Found any nice suitors yet?”

No, the one I like is in Hawkins. 

You glanced over at Steve, but shook your head. “There’s been some here and there but…all that’s boring. Let’s go in the lake before it gets dark!”

With that you, you cleared your throat and stood up. Tossing aside your t-shirt, you kicked off your shoes and ran into the water before anyone could ask any further questions.

The lake was cold, despite the warm air, and you quickly regretted throwing yourself in so quickly. Even though the ice cold water wasn’t any less painful than the conversation you were having back on the shore, you sort of preferred the suffering when it was just a metaphorical sense. Still, you forced yourself to swim further out in an attempt to get away and to warm-up. Two birds, one stone and all that. The lake wasn’t massive but still, you only got half way out before your arms began to ache.

Grabbing onto a buoy, you pulled yourself up to catchy our breath. You’d never been the strongest swimmer but you could have been an Olympian when it came to running away from conversations you didn’t want to have. Only for a little while, though, because Steve - who was an annoyingly quick swimmer - was already on his way over. The other three, it seemed, were stood on a bridge arguing over who was going to go in first. Nancy pushing Eddie in was the last thing you made out before your best friend arrived on the scene. 

“They get too much for you already?”

You smiled a little bit, shaking your head. “No, they just ask a lot of questions.”

“And you ran away because…?”

“I-” you began, but then stopped. “No reason, Steven. I just wanted to get in the water before it got too cold.”

“Y’know I hate when you call me Steven,” he muttered. “That’s not even my legal name-”

“- yeah, but it’s funny when you get mad.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you grinned. 

“Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?” Steve asked. 

“What makes you say that?”

“Your constant changing on the subject, the fact you near enough drowned yourself when Nancy raised the question of boys-”

“- I just wanna enjoy tonight,” you cut him off. “I appreciate you looking out for me but right now, let’s just have fun. Please?”

Steve nodded and gave you a little smile. “Of course - just as long as you promise to tell me what it is later?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“And you know I’ve always got you,” he kept one hand on the buoy, raising the other to give you a light punch on the shoulder. “Provided that this new thing of running into freezing cold water every time you’re inconvenienced doesn’t become a habit, m’kay?”

“Lakes are a very good way of avoiding certain subjects,” you teased. “And you still came in after me.”

“I said it in sixth grade when I saved you from the pool and I’ll say it again,” he said. “I will always come after you.”

That was a promise he had kept: Steve had never not come after you. After every bad date and bad day and bad anything, he’d always been there. He’d come after you on New Years Eve simply just because he missed you and tonight, he’d come after you the second you’d run away. He’d saved you in every way since you slipped and fell in the pool all those years ago. 

You took one hand off the buoy, gently placing it on Steve’s face. His eyes followed your movements, brown irises never leaving your form as you thumb softly stroked his cheek. Any other time, he would have slapped it away and called you cheesy, but right then, he didn’t move. In fact, he was stone cold still as you leant in towards him - not from the cold, and not from shock either. Wasn’t it sort of established that kissing was just a thing you did now?

Steve met you half way, face slowly inching towards yours. 

And then, as if by magic, you both suddenly pulled backwards just before your lips touched. 

“I have a girlfriend!”

“I’m dropping out of college!”

The revelations came at the same time and were met with equal looks of shock on both your faces. You reeled backwards, not bothering to avoid splashing Steve as you did. Eyes wide with surprise and what he thought might have been fury, you pulled yourself to the other side of the buoy to take a moment. Just a moment, even a singular second, to process what the fuck he had just said. 

Steve was in a similar situation; he’d never even considered the idea that you might ever move home so soon. After all the bullshit conversation about things changing and this is what I want, Steve, even the possibility had seemed so far fetched. He would have been overwhelmed with joy at your revelation had you not looked like you were about to stab him. 

“What the fuck?!” you demanded. “When you were going to tell me that?!”

“When were you going to tell me about you dropping out?!”

“I think we should talk about your thing first!” you said. “So I’ll ask again - when you were gonna tell me?” 

“I don’t know!” Steve exclaimed. “Tonight, probably? Maybe tomorrow? Honestly, it was just something I was going to slip into conversation-”

“- we talk every fucking day, Steve! Every day say hey, what’s new? and you NEVER thought to answer the question with I HAVE A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND?!”

“I thought you’d be happy for me!”

“You’re so stupid,” you muttered. “I’m not angry at you for having a girlfriend, I’m angry at you because you didn’t tell me, and also maybe a little angry that we almost just kissed and you didn’t stop me earlier!”

“I forgot?”

“How do you forget?”

Steve sighed. “Imagine the thing you want most in the world. And then imagine finding a thing that makes you almost as happy as the last thing. And then imagine that the first thing, the thing you want most in the world, is trying to kiss you and you temporarily forget about the other thing-”

“- I’m the thing you want most in the world?” you asked softly.

“In any form, yes,” he admitted. “I met this girl a few weeks ago at the arcade. She’s funny and sweet and…I really want to give it a chance, okay? I owe it to myself because I think, to some extent, I might still be recovering a little from your rejection. You are not easy to get over.”

You smiled, giving him a little nod. “So I’m too late to ask you to take a chance on us when I move back?”

“‘Fraid so,” he murmured. “I love being your best friend and I’m so glad that you’re mine, but like I said, getting over you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. You’re on my mind 24/7 and after we hooked up, it only got worse and…honestly? I think I might just need to let myself be with someone else for a while. She’s good for me. The change is good.”

“Yeah,” you tried to swallow your pain, forcing a grimace. “Change can be good.”

“Can we talk about your thing now?” he asked. “Are you really dropping out?”

“Mm,” you nodded. “I haven’t been happy for a while. I tried to wait it out but I think I need to come home for a while.”

“And I’ll be here every step of the way, I promise,” Steve said. “C’mon, let’s head back to shore before it gets dark.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right behind you.”

Steve gave you one last smile before letting go of the buoy and swimming away. As soon as he was a few meters out, you released your grip too and let yourself slip underwater. Only for a second, just long enough to open your mouth and let out the world’s biggest yell  of frustration. On and on and on, until your lungs hurt from the presence of screaming and absence of breathing. Then, you re-submerged to the surface and took a deep breath. 

If only you’d been a few weeks earlier.

taglist: @yaskna @karasong @etherealforever234 @i-bitch-you-bitch @aphex2winn @raes-gay @handsupforamiracle @palmtreesx3 @lokiofasgard616 @notahappystan @we-out-here-simping @angel-jz @suniloli @mapleransom-blog @thexplosivegirl @lou-la-lou @eddiemunsonloml

[thelibrarylesstrektraveled]

Nightingale Chapter Seventeen - All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Seventeen: All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Word Count: 5279

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing! Author's Additional Notes: This is it. The last chapter. The Conclusion to my story! (There will be an epilogue to follow) I started this over a year and a half ago, and here we are, finished!! There were plenty of times I wondered if I'd ever get there. But with the steadfast encouragement of all of you, I found the inspiration and the drive. Thank all of you who read this and showered me with love. I am forever grateful!

Masterlist

Nightingale Masterlist

     Jensen checked his watch again while he tapped his fingers against his leg trying to rid himself of the anxious energy.  You’d been in the restroom for fifteen minutes and while women tended to take longer in the bathroom, it was unusual for you.  Other girls had come and gone in that time, and he was beginning to worry.  Deciding to hell with it, he knocked loudly to announce himself and entered.

     “Y/N?  Sweetheart?  The play is starting…”

     The room was empty and something about the eerie silence sent an ominous chill down his spine.  Not a trace of you anywhere, as if you’d evaporated into thin air!  Desperate, he pushed open the stall doors and last one revealed a woman crumpled against the wall.  He recognized the scuffed sneakers as your favorites and the denim jacket with the frayed sleeves.  And the fall of golden hair.

     Frantic, he dropped to his knees, “Y/N!  Baby?!” 

     He grabbed hold of your shoulder and pulled.  Your head rolled back and revealed a deeply slit throat and a stranger’s face.

     Dead.  He could tell it at a glance, but it wasn’t you!  The poor soul had been dressed in your clothes and a very convincing blonde wig. 

     “Shit!”  Jensen scrambled to his feet and burst out of the room.  He frantically searched the crowd of people while dialing his emergency number.

      “Solomon.”

      “She’s gone!  She’s gone, you son of a bitch!  You said she was safe!”

     “We show Y/N in the ladies’ room on the east end of the pavilion.” 

      “Her clothes are there along with a fucking dead body!  He’s got her!  Fuck!”

      “Stay where you are,” the agent barked through the phone while people shuffled in the background. 

      He took off at a jog, trying to scan the faces for yours, “Like hell I will!”

      “That’s an order, Ackles!  I need details, not another missing person.  I have agents converging on your location.”

      Jensen ended the call and tried your number.  It rang several times then went to voicemail.  “Sweetheart, if you get this, just hang on.  I’m coming.  I swear to God… I’m coming to get you.”

       Consciousness came to you in fragments.  Different parts of your body were numb.  There was a pins and needles feeling that came with having been in one position for too long.  Your eyes felt dry and raw, although you hadn’t opened them yet.  Your throat felt the same and there was a really unpleasant smell coming from somewhere.  An artificial and over-powering cherry scent mixed with sour sweat.  Suddenly, your whole frame was jolted, and the side of your head connected with something cold and hard.  It was enough to pull you out of the semi-conscious daze you’d been in, your eyes popped open as your head bounced off the passenger side window. 

     You sat more upright with a groan and rubbed your head, “What…?”

     This wasn’t Jensen’s car.  The dashboard was faded blue and cracked from the sun.  An ancient radio with silver knobs played an old song from the sixties.  The cardboard cherry air freshener swinging from the rearview was at least partly to blame for the oppressive stench.  The man in the driver’s seat was to blame for the rest.

     “Pharmaceuticals have come such a long way, haven’t they?  That little trip was courtesy of a new and very effective benzodiazepine.  Administered through absorption through the skin.  Remarkable.  It’s hung up in clinical trials, but those of us with connections can still have our fun.”

     Your gaze slid to the man behind the wheel and your stomach knotted.  Now that he had his glasses on and his hair was brushed back from his face, he looked much like he did back in New York.  Large, hawk-like nose.  Sharp cheekbones, eyebrows like dark slashes over nearly black eyes. 

     “Of course, the best part is that although you looked like a drunk sorority girl, you were still wide awake inside,” his lips pulled into a disturbing grin.  “Hate for you to miss out.”

     He was right.  You’d been awake while he and that girl stripped you naked and dressed you in her clothes.  You’d been useless to fight them as they pulled a wig down on your head.  You were trapped in your own body, only able to witness the horror has he killed her right in front of you.  In your mind, you screamed while he seamlessly ushered you past Jensen and into the crowd.  Right under the noses of the undercover agents who were meant to protect you. 

     You forced your mind to focus.  Agent Solomon had gone over countless scenarios with you, and this was one of them.  You quickly took inventory and noted that every scrap of clothing had been removed or replaced.  Your tracking monitor, your cell phone, your pepper spray and pocketknife.  Anything that might have been useful was long gone. 

     Except the blue paisley tie Jensen wrapped around your wrist.  You could still feel the cool silk against your skin.  Your tether to him and a reminder that you still had access to one thing that might help you.  The fourth wall.  The stage was set, and this was just another part to play.  If you gave a convincing enough performance, you might just come out of this alive.

     “Where are you taking me?” you asked as you pulled the frayed seatbelt over your shoulder and secured it.

     “Tsk, Tsk!  Telling would ruin the surprise, and you know how much I love a good surprise.”

     You scanned the scenery whizzing past and found it unfamiliar.  A two-lane road cut through thick woodland as the sun began to set.  No signs other than the occasional mile marker and warnings about rockslides.  Your ears popped, confirming you were headed to higher elevation and farther away from civilization.

      Show time.

     “Why haven’t you killed me?”  You ripped the auburn-colored wig from your head and tossed it to the floor. 

     “Do you want me to?” he returned, patting the handgun in his lap.

     Panic tried to rise like bile in your throat.  You pushed it down and snatched the half full pack of cigarettes from the dash. 

     “What I want is to wake up safe at home with a beer and left-over pizza in the fridge, but we don’t always get what we want.”

     “Beer and pizza,” Arthur repeated with a scoff.  “Sophistication never was your strong suit, Y/N.  One of Colin’s many grievances about you.”

     “What I lacked in sophistication, I made up for in eagerness.”  You lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “I certainly never heard any complaints about that.”

     “Slut.  Useless whore.  No wonder you shacked up with a Hollywood scumbag like Ackles.  You probably fuck him for a weekly allowance.”  His fingers tightened around the wheel as he spoke, “Colin deserved so much better than you.”

     “Someone like you, I suppose.”  You barked out a laugh as Green turned red from the neck up, “Jesus, you’re not still carrying a torch for a dead man, are you?  That’s pathetic, Artie.  It really is.  You know he just kept you around out of pity.  Poor little Artie from the block…”

     He backhanded you right across the mouth.  Your lip split and you tasted blood.

     “Shut up!  Just shut your whore mouth!”  He grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the window, making you groan and slump in your seat.  Your vison went hazy, but you kept conscious.

     “You conniving bitch… you had to go to the feds!  If it wasn’t for that I’d have killed you quick and been done with it.  One last loose end… but not now.  Now, I get creative.  I’ll start with your little boy toy; carve his pretty face up so not even his own mother will recognize him.  Your bestie with those cute kids?  I’ll strangle her to death while they watch.”

     You didn’t say anything, waiting him out as he raged on, “Oh!  But what about your baby sister?  Frankie.  Well, let’s just say she’ll wish she’d died in that car wreck by the time I get through with her.”

     With Arthur’s rage distracting him, you saw your opening and you took it.  The cigarette was still clenched in your fist.  Your hand shot out and you crushed the glowing cherry into his face.  It sizzled and he screamed.

     He howled in pain, and you grabbed the wheel, yanking it with all your might!  The two of you fought for control and sent the truck into a spin.  The back end fishtailed, and the tires squealed.  The world went topsy turvy around you as the truck went careening off the road with a deafening crash.  Then, silence.

     “Black SUV, headed east on Market.  That’s the last we see of it until it popped up abandoned in the Whole Foods parking lot.”

     “We got the video from them?”

     “Nada.  Their surveillance system went down last week.”

     “Safe bet that was our perp.  Get the last recordings they have in the database, let’s see if Green shows his face.”

      “SUV registered to Mrs. Barbara Perkins, deceased.”

     “Naturally.  Get a trace on that name, address, bank accounts, the works.”

      Jensen had never felt more useless in his life.  While the FBI agents bustled around their make-shift headquarters, he was sitting in an office chair.  Waiting.  There was literally nothing else he could do.  They already knew what Green looked like, even disguised as a fangirl.  The pics of Jensen signing autographs went live on social media almost instantaneously.  There were all sorts of video surveillance of him walking around the park and walking a stumbling girl through the parking lot.  It was as if he was showing off.  Flaunting his deeds to the authorities who were oblivious to it all.

      Jensen felt sick at the thought of how close you were.  Green had walked you right by him and he didn’t even know it!  His mind kept going to the dead woman wearing your clothes.  Blood everywhere.  Running like a river from her slit throat.  It could have so easily been you.  It still could, and that thought chilled him to the bone.

     The video was good for one thing though, it confirmed that you had been very much alive when you left with him.  Jensen was holding on to that fact like a lifeline!  You were smart and you were a fighter.  You’d come back, you had to.  He had a whole life planned out and every day of it included you.  Marriage.  Children.  Big family Christmases.  Quiet date nights.  He even planned a proposal in Paris.  You told him you always wanted to go and making your dreams come true had become an obsession for him.  Nothing made him happy like making you happy.  His life wasn’t his own, it was forever intertwined with yours. 

      In the immortal words of his alter-ego, “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”

      When his phone rang, his heart nearly stopped.  He didn’t recognize the number, but knew it was you.  “Y/N?!”

     “Jensen!  Oh God…!”

      Agent Solomon was on him instantly to hand the phone over, he refused.  But he did put it on speaker.  “Sweetheart, where are you?  Are you okay?!”

     The connection was tenuous, making your voice fade in and out. 

     “I’m okay… not… don’t know…. Arthur crashed…”

     “Crashed?!  What happened?”

      Solomon grabbed the phone, “Doctor West, are you with Green right now?”

     “No.  We crashed…. Left…”

     “Was he alive when you saw him last?”

     “…. Unconscious… don’t…. “

      “What kind of vehicle was he driving?”

     “Blue pickup… Dairyland.”

      “Dairyland?”  Jensen repeated. 

     “AJ… 677.”

      “Wisconsin plates,” Solomon signaled to his agents to run a search.  Even fragmented information would pull up something.

     “Doctor West, do you know where you are?”

     “Highway.  I don’t… mountains.  Jay!  Its… otter… Kimmy…”

     The agent locked eyes with Jensen, “What is she talking about?”

     “I don’t know,” he shook his head.  “Kimmy who?”

     “Kim… makeup… otter tattoo.”

     It clicked for him then.  The makeup artist who designed her own tattoos, Kimmy.  She’d been quite taken with Y/N when she went to the set that day.

      “It’s Mount Harvey, the snow melt on the south face looks like an otter playing baseball.”

      “Good.  Doctor West, we’re coming to you.”

      If she heard, she didn’t reply.  The phone screen showed the call dropped.  Solomon handed the phone to one of his team to pull trace information while he barked orders.  The well-oiled team shifted into their roles.  Dispatch communicated with local authorities on every level.  One of the advantages of working with the FBI, they were practiced in the art of the manhunt.  It wasn’t a question of if they would get Green, but when.  And would it be in time?

     “Ackles, you’re with me.”

     Jensen looked up in time to catch a bulletproof vest with FBI printed across the chest. 

     “I don’t have civilians on my tactical team as a rule,” Solomon informed him, zipping up his own vest.  “But you know Y/N better than anyone, I need your insight.  Let’s move.”

     You weren’t sure how far you’d gotten or how long you’d been walking.  It seemed like forever.  That ancient truck Arthur had been driving actually turned out to be a blessing.  The frame was good, old fashioned American steel and took the brunt of the crash without much damage.  The seatbelt did its job and prevented you from being thrown through the windshield.  Although, it dug into you with enough force that you likely had a broken clavicle and possibly a dislocated shoulder.  It throbbed like a son of a bitch, but you still made out better than Green. 

     He was going over sixty miles per hour when he crashed, and he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  He was slumped over the steering wheel, bleeding from a deep gash on his scalp and covered in broken glass from the shattered windshield.  The doctor in you wanted to check for a pulse, but your visual assessment would have to do.  He was breathing, and that was enough.  You knew time wasn’t on your side, you needed to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

      You made a quick search of his pockets and found both a phone and a handgun.  The passenger side door was bashed in, making it impossible to escape through the door or the window.  With a quick glance to confirm your kidnapper was still unconscious, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and climbed over the dash and through the shattered windshield.  You ignored the pain of the broken glass tearing into your hands and legs. 

     You had to get out and make a run for it, it was your only chance!

     The charge on the cell was dwindling as it searched for a signal, but the fates were with you, and it connected.  The sound of Jensen’s voice nearly broke you.  You held yourself together enough to get as much information out as you could before the call dropped. 

     “No, no damn it!”  Your fingers shook as you tried to call again, only to be me with no service.  You looked around at the dense trees lining the two-lane highway and the rapidly setting sun.  Tears blurred your vision and the weight of your situation hit you in force.

     There was nowhere to go for help, you didn’t even know where you were!  The adrenaline in your system was fading and you could feel the effects of shock setting in.  Injured in a car wreck coupled with who knows what the side effects of that drug Arthur shot you up with.   You well and truly screwed.

     You bent at the waist; your hands braced on your knees as you fought the rising panic.  The blue patterned silk tied to your wrist peeked out from under your shirt cuff. 

     “Breathe, Y/N.”

     “I can’t.”

     “I’m right here, Sweetheart.  I’m with you.”

     “He’s going to kill me!”

     “You can do this, come on.  Deep breath.  In and out.”

     You closed your eyes and rubbed the silk between your finger and thumb.  Like magic, you saw the closet.  Warm and filled with color-coded clothes.  The scent of cedar and vanilla cologne and Jensen smiling. 

     “You’ve got this, Y/N.  Keep moving, keep fighting!  I’m coming for you.”

     The actor’s trick worked.  Your mind cleared and you focused.  Obviously, continuing on foot was only a decent option when you knew where you were going.  You didn’t.  Which meant it was a drain on your energy reserves.  Plus, it would make rescuing you that much more difficult for the people looking for you. 

     You eyed the woods.  It was risky, with nightfall fast approaching, you would have wildlife to contend with and falling temps, but then… so would Green.  If he came to, he’d be looking for you.  Best to make that as difficult as possible. 

     “Stronger together,” you muttered the motto that became a mantra.  Even though he wasn’t holding your hand, Jensen was still with you.  You could still count on him, to remind you what was worth fighting for. 

     With the gun heavy in your hand, you climbed down the embankment and disappeared into the forest.

     “R.C.M.P. clocked a vehicle matching Green’s heading north on 99.  Last spotted an hour ago just passing Lion’s Bay.”

     “Any confirmation on passengers?”

     “Two.  A male and a female.”

     “Given the timeframe of the crash, they couldn’t have gotten much farther than that.”

     “Any hits on the cell?”

     “No, sir.”

     “Keep trying.  If she’s on the move, we might get lucky.”

     Jensen kept quiet as he sat in the back of the SUV.  The flurry of clipped commands yielded no new information.  They were racing towards you, but there was no way to know if they would make it in time.  Jensen tugged at the tie on his wrist while his mind worked over-time.  Were you hurt?  Scared?  Running or hiding?  Were you alive? 

     God please, let her be alive!

     As if on cue, his cell phone rang.  Only once, before the call dropped, but it was your number.  And it was enough.

     “Got it!  Moving slow, heading north by northeast towards Tunnel Bluffs.”

     “We’ve got local law in the area about ten minutes out.”

     “All units converge on new coordinates, be advised our witness is currently on foot.”

     “The assailant is considered armed and dangerous, use of full and deadly force authorized for all personnel.”

     The trees on Mount Harvey were thick and grew to impressive proportions.  Massive, monolithic firs and pines that held the record for some of the biggest on Earth.  Tangles of undergrowth and roots covered every inch of the forest floor, you lost your footing more than once.  Every fall slowed you down and added to your injuries.  The sun dropped to just below the horizon and the temperature went with it.

     You leaned heavily against one of the pines to catch your breath.  Your physical reserves were nearly gone, and you knew it.  There was just enough daylight left to make out a tree a few feet away.  It had an unusual split in its trunk.  Limping and cradling your arm to ease the pressure on your shoulder, you poked around in the gap.  Mostly filled with decomposing leaves, but big enough to shelter you for the night. 

     You squeezed your body through the opening and bit back a grunt as the bark scraped your injuries.  It wasn’t comfortable, which was for the best.  Your exhausted body was already vying for sleep, anything to counter that was welcome.  The opening wasn’t wide enough to see much, but it was still a defensible position.

     Your frozen fingers flexed around the gun as your eyes worked to adjust to the darkness falling.  The weight of it in your hand was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  You were a doctor, you saved lives you didn’t take them.  Your thumb clicked off the safety as you committed to the only course of action that would leave you alive.  It would be a long night and you were damn well going to survive it. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel.”

     Your eyes popped open.  When had you shut them?  The phone in your pocket died long ago, so it was impossible to tell how long you’d been in hiding.  The woods were still.  There was no wind or sounds of scuttling wildlife.  But a child’s song, so faint you thought you’d imagined it. 

     “The monkey thought was all in fun.”

     “A penny for a spool of thread, a penny for a needle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

      “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     There it was again.  Singing.  You were sure you hadn’t imagined it, it had to be Arthur.  God!  It seemed like you were making a racket!  Your breathing, your heartbeat, your eyelashes blinking rapidly as you desperately scanned the inky shadows.  Why did sound amplify in the cold and the dark?  It all seemed to be announcing your location to the man who was coming to murder you. 

     “Up and down the London road.”

     “In and out of the Eagle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     He was playing with you.  The monkey and the weasel.  Cat and mouse.  You should have kept running!  Should have kept to the road, someone would have seen you.  You would have stood a chance!  Now you were in a trap of your own making.

     “I’ve no time to plead and pine.”

     “I’ve no time to wheedle.”

     “Kiss me quick and then I’m gone.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     The echo of the woods distorted Arthur’s voice so that you had no clue where he was coming from.  Running now would do you no good.  It was too late.  The son of a bitch was closing in on you now.  Would they even be able to find your body?  Would Jensen ever know what became of you?  You should have ran the minute you remembered your name. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench.”

     “Arthur chased the doctor.”

     “The doctor thought was all in fun…”

     God, please keep him safe from the psychopath.  And Frankie!  Make sure they know I love them!  No matter what happens to me… I love you!

     “Pop!”

     Arthur.  Blood, dirt, and broken glass.  A twisted grin split his grotesque face. 

     Time stopped; a shot rang out.  Then, nothing.

     Jensen stood with the small, second group of agents investigating the crashed truck.  Two sets of footprints disappeared into the woods and the first round of FBI had already spread out into the wilderness to join the Mounties and broaden the search.

     The report of a gunshot echoed all the way back to the road.

     His blood ran cold.  “Y/N.”

     A hand went to Jensen’s Kevlar covered chest before he could move.  Bruce, the iron faced agent assigned to the actor, held him in place.

     "Let me go!"

     "Not a chance."

     "That was a fucking gunshot!"

     "Yeah, it was.  You take off now, the next one might have your name on it."

     “I don’t care!”

     "Right now, every resource we have is focused on Y/N.  You go out there and those resources get split, cutting her chance at survival in half.”

     Jensen turned away, running his hands through his hair.  “Fuck!”

     "We've all got a job to do.  Yours is communication,” Bruce put a steady hand on Jensen’s shoulder.  “You want to help your girl?   Stay put.  Be here and be ready to answer when she calls."

     Knowing Bruce was right didn't make the next hour of waiting any easier.  It was agony.  There was no word.  Not a sound from anyone.  Radio silence, Agent Bruce called it.  He seemed to think it was a positive sign, but it was driving Jensen insane.  Each minute that passed brought a horrible new thought.  A potential nightmare that could play out right in front of him.  And he was powerless to prevent it.

     He was past the end of his rope when an ambulance came into view and sped past them.  Traveling at breakneck speed up the mountain. Flashing lights bouncing off the trees and rock face. 

     Bruce held a finger to the tiny Speaker in his ear.  A grim look passed his features.

     "Let's move."

     He said nothing more.  No word on if you were alive or dead.  No hint at who that ambulance was for.  An hour ago, Jensen would have sworn he'd reached his capacity for worry and stress.  But that was nothing compared to the five minutes it took to reach the clearing.  There was a mass of people milling around.  F.B.I. he recognized and a few others outfitted in uniforms for the R.C.M.P.  That ambulance was parked off to the side, the back door was closed but the lights were still flashing.  Several other official looking vehicles showed up, including one for the coroner’s office. 

     Jensen was out of the car before Bruce even put it in park.  He caught the slender build of Frank Solomon, casually talking to a couple of other agents by the rail guard.  The son of a bitch was acting like he’d completed a milk run!  Jensen’s nostrils flared with rage as he made a direct path for him.

     The young man looked up, seemingly unphased by the Texan’s aggressive approach.

     "Ackles.”

     "Where is she?!"

     Solomon’s mouth opened, but it wasn’t his voice that was heard.  A shrill, terrified scream came from inside the ambulance, cutting through the night.

      "Jensen!"

     He'd spent fifteen years stepping into the boots of Dean Winchester.  Fighting monsters.  Some you could see, some you couldn't.  But no matter how close he was to the hero he portrayed; it was still an act.  Though there were plenty of times he’d wished it were real.  Wished he were more like the enigmatic man in the ’67 Chevy.  The man who always knew what to do.  The man who always saved the day.

     And yes, he would let his ‘Dean’ show from time to time.  That was a blurred line that proved useful more than once.  But in that moment when you screamed for him, there was no line.  There was no Dean, there was clarity. 

     Solomon got exactly one word out, “Wait…”  

     Jensen pulled back his fist and punched him square in the face, knocking him on his ass.

     He ran to that ambulance.  On a mission and with one purpose, he tore the door open.  

     You were sitting on a gurney, struggling against the medic who was trying to keep you from bolting.  Bruised and bloody.  But breathing!  The second you saw him, you went still, your bottom lip quivered.

     “Jensen.”

     The medic proved smarter than the F.B.I. agents and moved out of the way, allowing Jensen the room to take you in his arms.  That was when you broke completely.  Sobbing and desperately clinging to him like a child.  You weren’t sure how you got there.  One minute you were in that tree being stalked by a killer, the next you were being bundled into an ambulance.  It was so surreal!  It wasn’t until you heard Jensen on the other side of the door that you snapped.  Reality crashed over you, and you couldn’t breathe. 

     Jensen tried to will his own panic away.  You were alive.  He had you.  Bloody and trembling, but in his arms.  He could hear himself telling you soothing things.  Comforting words that he would never be able to recall later.  He was sure you couldn’t understand him anyway, you were crying so hard that your whole body shook. 

     But his voice was a balm, the timbre of it washed over you.  After a time, the raw shock wore through to numbness.  You drew a shuddering breath and tried to speak. 

     “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice coming from just over your head.  “I’m right here.”

     You released your death grip on Jensen’s jacket and snuck a look at your hands.  There were burn marks there from the gun powder.  Across the clearing, two men were maneuvering a stretcher over the gravel.  A black body bag was strapped to the top.

     “I killed him.”

     Jensen gently brushed the tangled hair away from your face.  His gaze followed yours to the body being taken away.  It could have so easily been you.  He rubbed his hand down your back and tucked your head under his chin.

     “Don’t look, baby.  Don’t think about it.  Never again.”

     The EMT reappeared, insisting that you go to the hospital.  He listed a number of injuries that needed attention.  Including another fucking concussion.

     You managed a weak laugh, “Look at us, right back where we started.”

     “At least you didn’t drown this time, your average is improving,” Jensen said, kissing your forehead.

     With practiced efficiency, the medic had you secured and ready for transport.  Just as the door was about to shut, Frank Solomon appeared.  His jaw was discolored and starting to swell where Jensen landed his punch. 

     Jensen smirked, “Back for round two?”

     “The ambulance is already at capacity, let’s not chance it.”  Solomon’s dark eyes shifted to you.  The arrogance drained away, and he seemed softer.  Almost repentant. 

      “Doctor West, I wanted to let you know that the death of Arthur Green officially closes this case.  You are no longer under any obligation to the F.B.I. for any purpose and you are free to resume your life.”

     “You won’t need me to make a statement?”

     “We have everything we need.  And I have to say, without your cooperation and your bravery, we never would have gotten Green let alone shut down the drug ring.  This victory is yours.”

     “I shot a man.  Deserved or not, that doesn’t feel particularly victorious.”

     Solomon blinked slowly, “You didn’t shoot Arthur Green.”

     “What?”

     “Barely clipped his shoulder, but I hardly call that a shot,” the agent shrugged, his casual manner back in place.  “One of the Mounted Police got him… Roberts, I think.  One clean shot to the head.  Green was dead before he hit the ground.”

     You could have lived with the death on your conscience, knowing it had been self-defense.  But the fact that you didn’t have to, freed you.  Well and truly.  Lightness settled in where guilt had been only a moment ago.  Words failed you.  An astonished gasp left your lips, and you let you head rest against Jensen’s shoulder.

     “Goodbye, Doctor West.  Mr. Ackles.”  Solomon shut the door and thumped it twice. 

     The ambulance slowly rolled away to begin its descent down the mountain.  Jensen’s hand found yours under the emergency blanket tucked over your lap.

     “It’s over.”

     “Yeah, it’s all over, Sweetheart” he murmured, kissing your temple.

     You and Jensen would talk about the incredible circumstances of how you got together often over the years.  You would muse on the workings of fate and God’s grand plan.  You would wonder at the impossibility of it all. 

     Surely, there must have been an easier way for two lost souls to meet.

     But then, meeting wouldn’t have been enough.  The two of you were drowning; separately but equally.  The miserable details of your own lives were pulling you under like a riptide.  It was so all-consuming that you couldn’t break free.  You weren’t strong enough, not alone. 

     It was like Jensen said that day in your old apartment, make a different choice.  The two of you chose to save each other.  But you also chose to let yourself to be saved.  It wasn’t passive and it wasn’t by chance.  It was a decision.  Perhaps not always an easy one, but it had power. 

     Love does conquer all, but only if you choose it.  TagList @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseubyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @deanwwinchester

[trektraveler]

Nightingale Chapter Seventeen - All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Seventeen: All Around the Cobbler's Bench

Word Count: 5279

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing! Author's Additional Notes: This is it. The last chapter. The Conclusion to my story! (There will be an epilogue to follow) I started this over a year and a half ago, and here we are, finished!! There were plenty of times I wondered if I'd ever get there. But with the steadfast encouragement of all of you, I found the inspiration and the drive. Thank all of you who read this and showered me with love. I am forever grateful!

Series Masterlist

     Jensen checked his watch again while he tapped his fingers against his leg trying to rid himself of the anxious energy.  You’d been in the restroom for fifteen minutes and while women tended to take longer in the bathroom, it was unusual for you.  Other girls had come and gone in that time, and he was beginning to worry.  Deciding to hell with it, he knocked loudly to announce himself and entered.

     “Y/N?  Sweetheart?  The play is starting…”

     The room was empty and something about the eerie silence sent an ominous chill down his spine.  Not a trace of you anywhere, as if you’d evaporated into thin air!  Desperate, he pushed open the stall doors and last one revealed a woman crumpled against the wall.  He recognized the scuffed sneakers as your favorites and the denim jacket with the frayed sleeves.  And the fall of golden hair.

     Frantic, he dropped to his knees, “Y/N!  Baby?!” 

     He grabbed hold of your shoulder and pulled.  Your head rolled back and revealed a deeply slit throat and a stranger’s face.

     Dead.  He could tell it at a glance, but it wasn’t you!  The poor soul had been dressed in your clothes and a very convincing blonde wig. 

     “Shit!”  Jensen scrambled to his feet and burst out of the room.  He frantically searched the crowd of people while dialing his emergency number.

      “Solomon.”

      “She’s gone!  She’s gone, you son of a bitch!  You said she was safe!”

     “We show Y/N in the ladies’ room on the east end of the pavilion.” 

      “Her clothes are there along with a fucking dead body!  He’s got her!  Fuck!”

      “Stay where you are,” the agent barked through the phone while people shuffled in the background. 

      He took off at a jog, trying to scan the faces for yours, “Like hell I will!”

      “That’s an order, Ackles!  I need details, not another missing person.  I have agents converging on your location.”

      Jensen ended the call and tried your number.  It rang several times then went to voicemail.  “Sweetheart, if you get this, just hang on.  I’m coming.  I swear to God… I’m coming to get you.”

       Consciousness came to you in fragments.  Different parts of your body were numb.  There was a pins and needles feeling that came with having been in one position for too long.  Your eyes felt dry and raw, although you hadn’t opened them yet.  Your throat felt the same and there was a really unpleasant smell coming from somewhere.  An artificial and over-powering cherry scent mixed with sour sweat.  Suddenly, your whole frame was jolted, and the side of your head connected with something cold and hard.  It was enough to pull you out of the semi-conscious daze you’d been in, your eyes popped open as your head bounced off the passenger side window. 

     You sat more upright with a groan and rubbed your head, “What…?”

     This wasn’t Jensen’s car.  The dashboard was faded blue and cracked from the sun.  An ancient radio with silver knobs played an old song from the sixties.  The cardboard cherry air freshener swinging from the rearview was at least partly to blame for the oppressive stench.  The man in the driver’s seat was to blame for the rest.

     “Pharmaceuticals have come such a long way, haven’t they?  That little trip was courtesy of a new and very effective benzodiazepine.  Administered through absorption through the skin.  Remarkable.  It’s hung up in clinical trials, but those of us with connections can still have our fun.”

     Your gaze slid to the man behind the wheel and your stomach knotted.  Now that he had his glasses on and his hair was brushed back from his face, he looked much like he did back in New York.  Large, hawk-like nose.  Sharp cheekbones, eyebrows like dark slashes over nearly black eyes. 

     “Of course, the best part is that although you looked like a drunk sorority girl, you were still wide awake inside,” his lips pulled into a disturbing grin.  “Hate for you to miss out.”

     He was right.  You’d been awake while he and that girl stripped you naked and dressed you in her clothes.  You’d been useless to fight them as they pulled a wig down on your head.  You were trapped in your own body, only able to witness the horror has he killed her right in front of you.  In your mind, you screamed while he seamlessly ushered you past Jensen and into the crowd.  Right under the noses of the undercover agents who were meant to protect you. 

     You forced your mind to focus.  Agent Solomon had gone over countless scenarios with you, and this was one of them.  You quickly took inventory and noted that every scrap of clothing had been removed or replaced.  Your tracking monitor, your cell phone, your pepper spray and pocketknife.  Anything that might have been useful was long gone. 

     Except the blue paisley tie Jensen wrapped around your wrist.  You could still feel the cool silk against your skin.  Your tether to him and a reminder that you still had access to one thing that might help you.  The fourth wall.  The stage was set, and this was just another part to play.  If you gave a convincing enough performance, you might just come out of this alive.

     “Where are you taking me?” you asked as you pulled the frayed seatbelt over your shoulder and secured it.

     “Tsk, Tsk!  Telling would ruin the surprise, and you know how much I love a good surprise.”

     You scanned the scenery whizzing past and found it unfamiliar.  A two-lane road cut through thick woodland as the sun began to set.  No signs other than the occasional mile marker and warnings about rockslides.  Your ears popped, confirming you were headed to higher elevation and farther away from civilization.

      Show time.

     “Why haven’t you killed me?”  You ripped the auburn-colored wig from your head and tossed it to the floor. 

     “Do you want me to?” he returned, patting the handgun in his lap.

     Panic tried to rise like bile in your throat.  You pushed it down and snatched the half full pack of cigarettes from the dash. 

     “What I want is to wake up safe at home with a beer and left-over pizza in the fridge, but we don’t always get what we want.”

     “Beer and pizza,” Arthur repeated with a scoff.  “Sophistication never was your strong suit, Y/N.  One of Colin’s many grievances about you.”

     “What I lacked in sophistication, I made up for in eagerness.”  You lit a cigarette and took a long drag, “I certainly never heard any complaints about that.”

     “Slut.  Useless whore.  No wonder you shacked up with a Hollywood scumbag like Ackles.  You probably fuck him for a weekly allowance.”  His fingers tightened around the wheel as he spoke, “Colin deserved so much better than you.”

     “Someone like you, I suppose.”  You barked out a laugh as Green turned red from the neck up, “Jesus, you’re not still carrying a torch for a dead man, are you?  That’s pathetic, Artie.  It really is.  You know he just kept you around out of pity.  Poor little Artie from the block…”

     He backhanded you right across the mouth.  Your lip split and you tasted blood.

     “Shut up!  Just shut your whore mouth!”  He grabbed your hair and bashed your head against the window, making you groan and slump in your seat.  Your vison went hazy, but you kept conscious.

     “You conniving bitch… you had to go to the feds!  If it wasn’t for that I’d have killed you quick and been done with it.  One last loose end… but not now.  Now, I get creative.  I’ll start with your little boy toy; carve his pretty face up so not even his own mother will recognize him.  Your bestie with those cute kids?  I’ll strangle her to death while they watch.”

     You didn’t say anything, waiting him out as he raged on, “Oh!  But what about your baby sister?  Frankie.  Well, let’s just say she’ll wish she’d died in that car wreck by the time I get through with her.”

     With Arthur’s rage distracting him, you saw your opening and you took it.  The cigarette was still clenched in your fist.  Your hand shot out and you crushed the glowing cherry into his face.  It sizzled and he screamed.

     He howled in pain, and you grabbed the wheel, yanking it with all your might!  The two of you fought for control and sent the truck into a spin.  The back end fishtailed, and the tires squealed.  The world went topsy turvy around you as the truck went careening off the road with a deafening crash.  Then, silence.

     “Black SUV, headed east on Market.  That’s the last we see of it until it popped up abandoned in the Whole Foods parking lot.”

     “We got the video from them?”

     “Nada.  Their surveillance system went down last week.”

     “Safe bet that was our perp.  Get the last recordings they have in the database, let’s see if Green shows his face.”

      “SUV registered to Mrs. Barbara Perkins, deceased.”

     “Naturally.  Get a trace on that name, address, bank accounts, the works.”

      Jensen had never felt more useless in his life.  While the FBI agents bustled around their make-shift headquarters, he was sitting in an office chair.  Waiting.  There was literally nothing else he could do.  They already knew what Green looked like, even disguised as a fangirl.  The pics of Jensen signing autographs went live on social media almost instantaneously.  There were all sorts of video surveillance of him walking around the park and walking a stumbling girl through the parking lot.  It was as if he was showing off.  Flaunting his deeds to the authorities who were oblivious to it all.

      Jensen felt sick at the thought of how close you were.  Green had walked you right by him and he didn’t even know it!  His mind kept going to the dead woman wearing your clothes.  Blood everywhere.  Running like a river from her slit throat.  It could have so easily been you.  It still could, and that thought chilled him to the bone.

     The video was good for one thing though, it confirmed that you had been very much alive when you left with him.  Jensen was holding on to that fact like a lifeline!  You were smart and you were a fighter.  You’d come back, you had to.  He had a whole life planned out and every day of it included you.  Marriage.  Children.  Big family Christmases.  Quiet date nights.  He even planned a proposal in Paris.  You told him you always wanted to go and making your dreams come true had become an obsession for him.  Nothing made him happy like making you happy.  His life wasn’t his own, it was forever intertwined with yours. 

      In the immortal words of his alter-ego, “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.”

      When his phone rang, his heart nearly stopped.  He didn’t recognize the number, but knew it was you.  “Y/N?!”

     “Jensen!  Oh God…!”

      Agent Solomon was on him instantly to hand the phone over, he refused.  But he did put it on speaker.  “Sweetheart, where are you?  Are you okay?!”

     The connection was tenuous, making your voice fade in and out. 

     “I’m okay… not… don’t know…. Arthur crashed…”

     “Crashed?!  What happened?”

      Solomon grabbed the phone, “Doctor West, are you with Green right now?”

     “No.  We crashed…. Left…”

     “Was he alive when you saw him last?”

     “…. Unconscious… don’t…. “

      “What kind of vehicle was he driving?”

     “Blue pickup… Dairyland.”

      “Dairyland?”  Jensen repeated. 

     “AJ… 677.”

      “Wisconsin plates,” Solomon signaled to his agents to run a search.  Even fragmented information would pull up something.

     “Doctor West, do you know where you are?”

     “Highway.  I don’t… mountains.  Jay!  Its… otter… Kimmy…”

     The agent locked eyes with Jensen, “What is she talking about?”

     “I don’t know,” he shook his head.  “Kimmy who?”

     “Kim… makeup… otter tattoo.”

     It clicked for him then.  The makeup artist who designed her own tattoos, Kimmy.  She’d been quite taken with Y/N when she went to the set that day.

      “It’s Mount Harvey, the snow melt on the south face looks like an otter playing baseball.”

      “Good.  Doctor West, we’re coming to you.”

      If she heard, she didn’t reply.  The phone screen showed the call dropped.  Solomon handed the phone to one of his team to pull trace information while he barked orders.  The well-oiled team shifted into their roles.  Dispatch communicated with local authorities on every level.  One of the advantages of working with the FBI, they were practiced in the art of the manhunt.  It wasn’t a question of if they would get Green, but when.  And would it be in time?

     “Ackles, you’re with me.”

     Jensen looked up in time to catch a bulletproof vest with FBI printed across the chest. 

     “I don’t have civilians on my tactical team as a rule,” Solomon informed him, zipping up his own vest.  “But you know Y/N better than anyone, I need your insight.  Let’s move.”

     You weren’t sure how far you’d gotten or how long you’d been walking.  It seemed like forever.  That ancient truck Arthur had been driving actually turned out to be a blessing.  The frame was good, old fashioned American steel and took the brunt of the crash without much damage.  The seatbelt did its job and prevented you from being thrown through the windshield.  Although, it dug into you with enough force that you likely had a broken clavicle and possibly a dislocated shoulder.  It throbbed like a son of a bitch, but you still made out better than Green. 

     He was going over sixty miles per hour when he crashed, and he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.  He was slumped over the steering wheel, bleeding from a deep gash on his scalp and covered in broken glass from the shattered windshield.  The doctor in you wanted to check for a pulse, but your visual assessment would have to do.  He was breathing, and that was enough.  You knew time wasn’t on your side, you needed to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. 

      You made a quick search of his pockets and found both a phone and a handgun.  The passenger side door was bashed in, making it impossible to escape through the door or the window.  With a quick glance to confirm your kidnapper was still unconscious, you freed yourself from the seatbelt and climbed over the dash and through the shattered windshield.  You ignored the pain of the broken glass tearing into your hands and legs. 

     You had to get out and make a run for it, it was your only chance!

     The charge on the cell was dwindling as it searched for a signal, but the fates were with you, and it connected.  The sound of Jensen’s voice nearly broke you.  You held yourself together enough to get as much information out as you could before the call dropped. 

     “No, no damn it!”  Your fingers shook as you tried to call again, only to be me with no service.  You looked around at the dense trees lining the two-lane highway and the rapidly setting sun.  Tears blurred your vision and the weight of your situation hit you in force.

     There was nowhere to go for help, you didn’t even know where you were!  The adrenaline in your system was fading and you could feel the effects of shock setting in.  Injured in a car wreck coupled with who knows what the side effects of that drug Arthur shot you up with.   You well and truly screwed.

     You bent at the waist; your hands braced on your knees as you fought the rising panic.  The blue patterned silk tied to your wrist peeked out from under your shirt cuff. 

     “Breathe, Y/N.”

     “I can’t.”

     “I’m right here, Sweetheart.  I’m with you.”

     “He’s going to kill me!”

     “You can do this, come on.  Deep breath.  In and out.”

     You closed your eyes and rubbed the silk between your finger and thumb.  Like magic, you saw the closet.  Warm and filled with color-coded clothes.  The scent of cedar and vanilla cologne and Jensen smiling. 

     “You’ve got this, Y/N.  Keep moving, keep fighting!  I’m coming for you.”

     The actor’s trick worked.  Your mind cleared and you focused.  Obviously, continuing on foot was only a decent option when you knew where you were going.  You didn’t.  Which meant it was a drain on your energy reserves.  Plus, it would make rescuing you that much more difficult for the people looking for you. 

     You eyed the woods.  It was risky, with nightfall fast approaching, you would have wildlife to contend with and falling temps, but then… so would Green.  If he came to, he’d be looking for you.  Best to make that as difficult as possible. 

     “Stronger together,” you muttered the motto that became a mantra.  Even though he wasn’t holding your hand, Jensen was still with you.  You could still count on him, to remind you what was worth fighting for. 

     With the gun heavy in your hand, you climbed down the embankment and disappeared into the forest.

     “R.C.M.P. clocked a vehicle matching Green’s heading north on 99.  Last spotted an hour ago just passing Lion’s Bay.”

     “Any confirmation on passengers?”

     “Two.  A male and a female.”

     “Given the timeframe of the crash, they couldn’t have gotten much farther than that.”

     “Any hits on the cell?”

     “No, sir.”

     “Keep trying.  If she’s on the move, we might get lucky.”

     Jensen kept quiet as he sat in the back of the SUV.  The flurry of clipped commands yielded no new information.  They were racing towards you, but there was no way to know if they would make it in time.  Jensen tugged at the tie on his wrist while his mind worked over-time.  Were you hurt?  Scared?  Running or hiding?  Were you alive? 

     God please, let her be alive!

     As if on cue, his cell phone rang.  Only once, before the call dropped, but it was your number.  And it was enough.

     “Got it!  Moving slow, heading north by northeast towards Tunnel Bluffs.”

     “We’ve got local law in the area about ten minutes out.”

     “All units converge on new coordinates, be advised our witness is currently on foot.”

     “The assailant is considered armed and dangerous, use of full and deadly force authorized for all personnel.”

     The trees on Mount Harvey were thick and grew to impressive proportions.  Massive, monolithic firs and pines that held the record for some of the biggest on Earth.  Tangles of undergrowth and roots covered every inch of the forest floor, you lost your footing more than once.  Every fall slowed you down and added to your injuries.  The sun dropped to just below the horizon and the temperature went with it.

     You leaned heavily against one of the pines to catch your breath.  Your physical reserves were nearly gone, and you knew it.  There was just enough daylight left to make out a tree a few feet away.  It had an unusual split in its trunk.  Limping and cradling your arm to ease the pressure on your shoulder, you poked around in the gap.  Mostly filled with decomposing leaves, but big enough to shelter you for the night. 

     You squeezed your body through the opening and bit back a grunt as the bark scraped your injuries.  It wasn’t comfortable, which was for the best.  Your exhausted body was already vying for sleep, anything to counter that was welcome.  The opening wasn’t wide enough to see much, but it was still a defensible position.

     Your frozen fingers flexed around the gun as your eyes worked to adjust to the darkness falling.  The weight of it in your hand was unfamiliar and uncomfortable.  You were a doctor, you saved lives you didn’t take them.  Your thumb clicked off the safety as you committed to the only course of action that would leave you alive.  It would be a long night and you were damn well going to survive it. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench, the monkey chased the weasel.”

     Your eyes popped open.  When had you shut them?  The phone in your pocket died long ago, so it was impossible to tell how long you’d been in hiding.  The woods were still.  There was no wind or sounds of scuttling wildlife.  But a child’s song, so faint you thought you’d imagined it. 

     “The monkey thought was all in fun.”

     “A penny for a spool of thread, a penny for a needle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

      “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     There it was again.  Singing.  You were sure you hadn’t imagined it, it had to be Arthur.  God!  It seemed like you were making a racket!  Your breathing, your heartbeat, your eyelashes blinking rapidly as you desperately scanned the inky shadows.  Why did sound amplify in the cold and the dark?  It all seemed to be announcing your location to the man who was coming to murder you. 

     “Up and down the London road.”

     “In and out of the Eagle.”

     “That’s the way the money goes.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     He was playing with you.  The monkey and the weasel.  Cat and mouse.  You should have kept running!  Should have kept to the road, someone would have seen you.  You would have stood a chance!  Now you were in a trap of your own making.

     “I’ve no time to plead and pine.”

     “I’ve no time to wheedle.”

     “Kiss me quick and then I’m gone.”

     “Pop!  Goes the weasel!”

     The echo of the woods distorted Arthur’s voice so that you had no clue where he was coming from.  Running now would do you no good.  It was too late.  The son of a bitch was closing in on you now.  Would they even be able to find your body?  Would Jensen ever know what became of you?  You should have ran the minute you remembered your name. 

     “All around the cobbler’s bench.”

     “Arthur chased the doctor.”

     “The doctor thought was all in fun…”

     God, please keep him safe from the psychopath.  And Frankie!  Make sure they know I love them!  No matter what happens to me… I love you!

     “Pop!”

     Arthur.  Blood, dirt, and broken glass.  A twisted grin split his grotesque face. 

     Time stopped; a shot rang out.  Then, nothing.

     Jensen stood with the small, second group of agents investigating the crashed truck.  Two sets of footprints disappeared into the woods and the first round of FBI had already spread out into the wilderness to join the Mounties and broaden the search.

     The report of a gunshot echoed all the way back to the road.

     His blood ran cold.  “Y/N.”

     A hand went to Jensen’s Kevlar covered chest before he could move.  Bruce, the iron faced agent assigned to the actor, held him in place.

     "Let me go!"

     "Not a chance."

     "That was a fucking gunshot!"

     "Yeah, it was.  You take off now, the next one might have your name on it."

     “I don’t care!”

     "Right now, every resource we have is focused on Y/N.  You go out there and those resources get split, cutting her chance at survival in half.”

     Jensen turned away, running his hands through his hair.  “Fuck!”

     "We've all got a job to do.  Yours is communication,” Bruce put a steady hand on Jensen’s shoulder.  “You want to help your girl?   Stay put.  Be here and be ready to answer when she calls."

     Knowing Bruce was right didn't make the next hour of waiting any easier.  It was agony.  There was no word.  Not a sound from anyone.  Radio silence, Agent Bruce called it.  He seemed to think it was a positive sign, but it was driving Jensen insane.  Each minute that passed brought a horrible new thought.  A potential nightmare that could play out right in front of him.  And he was powerless to prevent it.

     He was past the end of his rope when an ambulance came into view and sped past them.  Traveling at breakneck speed up the mountain. Flashing lights bouncing off the trees and rock face. 

     Bruce held a finger to the tiny Speaker in his ear.  A grim look passed his features.

     "Let's move."

     He said nothing more.  No word on if you were alive or dead.  No hint at who that ambulance was for.  An hour ago, Jensen would have sworn he'd reached his capacity for worry and stress.  But that was nothing compared to the five minutes it took to reach the clearing.  There was a mass of people milling around.  F.B.I. he recognized and a few others outfitted in uniforms for the R.C.M.P.  That ambulance was parked off to the side, the back door was closed but the lights were still flashing.  Several other official looking vehicles showed up, including one for the coroner’s office. 

     Jensen was out of the car before Bruce even put it in park.  He caught the slender build of Frank Solomon, casually talking to a couple of other agents by the rail guard.  The son of a bitch was acting like he’d completed a milk run!  Jensen’s nostrils flared with rage as he made a direct path for him.

     The young man looked up, seemingly unphased by the Texan’s aggressive approach.

     "Ackles.”

     "Where is she?!"

     Solomon’s mouth opened, but it wasn’t his voice that was heard.  A shrill, terrified scream came from inside the ambulance, cutting through the night.

      "Jensen!"

     He'd spent fifteen years stepping into the boots of Dean Winchester.  Fighting monsters.  Some you could see, some you couldn't.  But no matter how close he was to the hero he portrayed; it was still an act.  Though there were plenty of times he’d wished it were real.  Wished he were more like the enigmatic man in the ’67 Chevy.  The man who always knew what to do.  The man who always saved the day.

     And yes, he would let his ‘Dean’ show from time to time.  That was a blurred line that proved useful more than once.  But in that moment when you screamed for him, there was no line.  There was no Dean, there was clarity. 

     Solomon got exactly one word out, “Wait…”  

     Jensen pulled back his fist and punched him square in the face, knocking him on his ass.

     He ran to that ambulance.  On a mission and with one purpose, he tore the door open.  

     You were sitting on a gurney, struggling against the medic who was trying to keep you from bolting.  Bruised and bloody.  But breathing!  The second you saw him, you went still, your bottom lip quivered.

     “Jensen.”

     The medic proved smarter than the F.B.I. agents and moved out of the way, allowing Jensen the room to take you in his arms.  That was when you broke completely.  Sobbing and desperately clinging to him like a child.  You weren’t sure how you got there.  One minute you were in that tree being stalked by a killer, the next you were being bundled into an ambulance.  It was so surreal!  It wasn’t until you heard Jensen on the other side of the door that you snapped.  Reality crashed over you, and you couldn’t breathe. 

     Jensen tried to will his own panic away.  You were alive.  He had you.  Bloody and trembling, but in his arms.  He could hear himself telling you soothing things.  Comforting words that he would never be able to recall later.  He was sure you couldn’t understand him anyway, you were crying so hard that your whole body shook. 

     But his voice was a balm, the timbre of it washed over you.  After a time, the raw shock wore through to numbness.  You drew a shuddering breath and tried to speak. 

     “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice coming from just over your head.  “I’m right here.”

     You released your death grip on Jensen’s jacket and snuck a look at your hands.  There were burn marks there from the gun powder.  Across the clearing, two men were maneuvering a stretcher over the gravel.  A black body bag was strapped to the top.

     “I killed him.”

     Jensen gently brushed the tangled hair away from your face.  His gaze followed yours to the body being taken away.  It could have so easily been you.  He rubbed his hand down your back and tucked your head under his chin.

     “Don’t look, baby.  Don’t think about it.  Never again.”

     The EMT reappeared, insisting that you go to the hospital.  He listed a number of injuries that needed attention.  Including another fucking concussion.

     You managed a weak laugh, “Look at us, right back where we started.”

     “At least you didn’t drown this time, your average is improving,” Jensen said, kissing your forehead.

     With practiced efficiency, the medic had you secured and ready for transport.  Just as the door was about to shut, Frank Solomon appeared.  His jaw was discolored and starting to swell where Jensen landed his punch. 

     Jensen smirked, “Back for round two?”

     “The ambulance is already at capacity, let’s not chance it.”  Solomon’s dark eyes shifted to you.  The arrogance drained away, and he seemed softer.  Almost repentant. 

      “Doctor West, I wanted to let you know that the death of Arthur Green officially closes this case.  You are no longer under any obligation to the F.B.I. for any purpose and you are free to resume your life.”

     “You won’t need me to make a statement?”

     “We have everything we need.  And I have to say, without your cooperation and your bravery, we never would have gotten Green let alone shut down the drug ring.  This victory is yours.”

     “I shot a man.  Deserved or not, that doesn’t feel particularly victorious.”

     Solomon blinked slowly, “You didn’t shoot Arthur Green.”

     “What?”

     “Barely clipped his shoulder, but I hardly call that a shot,” the agent shrugged, his casual manner back in place.  “One of the Mounted Police got him… Roberts, I think.  One clean shot to the head.  Green was dead before he hit the ground.”

     You could have lived with the death on your conscience, knowing it had been self-defense.  But the fact that you didn’t have to, freed you.  Well and truly.  Lightness settled in where guilt had been only a moment ago.  Words failed you.  An astonished gasp left your lips, and you let you head rest against Jensen’s shoulder.

     “Goodbye, Doctor West.  Mr. Ackles.”  Solomon shut the door and thumped it twice. 

     The ambulance slowly rolled away to begin its descent down the mountain.  Jensen’s hand found yours under the emergency blanket tucked over your lap.

     “It’s over.”

     “Yeah, it’s all over, Sweetheart” he murmured, kissing your temple.

     You and Jensen would talk about the incredible circumstances of how you got together often over the years.  You would muse on the workings of fate and God’s grand plan.  You would wonder at the impossibility of it all. 

     Surely, there must have been an easier way for two lost souls to meet.

     But then, meeting wouldn’t have been enough.  The two of you were drowning; separately but equally.  The miserable details of your own lives were pulling you under like a riptide.  It was so all-consuming that you couldn’t break free.  You weren’t strong enough, not alone. 

     It was like Jensen said that day in your old apartment, make a different choice.  The two of you chose to save each other.  But you also chose to let yourself to be saved.  It wasn’t passive and it wasn’t by chance.  It was a decision.  Perhaps not always an easy one, but it had power. 

     Love does conquer all, but only if you choose it.  TagList @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseubyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @deanwwinchester

[daddyy333]

Hurt | Joseph Quinn x y/n

if you’d like you can reblog my original work, but please don’t post it without credit. if you take inspiration from my ideas please tag me, I’d like to see how someone else would write it

Word count: 2.2k

warnings: reader gets mugged, reader is stabbed, being in the hospital, mentions of sedatives, reader tases her attacker, Joe beats the attacker up, ?

idk how to feel about this one I don’t really like it but I’m having like a wee bit of writers block so yea

summary: uhhh?

When Joe rose to fame because of his role in Stranger Things 4, so did you a little. Fans quickly noticed there was a certain ring always on his left ring finger, when the others changed every now and then that one stayed. And you two weren’t very good at hiding the relationship, considering you never had to.

Within a month after the release of Volume 1, Joe had to post a few pictures of the two of you with the caption “surprise 😁”. One was of you on your wedding day, another of you two drunkenly singing karaoke on his birthday, one from behind the scenes of Stranger Things, a picture Jamie got of you two sharing a sweet kiss as you cuddled up on the couch.

A few others as well, but now everyone knew he had married the most beautiful woman in existence and were obsessed. You quickly went from having 12 thousand followers to 5 million in the blink of an eye. You were a pretty skilled nail tech, people traveled to have their nails done by you but you had been doing less work since Joe started traveling and you joined him.

With your new found fame also came threats, mean comments, uncomfortable touches in public, a whole list of things. Of course, Joe would never let anything happen to you and nothing really got to you because you know they are just mindless people who have nothing better to do than bother you.

But, whilst you were walking back to the hotel after meeting up with a friend to do her nails, you felt like someone was following you. You sped up but that did nothing, as you were shoved into the alley a few seconds later. You yelped and whimpered as your pepper spray was knocked out of your hand, the taser you usually carry in your purse which was across from you.

He kicked you and said “give me all your money. I know who you are, and I know you have some” “stop!” You cried as he kept kicking you, punching you when you tried to get up. You gasped and groaned, curling to the side as you clutched your stomach, unable to breathe from the harsh kicks to it.

“Come on, you stupid bitch!” He said and turned you over, slapping you. You grunted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Stop fighting!” He said and pushed your head against a wall, kicking you in the back so many times you thought it’d break.

You tried screaming for help, but he grabbed you by your hair, lifting you up so you would look at him in the face. You couldn’t breathe, you could barely see, and you felt like your hearing was muffled. “Pl- P- Please, s-sto- ahhhh!” You screamed as he took out a pocket knife and pressed against your ribs, the tip piercing through your skin.

“Give me your fucking money!” He said and you sobbed, trying to reach for your purse. He threw it at you and your shaky, probably somewhat broken hand opened it and reached inside, moaning and groaning because of the pain. You found the wallet and gave him the 300 dollars you had with you, trying so hard to regulate your breathing.

He snatched the money and grabbed your purse, taking out your phone and smashing it. You sobbed, coughing Jo some blood. He scoffed and said “your jewelry. Give me your jewelry too”

You took a few gasps of air, squeezing the button on the taser you snuck out of your bag and taser him in his leg. You got up and were starting to get away when he grabbed your ankle, making you fall and shoved the knife between your ribs, making you black out for a second.

Once you were conscious again, you managed to tase him right in the balls. He screamed, falling to the ground. You used whatever strength you could muster up and sat up, tasing him in his stomach and neck, and crawling out of the alley.

You stumbled back to the hotel, grabbing onto buildings and cars and street lamps, your phone wouldn’t turn on so you couldn’t call anyone. You just wanted to get to the hotel before he got to you again. You felt weak, you knew you were bleeding internally but it didn’t seem to have gotten to your heart so there was that.

You walked into the hotel and everyone stared but you didn’t care, you got in the elevator, shaking like a leaf. Your ankle hurt really bad and one of your heels was broken, so it was even harder to stand. You limped and nearly tripped on your way to the hotel room.

You were digging through your bag trying to find your hotel key, and you found it snapped in half. You broke, falling to the ground as you cried, weakly knocking on the door hoping Joe was there. “Jo-…mmh, oh g-god- Joe!” You said, losing your voice from the screaming and the pain.

He opened the door and gasped, he’d never cried so fast in his life. “Oh my- oh my god…how- oh my god y/n!” He said and you whimpered, spitting up blood. He gasped again and said “I need to get you to a hospital!”

He ran back into the room, grabbing one of your bags that he knew had toiletries and some clothes in it as well as his phone and keys and ran back out. “N-no…no hosp- hos- hospi-ital…” you said and he shook his head.

He got you to sit against the wall and said “y/n, there’s a knife in your chest and you probably have countless internal injuries that are going to kill you I don’t care what you want, I want you to live” He scooped you up, biting his lip when you yelled out from the pain.

“You’re okay, you’re okay…try to breathe sweetheart, please” he said, you were still gasping for air, the stab wound wasn’t helping much either. He got you to the car and didn’t care if blood or anything got on the seat, he’d light this car on fire if it meant you’d be okay.

Everything was hazy from there, he remembers panicking when you passed out, speeding so fast he was sure he was going to get arrested and then getting to the hospital. He remembers the nurses asking your name and what happened but instead he just broke down in sobs.

Eventually they gave him a small dose of a sedative to calm him down and he gave them your name and told them he was your husband and you just showed up to the hotel room like that. He really hoped that they didn’t think he did this to you, god he would never do anything even remotely like this to you.

The sedative made him sleepy and they gave him a blanket and pillow and he fell asleep, even though he didn’t want to. He was woken up by the same nurse, 8 hours later at 5am. “Hi, sir…Joseph, right?” She asked and he cleared his throat, sitting up.

He nodded and she said “your wife is okay. She has some broken ribs, a concussion and the stab did some serious damage so she had surgery to correct it and she should be okay. Her wrist on her dominant hand was injured but not a sprain or a fracture or a break, she’ll just need to refrain from using that hand. She has a sprained ankle which she'll wear a brace provided by the hospital to correct. She’s got some major bruising but she’ll be okay. She needs to give her statement to the cops and give them a description of her attacker but she’s really struggling and her heart rate is really high, we’d like to see if having you there might help”

He nodded, biting his lip as tears filled his eyes. She brought him to the room and you were crying, curled into your side, the monitor beeping fast and the cops trying to calm you down whilst another nurse tried giving you oxygen. “Hey, hey, shhh it’s okay…relax, sweetheart it’s okay” he said as he walked over, pushing past the cops and slowly reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear.

“babe, you’ve got to calm down,” he said, grabbing the oxygen mask from the nurse and putting it over your nose and mouth. He stroked your hair for a few moments, calming you as your body twitched from how bad your anxiety was, and helping you regulate your breathing and form a few clear sentences.

“Who did this to you huh?” He asked, he’d sneakily grabbed the question sheet that the policemen had and set on his lap to look at. “I-I don’t know, Joey…I swear” you said and whimpered, still in a lot of pain. He blinked away a few tears and said “I believe you, y/n…I do. Can you describe what he looks like? Like, hair color, eye color, facial features and stuff?”

You did pretty okay and it was enough for the sketch artist to get a good idea of what to draw. He asked you all the questions and the police wrote the answers down, waiting patiently for you to get through having to relive it in your head.

“You did so good, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you, y/n, you’re so damn strong” he said and you bit your lip, covering your face with your hand as you sobbed, you felt so scared and so anxious. It took some time, and some sedatives but eventually you calmed down and were about to go to sleep, still trying to fight it for Joe.

“Baby…just close your eyes,” he said and you groaned, his fingers making the motion a few inches away from your face. One was already closed practically, it was swollen and bruised and looked so painful. He sighed and rested his head on the bed, playing with your injury-free hand. You sighed and said “fine…but promise you’ll be here when I wake up”

He wrapped his pinky around yours and kissed his hand, and you weakly brought your hands up and kissed yours. He smiled, and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes and quickly falling asleep.

He stroked your palm and up your arm as he said “I’m gonna find who did this to you…and I’m gonna make him pay”

And that he did. A few days later, police found out who he was through security cameras and put a warrant out for his arrest. With some googling and some searching Joe found out his address, and went straight there. He beat him up, worse than what he had done to you before calling the cops and leaving an anonymous tip.

He went home and he said the redness on his knuckles was from hitting his hand on the car door. You believed him. You had no reason not to. The police called some time later and said they had caught him and you broke into tears. He held you as you cried, gentle of your wounds and you sobbed into his chest, all your pain and anxiety and stress spilling out.

“He’s not gonna hurt you anymore…he can’t sweetheart. You’re safe” he said, kissing your head.

Things got better, you went to therapy and your body healed and eventually your mind as well. You stopped working completely for about a year, and Joe was okay with that and supported it. He made enough to support both of you, which was something he’d wanted to do for you since you were teenagers.

All he’s ever wanted was to see you happy. So he works hard so you can stay home where you feel safe, where you can heal. He doesn’t want it any other way. He loves you more than life itself.

But when things got really good you got back into working, and Joe then threw around the idea of you being an actor as well. You did the stupid school, and the plays that made you feel like an idiot just to make him happy, but then you started getting attention from agencies, and directors were reaching out themselves directly to you.

“I told you you were good!” Joe said. You got an agent and did a few small projects and then Joe practically begged on his knees for you to do this movie with him so you did and oh my god people were obsessed. They loved the two of you together, and you two also play a couple in the movie so it was the best of both worlds for the fans.

It was crazy that that one tragic night changed your life in not only a negative way but a positive way too. You never would’ve even considered acting if you hadn’t been looking for a new kind of job. Now you are happier than ever, at the premiere of your biggest project yet with your husband gushing over you to millions of people around the world.

Joseph Quinn, you angel. He was the only reason you were happy right now. You wouldn’t be anywhere without him.

Taglist: @kellysimagines @readsalot73

As of now l'm writing for

Eddie Munson

Joseph Quinn

Jamie Bower

Steve Harrington

Robin Buckley

Eddissy

Maya Hawke

So just comment the taglist you want to be added to and l'll add you :)

[monarch-butterfly-03]

Sweet Dreams - chapter four

Jennifer Callahan had a very long night.

After getting the boys and girl back to the Wheeler's house, she refused to leave until they were all situated and safe. Jennifer got the girl, whose name she learned was Eleven, a pair of her clothes she had in Nancy's room and a blanket with a spare pillow. Once the girl was comfortable, she gave a stern talking with the three boys telling them not to tell anyone about the girl.

There is no telling what would happen to the girl if word got out of the new guest staying at the Wheeler household. Worst case scenario, she is taken into protective custody. Best case, the police let her live in the Wheeler's basement but Jennifer knew that was very unlikely. Especially knowing how much Mr. Wheeler hated her eating from their house for free. It was unlikely he would allow a stranger live in their basement for no charge.

By the time Jennifer got home, her dad was waiting for her in the living room and went off angrily the moment she shut the door. About her car being found in a ditch on a road on the opposite side of town, the small cut above her eye, and how she left work early. Apparently her bitch of a boss called Mr. Callahan when noticing Jennifer wasn't at work therefore ratting her out. Jennifer was now planning to hand in her resignation at her next shift.

After yelling at Jennifer for half an hour, Mr. Callahan dragged his daughter to the hospital to get a few stitches for her cut. She didn't even notice the cut or the pain the entire night until the adrenaline wore off. By the time she arrived home from the hospital it was just past two in the morning. Hence why the following morning she looked like literal shit. So when Barb and Nancy were demanding answers that next morning in the halls of Hawkins High School, Jennifer wasn't surprised. Rather just too exhausted to respond.

"What the hell happened to you!?" Barb shouted worried at her best friend. Nancy was standing right beside her staring at the Callahan filled with concern. 

Jennifer hummed tiredly, wearing a black hoodie and jeans to match her bland mood. The hood was over her head covering her messy hair and tired face but Jennifer's two best friends noticed immediately of the smile lacking from their friends face. When the two girls walked into the school this morning casually going over chemistry questions for their test later, the last thing they expected to see was their third friend with her head against her locker and hood over her head moping to herself.

"Why is there a cut above your eye?" Nancy asked anxiously noticing the two small white bandages.

"And why isn't your car here? I heard from Tina that you arrived by bus today." Barb added worried, unsure what is causing all of this unusual behaviour since Jennifer adores her crummy car more than pizza.

Jennifer groaned pressing her eyes shut in exhaustion. "Please speak quieter. I am half asleep right now." She muttered softly yawning against her locker. Nancy and Barb shared a worried glance unsure what was going on.

"Jennifer, what is going on? You have to talk to us." Nancy persisted. Slightly glaring at Jennifer's stubbornness from her lack in answers. Barb nodded in agreement looking at her best friend for a response.

Jennifer let out a sigh and stood up straight knowing her two friends wouldn't stop until she gave them an explanation. Rubbing her tired eyes while letting out another yawn, letting her hood fall to her shoulders to reveal the stitches above her eye, bags under her eye, and messy hair tied in a sloppy bun. The sight caused her friend's eyes to widen.

"I crashed my car on the way home from work last night and my dad grounded me for not coming straight home. So, I am tired and moody today which is phenomenal for a fucking Tuesday." She sarcastically smiled turning to her locker to flick the lock open.

Nancy and Barb's mouths dropped. Both unsure how they hadn't heard of this till now. They began blurting out concerns and Jennifer frowned from their constant questions. Although their worry was touching, Jennifer wanted to stay in bed and sleep all day. But her stuck-up father sent her to school regardless of the trauma she witnessed last night. He definitely would not be getting a "best dad ever" mug for fathers day this year.

"Guys, I'm fine." Jennifer interrupted them waving her arm back and forth persistently. "I'm just tired so can either of you cover for me in Biology while I catch a quick cat-nap in the library?" She asked glancing between her friends hopeful.

Nancy pursed her lips together hesitant about encouraging her to skip class but Barb nodded in agreement. Jennifer beamed at Barb's action before spinning back to her locker to grab her books. She began scrummaging through her lockers trying to find her pencil she was sure was buried under her mess when Nancy let out a giggly gasp.

Jennifer froze and let out a groan, knowing Nancy would only react that way to one person. A person she did not have any motivation on dealing with right now. 

She glanced over her shoulder to confirm her suspicion, seeing Steve slouch is arm around Nancy and leaning into her. His two followers, Tommy H. and Carol, were standing next to him smirking cockily. Jennifer hated all three of them. Hating how big their ego's are just because they're more "popular" than everyone. The three reminded her of Jessie, believing they were far more inferior than everyone else. When in fact they seem rather pathetic in her eyes. 

Steve plucked the study cards from Barb's hands and Tommy H. stole a couple from the pile reading over it. "I think you studied enough, Nance." Steve insisted, glancing over the cards uninterested shoving the rest of them into Tommy's hands. Jennifer rolled her eyes and turned back to her locker, wishing she was home in bed now more than ever.

"Steve-" Nancy tried to take her cards back.

"I'm telling you, Nance. You got this. Don't worry." He grinned cockily making Nancy practically melt into him. Jennifer glanced at Barb holding back a gag, to see Barb making a similar disgusted face. She bit back a laugh looking back her locker to resume her search.

"And now onto more important matters," Steve continued sliding his arm from Nancy's shoulders to look at the younger girl better. "My dad has left town on a conference and my mom's gone with him, cause, you know, she doesn't trust him." He blurted out.

"Good call." Tommy H. spoke up.

Jennifer couldn't help the glare she shot at Tommy H. for his unnecessary comment. Quite a few people know about Mr. Harrington's habit of sleeping around, including Jennifer. Although Jennifer couldn't relate, she knew what it was like for having one parent as a disappointment. So when Tommy H. opened his big mouth, Jennifer wish she could have slapped it close.

Steve happened to notice Jennifer's glare and the corner of his lips raised into a grin, before his gaze fell back on Nancy used to Tommy's blunt comments. "So, are you in?" Steve asked Nancy.

Nancy glanced at Barb confused her smile faltering. "In for what?" Nancy asked genuinely lost.

Jennifer slammed her locker shut holding her books to her chest and catching the attention of the crowd around her locker. Her eyes bore into Nancy's with an irritated expression from her cluelessness. "He mean's a party, Nance." Her gaze fell to Steve with a glare but his eye's widened seeing the cut above her eye and bags under her eyes.

Tommy H. also noticed the bandage and choked on a laugh. "You got in a fight or something, Callahan?" He laughed and Carol joined in mocking the girl on her appearance.

Jennifer's expression faltered remembering everything that occurred last night. More specifically, the monster she seen and girl she found. "Yeah, something..." Her voice trailed off as her gaze dropped. When she picked up her gaze her eyes met Steve's. But what shocked her was how soft with worry they were. An expression that was rare on Harrington. "What I am trying to say is," Jennifer tore her eyes to Nancy. "This is a bad idea." She stated bluntly.

Carol scoffed leaning into Tommy H.'s side. "Come on, Jennifer. Stop being a debby-downer. Let her live a little and not have a stick up her ass, like you." She stated. Jennifer shot the girl a glare and Tommy's grin widened expecting a girl-fight to break out any second.

"Why don't I stick a stick up your-" Jennifer breathed out angrily but Nancy was quick to grab her arm and pull her back.

"I-I don't know if this is a great idea. I mean, it's only a Tuesday." Nancy partially agreed, giving Jennifer a glare in the corner of her eye for the scene she just made. The girl was trying extremely hard to fit into popularity and found Jennifer's comments were anything but unhelpful.

The popular trio all scoffed and laughed at the comment, making it harder for Jennifer to hold herself back. "It will be low-key. It'll just be us. What do you say? Are you in or are you out?" Steve placed his hands on his hips with his usual heart-stopping smile awaiting on Nancy's answer.

Jennifer waited for the word no to escape Nancy's lips but seconds had passed without an answer. Her gaze fell to Nancy, noticing how tightly she was holding her backpack strap and how firm her bite on her bottom lip was. It was obvious that Nancy was genuinely thinking about going.

"Nance-" Jennifer tried to intervene.

"Oh, God. Look." Carol interrupted her. Callahan's gaze tore to Carol already pissed off at her, ready to tear her another. To notice her gaze past her shoulder with a frown.

"That's depressing." Steve scoffed looking at the same sight past Jennifer's shoulders. 

Barb, Nancy, and Jennifer turned around with another, seeing Jonathan Byers hanging missing poster's on the school's communication board. A frown replaced Jennifer's scold, feeling sympathetic for the guy. They spoken quite a few times in the rare times she was hanging with the boys and Jonathan came to pick Will up. Jonathan was also there a few times to drive her home after Jessie kicked her out of his car but those few talks were times Jennifer found herself rather happy. There was no need to pretend or act around Jonathan, he was just so honest and true that anyone would feel comfort in his presence.

"How much do you wanna bet he killed him?" Tommy H. asked.

Jennifer's jaw clenched and whirled around to face the boy, infuriated that he would ever express such a thing. "Screw off, Hagen." She snapped. Earning an 'oooh' from Carol and shocked look from the rest of the group. "You don't even know Jonathan yet you're pretty quick making assumptions. Maybe if your head wasn't so far up your own ass, you would notice other people have feelings too." Jennifer snapped out beyond angry how Tommy H. would say something like that. Especially about someone who is experiencing so much trauma.

Nancy shuffled embarrassed from Jennifer's sudden outburst, trying to fit in with Steve and his friends. But Jennifer was being rather unhelpful. "Jenny-" Her tone soft, trying to persuade Jennifer to be quiet. Barb gulped knowing Jennifer was about to snap.

Which was proven correct when Jennifer's head spun to Nancy shocked, giving her a harsh glare. "You are better than this, Nancy." She reminded her. "Call me later when you wanna talk. But I am going to go do the right thing." Jennifer spun on her heel and marched down the hallway towards Jonathan.

Ignoring the whispers, murmurs, and stares from the crowd behind her, she approached Jonathan with her head held high. She cleared her throat and gave a soft smile when stopping beside him, sadness reddened her face for the pain he was internally feeling. Jonathan looked over from the poster he was stamping to the wall, shocked to see Jennifer Callahan standing beside him and looking like she was ran over by a truck. With her usual perfect face now covered in a bruise on her jaw, stitch above her eye, and bags under her eyes, Jonathan was rather worried about her knowing her troubled past.

"Are you okay?" Jonathan asked weakly, glancing at her wardrobe choice that made her look homeless. But he feared that her ex tried something again.

Jennifer Callahan smile grew from his question finding his concern touching. "I'm fine. But I think I should be asking you that." She pointed out glancing at the poster beside him. Jonathan followed her gaze, a sad sigh escaping his lips when he met the picture of his little brother. "I, uh, just wanted to say that I'm sorry about everything." She muttered out with a frown, staring at the photo sadly. Jonathan glanced at Jennifer confused. "You and your mom don't deserve this. Will, he, he is such a good kid. And if there is anything I can do to help you or Joyce, please let me know." Jennifer glanced off the photo and to Jonathan seeing him staring at her sadly.

He nodded and quickly glanced past Jennifer's shoulder before dropping his head. Jennifer frowned at his response, assuming he would a be a bit more thankful. This was quite literally the least she could do. After all those times Jonathan helped her through her relationship with Jessie and has never told anyone even Nancy or Barb. But it wasn't until she felt eyes glaring in the back of her head when she glanced over her shoulder to find what caused his bashfulness.

The crowd around her locker was still there and staring at her. But the glare wasn't coming from Barb nor Nancy, it was coming from Steve Harrington. With his hands on his hips and a glare glancing between Jennifer and Jonathan he was growing emotionally upset and angry. Jennifer has always been rude and impatient with him, regardless of his multiple attempts of being her friend or tried to have a mutual conversation. Yet she has always and continues to shut him down every possibility.

Seeing Jennifer Callahan easily talk to Jonathan Byers, the schools weirdo, pissed him off more than he thought. What was so special about Jonathan that grasped her attention over his?

Jennifer grinned at the sight seeing the whole crowd look disapproving of them conversing, strangely except Nancy and Barb who looked at them pitiful. Looking back at the nervous Byers boy in front of him she shrugged,  "Don't worry about them. They are too scared about breaking a nail then to actually do anything except stare." She teased and Jonathan couldn't help but smile at the statement looking back up to the girl's eyes.

Jonathan Byers was thankful of how easy Jennifer was to talk too. Perhaps it was all those times the two spent together that made them closer and easier to talk too. The times he would find her walking home because Jessie was too drunk to drive her home or the time he would hold ice to her cheek to help the swelling while she sobbed into a tissue. She was considered one of the more "popular" kids but seems to be the only one who doesn't let the thought of popularity get to her ego. She was rather the exact opposite from Steve Harrington which would explain why Jonathan likes spending time with Jennifer. He slowly began seeing her as a sister, a friend. And he was thankful for having her in his life.

"Thank's, Jen." He mutter truthfully. Jennifer nodded holding her books tighter to her chest.

"I'm sure he's fine. He is a smart and stubborn kid. Like the time when he cut his knee when he fell off his bike. He tore off his sleeve to tie his wound before he rode the rest of the way home and your mom went bonkers at the sight of his bloody knee when he drove up the driveway. " Jennifer added laughing at the memory. Jonathan couldn't help but smile, remembering how scared his mom had gotten for a small cut and how Jennifer high-fived him for being so tough. "What I'm trying to say is, Will is a fighter. So wherever he is, he won't stop until he get's back home." She reassuringly stated.

Jonathan relaxed at her words finding it exactly what he needed to hear in a situation like this. Nodding in agreement, he scrambled to hand half of the pile of missing posters to Jennifer and almost dropped the pile in the process. "C-could you hand some out? Maybe if we get the word out-"

Jennifer stopped his sentence by taking the posters from his hand and smiling warmly. "I would love too." She stated with a warm smile placing the posters on her books. Jonathan's smile grew seeing the same determination he and his mother had on finding the youngest Byers. It was reassuring to know someone was as worried as his mom and him were.

An arm linked through Jennifer's before either had a chance to respond, the two suddenly noticing how everyone was rushing off to classes. The bell must have rang while they were talking, clearly clueless till now. Jennifer glanced at the stranger who was beside her finding the gleeful Barb smiling down.

"Sorry to intrude but Jennifer and I have a chemistry test to write." Barb explained, glancing at Jonathan. Jennifer's eyes widened, completely forgetting about the test and can already hear the lecture she would get from her dad for failing yet another test.

Jonathan nodded understanding. He watched the taller red-head drag the exhausted brunette down the hall who was obviously dreading going into class. The Callahan's girl constant stubbornness earned a smile from Jonathan, finding her a lot different from other girls. Which was refreshing. But at the end of the day Jonathan's eyes would always fall past Jennifer and onto Nancy Wheeler.

"So, you and Byers?" Barb asked Jennifer from halfway down the hall from said boy, giving her a knowing smirk.

Jennifer's head snapped up suddenly wide awake from the comment. "What!? Jonathan and me!?" She stated as if not hearing right. She shook her head profusely, almost laughing at the comment. "Jonathan and I are friends, practically siblings. He's a genuine good guy if you got to know him." Jennifer stated.

Barb hummed knowing Jennifer was truthful. Whenever Jennifer lies, she has many physical cues to reveal her lie. Nancy has not noticed them but Barb has, being able to decipher easily when Jennifer is lying or speaking truthfully.

"I'm just surprised." Barb admits. "I have never seen you talking with him and you never spoke about him. But it seem's you two have spoken more than once by the story you retold." She blurted out, admitting to how she overheard the story about Will. Jennifer diverted eye contact trying to come up with a believable lie.

There was no easy way to telling her friends about the truth behind her relationship with Jessie. Not when both Barb and Nancy adored Jessie for his heart-stopping grin, high-class popularity, and devilish blonde hair. He is considered the school's bad boy who makes any girl fall for his looks. How could Jennifer ever tell her best friends that the school's bad boy, her ex-boyfriend, was truly an abusive and cruel man?

Easy, there isn't. 

Not when Nancy and Barb still speak so highly about Jessie, regardless to Jennifer's grimace when she hears his name since they broke up. Jonathan Byers is the only one who knows the truth of Jennifer and Jessie's relationship and he promised not to tell anyone. The eldest Byers son became a safe place for Jennifer, where she can reveal all of her secrets. To tell them the truth about her past relationship to Barb was almost destroying that safe place in the Byers house and she couldn't risk it.

"We had a few labs in the past that required after-school work. I would go over to his house to visit and met his brother." Which wasn't a complete lie on Jennifer's behalf. They did have labs and would usually go to the Byers household. But the story Jennifer told about Will was a completely different time.

Barb noticed Jennifer bite her cheek and picked up on the small lie. A frown tugged on the red-head's lips, nodding hesitantly. "Hm, cool I guess." She muttered, knowing Jennifer was too stubborn to tell her the full truth. "So, what are you doing tonight?" Barb asked changing the subject.

Forgetting about Steve's past proposal, Jennifer let out a heavy yawn and responded. "Sleep. I am so tired." She admits, leaning her head onto Barb's shoulder as they walked closer to their Chemistry classroom.

Barb grinned, "Well, that's good. Because now you don't have an excuse tonight of not showing up to Steve's house." Barb stated, cornering Jennifer into coming

Jennifer laughed in disbelief. "Yeah, no. That is not happening in a million years." She stated truthfully.

Barb frowned. "Come on, please? Nancy is forcing me to come and I refuse to come without you. Don't leave me to suffer alone with Tommy H. and Carol while Nancy goes to suck Steve's face off." The red-headed friend begged the shorter brunette.

Jennifer knew Barb was right about Nancy and Steve. She also had a suspicion that Steve would try to pressure her to take this "next-step" in their relationship. Then again, Nancy wouldn't listen to her. She never did.

Instead, Jennifer saw the invite as a night to forget her problems. Get drunk and forget that monster that haunted her memories, the horrors appearing in the shadows, and Will Byer's disappearance. Plus if Nancy did anything dumb, she could use it as leverage next time she needed someone to cover for her.

"You know what," Jennifer raised her head off Barb's shoulder. "I'm in." She stated and Barb grinned excitedly. "I haven't gotten drunk in a while and I would be dumb to refuse free booze. Plus, I always love seeing drunk Nance." 

Barb's eyes scrunched together but her smile remained present. Jennifer's heart and mind was all over the place. But her of her intentions were somewhat in the right direction. Yet Barb knew if she spoke against her motives, Jennifer would change her mind and leave her to deal with Nancy on her own.

Initially, the red-head bit back her comments and gave Jennifer's arm a squeeze with her own. "Don't worry, this will be a blast." She promised, unsure who she was trying to convince more. And Jennifer only hoped it was true because this chemistry test would not be.

[winterbrrrd]

An introduction

I want to introduce myself

When I feel strong

But the poetry only comes

When I’m suffering,

Tangled in tentacles of chaotic thought

And self-pity.

I want to introduce myself as

Joan of Arc

But I’m lost in the dark,

A corridor of rose branches

That I drag along my arms

On a rainy night

In Amherst, Massachusetts.

My wrestling shoes

Are soaked

And I’m crying because I want to die

But I put on this guise

That suggests elation.

They thought I was manic

But I was just terrified,

Sprinting headfirst onto the battlefield

Regardless of my naïveté -

Sword drawn,

Eyes closed,

Praying I might make it out alive

With just adrenaline in my veins.

I want to introduce myself as Winter

But I’m really ____

And beneath that,

_____

Lost child in the grocery store,

Clinging onto the pant leg of a stranger

And asking if he’s my father.

Spoiler: he’s not.

But he will pretend,

Take me home with him,

Make me a bed of my own

And I will trust him

Because it’s so dark,

I can only make out silhouettes,

Not the true ugliness I’d see

With the lights on -

Contorted features suggesting

Impending cruelty

And a lifetime of ritualistic hatred.

The hate falls into me

And I, onto it.

I develop those same features -

The twisted face,

The leathered skin,

The blackened eyes -

And I inherit their sins.

The road rage

Caused me to stop my car

In the middle of the street

To scream at the man who cut me off

“DONT FUCK WITH PREGNANT BITCHES”

He followed me for miles in his SUV

Until I stopped at the police station

And he retreated.

It’s always ACAB until you realize

In a moment of crisis that

You’re only a bitch

In the pathetic way.

I want to introduce myself as light

And as peace,

But I haven’t always lived on earth

And haven’t always practiced being

Kind.

I have waged wars against innocent keyboard architects

Building foundations of evidence against me

To suggest that I am unworthy

Of my humanness,

Deserving only of a state hospital

Or a shallow grave

In anonymous woods

On the side of the interstate.

I want to introduce myself as a folk hero,

An outsider artist,

A vagabond,

But I only travel this much because

I’m on the run from a hunch

That I’m the devil’s hired gun,

Fallen to earth like electricity

That strikes the feet

Of unassuming families

Who get out of their cars

To examine fallen power lines.

May their eternal lives

Be more kind

Than their mortal walks

On a doomed planet

Of risk and

Of chance and

Blind choice.

I want to introduce myself

As a serious soul,

One who realizes the gravity

Of breathing breath

And living within skin,

But the ones I love

Laugh in my face,

Like my life is a circus

And I am the clown

With the big red frown,

Popping every balloon

I inflate.

I coated the tents with paraffin wax

To protect them from my tears,

Forgetting that the bigger risk

Is my flame.

I want to introduce you to my fire,

The way it’s triggered by

A flicked cigarette

That flies back through the car window

And burns through the upholstery.

The way it’s fanned by my fans

Who would rather see me languish

Than live in glory.

The way it swells

Like waves of a wildfire,

Clearing out the old

So that new life may grow

While I sit among ashes

Waiting to be swept away

By the wind.

I want to introduce you to the friends

Who feel I’m a burden -

A bundle of nerves

And paranoid thoughts

And false accusations.

I want you to see the way they look at me,

Eyes rolling back in their heads

When I say I’ve changed my name again

For the first time in 14 years,

Looking at me as if

Changing my name is a daily practice,

Like I’m a stupid little kid

Making fickle choices

And could change my mind at any moment.

And the truth is,

I could.

But so could they.

But people get so rooted in their soil,

They forget that plants can be transplanted

And survive it

And even flourish,

Building and blossoming

Beyond what anyone ever thought possible.

I am the impossible.

I am survival

At its base level.

I thank veterans

Because I am one, too -

A veteran of men,

Of trolls

Of rapists

Of robbers

Of kidnappers

Of narcissists

Of psychopaths.

I’ve been a marine on the frontlines,

Battling to preserve winter.

And where’s my badge of honor, huh?

Where’s the folded flag for each part of me

That has died at the hands

Of people I trusted?

Where’s my military discount?

Where’s my free schooling?

Where’s my VFW

Where I can drink away bad memories

For cheap?

Life ain’t that generous, honey.

My country is not first world.

I am living in a war zone,

Waking up from the sound of bombs.

My country is only safe in that

My body is functioning as it should,

Despite my anxious heart.

My country is in constant talks

Of nuking the whole damn place,

Taking every intrusive thought to the grave,

Saving the rest of the world

From the consequences

Of chronic self-destruction -

The end of everything.

I am nothing.

Life is nothing.

Life is only blackness

That we pull meaning out of,

Like a magician pulling a rabbit

From a top hat.

The meaning I have made

Is that life is for loving,

Hard and fiercely.

And those who stand in my way

Are the real clowns,

Frowning endlessly

While I jump on my tamed lion

And ride away.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2033 Day 79

On the Head of a Pin/Blink

Only REALLY REALLY great episodes today

“On the Head of a Pin”

Plot Description: Castiel and Uriel capture Alastair and ask Dean to torture him with skills he learned in Hell

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I mean…could any human survive this crash?? A whole ass angel died, what chance do I have??

I love that we start with Cas, but does it bode well for my commentary skills? Absolutely not

I don’t want to say it’s so EASY for Sam to say “well, get angry!” In response to Dean saying he’s tired of burying friends, but fucking damn…it’s so easy for him to say that when he’s not been doing this as long and been able to take years off for college.

I thought Cas was the one in charge between him and Uriel. But you can already see Castiel questioning the grand plan…

“Uriel is the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone” said in a completely stone cold tone is….i fucking love him

Mmmmm so he was kind of demoted for getting to close and sympathetic to Dean the Winchesters

God I really hate Sam right now…Dean’s not weak, you asshole

Everyone is pissing me off. Alastair taunting Dean for what he did to him, what he did to John, how “easily” Dean broke

And Castiel can tell this isn’t right. It’s not right to ask this of Dean, to ask a human, the human they saved from Hell to torture a demon

YO. SAM. Wtf my dude??

Anna!!! Thank you, Anna, for trying to talk some sense into Cas

Oh, Cas… you should listen to her. This is WRONG, and you KNOW IT

Deeeeeeeeeeeean breaking the first seal is breaking my heart.

Ok. He got off the rack, but…that thing was sabotaged. Who sabotaged it, though???

Cas coming in to save Dean, and Sam coming to save both of them (I mean, mostly Dean, but Cas is there too).

Cas is so disturbed, as he should be, that Sam can straight up KILL demons now. Yeah, you two need to talk……….

I love dramatic lighting through slats in blinds…just beautiful

Cas calling on Anna for someone to follow, someone to believe in…and her refusing to be that person because he needs to think for himself. Good for both of them, honestly. Difficult, yes, but the correct thing to do

Uriel, WHYYYYYY. He wants to raise Lucifer himself? On one hand, he’s got the same doubts Castiel has. And honestly, I can understand his logic. Lucifer was one of if not God’s favorite. He was beautiful and powerful, and if you’ve been doubting the existence of God but you’re beings designed to follow, the next best thing would be the next powerful being. On the other, it IS THE DEVIL FROM THE BIBLE

Rip Uriel

I like they already have a little banter between them and the honesty between the two. Truthfully, even without anything else, this scene in the hospital would be enough to convert me to a Destiel shipper. It’s hard to see Dean doubt himself and call himself weak, but you can also already tell how much Castiel already believes in him. And when Dean…we’ll call it asks Cas to stay and actually finish their conversation (“don’t you go disappearing on my you son of a bitch” counts, yeah??) and then he DOES?? I’m fine. I’m normal about this…

“Been On My Mind…”: the whole Sam and Ruby thing is very much going on 10

"Blink"

Plot Description: In an old, abandoned house, the Weeping Angels wait. When people start disappearing, Sally must decode the cryptic messages from a mysterious stranger called the Doctor before she can save the day

(i have a feeling i won't have a lot to say in this episode based purely on the lack of Ten and Martha. i think it's gonna be a lot of "Girl, NO!"s and "RUN"s and "GET OUT OF THERE"s, but we'll see)

It's such a solid opening. The messages written on the wall about the weeping angels and for her to duck. Just...REALLY GOOD.

God. Remember when we used to have our phones NOT on silent all the time? and how ringtones were a Thing TM??

Sad...is happy? for deep people? This...really was written in the mid '00s.

Not to link Good Omens to this....no, Good Omens was already linked to this show because DAVID TENNANT. But why DO the British have this trope of delivering letters to places on very specific days, at very specific times years and decades (maybe even centuries) in the future?

I LOVE the weird screeching music when the angels are around

It's amazing how terrifying they've made statues.

Blink is actually physical media propaganda. We need to invest in it again.

Wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff....yes!!

Wait...how did they get to that garage that quickly?? Wouldn't we have seen them in the background.....like, i know they move fast, but THAT FAST?? doN'T BLINK, DUDE!!! he hasn't even watched the 17 DVD extras. THIS is why we need to bring back physical media

The "game" the guys in this episode have is just.......not it. Then again, it was written by Steven Moffat, so are we surprised?

Ok. Good. It's weird even in 2007 that she's only got 17 DVDs.

The conversation between Sally and the Doctor in the TV is still just BRILLIANT. It's SO FUCKING CLEVER.

DON'T DO IT. DON'T DO IT, MAN. DON'T BLINK. PLEASE. Okay. But also like...do they forget you exist when you're not around them?

Just an absolutely tremendous and terrifying scene when they angels turn out the light.

I really wanna know what was happening that the Doctor and Martha are running around with a bow and a quiver of arrows.

Episodes Since the Doctor's Last Attempted Genocide: 7

[ms0milk]

s/o with an abusive ex

| ft. Sanemi, Mitsuri, and Rengoku 

a/n: thank you so much for your req!

Sanemi

here's the thing

i just don’t think nems is above murder

so this abusive ex of yours doesn’t feel long for this world, ya feel me?

that ex called one too many times?

they just wont leave you alone?

they followed you when you went out?

showed up at your job?

did he hear you right?

sanemi is not patient, not forgiving, and not above confrontation

if they’re going to be piece of shit that doesn’t know when to quit

sanemi’s gonna submit that resignation letter on their behalf

they take the low road?

sanemi’s going to hell

if you come back to him from a long day out even a little shaken

he’s gonna scoop you right up in the doorway and deliver you straight to the bathtub to wash off the emotional grime

cuff his pants

roll up his sleeves

a therapeutic washcloth scrubbing your back and as much peace as he can manifest as he listens to you talk about your day

this man lives to make your life easy

which means when your ex steps out of line just once

and sanemi has to take out the trash

you’re none the wiser

a little blackmail here, a threat of physical violence there

sanemi and is friends will not let you suffer because of one person who’s too stupid to take no for an answer

if you’re willing to trust him with your fears from the past, he’ll always be ready to navigate the future with you

whatever you need

Mitsuri

like any strong, beautiful woman

Mitsuri has been chased down by her fair share of inappropriate scumbags

and has gotten very good and defending herself

physically and emotionally

she knows exactly how it feels to be perceived as vulnerable and prides herself in her strength and her ability to protect

this applies to you too

duh

the darling love of her life?

you got that extended warranty

24/7 support for life

she’s building your self confidence with spa days, body worship, and making sure you keep your weekly therapy appointment

so whenever your manipulative ass ex comes up

Mitsuri’s got her Listening Ears on

because she knows just how powerful an eager ear can be to someone processing trauma

but

i’m also pretty sure Mitsuri’s grappling with Sanemi for first place on the hashira sliding scale of “how easily they would get into a physical fight with someone who caused you pain”

because the day your ex decides to show their face in person??

and pull some nasty shit??

she was actually arrested for the absolute Bad Bitch Behavior she unleashed that day

i’m talking permanently broken noses and a visit from the adult tooth fairy

“i’m so sorry you had to see that baby”

is all she says when you finally manage to both get home in the evening

and you’re in tears because you have your girlfriend safe in your arms and not in some fucking cell while your sonofabitch ex gets to spend the night in the cushy hospital

but you’re not crying in anger

because you finally

for the first time since you met them

felt bigger than your ex today

“No more fights I promise! Please don’t cry– you y/n, it’s you only you, I only want to make you happy.”

she makes you feel happy and safe

Rengoku

does falling in love with this man ever end? will i ever reach the bottom of the depths of my love for him?

Rengoku is with you through it all

encouraging you to leave your dangerous relationship

protecting you while you gather your things

housing you when you have nowhere else to go

falling in love with you quietly as you build yourself back up

and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let the asshole that started this whole problem backtrack your progress in any way

ex shows up at your house?

jokes on them, Rengoku’s stationed at the front gate while you finish the last of your chores inside

“You will be fighting with me today stranger, and I am the fight you will lose!”

he’s always all smiles

ex sends you message after message?

paper route be damned, the poor postman is getting escorted backwards to wherever the hell he picked this letter up

I don’t think Rengoku’s the type for premeditated violence

i think he’s a bit too aloof for that

his ego will never get the better of him

his testosterone will never best him

it’s always about you

“Your ex is here Y/n, would you like to walk past them together or would you like to leave?”

“You seem anxious, did something happen while you were out?”

“I’m here with you.”

“You're holding your head high today! You look beautiful like this!”

“You are not alone.”

your villainous ex can’t take away your value and so Rengoku’s going to do the best he can to make sure you see how much he worships your strength

[istorkyou]

A Thousand Battles (Modern!Ivar AU)

A modern!Ivar x F OC (Julietta Lothbrok)

Warnings - Language. Hospital setting. Description of medical procedures (non gory!)

Synopsis - Julietta wakes up with no memory of her life or her husband, Ivar. Will it ever return? Does she want it to?

Word Count - 4534

This is for @blackseapearl 400 follower trope challenge. I asked for Amnesia :)

Shout Outs - A massive shout out to @blackseapearl and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading, ironing out all the mistakes and the motivation to keep going with it. Special hugs to @blackseapearl for talking through the ending with me and giving me some much needed inspiration and the wonderful moodboard.

This fic kicked (and is still kicking!) my ass, I’ve never had such a hard time with motivation as I have writing this long-ass bitch so I hope you enjoy it :)

It’s also LOOOOOOOONNNGGGGGGGG..... and I’m only the tiniest bit sorry about that!

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :)@smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls​​ @youbloodymadgenius​​ @momowhoo​​ @zuxiezendler​​ @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog​ @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer​ @pieces-by-me​ @heavenly1927​​ @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint​​ @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy​ @petite-hime​​ @serasvictoria​​ @mimiiinspace​​ @itsmysticalmystery​​ @lonewolf471​​ @mylifeisactuallyamess​​ @draculasbride-blog​​ @love-all-things-writing​​ @southernbe​​ @redhead7799​​ @kaybee87​​ @ivarlover​​ @ivarhoegh​​ @idgafiamallthefandoms​​ @darkphoenix5037​​ @profoundtyrantharmony​​ @snarling-through-our-smiles​​ @crazyunsexycool​​ @xceafh​​ @bragisrunes​​@noway4u @batmandallyboy​​ @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73​​​​ @meandmycherrytree

Chapter 1

She shields her eyes from the sun, much too bright without her sunglasses. She is standing on a white sand beach, the crystal clear waters lapping the shore. She steps into the water until it laps against her knees and then looks down. Hundreds of fish swim around her legs, the brightest hues she’s ever seen, almost luminous as the sun reflects off their scales. A giant tortoise swims past her legs and she reaches down to touch its cold, bumpy shell as it passes by.

Something occurs to her: the water is neither hot nor cold, it is the exact temperature of her skin and she can barely feel it. She looks up and down the beach and it stretches as far as the eye can see although there is not another soul in sight. Listening closely, she realises she doesn’t hear the normal sounds you would expect on the beach: the sound of the waves crashing, the sounds of the gulls squawking. All she hears is a very faint beep, and she has to strain her ears to even catch that. 

She starts to panic, her breath becomes shallow and a rush of cold covers her skin as if she's been dropped into an ice bath. Where is she? Something is wrong. This place is unnerving. She can hear the beeping getting louder as the waves get larger in the silent ocean. She stumbles backwards into the soft sand, neither cold nor hot.

She feels something brush against her hand and jerks away quickly looking over her shoulder to see what touched her. A man stands behind her, a stranger, yet the look on his face suggests he knows her. She tries to step away but he reaches for her hand again. 

“Liet. Wake up, please. Wake up,” he is pleading with her, face carved with anguish. “You have to come back to me, Liet.”

She focuses on a necklace around his neck, a thick silver chain with a flat circle pendant hanging from it. 

“Liet?” 

She shakes her head and looks around the beach again which is now filled with people and the noise you would expect at a busy beach fills her ears. The sounds of talking, shouting, and beeping are becoming unbearable. The panic that started earlier has turned into fear, she can feel her face and chest flush and the urge to scream is overwhelming and as she looks back at the man, his eyes have turned the bluest of blue, bleeding into the whites and his face has changed. His face is tipped down but he is staring up at her with brows pulled close and a menacing smile on his face. 

“They know, Liet. They all know,” his voice doesn’t match his face, it’s high and almost friendly, which only makes it even more sinister and scary. “We all know, Liet.” He lunges for her, hands grabbing for her neck and as she screams and scrambles to get away she trips backwards and everything goes black.

Everything is dark.

Everything hurts.

The beeping is so, so loud. 

She is lying somewhere. Where is she? She can feel warmth in her left hand. Her body feels broken. Breathing hurts, every breath takes effort, as if there is an invisible weight pressing down on her, restricting her lungs. Her head feels too big. The warmth in her hand is strange and she tries to move it away but all she manages is a twitch and the feeling of warmth leaves her skin. 

“Julietta?” asks a voice in the room. The feeling of warmth is back on her hand and now it has a force, gripping her tightly. 

She opens one eye. She isn’t sure why the other won’t open yet. She can make out shadows in the room. But the overwhelming pain she is feeling at the light streaming in from the window forces her eye closed immediately.

“Did she just open her left eye? Did she? Get the doctor. Now!” 

The hand is still squeezing, gentler now. 

“Julietta, open your eyes.” She can hear excitement in the male voice.

She starts to try again but the light is too much. 

“Shut the blinds, it’s too bright for her. Quickly, Godsdammit!” The same voice commands then softens again. “Try again, my love.Try again.”

She opens it slowly and it’s much better now it’s darker. It gives her pupil time to adjust slowly and the shadows turn into people. She tries to move her head but she has something around her neck stopping her so she focuses on what she can see in the left side of the room. A window, three chairs lined up along the wall, two occupied. A chair next to the bed is occupied as well. She manages to focus on the person closest to her. A man holding her hand tightly in both of his, great concern all over his face. He looks familiar, but only vaguely. She doesn’t know why he’s now crying as he watches her open eye. 

“Julietta!” The relief in his voice is palpable and he drops his head down to kiss her hand over and over again. “Thank all the Gods. My love!”

There is a flurry of movement and the man at her bedside is ushered away to the other seats where he is greeted with embraces from two other men. 

The doctor and nurses go about the observations before she closes her eye again. 

—-----------------------

“What is happening?! Why is she not awake anymore?”

“Mr. Lothbrok, her vitals look stable. Please don’t worry, she’s not in a coma any longer, but she will need a significant amount of rest. You should go home, we will call you when she wakes up again.”

“I’m not going anywhere! What a ridiculous suggestion,” Ivar yells dismissively.

“Ivar, she will be asleep for hours yet. Let me at least take you home so you can shower and eat. You haven’t left this room in eight days.” 

“Hvitserk, I will leave this room when she’s well enough to leave it with me.”

“Okay, Brother,” Hvitserk's voice is full of concern. “I’ll bring you anything you need.”

Ivar walks to the side of her bed again and takes up the spot he has been rooted to for over a week. He looks over her face, right eye still swollen shut, right arm in a cast for the breaks and the skin that is visible is still an angry purple in places, in others the purple is fading around the edges to a muddy green and he imagines the rest of the skin he can’t see is in a similar state. Her skin has been sewn back together around her shoulder, by the best plastic surgeon in the country, but there will always be a physical reminder of what happened to her. 

His beautiful Liet.

Ivar’s jaw clenches in anger. He knows she has a long way to go before she is healed fully, but now she is out of immediate danger and his thoughts at once turn to revenge and retribution. The people responsible will pay with their lives. 

As he is allowing the volcano of rage to bubble inside of his chest, threatening to spill out into the world at any second, he catches her eye, open again and she studies him. He leans into her, all rage extinguished for now. 

“My love, you’re awake.” He holds her hand and runs his own hand up her arm slowly, taking care not to hurt her. 

“...am I?” she asks. Her throat must be so dry as her voice doesn’t sound like her own, scratchy and croaky and underused. Probably raw from intubation. 

Ivar smiles at her, the relief at hearing her voice is overwhelming and his tears fall onto her hand as he bends down to kiss it again. 

“Hospital. There was an… accident. You’re okay though. Broken bones and a bad head injury but you'll be okay, my love. I promise.” He smiles and lets out a relieved laugh and kisses her hand and arm.

Julietta watches him as he peppers her skin with love. “Who are you?” she asks quietly. 

His face contorts into confusion, brows pulled close together, before he laughs lightly. 

“Very funny, love. I’m the King of England and you are my Queen!” He laughs again until he looks at her face, and even through the bruising, the swelling, the cuts, he can see she isn’t joking. The left eye that is open is scared, her pupil is dilated in fear. He watches her chest as it is rising quicker than before and the steady beeping starts to quicken. “Julietta. It’s me, Ivar. It’s ok. Don’t worry, it’s just me.” He grabs her hand quickly and she jerks away. 

There are waves of fear rolling off of her, now. He can see it, he can feel it. Ivar stands up slowly and walks to the door, his demeanour is different to how he interacts with her. Nothing soft, just a menacing aura that has the nurse's shoulders rise in fear when they see him, all avoiding eye contact and keeping the widest berth possible.

“Doctor. Immediately. She doesn’t know who I am.”

The doctor is in the room within a couple of minutes, shining a light into her eye. “Do you know your name? What year is it?”

She looks at the stranger in the room who called himself Ivar. 

“Julietta Manresa. I.. I’m not sure.”

“Lothbrok, love. Julietta Lothbrok. We’ve been married for six months,” Ivar interjects before the doctor turns to him and gives him a look of reproach and a tiny shake of his head.

“Well done, Julietta. Tell me what’s wrong.”

—------------------------

She swallows thickly and winces at the feeling. The man called Ivar hands a drink with a straw to the doctor who lets her take a sip.

“I don’t know him. Or anything about me apart from my name. I don’t know my parents' names. I don’t know why I’m here, what happened to me.” She starts to breathe deeper, too deep. 

“Julietta, I know this is confusing but please try to keep calm. I can assure you this is a fairly common side effect for the type of head trauma you have suffered. It’s called Post Traumatic Amnesia.”

How can she calm down? She’s woken up in a hospital bed surrounded by strangers. One claiming to be her husband. She starts to feel light headed and nauseous. She tried to move but it’s almost impossible with the thing on her neck, her arm in a cast, leg in a splint. 

“I don’t know you. You aren’t my husband. I’ve never seen you before,” her voice is rising to as much of a shout as her sore vocal chords will allow. 

The doctor leaves the room quickly.

Ivar steps to the bed and sits down. He doesn’t reach for her hand. “I promise you. You are my wife. Don’t worry about that now, it will come back to you. I love you so much.”

The doctor comes back into the room and starts to inject something into the IV port in her hand. 

“What the fuck is that? Tell me before you give her anything. I’ve told you time and time again,” Ivar’s voice is different again. Low, calm, as intimidating as anything she has ever heard. 

“Mr. Lothbrok, she needs rest. I’ve administered a sedative. She has significant brain swelling. This will help her rest and heal.”

She starts to feel woozy, the IV site has gone cold as whatever the doctor administers travels up her vein. “I’m scared,” she whispers as her eyes focus on a silver chain and pendant around Ivar’s neck; it somehow feels like home. She tried to reach for it but the drugs are making her limbs heavier by the second. 

Ivar takes her hand and brings it up to his mouth to kiss again. “I am here. I will be here when you wake up. Don’t be frightened, we will get through this. My beautiful Liet.”

Julietta hears the last part, the nickname he uses and it permeates a part of her consciousness, seeps into her synapses, making them fire, she’s heard it before. There’s a faint recognition there. She urges her brain to make the connections she desperately needs to piece together her life, but she slips under sedation before anything tangible forms in her brain. 

—————————

As her eyes flutter shut, Ivar's face hardens. “Don’t ever give my wife drugs I have not approved. I want to know everything she is given. I will break your legs if you disobey me again. Am I being understood?” 

—————————

The doctor looks into the eyes of Ivar, blue as the arctic ocean and twice as cold. He knows who Ivar Lothbrok is, what he does, who his family are. His reputation more than precedes him. He is someone not to cross, and even though the doctor has a duty of care primarily to his patients, and in this situation he would usually tell the family member to jump, he isn’t a fool. 

“Of course. If you are not here and there is an emergency how should I proceed?” 

“I am not leaving her side. So that will not be a problem,” Ivar advises him. “Don’t be facetious with me. I know you were asking my brother about the guards outside her room. They are staying until she leaves.” Ivar slowly walks towards the doctor who backs up, almost tripping backwards over the IV stand. “Do not question my actions again. My patience has all but disappeared due to this whole situation and I am not known to be a patient man at the best of times. I want to know when you are off shift so I can tell the other doctors the same as I have told you.” The doctor nods quickly.

He turns away and walks back to take up his spot next to his wife. “How long will she be asleep?” 

The doctor clears his throat. “At least twelve hours,” he says with a shake in his voice, nerves clear. 

Ivar doesn’t take his eyes off her face. “Thank you for saving her life.” 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Julietta swings from consciousness to dreams for weeks, the fabric of reality stretched thin in her head, so much so that most of the time she isn’t sure if she is awake or asleep. What she does know is that when she is present in the hospital room, real or in her head, Ivar is there, at her side, talking to her gently, telling her stories she can’t recall.

Oftentimes she is back on the beach. This she knows is not her consciousness. It’s bathed in moonlight now, a blue and silver light reflecting off of the silent, black ocean. She doesn’t enter the water this time, too apprehensive in the dark. She looks up and down again and sees only a tiny beach hut illuminated by a soft yellow glow. She walks to it and can’t hear muffled talking. Heated talking. She doesn’t knock on the door, she pushes it open to find Ivar standing in front of a man she’s never seen before. The stranger has black hair shaved close to his scalp, deep olive skin and black stubble over his handsome face. He has a scar running through his right eyebrow. They stop talking and both look at her silently. 

She sees love on both their faces. 

The stranger stands up, taking a step past Ivar towards her. “Etta, where are you? I miss you.” He asks in Russian.

Ivar moves between them giving the stranger a look of displeasure. His face softens when he looks back to her. “Liet, who is this?” He cups her face and kisses her softly. “Who is he, love?” 

She shakes her head in confusion, looking past Ivar to the stranger who has recoiled at the scene in front of him. “I…I don’t know, Ivar. I don’t know who he is.”

A laugh of disbelief leaves the stranger. “Etta? It’s me.”

“I don’t know who you are,” she replies.

“Let’s go, Liet,” Ivar weaves his arm over her shoulder and looks back over his to the man. “You are not important.”

As she allows Ivar to lead her out of the hut and back out into the night, everything goes black again. The damn beeping has returned too, she notices.

Beep.

Beep.

Her eyes open. Both this time. She feels less sore than the last time she woke up from the beach. She is able to move her neck now and can see to the right for the first time. A bed is next to her, pushed up so close they are touching and Ivar is asleep next to her on it. Her head feels like a normal size now and she shifts her head on the pillow to stare at him. His hand is on her arm, his short hair is shaved in the sides but it needs cutting, making her wonder how long she’s been in the hospital, with him by her side. He has stubble over his face and she can see the thick purple lines under his eyes, he looks exhausted. 

She studies him for a long time, trying to remember anything she can, but nothing comes. Nothing at all. The only memories of him are from when she came out of the coma. She tries to recall other aspects of her life. Friends, family, the name of her schools, any pets she’s had, what food she likes. 

Nothing. 

It’s like shouting into a bottomless chasm: nothing but the echo of the questions asked coming back to her. Like trying to enter an impenetrable castle, banging on the door and being ignored. 

Nothing.

Who am I? I have not one memory of my life. Not one. Am I even real? If I don't have any memories, do I even really exist? Have I ever existed? Am I dead? Is this purgatory?

She starts to panic again and she turns to the only person in the world who has been here for her for this whole ordeal. 

“Ivar... Ivar,” she whispers quietly. She needs something, she needs comfort and she only has one source of that it seems. This stranger who says he is her husband. “Ivar.” She repeats and his eyes fly open.

“Julietta! You’re awake. Do you remember me? Let me fetch the doctor.”

Her panic rises, the thought of being left completely alone in the world terrifies her so she grips his arm tightly. “NO! Don’t leave me. Please. I don’t remember you, I'm sorry.” She starts to cry. “Ivar, am I dead?”

Ivar’s face crumples at her words and he slides close to her, as close as he can without disturbing the tangle of wires attached to her. As he slides his arm over her waist he kisses her on the cheek and wipes her falling tears, then does the same to his own. 

“You're not dead, my love. You are very much alive, you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met. A fighter, my best shield maiden. Odin’s own Valkyrie. We will get through this together.” 

His presence calms her fears, makes her breaths come easier, slows her racing heart. 

“Who am I?”

Ivar sniffs and rubs his nose on his sleeve. “I think we should talk to the doctor first before I start telling you things. I don’t want to overwhelm you. Just know that you are Julietta Lothbrok, we have been married for six months now and we’ve been together for three years. Look,” he reaches for a framed photo on the cabinet next to his bed, “this is one of our wedding photos,” he says, holding it in front of her face. 

It is them, on their wedding day. She is in a beautifully elegant, lace dress with gold detailing and he is in a navy suit. They are holding hands and looking at each other with massive smiles on their faces. 

“See, baby. It’s us,” Ivar says, so proudly. 

Julietta notices Ivar is holding a walking stick and he has something wrapped around each leg. She reaches her left hand up to touch the picture, running her finger over his legs. “You had an accident as well?” She glanced down at his legs, no braces now. 

He laughs lightly at her. “No accident, love. Bone disease. My braces are over there.” He gestures to the side of the bed. 

“We looked happy.” She glances at him shyly, catching his eyes and noticing how blue they are. 

“We are happy,” he replies with a wide smile. “I’m going to get the doctor, okay? I will be right back, I promise.” 

———————-

More time passes in the hospital. She isn’t sure how much time, she just knows she is healing more and more, but only physically. Her memory is still non-existent. She has asked Ivar many questions over her time here, questions about herself and her accident but he is always vague or evades the questions completely, saying it’s doctors orders not to overload her with information in her unstable condition. 

He still hasn’t left her side. He gets food delivered to the room, by an app on his phone or by one of his four brothers, mainly one called Hvitserk who, despite being told by Ivar not to, only refers to her as “sister” and insists on hugging her every time he comes into her room. She is getting used to it now, even though at first she didn’t like it one bit; it felt overly familiar and intrusive. 

Another brother, Ubbe, brings work for Ivar to sign. He often comes into the hospital room, gives her a quick smile and whisks Ivar into the hall where they have heated yet hushed discussions. She watches Ivar intently during these discussions, his face is always angry, aggressive and his body language mirrors this. 

After one such visit from Ubbe, Ivar returns to the room more agitated than usual. 

“Ivar. What do you do for work? You seem… different when you are speaking with others,” she questions tentatively.

His head whips to her so fast that it makes her jump, his expression one that she’s never seen directed at her before. She shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. His face softens. “Julietta , I don’t think that is a topic we should discuss first. How about something less complicated? About you?”

Julietta nods quickly. “How long have I been here?”

“We are in the fifth week now. You were in a coma for over a week and spent another few in and out of sedation until the swelling on your brain went down. There has been talk that I will be able to take you home soon,” he says with a hope filled voice.

She gives him a small smile. “Don’t I have parents? No one has visited me.” She is dreading the answer but deep down, a part of her already knows. 

Ivar tips his head to the side slightly and grimaces almost imperceptibly, but she catches it. “My love, your parents died ten years ago in a car crash. I’m so sorry to have to tell you that.” He walks to the bed and she shifts over, allowing him room to lay next to her, both on their sides facing each other. They have been doing this over the last few days. She can see how much being close to her means to him, a physical need he has, and by the way it calms her own body, she figures she needs physical comfort as well. 

“I think some part of me knew that,” she tells him with a little shrug. “We don’t have children?” 

“No, love.”

“What happened to me, Ivar? Please tell me. I can handle it.”

He stares at her for a while and takes a massive breath in, closing his eyes. “You were hit by a car. It swerved onto the pavement and hit you when you were leaving the gym. It was a hit and run. We have…we have yet to find out who did it.”

That information shocks her to her core. She assumed she’d been in a car accident, but not a hit and run. “It wasn’t an accident? Someone meant to run me over?” The shock of the information sends a bolt of dread through her, her eyes start to sting and her nose starts to fizz. “Why?”

The pain on Ivar’s face is clear, pain at having to break the news to her, pain at having to relive the memory, there is guilt in his expression, she recognises that. 

“I think that’s enough information for now. Little by little, okay, baby? The important thing is you are alive, and what is gone will return. Go to sleep, you need to rest.”

He’s right, that’s a lot of information to digest all at once, she needs time for it to sink in and sort through the feelings involved, so she nods at him.

“We will talk more tomorrow. I’m looking forward to telling you about your unhealthy love of Chinese food!”

Julietta sniffs at this information, “I’ve been thinking about noodles a lot this week. That would explain it.”

“Silly thing, why didn’t you tell me? I will get some, do you want some now? What else do you want? Actually, don’t think, I will just get your favourite.” He leans in to kiss her and she pulls back. “Sorry,” he tells her with a look of deepest disappointment, “force of habit.”

She feels embarrassed. She should have let him kiss her, he’s her husband after all. “Don’t be sorry.” She moves her face to his and gives him a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. When she pulls away his face is so happy it makes her smile and kiss him again. Her stomach does a tiny flip when she kisses him. “Thank you for not leaving me alone, Ivar.”

“I’ll never leave you.”

Chapter 2

[shemarmooresfedora]

Home

Series Summary: After being arrested, Spencer Reid desperately tries to get back home to his daughter, Camellia, who was placed into foster care in your home.

Pairing: Single!Dad!Spencer x Foster!Mom!Reader

Content/Warnings: gun violence, blood, child abduction, mentions of drugging and raping (what happened to spencer in mexico), hospitals, swearing

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist

Chapter 6

“Callie! Come on, you don’t want to keep your dad waiting!” you called out.

Callie ran down the stairs as you collected your purse and keys.

“How do you know he’s going to let us see him?” she asked curiously.

“Just trust your foster mom, okay?” you winked at her and opened the door.

There was a woman already at the door who looked like she was about to knock.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

“Hi, I’m Carol Atkinson, Callie’s new foster mom,” she extended her hand out to shake.

“I don’t want to go, Y/N,” Callie hugged you tightly.

“You’re not going anywhere. My coordinator, Eileen, never mentioned a transfer. I’m certainly not going to give Callie away to a stranger unless I see some paperwork and a phone call to Eileen,” you replied.

The woman sighed exasperatedly, “You should have just let her go. You made this so much harder for me,” she pulled a gun from her purse.

You shielded Callie behind you. You could hear the buzzing of your phone in your purse.

Penelope Garcia calling

“Shit. Going to have to do this quicker than I thought,” she huffed.

“Callie, run!” you screamed, lunging at the armed woman.

BANG

You had managed to knock her down to the ground as she shot you. You were wrestling, trying to pin her arms to the ground. She kicked your stomach right where your gunshot wound was. You toppled over on to the ground in pain and the woman got up and grabbed her gun once again.

“You bitch!” she exclaimed, shooting you two more times in the thigh for good measure.

You couldn’t even think. The pain was taking over. Everything was going dark.

-

Emily was speeding down the street in the SUV with the sirens on full blast, Matt was in passenger and JJ in the back.

“Garcia, have you managed to get in contact with either of them?”

“I’ve tried calling each of them ten times and no response from either.”

“This is starting to look really bad,” JJ grimaced.

“Hey, what the hell is this guy doing?” Matt pointed to the erratic driver in the other lane, speeding upwards of 80 miles per hour in a 40 zone.

The car swerved in front of the SUV and the two cars collided.

“Prentiss! Simmons! JJ!” Penelope screamed through the busted car monitor.

“No one is seriously injured,” Matt stated, looking around, “But we’re going to be a bit further behind than we would have liked.”

Emily and JJ exited the car and approached the erratic driver with their guns ready.

“Slowly place your hands outside of the vehicle and open the door from the outside,” JJ commanded.

A pair of hands did as followed. A familiar man slowly exited the car with his hands up.

“You’re one of the guards at Spencer’s prison…what the fuck is going on here?” Emily furrowed her brow.

-

“What’s up, Garcia?” Luke answered her call as him and Tara drove to the prison.

“Just when we get the victory of Spencer’s release, Prentiss, JJ, and Matt were in a car accident that was seemingly a planned attack. You’re going to need to get over to Y/N’s house ASAP once you pick Spencer up and be careful,” she warned.

“Will do. We’re pulling up now,” Tara stated.

-

Why would Y/N be a no-show with Callie after being the one to convince him to have visitors again in the first place?

Spencer sat in his cell during visitor time. He was utterly confused and deflated when his name wasn’t called because he was actually looking forward to having visitors again after Y/N’s pep talk. Plus, Callie had her soccer championship game two days ago and he was dying to know how it went.

“Reid,” a guard came to his cell and unlocked the door.

They must have just been running a little late, he thought to himself as he was guided to the room.

Instead of Y/N and Callie though, Tara and Luke were standing there, looking very stressed out.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer gulped.

“Good news, you’re free,” Luke explained, “Bad news, we have good reason to believe Callie and Y/N are in trouble.”

-

The door was wide open when they pulled up to Y/N’s house. Spencer opened the car door and was sprinting towards the house before the car was even parked.

“Reid, you don’t have a gun!” Luke hopped out of the driver’s seat and followed him in.

“I’m going around back,” Tara called out, making her way through the side yard.

“No, no, no,” Spencer murmured as he saw your bloody figure slumped over on the hardwood floor in the entryway.

He crouched down on the floor next to you, taking your head in his hands, “Y/N, can you hear me?” he asked.

You opened your eyes slightly and tried to respond but ended up coughing up blood instead. Spencer turned your head to the side so you wouldn’t choke on it.

“I tried so hard to stop her, Spencer, you have to believe me,” you whispered with tears in your eyes.

“Shhhh,” he stroked your hair back, “I believe you. I believe you, Y/N. Thank you so much for being so brave.”

Your eyes fluttered close as much as you were trying your hardest to keep them open.

“The medics are five minutes out,” Luke sighed.

“She doesn’t have that kind of time,” Spencer panicked, grabbing loose clothes and sheets to keep the pressure on your wounds, “Just hang in there, Y/N. You’re not going to die. I’m not letting you die.”

Luke cleared the upstairs as Tara came back inside, holstering her gun.

“There’s no one out there,” she spoke softly, “But it looks like someone was dragged from the grass in the backyard to the driveway.”

Spencer thought prison was his personal hell. He was wrong, this was. He would gladly go back if it meant Y/N and Callie would be safe and sound.

-

“What do you got for us, Garcia?” Luke asked.

“So someone must have hacked into the prison’s database and changed Cat’s personal information because Lindsey Vaughan was listed as her sister. Cat was on an immediate family only visitor list so this was Lindsey's only way to visit her,” Penelope explained.

“But why did she need to visit her at all?” Luke wondered out loud, “What’s in this for her?”

“Oh, newbie. I have a feeling this relationship was more than just professional,” Penelope replied.

“They’re lovers,” Tara finished.

Spencer was in the backseat, staring out the window. He just got out of prison and now he was going back to another one with his daughter missing and Y/N barely clinging on to life.

“Garcia?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Reid?”

“Can you do your work from your laptop if necessary?” he inquired.

“Yes, I can. I might be a little slower but I’ll manage,” she replied.

“Could you go to the hospital that Y/N is supposed to be arriving at? I just want updates on her as much as possible.”

“Of course, anything for you. As soon as I know, you’ll know. P.G. out,” she ended the call.

The SUV pulled up to the gated fence of the prison.

“You ready, Reid?” Luke questioned.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

-

Spencer stood outside the one-way mirror, staring at one of the most clever unsubs he has ever faced.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Tara asked, “You've already been through so much today.”

“If anyone else goes in, she’s just going to demand me. The only way to get Callie back is playing by her rules,” Spencer said, walking towards the door to the interrogation room.

Spencer entered silently, taking the seat across from her.

“Spencie,” she smiled.

Her sickeningly sweet grin nauseated Spencer to his very core. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“Where is my daughter?” he asked calmly.

“You mean the boring old preteen or the one in here,” she placed her hands over her belly and began to rub it.

“That’s not possible,” he shook his head adamantly, “We’ve never-”

“I know we’ve never,” she cut him off, “Ask me how I did it.”

“How did you do it?” he replied flatly, already sick of her little mind games.

“When Lindsey drugged and framed you for murder, I also asked her to bring me home a little souvenir,” Cat smirked.

“You had your lover that was pretending to be your fake sister drug and rape me so you could impregnate yourself in addition to framing me for murder?” Spencer asked incredulously.

“Sounds a bit soap opera-y when you put it that way but yeah,” she replied, “You’re going to be a dad, Spencie!”

“I’m already a dad. Where is Callie?” he changed the subject to the more pressing matter at hand.

Cat frowned, “Do you not care about our baby?”

“Not really because I don’t believe you,” Spencer stated.

“Go look at my medical chart if you want,” Cat leaned back in her chair.

Spencer quickly stood and exited where Tara and Luke were looking over a file.

“She’s pregnant, Reid,” Luke confirmed.

Spencer ran his hands through his hair frustratedly, “Is there an update on Y/N?”

“Garcia said one of the nurses said it doesn’t look good,” Tara stated somberly.

“Damn it,” Spencer yelled, kicking a chair and sending it flying across the room.

-

The interrogation with Cat was going nowhere. Every time Spencer would bring up Callie, she would swiftly change the subject back to her pregnancy.

“What are we thinking of for names? I’m personally a big fan of Y/N,” Cat smirked.

“Don’t you dare say her name,” Spencer snapped.

“Maybe Callie then and you could just replace the old one with a better version,” she pushed his buttons further.

Spencer’s blood was at its boiling point. One more unhelpful word out of her mouth and he felt like he would explode.

Like an answer to his prayers, Tara entered the room, “The prison guard confessed for a more lenient sentence. We have a location on Callie as well as confirmation he is the father of Cat’s baby.”

“Thank god,” Spencer murmured to himself, standing up from the table and beginning to walk away without even a second look at Cat.

“You know you’ll never be the same man after prison. I did that to you,” Cat tried to get in one final jab.

Spencer didn’t even turn around when he called back, “Watch me.”

-

The SUV pulled up to the cabin in the woods.

“JJ, Emily, and Matt are 5 minutes out,” Luke checked his phone.

“I think I can talk her down,” Spencer stated, “I helped her in that case years ago when she was just a little girl.”

“It’s our best shot,” Tara shrugged, “Luke and I will surround the other exits. You go in the front.”

Spencer approached the front of the house slowly with a gun in his hand. He peeked in the window to see Callie crying as Lindsey strapped her to a bomb device.

“FBI, freeze!” he swung open the door, training his gun on Lindsey.

“How did you find us?” she asked frantically.

“None of that matters anymore,” he replied, “You need to put down that remote and come with us.”

“No, Cat told me I need to do this. I’m doing this for her,” she demanded.

“She is a sociopath, Lindsey. All the love you think she had for you was faked. You were just a pawn in her game,” Spencer explained.

“No, she loved me,” Lindsey insisted.

“I know she seems good at pretending but she is using you. She doesn’t care what happens to you. She left you alone, harboring the kidnapped child of an FBI agent, to take the blame all by yourself,” Spencer spoke.

Lindsey looked at the remote in her hand.

“Don’t do this, Lindsey,” Spencer warned, “It’s exactly what she wants. Think for yourself.”

Lindsey dropped the remote to the ground and started crying as she was cuffed by Tara.

Spencer ran over to Callie and unstrapped her from the device before pulling her in for the biggest hug ever.

“I missed you,” she sobbed into his chest.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. I’m never leaving you again,” he promised.

“Is Y/N okay?” she asked with watery eyes.

“We can only hope,” Spencer spoke softly.

-

When you awoke for the first time, you started hyperventilating. A nurse ran in at the sound of your heart rate monitor rapidly beeping.

“Y/N, I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart. You’re okay, you’re safe,” she rubbed your back soothingly.

“Callie,” you panted.

“She has a couple of bumps and bruises but is in pretty good condition,” she assured you, “Now, let’s get some solid food and medicine into you and then I want you to rest some more.”

You nodded, laying back down against the pillow.

-

While Callie was resting, Spencer slipped over to your room.

You were sleeping gracefully despite the three bullet wounds on your body. This further proved Spencer’s theory that you were an angel.

“How is she doing?” he asked the nurse who was taking your vitals.

“She woke once and was very startled. She ate a little bit of food so we could give her some stronger medicine. She was asking about your daughter,” the nurse answered.

Spencer chuckled softly, “She got shot 3 times and she’s still putting Callie first.”

“She’s incredible,” the nurse nodded

“I’ll say,” Spencer agreed.

-

You awoke a day later, alone again.

“Good afternoon,” the nurse greeted you.

“Can I go home now?” you asked.

You hated hospitals despite being a doctor. They stressed you out and now served as a reminder of you being shot.

She looked at your chart skeptically, “The doctor suggests you stay for another 5 days at least.”

“I’ll sign the waiver that I’m going against doctor’s orders,” you stated.

“Okay, I guess there’s nothing I can do to stop you. Let me get that form and your prescriptions,” she sighed.

You cautiously attempted to get out of bed, muttering curse words at the pain. This was a bad idea but you had to get home. You felt suffocated here.

You changed into a pair of clean sweats that were left for you and tucked the crutches under your arms.

The nurse returned shortly after, giving you your meds and instructions on how to take care of your wounds.

You shakily hobbled into the hallway.

“Do you want me to get that gentleman for you?” she asked, concerned.

“No, no. He has his daughter to worry about. I don’t want to be a burden. I’ll call a cab.”

“You just took multiple bullets for his daughter. I doubt you’re a burden,” she replied.

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted, stumbling into the elevator and punching the ground floor button.

-

After an incredibly awkward cab ride home, you realized you didn’t have your wallet on you. You tried to tell the cab driver you would just run in and grab some cash for him but he told you it was fine because you ‘looked like you had a rough enough day as is’. You thanked him and headed into your house.

You opened the front door and the first thing you saw was your giant blood stain in the entryway. You sighed, hobbling past it on your crutches and up to your bedroom. You threw your crutches off to the side and collapsed into bed.

A/N: i really hoped you enjoyed this chapter cause i had a lot of fun writing it! thanks to @samuel-de-champagne-problems for beta reading! also i’m 18 followers away from 1k AHHHHH IM SO EXCITED!!! and the series taglist is back open :)

main taglist (just ask to be added/removed): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana-deactivated20210709 @hoodpankow @mochionly @spencerreid-187 @babymetaldoll @fics4arainyday @ssavanessa22 @all-tings-diego @idonotexiste @beepbooptoop @tvandfanfic @mggsprettygirl @big-galaxy-chaos @navs-bhat @spencerreidsmommy @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @mggs-sidehoe @rexit-mo @hufflepuffhaze @thisismynerdyself @xoxospencerreid @wifeyprentiss @reidsbookclub @writingintheroses

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