#i know we have one in portland but i’m not sure if it counts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherry-leclerc · 2 months ago

Text

method acting ☆ cl16

genre: angst, yearning, humor, fluff, journalist!reader, established relationship

word count: 13.2k

There’s a lot of things you’d like to do differently in life. And the weeks leading up to that night is one of them.

inspired by this, this, and this !

cherry here!… hello there. sooo this was supposed to go up a few days ago, but silly me scheduled the wrong date, haha, so this is me formally apologizing for that. on a more lighter note: i’m so excited for you guys to read this one considering this is the re-written version of ‘method acting’ if you guys even remember the original version. love u all very much, and enjoyyy :)

From his boyish smile, to his dominant smirk—you knew it all.

The way it would slowly start to spread, but always ended with a dimple. You loved many things in life—many, many things—but nothing comes close to him. From the very start, he’s been gentle. A gentle giant, you’d sometimes joke with a teasing voice, to which he’d roll his eyes yet never deny.

The way he’d start every sentence with—honey—and end with—I love you. The way he’d cradle your face between his hands, kissing the corner of your mouth first before pressing down completely. The way he’d translate for you with all the patience in the world. Everything about him had been so easy to learn, so easy to love.

But here, in a room, staring at each other, you begin to wonder if you ever knew him at all. Because suddenly you don’t know what the frown on his face means. What the furrowed brows with the pinched expression interpret to. You don’t know any of it.

Why are you so surprised, though?

You caused this, anyways.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you don’t know how to use a USB, Lis. Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know—tech savvy?”

Lissie aims a harsh glare before tapping her nail against the computer screen as if that might make the process a whole lot quicker. “So what? I lied on my resume. Everybody does it.”

You chuckle. “Who even uses USB’s nowadays?”

“Apparently Grandpa Will. Oh, yay, it's done!” She shimmies. “I’ll see you later, m’kay?” With that, she zips down the paddock without a second glance. You sigh, gathering your stuff and making your way down the busy crowd, heading straight towards Ferrari Hospitality.

He’s on his computer when you first walk in, keys clicking. He nibbles on his bottom lip, knits his dark brows like he’s in pain. As soon as you tap your finger against the wall, he perks up, all his interest suddenly gone. He grins. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Lis,” you respond, claiming a seat next to him.

The Monegasque hums, leaning in to kiss your lips swiftly. “Thank you, Elisabella.” You giggle, sneaking a quick peek at his open screen. “Whatcha’ workin’ on? Wait—let me guess. You’re getting your marriage license annulled?”

“To be with you, yes,” he agrees, nodding enthusiastically. “How do you think Joris is going to take it?”

A playful shrug. “He’s just going to have to accept it, no?”

“I suppose.” Snapping the computer shut, he fixes himself, head pressed softly against your lap, closing his eyes. The sight of his even breaths and curved nose makes you smile as you start threading your fingers through his hair. He sighs, tense shoulders instantly rolling back. “Journling, and whatnot. It’s a habit that has a near expiration date, for sure, but is quite nice as of now.”

And though he can’t see you, your neat brows raise up in surprise. “Journaling on an electronic device? Why not an actual journal? You know—something authentic. I actually know of a place back in Portland where they sell some cute ones, ver—”

“I’m not looking for cute. I’m looking for security.” A beat. “I’d lose it in a week, and we don’t want that happening, now do we? My laptop works just fine. Plus, I feel more at peace knowing it’s not something I will just leave behind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you declare, enjoying the way his lips twist with a childlike snarl. “Anyways, I’m glad you’ve picked up on a new hobby. It’s good for you, Charlie.”

“Learned from the best.” You blush. “By the way, media shouldn’t last longer than an hour? Wanna go out?”

“Aren’t you tired?” you question, forcing his eyelids open as he squirms, pushing your hand away.

“A little. But I still want to do something with you.”

A tired sigh. ��Cute, but I can’t. Lissie and William are out for today, so it’s just me, which means I have to conduct all the interviews by myself.”

The brunette bats an eye. “Why?”

“She forgot she had a deadline—hence why I was busy helping her—and Will still has to look it over. They have to send it in by midnight and it’s—it’s a lot.”

“Why couldn’t she just email it?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you screech, causing him to flinch and squeeze his eyes. Sheepishly, you pat his head. “He insisted on a USB. Says he wants all work done like the olden days.”

“That sucks,” he mumbles. “And who even uses USB’s nowadays? They’re so outdated.”

“That’s what I’m—” You stop, mid-sentence, lowering your voice when he sits up and scoots away. “Saying,” you finish, whispering. You purse your lips, sending a slight grimace. “You get it.”

Charles nods, standing up and placing his laptop into his duffel bag. “I’ll come back and pick you up, yeah? Meanwhile, I can maybe cook something for us.”

“Honey,” you coo. “I love you, but please don’t.” His face drops. What the fuck? You giggle. “How about take-out?”

“How about,” he mutters, stiff as a statue when you press your lips down onto his jaw, but quickly melts. “Chinese?”

“Sounds good.” Another peck. “I’ll call you!”

If you remember—and you do remember—you fell in love with writing ever since you watched The Devil Wears Prada. It was a reset for you because before that you had seriously considered going to law. At first, you started with column writing in your school's newspaper. No one ever read it, you’d always find it on the floor after being trampled on, but you never cared.

Soon after, you started publishing smaller pieces here and there on your fashion blog that has since been taken down, but that was the moment you knew. Thing was, you wanted to nurture this into a career, you really did, but nothing to do with fashion, rather sports.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that every Sunday your Grandpa would beg for you to come over to his house and watch the races with him. They were extremely boring at first. Who willingly drives for roughly two hours in loops? Then, it clicked. Everything changed and you were enthralled.

After that, all you knew was that you wanted it bad. It was hard, studying over time in order to get done quickly and just start working, but it was well worth it. You met Lis the same year she started working with Formula One, so you both figured a lot of things out together, and for two years, it was just you and her, interviewing and writing about the drivers on the grid.

But he noticed you both years ago.

He first noticed the burn on the back of your left leg. He initially thought it was a band-aid by the way it healed, but later found out you had burned yourself with a curling iron back in highschool when you were rushing to get your senior pictures taken. Then he noticed your eyes and the way they always had a glimmer to them, even if something wasn't going your way. He respected the hell out of you after that.

How do you do that?

You freeze. Do what?

Stay so…so—optimistic. Happy, I suppose.

You laughed then, and he saw the way your hair fell over your shoulder like a silk curtain. He would have smiled if he wasn’t so stuck up on that. It’s all a facade. They way you see me—it’s not real.

Believe me, I don’t think you’re real.

You blush, looking back down at your journal where you’ve been too busy scribbling prior to his question. You just have to ignore them sometimes, you know? Remind yourself that they don’t know you and you don’t know them. Trust me, it helps.

And after that, you two never stopped talking.

Whether it was about work, or perhaps even the weather, you two always had something going on. Something everyone noticed, but never brought up. And at one point, you confessed your next dream.

Journalist of the Year, he repeated, a goofy smile slowly itching his skin. Yeah, I can see that.

It’s not that easy, though, you retort, exhaling heavily. I mean, I’ve been doing this for quite a while now and I haven’t even been considered once, which is fine, maybe I’m not good enough, but maybe it’s also time to…I don’t know—give up?

He kept quiet, kept his eyes focused on you, and frowned. If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.

Pft, you scoff. Nah. Not this. It’s nearly unattainable for someone like me. Even Lissie has won, and we’ve been here for the same amount of years. Now I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve it, but that just comes to show that there’s always someone better. And I’m just here. You look up. It’s okay, you can laugh.

A beat. I could be a hypocrite to tell you that it’s not good to measure how talented you are or how talented you can be based on some award, but Jesus Chrsit, I do the same thing. I understand. And it’s because I understand that I’m telling you to keep working hard and prove yourself to them. You have it in you—I’ve known ever since we met. You smile. Your time will come, yeah?

And for the first time: you believed it.

A nod. Thanks, Charles. Yours will too.

About a month later, you two started officially dating. It almost seemed too good to be true at times, but wherever he looked for you in the crowd, you knew it just had to be.

But the start of your relationship was also the end of something else.

Interviews and articles?

He nods. Right. None of that.

You follow his actions, nodding numbly as you blink. So, no more working together? Because you want me to have a fair shot?

Yes, he confirmed. I just don’t want you to be nominated—because it’s only a matter of time, I have a feeling—and feel as if they picked you simply because of your dating status.

Who’s going to do all of that, then?

There’s plenty of other reporters. Lissie? Will? Maybe even Natalie. He took a step closer, grabbing your hands gently. What I’m trying to say is that I want you to feel accomplished. That what you did was simply because of your work, and not having to do with your connections because trust me, that doesn’t feel good.

But I love working with you. You give his hand a squeeze, tilting your head and smiling sadly. You’re my favorite person to write about and talk to…

And he genuinely seemed to be pained by your words, wincing.

But you suck it up because you know he’s right. I’ll always be your favorite?

Only the best.

A hum. Alright then. You take a step back, extending your hand for a professional handshake. He smiles, taking it and giving it a good tug.

It was nice working with you, Mr. Leclerc.

“I’ll never understand,” Lissie starts, pressing the elevator button for the twenty-fifth floor and chewing on a licorice. “Why you two ever create such a stupid rule like that?” A hard chew. “All I’m saying is that it could have definitely helped you out a whole lot. You probably would have won by now.”

You roll your eyes, but not without thinking how she might be right. You’ve definitely wondered about a world in which you two hadn’t taken this approach, and while it would have been nice, you also know that it would have felt a little less special knowing that being a nepo to Charles had something to do with it. Which is most likely what would have happened, let’s be completely honest here.

“You came to this arrangement, what? Twenty years ago, maybe fourty? And it’s not to be rude, but you haven't been nominated, so was this really worth it if it hasn’t made much of a difference?”

“Okay,” you grunt, ripping the red candy away from her and throwing it into the nearby trash as soon as you step out of the elevator. She pouts, following along. “I think we get it, I fucked up, very funny.”

“No,” she hums. “I never said you did, I was simply thinking, that's all.” You scoff. “But whatever. I have a feeling this is it. You definitely have it in the bag. They’d be crazy not to add you for a fourth time!”

Spinning, you smile bitterly at the Brit girl. She gulps. “Thank you, Lis, your mild support is very much appreciated.”

You turn back around, walking faster.

“Sheesh, sorry,” she hisses, entering the familiar office with a lost expression.

Carly, your manager runs over, practically jumping onto you and hugging you tight. “Lis, close the door!” You groan at the loud sound against your ear, but she's none the wiser, already embracing you harder. “You did it!”

“I told you!” Lissie shoots smugly.

You freeze, heart racing. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying—”

“Why would she be lying?”

Letting go, Carly lets out a delirious laugh. “Everything—all of it—has finally paid off. You did it, you’re on the list!”

“Holy shit,” you whisper in disbelief, playing with your necklace as you pace the spacious office. Lissie and Carly both grin at each other from ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically. You come to a halt. “Are you making this up because I said I would kill myself if I didn’t make it this year because, for your information, I was totally kidding!”

“It’s not a joke,” the redhead squeals, jumping again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“I am too!” Lissie shrieks, running and kissing you face as you try your best to swat her away even though you’re laughing. “Even after what I said in the elevator, I knew this shit was the real deal this time! Didn’t I tell you? Carly, I told her.” She twirls you, making you grin harder. “You won!”

“Okay, let's touch some grass, ladies,” Carly cuts in. “We can’t forget that this is just a nomination and that there’s still work that needs to be done in order to secure our best chances.”

“Right,” you respond, elegantly fixing yourself and nodding up and down. You freeze. “Wait, what work? I thought this was it?”

Carly shakes her head. “Oh honey, we’re just getting started.” A pause. “You have to write an article.”

“I am—confused. What do you mean by article?”

The Brit takes a seat in a nearby chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “It’s their one and only requirement. Show them why they should pick you.”

Carly nods, red hair bouncing. “Shouldn’t be too hard. You’re as talented as they come. Just do what you do, but…better!”

Color drains your face as you go back to pacing. “What do you mean better? This is all I got! There’s nothing left to show, oh God—”

“What are you talking about?” your manager yelps. “There’s always more!”

“Exactly,” Lissie hums, somehow munching on another piece of candy. “There’s always—that, yeah. More.”

Your eye twitches. “Okay, you already went through this and won. How did you do it?”

She pouts, tapping the licorice against her lips before clicking her fingers. “I wrote my piece on fashion and how it’s made its way into Formula One. Wasn’t even that hard. Well. Shouldn't be. Write what you know and it’ll come to ya, they say. Or maybe they don’t, but definitely still do that.”

Your shoulders drop, plopping down next to her and placing a pillow over your face. “Fuck. That’s genius.” It is, isn’t it? she mumbles, slowly chewing in deep thought. Screaming into the pillow, you feel the frustration you didn’t have a second ago finally erupt. “What am I going to do?”

“Sweetheart,” Carly starts, forearms pressed against her glass desk, and stern eyes trained onto you. “You have got to be one of the most raw writers I have ever worked with.” A beat. “Sorry, Lis.”

“Screw you,” she snarls, focusing on her phone now.

Your manager sighs, rubbing her temples. “And please take that as a compliment because it is. You don’t hold back, and you tell it how it is. That’s what makes you one of the best! And if it weren’t for you wanting this, I would have definitely sent an angry email on your behalf because you deserve this more than anyone.”

“Wow,” the Brit muttered, raising her dark brows.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, cringing. “But you’ve won already, Lis, and we supported you, and now…” She faces you again with soft eyes. “We’re doing this for you. You got it, m’kay?”

“But—” your voice cuts off as you blink rapidly, losing focus with the thought of failing, imprinting itself into the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know what to write about, which is weird because I always have an idea, at least. That’s simply a bad sign, that much I know.”

“It’s only bad if you think it is,” Lissie says, clicking her phone off and smiling gently. “But in all honesty, I think it’s actually quite good. That means you know what's at stake, and you know you have to make this the best goddamn article in your entire life.” A beat. “Write what you know, I’m telling you.”

“What she said,” Carly squeaks cheerfully, eyes crinkling as she starts pouring champagne and handing them one by one. “But just so you know, we have to get this in by October thirteenth because they make their decision by the sixteenth.”

“But that’s Charles’ birthday week,” you wail, rubbing your eyes harshly. “Fucking hell—”

“He’ll understand,” Lissie cuts you off, clicking her glass against Carly’s who shrugs, sipping neatly. “All of us know he will.”

“Okay then,” you whisper slowly. You curl your hand tighter against the glass. “Cheers?”

“Cheers, mate!”

Entering his Monaco flat, Charles lets out a tired sigh, taking his shoes off and flinging his keys to the nearby coffee table. The loud thud makes him flinch before running over hurriedly. A large scratch lays across the rich wood as he panics, kneeling down to inspect it carefully.

“Are you serious, Charlie?” he hears over his shoulder, jumping to find you with a frown on your lips and hands on your hips. “That was a gift!”

“I’m sorry!” he squeaks. “From your Grandpa, I know, I’m sorry!”

You let out a breath, shrugging. “It’s fine. How was your day?”

He eyes you suspiciously once before getting closer to you and kissing you hello. “Eh. Decent. Yours?”

Plump lips twist before flattening back out. “Decent.”

He squints, noticing the way you play with your necklace. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer quickly. Defensively.

His brows furrow deeper. “Blow me.”

“Blow you?”

“Yes. Right here, right now—blow me.” He demonstrates, letting out a breath as if taking a breathalyzer test.

You let out a sore laugh, rolling your heels as you stumble back. What? Your laughing stops, though tears run down your face as you try to get your words out. “You mean breathe out, not blow you.” Your giggles pick up once again, making him blush deep red. “God, you need to learn a bit more proper english.”

He looks away, cringing at the sound of his voice replaying, and then turning with a stoic face. “Don’t change the subject.” A pause. “Breathe out.”

You freeze. “Why?”

“Don’t ask questions, just do it.” “I’m not going to do it.”

“Just do it,” he presses harder.

You glare. “No. I’m not.”

Taking one last glance, he leaps forward with zero warning and starts tickling you, making your squeal. Stop! “Breathe!” I am breathing, you twat! “Blow me—God damn it! Whatever! Blow! Breathe! Blow!”

“Fine, fine, just stop!” you screech, giggles coming to an end as he nods and stares down at you, which by now, you’re laid down on the couch with him towering over. You blush, breathing out lightly, nearly nothing. He rolls his eyes. Blow me harder. “Blow me harder,” you mimic, copying his accent.

He groans. “You get what I’m saying—”

“I don’t, though,” you joke, laughing harder. As soon as your eyes shut, he smiles down at you affectionately, but when they open again, he reverts his lips back into a straight line. Your lips wobble playfully. Letting out a big breath, he whiffs strongly. “Gross, Cha!”

“You smell like strawberry sorbet, relax.” A beat. “Open your mouth and stick your tongue out for me.”

“Okay, this is getting really kinky.”

He aims for a deadpan expression.

Rolling your eyes, you do as you're told and he lets out a scream. “What the fuck!”

“It’s red!”

“No duh, Charles!”

“Strawberry sorbet. The last pint. You ate it all, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“So that's a yes.”

You frown.

“And we always share, but when we don’t it’s because you’re going through something and you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Okay, Sherlock Holmes, we get it,” you grunt, pushing him off as you sit up. He does the same, staring at you, concerned. “By the way, does that upset you?”

“The ice cream? Nah.”

You nod, then yawn. “Why do you have to be so attentive?”

“Because I love you.”

You smile. “I made it onto the list.”

“The list?”

“The list.”

A wide grin dances across his pink lips as he jumps onto the coach, up and down, making you bounce and stare up with a soft look. “The list! Thee list. Holy crap, congratulations, honey!” Landing on the ground, he hugs you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and kissing it over and over. “You smell nice—congrats—is that citrus—wait, this smells really nice—”

“It is citrus,” you giggle as he separates from you. “And thanks. It means the most coming from you.”

Silence takes over for a second or two before his brows knit neatly. “What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing.” They raise up higher. “I’m not gonna lie—I’m scared.”

Tugging you closer to his chest, he drags so you two are laying back down. You close your eyes at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you like some blanket. “About what? You totally got this.”

“Hmph. It’s just that, I, uh. I have to write an article on a topic of my choice, and—I. Don’t know? I have no clue what to write about.”

Listening attentively, he doesn’t interrupt as your words begin to pour out like a prayer. He doesn’t even interrupt when you say something along the lines of being “at best—mediocre”, even though he really wanted to. You scoff. “It’s a silly problem to have, I’m well aware, but…it’s the truth.”

The Monegasque picks your breathing patterns, mindlessly copying as you cuddle him. “You’ll figure it out.”

You swiftly look up, cheek pressed against his heart beat. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?”

What do you want him to say? Your lips open aimlessly, then close forcefully.

He grabs a nearby blacket, covering you both and hugging you the same he’s seen you hug your teddy bear. “I think you need to have a little bit more faith. In yourself, that is. Because your mind…” Green eyes connect with yours as your breath comes to a strong halt. He tends to make your body react that way, quite often. He sends a simple grin. Dimples and all.

“It's the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

Abu Dhabi 2021.

It’s been talked about too much already.

Spain 2016.

You’re kidding, right?

Fine. Azerbaijan 2018—

You let out a muffled scream. “Pierre, no! I need something better.”

“Better than all that drama?” he dead pans, genuinely confused as to why his ideas are being shut down.

You exhale, hair flying outward. “I love it too, but I need something new. Unheard of.”

The Frenchman pauses, curling a brow. “I’ve gone blank.”

You bite down on your tongue, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. I should probably come up with my own topic, anyways.”

Getting up, you wave goodbye and make your way to the ice cream truck that’s been rented out for the weekend. Smartest investment, you think to yourself as you twirl your tongue around the lavender spoon.

“This time I really do mean it—blow me.”

Squinting up at the sun—which so happens to be behind Charles like a halo—you chuckle, feeding him a spoonful. “Good, no?”

“Delicious,” he hums, going in for another. “Have you tried the funnel cakes?” They have funnel cakes? you squeal, eyes shining. He nods. “Want one?”

You deflate. “Later.”

Watching the crowd walk by, you two sit there, switching turns and enjoying each other's company. It’s amazing how no one comes up to Charles, either. Not that he would mind, but it’s definitely a nice surprise. Glancing over, he hands the spoon back to you. “Come up with something?”

“I have a few ideas, but nothing solid yet.”

Pistachio ice cream melts away faster. “I told Pierre to leave you alone, I hope he didn’t bother you too much.”

“He’s actually the reason why I have these ideas. Don’t let him know, though, I would never live it down.”

Watercolor eyes go wide. “Really? Pierre actually helped?”

“Weird, huh?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Don’t stress out too much, honey. You still have time.”

You purse your lips. “But the sooner I figure it, the sooner I can start and just focus, and do the proper research and try and—”

“You have time,” he reaffirms with a knowing look. You cock your head and he sends a sly grin. “Plenty.”

“Plenty,” you copy as he nods along. Extending his arm, he signals to the spoon. You shake your head. “You can have the rest.”

“You’re the gift that keeps on giving.”

Write what you know. Write. What. You. Know.

What the fuck does that even mean?

Biting down on your pen, you’re spaced out, staring at the picture frame. In it, Charles and Carlos smile, you can tell, behind their helmets. While the Monegasque’s eyes crinkle sweetly, the Spaniards are dilated and wide. Both nice, but nothing beats those green eyes.

You can slowly feel your sanity slipping away, day by day. There’d be times where you thought you had it figured out, but then you’d bring it up and Lissie would smile and say—

“Yes! Stick to that one! Start it. Right now.”

It wouldn’t seem genuine because you know she just wanted you to get it done given it’s due in less than two weeks. And even though it was good, it wasn’t good enough.

“I’m just going to brainstorm a few more ideas.”

She’d given up, mumbling beneath her breath and grabbing her keynotes and headed to her meeting. Well, technically it was your meeting too, but again. Time crunch.

Hence, why you’re admiring the picture and thinking harder than you were a minute ago. The door slides open then, the two Ferrari drivers back from their media duties. You rip your gaze away as soon as they make their way closer. “How does one fake their own disappearance?”

“Oi,” the brown eyed boy warns, toothy grin expanding. “Good question, though.”

“Oi, you,” your boyfriend warns back, glaring at his teammate. “At this point, I’m sure she’d go through with it.” He turns to you. “Honey, you’ve got to decide already, it can’t be that hard.”

“I know that!” you burst out, ears burning as you avoid their eyes. “But there’s just so much! I don’t want to jump the gun and make a mistake, is all.”

Carlos juts his lip, then rolls his jaw. “If only you took someone’s very good proposition.”

A scoff. “I wasn’t going to write about Papaya Rules, Chili.”

“It would’ve been so good, though!” A beat. “What about—”

“Nor multi-21.”

His expression drops, along with his shoulders, and strolls away, flipping you off. I hope you figure it out, then! A low chuckle makes its way as you exhale loudly. “C’mon, what’s the problem this time?”

You bite your lip, brows drawn in together as you gaze back at Charles. “I’m not entirely convinced.”

“Honey…”

“A-and I know I’m running out of time, but I just want it to be perfect!”

He smiles, throwing his arm on your shoulder. “And it will be, but you need a topic.”

“Yeah…” You raise a brow. “What happened to having ‘plenty’ of time?”

The Monegasque wiggles his brows. “You can’t take up too much advantage.”

I’ve decided.

That’s the lie you settle with because quite frankly, you’re done with the constant questions. If you were going to come up with the best matter to write about, then you need to have a clear head. Carly is over the moon, Lissie is ecstatic, and Charles is proud.

Great! What’s it going to be about?

It’s a surprise.

At first, they were all as curious as can be, but later when you insisted that it’d be better that way, they nodded, though the interest was still there.

Now—with only a week and a half before your due date—you lay, plopped on your stomach, fingers teasing the keyboard as you watch Charles jump into his race suit. You sigh, sitting up. “I think I’m going to stay in here today.”

He fixes the zipper. “Yeah?”

You nod. “That way I can work and watch you.” You point to the T.V. hung up on his room wall. “Is that okay with you?”

“Whatever you need to do in order to focus, baby.” A wink. “It’s fine by me.”

They’re in lap sixty out of seventy-five, the last time you check, and your page remains as white as a ghost and as bare as a newborn baby. It’s both amusing and mind-boggling. Groaning, you hit your head with the back of your hand before running it down your face. Then, to make matters worse, your laptop dies.

Shit, you grit as you look around and spot Charles’ placed neatly on top of a nearby chair. Strolling over, you grab and open it, typing in his passcode and signing into your account. A few seconds later, the blank page resurfaces. Blinking slowly, you spot it.

Notes.

You take a look around, but really don’t know why since you’re the only one in his motorhome, and then click onto the App, furrowing your brows with concentration.

Turns out, you really like to read because one after another, you skim through his journal entries without a second thought. Eagerly, might you add. Some things you know, others you don’t, but nevertheless, you’re caught off guard. How sensitive he is and how it portrays in every word. Not only are you amazed, but you’re completely engrossed.

And it sparks something in you.

With a large grin, the brunette makes his way back to his room, trophy in hand and handshakes and pats on the back all around. Grazie mille, he beams as he makes his way closer, sending a final wave before opening his door. Finding you with his spare helmet over your head, he laughs. You giggle, opening the visor. “That’s one good looking winner!”

He laughs, placing the gold trophy down and enjoying you the way you struggle to take it off. You let out a loud gasp as soon as he assists you, tugging it off. “Shit.” Another gasp. “How do you wear that thing for two hours?” Fixing your hair, you pat it down as you send him a sheepish smile. “Give me a kiss!”

“No thanks. Too sweaty.”

Pouting, you pinch his ear tenderly before he gives in, pressing his lips against yours. “You were amazing out there, Charlie. You really were, I want you to know.”

Green eyes soften as he tries his best to savor this moment. “Only cause you say so.” You giggle, hugging his waist and he drapes his hands over your shoulders and rests his chin on top of your head. “How far along were you able to get?”

A hum. “Quite far, actually.”

He lets out a whistle, making your cheeks glow. “Looks like we’re both having a good day.”

“Looks like,” you swoon. “Looks like.”

Tilting your head back, you match with his eyes as he sends a dimpled smile.

Write what you know, you think to yourself as he leans back down to kiss you. His lips greedily crash against your own as you let out a soft moan, playing with his hair, large hands making their way down to your ass. And you, my dear Charlie…

He groans, shuddering as soon as you grind back against his thigh. You smile, admiring his open mouth.

I know you very well.

You feel guilty when you start on your first page, but by the time you make it to your third, you’ve talked yourself out of it. You would explain. As soon as you’re done, before you turn it in, you would explain it all to him. Tell him that this is simply because you love him. How he’s your biggest inspiration, and how this wasn’t you using him, but rather you showing others how amazing he truly is.

He notices it right away—the determination. And he admires you for it because he hasn’t seen you like that ever since your writer’s block. So, he tries not to intrude in moments where you’re on a roll, and instead makes sure to have a bath ready for you. He joins you sometimes, too.

Cracking your fingers, you yawn, exhausted, and stretch like a cat. He chuckles, closing his book like a light thud. “Update?”

“Six pages.”

“Wow. You really got it going on.” You blush. “You deserve something sweet. What do you want?”

“But it’s so late, and you have to be up early tomorrow…”

He rolls his eyes, already grabbing your trench coat. “It’s a bit cold out right now.”

You smile.

It’s not that far of a walk, three miles. After buying you a hot chocolate—with extra whip—he takes your mitten covered hand and leads you out the small coffee shop. By now, not many people are out, so it makes for a calm stroll.

“Shhh—ah,” you hiss, tongue sticking out as your face twists with subtle pain. He laughs, eyes crinkling. Drink slowly, he says, voice laced with humor. “The cool air helps,” you murmur, blowing on the hot drink. “Are you sure you don’t want anything?”

He shakes his head. “I just wanted you to unwind.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, enjoying the way his ears turn pink. You giggle. “Why do I feel like you’re thinking about something, though?”

“I am. You.” A gust of wind dances. “Always.”

You purse your lips, taking a slow sip, lipstick painting the white lid. “I’m serious, Cha. You’ve been quiet ever since you got off that phone call two hours ago.” Neat brows knit together with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he answers, but it’s too quick for it to be the truth.

Giving his large hand a squeeze, you send a knowing look. His breath hitches. “You can talk to me—”

“Are you almost done with your article?” he asks, obviously changing the topic as he stares up ahead, and if not, down at his shoes. Pink nose twitches. “I miss you, and call me greedy, but I was hoping you’d be done before my birthday, at least, that way we could…I don’t know—” He shrugs. “You’ve just been really busy—which I get why, and I understand—but I miss y-you.”

Wincing, you chew your bottom lip a couple times before letting go. “Almost, but.” His shoulders drop, making your stomach twist. You panic. “I feel like I’m missing something. Like the final bang in order for it to be…” A beat. “I’ll be done before your birthday, you can count on that.”

Round eyes finally flicker up as he nods, a more relaxed look evident. “This makes me sound so needy,” he says. “Which I guess I am, bu—”

“Don’t apologize,” you cut him off with a reassuring smile. “But please, tell me what’s going on…”

The Monegasque stiffens. Despite walking, you can tell. You can feel it. Also, it doesn’t take a genius to notice. “They’re not renewing Carlos’ contract for next year.”

You stop walking, making him stop too. He’s still holding onto you, rubbing small circles against cashmere. “W-why?”

“Guess.”

Your mind races. The rumors have definitely been swirling—everyone’s heard—but really? “They’re actually doing it?”

He nods.

“Lewis,” you whisper like it the first time you pronounce his name. “This is, uh…wow. I mean, wow.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Wow, for sure.” Letting go, he takes a small step back, but still faces you with an uneasy look. “They brought it up as a possibility, but I don’t know why I never thought they’d be capable of…” He grimaces. “I can’t even begin to imagine how Carlos must be feeling.”

“Weren’t they just praising him last time during your guys’ team meeting?” You curl the cup towards your chest. “That’s fucked up.” Charles sighs, pinching the tip of his nose swiftly. Your eyes fill up with concern. “What about you?”

“I got an extension.”

You let out a breath of relief, nodding. “O-okay, okay. That’s good, Charlie, that’s really good.” When he keeps quiet, you pause all movement and blink feverishly. “Why are you upset, then?”

“I’m not,” he answers. “Only worried.” Listening closely, you silently wait for him to continue. He sighs, rubbing his eyes, suddenly tired. “It’s just that…he. He’s Lewis,” he finishes like that’s enough explanation.

You curl a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

A weak chuckle. “It means he’s better, and the team is going to favor him over me.” A timid shrug. “I get it, though. If anyone can bring a Championship home for the team, it’s going to be him.”

“It’s going to be you.”

“No.” The light in his eyes gave out, slowly and painfully so. “It’s not.”

Berry lips open, then close lamely, analyzing him like the world's biggest mystery. Sternly, you narrow your eyes down like knives. “World Champion?”

He flinches.

You click your tongue. “Do you realize how crazy you sound?”

“What?” he says, puzzled.

You nod. “Why are you giving up so easily, huh?”

Sharp jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because he’s a former World Champion, and I’m not.” He chuckles sourly. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out. I mean, I’ve been working for it for so long now, and look at me! I’m nowhere close to being there!”

Silence. Chest heaves. You never let go of your gaze, and he has no other choice than to do the same. He’s not mad at you—not mad at anyone, really—but he’s frustrated. And yeah. Maybe he is giving up the fight, but anyone else who was in his position would too. No one wants to be the laughing stock, no one wants to be compared.

“Listen to me Charles Leclerc, and listen to me closely because I’m only going to say this once.”

He waits.

“If it’s something you want, then it’s most likely something you can have.”

Pink lips turn upward as he tilts his head in the slightest of tilts.

Holding his face between your delicate hands, you raise your brows, shivering at the icy air. He can feel your hand vibrate against his skin as he grabs them, brings them up to his mouth, and blows hot air onto them. “I believe in you. Everybody does. Do you believe in that?”

And it takes a moment for him to answer. It takes a moment for it to register. He nods. Sure of himself.

“Only because you do.”

“A USB?” He frowns. “I thought you hated those?”

“I do,” you say, combing through your hair, staring at him through the reflection of the mirror. “But I feel like this makes it real. Physically turning it in, I mean. It’s dumb, but…” You check the time, shrieking and grabbing your things. “Carly is going to kill me! Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then we can go with your family for dinner, or I’ll meet you there, yeah?” You huff. “Red or white wine?”

“Sparkling water,” he ponders. “Maman is trying to get to ‘quit.’ Which is probably not the right way to put it because it’s not like Lorenzo, Arthur, and I are alcoholics.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’ll just get that instead.” Tippy toeing, you peck his cheek briskly, sweet perfume hitting him. “I love you.”

Adoration fills his watercolor eyes. “I love you, too.”

Who knew?

Who knew that’d be the last time you’d hear those words coming from him?

Entering the familiar office, you wheeze, crouching down to catch your breath before sending over a coy smile. Carly laughs, clearly amused, before signaling to the chair that sits right in front of her. “We could have done this any other day as long as it was before the deadline, you know?”

“No,” you pant, heart beat barely switching back to its regular pace. Well. Sort of. “I need to get this out of the way, I promised Charles I’d be free before his birthday. He said it was his one and only wish, could you believe that, he’s so cute, isn’t he?” She blinks. Pink dusts your cheekbones. “Anyways, here it is.”

Looking down at your extended hand, she almost lets out a snicker. “I get I’m older than you, but really? You emailing it to me would have been just as effective.”

“I didn’t want to risk it going straight into your spam folder.” That, and I don’t want to see when you actually read it because I have a funny feeling you’re going to disapprove, which is okay, fair. “Here.”

“Very well, then,” she mumbles, retrieving it. “Why don’t we proofread it together one more time before send—”

Horrified at the innocent suggestion, you leap up from your chair, pushing back. “There’s no need, I checked it about a thousand times.” She raises a sharp brow at your outburst, the defensiveness in it. You laugh nervously. “And I should get going, anyways. Pascale is cooking Cha an early birthday dinner, can’t be late.”

Placing her forearms against the table, she nods slowly, but still unsure. “I won’t hold you back any longer, then. Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Tight lips form a forced smile, uneven breaths expanding. “Of course.”

You’re expected in an hour, so when you should be up forty-five minutes early, Pascale is pleased, but a bit surprised. Hugging you hello, she opens the door wider, letting you in. “They’re out in the back. Dinner should be ready in a bit.”

“No worries. Do you need any assistance?”

She shakes her head, thin blond hair swaying. “I’ve got it all under control, chérie.”

Nodding, you put your things down and start making your way towards the sound, beers clinking. You let out a snicker. “And here you are claiming not to be an alcoholic,” you joke. Flustered, Charles turns to face your soft voice.

“It’s my first,” he squeaks.

“Third,” both Lorenzo and Arthur shoot, greeting you with a gentle nod.

“It barely even has any alcohol,” your boyfriend tries defending, but the crack in his voice makes everyone burst out with laughter. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be with Carly?”

“I was, but we got done pretty quickly.”

“What’d she think?” he asks, tugging you onto his lap. You giggle, meanwhile Arthur gags and Lorenzo blinks unbothered. “Bet she loved it.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left before she read it.”

He cocks his head. “Seriously?”

You nod. “You said you wanted my full attention.”

“I didn’t say it like that—”

“Well, now you have it.” You kiss his nose gingerly. “Happy early birthday, Charlie.”

The Monegasque smiles deeply. “Thank you.”

“Arthur! Lorenzo! Come help and set the table!”

Arthur groans. “Why just us? What about Charles?”

Poking her head out the window, Pascale aims a stern look, making him dash up. You laugh, ideally going to stand up, but gets tugged back down onto his thigh. You roll your eyes. “I should help, too. But you stay here and relax.”

“I will, but only if you stay with me.”

“Pascale needs my help—”

“Right, but she has both of them already.” He gives your hair a gentle tug. “Stay.”

Sighing, you nod, resting your head on his shoulder as he holds you. From here, you can see the breathtaking view of Monaco’s sunset. The ocean, the trees. Filled with satisfaction in life, you kiss the side of his neck, making him squirm slightly. “Carly says happy birthday. Early. Early birthday.”

A hum. “Make sure to tell her that I said thank you, the next time you see her.”

The sound of waves crashing sings softly. He traces shapes down your leg. “When will I be able to read it?”

You’re sure you stop breathing. “S-soon. After Carly gives me the green light, at least.”

A beat. “I’m excited.”

Your stomach churns. “You are?”

“Mhm. Very. Didn’t you know I was your biggest fan?”

Fixing yourself to look at him, you open your lips, feeling how dry they’ve become. “Charles—”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A sore laugh. “They’re calling you.”

You reach towards your back pocket, pulling it out. Carly Freeman. Clicking it off, you shake your head. “It’s nothing.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He wiggles his brows. “Doesn’t seem like it’s nothing. Answer her, it’s fine.”

“She’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” you announce, standing up and dusting your hands off. “I’m here with you, and she's going to have to wait. Whatever it is, it can’t be more important than this.”

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

He sends a worried look. “Are you sure? What if it has something to do with your article? You should pick up—”

“I said I’m here with you,” you affirm. “Tomorrow. She’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” Standing to his full height, he sends a gesture towards the house. “Let's go?”

His hand reaches out, waiting for you. You smile, taking it. “Let’s go.”

Your phone keeps buzzing and it doesn’t let him sleep.

That, and Carly is a terrible liar.

Shifting in the bed as quietly as possible, Charles reaches for your phone, trying his best not to wake you. “Hello?” he croaks. The line stays quiet, static rolling. “I know it's you, Carly.”

“Charles! How’s my favorite driver?”

You twist, unwrapping your leg that was draped over him. He freezes, soothing you a bit before you settle down. Climbing off the bed, he walks out, gently closing the door and heading towards the living room. “I know your favorite is Fernando, what’s up?”

She laughs nervously, cursing underneath her breath. “Is my little journalist with you?”

“She is.”

“Great! May I speak with her very quick—”

“But she’s asleep.” She groans. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Well…”

Sitting down on the couch, he leans back, placing his feet onto the coffee table. Normally, he wouldn’t, but you weren’t here right now, and lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He clicks his tongue. “Does this have something to do with your guys’ meeting today?”

“Yes. And no.” More static. “Do you mind waking her up for me?”

“Um…well I do. Sorry, Carly, but she needs to get some rest, she’s been working non-stop, and—”

“No, no, I get it!” she squeals. “I totally understand. Can you let her know that I need to talk to her as soon as possible? Like—urgent. Please and thank you and have a good night!”

“Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows and pushing the phone closer to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. Too much,” she adds. “It’s just that I need a bit of clarification, that’s all.”

“Clarification?”

“Yup. On a tiny mistake of hers. But we can fix it together, she still has time, and if she hurries then we can still meet the dea—”

“She doesn’t make mistakes, though. Ever.”

A hiss. “It’s a tiny one, Charles—”

“Okay, tell me and I’ll tell her.”

“What? I can’t. I need to speak directly with her first.”

“Carly…”

“What now?” she grits.

“What’s the issue?” he presses harder. “I’ll let her know right now.”

The line goes quiet. For a moment, he begins to wonder if she’s hung up already, but when she clears her throat, he listens carefully, but can’t decipher her mumbles.

“She gave me the wrong USB.” That’s it? She groans. “Listen to me Charles—the USB she brought to be today only has her title written on it along with a few notes about what it’s supposed to be about. It’s the wrong one and I need the other one now.”

“Okay,” he mutters slowly, nodding. “I’m sure she’ll bring it to you once I let her know, but that’s going to have to be until tomorrow.”

She gasps. “You said you’d let her know right now!”

He winces. “I know I did, but it’s late! Trust me, though. I’ll tell her you called and I’ll even drive her myself tomorrow to drop it off. It must be around here somewhere right…” And it sure is. Sitting nicely on the coffee table, inches away from his feet. He sits up straight away, picking it up as if it were some sort of new discovery. Which in a way, it was. “Carly, why is this so important to you?”

“She’s my favorite client,” she answers without missing a beat. “I only want what’s best for her, and right now we need to fix this little mishap and get this article in as soon as possible.” A beat. “Also, maybe don’t mention the first part to Lissie, she’d totally kill me.”

Analyzing the black USB, he remains stoic, blinking only because he needs to. “Goodnight, Carly…”

“Yeah. I, um—goodnight, Charles.”

Once he hangs up, he’s quick on his feet, retrieving his laptop from the counter and sticking the drive in without a second to process what he’s doing. He shouldn’t. Probably. Definitely not. But the interest Carly clearly has was enough to poke his mind and for him to start wondering what on earth is so significant?

And it’s so obvious now why.

Charles Lecelrc: The Man Behind the Helmet

His eyes skim fast, narrowing sharply.

Like any other human being, he struggles with depression, though fails to admit. Many sleepless nights, many fights, many canceled therapy appointments, I begin to question: does every praise his fans give him make him think he’s above all these things? The truth hurts, but it's only because it's real. And Charles Lecelrc, you are nowhere close to being as perfect as everyone makes you out to be.

His heart stops, re-reading the last sentence. He wishes for it to say anything but that, but it never changes, and it only mocks him like a school bully.

Many assume that the death of his late-father, Hervé, and his late-godfather, Jules Bianchi, have made him stronger in a sense. That it has fed the drive in him to succeed. To be the best of the best, but what if that wasn’t true at all? Would any of you be surprised? Probably, but again, no one truly knows him the way I do. So, what feeds his determination?

The thought of failing the same way they did.

Anger bubbles up inside of him, grinding his molar until they crunch loudly against his temples.

But who can blame him for having that fear inherited down onto him? Tabloids also have a part in this, and so do unwanted changes. One way or another, we can relate with the latter, but never in the way he does. Reading and hearing rumors takes a toll on Charles, that much is true, but what can we expect when his next new teammate is a seven-time World Champion.

I guess the only question that stands in not only our minds, but also his…

Is he strong enough to come head to head with someone as talented as Lewis Hamil—

“Wake up.”

Groggily, you rub your eyes. “Charlie, it’s dark out, come on. Come back to bed.”

“Stop calling me that, and get up.” In a single movement, he rips the blanket away and yanks you from your wrist, forcing you to sit. You gasp, his change of heart sobering you up from your sleepy daze.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He laughs. “Me? What’s wrong with me? Are you serious right now or are you stupid?”

You flinch, taken aback. “Don’t talk to me like that, what did I do?”

“I won’t waste my breath explaining.” He drops his laptop on the bed, making you freeze as soon as you spot the familiar USB. “I'll let you re-read it.”

“Where did you get this from?”

“Really? That’s what’s important to you?” He rolls his jaw, rubbing it until his skin turns a light shade of red. “If you don’t want me finding it, then next time don’t leave it out.”

Your lips go dry, crawling to the edge of the bed, but as soon as you’re about to reach out for him, he grimaces, shaking his head and taking three steps back. “Charlie—”

“No,” he hisses, glaring at you with utter hatred. The sight alone makes your eyes well up. “You don’t get to call me that. You don’t get to call me that ever again.” A cry rings through the air as you cover your hands over your face. “A-am I supposed to be impressed by what I read or what?”

“It’s no—”

“Did I do something to upset you or w-why were you talking about me like that?” he questions, genuine confusion taking over as he furrows his brows until they cause his eyes to pinch up too.

Sniffling, you get up quickly, shaking your head adamantly until you get dizzy. “It wasn’t supposed to come off across that way! Are you kidding me?” Grabbing your heart, you soften your eyes. “I’m your biggest supporter.”

“Yeah? Well, that,” he snarls, pointing at the open screen like it's the most disturbing thing. “That doesn’t make sense with what you’re saying…” A beat. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Do what, though?” you whimper. “Everything I wrote about you is based on what you told me!”

“Exactly!” he shouts back, making the distance between you smaller, making you shrink. “I told you! Just you! I never once asked you to air out my business, and quite frankly, I thought that was common sense.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “You called me crazy and troublesome among other things. Are you my girlfriend or wolves in sheep's clothing? I’m trying to understand your logic here.”

You push your hair back, breathing hard. “You can’t just say that, there’s context behind that, come on…”

“Oh. Okay. My bad. I’m crazy because I talk to my father’s tombstone and Jules’. It's troublesome because I used to do cocaine in order to de-stress. I’m in over my head because I actually think I stand a chance against Lewis—a chance you convinced me I had!”

“That’s not what I meant!” you squeak. “You’re taking it all wrong, Charles, I would never say that about you!”

“But you did,” he states firmly. “And you know? If I’m so unready to face a friendly competition against my future teammate, then maybe I’m unready to face a lot of other things, too.” You freeze, dreading his next words as you plead him silently not to say them. “Maybe I’m not as ready to settle down with you as much as I thought I was…”

That does it. That seems to cut the little oxygen you had, off. Stumbling back, you feel the tears start to form again. “You don’t mean that…” You smile weakly. “You’re just a tiny bit upset right now, okay, fine. That’s fine. But you don’t mean any of that.”

Glaring until it hurts, he maintains eye contact. “Don’t tell me what I’m feeling, you don’t get to do that!”

You flinch. “I’m sorry.” A droplet slides down. “I’m sorry, okay?” More follows. “For all of it. For all of this. If I could take it all back, I would, you have to believe me, Charles, you know I would.”

His gaze lingers for a while longer, taking in your rosy nose. Your swollen eyes. Your wet cheeks. Everything that's supposed to make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “I really did trust you…” You breath hitches. “And I really did want you to win…” Pause. “And I still do.”

Strolling over, he disconnects the USB, making the screen go completely black, and hands it to you. Blinking down, you shake your head, too embarrassed to even look at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want it either…” Forcing your palm open, he places it down, instantly making your skin burn. “Journalist of the Year.”

You let out a wet sob, shoulders shaking. You don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but what you do know is that this doesn’t feel good and that your heart breaks with every passing second.

Never in a million years did you think you would experience any of this, especially with Charles. The Monegasque cocks his head, curls following. “I’m glad you’re about to get everything you’ve ever wanted, I really am.” He chuckles softly, eyeing you intently. “I just can’t help but wonder what that must feel like.”

“I was going to tell you,” you whisper meekly. “And you were supposed to understand where I was coming from.”

And if any anger was gone, well fuck that, it all came right back.

“Understand where you were coming from?” he spits out, shocked by your choice of words. “You really thought I would understand? I planned my entire future around you, and this is how you repay me? You went behind my back to write an article I didn’t even know about! We made a choice years ago!”

“No, you did!” you retort, despair rising hard and fast. “You came up with that decision all by yourself, Charles, I never agreed!” You look down. “Not entirely.”

“Huh,” he scoffs, squinting his eyes. “I was simply looking out for the girl that I love given that the internet is a scary place and she probably wouldn’t have been able to handle it, for God sakes, I guess this is my fault now, isn’t it?”

“I would have been able to handle it, but you never gave me the chance!”

“Yeah, because reporting on a driver and driver who's your boyfriend are two completely different things that you can’t seem to comprehend!”

Trembling, you blink carefully, gulping. “I would have done just fine.”

“You think so?” he challenges, a sour smile forming. You nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?” Closing the final distance between you two, your breath gets stuck as he sends a dirty glare, one that's meant to sting. “You’re not talented. You only have your position because of your dating status, when in reality, your work is utter shit. Everything is handed to you.”

There’s a mix of a whimper and a plea that comes out of you as you screw your eyes shut. “You’re being mean, Charles…”

He laughs, clapping his hands once with amusement. “That’s what the internet is! Maybe I was right, then—you can’t handle it.”

“I could…” you murmur, but it's no use.

The brunette catches himself wanting to comfort you. To apologize for everything. But then he figures—why? It’s not like he truly did something wrong.

“You’re the greatest disappointment of my life.”

Something ended the moment those words left his mouth—you both knew it. Sobbing hard, your shoulders vibrate violently as you seemingly gasp for air. He looks away.

“You know, our life could have been so good. So fucking good. But you went and ruined it.” Green eyes flicker back. “Why would you do this to us?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” you declare with wet lashes.

“You did a bit more than that,” he replies, wincing, blinking rapidly. He smiles. “If you wanted to write your article on me, you should’ve asked me. You should have talked to me. But no. And the thing is, I would have let you! God. I would have let you write whatever you wanted—but not like this. You stole an interview from me with no right, honey…”

Quickly, you flicker your gaze up at him, hoping to see any trace of love in that one word, but you’re not surprised when you don’t find any, deflating furthermore. He shrugs. Like what you did to him was no big deal.

“You took it from me. But I would have given it to you.”

“Are you sure you want to do this? You can always change your mind, babe, it’s totally fine!”

“No.” You fix your hair, posture straight. You smile. “I need to.”

Lissie shares a slow nod, nibbling on her bottom lip before handing you her keynotes. “Alright. Good luck.”

The idea first sparked when the Brit girl mentioned how she was the only one granted permission to interview Charles at this year's FIA prize giving ceremony. You had debated back and forth with what seemed like forever, both Carly and Lissie trying to talk you out of it, but you pleaded until they reluctantly agreed.

You haven’t seen him ever since that day.

It’s insane to think about, sometimes. You knew each other for two years, dated for three, and haven’t crossed paths for another two. And now, you’re here. He’d been upfront that day, didn’t even flinch with his one and only birthday wish, meanwhile you felt the last stab hurt more than anything.

I wish to never see you again.

Not long after, he grabbed his things and left. But not before turning around, sending you one last glance, dull, empty, and nothing like him anymore. You still recall.

Turn it in, he said, smiling warmly despite his better judgment. Despite not meaning it. Don’t let this all be for nothing.

Shaking your hands, you grin, fixing your silk dress. The Brit girl stares worriedly, but as soon as you wink, she hides it. Not that well, but enough. “He’s going to be so mad at me,” she jokes, but it’s probably true. He has a soft spot for her, and he only gave permission to her. No one else.

You wince, grabbing her hands delicately. “I really appreciate this, Lissie. More than you’ll ever know.”

Waving goodbye, you make your way to the private conference hall. It’s daunting, actually, the sight of the large table where he’ll be sitting and the small chair where you will. Quite the narrative. His picture is hung in almost every corner, from the beginning of his career to now. The latest one makes you smile as he lifts the trophy high up with a beaming grin, dimples poking out and eyes crinkled just the way you remember.

You thought about apologizing again. Better this time. Once things simmered down. You really wanted to, but as soon as Carly informed you that the article would need to be published in order for fans to engage with your content and for them to decide on a winner, you knew the gist of him accepting your apology was most likely never going to happen.

And you contemplated not posting it. Carly did too. Lissie did too. No one thought it was a good idea, but you still did it. Like he said—you couldn’t let all that be for nothing.

The hate came immediately, you expected nothing less. In their minds, you were a loyal girlfriend, but after reading your work, the comments came rolling in. You were honestly quite grateful because you know you deserved every last bit of it.

But somehow—somehow—you won Journalist of the Year.

You were shocked to say the least—bewildered. And you could see it in Lissie and Carly’s eyes too. So, while accepting the award with a forced smile, it hit you like a truck.

Did you truly earn this or was it all thanks to him?

Either way, does it matter anymore?

The door gently opens as he steps in, a loopy smile stretched onto his lips before coming to a complete stop. With your heart in your throat, you cough awkwardly, standing up and waving. You cringe, putting your hand down as soon as he furrows his brows, looking around.

“S-she’s not here,” you say, voice cracking. You blush. “You’re looking for Lissie, right?” Utter silence. He blinks, unresponsive and as stiff as a tree. You lick your lips. “I-I-I can leave if you want.” But you really hope he doesn’t want you to.

The Monegasque’s features strike with something familiar—something you knew not long ago. Then…

He smiles at you.

“It’s alright.” Carefully, he makes his way closer, scooting his chair right next to yours as you blink, sitting back down and staring with your plump lips slightly open. He cocks his head. “Y-you look the same.”

You giggle. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?” When he fails to answer, you bite down on your lip hesitantly. “You haven’t changed much, either.”

He clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but why are you here and where is Lissie?”

You flinch. Okay. This was expected. You practiced hours for this very moment. “Don’t be mad at her, okay, I asked her to let me do this. I wanted to…see you, Charles.” The sound of his name leaving your lips makes his heart stop because it's been so long since he’s heard it. Too long. A subtle blush. “I’m here to apologize.”

“Ah,” he winces, scrunching his nose. “Don’t. We’re cool.”

“Are we, though?”

He stiffens.

Exhaling, you place your things down, pursing your lips. He watches the way your knee bounces up and down. How you play with your ring before covering it neatly with the opposite hand. That catches him completely off guard as he blinks rapidly, thinking he must be mistaken.

“I know I don’t deserve any of this,” you say nervously. “By all means, I should have been kicked out five minutes ago, but you…” Round eyes soften, lashes batting slowly. “You’ve always been a kind and generous human being, Charles.”

“Stop,” he whispers. You frown. “Saying my name, I mean. You can talk—we can talk, but please, just. Don’t say it.”

“O-okay,” you mumble, stomach churning. “I won’t.”

He lets out a tight smile, tilting his head. Years ago, his hair was a tad bit longer, fluffier even. Now, it’s still the same, but somehow more mature. His eyes are still young and naive, but with a hint of wisdom. He usually would wear mismatching suits, but now it matches. A lot of him has changed, and you weren’t there to witness it.

“Congrats, by the way,” you add happily. “World Champion, eh?”

Pink spreads across his cheeks, slowly but surely. “Thanks. I was close to losing my mind.”

You laugh. “Seven years later, but it’s well deserved. I’m so proud of you.”

And for a moment, he goes completely numb. He’s heard plenty of kudos ever since winning his first title—and they were nice, they made him feel nice—but this. You? It’s the first time it makes him feel accomplished. And that feels more than nice.

Playing with his bracelet, he nods sheepishly. “How have you—how, um…God. I, um, how have you been?”

“Oh.” You let out a genuine smile. Soft. Angelic. And everything he wishes to find in any other girl that isn’t you. It’s not something he should notice. “I’ve been well.” You raise your hand. “Engaged.”

“You sure are,” he mumbles, finally acknowledging the silver band before flashing an easy smile of his own. And maybe it was real, or maybe it wasn’t, but he wasn’t as upset as he thought he’d be. Just a tiny bit bothered, is all. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

You lick your lips awkwardly. “You remember Carly’s son?”

A tide hits him as he internally screams. “Grayson, right?”

You nod. “She, uh, set us up a while ago and we hit it off.” You wince. “I’m sorry, is that weird?”

“No. Of course not,” he replies, shrugging. “You’re allowed to build your life with whomever you want. What happened between us was…” He chuckles. “So long ago. I’m happy for you both, I really am.”

And he means it this time.

Admiring the oval-shaped ring, you swoon as if you’re thinking of the exact moment he proposed to you, and that’s the prettiest sight Charles thinks he might ever see. Even if it didn’t end up being him. Once you look back up, he looks away, feigning interest in anything else stupidly.

“Yourself?”

“Myself?”

A playful eye roll. “Are you seeing anyone?”

A retch. “Ha ha, no! No, that’s not—that’s not for me.” You frown. He winces. “Please don’t be offended, but after you, I sort of lost interest in meeting other people. Pierre calls it trauma, I call it precaution.” A sore laugh. “B-but maybe one day. Never say never, am I right?”

The lights reflect directly towards you, so that lets him see the rosy blotches beginning to hug your cheekbones as your lips wobble. He panics. “N-no! Fuck. I didn’t mean to—”

“I ruined your life,” you wail, throwing your hands over your face. “Oh my God, I wrecked it!”

“You didn’t!” he tries. “I’ve gone on a couple of dates, here and there!”

You’re tiny cries take a quick pause. Sniffling, you shoot him a look, shiny eyes beaming back at him. “You have?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, slowly relaxing against his seat. “Sort of. Kind of.” A horrified expression maps out against your face. He grimaces. “I-It’s just not my thing!”

“I’m sorry, Ch—” You pause, rethinking your words. “I’m sorry.”

The Monegasque shrugs, hoping that’d be enough for you to drop the topic. “It’s okay, really. It’s a decision I made long ago, and I’d like to keep it like that for a while, at least.” You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding halfheartedly. “But please, um, tell me, how far along are you? Heard from Lissie that it’s a boy.”

You let out a wet giggle, wiping your tears away to the best of your ability. “Nineteen weeks. I’m in my second trimester.” Gingerly, you rub your tiny belly before your eyes light up. “Give me your hand!”

“What?”

Leaning in, you grab his large hand and place it down on your stomach, looking up at him to watch his reaction. At first, he’s weirded out, you can tell. He makes a silly face he probably doesn’t realize he’s making, but seconds later his features soften. His green eyes go round, no tension behind them. His brows lay flat, then knit together in amazement. He laughs, rubbing his thumb gently.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. “When he kicks?”

You hum. “Sometimes it can. But I suppose it’s more discomfort than anything.” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Cool?”

He nods rapidly. “Super cool.”

Pulling away, he can feel his adrenaline as high as a kite, and as fast as his car. He feels different, he notes, as if something has finally shifted inside of him. With this, he takes time to admire you in a way he hasn’t been able to ever since.

Your hair is cut into layers now, glossy and shorter than he remembers. Your lips, round, plump and berry tinted. Your eyes, doe, innocent, and pure in a way he can’t seem to wrap his head around. Smile, even, wobbly, and everything in between.

Your gaze flickers. “Question…”

“Answer,” he replies, studying your body language.

It’s harder than you had initially thought it would be, asking him what you’d been wondering for these past two years. Was it all that bad? The answer might be yes. Yes, it was. To him, perhaps. But it tugs your tongue, and it burns a bit, but you push through, focusing on him and his watercolor eyes.

“Do you—”

But he still knows you. He can still read you. Before you, it’s always him who understands your train of thought.

He shakes his head, dimples imprinting like a finger in sand. “No regrets.”

A peach seed forms as you let out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in life,” you admit, cringing slightly. “Just yesterday, I bought the wrong plane ticket. Got stuck in the airport for three extra hours.” He chuckles. “Totally unnecessary.”

“It happens,” he comforts you, clicking his tongue.

“I guess so,” you say, sighing. “But betraying someone you love? Yeah. That’s got to be the worst mistake of my life.”

He flinches, an old wound suddenly opening. “Hey, you—”

You raise your hand, pleading with him. “Let me just…” So, he forces himself to sit there quietly, to not intrude no matter how much he really wants to. It’s fine, he wants to say, I’m fine now, we’re fine now, seriously.

A wince. “Do you know how guilty I feel whenever Grayson polishes my award?” A scoff. “He means no harm with his actions, but it makes me feel like shit everytime I walk past it. I’ve begged him to put it away somewhere in the attic, but he’s as proud as can be. Say’s an accomplishment like that deserves to be shown off. That it’s proof of all my hard work.” You smile. “Much like you and your trophy.”

You exhale. “You were right, though.” A hum. “I don’t deserve it.”

“I never said that.”

“Sure,” you give in quietly. “But you did say that if I won, I’d always wonder if I was truly respected for my work or if I was respected because of you.”

He bites his tongue.

You shrug lamely. “And that’s just something I’m going to have to live with for the rest of my life…” Steadily, you ease your eyes back towards him as you find him already staring at you, listening close and curious. “And I want you to know that I’m fine with that.” A beat. “What I’m not fine with is you being mad at me for the rest of your life.”

Charles opens his mouth, feeling his tongue as dry as the desert and his throat as dusty as the highest mountain. “I’m not mad at you…anymore.” He sits up straighter. “I said a lot of things to you that night that I shouldn’t have said, but you have to understand that you hurt me a thousand times worse.”

Tears well up your eyes as you nod shamefully. He continues despite feeling the need to reach out for you. “I just wanted you to feel what I was feeling, even if that meant—well. You know. And, um…I tried to forget all of that, but I, too, felt guilty, so—I’m glad you’re here. That way I can say…I’m sorry.”

“No!” you wail, raising your arms up. “No, I’m sorry! I broke your trust, and I was a God awful girlfriend.”

“You did,” he chuckles before scrunching his nose in deep thought. “But you were also the best I’ll ever have.”

A wet sob escapes.

“I forgive you.”

“S-shit,” you let out. “You don’t know how g-good it feels to finally hear you say that.”

A gentle smile. “You?”

You giggle, standing up. “I have nothing to forgive you for, but yeah. Okay. I forgive you, as well.” You open your arms for a hug. He blinks. “It’ll make me feel better.”

Tsk. “You used to do this all the time wherever we fought,” he says, a hint of sadness wavering in his eyes before disappearing into thin air. Extending to his full height, he towers over you before going in to close the distance. He halts, coughing awkwardly.

You snicker, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Right. You're hugging two of us now.”

A wave of jealousy pangs his chest for a second. You’ve moved on, and he’s stuck in the year you were still in his life. Still his. He envies Grayson in every sense there exists, but he swallows down that pill because he’d always been a nice bloke the very few times he interacted with him. He needs to move on, too.

Even if it takes him his whole life to figure out how.

“The more the merrier.”

Your face has gone completely numb by now from how hard you're grinning from ear to ear. Wrapping your arms around his waist as he goes over your shoulders, you sigh contently as you catch the whiff of his cologne. His heartbeat quickened at the smell of your perfume.

“Question,” he whispered. You chuckle against his chest. Answer. He gulps, nose twitching. “Would it make me a bad person to say that you’re probably the only girl I’ll ever love?” Silence. He screws his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. Why the fuck would he ever say that—

“I’d only say that I don’t deserve to be her,” you respond. “Anyone but me.”

A flinch. “O-of course. You’re getting married, you’re having a baby, what was I th—”

“Honey…”

He freezes.

You lean back, holding his face between your hands and smiling. “It’s not your name…”

His voice catches. “It’s not…”

A deeper smile. Nostalgic. “A piece of me will always love you.” A pause. “You know me so well. Better than anyone. You’ve seen me naked. You’ve dressed me. You’ve seen me with makeup. You’ve seen me without. And…well—you’ve seen my good side. But you’re also the only one who's seen my bad.”

His palms quickly get sweaty as he tries his best to not do anything he might regret. And not because he’ll wish to take it back, but because you would. Neat brows draw in together as you graze his stubble with your thumb. As nurturing as a mother, which he supposes you already are.

“I’d say that makes us pretty close, no?”

“Not as close as I’d like to be.”

“You’ll find someone.” A beat. “Someone who’ll love you right.”

“You didn’t?” he questions before he can stop himself. “Sorry—”

“My love for you was honest. But I blew it.”

I’m still here, he wants to yell out. If you still want me like I want you, then I’m still here.

But he refrains from doing so.

“You’ve never done me wrong,” he attempts, kissing your palm gingerly before softening his gaze. You send a playful glare. “Except for that one time.” You snort. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore because—because it doesn’t matter anymore…”

Maybe it's the hormones, you sort of wish it was, but you know it’s due to his gentleness. You don’t deserve his sympathy, you don’t deserve even a fraction of it. Crying, you kiss his cheek, hoping everything you feel transfers itself into the warmth of his skin. And you don’t know, but it does just that.

Closing his eyes, he prays to dream about this kiss forever. Have nightmares, who even cares. As long as he doesn’t forget.

You step away carefully, taking him in as his eyes flutter.

“Charles Leclerc, first time World Champion…”

He smiles. You smile.

His dimples pop out. Your eyes crinkle.

He loves you. You love him.

And maybe it didn’t work out in this life.

But maybe in the next.

“May I have an interview with you?”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna @emmaxdelicate

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woso-soso · 7 months ago

Text

You're Going To Do Great

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie gets put to the ultimate test, taking care of the team baby.

Word Count: 1,407

You cover your mouth, doing your best to muffle the giggle bubbling inside of you at the look on Jessie’s face. You stand behind the camera as you watch the robotic baby doll get tossed onto the table landing right in front of Jessie. You had been doing media for the Portland Thorns for the last four years, having been lucky to land an entry level position after graduating from UCLA. Which is where you had met Jessie, the two of you having been together now for eight years, married for three of them.

“What is going on?” She asks cautiously.

“One of the team predictions this year was that there would be another team baby,” you say off camera. “So far we haven’t had one so the team voted to do this, and you were selected to be the honorary mom.” You can see Jessie's nerves clear as day. It was a challenge to even get her to agree to do a video. There was no way you were going to tell her this was the plan.

“So what am I supposed to do with it?” Jessie asks, picking the doll up slowly. Turning it over towards the camera, the little Portland thorns onesie on full display.

“Well,” you start “IT’S name is Rose, and she will be spending the day with you.” You toss a ring of cards towards Jessie hoping and praying that her somewhat fast reflexes actually kick in for once. With a small sigh of relief you watch her catch them easily, well somewhat easily, the robot baby narrowly escapes being dropped on the ground.

“All day?” Jessie’s eyes go wide as she stares past the camera into your eyes.

“All day,” you confirm. “But you’ll have this to aid you,” you toss yet another item at Jessie, the bright blue baby sling landing in front of her in a heap. “And those cards will be your life line, each one represents something different, feeding, changing, burping etcetera. There is also a panic card but trust me you don’t want to use it.”

“How am I supposed to train with it?” Jessie asks as she fiddles with the baby sling.

“You’ll figure it out Jessie, by the end of the day you're going to love ROSE.” You emphasize as the freckled woman glares at you.

“Fine,” she grumbles, “Come help me with this,” she says as the camera is shut off, the baby sling hanging limply in her hand. With a soft smile on your face you go over to help her clip the robotic baby in. “Maybe this will be good practice,” Jessie whispers her hand resting gently on your slightly swollen abdomen. You were only four months along and no one on the team was aware of the impending arrival of baby Fleming, but you were ok with that. The two of you holding your notoriously very private status like a badge of honor.

“I’m sure you’ll do amazing, just like with everything else,” You affirm as you brush her hair aside to clip the top of the sling.

The camera crew follows Jessie around for the rest of the day, capturing every moment they can. You personally watch from your office window that faces down onto the training pitch. You laugh to yourself as you watch her attempt to leave the baby on the side lines, but the robotic screaming starts almost instantly. Jessie rushes to try and stop the crying, tapping every card on the ring multiple times until you see her visibly relax. Her teammates chirping at her as she heads back on to the pitch.

You know for a fact that she has set off the panic card multiple times, the app connected to your phone alarming multiple times as she franctiled tried to get the screaming to stop. You watch as practice comes to a pause. Pushing away from your desk you slowly make your way down to the pitch.

“Y/N,” shouts Olivia, the young girl attaching herself to your hip the second you're in sight. The much younger girl having become like a younger sister over the years as you took on a caregiver role while on the road.

“Shhhhhh,” Jessie hisses at her “It just got quiet lets please not set it… “a loud screech echoes across the stadium. “Off.” Jessie sighs heavily as she digs out the cards again, starting the process of tapping every card not even taking a second to look at which was which.

“Jessie, shouldn’t you be looking at the cards.” Olivia quips. “I don’t know if they didn’t have these in Canada but the more you hit it with the wrong card the worse your score is.”

“IT'S SCORED?” Jessie asks panicked, turning towards you like you’ve betrayed her.

“I told you to not hit it willy-nilly with the cards didn’t I,” Your eyebrow raised in question.

“But you didn’t say I would be scored,” she exclaims.

“Well,” you start, eyeing the cameras around you, “you might want to start making up for it, you might be able to redeem yourself before the end of day.”

“Come on Jessie I raised you to be better to kids then that,” Sincy says patting the younger woman on the back as they head in for lunch.

“If you think you’d be so good at it you take the baby then,” Jessie grunts in frustration as she shoves the plastic baby into the older womens arms. “I just need a minute away from the screaming.” Before Sincy can object Jessie is darting off into the cafeteria.

By the end of the afternoon your phone has gone off another five times, the notifications popping up indicating that Jessie has yet again messed up and used the panic card. You take your time making your way to the locker room, meeting up with the camera crew along the way. You knock before entering the locker room, the screaming robot baby being all you can hear as people start to pack up for the night. Jessie having shoved the baby under a pile of pennies to try and muffle some of the screams.

“I don’t think that suffocating the baby bodes well for your score,” Your voice causes Jessie to jump suddenly as she whirls around to look at you. Her hand shooting into the pile of pennies to retrieve the robot.

“I….” Jessie stammers.

“It’s okay, give me the doll.” Your hand stretched out to take the screaming doll from her. Quickly flipping it over and turning it off.

“She could have just turned it off all day?” Sophia shouts from across the locker room.

“She could have,” you start with a smirk “but it wouldn’t have ended well for her if she had.” Jessies normally red cheeks flush even brighter. “Now, who here wants to know what Jessie scored on caring for our lovely Rose here?”

“ME!” Exclaims a good portion of the crowd gathered in the room, the cameras panning across the grinning faces before settling on a flustered Jessie.

“Mrs Fleming here has scored an impressive,” you pause for a moment to raise the intensity “57 percent, not too good there Mrs Fleming, looks like you might have some learning to still do.” You can make out a few digs and laughs in the locker room, most of them poking fun at Jessie for being as smart as she is. You hear quite a few questioning if that's the lowest grade she's ever gotten.

You check behind you to be sure the cameras are off before making your way over to the shorter brunette, her cheeks bright red and eyes turned downward. She doesn’t necessarily look upset, more so uncomfortable with all the attention on her.

“Am I really going to be that bad?” She questions quietly, her eyes moving to meet yours. “Am I going to break our baby,” her voice even quieter than before, wanting to maintain this secret from everyone for as long as possible.

“Jessie Alexandra Fleming you are going to do great, amazing even. Trust me, I wouldn’t have a baby with anyone but you.” Your hand takes hers, your thumb gently running across the back of her hand.

“Really?” She asked.

“Really,” you say gently, leaning down to place a soft kiss to her lips, her cheeks instantly flaming even more brightly at the very very rare show of affection in public.

#woso imagine #woso imagines #woso x reader #canwnt imagine #canwnt imagines #canwnt x reader #jessie fleming imagine #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming imagines

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atlabeth · 2 years ago

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leave the door open - anthony lockwood

summary: no matter what happens, there's always the light underneath the door. the sign that, when you're ready, he'll let you back in with open arms.

a/n: obviously inspired by leave the door open by silk sonic because i could (and have) listen to it on repeat for hours. this spiraled way out of control but im honestly really happy with it and i hope you all are too!

wc: 8.2k

warning(s): mild angst, arguing, hurt/comfort, mildly serious injury, short scene with a gun/gunshot wound, but the whole first half of the fic is fluff and it is all wrapped up w a fluffy ending

127.

128.

129.

13–

Your focus was broken as police sirens blared past your window, and you let out a long-lasting sigh. This was the fifth time your count had been interrupted, and you weren’t starting over again.

Trying to sleep was a fruitless endeavor at this point, and that wasn’t going to change no matter how many notches in the wall you counted—you might as well accept it.

You’d never been much for sleeping through the night, but your new home boded worse for it all. A new room, a new house, a new city, a new agency. Being in the thick of it all after what felt like so long on your own was overwhelming, and it still felt like it could all fall apart. Being given the job all because you passed a few tests in the living room didn’t exactly feel like security.

You sighed as you slipped on a sweatshirt and walked out of the attic— your room, at least for now— carefully moving down the steps in an effort to not make much noise.

35 Portland Row was filled with warmth, that much was obvious from your short time here, but that warmth had not yet penetrated your skin. It was all too foreign.

You meant to go to the kitchen and make a midnight cup of tea, but your eyes were drawn to a slightly open door, light spilling out in the cracks. The library, if you remembered correctly from Lockwood’s tour.

It must have been George. You didn’t know much about him, but the way Lockwood described him certainly made him seem like the type to be up pouring over books until the early hours of the morning.

It wouldn’t hurt to say hi. Let him know that they’d added another restless soul into their agency.

You pushed the door open a bit more, knocking on the wall as you leaned against the door frame, and your eyebrows rose slightly when the boy looked up.

“Lockwood,” you said, tamping down on your surprise.

He said your name with a slight smile and a bow of his head. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nodded. “Have you got room for one more?”

“Always,” he said with a gesture at the seat across from him.

You closed the door behind you and took the offered chair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “What’s got you up?”

“Bills,” he said dryly. “The mortgage, the utilities, our certification, and now—” he looked at you— “another agent on the payroll.”

“I’ll be sure to try and bring in more than you spend on me,” you said, and he smiled as he set his pen down.

“How thoughtful.” Lockwood laced his fingers together before he leveled his gaze fully at you. “And what’s got you up?”

“Just what I said,” you answered with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t gotten used to this place yet.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, because you’re going to hit the ground running,” Lockwood said. “We’ve got a meeting tomorrow with a client, and if all goes well we’ll be having tea with a Visitor by noon.”

“Honestly, that would make me feel like I fit in more,” you said. “I’m much better with the ‘nearly dying’ part of this job than the settling in part.”

He cracked a small smile. “I’m hoping we’ll avoid that part, especially with your help.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You’ve got that much faith in me?”

“I assumed you knew the amount of faith I have in you when I hired you,” Lockwood joked. “Your Touch is just what we’ve been missing.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” you said. “There’s always uncertainty about freelance agents because we work on our own, but I promise I’ll try my best to merge back into a group.”

“Like I said,” Lockwood’s eyes twinkled, “I’ve got full faith in you.”

You chuckled and nodded, and you tapped the desk before you stood up. “I’ll leave you to your devices. Thank you for the talk, Lockwood.”

“Try and get some sleep,” Lockwood said. “After all, tomorrow is when you prove yourself.”

“Ah,” you said sagely. “Tomorrow will determine whether I have a job or I’m back on the streets.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he said, and he looked wholly genuine. “You’re part of Lockwood & Co now, and we take care of our own.”

You nodded, your lips quirking into a small smile. It had been a long time since someone had so clearly said to you that they would watch out for you— that they saw you as more than just your Touch.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Lockwood nodded, his expression turning slightly wry. “Besides, the only real reason I think I’d fire you is if you got us all killed.”

“You can’t fire me if we’re all dead.”

“I suppose that means you’re thoroughly employed,” Lockwood said with a smile.

You chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Truly, though, try and get some sleep.” He picked up his pen again, clicking it a few times. “We might be London’s smallest agency, but we take cases the likes of Fittes would handle.”

“As long as you try and get some too,” you said.

Lockwood smiled, but there was a notable absence of a promise. “Goodnight.”

“Are you always in the library?” you asked suddenly. “Because I— I find myself awake a lot at night. It would be nice to know when you’re open to chat and when you just want to be alone.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave the door open for you. Just like tonight.”

You stared at him for a moment more, taking in his slightly ruffled hair, his undone tie and rolled up sleeves. The dark circles under his eyes.

“Perfect,” you responded softly. “Goodnight, Lockwood.”

"Goodnight," he repeated, that same small smile on his lips.

You closed the door behind you.

You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

It was another two weeks until your next sleepless night.

Kept busy with countless cases, you were exhausted near every time you stumbled back through the doors of Portland Row. Part of it was from adjusting back into an agency after being on your own for so long, the other part was the seriously intense jobs that Lockwood kept taking.

And you did adjust, that was true.

You didn’t know if you and George were exactly friends, but he allowed you to help when he cleaned up in the kitchen, and you’d already spent a few afternoons in the archives together—today had been the best, him sharing all the material he found with you and willing to listen to your theories and look at your notes. He was warming up to you, at least.

Lockwood was completely different. He exuded charm, all easy smiles and plying words meant to get someone’s guard down. It was how he operated, how he had to live—everyone underestimated him so he took it upon himself to prove everyone wrong. His name was on the door, after all, as he liked to remind you all.

Maybe that was why he was always up, you thought, because as you slowly moved down the stairs, rubbing grogginess out of your eyes, you noticed that the light was on in the library again. Door slightly cracked open.

You huffed a laugh before you knocked on the frame again, pushing it open to see Lockwood in almost the exact same position as last time. Instead of a variety of papers, though, he was hunched over a map.

He said your name, a small smile already pulling at his lips. “So we meet again.”

“We live in the same house,” you said wryly, “and we work together.”

“All the more reason to be thankful that you put up with me past billing hours,” Lockwood said. You chuckled, and he gestured at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

You did, and you tapped your fingers on the table before you took a look at the map. “What’s got you up so late?”

“I’m scouting out a potential job,” he said. “A very old, very haunted mansion owned by a very rich family.”

“I like the sound of that,” you mused.

“So do I.” That spark was in his eye again, and you found yourself watching him as he talked. “The patriarch called me last night, and I met with him and his wife while you and George were at the archives today. He offered the job of clearing his ancestral home, and I told him I would get back to him after I consulted my colleagues.”

“Colleagues,” you hummed. “I like the sound of that too.”

Lockwood chuckled. “I thought after freelancing for so long you would be against working so closely with a team.”

You shrugged. “I needed a change. You lot have been a pretty good one.”

“It’s certainly an honor,” Lockwood said with mock austerity, and you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

“Just get on with it, Lockwood.”

He nodded, and he pushed the map over to you. “I was going to lay it all out for you two tomorrow morning, but since you’re here, I might as well get your opinion on it.”

You took a moment to fully examine it. “Well, it’s certainly very big.” You glanced back up at Lockwood. “How much are they willing to pay?”

He smiled. “Fifty thousand pounds.”

Your eyes about burst out of your head, and you slid the map back over to him. “That’s all I need to hear. I’m in.”

Lockwood laughed and he took it back from you. “You don’t even know anything else about it. You could be walking into a death trap.”

“Every job I did on my own was a possible death trap, and none of them were for fifty thousand pounds,” you said. “I’m in—I don’t care if half of England is haunting that house.”

His smile faded a bit, and he cleared his throat as he looked you in the eye. “You know, you haven't talked much about why you were a freelance agent. Even during the interview.”

Your brows furrowed at the sudden question and you shrugged. “I wanted to be.”

“Everyone knows it’s a lot more dangerous than being in an agency,” Lockwood said. “Ghosts are hard enough to deal with in a group— going on your own is asking for trouble.”

“Before I came in, it was just you and George,” you countered. “You’ve got no supervisors, just the two of you hoping for the best. I’d say that’s asking for trouble.”

“You’re deflecting,” Lockwood said.

You glanced away, finally letting out a sigh as you leaned back in your chair.

“You don’t have to—”

“Because from the moment I discovered my Talent, I’ve heard horror stories from agencies. Entire teams going down on doomed missions, sole survivors left to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives. It happened to one of the teams in my agency, and I knew I wasn’t going to wait for it to happen to me.”

Lockwood’s eyes softened, and he stayed silent as you continued.

“I have no team, I have no roommates—when I’m on my own, no one has to worry about me,” you said quietly. “If something goes wrong, and I die, that’s it. No guilt, no problems, no legal trouble. No mourners.”

Lockwood frowned. “That’s not a very good way to look at it.”

“Never said it was,” you said wryly. “It’s just the way I look at it.”

“Your family would care.”

You shook your head. “They wouldn’t.”

He was silent for a good moment, and then he reached over and took your hand. It was a shock at first, your eyes widening slightly as they darted up to meet his, but he was calm as ever.

“You’ve got us now,” he said. “Lockwood & Co. Me and George. And we’d care very much if you were to die, so I’d appreciate it if you refrained from that.”

That got a watery laugh out of you, and you felt the beginnings of tears behind your eyes for some reason. “I don’t think that was in my contract.”

“It was in the fine print,” Lockwood assured. He looked so much younger when he smiled, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“That changes everything then.” Your voice was slightly stilted as you pulled away, and you turned slightly as you wiped at your eyes so he couldn’t see. If Lockwood noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured. “If George is on board, we’ve got a very long day tomorrow.”

You nodded, clearing your throat as you stood up. “You too. Can’t go into battle without our fearless leader.”

He chuckled and nodded, his eyes never leaving you as you walked to the door. You paused, setting your hand on the frame, and turned around.

“Thank you, Lockwood,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I mean it.”

He smiled, and you found yourself lost in it for a moment. He really was beautiful. “Any time.”

And so your days continued on as a certified member of Lockwood & Co, becoming more integrated by the hour.

It wasn’t much longer before George took to you, and when you found a break in a case that saved you hours of potential digging through the archives, your spot as ‘respected colleague and potential friend’ was cemented.

Lockwood already knew more about you than most, putting him in the ‘weird friend, weird boss’ category. The man literally never slept, and all the information he knew about you was willingly given to him through late night vulnerability. You needed to start forcing yourself to stay in bed, if not solely to keep some secrets between you.

But— yeah, he was nice. Easy to joke around with, easy to work with, easy on the eyes. You’d smiled and laughed more in a single month at Portland Row than you had in three years as a freelance agent. Far better than the lonely studio apartment you holed up in between cases.

The warmth was beginning to penetrate your skin, you thought with a slight smile.

“What in the world are you doing?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a voice. You looked up from the baking sheet to see Lockwood waiting in the doorway with a small smile.

“Stress baking,” you said with a slight chuckle as you continued scooping dough onto the tray.

“At two in the morning?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and extra research wasn’t doing me any good. I had to get the nerves out somehow, and unless I fancied a nice bout with a Visitor, I couldn’t exactly go for a run.”

“So you decided on cookies instead,” he said wryly. “You know, you really should try and get more sleep.”

“Says you.” You finished filling up the tray and you picked it up, glancing at Lockwood as you walked over to the oven. “Every night that I’m up, you’re up too. That’s got to be unhealthy.”

“I’m a busy man,” he responded. “I can’t have half of my employees running around sleep deprived.”

You chuckled. “Good to know you care.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Always.”

“But you have to care about yourself, too.” You shut the oven and set a timer on your watch, then gestured at the counter where an already finished tray sat. “Try one.”

“Sugar so close to bed?” he joked.

“Oh, please,” you brushed your hand through the air, “we both know you’re not falling asleep any time soon.”

Lockwood cracked a smile as he walked over, picking up a cookie from the sheet. “Chocolate chip?”

“The best,” you confirmed.

He took a bite and he hummed as his eyebrows rose. “Surprisingly good,” he said after he swallowed.

“‘Surprisingly’?” you repeated. “Why can’t they just be normally good?”

“You may have noticed, but George is our resident chef.” Lockwood finished the rest of the cookie, much to your silent delight, and he went to the fridge. “I’m just surprised we’ve got two culinary experts on the team now.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m not anywhere near an expert. I’m much better at baking than cooking, so George has that market cornered.”

Lockwood smiled, and he finished his cup of water. “He’ll be happy to know that. He’d probably love to share some of his recipes with you.”

“I’d love that more,” you said. “His halva the other day was incredible.”

“I’ll let him know. Of course,” his eyes twinkled, “he’d probably be more flattered if you told him yourself. If there’s one thing he’s prouder of than his work in the archives, it’s his work in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be sure to,” you agreed.

“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” Lockwood asked as usual.

As usual, you rolled your eyes, bit back your smile. “I’ve got two more trays worth of dough. I promise I’ll go after they’re done.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Do you also promise to leave some for us?”

You laughed. “Of course. I didn’t make them just for stress relief, you know.”

“Good,” Lockwood repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. The later morning, rather.”

“You get some sleep too,” you said, pointing your spatula at him, “or else all of these are going to George.”

He placed his fist over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“Good. Now get out of here.”

Lockwood chuckled as he walked out, spurring a smile of your own. You picked up a cookie and took a bite, humming in approval at the taste.

“Normally good,” you murmured to yourself as you watched the oven. “Not surprisingly good.”

(When Lockwood came down the next morning, there were two plates of cookies sitting on the counter. He moved to take one, but then he noticed the Post-its.

One read GEORGE and one read LOCKWOOD, each in front of their own separate plates. There was another at the top—NO STEALING :) or I will never make cookies again

He chuckled, his mind wandering to you as he finally took one—from his plate, of course—and bit into it.

Normally good, he thought with a slight smile.

A fine addition to the team indeed.)

You yawned as you walked down the hallway, rubbing at your groggy eyes. You couldn’t sleep, as was per usual when you were working on such a big case, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Your mind ran a thousand kilometers a minute any time you even tried to close your eyes. Truly, you had no idea how George functioned with a brain like his.

You were about to go into the kitchen to make yourself your usual midnight cup of tea, hoping it would work its usual magic, when you saw the door to the library cracked open.

You couldn’t help but smile. He’d told you and George to go to bed early to make sure you were all ready for the job the next day, and here he was. Restless as ever and still a liar.

You pushed the door the rest of the way open, blinking a bit at the lights as you leaned against the frame. “Up late again, Lockwood?” you asked, and he started when he turned to you and said your name.

“You should be asleep,” he said.

“So should you.”

“I’m looking over the floorplans one last time,” Lockwood said. “This place is huge, and I want to make sure I know every part of it.”

“We’ve drilled the exits a thousand times,” you said. “We already know the mansion inside out—cramming at midnight isn’t going to help anyone. Actually being rested for once will.”

Lockwood gave you a wry look. “Awfully strong words coming from you.”

“I was going to the kitchen to make some tea,” you defended. “And then I was going to go right back to sleep.”

He smiled as he looked at you, and then he nodded and stood up. “Alright. Come on.”

You raised your eyebrows as Lockwood started walking, and then he took your hand and started pulling you along.

“Oh my god,” you said with a laugh, “I can walk on my own.”

All he said was, “I know,” in that annoyingly cocky tone of his, and you continued following him as you went up the stairs. When he pulled open the door of his room, you

“Neither of us are very good at staying asleep,” Lockwood said wryly, “and I really don’t trust you to get enough in the face of tomorrow. So…”

“You think sleeping in the same bed will help,” you surmised.

He shrugged. “At the very least, I’ll be able to make sure you do fall asleep.”

“Then the same goes for you.”

“Obviously.”

You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t exactly… know what to do.

The words rushed out of his mouth. “Of course if you don’t want to—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “No, it’s alright. I want to.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Alright.”

You pulled back the covers, clearing your throat as you took your side and Lockwood took his after turning the lamp off. You didn’t know why this was so awkward, sharing a bed with the boy you’d worked with for the past few months, but it was. You’d faced down countless ghosts together, but this was apparently too much.

“Your bed’s comfortable,” you said, desperate to break the silence. You stared at his wall, your back turned to him, Lockwood in the same position.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how you’re ever not sleeping through the night with a mattress like this.”

Lockwood chuckled. “Sight isn’t my only talent.”

You smiled. “Very true.”

“Why are you always up?” he asked. “I know my old bed isn’t the most comfortable, but it seems you’re always up.”

“It seems you’re always up.”

“Deflecting,” he said. Your mind flashed back to the first night in the library.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’ve always been a restless person, but being an agent has just… worsened it. I had a couple of bad months working on my own and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered.”

“Ah.” You could feel his breathing in the slight shifts of the bed, and it was oddly comforting. “I hope that we haven’t made it worse.”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “If anything, you’ve made it better. Portland Row is the embodiment of warmth, and you two are fantastic.”

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere,” Lockwood assured. “...I’m not going anywhere. So if you ever need anything, please tell us.”

Your voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

Your sleepless nights varied in frequency as the months went on.

Sometimes you were so exhausted when you staggered through the doors of Portland Row that you felt as if you could sleep the night away on the couch. Other times, despite being worked to the bone from a difficult job, you would find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room, unable to get the visions from the day out of your head.

That was the lovely thing about Touch. The way you saw it, you gave a small part of yourself over each time you used it, and once you got it back, the things you’d seen were embedded in it—in you. It was awfully difficult to separate yourself from your jobs when you threw yourself so fully into it, when you had no other choice but to do so.

Lockwood and George had become accustomed to how deep you felt things. When you needed to be alone after a job, when you needed one of them to talk nonstop to keep you distracted, when you just needed to sit with them in silence and be assured that this too would pass, no matter how slow. That was the nicest thing about being part of the group—you didn’t have to lick your wounds on your own.

When it got really bad—and sometimes it did—you and Lockwood would share his room. His presence was unparalleled in bringing you comfort, and whispered conversations in the dark made you feel some sort of way. He was practically your savior.

When he wasn’t helping you through the night, more often than not, Lockwood would be up at the same hour as you. It was concerning, though you couldn’t say anything about it. He would just throw it back at you, claiming you should be asleep as well. At least George was exempt from the criticism. Bless him.

He found you in a lot of positions. Sitting on the floor of the kitchen scrubbing furiously at the plasm stains on your boots. Sitting on the floor of their living room, one of their case files in your lap as you recounted a previous case. Sitting on the floor of the basement, measuring out salt for bombs and ensuring their flares were stocked. You liked sitting on the floor while you did things, apparently—Lockwood had figured that out after a few weeks of sleepless nights. It was strange.

And of course, the occasional bout of stress baking, ranging from cookies to brownies to pastries and more. You once even baked an entire cake in the middle of the night out of pure anger, the result of a frustrating loss to a Fittes team. Not getting the case hurt a little bit less the next morning when you all had cake to dull the pain.

You found him just as many times. Sometimes getting his own cups of tea in the kitchen, sometimes reading those gossip magazines he was fond of, sometimes doing his own restocks of your supplies. Usually, though, he was just sitting in the library stressed over one thing or another.

You noticed he always tried to hide it from you, covering it with his easy smiles and well-placed jokes. It couldn’t be easy to run an agency as a teenager, no matter how small—you wondered how many restless evenings you would have to share together for him to drop the mask.

Eventually, though, it was decided that another agent was needed. Lockwood and his Sight, you and your Touch, George as an all-arounder—he was your only source for Listening, but it had never been his strong suit. After you nearly got ghost-touched because of that blatant lack of Listening, Lockwood put his foot down and put out an ad.

Enter one Lucy Carlyle: excellent Listener, skilled in Touch, a myriad of opinions. You liked her the moment you met her, her image only sullied by her taking two biscuits. You could hardly blame her though, the way George pushed her. He loved to push.

Due to a lack of rooms but an imminent need for Talent, it was decided that Lucy would room in the attic with you. You were able to get one of the spare beds all the way up to the attic between the four of you, and when you all promptly collapsed on the ground together, it was agreed upon that Lockwood & Company would stick to ghosts. Very good for team bonding, though.

It took Lucy a bit to get used to you, especially in such close quarters, but soon enough you were joking around and talking like you’d known each other for years. You knew she was good, but witnessing her listening was awe-inspiring. You almost couldn’t believe you’d gotten her over Fittes or Atkinson and Armstrong, but you weren’t going to complain. You felt as if your motley crew could do anything.

“I can’t believe he did this,” you seethed.

Well, there were certain things your motley crew did not need to do. Especially your leader.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Lucy said.

“I can’t believe he did this!” you repeated, louder and more annoyed as you threw yourself against the wall. “How stupid can one boy be?”

“He was trying to save you, y’know,” Lucy said dryly.

“I didn’t need to be saved,” you grumbled. “He did it because he’s reckless and stupid.”

“...That’s fair,” Lucy said after a moment. “He is quite reckless.”

“Don’t forget stupid.”

Her lips twitched for a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak ill of the injured.”

“That’s just the dead,” you muttered. “And we speak plenty of ill of them.”

This was all because of a job that went wrong. And you were certain it wouldn’t have gone wrong if Lockwood could hold himself back for a moment.

“Are you sure that’s him?” you murmured, disguising your words with your cup of sparkling cider.

“Positive,” Lockwood confirmed. “Arthur Torres, one of Sunrise Corporation’s many useless executives.”

“Lovely.” You finished your drink. “I distract and you steal, right?”

“Actually,” Lockwood said, and you didn’t like that at all, “you steal, I distract.”

Your brows furrowed. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“I make the plans,” he said, “I can change them.”

“Not when we spend hours going over them to ensure they’re flawless,” you said tartly.

“Relax.” He smiled at you, and somehow it managed to carve through your irritation. He slipped the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it into your hand. “I’m very good at improvising.”

“Lockw—” You didn’t have the chance to chastise him the way he deserved before he slipped off, a very convenient waiter filling the space he left before you could dart after him. You scoffed as you placed your empty glass on their tray, your eyes narrowed as you glared at Lockwood from beyond.

He paid no attention to you, not until he made the signal. He ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mr. Torres, spilling his wine all over his jacket, and before the first apology could fall from his lips, you were gone.

You muttered curses under your breath the entire way, slipping past guards and security the best you could on the way to the stairwell. You took them two at a time as you hurried to the fourth floor, and though you were completely out of breath by the time you made it, you were pleased that there were no guards. George said he would have the security cameras disabled before you got there, so you just had to trust in him.

You continued to take in and let out deep breaths as you walked up to the door, and they turned into a sigh of relief when you scanned the keycard and it opened. You heard footsteps behind you and whirled around, your hand flying on instinct for the rapier that wasn’t there, and your eyes widened yet again when you saw it was Lockwood.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hissed.

He held up his hands in defense, as he stopped jogging, and then he brushed out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “I came to help you.”

“You’re meant to be distracting Mr. Torres,” you said incredulously. “Lockwood, do you even care for the sanctity of plans?”

“I care about your safety,” he said, calm in the face of your anger. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And where is he? Hopefully not in reach of his various guards that could ruin us and our careers at any second.”

“I left him in the washroom,” Lockwood said. “How are you doing?”

You set your jaw, and you sighed as you gestured with your head into the now-open office. “Let’s just find this source so we can get out of here.”

Now came the not-so-legal part, that some may even call theft. Lockwood called it discreetly fixing mistakes, you called it your shoddy morals. Not that you were torn up about stealing from an executive businessman, you just didn’t particularly fancy losing your license over it.

A rich family had hired Lockwood & Co to find and return a source that was important to their family, and of course it was housed by Mr. Torres of the Sunrise Corporation. You’d no idea what it was with wealthy people and their flaunting of sources, but you’d had enough of it. They paid handsomely for the risk though, hence your shoddy morals.

This, honestly, was the easy part. You touched a few things, concentrated until your head hurt, and it led you right to it. Quite disappointing—you didn’t know why the Paladinos would keep a paperweight in the family, and more importantly how it came about to be a source, but that didn’t really matter. It sat on Torres’s desk, surrounded by Sunrise Corporation silver-glass, and just for extra measure Lockwood put it into a metal box of your own. You shoved it into your backpack, and the job was halfway done.

The other half was getting out without being spotted.

The two of you worked quickly to erase all traces of your being there, and soon enough you were hurrying through the halls together.

“That was good work.”

You ignored him.

“The Paladinos’ money will do a lot of good for us.”

You ignored him.

“Seriously. You work well on the fly.”

“We shouldn’t have had to work on the fly,” you finally said bitterly.

“Why are you so mad?” Lockwood asked with a slight laugh. God, his nerve. “It all worked out. We’ve got the source, we’ll get the payment, and we didn’t even have to deal with any Visitors. Torres is still clueless.”

“That’s not the point, Lockwood,” you hissed. You forced your expression back into neutrality as you walked out of the stairwell and back into the midst of the party, and you and Lockwood moved at a normal pace. He offered occasional smiles and nods to people in the crowd, and you both nodded at the guards at the exit when you left.

You couldn’t even relish in your victory, because once you’d gotten out of hearing distance, around the corner where no guards or partygoers could see or hear you, Lockwood stopped you.

“What is the point then?” he asked. “If none of what I said is the point, then what is the point?”

“The point is that you don’t trust me!” you exclaimed.

He immediately frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you even follow me in the first place?” you asked. “It was your decision to switch it up at the last moment, and you couldn’t even follow through with that?”

Lockwood didn’t say anything, and you shook your head.

“You don’t trust me,” you repeated quietly.

He said your name then, a slightly wild look in his eyes as he turned to you. “That’s not it.”

“It is.” A muscle worked in your jaw. “Because if you thought I could do it, you would have let me do it instead of risking both of our lives. You wouldn’t have switched our roles in the first place.”

“Torres was suspicious,” he insisted. “He— he was saying things, talking about how he had to make his guards check on his office. He’s a paranoid man, and you could have been in much more danger if I hadn’t abandoned him.”

“That is bullshit!” you exclaimed. “God, it was your bloody idea in the first place! Is it suddenly not good enough? Am I not good enough?”

“That is not what this is about,” Lockwood snapped.

“Then what is it about?” you marveled. “Why did you switch roles in the first place? You’ve told me I could talk my way out of anything, but when the time comes, you shake things up for no reason. For no reason, Lockwood.”

“People know my face better than they know yours,” Lockwood said. “Torres was more willing to talk with the head of a rising agency, you were able to slip around easier because of who you are.”

“Why didn’t you think of that before we were in the thick of it all?” you asked incredulously, and you laughed. “I’ve saved your life multiple times, Lockwood, and you’ve done the same for me. You talk me up all the time to my face, saying I’m what this agency was missing, that I’m part of your family, that— that you’ll never let me go. But that’s all it is, isn’t it?” A shaky smile formed for just a moment before it broke. “Just talk.”

Lockwood said your name desperately, but you shook your head. “No. Justify it however you want, but you nearly sabotaged the entire job just because you didn’t have enough faith in me. That’s it.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not it.” He let out a ragged sigh, running a distressed hand through his hair, when he suddenly froze.

“Good evening, sir!” he called, confident as ever, like your argument hadn’t just happened. “We’re just—”

His voice broke off mid sentence, and then he yelled your name. You whirled around.

It was a guard, and he was armed. He must have spotted you when you were leaving the office, or maybe George had missed a camera and he’d seen your thievery—there were about a thousand things that could have gone wrong. For a split second, you stared down the barrel of the gun. Funny how you’d stared down what felt like hundreds of ghosts, and a bit of metal was what had you frozen.

The guard pulled the trigger.

Lockwood lunged.

You screamed.

“He’s lucky DEPRAC didn’t find the source in my bag,” you muttered. “They already interrogated me to hell and back while he was in the hospital. Luckily, it usually doesn’t look too good when an adult shoots a teenager and can hardly defend himself against it.”

“The bloke deserved to be fired,” Lucy said. “A paperweight is certainly not worth shooting someone over.”

“And it’s certainly not worth getting shot for,” you added.

“It’s kind of funny,” Lucy said offhandedly. “He’s the one that got shot for you, and yet he’s apologizing to you.”

“Because it’s his fault that he got us in that situation in the first place!” you exclaimed. You winced as your words sunk in, and you looked over at Lucy. “That was too harsh, wasn’t it?”

“...A bit,” she admitted.

You sighed dramatically and hit your head against the side of the wall. “I’m acting like a child.”

“A bit.”

“I just don’t know how he expects me to face him,” you said. “I’ve been working with him for the better part of a year, and somehow he still doesn’t trust me.”

“I… don’t think that’s it,” Lucy said.

“How could it not be it?” you said. “He wouldn’t have acted like he did if he trusted me.”

She shrugged. “Have you thought that it’s because he cares about you?”

“He cares about all of us, Luce.”

“He cares about you more,” she said plainly. “In a different way.”

Your head whipped towards her, and you stared at her for a good five seconds. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“If you think I’m saying it, it’s for good reason,” she said.

“We are colleagues,” you said slowly. “Nothing less, nothing more.”

Lucy said your name with a slight laugh. “He took a bullet for you.”

“He shuffled our assignments because he didn’t trust me,” you said.

“He shuffled your assignments because he was worried about you,” she countered. “He didn’t want you with Torres because if you were found out, Lockwood didn’t want him to remember your face. And he abandoned his post because he was worried about you, that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be there to help.”

You stared at her before you continued your pacing. “You’re insane. You’re kicked out of the agency.”

“I’m right,” she said wryly. “And may I remind you again that he took a bloody bullet for you?”

“I’ve already given him that,” you said. “I lost my damn mind when it happened—almost tore the guard apart with my bare hands. I freaked out the entire way to the hospital with him.”

“And now you’re almost completely ignoring him,” Lucy said. “Face it: you like him. You just don’t want to admit it because it would mean having an actual conversation with him about it all rather than pacing a hole in the floor.”

“You’re wrong.” You huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You’re wrong.”

Lucy sighed and she offered a faint smile as she stood up. “You take some time to realize all this. I’m stealing George for an Arif’s run.”

“Leaving us alone,” you said flatly, staring ahead as she walked out. “You’re not clever, Lucy Carlyle!”

“Thank you!” she called with a laugh, and you hit your head against the wall once more when she closed the door behind her.

Sometimes you really hated your friends.

It wasn’t like you were avoiding Lockwood. That would be cruel.

Stupid as he was, he got shot, and he got shot for you. Avoiding him would be ridiculous.

You were just… strategically not talking to him.

And that was arguably worse, yes, letting him see you but not deigning to say a single thing to him that wasn’t business related.

It was even worse than worse because you’d inadvertently proven Lucy right. If this were any normal annoyance between friends, like the squabbles you and George were prone to or the bouts that your boys got into over patience and its virtues, it wouldn’t be this strong.

You’d held grudges against Lockwood before. When he forgot to soak your boots overnight so you had to go into an important job with plasm stains, when he ate the strawberry sprinkled donut just to spite you, when you and George were still in rocky territory and he made you marathon the archives with him for nine hours straight.

All of those, annoying as they were, were forgiven rather quickly. And yes, maybe this grudge was especially strong because of the severity of his injury, but…

You could admit it. Normal people didn’t hold grudges over their best friend throwing themselves in front of them to prevent them from getting shot. Normal people were thankful. Normal people could talk about their feelings when they realized it was the reason for their strife.

You, apparently, were not normal. And neither was anyone in this bloody agency, because nobody deigned to make it any easier for you.

Perhaps it was a bit stupid on your part, but you walked down to the kitchen anyway. You needed some tea to clear your mind. Instead, you were met with a half-shirtless Lockwood.

“Ah,” he said your name, looking up from his spot against the counter, “nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.”

“What are you doing?” you asked. It was almost embarrassing—you were meant to be holding a grudge and ignoring your feelings, and instead you were staring at him like a girl in primary school. Remarkable how quickly you forgot your objectives.

“The doctor said I had to redress my wound every day for the first week,” he said. “Lucy and George just went out, so I figured I would do it now.”

Your brows furrowed. “How do you feel?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he said. Lucy’s words pounded in your ears. “I don’t think you avoiding me is good for my health.”

You bit your lip and remained silent. Rocky territory, this was.

“It’s alright if you just want to stand there.” Lockwood grimaced a bit as he pressed the alcohol-soaked pad to his wound. “Moral support is very helpful.”

Remarkable how quickly the dam broke. You sighed and closed the distance, holding out your hand when you stopped a few meters in front of him. “Give it to me.”

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose.

“Give it to me,” you repeated. “I’ve dealt with many of my own wounds over the years. It’ll be a lot faster if I do it for you.”

His lips quirked into a slight smile as he handed the cloth over. “This is better than moral support.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile of your own as you started to dab at the surrounding blood on his chest, innately aware of your proximity but trying your best to ignore it. “This doesn’t look too bad, honestly.”

“I was shot,” he said dryly. “I think I deserve a few style points for that.”

“You’ve already earned them all, Lockwood.”

“That makes sense.” You felt his eyes on you as you continued to work, pointedly ignoring his gaze. “You know, they didn’t take the bullet out. Said it would be worse to take it out, and it’s not causing any problems inside. So I’ve got a bullet in me now.”

Your brows furrowed. “Interesting.”

“Indeed. I’ll be going off in airports for the rest of my life.”

Your fingers hovered over his chest for a moment, and you pulled away with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

It was his turn to frown. “What for?”

“For—” you let out another sigh, rougher this time. “For this.”

“It wasn’t your fault I got shot,” he said. “I quite clearly remember pushing you out of the way.”

“I know,” you said. “I— I am quite sorry that you got shot, though.”

“Obviously,” he said coyly, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m sorry for this grudge. It’s probably the stupidest out of all the ones I’ve held against you so far.”

“George keeps a running list,” Lockwood said. “I’m sure we can figure that out.”

“I’m serious.” Your hand lingered on Lockwood’s chest for a moment, his body warmth almost shocking, before you set the cloth down on the counter. You started to put a fresh bandage on, but you finally mustered the strength to look at him. “I was so upset at the thought that you didn’t trust me because your opinion means a lot to me, Lockwood. The way you think of me means a lot to me.” You cleared your throat, averting your eyes for a moment. “You mean a lot to me.”

Lockwood gently tipped your chin back towards him, your eyes meeting his. He really was beautiful—eyes that were softer than ever, his tousled hair, the slope of his jaw. Slightly chapped lips, the bags under his eyes that seemed to be permanent, the weight of the world on his shoulders that seemed to diminish ever so slightly when you were around.

Your Lockwood.

“You mean a lot to me as well,” he said. “Why do you think I reassigned us last minute? Why do you think I took a bullet for you?”

“Because you’re a reckless idiot?”

“Because I panic around you,” he said, “in addition to being a reckless idiot. Whenever we’re on a job, half of my mind is focused on ghosts, and the other half is making sure nothing happens to you. You drive me the best kind of insane.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. You wanted to kiss him more than anything, to root your hands in that tousled hair and make it an even bigger mess. You wanted to make him realize he didn’t have to worry about you, because you weren’t going anywhere without him.

The words stuck in your throat. You finished applying his bandage, and you took a step away.

“Thank you,” you said.

He didn’t look angry or annoyed or irritated—he understood. He understood you.

“Always.”

And it was as simple as that.

It wasn’t really a surprise you couldn’t sleep that night. You hadn’t exactly talked to Lockwood since your show of emotion in the kitchen, embarrassing as it was. You made Lucy check downstairs before you went down for supper, and that was just so you could make the quickest sandwich of your life and immediately hurry back upstairs.

Pathetic, really. You mustered the strength to tell the boy you liked him, he returned it, you ran off and locked yourself in the attic.

And it wasn’t because it was too much. You just… you didn’t know. You might’ve driven Lockwood insane, but he turned you into a complete idiot. It was ridiculous. And you were not ridiculous.

So when night rolled around, when Lucy and George were sound asleep and the ghost lamps flickered on every three minutes and you had only the owls outside your window for company, you knew what you were going to do.

You threw on your sweatshirt, carefully padded across the floor and out the door so as to not wake Lucy, and you went down the stairs.

Surprisingly, you’d never felt calmer.

The light was on in the library. The door was slightly pushed open, the nondescript act that had turned into a beacon for the two of you.

You knocked on the wall before you pushed the door open some more, not waiting for an answer as you leaned against the doorframe.

Lockwood sat in his armchair, a magazine half open but neglected on his lap. His eyes shined the moment you stepped inside.

“Got room for one more?” you asked softly.

Lockwood’s shoulders relaxed, his throat bobbing for a moment before that damn smile pulled at his lips.

“Always.”

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

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so-long-soldier-writes · 1 year ago

Text

His for Eternity

kai parker x reader | requested

summary: alaric steals a gemini grimoire, summoning you and kai back to mystic falls. trying to get it back proves to be a challenge with a risk kai’s not willing to take. | heretic!kai x witch!reader

tags: hurt / comfort, smut, violence / blood, blood drinking, kidnapping / minor torture, eventual smut, blowjobs, vaginal sex, dom!kai but also soft!kai

word count: ~8.2k (lmao whoops)

a/n: I’m not sure if this is yandere enough, bc come to find I struggle with writing yandere for some reason. also, i am so sorry it took me forever to write & edit. but it was very fun to write :) i hope this finds the person who requested it, and i hope you like it!

“I don’t like being back here,” you mutter to your boyfriend, whilst stealing a fry off his plate. “We’re supposed to be on the run from these people, not strolling back into their town.”

“I know, but I just need that book back, and then we’ll be out before they even know we were here,” he whispers.

You glance around the room, unconvinced.

“I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you, princess.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about. You’re the one that Damon wants dead.”

“Let him try. In case he forgot, I’m a heretic now.”

“Trust me when I said he’s probably thought of a way around that,” you sigh. “Kai, is it really that important? I can’t live without you.”

“It’s not that it’s important, but it’s the fact that Alaric is the one that stole it. The only reasons he would go all the way to Portland just to steal one of my father’s grimoires is if he’s trying to bring Jo back, or if those twins survived somehow. I can’t have him stealing centuries worth of Gemini knowledge that could possibly take me down.”

You hate it, but know he’s right. Kai is the leader of a nearly extinct coven, but he is still the leader. If Alaric has access to any of the grimoires, he could do some serious damage.

“Okay. I understand. What do you need me to do?”

He pops a fry into his mouth. “Sit tight and let me do all the dangerous stuff.”

“Kai.”

His teeth clench. He hates putting you in harm’s way.

“Fine. If you could do a locator’s spell on the book. That would help.”

“Okay,” you give a small smile, “let’s go find this missing grimoire, shall we?”

Cloaked under a simple spell, the two of you make your way back to the motel just outside of town where you planned to stay for the duration of this trip. Kai hated the idea of staying in a motel, but you knew it would be the least conspicuous place to be in case anyone caught wind of your return.

Ever since the night of the wedding - aka the night of Jo’s death, aka the night Kai turned, aka the night Elena was cursed - the two of you have been on the run. It was a horrible day for you, having to watch the sister of the man you loved get married, while he was rotting away in another prison world. But then, right before her vows, he came back. In the blink of an eye, the wedding was turned upside down. Gentle cries turned to begs for mercy, but of course, none received it. They didn’t deserve it. You smiled as the members of the Gemini Coven died off one-by-one. You remember spitting in Joshua’s face when he pleaded for his life.

Right after, you watched your boyfriend drink his father’s own blood to become immortal. You kissed him hard, then, and felt the blood of his enemies seep from his suit to your dress, seemingly binding you for eternity. The last thing Joshua saw were his two greatest regrets coming back together as one. There was nothing he could do to stop you.

But despite Kai’s success in killing his coven, he almost died in the process. Well, almost died twice. He did die on purpose once to turn himself into a heretic - a species you didn’t know existed until Kai came back to life, craving blood. (When he initially stabbed himself, you let out a blood curdling scream that turned heads towards you. You had never felt more relieved than when he woke up, and he apologized profusely for scaring you.) Though after Damon learned of his payback curse on Elena, the older vampire almost took him out for good. A blood boiling spell muttered from your lips gave Kai just enough time to escape the man, and the two of you bolted from the massive crime scene.

Since then, you and Kai have been exploring together. Damon nor Bonnie ever came after you, and they instead stayed in Mystic Falls, for reasons you don’t know, nor care to know. Alaric, on the other hand, is the one stirring the pot. And now, his actions have consequences, because Kai is back and determined to take what rightfully belongs to him.

“Got a location.”

Your boyfriend finally stops pacing the room to look at the map. “I’m going.”

“Wait, Kai! Shouldn’t we, like, have a plan or something?”

“I do. Break in, take it, sneak out. He’ll never know.”

“Unless he’s there, wherever this is, right now.”

Kai hesitates.

“Let me be a distraction.”

“No.”

“Let me cause a distraction.”

He stares at you.

“What other options are there? None. I’ll just juju up something outside of the location and he’ll wonder what it is, giving you a little bit of time. He won’t even see me, just a cloud of dust.”

“Can you do that from here?”

“Well no, I have to be somewhat in the proximity.”

“Then no.”

“You’re not doing this without me. I’ll cloak myself.”

“And if you get distracted, you’ll be out in the open for anyone to see.”

“I won’t get distracted.”

“Princess,” he gives you a look that already tells you you’re not winning this argument, “you’re staying.”

“Then you better come back. Unharmed.”

“I promise. Just a quick in and out.”

“Be back in an hour or I will come looking for you.”

“Two.”

“No.”

“Fine. One hour. Don’t leave this room.”

“Be safe, Kai.”

◇◇◇◇

In one hour, he does come back. But not as he promised.

Kai takes a deep breath before unlocking the motel door. He knows you’ll immediately sense something went wrong, even though the gash on his forehead has healed. Besides, he didn’t even get the stupid grimoire.

“It’s me, princess,” he announces as he opens the door.

You hurry over to him quickly. “Did everything go alright? Did you get the book?” You pause, noticing the signs: sweat beading on his forehead, a racing pulse. “Kai, what happened?”

“I didn’t get the book.”

“What. Happened?”

“The book is in Ric’s house,” he says slowly. “Unfortunately, so was Ric.” You sigh, full of worry, but he’s not finished. “And so was Damon.”

“You ran into Damon?!”

“And Bonnie.”

“Kai! Baby, you told me you wouldn’t get hurt! This shouldn’t’ve happened! Now they’re gonna come for you, angrier than ever. We should’ve never come back; we should’ve just-”

“I know, I know. Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for putting you in harm’s way, I’m sorry for-”

“Never mind that, are you hurt? Did they get to you, or just…?”

He hesitated for too long and you know that’s a yes.

“Where?”

“Damon plus a lamp, which he threw at my head. Then Bonnie held me down with magic when I was down and he decided his fist was a better weapon. Luckily something distracted us all long enough for me to escape.”

You take his head in your hands gently, kissing the spot where he got hit. It’s completely healed, yet you can tell exactly where it happened.

“But as shitty as this is, I did learn something useful.”

“What?”

“The twins survived.”

“What?! Jo’s? How?”

“I have no idea, but in the midst of my screaming and their yelling, I heard a baby cry.”

“So what now? Are you gonna…”

“I don’t know. But something tells me Ric stole that book because those kids are producing magic that he doesn’t know how to control.” Kai then laughs, “you should’ve seen the look on their faces when that happened. I swear the blood drained from Ric’s face, it was priceless!”

You try to laugh, but you’re too worried about the situation. Kai senses this and gives you a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m okay, princess. It’s going to be okay. I should’ve listened to you about the plan.”

“Just… can we stay here for the rest of the night?”

The clock reads seven.

“I-,” he looks at your face, and knows he can’t say ‘no’ to it. Besides, he gave you a hell of a scare earlier and you deserve the comfort. “Alright.” His heart flutters when a huge smile takes over your face. You make grabby hands towards him, coaxing him to come next to you on the bed.

“Thank you,” you mutter, successfully getting him to cuddle with you. You bury your face in his chest, arms wrapped around his waist, and a leg hooked with one of his. He couldn’t escape your grasp even if he wanted to.

“I love you, princess.” He melts into your hold, eyes fluttering with exhaustion.

“I love you, too.”

◇◇◇◇

“So Kai is back,” Damon slouches onto the couch, sighing deeply.

“And back with a vengeance,” Ric sits opposite of him.

“Yeah, and he found out about the twins.”

“I know… there was nothing I could do, Bonnie. I’m cursing myself by the minute.”

“Do you think his girlfriend is here, too?”

“Definitely. He probably made her stay wherever they’re hiding out.”

“Unless she ditched him like a smart person would.”

“You didn’t see them at the wedding, Bon,” Damon, who witnessed the whole thing, sighs, “she would do anything for him.”

“What do you think made him come back?”

“That might be my fault,” Ric admits, raising a hand.

“What did you do?”

“I may have gone to Portland and stolen a grimoire.”

“You did what?!” The witch stares at him.

“I’m raising two Gemini twins without any living, sane, relatives, and I have no idea what I’m doing! I want to be prepared for when they start producing magic.”

“So you stole a grimoire from one of the most powerful covens in history?!”

“They’re all dead! What are they gonna do with them?!”

“Dead or not, Kai is still their leader. He can sense when a grimoire leaves its resting place. You put your daughters and all of us in danger.”

“I didn’t know that! Maybe if my Gemini born wife was still alive, I would. Oh wait, Kai killed her!”

“Alright, enough of the yelling,” Damon shushes, “we’ve already woken up Ric’s kids with it once.” He smirks in a way that’s playful, yet everyone knows it’s a jab.

“Man, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I will-”

“Where did you put the grimoire, Alaric? Maybe if we give it back, he will leave.”

“No! I’m using it. Kai doesn’t need it, he’s not raising kids. I-”

“It’s his family’s property.”

“And he hated his family.”

“But it’s still a powerful book that can be used as a weapon. So hatred aside, he will fight to get it back.”

“I-”

“If you don’t return it, you’re putting yourself, your daughters, Caroline’s, ours, the whole of Mystic Falls' lives in danger. He will kill anyone to stay in power, was the wedding not enough proof of that?! If you have a book that teaches you to raise Geminis, they will live long enough to see their twenty-second birthdays, and take his place. If you want your kids to survive, give that grimoire back right now and figure it out yourself.”

“Bonnie, I can’t have two magical kids running around the town untaught.”

“You’re making a huge mistake.”

“Hold on,” Damon interrupts again, “I have a plan. What if we just kill Kai?”

“He’s a heretic now. He can’t be killed.”

“Please, we said the same thing about the originals. There’s always something that’ll kill ‘em. Kai’s a normal vampire, just stake him in the heart. Done.”

“He’s a heretic, Damon,” Bonnie reiterates, “he’s got the advantage of magic.”

“Then we’ll kill Y/N.”

“She’s immortal. And a witch.”

“Something’s got to kill her.”

“Not something that we know of.”

“Then we’ll hurt her. Scare Kai out of Mystic Falls. She will only be freed once he promises to leave.”

“That sounds like playing with fire, Damon.”

“And yet, it’s our best plan.” He looks at Ric, then Bonnie.

“Whatever, I’m in. Bonnie?”

The witch thinks about it. She doesn’t like the idea of hurting a female witch - she should be trying to make an ally out of you.

“C’mon, Bonnie,” Damon urges, “he cursed Elena. Killed Jo. She stood by and let it all this happen. She’s just as guilty. Deserves every bit of this.”

“Okay. I’m in.”

◇◇◇◇

“‘Kay, we need a new plan for getting that grimoire back,” you say, grabbing a pen and a piece of paper. Kai watches you from the edge of the bed in admiration. “And since people know we’re here, it has to be good.”

“I’m still against any plan that could put you in harm’s way.”

“I know. Which is why I can cloak myself and draw out Ric, while you sneak back into his house. Similar to my first plan, but this one also involves a second distraction. Happening in the square, I’m going to spell up something gnarly that will for sure keep Bamon’s attention long enough for you to get in and get out.”

“Bamon?”

“It’s so much easier than saying ‘Bonnie and Damon’.”

He grins. “And you’ll be sure they won’t see you?”

“As long as everything goes according to plan, yes.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“I’ll bring a vervain grenade and toss it at them?” You suggest.

“Not good enough, Y/N.”

“I’ll think of something. I promise.”

He sighs unhappily. “I’ll be fast.”

“I know you will.”

Unfortunately, the trio think of something, too. Unbeknownst to you, Bonnie’s done a locator spell, and is tracking your exact location. You successfully set up your traps before she finished it, but they know you’re in the town’s square. Kai is cloaked, so they don’t see him, and Bonnie can’t track two people at once, but they have a sneaking suspicion about where he is. They must act fast if they are to exact their revenge.

Despite it still being the earlier hours of the morning, there’s a number of people in the square. Runners, mostly, and a few couples sipping coffee. Big enough of a crowd to cause a panic if something were to scare them. You mutter a fire spell onto the fountain, taking extra energy to put the two opposing elements into combat. People start to gasp and stare as the fire engulfs it, yet the water doesn’t give. In a matter of seconds, a child’s scream sets off the rest of her company.

Once it causes a big enough scene, you duck from your hidden position and make off to Ric’s house. Even if Damon doesn’t care about the townspeople, some riled up screams will have him at least checking out what happened. And then Bonnie will get involved, probably talking about the situation with Caroline, so you expect to have at least a minute to distract Ric.

Your plan for Ric is to conjure up a faceless shadow-y figure. You make it move and wave at him with your own body, cloaked from sight. Whether or not he thinks it’s a threat, he’ll at least be confused enough to take a closer look.

As soon as he sees it, he rushes towards it, shouting for it to stay away from his kids. Not the reaction you really expected, but one you’ll gladly take. You stand still, but step back when he starts getting close. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Kai sneak into his house behind him.

But then everything goes wrong.

The next time you step back, you bump into something large. You furrow your eyebrows and try again, a little to the left, but the wall is still there. You didn’t think you had moved that far; you were standing in the middle of the street. Alaric comes closer to you - too close - and you have to breathe deeply to not panic. Then, you feel magic fighting against your own. Distracted by Ric, you feel yourself weakened against your will. Ric’s grimace turns to a smirk when he realizes it’s just you behind the shadow. As fast as you can, you try to conjure up something new, but then a pair of hands grab your shoulders.

“Yeah, no more of that. Good try though.” Damon. Dammit. “Where’s Kai?”

You say nothing.

“Let’s try that again. Where is Kai?”

You stand as still as a statue, giving nothing, saying nothing.

“Alright, we’ll find him ourselves. Bonnie?”

Immediately, the witch binds your wrists with a spell. You could have fought her off, but you were taken off guard. Ric then throws a bag over your head, before Damon slings you over his shoulder and races off.

The sound of the back door slamming alerts Ric and Bonnie, and then dash into his house without a second thought. Ric nearly trips up the stairs to check on his kids, while Bonnie searches for where Ric said he hid the Gemini grimoire. One sighs in relief while the other is filled with dread.

“The girls are okay,” says the relieved one.

“The book is gone,” she says at the same time.

For a second, they just stand there, evaluating how bad their mistake was to let Kai get a hold of the book again. As much as Bonnie just wanted to give it back, now he’s going to want revenge on Ric for taking it in the first place. And as soon as he realizes they’ve kidnapped his girl, too, she can tell things are only going to get uglier.

“Okay, well, the important thing is that the girls are safe.”

Ric nods, “god, but what if he saw them? What if they saw him?”

“I don’t know, but he didn’t hurt them, so that’s all that matters.”

“I need that book back. I need to know how to raise them as Jo would’ve wanted me to. As her coven would’ve.”

“You mean raising them to kill each other in twenty years?”

“Not that,” Ric grimaces, “but training them to control their magic.”

Bonnie understands, but she also knows if Ric had that book any longer, the twins would not have survived today’s encounter with Kai. She decides not to say this, though, and focuses on the new bigger issue. “We need to find Damon. Kai will be after him soon.”

◇◇◇◇

Kai reaches the tree lining where you said you’d be. When you’re not there, he panics immediately. He rushes around the area, calls for you, but has no luck. Something went wrong, like he knew it would. Someone hurt you. Or worse, someone is currently hurting you. Anxiety bubbles in his stomach, threatening to make him sick. He curses, hitting himself repeatedly, and as hard as he can.

Suddenly, he feels your soft hand on his face, stroking his cheek. Shhh, you whisper, you’re okay.

He looks up, but you’re not there. Anger turns to sadness. Tears form in the corners of his eyes, spilling quickly. Even in your absence, you’re there for him. You never let him hurt himself.

But now someone’s hurting you. And he’s going to make them pay.

◇◇◇◇

It’s like a flip switches in his brain. You’ve softened him, made him vulnerable to emotions, unafraid to let himself feel. But the minute you’re gone - worse, in danger - the flip turns on and he recognizes his old behavior is out to play. What kept him alive; what sacrificed his sanity for survival.

He wastes no time getting back to the hotel to do a locator’s spell. Sure, your kidnapper (Damon, probably) has you cloaked somehow, but his coven had ways around tricks like that. In fact, when he was trapped in 1994, he was there with all of the coven’s old grimoires, and could finally read them. You would let him siphon and help him practice the magic he was never taught. Then, in 2013, when the two of you were running from Mystic Falls, you stopped at his old house. All the grimoires you couldn’t access before, Kai now could as the leader. You did the same as you did in the prison world, now learning even more powerful spells. (The two of you would joke that Joshua Parker was yelling up at you from hell whenever you’d let him siphon. The whole reason he sent you to Kai’s prison world when you showed sympathy for the boy is so that he’d hunt you down for your magic and siphon you to death, over and over. Never did he expect the two of you to fall in love and become more powerful than he could ever imagine.)

The memory makes him smile, but also fuels his rage. He needs to find you. Kai spills a small vial of your blood to track you. You both have one of each others’ in case of emergency. A revelation spell and a locator spell at the same time is tough magic, but he is more than capable. It takes longer than he’d like; the revelation spell eats away at the captor’s magic so that a location can be found. If the captor senses their spell weakening, they can fight it. Kai can sense Bonnie’s attempts, but she is no match for an angry, sociopathic, powerful, coven leader who’s looking for the only person he’s ever loved. His eyes darken when the blood moves across the paper, signaling the spot where you’re being kept. He tucks a knife into his boot strap, just in case, before heading out with a vengeance.

“Kai broke the cloaking spell. I don’t know how, but he’ll be here soon, I’m guessing.”

“How on earth could he have done that?” Damon throws his hands up, “I’ve barely gotten to do anything with her.”

“His magic is strong. He must know a spell that I don’t.”

“Coven spell, no doubt. If only you were part of the less useful coven, we’d be in the clear.”

“Let’s not ruin our half-working team-up with your bitchy comments. And don’t forget who’s saved your ass more times than you could probably count,” Bonnie snarks back.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. Now, can we go back to torturing Y/N for all the shit she let happen to Elena? If Kai’s getting here soon, I need to get in a couple more punches.”

“Fine. I’ll be down in a second.”

Damon retreats to the dungeons immediately, while Bonnie texts Ric to make sure he’s at home. Last thing they need is for Kai to have a second chance at those twins because their father is feeling bloodthirsty. When he responds, she goes down to give you her own two cents.

◇◇◇◇

It’s not long after that Kai reaches the Salvatore Boarding House. His stomach churns at the sight of it. He tests the entryway, but walks in with no give, letting him explore the seemingly uninhabited house. That, or they’re hiding somewhere. If the Salvatore house has a secret basement, Kai’s about to find out. He treads lightly, not wanting to let anyone know he’s there, and listening for anything that might be you. It’s eerie. There’s no screaming, no yelling, and no fighting. Almost like you’re gone. Like they found a way to… no, he can’t think like that. You’re alive. You’re just saving your strength. You’re immortal; they can’t kill you. Kai repeats this over and over in his head. Then, when he listens harder, he finally picks something up. The faintest rustling of chains far below catch his ear. He stiffens, then races around the top floor to find the basement door.

At the sound of a vampire up ahead, Damon goes to confront it. His jaw tenses when he’s faced with Kai once more.

“You,” he spits.

“That all you can come up with, Damon? I thought in two years, you’d be able to come up with something better.”

“You’re not the one doing the talking here, I am.”

“Great. Good for you. Where’s Y/N?”

The man only smirks.

“If you hurt her, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.”

“What’s this? Kai Parker showing affection? Nah. You said it yourself - you’re not capable of feeling those emotions.” Before Kai can answer, he continues. “Me, on the other hand, I am. And you’ve put my girlfriend in a coma and I can’t see her. So you’ll never see Y/N again if you don’t-”

“What? Bring her back? I already told you I can’t.”

“Leave.”

“What?”

“Leave town if you ever want to see her again. I never, ever want you in Mystic Falls again.”

“I’m not going anywhere without her.”

“Fine. Leave, and in two days’ time, I’ll drop her off outside the town border. You can come get her there and fuck off to wherever you want.”

“You’ve got to be crazy if you think I’d leave her with you. Where is she?”

“Somewhere safe.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

A new voice enters the room, “just promise you’ll leave, Kai. We’ll give her to you now if you promise you’ll never come back.”

“You guys act like I even want to be here. I don’t. We only came back because Alaric stole my family’s property. If your idiot friend had a couple more brain cells, none of this wouldn’t’ve happened.”

“Like I’m supposed to believe that. You were just bored,” Damon strikes back.

“Actually, I was enjoying my time away from you people. And I didn’t want Y/N anywhere near you guys, either. But she wouldn’t let me come back alone, and I needed that book.” Kai shrugs. “Well, I’ve got the book. Give me my girl, and I will never bother you again.”

“Y’know what’s funny?”

Kai sighs with a roll of the eyes, not wanting to know, but knowing Damon will tell him anyway.

“I want my girl, too. Yet you’ve put her in a magical coma.”

“Just my revenge for you crossing me. Which, by the way, I thought would be enough of a lesson for you to not do it again, Clearly, I’ve been mistaken.” He cocks his head. “Does BonBon here need a magical nap, too? Or maybe one of those twins that seem to have survived?”

“Do not touch those girls!” Bonnie snaps, taking a step forward.

“Ooh, I’ve hit a nerve! Yeah, um, that could totally happen. Or I could just kill them. Children are weak. They can barely defend themselves. Trust me, I would know.” The woman is fuming, which is only encouraging Kai. “Especially now that I’m a heretic. They wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Alright, enough! Just get out.”

“I’ll be on my way shortly. Point me to your secret dungeon, will you?”

With the twins’ lives on the line, Damon knows he shouldn’t push Kai any further. Ric would never forgive him if something happened to them. Which is saying something, because Ric has forgiven Damon repeatedly for his shitty actions. However, that doesn’t mean Damon can’t taunt Kai about the shit he’s put you through in the span of just a couple hours.

“I’ll bring you to her, but I understand if you’d want to leave her behind. She isn’t very pretty anymore.”

The threat has Kai’s heart racing. His comedic chat with the pair is officially over, and he’s now dead set on getting you out of wherever he’s keeping you. He’s down the stairs and yelling for you as soon as Damon opens the basement door. “Y/N? Are you down here?”

Another small rattle of chains is heard in the darkness. He flips on a light, and finally sees you at the end of the hallway.

“Oh my god.” He races towards you, choking back a sob at your mangled state. Your hands, bound in chains above your head. Your exposed neck, bleeding from a bite wound, with blood seeping down your shirt. Your hair is matted and eyes are heavy. It takes you a second to recognize him.

At first, you flinch, thinking the person beside you is your captor. “Don’t,” you mutter.

Kai’s heart shatters. “It’s me, princess.”

Instantly, your demeanor changes. Your head lifts so you can look him in the eyes. “Kai?”

He puts his hands on your face. “Yes, baby, I’m here. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He leans in to give you a quick kiss, but then pulls away to break the chains holding you still.

You reach for him the minute your hands are free, and immediately begin to sob. “You found me,” you repeat over and over, “how did you find me?”

“Couple spells. I’m sorry they took so long. Fuck, here, sit up.”

As soon as you do, he bites his wrist and feeds you his blood. You drink willingly and feel yourself already starting to heal.

“Awww, how touching. Kai’s learned how to show love.”

“Damon, get the hell out of here,” the man warns, already pissed.

“This is my house. You get out.”

“She needs a moment to heal first. Since you hurt her!”

The switch is turning back off, you can see it in Kai’s eyes. Not his humanity switch - he doesn’t even need that one - but something much more dangerous.

“Kai,” you start to warn, just wanting to leave.

Damon eggs him on, “oh please, it was deserved. Actually, she deserved a lot more, considering how she’s defended you through all the fucked up shit you’ve done.”

“Just let us go, Damon. We won’t come back,” you try to argue.

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Except, I like my original plan over Bonnie’s. Kai, you leave, and in two days’ time, I’ll deliver her back to you. Because I haven’t quite gotten my revenge, and I need to take my anger out on someone.”

“There’s no way in hell that that’s happening.”

“Then I could just lock you both up. That would work.”

“You’re not getting either of us,” he insists. He throws one of your arms around his shoulders and begins to guide you out the door. You stumble a little from the way your heels were slightly off the ground in the way you were bound.

Damon blocks the door. “Nice try.”

“Get out of the way, Damon.”

“Fine. Your funeral.”

Kai’s not sure what he means, but he doesn’t really care. He helps you up the stairs and towards the door.

Unfortunately, the main exit is blocked by three huge men. When Kai makes an attempt to get close, they hiss at him, veins in their face turning purple.

“Oh yeah. Like my little surprise?”

“What is this?” Kai asks through clenched teeth.

“Just an extra challenge for you to fight your way through. See, you could leave without her, and not have to fight three massive vampires compelled to kill you, or you could die at their hands trying to save a girl. Imagine that,” Damon snorts. Kai then realizes Bonnie has joined his side. “Big Bad Malachai Parker dies in the Salvatore house in an attempt to save a girl. That would be quite the headline, I can see it already.”

“What happened to the days you used to kill for sport?” Bonnie pipes up.

“I would never hurt her, you idiots should know that by now. We’ve been through hell together. She would never abandon me, and I sure as hell won’t abandon her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember your love story. Five years in the prison world together because she just had to piss off Joshua Parker. Was it worth it, Y/N? Talking back to his dear old daddy and getting stuck in the same hell? Because I wouldn’t be surprised if you secretly hate Kai for all the shit he’s pulled.”

Despite your abused state, you manage to straighten your posture to look him in the eye. “It was worth every second, Damon. I love Kai, and I would do it again and again to be with him.”

“That’s some blind devotion, I’d say.”

“Well what’s the difference between us and you and Elena? You both are a complete menace to the world, and yet continue to think your relationship is more valuable than anyone else’s life. I’d think you would agree with me, Bonnie.”

The girl hesitates to answer. Damon snaps, “don’t listen to her bullshit, Bonnie. She knows what to say to make you doubt yourself. Remember the wedding. Remember Elena. Your best friend, comatose, in a coffin. You’ll never see her again.” He smirks as he sees his manipulation working. “Go ahead, BonBon, show her she’s no match for your power. Do it for Elena. Do it for revenge.”

Revenge is the only word she needed to hear to suddenly fire a spell at you. It hits you square in the chest, knocking you off balance. Kai loses his grip on your shoulder at the unexpected move, and in that moment, Damon grabs you. His teeth threaten your neck on the side he’s not yet bitten. Any more blood loss and you might end up in a temporary coma.

Kai’s eyes darken in pure rage and he shoots his own spell at Bonnie. It stuns her only for a second, but it’s long enough for him to push Damon off of you. You stumble out of the way as they tussle on the ground, both throwing punches like young boys rather than vampires. The method keeps Kai on top, though, more used to fighting this way. In one of his punches, Damon grabs his arm and bites down, but your boyfriend has become blind to pain and doesn’t even react. He pulls a knife from his bootstrap and doesn’t hesitate to plunge it into the man’s stomach. Damon releases a guttural scream of pain, seemingly waking Bonnie from a trance.

When she regains her bearings, she positions a spell to shoot at you. “Phasmatos I-”

Kai leaps up at the first syllable and attacks her. A punch hard enough to blacken the eye lands on her face. He then gains control of her head, locking it in his arm, while exposing her neck. “One more word,” he breathes heavily, out of breath, “and you’re dead.” He nips her skin, drawing a small bit of blood as a warning.

“Kai,” Damon groans from the floor. “Don’t touch her.”

“You fucking hurt my girl. I told you not to do that.”

Under his grip, Bonnie sweats in fear. She holds back a whine.

Across from him, you hold onto the bookshelf to keep yourself on your feet. “Kai, don’t,” you mutter, coughing.

He looks up at you, expressionless. “If I don’t hurt them, they’ll hurt you again.”

You look at Damon, rolling on the floor in pain. “I think they’ve learned their lesson this time. C’mon, baby, we have a chance to escape.”

“Princess, they need to pay for what they did to you.”

“And they are. Kai, you’ve beaten them. Beaten them at their own game. They thought they could take me from you? Wrong. Thought they could convince you to leave me? Wrong. Thought they could overpower us? Also wrong. We’re two of the strongest beings on this earth; they’re like ants compared to us. So let’s show them they can’t stop us, can’t control us, and get the fuck out of here. Let them wallow in their misery that you beat them not once, not twice, but three times. And let them think about how you protected me the entire time, despite whatever they think about me, or you, or our love. How’s that sound?”

Kai’s softened by your words, but his grip on Bonnie doesn’t let up. You smile at him, encouraging him to leave with you. Then, with a deep breath, he drops the witch to the ground and races towards the vampires guarding the door. Adrenaline rushes through him, making him able to kill them one-by-one with almost no fight. Their attempts to defend themselves are feeble and pointless. He strikes at their bodies, feeds on their blood, and throws them to the floor.

When the last is bleeding out on the Salvatores’ expensive carpet, he finally looks up. Your boyfriend’s covered in blood and his eyes are black with rage, but you feel no fear. Instead, you rush towards him and collapse in his arms. The blood from his clothes drenches your own, and you smile at the parallel.

“Kai,” you mutter.

“Yes, princess?”

“It’s just like the wedding. You, fighting for us. Me, so, so proud of you. Us, bound together in blood.” You pull away to kiss him deeply. “I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too, baby. Let me get you to safety, okay?”

You nod and let him pick you up bridal style. The last thing you see before he races off is the entryway, decorated in blood and fallen bodies. You lock eyes with both Bonnie and Damon, their faces full of anger and defeat. A smirk forms on your lips, and then you’re gone.

◇◇◇◇

It’s nearly two days later that you wake up, your body exhausted from everything that happened. Your capabilities as an immortal witch unfortunately don’t include vampire-quick healing, so after Damon’s tricks and torture, you needed time to recover.

Kai’s right there beside you, though, when you do open your eyes. He’s perched on a chair, watching you intently, with his knee bouncing at a rapid pace. The moment you come to your senses, he leans forward to cup your face in his hands.

“Princess? How are you feeling?”

It takes you a second to reply, but after a yawn, you smile up at him. “Good. Nap was much needed. How long was I out?”

“Almost two days.”

“What?! Are we still in Mystic Falls? Has anyone come looking for us?”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Take a deep breath. Yes, we’re still here, but no, no one’s come. We’re safe.”

You listen to him and calm down a little, but your mind is still racing. “But isn’t Ric going to come for you? Or Damon? Or-?”

“No, baby, I think you scared them off,” he smirks, “reminding them that we’re two of the most powerful beings? That letting them live is a mercy? They won’t be bothering us anytime soon.”

“Well it’s the truth,” you relax, “you could’ve easily killed them, Kai. I’m proud of you that you didn’t.”

“I would have if you didn’t convince me otherwise,” he admits.

“Don’t beat yourself up for it. I can see your improvements.”

The words are touching to him. So badly does he want to be good for you; more in control of his rage and less likely to make choices without thinking about them. You started encouraging the healthy behavior when you started dating, and have helped him with it ever since. The wedding was an exception of rightful anger, though. The Mystic Falls’ gang’s betrayal was severe, and you couldn’t blame your boyfriend for his outburst. But in smaller situations where a better option is available, Kai’s learning to take it instead of the more vicious route.

“I, um, I was worried there for a second, Y/N.” You sit up straighter on the bed to give him your full attention. He licks his lips before continuing. “When I got to the house, it was completely silent. I was afraid they’d… I don’t know, found a way to, y’know… or hurt you so badly that you couldn’t get out, or escape, or…”

“Hey, hey, baby, come here,” taking his hand, you guide him into the bed. He curls up beside you, head on your chest. “There’s no amount of hurt they could’ve done to me that you wouldn’t’ve been able to undo. Like I told them, they only got us because they caught me by surprise. But when it comes down to it, we will always win.” You run a hand through his hair and feel him relax. “This is why it was so quiet, Kai. I knew you’d find me, and I knew you’d give ‘em hell. Was just saving my strength so I could help in the end. That’s all.”

He presses a feather-light kiss to the exposed part of your chest. “Thank you for believing in me.”

“I always will. I trust you with my life, because I am yours.” Despite your boop on his nose, you hope to rile him up with the words.

A moment later, he shifts. “Say that again.”

“I am yours, Kai.”

He swallows audibly hard. For a second, it’s silent, and you wonder what’s going through his head. Right when you open your mouth to speak, he jumps up to straddle your waist.

“Hi,” you say, surprised. You can’t hold back the giggle, nor the blush, at seeing him on top of you.

“Hi, princess.” Lips attach to your collarbone, kissing along it. A fluttering feeling begs for more and you dig your hands into his hair. He picks up on your needs immediately. Hands grip your sides as he starts to suck the skin until it’s purple. You buck your hips up into his, rolling your eyes in pleasure when he lets out a moan. Finally then does he kiss your lips. With a hunger, he kisses you deeply. He bites your lower lip and tastes the blood produced from it.

“Kai!” You giggle.

He smiles down at you, a drop of your blood on his mouth. You swipe your finger along it, then let him suck it off. The fluttering grows, and your heart is thumping out of your chest.

“I need you, Kai.”

He teases, “what was that?”

“I said I need you.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over your giggling, baby girl. What did you say?”

“Malachai! I need you to fuck me!”

His eyes darken and jaw tenses. You know you got to him. Whether it was the full name or the language you used, you’re not sure, but there’s no going back now.

You breathe deeply as he moves his hand from your waist to your mouth, maintaining eye contact the whole time. He slips two fingers past your lips and nods for you to suck, then dips his fingers below your panties, finding your clit. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, and you buck your hips again for more.

“Who do you belong to, princess?”

“You.”

“Good girl.”

In one fell swoop, he uses his vampire speed to undress you.

“C-can I?” You stutter, grabbing at his shirt.

He nods. You waste no time pulling it over his head, then fumbling with his belt. Kai lets you shrug his pants down as far as you can, before he kicks them off himself and sends them to the floor. You make a grab for his visible bulge next, but miss as he sinks his body down onto yours, grinding into your leg. A quiet moan soon becomes vulgarly loud when he licks a stripe up from your navel to your breasts. In a frenzy to hold onto something, your hands find his hair again, fingers digging deep. He teases your nipples with his tongue, always loving the way they bounce. He does this every time you have sex, but you’re not complaining. His mouth upon your soft skin is a heavenly feeling. It relaxes both of you.

But this isn’t the time for relaxing. You need him to fuck you.

After a minute, you take charge. You suddenly flip him over so you’re on top, then waste no time stripping him of his boxers. As soon as he realizes what’s happening, Kai tries to fight. He tries to gain control again, but fails when you grab his cock in your hands. You spit on it and watch his head fall back on the pillow. Your victory is cut short when he sees the smirk on your lips.

“I thought I owned you, princess.”

“I thought you did, too. But it was pretty easy to take over,” you challenge.

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Come on, put me in my place, then.”

You put your mouth on him the second he tries to sit up.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

Kai is rendered unable to fight you with your mouth around his cock. You start at the tip, teasing and sucking the slit, before taking him a little deeper each try. With one hand, you’re holding him down, while the other tugs on his balls. Used to his size, you only gag the first time that you take him fully. He moans every time your tongue runs along the thick vein on his underside, or whenever his head hits the back of your throat.

It isn’t long before you can tell he’s close. Small tears escape the sides of his eyes and he’s a blubbering, begging mess. You debate making him wait to cum - making him fuck you first - but then his cock twitches and you know he’s not going to last that long. Besides, he’s a heretic. He’ll be hard again in two minutes tops.

You pull off just for a minute. “Cum for me, Kai.” Then go right back to it, humming to send him over the edge.

The vibration moves through him at the exact time he releases, shooting down your throat. He pants heavily when he’s finished, and you can’t help but to lean forward and kiss him.

“I’m the only one that’ll ever get to fuck you,” you whisper against his lips. “Because I’m yours. Now show me how you feel about that, hm?”

Kai doesn’t know if he’s ever been more turned on in his life. He flips you onto your back immediately and holds you down by your shoulders. His tip teases your entrance, hardening again already.

“I’m the only one that’s ever gonna fuck you, too. You’re mine. No one can look at you. No one can touch you. You’re all mine.” He slips into you without warning, making your eyes roll back in your head. “I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again. Never gonna be away from me. You’re not gonna be two seconds out of my sight.” He’s pounding into you, finding a rhythm quickly. “Fuck, Y/N. I fucking love you.” Every emotion is seemingly pouring out of him, and you let him say what he needs to say. You love it, and love that he’s finding an outlet in you in this moment. “You’re so fucking sexy under me, and on top, and the other day, fighting for me without hesitation. Putting them in their places, and then letting them live with the fact that they lost. And you’re so hot when you’re covered in their blood. When your eyes are dark with rage. Everything you do is hot.”

Underneath you, the hotel bed is shaking. Kai puts his arm under your neck, stabilizing you in the off-chance it breaks. His other hand finds your clit again, rubbing how he knows you like it. You can feel him deep inside, and even see a bulge in your stomach. He takes a break in his praise, leaving the only noises to be obscene sounds of sex.

“I love you, Y/N,” he repeats, getting sloppy. His kisses are wet and messy all over your face. He’s close again, and you are too.

“I love you, too. Kai,” you moan out, “I fucking love you. I belong to you, and I always will.”

Kai repositions his body to try and gain back control. Being close to the edge seems to give his cock a mind of its own. In the midst of this, he hits a spot that sends pleasure throughout your body. A loud moan escapes your parted lips. He’s quick to press a kiss to them, silencing you.

“I’m the only one that gets to hear you moan,” his breath hits your face at the proximity. You’re so close. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all you need to lose control. Your body shakes throughout your orgasm, and you would’ve moaned again if he weren’t kissing you. Your hands grip his shoulders, the sheets, his hair, anything that you can grab in the moment. They finally land on his waist, and you sigh heavily at the feeling of his soft skin under your fingers.

Kai cums a second later, groaning into your mouth. He keeps his cock buried inside you as he fills you up, preventing any of it from spilling. Sweat beads at his forehead. He won’t be able to keep himself upright for much longer. As soon as he finishes, he collapses beside you, panting heavily.

You feel his cum leaking out of you, and can’t help but to swipe a fingerful into your mouth. His eyes are on you the whole time, offering you a lopsided smile.

“You’re perfect,” he praises.

“I love you, Kai.”

“I love you.” He turns to you. Effects of his high are still there, but you can tell his mood has changed to something softer. “You’re mine, Y/N, but you’re also your own person. Like you taught me, people are something we love, not own.”

If it’s even possible for you to fall more in love with him, you just did. “I know. But it’s why we love each other so much that we belong to each other.”

He kisses you again, completely satiated. “Princess?”

“Mhm?”

“We’ve got each other. We’ve got this stupid Gemini book. What do you say we get the fuck out of Mystic Falls for good?”

“I’d like that very much. I’ll go anywhere with you, love.”

#also i included alaric bc i felt like he'd be involved #he's always in everyone's business #especially gemini business #malachai parker x reader #kai parker x reader #kai parker smut #hurt/comfort #tvd fanfiction #i have more backstory if anyone wants #this was fun #kind of yandere kai parker #im really bad at yandere #i tried

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deadsnothere · 2 years ago

Text

"I'm sleeping with your sister"

Synopsis - While alias and lockwood are on a date Alias's brother Quill Kipps find his sister and his enemy enjoying a "conversation and a cup of tea." (warning: it gets a bit spicy at the end no actual smut but hints at it!!)

Masterlist

Request - Nope but they are open, pls request stuff guys i'm begging!!!

Word count - 1.7k

Speak Ali! - PLEASE REQUEST!! I will not use y/n but i will use Alias, and you can request things like "george's sister" or "the best listener" Alias is just the base name i'll use 😭 SO PLEASE REQUEST <3

Alias didn't mind when Kipps was a dick.

Except for when he was a dick to Lockwood and Co. Alias joined Lockwood and Co a good while ago, Quill always thought it was a waste of her talent. Thought that instead of agency work she should’ve gone into making flare’s and engineering since she was so good with that field of work. He even got Fittis to offer her a job as a mechanic after a mission went wrong as an agent. But she declined and told him she already got another job and left it at that. Alias and Quill were never that close, They had almost exactly opposite personalities, Alias was kind and sweet, sarcastically caring and the biggest drama queen in residence of 35 Portland row, and loves Anthony lockwood. While Quill was- Well Quill and despises Anthony lockwood.

“Well..if it isn't Andrew.” I immediately felt my eyes roll. When I looked up there was my dear brother himself. Quill Kipps! He looked over to me smiling, Ethan, one of Quill's agents, who stood closest to me, doing the same. Quill was acting nicer now then when he first learned that I’d joined Lockwood and Co as an Agent/Mechanic, he wasn't exactly happy. I was rendezvousing with the ‘enemy’. Little does he know I'm doing much more than that.

Me and Anthony were just trying to enjoy a date- A simple date at a small cafe before we went out with Lucy and Norrie, Can't even get that in this family! “What do you want, Kipps? Can you not see I'm trying to enjoy a cup of tea and a conversation?” Lockwood looked pissed. I'm pretty sure he was more pissed about Ethan being here than anything. If it was just Quill I'm sure he would be a little less angry but he always said he hated the way Ethan looked at me.

And so did I honestly but mainly because it was creepy- Even now in the middle of a cafe he was staring at me through the corner of his eye, acting like we definitely could not tell what or who he was looking at. “I'm sure now that Quill got his tea he can leave us alone Anthony, don't worry.” I spoke calmly trying to keep the little peace there was.

Quill snapped his head over to look at me. I’m not even kidding, I think I actually heard a crack- “Anthony!? Since when did you call him Anthony, Alias?” I raised an eyebrow, faking a confused face and biting down on my tongue, to keep my nerves down. “Since, I joined the agency…Me and Anthony have become very close friends, I’ll have you know.” Anthony snorted out a laugh from across the table, looking out the window to the side. I kicked his shin lightly, giving him the best ‘I will kick you in the balls’ glare I could muster.

Quill looked over to him, aggravated. “You have something to say, Tony?” Lockwood looked back to Quill acting like he didn't just laugh at me calling us ‘friends’. “Hm? Oh no-” Anthony turned his head to me next, making eye contact. He tilted his head up slightly, his fingers played with his chapped lips. Gods that made me think of last night, my lipstick marks was all over his face, it was so cute he looked so done with me but continued to let me kiss all over his face nonetheless. I looked away from him this time trying to keep the redness in my face down. Gods, this man is infuriating. I just want to kiss him till he can’t breath-

“No I just think it's funny is all.” “What's so funny?” Ethan responded next, even surprising Quill. “That you're both so caught up in Alias’s business. She's more mature than the both of you combined and yet you cling to her like she needs to be protected from everything.” He looked away from me to the other two to the right of him, taking a sip of his earl gray.

What a fucking hypocrite. He acts like he doesn't do the same shit! ‘Oh Alias you can’t do that! It’ll explode’ Or ‘Oh Alias Let me test that very new flare design instead of you even though you're the one who made it’ and ‘I'll protect you darling, even though I have a broken arm and I've been stabbed 14 times in the ribs!’ Ok maybe that last one was a bit dramatic but sometimes I think he would…

“How dare you! I'm their older brother- I have full right to be worried over their safety at your shady agency, Lockwood.” “I've known them both my entire life, it's just being a gentleman!” Lockwood scoffed back at both of their words. Although he seemed more offended at the thought that I wouldn't be safe at Lockwood and Co.

“If there's one thing I'm sure of Kipps, is that Alias’s safety is prioritized at our agency. More than you can say after your last mission together.” After a mission as an agent at fitties went south, Quill became a lot more protective over me. It was bothersome the majority of the time but there were very rare moments it was useful. “Don't you dare bring that up! You have no right to say that about me- You don't even know what happened other than what was put on the papers and that's barely true.” Anthony nodded along with Quill, a knowing look on his face. “But Ali told me everything. What you did..what you didn't.”

Quill looked so pissed, but immediately tried to ignore the comment about me telling him everything from that night. “Ali?! You let him call you Ali! You hate that nickname, you’ve always hated that nickname-” Ant looked so proud of himself, Laughing dryly. Interrupting my own response. “She's let me do a lot more than that Kipps, A lot more.” Three head’s shot over to him. Me kicking him in the shin, harder than the first time to hopefully get a point across. Ethan looked less than happy, with his pitiful little stare. And Quill looked as if he wasn't sure what he was going to do first, torture or kill him.

“He started to call me by the nickname on his own! I just didn't stop him..” I put my hands up in defense. “He’s a stubborn man ok? and plus it's..kinda sweet.” I put my hands back down, taking a sip of my hot chocolate, avoiding eye contact from my poor brother. It didn't take much to know Lockwood was enjoying this, just the annoying smirk when I called him sweet, and when Quill’s face turned red from anger.

“Sweet? Him sweet! He's a prick! an arsehole- The biggest dick I've met since trevor.” Trevor was a mutual friend we had, let's just say it didn't end well. “She certainly thinks I do.�� I choked on my hot chocolate about dying as I tried to regain my composure. Quill’s face went dead serious. “She what.” I have a feeling this is going to end as badly as trevor. “I’m sleeping with your sister Kipps. We’ve been dating for almost a year.” Ethan’s face dropped, jaw opened, while Quill just looked at me, his eyes almost pleading for it not to be true. “Surprise?” I said in an uncertain tone, slowly moving my hands up to do jazz hands. Yeah just keep doing Jazz hands they make everything better-

It's not completely unprompted that we tell my brother, I mean we've had conversations about it in the past, we just never really got to it! “Alias Kipps when I told you don't rendezvous with the enemy I meant it!” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “He's your enemy not mine!-” Quill looked almost offended. “You used to hate him too!” “Well He's obviously far from my enemy now!” “We bonded over hating him!” “Well now we can bond over making out with him!”

Lockwood was watching this conversation like a tennis game. A smirk on his face the entire time, until my head snapped to him. “And you, don't think you're free, and don't think I don't know of your little jealousy game. I have half a mind to kick your ass right now.” Quill’s face now held a smirk. I was looking back and forth between the boys, about ready to murder, and it showed on my face. “Now Quill, Ethan please walk away and if you’ll excuse me and my boyfriend. We are going to continue our date. bye bye” If it weren't for the fact that I looked ready to kill, they probably wouldn't have left, but after being my sibling for so long I think Quill learned what I could and couldn't do. They both reluctantly walked away keeping his stare on me and Anthony until he was out of the cafe.

I'm not sure which feeling was stronger, lust or anger. but i'm pretty sure it's both. I mean what an ass! Who does anthony think he is! He didn't even ask if it was ok to tell him. God he made my blood boil, but by the way he was sitting there with his legs man spread looking so proud of himself gods, I just want to absolutely ruin his perfect face. Force him to whine and whimper for my touch. Gods he'd look so perfect...

This was going to be a long date.

“Anthony.” I took in a deep breath trying to relax my head, at this point I couldn't tell what was anger and what was lust. He smiled at me with his ‘please forgive me’ smile. “Yes darling?” I stood up and took two steps to stand beside him, whispering in his ear. “When we get home, I expect to find you on your bed ready for me, got it?” I put my hand on his thigh and set my other hand on his shoulder. He nodded as a yes but that isn't exactly what I was expecting, he knows exactly what I'm expecting. The hand on his thigh trailed up just a bit higher, “Excuse me?” “Yes ma'am.” I nodded in satisfaction, patting his shoulder and moving both of my hands away. Picking up my to-go cup of hot chocolate, which was still hot, thank gods.

“Come on, Ant! We have places to be don't we? Promised Lucy and Norrie that double date.” I kissed his cheek and patted the other with my hand. “But I'll uh- give you a minute, I'll be outside getting a cab.” Even as I was walking away I could feel him staring at me. This time his stare was almost pleading for me to come back, desperate for attention.

part 2?

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co dr #anthony bloody lockwood #mentions #lucy x norrie #lucy carlyle #norrie white #part 2?#quill kipps #lockwood netflix #speak ali!!#the chronicles of alias forman #reader has a name #anthony lockwood x alias foreman

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gaintsnowflake · 1 year ago

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𝐀𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐄: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

PAIRING : Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

ONESHOT : in which lockwood finally wants to talk about what he discovered

TRIGGERS : abuse/abusive parents, dunk mother

A/N : I hope you enjoy this, I may write a part three mainly because this brings me a lot of comfort but it really depends. Please ignore any spelling and grammar errors!

TAGS : @archiveoftara, @cassiopeiia24

WORD COUNT : 1.1k

masterlist | part one

ANTHONY ignored me all night at the ball. He stayed next to me, yes, as well giving anyone who dared to question the scar or even look at it the wrong way a death glare. But he still refused to talk to me, ignoring my attempts at conversation.

Now, we have just gotten home, it was just after one; Most of the people invited to the ball had agents bring them home to insure their "safety". George and Lucy were quick to dismiss themselves when we arrived outside of 35 Portland Row, no doubt they did not want to hear the fight that was bound to occur in a few moments.

A few nights ago, I was planning on staying over their house, as an escape, even though I lived a door away. I was planning on just chalking it up to me wanting a sleepover. Now I am not sure where I would rather be. The look on Anthony's face only made me want to return home, even though I knew what would happen when I arrived to see my mother drunken on the couch or my father making his way to comment about my body, telling me how much better I could look, or perhaps I could find comfort in their yelling and attempts to punch each other only for me to break it up. Even if I did want to return to my house for the night, I am not sure Anthony would let me, he doesn't seem to want me to leave his sight. Still, it seems worth making an attempt, because I know if I step through his door I will only become my parent's product, yelling and screaming as they do, and that is something I fear.

"I'm going to my house, Anthony," I mumbled as I got out of the taxi, turning towards my house. "I will see you soon."

"No, you're not."

"Anthony..." I threatened him with my voice as he followed behind me as I began walking down the sidewalk.

"You are coming home, with me... and Lucy and George," his voice sounded soft, as if he was afraid to scare me away. "We can talk about this."

Without turning around I could feel his eyes on me as I came to a stop. I could hear his grin as he began to think that I would listen to his reason and go home with him. Oh and how wrong he is.

"What is there to talk about Anthony?" I ask turning to face him as I raise my voice slightly. "You know what happens behind closed doors. You can hear it."

"I didn't know you were involved, otherwise I would have done something."

"You didn't know for a damn reason Anthony."

"Just, come inside, I don't want to argue with you about this out here."

"Fine, and I am only saying this because it is cold out here."

Anthony didn't dare to smile at me, knowing well that if he tried I most likely would turn around. He just walked inside with me following close behind. Within seconds of us being inside, with me locking the door, he was making his way to the library mumbling about me.

"If you are going to talk about me at least do it to my face..." I mumbled following behind.

After we entered the library, I closed the door behind us. Anthony started pacing back and forth quickly.

"Anthony, stop that," I said, referring to his pacing which would cause markings on the floor if he continued.

"I can't believe you never told me... I could have helped you! I could have gotten you out of there!" His voice raised lightly as he was still in his train of thought. I just stood, watching him. "Now look at you. You are hurt."

"I'm fine Anthony," I said, knowing that he wouldn't listen.

Anthony was rambling continuously, about how I was hurt and how it was his fault. The comments are inaudible as if he was talking to himself, scolding himself.

"Lockwood," He turned away, I could practically feel his heartbreak when I didn't call him Anthony. "I said I am fine."

"No! You're not fucking fine. You got hurt right under my nose! God how can I be so blind..."

"It's not your fucking fault! Stop acting like it is. I never told you for a reason, Anthony, because you would be overdramatic," I grabbed his arm to make him face me. "Clearly, I was right."

"You don't understand, y/n! I am supposed to protect you. I let you get hurt, badly hurt, by your own mother! I didn't even notice..."

"I didn't give you a chance to notice."

"But it was so obvious, I could hear their yelling every night... I just... I can't believe I let you get hurt." His eyes were tearing as he looked at me.

"You don't need to protect me, Anthony, I am not your responsibility..." My words were much softer.

"But that's the thing. You are my responsibility."

"What?" My voice broke. I was unaware I was crying until now.

"I love you, y/n," His voice was quiet as a single tear escaped, he was quick to whip it. "I always have."

"Anthony," I dragged out his name.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't want to hurt you," My honest answer made the room go silent.

We just stared at each other as more tears streamed down each other's faces. We are too young for this. Too young to be arguing about why I didn't speak up about abuse.

"There was nothing you could do to save me, I knew if I told you, you would try and fail and hurt yourself more, I couldn't hurt you." My words were quiet as I spoke to him, scared if I said a single word, it would only upset him more.

"I would try, and I will try, except if I fail, I am going to try again. You don't deserve that, you don't deserve any of it. You deserve the world and so much more."

At that I fell into his arms, crying into a long and tight hug. We rocked back in forth as we cried. My tears were staining the shoulder of his white shirt, they were felt on the top of my head.

"I will fix this, darling, don't you worry," He whispered to me, his hand running through my hair. "It'll be okay, soon enough you will be safe."

I can't tell if he trying to convince me or himself. But either way, it was comforting.

Anthony held me in his arms for a while before moving us to the couch where he forced me on top of him, holding me tightly, scared that if he let go, I'd be gone forever. He was scared for me.

People say that ABUSE only affects the victim and the abuser. But in reality, everyone who knows them will be affected, not to the same degree, but it still is harmful.

---

IF YOU OR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IS BEING ABUSED, DO NOT BE AFRAID TO SPEAK UP.

CALL 800-799-7233 OR TEXT 88788 FOR THE NATIONAL DOMESTIC ABUSE HOTLINE.

IF YOU NEED TO TALK ABOUT ABUSE, I AM AN ABUSE SURVIVOR, I AM MORE THAN HAPPY TO TALK.

#fanfic #lockwood and co #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood #lockwood oneshot #anthony lockwood x reader

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sicknessbysalem · 11 months ago

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Novemetober (Rescheduled) | Day Eight

@monthofsick

i have just accepted being a day behind the prompts at this point. but hopefully this weekend i’ll be able to catch up!

feel free to send any questions, comments, requests, or concerns.

we are back in the normal timeline of novak’s career, but i’m willing to keep bouncing around as i get an idea that seems fit.

*do note that day nine: persistent illness will be a follow-up, continuing of this*

tw emeto (small), migraine, hypersensitivity, character seizure

Novak Daskalov was very smart, really. At least, on paper he was.

He graduated high school in the top ten of his class, even after only attending that specific high school of at least 900 kids, if not more, for only three years. He graduated university, not only with a double major but in three years instead of four. Academically, Novak was certainly quite smart. On paper.

But, as it's early October and Novak is getting ready in his hotel room in Portland, only to find somehow he managed to forget both his migraine medication and his seizure medication, all while knowing Marina is in France for a gallery and Yuliya is babysitting Elya, Novak was well aware that he was remarkably stupid.

Sure, Novak could theorietically go home and get them. He only lived half an hour away.

But that half an hour easily turned into an hour on gameday. And it was Saturday. Everyone was going everywhere. The game started at one. They had to be at the stadium no later than noon. And even though it was a home game, they couldn't slack on that. It would be rude.

Novak stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection with a furrowed brow. The telltale signs of an impending migraine were already creeping in—the pulsating ache behind his eyes, the tingling sensation at the base of his skull. His neck was stiff. He knew what was coming, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to push aside the rising panic. He couldn't afford to let this get to him, not today. The team was counting on him, his players were counting on him. He already had to abandon them on the field as their linebacker. He couldn't continue playing. So he definitely felt like he simply couldn't bail now.

With shaky hands, he rummaged through his toiletry bag, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe, he had some voer the counter medicine tucked away somewhere. But of course, luck wasn't on his side today. The bottle of migraine medication, prescription or otherwise, was nowhere to be found.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling up inside him.

And the lack of migraine medicine wouldn'tm be so bad on its own. But not having the seizure medication either was... terrifying.

Bracing himself against the sink, Novak closed his eyes and tried to block out the throbbing pain in his head. He could do this. He had to do this. He just needed to make it through the game, and then he could deal with everything else later.

Novak took a moment to gather himself, mentally bracing against the impending storm in his head. He couldn't afford to let his team down, not now, not ever.

With a deep inhale, he pushed aside the nagging ache in his skull and focused on the task at hand.

Quickly dressing in his coaching attire, Novak grabbed his clipboard and headed out of the hotel room. As he made his way down the hallway towards the elevator, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease gnawing at him. He was used to battling opponents on the field, but this internal struggle felt different, more personal.

He just hoped it would work out. Just until the game was over.

Making his way to the team bus, Novak took a seat near the front, trying to block out the noise and chaos around him. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to find a moment of calm amidst the storm raging inside his head.

As the bus pulled out of the hotel parking lot and headed towards the stadium, Novak couldn't help but wonder how he was going to make it through the game. But deep down, he knew there was no other option.

He was a Maverick, through and through, and Mavericks didn't back down from a challenge, no matter how daunting.

With a steely resolve, Novak squared his shoulders and prepared himself for the battle ahead. Today, he wasn't just coaching a football game—he was fighting for his team, his pride, and his very identity. And nothing was going to stop him.

As the team bus arrived at the stadium, Novak stepped off and was immediately enveloped by a cacophony of sounds—the roar of the crowd, the blaring music over the speakers, the chatter of players and coaches. Each noise seemed to pierce through his skull like a dagger, intensifying the throbbing ache behind his eyes.

Novak winced, his head pounding in protest against the onslaught of sensory overload. He struggled to focus, to block out the overwhelming barrage of sound assaulting his senses. But he knew he couldn't afford to let it get to him, not now.

Novak pushed through the discomfort, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He joined the team on the field for warm-ups, trying to drown out the noise and concentrate on the drills. But every movement sent a sharp jolt of pain shooting through his head, threatening to derail his concentration.

He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, refusing to let his team see any sign of weakness. He couldn't afford to let them down, not now, not when they needed him the most. And definitely not when he wasn't able to be on field with them.

As the warm-up session drew to a close, Novak felt a wave of relief wash over him. He knew the real challenge lay ahead—the game itself—but he also knew he couldn't let his migraine get the best of him.

With a deep breath, Novak straightened his shoulders and plastered on a confident smile. He was still the Mavericks' defensive coach, and he was determined to lead his team to victory, no matter what obstacles stood in his way.

As the first quarter kicked off, Novak found himself engulfed in a whirlwind of chaos. The sounds of the game—the clashing of helmets, the roar of the crowd, the referee's whistle—seemed amplified to an unbearable level, assaulting his senses with relentless force.

Novak gritted his teeth against the onslaught, his head pounding with every passing moment. He struggled to focus on the action unfolding on the field, his vision swimming as waves of pain washed over him.

But despite the overwhelming sensory overload, Novak refused to let it defeat him. He dug deep, drawing upon every ounce of inner strength he possessed, determined to push through the agony and fulfill his duties as defensive coach.

With each play, Novak forced himself to analyze the game strategy, shouting out instructions to his players despite the searing pain in his head. He knew he couldn't afford to falter, not when the outcome of the game hung in the balance.

As the clock ticked down towards the end of the first quarter, Novak felt a sense of relief wash over him. He had made it through the opening minutes of the game, despite the odds stacked against him. But he also knew that the battle was far from over.

As the second quarter began, Novak's symptoms intensified with alarming speed. The relentless pounding in his head morphed into a throbbing ache that seemed to pulse in time with his racing heartbeat. Waves of nausea washed over him, threatening to send his breakfast spilling onto the sidelines.

Novak clenched his jaw, fighting against the overwhelming urge to succumb to the agony pulsating through his skull. Every sound—the cheers of the crowd, the shouts of the players, the blare of the referee's whistle—felt like a knife twisting in his already battered brain.

But despite the mounting discomfort, Novak refused to yield. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, determined to see his team through to victory no matter the cost. The Mavericks were counting on him, and he wouldn't let them down.

With each passing minute, Novak's vision blurred and his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion. But still, he pushed himself to focus on the game, to rally his players with words of encouragement and strategic advice.

As the second quarter wore on, Novak's resolve was put to the ultimate test. The pain threatened to consume him, to drag him down into a swirling abyss of darkness and despair. But still, he fought on, clinging to the hope that somehow, someway, he would make it through.

As the halftime whistle blew, Novak staggered off the field, his head spinning and his stomach churning. But despite the agony coursing through his veins, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. He had made it through another quarter, against all odds.

During halftime, as the stadium buzzed with activity and the players retreated to the locker room, Novak's migraine symptoms reached a peak. The pounding in his head became unbearable, and waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm him.

With a grimace, Novak doubled over, clutching his stomach as bile rose in his throat. He ducked into the trainer’s office.

Novak didn’t want to be sick. He really didn’t. He hated being sick. But… he had no choice. He grabbed the trash by the door and threw up. Not even thinking. Not even registering someone was there.

"Novak, are you okay?" Willow asked, her voice laced with worry. "You look like you're in agony."

Novak forced a nod, attempting to downplay the severity of his condition. "I'm fine, Willow. Just a little headache, that's all."

But Willow wasn't convinced. She could see the pain etched into every line of Novak's face, the pallor of his skin ashen with discomfort.

"You don’t get ‘little headaches’, Novak," Willow insisted, gently guiding him towards a nearby bench. "Let me take a look at you. Something's not right."

"I can't," Novak whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible over the din of the halftime chaos. "I have to finish the game. The team needs me."

Willow sighed, her gaze softening with understanding. She knew how fiercely dedicated Novak was to his team, how much he had sacrificed to be here today. But she also knew that pushing himself to the brink of collapse wasn't the answer.

“Do you at least have that medicine that helps your seizures so you could…” Willow trailed off, seeing Novak shift uncomfortably.

"Alright, fine, listen to me," Willow said, her tone gentle but firm. "I know how much this game means to you, but your health is more important. You need to take care of yourself."

“I’ll be fine,” Novak said, shrugging, “I have to head back out… okay?”

As the third quarter began, Novak felt like he was wading through a sea of noise and chaos. Every sound—the roar of the crowd, the clash of helmets, the shouts of the players—seemed magnified to an excruciating degree, assaulting his senses with overwhelming force.

Novak clenched his jaw, trying to block out the cacophony around him, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with his bare hands. The migraine had turned into a relentless beast, gnawing at his insides with vicious intent.

Despite the overwhelming overstimulation, Novak refused to yield. He gritted his teeth and soldiered on, his determination burning bright even in the face of adversity. The Mavericks were counting on him, and he wouldn't let them down—not now, not ever.

With each passing minute, the noise seemed to grow louder, more deafening, until it felt like his head might explode from the sheer intensity of it all. But still, Novak pressed forward.

As the game raged on, Novak's symptoms only intensified. His vision blurred, his head spun, and a wave of dizziness threatened to send him sprawling to the ground. But still, he refused to give in. He couldn't afford to let his team down, not when victory hung in the balance.

As the third quarter drew to a close, Novak felt a sense of pride swell within him. He had made it through another quarter, against all odds.

He was so close. He could do it.

Willow paced anxiously, her mind consumed with worry for Novak. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong, and her heart ached at the thought of him suffering alone out there on the field.

Vanessa approached her with a furrowed brow, concern etched into every line of her face. "Willow, what's going on? You look like you're about to jump out of your skin."

Taking a deep breath, Willow tried to compose herself, her hands trembling with anxiety. "It's Novak," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm really worried about him. He's been struggling all game, and I don't think he's doing well."

Vanessa's expression softened with sympathy, and she reached out to gently squeeze Willow's hand. "I understand, babe. But we have to trust that Novak knows his limits. He's a tough guy—he'll make it through."

But Willow couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at her insides. She knew Novak better than anyone, and she could sense that something was seriously wrong. She just needed to find a way to convince Vanessa to help her get him off the field before it was too late.

As they continued to talk, Willow's phone suddenly buzzed in her pocket, startling her out of her thoughts. With trembling hands, she pulled it out and glanced at the notification that flashed across the screen.

Her heart sank as she read the words: "High risk for seizure detected."

Panic surged through Willow's veins, and she turned to Vanessa with wide eyes. "We need to get to Novak, now," she urged, her voice trembling with urgency. "He's in danger, Vanessa. We have to help him."

Vanessa's eyes widened in alarm as she took in Willow's panicked expression. Without hesitation, she nodded, determination shining in her gaze. "Let's go," she said, her voice steady and resolute.

Novak stumbled on the sidelines, his senses overwhelmed by the relentless assault of noise and pain. The stadium seemed to pulse and throb around him, the crowd's cheers reverberating through his skull like thunderclaps. Each clatter of helmets, each shrill whistle of the referee, felt like a stab to his already battered brain.

His head spun with dizziness, and his vision blurred as he struggled to focus on the game unfolding before him. The migraine that had been gnawing at his insides now raged with ferocious intensity, a searing fire that consumed his every thought and sensation.

But amidst the chaos and confusion, another sensation began to creep in—a dull, pulsating ache that radiated from the depths of his being. Novak's limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, as if he were wading through molasses with every step.

With each passing moment, the warning signs became impossible to ignore. A tingling sensation danced along the edges of his consciousness, sending shivers down his spine.

But still, Novak pressed on, his determination unwavering even in the face of impending danger. He tried to push aside the mounting panic, the gnawing fear that threatened to consume him whole. He couldn't afford to give in—not now, not when victory was within reach.

Hands grabbed him from behind. Willow and Vanessa had found him, their faces etched with concern as they guided him towards the athletic trainer's room.

"Novak, you need to rest," Willow said, her voice firm but gentle. "You're in no condition to keep going. Let us help you."

Novak wanted to protest, to argue that he could still make it through the fourth quarter. But deep down, he knew they were right. He couldn't ignore the warning signs any longer, couldn't risk putting himself in harm's way.

With a weary sigh, Novak allowed himself to be led away, his body trembling with exhaustion and relief.

Willow guided Novak gently to the floor of the training room, her movements steady and deliberate despite the urgency of the situation. Vanessa hovered nearby, her expression calm and composed as she monitored Novak's vital signs.

"Easy now, Novak," Willow said soothingly, her voice a comforting presence in the otherwise silent room. "Just lie back and try to relax. We're here with you."

Novak nodded weakly, his breathing labored as he struggled to find a comfortable position on the hard linoleum floor. The quiet of the room was a sharp contrast to the chaos of the stadium, a welcome respite from the overwhelming cacophony that had threatened to consume him moments before.

Willow knelt beside Novak, her hand resting gently on his shoulder as she spoke to him in a soft, reassuring tone. "Novak, can you hear me? Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

Novak blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused as he tried to muster a response. "I... I feel... not great," he murmured, his words slurred and disjointed.

Vanessa knelt on the other side of Novak, her trained eyes scanning his face for any signs of distress. She grabbed his wrist, tilting his watch to get a better look at it.

“He spiked, Wills,” Vanessa said, “Almost 175…”

“Oh… so this… this is happening,” Willow nodded.

“Novak, can you tell me what day it is?" she asked calmly, her voice steady and reassuring.

Novak furrowed his brow, his confusion evident as he struggled to process the question. He couldn’t form the right words, so alo he could do was shake his head.

Willow exchanged a concerned glance with Vanessa, silently communicating their shared apprehension. Novak's symptoms were worsening by the moment, and they knew they had to act quickly to keep him safe.

Suddenly, without warning, Novak's body stiffened, his muscles locking into place as a low, guttural groan escaped his lips. Willow and Vanessa sprang into action, their training kicking in as they moved to protect Novak from harm.

"Seizure," Willow said calmly, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "Hold him steady, Vanessa. We need to keep him safe until it passes."

Vanessa nodded, her hands gentle but firm as she supported Novak's head and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't injure himself during the seizure. Willow knelt beside them, her presence a comforting anchor in the midst of the storm. Making sure that in the midst of it, Novak wouldn’t end up on his back.

As the seizure ran its course, Novak's body convulsed with violent spasms, his breathing ragged and labored. But Willow and Vanessa remained steadfast at his side, their calm demeanor a beacon of hope in the darkness.

Finally, as the seizure subsided and Novak's breathing began to steady, Willow and Vanessa exchanged a silent glance of relief.

As Novak slowly emerged from the haze of the seizure, he felt disoriented and drained, his body aching with exhaustion. The pain in his head still pulsed with a relentless intensity, and he struggled to catch his breath, his throat raw and scratchy from the saliva and acid that had pooled there during the seizure.

Vanessa sat by his head, watching him, petting his hair, just trying to simply be there.

��Wills, call Yuliya,” Vanessa said, progressing to patting Novak’s breath.

Willow dialed Yuliya's number, her voice calm but urgent as she explained the situation.

"Yuliya, it's Willow," she said, her tone steady despite the underlying tension. "We need you to come to the stadium right away. Novak had a seizure, and he needs to get home."

Yuliya's voice crackled through the phone, "I'm on my way," she replied, her words tinged with urgency, there was no hesitation in her voice. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

With a sigh of relief, Willow ended the call and turned her attention back to Novak. Vanessa remained by his side, offering words of comfort and gentle reassurance as she progressed to patting Novak’s back.

"It's okay, Novak," Vanessa said soothingly, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. "You're safe now. Just focus on your breathing, okay? Try to cough up whatever's bothering you."

Novak nodded weakly, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. He wanted to speak, to ask a million questions about what had just happened, but his throat felt like it was filled with cotton, his words trapped beneath the weight of his exhaustion.

With Vanessa's gentle encouragement, Novak forced himself to cough, the action painful but necessary as he expelled the saliva and acid that had been choking him. Each breath came easier than the last, and slowly but surely, he began to regain a sense of control over his own body.

Vanessa and Willow both stayed close. Close enough to catch him if a rebound happened. Close enough that Vanessa pulled back his hair. Close enough that Willow patted his back and occasionally took his vitals how she could.

As Novak continued to recover from the seizure, waves of nausea washed over him, leaving him feeling hot and clammy. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. Despite the efforts of Vanessa and Willow to help him, he couldn't shake the feeling of overwhelming malaise that gripped him like a vice.

Vanessa remained by Novak's side, her presence a calming presence in the midst of the chaos. She continued to offer words of encouragement and gentle reassurance, her hand resting lightly on his back as she tried to soothe his discomfort.

"Easy now, Novak," Vanessa murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "Just focus on your breathing. You're doing great."

With each coughing spell, Novak felt a surge of relief as he expelled the saliva and acid that had been choking him. The action was painful and exhausting, but it also brought a sense of clarity and release, as if each cough was a step towards reclaiming control over his own body.

Willow knelt beside Novak, her expression grave as she monitored his vital signs. She could see the toll that the seizure had taken on him, the way he trembled with exhaustion and pain. But she also knew that with time and rest, he would recover.

"Take it easy, Novak," Willow said gently, her voice a steady anchor in the midst of the storm. "You're safe now. Just focus on resting and letting your body recover."

Novak coughed, spitting onto the towel Willow put close by. Spitting made him gasp, like he was coming up for air after swimming.

As Yuliya rushed into the training room, her eyes widened with concern at the sight of Novak lying on the floor, pale and exhausted. She hurried to his side, her hands gentle as she brushed his hair back from his forehead.

"Novak, oh my god, are you okay?" Yuliya asked, her voice laced with worry. "What happened? Why didn't you call me sooner?"

Novak struggled to find the right words. "I'm... I'm sorry, Yuliya. It happened so fast... I didn't want to worry you."

Yuliya's expression softened with understanding, and she reached out to squeeze Novak's hand in reassurance. "It's okay, Novak. You don't have to apologize. I'm just glad you're okay."

“It was like… a minute, the actual seizing,” Vanessa said, “His watch alerted Willow…”

“I programmed it,” Willow said, “I can do the same for you…”

Novak’s breathing was shaky, punctuated by tiny whines every so often. He was still trying to catch his breath, to handle his senses.

"Let's get you home, Novak," Yuliya said gently. "You need rest and quiet, away from all this chaos."

Novak nodded wearily.

“Can we move him?” Yuliya asked.

It took… longer than Novak wanted to acknowledge. He leaned heavily on Yuliya for support as they made their way out of the training room and towards the exit. Vanessa and Willow also took positions to help him outside.

The migraine that had been gnawing at his insides now raged with renewed intensity, a relentless drumbeat of pain that seemed to echo in every fiber of his being.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Novak couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him.

“You’re such a remarkable idiot, you know?” Yuliya asked.

“That’s not fair, you can’t harass me when I just had a seizure…” Novak mumbled, leaning back against the seat, ready to crash at any second.

“Fine, I’ll harass you when we get home.” Yuliya said pointedly, taking Novak’s hand in her own before she started to drive.

#emeto #sickfic #emeto fic #emeto cw #emeto tw #emetophilia #sick novak daskalov #novemetober 2023 #migraine tw #migraine cw #seizure tw #seizure cw #novemetober rescheduled

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cranberrymoons · 1 year ago

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wip wednesday 💖🥰

hello hello!! i was tagged by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation and @eriquin for various wip wednesday things 🙆‍♀️

no pressure tagging @mustlovesteve @theheadlessphilosopher @spoookysix @steventhusiast @imfinereallyy @steddieasitgoes @oh-stars @estrellami-1

i haven't been keeping a very close track of daily word count lately? but i WANT to because i see people's elegant weekly graphs, and i want to make one of my own, so i might need to start tracking that as of... tomorrow?? we'll see

here are the unpublished things i have worked on this week!

chapter 5 of new york groove, which is incoming hopefully by the end of the week

backstreets road trip fic (SWEPT the poll, love you guys, snippet below the cut)

part 2 of the coffee shop au (which! thank you guys, i'm glad you're loving part 1 🫶🏻)

some initial brainstorming for my steddie holiday exchange fic 😇

—

untitled backstreets roadtrip fic, reporting live from somewhere in the middle of somewhere

“Are you sure you actually know where we’re going?”

Eddie looks over at him like he’s crazy for asking, which – does not actually seem fair, considering the fact that they’re literally pulled over on the side of the road in the middle of a wheat field in the double middle of nowhere. He tightens the bandana that’s knotted around his head, keeping his hair out of his eyes, and sinks down to sit in the open back of the van.

“No,” he says. “I obviously don’t know where the fuck we are.”

“Kansas,” Steve says. He rotates the map. “I think.”

“We were in Kansas yesterday,” Eddie huffs.

“Yeah, well –” He squints at the page, then he folds it into a loose square and tosses it back into the van. “It’s a big state. We’re still heading west at least, so generally… the right direction if you still want to make it to Portland by next weekend.”

Eddie looks up at him. He looks exhausted, and Steve smiles, feels something warm and affectionate bloom in his chest. And then Eddie sighs and says,

“Are you sure?” He raises his eyebrows. “In fairness, you thought we crossed the Mississippi River two separate times the other day.”

Steve rolls his eyes. His hands fall to his hips as he stares up at the sky and the sun and clouds overhead.

“I’m sure,” he says. He points. “Sun? West. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so that means that –” He points again. “– is definitely west.”

#wip days #my fic

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gwydionmisha · 2 years ago

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Personal: Another Broken Toe and Assorted Health Things

Just before bed, the night before Disability Inspection, I fell and broke my toe, but saved the plant I was carrying. Squirrel's mostly quarantining in his room for a non-COVID infection and we are both masking up when he has to come out, so I had to mask up to get him and he ended up setting and taping me up on the bathroom floor in his mask to the distress of everyone, but especially the cats, who did not know what was going on but understood it was bad.

It was of course the toe I've snapped in half so it flops about at right angles to my foot three times, the same one that breaks at the drop of a hat. The local hospital gets really angry if you bring in even a right angles toe, but I've had an S Shaped break down in Portland once that took four hours and A Lot of X-Rays to set, so I always bring those types of fractures in despite ER Doctor and Nurse assholery. For a clear break that isn't quite that bad, we put cotton between the toes and tape it up, which is what the hospital would do anyway. I don't think I hairlined the toe next to it. It's pretty borked, but I've broken toes often enough that I'm pretty sure. The bruising on the next two over isn't that bad and I can use them and the big toe to get around pretty well on my crutch, as long as I mostly elevate it between and don't hobble around to much.

The assessment seemed okay, but we can't know until they tell us if they are doing something alarming like taking hours away or the like. Tavy came out after his initial semi-feral scatter and hide response he learned in his home colony as a kitten. She had to ask if he was an adult, because he's just a little guy. I think he'll be seven in July if i haven't lost count. He is a full grown, middle aged, Tiny Terror.

I called to cancel my treatment as I can't be sure I'm not infectious. It's not COVID. Squirrel was professionally tested and our home kits remain negative. It is possible I am sick, but so many things are wrong with me that unless I spike a high fever, start vomiting, or get distinctly different pain than the usual pain, we can't tell, and I am used to shuffling about regardless with infections that lay able bodied people flat because it's not THAT much different. Move even slower. Lie down even more. Someone has to feed cats and fish and if I don't at minimum hydrate myself... Yeah.

Am I logy from three weeks of intense pain and associated low quality sleep? High allergen count and assorted lung stuff? Infection? Who the fuck knows? I don't.

Yes I warned Inspection Lady and tried to talk her into interviewing me outside, but she would not and so I opened a window and put on the best mask I had. Sigh.

Anyway, the receptionist was really distressed. Peacehealth is closing the only Clinic doing that North of Everett that takes Medicare/Medicaid on this stretch od coast. Even if my car could handle a weekly trip down there, I couldn’t not to mention the expense. They all lose their jobs at the end of next month. I wrote a letter to Peacehealth admin, but I don’t have much hope. For Profit Health care is the Worst health care, but here we are.

Hobble Hobble Hobble.

Curse Curse Curse.

#Personal #TMI #Healthcare

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designaday · 1 month ago

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First Snow

We got our first snow of the season this evening. It was snowing as I was driving into Pittsburgh to teach my class, but stopped by the time I got there. As I finished my lecture, a couple of my students pointed out that it had started snowing. They seemed pretty excited. “This is our first snow,” they told me. I cracked a big grin. I love snow, but there’s nothing better than witnessing someone else experience it for the first time.

It took me back to my sophomore year of high school. My marching band had been invited to march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. We spent much of the day before walking around Manhattan. I went to the top of one of the twin towers. I saw Rockefeller Center.

We had to be lined up at 5:00 in the morning. And wouldn’t you know, for the first time in something like twenty years, it snowed the morning of the parade. There was a good five inches on the ground. And it was cold. We had winter uniforms, but we weren’t wearing those. I remember standing on top of the grates where the warm air would occasionally blow up from the subway. We stood there watching our band director chat up Miss America. He claims he went on a date with her after the parade. I’m a drummer, so I didn’t wear gloves. By the time we started the parade, I couldn’t feel my fingers.

I also remember that there was a band there from Hawaii. Rather than fly in to New York, they had bussed all the way across the country, performing places as they went. More than one of their busses had broken down, and so only part of their band had made it. The rest were strewn out across the U.S. Those who were there were extremely excited. It was the first time they had seen snow. I’ll never forget that.

And then there was the year that IxDA’s Interaction conference was held in Seattle: 2019. I understand that Seattle doesn’t actually get much snow. On Wednesday, we started hearing about a big snowstorm that was expected to hit on Friday. That afternoon, I received a notification that might flight home Saturday morning had been canceled just due to the expectation of snow. That was a problem, because my church was going to be celebrating the tenth anniversary of our contemporary service, and there was no way I was going to miss that. My band was counting on me to be there. Alaska Air told me they could get me on a flight Tuesday. Screw that. I booked a flight out of Portland Saturday morning and then reserved a rental car from a place just around the corner from my hotel.

Sure enough, it started snowing Friday. Seattle doesn’t know how to deal with snow, so it just shut down. We were supposed to have our closing party in the Seattle Museum of Pop Culture, but they canceled on us. There we all were, wrapping up the Interaction Awards at the Fisher Pavilion with the snow coming down outside. Kiat Lim, our Regional Coordinator from Korea, was there with his wife taking pictures with a look of awe on his face. He explained that it was the first time they had seen snow. I so enjoyed watching them go outside and play in it.

I was up at the crack of dawn the next morning, dragging my suitcase through maybe three inches of snow to stand at the door of the car rental waiting for them to open. The roads were a little dicey in places, but there was hardly anyone else on them, and I know how to drive in the snow. I made it to Portland, caught my flight, and was in church the next morning.

Gotta love snow!

#IxDA #interaction 19 #conference #education

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maganne-bonete · 2 years ago

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To where I need you

Summary: With only instructions left by her mom, Candy needs Pacifica's help to figure this out after the last time she tried making something in the kitchen

Pairing: Candy x Pacifica | Candifica

Word count: 1,266

“This way! To where I need your help.”

Candy faintly pulls her girlfriend in fake sense of struggle. Her mom already left instructions for her but she feels like too much fate was given to her to not burn the kitchen down. Her mom knows that the only thing she knows how to make other than rice was microwaved food and instant noodles. She wished that her mom could’ve just made them beforehand like the other meals on the fridge so she could just heat it in the oven. But instead, she trusted her with instructions for yachaejeon on a notepad before heading off with her dad for a seminar in Portland.

“Hang on, hang on, let me drop these off first. Besides, where’s my kiss?”

“Ah, right! Sorry.” She gave a quick kiss on the lips and even tried taking one of the boxes from her. “Oh wait, these are pretty heavy! What are in these pies?” she says with a bit of raspiness for exaggeration. They weren’t really that heavy but the weight was surprising for her who doesn’t regularly lift stacks of pies.

“Oh dear, did somebody say pies? I hope they’re Susan’s apple pies!” A voice could be heard from the hallway from the livingroom, it’s Gideon’s.

“Well, where else would it be from Gids? Paz literally works there,” Dipper called back to where Gideon was with a tinge of sarcasm in his tone. He made his way to where the girls were to help them, taking the boxes that Candy took from Paz. “Anyway, you girls should get to those pancakes. Mabel meant it when she said she wouldn’t start a single episode without those and Gid’s is getting cranky from waiting. Wendy’s running out of ideas to distract him.”

“Shouldn’t he have a phone to distract himself with?” Paz sounded like she was rolling her eyes from asking that question.

“He broke his phone in the park earlier. I mean, the stunt was Wendy’s idea and he agreed to it.” Dipper shrugged.

Now making their way near the livingroom. Dipper makes a turn to the rest of their friends to give them the stacks of pies. He waves at her to make a go ahead, while the others make a passing acknowledgement of Paz’s arrival to the house.

Candy, being ahead from them, was already rummaging through the kitchen and fridge. She was following the list her mom left her. Green onions, zucchini, green chili peppers, sweet potatoes?

“Where does she keep the potatoes again?” she mutters to herself. She started shuffling aimlessly around the kitchen. Trying to figure out where is where, she started getting distracted by putting out the bowls and pans from where they were.

“Are these all of it?” she got broken from her train of thoughts by Paz who was putting on her apron. She took it with her when she stopped by the diner. Most of the stuff she uses for her job are typically either at Susan’s place or in the employees’ room at Greasy’s. She couldn’t keep that at her house ‘cause her mom might end up burning them again. Something Priscilla did around the first year of her job.

“Ah, no. I forgot the sweet potatoes. I think they’re over at the back near where the kimchi fridge is.”

“The back?”

“Yeah, where the other root vegetable things are. Or at the pantry where the she keeps the mushrooms and garlic, I’m not sure.”

“Okay then, I think the recipe’s already tripled by the looks of it.” Pacifica took the notepad that Candy was looking through from earlier. “Your mom did knew who were coming over.”

“Yeah, it seems my mom has faith in me to not to destroy this place.”

“Hey, we’re weirdos and maybe a menace to society but we don��t destroy people’s houses you know.” Paz raised an eyebrow looking up from the note, her hands playfully on her hips as if she took actual offense in that.

“Noooo, that’s not what I meant.” Candy puts the pan on the stove and starts turning on the burner. “I just really think my mom trust me too much with the kitchen, especially after what happened last February.” She puts oil on the pan before realizing that they haven’t even cut the vegetables to begin with. She looks at the greens left untouched on the counter then back at her girlfriend.

Pacifica laughs a bit before making it to her to turn the stove off. “Come on, you’re not a disaster or anything.”

“You’ve seen my failed attempt at valentine’s day.” Candy tried making her cookies earlier that year. It ended with her destroying an oven tray with a couple of chard and stone hard cookies. There were a few that were salvageable but Paz still decided to eat all of them anyway even with how bitter and difficult some were.

“Alright, alright, but I would’ve made the same thing like 4 years ago, you know,” Pacifica says as she starts taking the vegetables near to the sink. She took out a colander hanging at a rack and placed all the greens inside. She starts rinsing them thoroughly from the tap before leaving them to dry.

“I know.”

“Hey, I believe in you like you believed in me.” A part of her wants Candy to remember what it was like for them back in those days where she was still the brat who’d bully their friends. But all the same it urks her to even think about her old self. She’s better now, and that’s what she hopes she is.

“You are so dramatic,” Candy laughed. “I guess this is my character arc then.”

“Sure, sure, now help me find where your mom keeps those sweet potatoes. We’d still need to peel them.” Pacifica turns to the back door of the house to look for what they needed.

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, and remember to put this on too.” Pacifica passed Candy an apron hanging by the kitchen door.

“Oh, right.”

The two spent the next hour making the actual thing. It took a while for them to finally have everything ready to hit the pan. Paz was being patient with letting Candy chop the vegetables. She insisted on doing it, wanting to have more things to do on the whole endeavor.

Their impatient friends however were constantly snooping on them on whether they were ready or not, Mabel specially. Mabel was quick to grab the first one done without thinking that it was fresh out of the pan. Paz ended up having to scold her for it and decided that everybody’s banned from the kitchen until they were all done.

When everything was settled, they finally let everybody in to have their own servings. Wendy, Dipper, and Gideon decided to have theirs with a bowl of rice while sprinkling the sauce over their bowl. Mabel and Grenda meanwhile just wanted theirs straight with stacks on their plate. Candy had the sauce put in an easy squeeze bottle to be passed around while they were watching.

They had a good time.

Candy actually enjoyed spending time with Paz that way. It could be clear why her mom decided to leave her with the whole thing instead of all the other pre-cooked stuff she left on the fridge, even with the disaster did left February. Maybe her mom sees something in Paz that’s also good for her? Or is that she just ships them? Either one. She’d be happy to tell her that it was a success with the two of them.

Another thing, if people are wondering about their age and the entire timeline of the events, Pacifica here is 17 since I hc her birthday around February. She started working at Greasy's a couple of months after the show's canon.

A/N: Thank you for reading! This was the first fic I ever published online I hope you all liked it. I typically get very conscious over my writing that I either never finish or never post them. I'm willing to change that in the future starting with this one.

But please give me feed back if there's something that needs to be changed or any criticism at all.

Meanwhile Candy's 15 turning 16 as I hc her birthday's around mid-autumn. They got together around Paz's sophomore year/Candy's freshman year around winter break and have been friends for a long time as the rest of the crew are.

Also it's actually canon that Candy's a year younger than the Pines twins. Fun fact!

So the Pines here, as a point of reference, are supposed to be 16 turning 17 by the end of the summer.

#gravity falls #pacifica northwest #candy chiu #gravity falls fanfiction #candifica #candy x pacifica #gf candy chiu #gf pacifica northwest #you could see the parts where I was struggling #honestly as someone who cooks her own food often I struggled a bit on the 'not knowing how to cook part'#and only relied on my sibling's experiences #idk please take my fic off my hands now #marge can write

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reidsaurora · 3 years ago

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"Falling Into Fate" ~ D. Morgan

GIF by ropoto

Summary: When Y/N offers to be bait for an unsub, she never suspected it would be Derek Morgan who'd end up saving her. She also never suspected that he'd confess his love after doing so.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Fem!BAU!Reader

Word Count: 1,854

Content Warning: mentions of phobias (related to the case), mentions of guns (related to the case), mentions of alcohol consumption

Genre: Angst to Fluff, Colleagues to Lovers

Extra Notes: Y/L/N = your last name ☆☆☆ as i so normally say, this isn't exactly canon to the episode, so please bare with me

Based On: the events of S3 E3 "Scared to Death"

Criminal Minds masterlist can be found here!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"Hey, I've got an idea," I spoke up, though I regretted doing so as soon as I did it.

"OK, shoot," Morgan replied.

"One of us could go undercover and book an appointment for exposure therapy," I suggested.

We were currently investigating a former psychiatrist turned “phobias therapist” who we’d pretty much confirmed to be killing his patients with whatever their worst fear was.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Spencer commented. “The last victim died the same day she met Dr. Howard, which means he’s devolving. He’d probably book your appointment today if you tried scheduling one.”

“Woah, wait a minute. Just because I suggested it, doesn’t mean I wanted to be the one to volunteer.”

“You did suggest it,” Hotch mentioned.

I fake pouted as I asked, “Why me?”

“What? Don’t tell me you’ve got some sort of severe phobia,” Morgan teased.

I looked down at my hands, hoping I’d disappear in that moment. Yes, Derek, I do have some sort of severe phobia.

“Hold on, let me guess!”

“Derek Morgan, never tease a woman who has a gun on her side and one hidden on her ankle.”

“Ah, you’re no fun,” he replied, ruffling his hand through my hair.

“Well then, I guess it’s settled. Y/L/N, you’ll call him and set up an appointment. You’ll have a hidden earpiece so you can signal when you need us,” Hotch said, explaining the new plan.

“Can’t wait,” I sarcastically thought to myself.

☆☆☆

“So, can you tell me a little about yourself, Miss…” he asked, pausing while attempting to find my “name” on his chart, “Allison Curtis?”

“Well, I’m new in town,” I lied.

“How long have you been living in Portland?”

“I just moved in two weeks ago.”

“And what do you like to do for fun?” he questioned, grabbing his notepad from his desk.

“I recently started rock climbing just before I moved. I haven’t gone actual climbing yet, but I’ve been going indoor climbing almost every day since I got here,” I answered.

“Is there any particular reason you haven’t gone outdoor climbing yet?”

“That’s the thing. I love climbing, I love the thrill that it gives me. But I am deathly afraid of falling if I were ever to go outdoor rock climbing.”

This was all true. I went rock climbing every chance I got when I wasn’t working, and I was deathly afraid of falling and of heights.

“So, it sounds like you have a slight form of acrophobia, or the fear of heights,” he said, nodding and scribbling something onto his notepad.

I awkwardly chuckled, “Yep, that’s me to a T.”

“Well, lucky for you, I specialize in something called exposure therapy. I think we could have that fear cured in just one session. Two sessions, tops.”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “How soon do you think we could start this… exposure therapy?”

“If you have the time, we could start it immediately. You’re my last patient of the day,” he answered. “We could do it on the roof since I have all my equipment for acrophobia therapy here with me.”

“Um, sure,” I hesitantly answered, standing up from my seat. “Actually, do you think I could use the bathroom before we start? Nervous stomach,” I apprehensively giggled.

“Of course. Third door on the right,” he said, showing me out of his office.

I speedwalked to the bathroom, grabbing my phone and dialing Morgan’s number.

He answered after just one ring. “‘Sup, scaredy cat?”

“Shut up,” I replied, rolling my eyes despite knowing he couldn't see it.

“What’s the plan?”

“He’s taking me up to the roof as soon as I finish up in the bathroom,” I explained.

“Heights?” he asked. “Really? Your biggest fear is heights?”

“Yes, Derek, it is. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, considering you -”

“Yes, I know. I live on the fifth floor of my apartment complex and I fly practically everywhere. It’s weird, I know.”

He then changed the subject by asking, “Alright, what do you want us to do?”

“Ask Hotch. Tell him where we’re headed. He’ll know what to do.”

“Nope, Little Mama, this was your plan. I think you should lead,” he responded.

“Trust me, Morgan. You'll want Hotch to lead,” I practically begged. “I’m afraid any decision I make right now will be irrational.”

“Alright, girl. See you in a few,” he replied before hanging up.

I stood in the bathroom, practicing some breathing exercises and shaking my hands nervously in an (failed) attempt to calm myself. After a couple minutes of doing so, I walked out into the hallway, being greeted by Dr. Howard, who seemed a little too eager to be leading me to the roof of his practice.

He opened the door, allowing me to walk out first. I attempted to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, looking as far up as possible, so as to not make eye contact with the ground below.

"The key is to look down at the ground for a few seconds before looking back up. Each time you look down, you increase the length of eye contact with the ground."

I exhaled deeply, looking down at the ground for about ten seconds. I looked back up, backing away from the edge.

"It's OK," he reassured me, nudging me back toward the edge of the roof.

I pretended to scratch my ear, but in reality, I was hitting the button on my earpiece to signal to the rest of the team that it was "go time."

Just then, I saw Morgan, Emily, and Hotch walk around the corner of the building, revealing themselves to him.

"Stanley Howard! We need you to let the lady go!" Morgan shouted through the megaphone.

"Why should I?" he asked, inching closer towards me.

"Stan, we're gonna capture you either way!"

"Not gonna happen."

Suddenly, I felt a force against my back. It wasn't until I heard someone yell, "Somebody catch her!" that I realized he'd pushed me. It felt like my life was in slow motion for a moment, like all there was was me and the clouds in the sky.

In the midst of falling, I heard a gunshot, which I presumed was aimed at Stan. I should've known that the bastard would go out in a "blaze of glory".

Just then, I felt some strong arms below me. "How did I even survive that?" I thought to myself.

"Hey, shh, it's OK, sweet girl. I gotchu," Morgan whispered, his words running together.

I looked up at him through worried eyes. I knew I was incapable of speaking from the amount of adrenaline running through my body, so I opted for a thankful smile that I could barely form.

☆☆☆

"You sure you're OK?" Derek asked, refusing to leave the emergency room cubicle I was currently sitting in.

"I'm fine. It's just a sprained wrist, I'm not gonna die," I told him. When I'd landed in his arms, somehow I'd managed to sprain my wrist. Though, I was glad that was the worst of my damage.

"You almost did, though. That's why I'm worried," he replied.

"I'm OK, really. Go, they need you at the station."

"No, they don't. Hotch told me to stay and take care of you."

I gave him a face that said, "Did he really?"

"OK, maybe I volunteered to stay with you because I wanted to make sure you're fine."

"I'm fine! They told me I'd be good to go as soon as I finished up the paperwork. If they ever bring it," I said, my last statement filled with annoyance.

He stood from his seat, an annoyed look on his face as he said, "Uh, no. Hold on a sec."

Just then, he exited the cubicle through the curtain divider.

"Derek!" I whisper-shouted.

"Uh, nurse! Where is Miss Y/L/N's paperwork?! She almost just got killed and you're gonna force her to sit here in a stuffy emergency room?"

I face palmed, not even that surprised by his actions.

He rounded the corner about thirty seconds later, holding a folder in his hand. "Paperwork time."

"Why are you so persistent?" I giggled.

"Just born that way, I guess, baby girl," he answered. "You want me to fill it out for you?"

"Luckily you sprained my non-dominant arm so I can still somewhat function. Thanks anyway, though."

He held his hands up in surrender before sitting down in the chair across from me.

I started filling out my paperwork, though my mind was clouded with thoughts about Derek's behavior throughout the day. Even despite his teasing in the beginning, he'd been caring throughout the whole day.

"Hey, Morgan," I called, looking up from my papers.

"Yeah?" he asked, looking up from the magazine he'd been reading.

"Is there any reason you wanted to volunteer to take care of me?" I asked point blankly.

"You want the truth?"

"Humor me. Tell me the lie first and then the truth," I answered, my voice laced with a chuckle.

"The lie was gonna be that Hotch has been on my case all day because I'm behind on my papers back at work," he chuckled, "Though I guess that isn't technically a lie. But the truth? Because I love you, sweet girl. And I wanna spend as much time with you as I can. Especially because I thought I was gonna lose you today."

The word "love" caught me off guard. Way off guard. Had he always been this obvious or was I just oblivious to his attempts at telling me? For a moment, I wondered, maybe it had just been fate that the arms I landed in belonged to him.

"You love me?"

"Yeah, I do. I wish I could've told you under different circumstances, but it's the truth. I do love you, Y/N."

I smiled, knowing my exact response, something I'd been meaning to tell him for a while. "I love you too, Derek Hank Morgan. And I don't know why it took me so long to say it verbally."

"Well, that means there's only one thing to do, right?"

He stood and walked over to me, leaning down close to my face.

Was he about to -

He leaned in even closer, and I just knew he was about to place his lips on mine.

Until he didn't.

"We should go on a date when we get home," he whispered.

When he leaned back, I raised an eyebrow and scoffed in disbelief. "OK, first of all, no one likes a tease, Derek Morgan."

"Ooh, I like that. It's sexy when you say my whole name," he commented with a smirk.

"Second of all, why wait? I hear there's a great bar on the plane."

And so, our plane ride home was spent sharing some cocktails in the extra room of the jet, only occasionally being interrupted by Hotch or JJ spying on us. Sure, I told him this didn't count as our first date, but I was totally counting it as our first date.

Maybe it had all just been fate after all...

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darlingshane · 2 years ago

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Expensive Delights: Part 4

Julian Kaye x F!Reader

— Read below or at AO3.

Summary: Julian didn’t know how heavily that was weighing inside him. He doesn’t give it much thought nowadays. Hearing you say that, only validates those restless nights in prison that had him wondering if it was his fault or not. He wondered if he should have gone into a different direction after being released, instead of falling into old habits. But he promised himself that it'd be under his own terms this time.

Word Count: 22,3k (7 Chapters)

— Rating: 18+

Warnings!!!! Explicit, Smut, Male Escort, Voyeurism, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Menstrual Sex, Public Sex, Public BJ’s, Mild Anal Play, Attempted Sexual Assault, Mention of Attempted Sexual Assault, Murder, Attempted Murder, Mention of Grooming, Mention of Underage Sex, Mention of Past Abortion, Kidnapping, Sex Club, Trauma, PTSD, Smoking, Guns, Non-Con Touching, Non-Con Drug use, Non-Con Kissing.

A/N: This part came out very dark, angsty, and with a lot of warnings. They're all listed above, make sure to go through those before jumping into it. Julian and Reader go through a lot, so buckle your seatbelt and read with caution. Also, this might contain 2 potential spoilers. I've made up the plot of this part out of tidbits of information about the show, and I'm predicting that at least one of those will happen.

Links: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterpost / AO3

Chapter 1: Exposé

“How well do you know Julian?”

It's a question you've been fearing. It comes out of one of your best friend's mouth. The three of them– Eve, Sasha, and Yvonne sat you down when you went back to Portland to collect the rest of your belongings and sort some things out in your old apartment.

It was official. You were going to move permanently to Los Angeles, and you couldn't afford to keep a lease to a place you barely lived in anymore. So, after finishing your tour on the east side of the country, you went back to Portland.

Before you could attend to any of that, you found yourself in the middle of an intervention that your close-knit group of friends staged. They found out what Julian truly did for a living and ganged up on you, trying to convince you to really think things through before moving away for good.

They explained that someone recognized Julian in one of the photos Von had on the display wall in her studio. It was a former classmate, Claire from high school, who came into her shop. According to this woman that you’ve only talked to twice in your life, she had a friend who worked with Martina Duvall– young billionaire extraordinaire, big LA socialite, and heir to Duvall Cosmetics along with her three sisters. Claire boasted about being invited to Martina’s 25th week-long birthday party in a yacht and the set of boy toys the billionaire had hired for her and her friends’ entertainment. One of them was Julian– Martina's personal favorite.

Not only that, but they went further and searched for anything on him and discovered about his time in prison too from old news clips on the internet.

It’s not the fact that they found out about Jules that's bothering you. Had it been up to you, you would’ve told them the truth a long time ago, but it was never your truth to tell. It was his. And he chose to keep it a secret for this exact same reason.

The judgmental look on their faces, plus the earnest sympathy for you cause they think he had duped you somehow, and the time they put into investigating him, is what truly shocks you. You’ve always had very open-minded friends, but at this moment they’re showing just the opposite.

“He never lied to me,” you have to explain, “I knew who he was from the beginning and I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Okay, so he’s an escort, that’s fine. We can look past that,” says Sasha, “but he’s also a murderer. Doesn’t that worry you?”

“No, cause he isn’t. He was set up.”

“That’s what he told you?” Von scoffs, “are you hearing yourself? He was set up. That’s gotta be one of the oldest excuses in the book, along with my dog ate my homework.”

“That’s the fucking truth,” you mutter, exasperated, with an eye roll.

“We’re just looking out for you, hon. You have a tendency of picking the wrong guys.” Eve words out in a condescending tone, “And right now, you’re about to do something drastic you might regret one day. We’re just asking you to really think it through before it becomes another Logan situation.”

“Fuck you, Evie!” you breathe fire through your mouth and nose at the audacity of her trying to compare this to what happened with your ex, “this is nothing like Logan’s.”

“You haven’t been the same since,” Sasha adds, “and you don’t seem like yourself right now… I mean, you even blew that meeting with that agent I set you with the other day. You’ve never done something like that.”

“Are you serious right now? That meeting was a joke,” you pause, “I didn’t blow it. That agent was a fucking sleaze bag. He got all over me in the first five minutes and wanted me to blow him off. How’s that? Do you think I shoulda stay, huh?” you pause again, and swallow, showing a firm hand, “that’s really unprofessional of you to bring that up in the middle of this, Sasha. This is not the place.”

She stares at you, perplexed, and suddenly her gaze falls to the ground, mumbling her apologies.

“If you guys were truly looking out for me, you would ask about how I feel. You’d listen to what I’m saying cause it’s really not sinking in… I love Jules, and he loves me. He’s nothing like Logan. He’s never lied to me or hurt me. And the only thing I’ll regret one day, is doubting myself and not moving out faster.”

This argument was just the cherry on top after the disastrous trip you’ve had. You were prepared to have some setbacks, but everything went from smooth sailing to dire straits the second you flew to New York and then came back. You didn’t have time to recover from nearly being sexually assaulted when you were forced to sit and listen to all this. You haven’t even told Julian yet cause didn't want to do it via phone.

With a heavy heart, you pack half the stuff you had left here and donate the other half.

You were supposed to stay for another week but as soon as the paperwork is done, and all your things are sorted, you just want to go back to your new home. So, you book the first fly available that you can find.

After handing out the keys and leaving the building for the last time to wait for your cab, Sasha shows up.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“I don’t have much time,” you stand on the stoop, clutching the handle of your suitcase in your fist.

“Look, I'll get straight to the point,” she draws some air and gestures with a hand, “I talked to the agency and told them what that creep Gillespie did to you. They just called me back, apologized, and said that they're still interested in meeting with you. They're sending someone new here if you want.”

“Why are they doing that?”

“What do you mean, why, babe? You're killing it right now. They're not dumb. Just tell me when you're ready, and I schedule it for you. It'll be someone legit this time. I'm making sure of that.”

“Thanks. I uh, I owe you an apology…” you look down for a beat, “you’ve been asking me for months to get off duty and I haven’t listened. It was really easy for me just to work with you, cause I’ve known you forever.”

“No need to apologize. I love working with you, but there are some barriers I can’t cut through like someone who’s an actual agent would… I’ve been winging it, really.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re doing amazing. And whoever they send, they'll never be as good as you.”

“So, we're cool?”

“We're cool.”

“Wait…” she then notices your baggage next to you, “you’re leaving already? I thought you were staying a few more days.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Because of our conversation the other day?”

You nod, “there’s nothing to think through. I already did… for months. It’s not a decision that I made overnight, like Evie said. I love Julian and I know what I’m doing. You don’t have to like it, or him. You just gotta accept it. And if I changed somehow… it wasn’t because of him. He’s not manipulating me in any way… this all just me, finally doing what I always wanted to do.”

“That’s the other thing I came here to say. I’m sorry too… It wasn’t right the way we cornered you like that… or how I brought the meeting up without talking to you first in private, that was only our business. I’ve been thinking about what you said… and even though I can’t help worrying about you… I do trust you, and I accept that you’re doing what it’s best for you. I’ll always have your back a hundred percent.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, keeping tears away from rolling down your cheeks.

“I know you do, you always had… and I’m sorry about the way I reacted. I didn’t wanna keep that from you. I can only tell you that Jules has never fooled me and I’m fully aware of what I’m getting into.”

“So, you really love him?”

“I do,” you sigh, watching the cab pulling up at the end of the street.

“Do you wanna talk about what happened in the meeting?”

“No, not now. Cab’s here.”

“Well, call me then.”

“I will.”

She hesitantly extends an arm in your direction, and you release the handle of your suitcase to give your friend a tight hug before parting.

“Don’t be a stranger, hotshot,” she kisses your cheek and lets you go.

By the time you arrive at Los Angeles it’s already night and Julian picks you up from the airport.

Even though you made up with Sasha, you’re still emotionally drained from everything and barely have anything to say during the ride. He knows about your friends, but you still haven't built up the courage to tell him about what happened in New York, and it keeps gnawing at you.

Back home, you change into comfortable clothes, order some food and sit at the breakfast bar to have your meal.

“Are you mad that they found out about me or what they told you about what happened at the yacht?”

“Neither,” you say, playing with your fork, tidying your thoughts, “it's the way that they chose to share that with me… made me feel like a child who didn't know any better.”

“No matter how you look at it, there's no right way to tell someone something like that.”

“Are you taking their side?”

“No, baby. The only side I'm taking is yours … I'm just playing devil's advocate here. I'd like to have friends who cared about me like that. And if I were in their shoes, I'd worry too about seeing you dating someone like me.”

“You're sweet,” you extend your hand to the side and pet his hair, “I wish they could see this side of you.”

“Just give them time to adjust. They'll come around like Sasha did.”

He's right, sooner or later you'll sit down again with them and probably laugh about the whole thing, but right now it still hurts a little.

“Oh, I forgot to show you something,” he licks his thumb and rises from the bar stool to procure his phone.

On the screen, he shows you a picture of a dog, an adult Siberian Husky, with five newborn-pups curled close to her.

“They’re Bailey’s,” he explains, “you said once you wanted a dog, and she’s given them for adoption. Asked her if she could save one for you if you want.”

You stay silent, staring at the lovely picture.

“You don’t have to decide right now… they gotta stay at least another month or two with their mom.”

“No, I’ve always wanted to have one,” you glance at him, as he lays his phone down on the counter, “I’d love to, but… are you sure we’re ready to have a puppy right now?”

“It's not like we’re having a kid.”

“Still, it is a big step.”

“Bigger than you moving in with me?”

You shake your head, and exhale, “can I think about it?”

“Yeah, take your time, baby.”

After dinner, you fall half-asleep on the couch watching TV while he does the dishes.

“C'mere, sweetheart,” Julian carefully picks you up and transports you to bed.

Curling to your side, you tuck your arms to your chest, as he settles behind you, hugging your body.

He then kisses your ear, having his hand nicely massaging your bare thigh in circles, switching from using his fingers to knead and brush his knuckles afterwards. You try closing your eyes but instead of lulling you to sleep it evokes your mind and body to wake up.

“Hmm, Julian, baby, you're turning me on.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” he scoffs, and nips at your neck just to tease you further.

“It is. I got my period yesterday.”

“You know, I don’t give a fuck about that.”

“I know you don't,” you smile to yourself, sending a hand back to caress his head, “but last time we did, we made a mess out of the sheets. It looked like a crime scene.”

His laugh is printed on your skin before pulling his head back, “you want me to stop? We have all the time in the world, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder to find his eyes, “no, I don't want you to stop.”

His head bows to capture your lips slowly while his hand slips between your legs. You're so sensitive, he doesn't have to press hard to have you bucking against his hand.

When you press your ass back against his crotch, you feel him swelling. You push harder, earning you a groan that vibrates into the kiss.

“Wanna take your cup out, honey?” he purrs, and pecks your lips twice more, sending a shiver down your spine.

How does he even make that sound sexy is unbeknownst to you.

You comply with his wishes and disappear into the bathroom to remove and clean your menstrual cup while he lays a couple of towels on the bed.

Admittedly, no matter how messy it gets, some of the best orgasms you've had were during your period. Especially with him. You've never had a boyfriend who was as ready to go with your flow as Julian is.

Sans clothes now, you climb into bed with him and return to your former position, lying on your side, with your back leaned on his chest.

“This is how you want it, sweetheart?” Jules peppers your neck with kisses, letting his palm mold the bared plane of your curves.

“Yeah,” it comes almost in a half gasp.

Your body temperature seems cooler than your center, and you drape a thin sheet over your body while he adjusts your top leg, so he can penetrate you better.

“Go slow, baby,” you request as he lines up and breaches your entrance smoothly.

“Like this?” His hips sensually wave, slipping in and out gently out of you.

“Yeah… that's perfect, Jules,” your lips part against the pillow, as your top hand clutches to his muscled thigh, following his movements.

His warm breath covers the curve between your neck and shoulder with sweet praises and I love yous, as his hand massages your tender breasts with great care.

Your thighs are quickly coated in a layer of your fluids the more he moves. When you're close, his fingers travel between your legs, blindly finding your clit. He easily tips you over the edge and has you moaning at his name with gentle circles, and the twitching of his cock.

It feels really intense, and somewhat oddly amazing when your walls clench around him.

He carefully slips out, letting the hot mixture of you and him gush down your leg. You feel it at the back of your thigh and reach with your hand to wipe yourself with the towel and roll the fabric around your waist. Mess avoided.

He wipes his fingers and cock and engulfs you in his arms once more.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he coos, kissing your jaw, reiterating, “so damn beautiful.”

You huff a breathless laugh and tilt your head to the side, so you can see and seize his plump lips.

Sighing pleased, you capture his mouth with love, exploring his kiss as you keep melting, and falling deeper for him, if that's even possible anymore.

Chapter 2: Deep Waters

A few days after you've fully settled, things start looking up again… for a millisecond. This hasn’t been your month so far, and no matter how happy you are when you’re with Julian, there are things happening outside the world you’ve made with him that could burst your little bubble of happiness.

Julian is reclined on one of the loungers by the pool in the patio, clad in flowered-trunks, an unbuttoned shirt, and aviators, reading the paper like an old man while you swim laps.

“Hey,” you stop after a few minutes and splash some water on him to claim his attention, “are you gonna come in, or you're just going to sit there looking pretty all morning?”

He snorts, peeking at you behind the newspaper, “you're the one who wanted to swim.”

“Yeah, it feels good. You should try it,” you brace your arms on the edge of the pool and rest for a minute, kicking your legs slowly in the mass of water.

“I prefer watching you.”

“Oh, I see, you don’t wanna mess up your beautiful hair,” you keep messing with him.

His lips turn into a smirk and after a second he sets the paper on the floor, removes his sunglasses, and shrugs off his shirt as he stands up; making you regret your words by the way he playfully looks at you.

You push yourself off the edge and swim backwards, as he elegantly steps into the water by sitting on the edge first, and submerging himself fully before swimming underwater towards your direction.

When he reaches you, he grabs your waist, and pulls himself up, emerging to the surface in front of you.

“What did you say, again?” He breathes out.

Huffing a laugh, you push his hair off his forehead and link your arms around his neck.

“I said that you’re too vain for swimming.”

“Am I now?”

“Uh-hmm. I’m pretty sure you’ve never used the pool until I got here.”

His lips frown downward quickly, amused, as you kiss the bridge of his nose.

“C'mere,” he secures his feet at the bottom, grabs your legs, and tucks them around his hips.

Having his hands holding your ass, he licks his lips and cocks his head to capture your mouth. His tongue delves past your teeth and twirls firmly with yours.

You hum into the kiss, clutching harder to his neck as his bulge bumps with your center.

“Jules,” you mumble, noticing him getting a hard-on behind the fabric.

“What is it, honey?”

“People are going to see us.”

“You're getting shy now? Didn't you give me a handy in a restaurant once?”

“Ugh, don’t say handy like that. And that was different,” you chuckle, “these are our neighbors.”

“You should've thought of that before getting me to swim with you, huh?” he pushes you further back until you're pressed between his body and the wall of the pool.

All of a sudden, the wind is knocked out of you when he fuses his lips with yours, clearly determined and enticed on having you begging for more. Underwater, he presses and rubs himself against you, earning a moan out of you.

His lips then move away to nibble at your neck as one of his hands finds a way to curl beneath your leg and tease at your entrance over the fabric of your swimwear.

“Jules, baby, let's go upstairs,” you gasp, “please.”

“Yeah?” he gives a final lick to your neck and quickly ushers you out of the pool.

You can barely restrain from tearing each other's swimsuits in the elevator. As soon as you're inside the apartment, clothes fly off and with no time to get to the bedroom, he bends you over the back of the couch. He massages your clit with the blunt, hard tip of his cock before sinking into your opening. He frames your hips and slams into you with unbridled passion until you're filled with him.

It's not even noon when you relax on the couch and go at it once more. Slowly this time. Facing him, you drape your leg over his hip and guide his length into you.

Sharing his warmth breath, you nip at his bottom lip, as you rock your hips back and forth, swallowing him whole.

His top arm curls beneath your hip, extending his fingers to drag your juices to your asshole. He smears them around the sweet nerves of your tight orifice with a nice massage.

“You're gonna make me come,” you heavily pant.

“That's the idea,” he grins, pressing a little harder, “how does it feel?”

“Good… so fucking good,” your lips curve up, utterly mesmerized and overtaken by the electricity of his fingers exploring new places of your body.

“Oh God, I love you,” you moan as your walls flutter by surprise around his cock.

“Not as much I love you, sweetheart,” he exhales, removing his fingers off you, having his cock twitching in the middle of your orgasm, coating your walls a second time.

You’re both absolutely spent after that, and after lunch you take a little nap.

That has been the best part of your day so far.

Things roll into a different direction in the afternoon after Eli, Julian’s friend and associate, shows up, bringing Jules’ convertible from the car wash and his dry-cleaning.

“Can’t believe he makes you pick up his clothes too,” you say amused.

“Hey, he pays well.”

“I bet he does.”

You go out for a walk and pick up some groceries while they talk business.

When you come back, Eli is gone and Julian is tensely braced to the kitchen bar, staring at your phone.

“What's wrong?” you ask, leaving the grocery bag on the counter, standing on the other side of the bar, parking your ass on one of the stools.

“Who's Adam Gillespie?”

You swallow, as your stomach suddenly drops, “where did you hear that name?”

He points at your phone, frowning at you, “you left it here… it was blowing up, so I took the call and this guy started yelling like an asshole about getting fired because of you. He said that you were going to regret ever opening your mouth, and threatened to ruin your life for being a… so, I'm asking who's Adam and what the hell is he talking about?”

“I uh, this is not how I wanted to tell you,” you sigh, glancing at your hand as you anxiously scrape the skin of your thumb. “I didn't know he was fired… on my last day in New York I had a meeting with him, and we barely got to talk when he got…he got his hands on me and tried to kiss me…”

“Did he hurt you?”

Your eyes sting, welling up quickly, unable to put a sentence together.

“No… not physically… he said that… you know, the usual… that if I get to my knees and… he'd make sure I'd have a great career… I just… I pushed him off and ran… I told Sasha, and she called his agency, and I guess they weren't happy about it.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I was going to… I wasn't ready yet.”

“Why not? Don’t you trust me?”

“Why are you making this about you? I just told you that I wasn't ready. I was embarrassed, and wanted to forget about it, alright?”

“I thought we weren’t keeping secrets.”

“That’s ironic!” your anxiousness suddenly snaps into anger.

“What does that supposed to mean? I’ve told you everything.”

“You think I don’t know that you’re texting and calling your clients when you’re home? How I’ve been pretending not to notice when you sneak out to smoke?”

“That’s different. That is for work.”

“Well, that was a business meeting for me, so how is it any different? And I've never given you permission to pick up my phone. I don't care if it was on fire, I never told you that you could.”

You stand up and storm towards the bedroom before letting him see you cry. You're not sure which part makes you angrier and sadder. The fact that he didn't react like you expected him to, or that he invaded your privacy like that. He knows about your ex, so he's clearly aware that picking up your phone wasn't the best idea.

You slam the door shut and bury your face in the pillow, wanting to scream your lungs out of your chest.

Julian, on the other hand, feeling like an asshole, stays unmovable from his position; chocked up and annoyed at himself from not handling that better. He was betrayed by his own insecurities that feared you were keeping this from him on purpose before he could process what was done to you. He couldn't even bring himself to yell at that asshole when he picked up the phone.

He’s now stunned by the thought of someone trying to hurt you, and gives himself a timeout to find the right words to say before talking to you again.

A beep goes off from his phone reminding him that he has to leave in an hour, so ready or not, he arms himself with courage and love and cautiously enters the bedroom. He finds you crumpled on your side of the bed, clutching the pillow.

You’re done crying, but you still refuse to look at him when you hear the door closing.

“Sweetheart…” you feel the bed shifting as he sits on the edge.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” it comes out watery out of your throat.

“I won't. I was just going to say that I’m sorry… You’re right. I shouldn’t have picked up your phone or pry that out of you in that manner. I just… I heard him say all those things about you and I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“You thought that I’d lie to you?”

“No, it wasn’t that…” he pauses, “can you look at me, baby?”

You shake your head.

“Then, tell me what to do. I just want you to feel comfortable talking to me about anything.”

“I don’t know… It felt like you were judging me, Jules.”

“I wasn’t, baby. I swear. It’s not an excuse, but this, what you and I have, is very new to me… I've never lived with a partner before, and I have my insecurities too. But I didn't think for a second that you were making it up… you didn't deserve that… and if I could, I'd knock the lights out of that motherfucker right now.”

You sigh, processing his words.

“What are you insecure about?”

“That one day you'd realize that I'm not good enough for you, and see that there are better men suited for you out there. I still wake up every day wondering how I got you… you're everything I've ever wished for and more. And you’re absolutely right, I have my secrets too, and If I screw this up… I don't know what I'd do without you… did I screw up?”

“No, you didn't screw up. You just saved yourself,” you finally glance over your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you swallow the knot in your gullet and tentatively reach with your hand.

“Can I touch you now?”

You nod, and he picks your hand, lifting it up to his lips to kiss your knuckles.

“What secrets are you keeping from me?” You wonder, and sit up, crossing your legs.

“There’s…” his voice wavers, “there’s something that I never told you about how I started, how I became an escort.”

“You said Anne introduced you to that world.”

“She did.” He pauses and exhales, “I don’t want you to think less of me if I tell you this.”

“Jules, I'm not gonna, I promise.”

“Okay,” he clears his throat and after a moment of gathering his thoughts he confides in you that he was groomed by Anne when he was only 16. She was 30, and he didn’t know how inappropriate that was, or had any notion of what grooming meant at the time. Being with an older woman was something he and his friends had been fantasizing about since they hit puberty, and he never thought twice of saying no to her offer. He used to clean her pool and care for her garden and plants, and one day she asked him if he wanted to make some extra money. That little extra took him to her bedroom, where she took the top of her bikini and asked him to give her a massage. The first few times, it was just that. Then, it quickly escalated, and eventually she became the first woman he ever had sex with, and the first who ever paid him for it. He was caught in her net and fell for it, completely. She taught him everything he knew, dressed him, and lavished him. But it wasn’t until he was 18 that she’d introduce him into the world, where she set him up with his second client right before he went to college. She even paid for half of that too to keep him close, he believes. And no matter if he did enjoy the experience, there’s no doubt in him that, as a grown ass man, he’d never do something like that to someone that age. It’s unthinkable to him. He got a few moments of clarity in prison, that was one of them. It was really fucked up, and kept him up at night for months.

You listen to it all, perplexed, and absolutely appalled at her behavior as he finishes telling the story…

“Sex and money were the same to me, she taught me that, and at some point I couldn’t have one without the other. Not until Michelle, and then… you. You both showed me what real love feels like, and that broke that idea that was implanted in me at a very young age. I guess finding out about Adam triggered something…”

You inhale sharply, having a huge knot building up in your throat.

“Please say something,” he pleads under his breath.

“I love you,” you say, plain and honest, extending your hand to caress his neck, “I’d never think less of you for that, Jules. It wasn’t your fault to be abused, the same way it wasn’t mine either. Nobody should be subjected to something like that.”

“But I couldn’t say no like you did.”

“Babe, you were a kid. We’re told that grown-ups know better since birth, and it isn’t until we’re old that we realized that half of them are fucked up. I saw how tense you were at the restaurant in Santa Barbara when we saw her; and the way she talked to you and called you Julie… it makes me sick to know that she used you like that and have the nerve to think that you'd even entertain the idea of working for her again.”

Julian didn’t know how heavily that was weighing inside him. He doesn’t give it much thought nowadays. Hearing you say that, only validates those restless nights in prison that had him wondering if it was his fault or not. He wondered if he should have gone into a different direction after being released, instead of falling into old habits. But he promised himself that it'd be under his own terms this time. To be honest, he doesn't believe he's that good at doing anything else, and likes both, money and sex, too much to give that up. He's living up to his promise, however. His work doesn't come first as it used to. His life with you is the most important thing to him, and given the chance, he'd go broke before letting go of you.

“Do you have any more secrets?” You ask, “maybe not as big as that one… if you do, I want you to feel comfortable talking to me too, y'know?”

“That was it. The things I do for work, they're not really a secret, baby. But I gotta keep those for your sake and their privacy. You have to understand that.”

“I do understand. I wasn't asking about work.”

He makes an effort to dive deep into his thoughts and shakes his head, “I got nothing else, then. Now you know everything about me. Is there anything you wanna tell me about?”

“Well… I guess it's only fair to tell you that I did something too when I was young that I never told anyone, not even my friends or my family.”

“What was it?”

“It wasn't anything bad. It was something very heavy and personal.” You grant yourself a couple of beats before uttering those words for the first time since it happened. It's odd to hear them out of your mouth, like it didn't happen to you, “I got pregnant when I was in college and I couldn't… I had an abortion as soon as I could. It really messed me out for a while. Though, I was positive that I'd never have kids, there were a few weeks when I felt like I'd done something really, really wrong.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No, not all,” you quickly emphasize, “I've never wondered what if. I know it was the right choice.”

“Were you alone?”

“No, I had a boyfriend.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh, he was very supportive. I was really nervous to tell him, but he stepped up and said he'd have my back no matter what I chose. He was with me every step of the way, and took care of me when I felt like a mess… I mean, It was as much his fault as it was mine. We were caught up in that haze of being so smitten with the other at the beginning that we ran out of condoms a couple of times and we both just said– fuck it,” you flicker a nervous smile.

“He sounds like a keeper. What happened to him?”

“Caught him cheating on me a year after that. Think he got another girl pregnant too… someone told me right before graduation.”

“Not a keeper, then.”

“Nope.” You smack your lips comically as the beeping of his phone goes off, “do you really have to go?”

“Yeah, it's one of my regulars. Why?”

“I just wanna keep talking to you like this,” you sit on your knees, link your arms around his neck, and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I want that, too, sweetheart,” he palms your back. “It'll be only a few hours. Want me to wake you when I come back?”

You slide your palm around his head, having your fingers caught massaging his earlobe sweetly, “Yeah, I'd like that.”

That conversation feels like the most taxing thing you've done in a while. But it's gratifying to be open like that with him. You don't like keeping secrets, but there are still parts of you that you hold to yourself because you're often afraid of being judged. And so does he. You could tell he was apprehensive of sharing that with you.

After composing yourself, you work on your computer while Julian gets ready for work.

He kisses you goodbye, and you spend another hour finishing an article for a magazine you occasionally write for.

When you’re done, you decide to go for another swim. It relaxes you. You’ve been doing it every other day before going to bed, and it works like a charm. Especially when it’s this hot.

Mrs. Rosenbaum from 4C had the same idea as you, and you chat some with her before she goes back up to have dinner with her husband.

It’s already dark, and after several laps you catch your breath at the end of the pool where you can stand, listening to the music blasting from a car parked on the other side of the wall.

You swim two more laps, and when your head emerges from the surface at the deeper end, it's suddenly pressed down back underwater by an unwavering hand, or two, you assume by the force that's put into it. It grips at your hair, which makes it impossible for you to swim away.

You can still hear the music muffled underneath as you gasp for air, try to yell, kick your feet in the water as hard as you can.

There’s a distorted shadow on the surface of the water when you manage to look up once. You fight it and fight it, growing weak by the second until the little breath you have left is replaced by water and everything goes black…

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

There’s a pressure on your diaphragm when your eyes open again, like a jolt, you start coughing up water violently. The burning that spreads through your lungs doesn’t ease up until you’ve expelled the tiniest drop that was clinging to your air passage. It leaves your chest hurting terribly bad.

Then, you notice someone talking to you, but you’re not sure who they are or what they are saying. They roll you to your side, soothing your back gently. You can only shiver and meltdown, unaware if this is a nightmare or if someone just tried to drown you for real.

You hear sirens, and suddenly you’re being moved again and checked out by the paramedics, you recognize, before they stretcher you into an ambulance.

After missing four calls from the lobby of the apartment building, Julian finally picks up the phone after stepping out of the shower. His heart almost shatters in his chest, hearing the night concierge giving him the news that one of the neighbors saw a man trying to drown you just minutes ago and that you were just taken to the hospital.

He doesn’t think twice. He quickly collects his car keys and hops into the convertible to drive back to Los Angeles. He’s an hour away and calls Eli to go check on you in the meantime.

With a steady lead foot on the pedal, he doesn’t stop until he’s at the hospital where they’ve taken you.

There are two officers that just took your statement who are heading out, and tell him what they know so far…

According to Robert, key witness and neighbor from apartment 2B– he saw a man holding you underwater from his window and ran down to your rescue. He alerted the concierge at the front desk, who called the police. By the time Robert got downstairs and out to the pool, the man had dragged your body out of the pool and was taking a picture of your almost lifeless body, stretched on the hard surface. The attacker was fully dressed in black, with gloves and balaclava masking his identity, and quickly climbed out the wall before they could get to him.

Your rescuers performed CPR on you, saving your life in a matter of minutes. They said you weren’t out for longer than two. Everything happened so fast, they couldn’t even tell.

It’s a relief to hear that at the end, but you’re still understandably shaken, and terrified.

Eli and his girlfriend haven’t left your side for the past hour, that has felt like a year. And when Julian comes into the room, you burst into tears.

He holds your hand, and you see his eyes become glossy under the fluorescent light.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gruffly, gently wiping the tears off your cheek with his free hand. You can’t bring your mouth to say anything, so you just lean on his touch, and hold tightly to his hand.

Your friends quietly step out, giving you two a moment.

You pull his hand, and he settles next to you in the bed, cuddling you.

“I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You didn’t know,” you finally say, chocked up, “it could have happened anyway.”

“Still, I should’ve been with you…”

“You’re here now.”

He kisses your temple, feeling useless on how to comfort you better. The truth is that just him being here, holding you, makes you feel already safe.

Chapter 3: Kafkaesque

There are a lot of sayings about hope… right now, you only feel dread and despair making themselves at home in your chest. There are no feathers, or birds singing for you, only a shadow that shoves all promises and dreams deep into that pool along with you.

You can still taste the chlorine in your mouth when you wake up in the hospital bed. They kept you for the night to observe how your lungs and vitals responded before discharging you in the morning.

You dress up in clothes that aren’t yours, cause the only thing you had on when they brought you in was your swimsuit. It’s such a minuscule thing to care about; and when they hand you that piece of clothing in a hospital bag, you ask Julian to throw it away. That is a reminder you don’t want to hold on to.

When you arrive at the apartment building, you take the elevator straight up to the 8th floor to avoid bumping into anyone altogether. You don’t have much luck, though. When the doors open, there’s a determined woman poking around the hallway, waiting for you. A woman that seems to know Julian already.

“Mr. Kaye.”

“Detective Sunday.”

She then takes a good look at you, and her stoic expression grows more puzzled the longer she stares at you.

After a moment, she apologizes and introduces herself to you, badge and everything, telling you that she's been assigned to your case, and she'd like to talk to you.

“Now is not a good time,” Julian responds for you, keeping you close with one arm around you, as you make your way to the door.

“We can do this here or at the station. Whatever you prefer, ma’am.”

“It's okay, I'll do it,” you nod at Julian.

You'd rather not do this at all, but you wanna see that the person who did this to you is brought to justice.

Your boyfriend opens the door and gives the open space a glance-over before letting you in. He shows the detective to the dining table, where you can settle and talk. He brings you a soda and gets the coffee machine going, listening to you recount what you remember from last night.

Detective Sunday then explains that your file landed on her desk because she's been investigating a series of murders where women are being drowned. Her theory was very far-fetched when she drove here, but after meeting you, she's absolutely certain your attacker is the same who killed those women.

What surprised her a minute ago is the uncanny resemblance you share with the other victims.

Your throat tightly knots as she lays down on the table the pictures, showing the four women in just regular snapshots of their life before they were murdered.

“Do you recognize any of them?”

You shake your head, unable to pull your eyes away from the photos. You can see parts of yourself in these women. They all have a similar complexion to yours, same eye and hair color, features close enough in proportion; and all are roughly the same age.

“What does it mean?”

“We don’t know yet?”

“But you have a theory?”

“My best guess is that someone is infatuated with you.”

What leads the detective to that conclusion is that he not only let you live, but the attacker slightly changed his MO. The other women were drugged prior to being murdered. It’s almost ritualistic, she explains. They were first injected with the drug, then they were drowned and placed somewhere nearby outside the water in a very specific position.

According to your blood work from mere hours ago, you weren’t administered a sedative like they had. He wanted you to feel it for whatever twisted reason he made up in his mind.

There’s also the other factor that got her here– your tattoo. The officer who took your statement at the hospital saw it printed on your skin and made a note about it on his report.

“Can you show me your arm?”

You lift your arm to let her see the dragonfly inked near your wrist, on the outer side of your forearm.

She proceeds to take a picture of it and question you when you got it and if it has any special meaning to you.

“I got it when I was 18. It was something my friend sketched that I liked,” you shrug and take a sip of your soda, “what does it have to do with all this?”

“Well, we've kept it under wraps, but the four women had the same tattoo temporarily placed on their arms.” She opens the folder placed between her elbows, “I'm going to show you another picture, and you tell me if it's the same or not.”

You nod, and she slides a photo across the table that shows a close up of an arm where you can clearly see the tattoo is basically a copy of yours.

Julian joins you at the table, placing a mug with coffee for the detective, and sits down on the chair next to yours.

“Why me?” You swallow and shift uncomfortably on your seat, glancing at their photos, “why them?”

“I'm not sure yet,” Sunday pauses to taste her coffee. “How long have you two been together?”

You look at the other and respond to a series of questions about your relationship.

“Do you have any enemies? A disgruntled ex-boyfriend, maybe?” she asks next, and you look at Julian.

“Tell her,” he utters, placing a gentle palm on your lower back.

Sighing, you proceed to tell her about your ex, Logan Palmer, and that psycho that called yesterday to say he was going to ruin your life. You doubt Adam Gillespie has anything to do with this, but the detective takes note of everything.

“When did you last see your ex?”

“Three years ago.”

“And you didn’t extend that initial restraining order?”

“No. Last I heard, he went back to Canada, and I didn’t think he’d be a problem anymore.”

“I’ll look into it. What about you, Mr. Kaye, did you make any enemies in prison?”

His lips frown downwards, “No. I kept my head down.”

The detective stays silent for a long moment, going through her papers.

“Why did he take a picture of me?” your voice trembles when you ask that out loud.

Julian’s hand soothes up and down your back.

“We don’t know yet. All women were found in a very specific position, like he was staging a photo, or a painting… and for your neighbor's statement, you were placed just like that.”

“Were they raped?” you question right after that.

Sunday shakes her head, “nothing indicated in the examination that they were forced into having sex.”

“But they could have.”

“For what the records show, they didn't suffer. They were treated gently; worshiped almost,” she says in the same stern, monotone voice.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” your voice breaks, “a psychopath held me underwater until I couldn’t breathe. That didn’t feel gentle… It was more violent than you can imagine.”

“No, you're right. I can't imagine. I'm sorry, ma'am,” you see the calculating woman hesitate for the first time.

You look to the side, swallowing a sob, wiping the tears sliding down your face.

“What now, Detective?” Asks Julian.

“She's our only lead right now. I'm going to put a detail on her until we get more information.”

“What about the security cameras?”

“My officers are on it right now, but this guy is highly skilled. He's managed to trespass any security system he's encountered, and there's no trace of him anywhere.”

“Have you checked into that? Maybe he's some sort of… hacker.”

“We're looking into every angle, Kaye,” she tucks everything back into her folder, “if you don't have any more questions or information, we're done for now.”

“Software engineering,” you mumble, without looking at her, “Logan. That's what he does. I'm not sure if that…”

“Got it,” the detective notes that, before reminding you lastly, “It goes without saying that what you just heard is all confidential.”

She leaves a card on the table with her contact information, and Julian shows her to the door.

You walk up to the balcony to see the patio far down below, where maintenance is cleaning the pool like nothing ever happened.

After the door is closed, Julian calls your name softly, and you turn your head to the side.

“You have to call Sasha,” he tells you.

“I uh… I’ll do it later.”

“Babe… you can’t put it off. It’s better if they hear it from you and not the press.”

“Why would the press say anything?

“This is LA, sweetheart. Everyone wants their pound of flesh. As soon as they find out, they’ll be lining up outside… I know it’s one hell of a thing to tell anybody, but your friends need to know.”

You gulp the knot in your throat and pick up your phone with much apprehension and call your friend Sasha.

Julian was right. Hours after you got home, news broke, and reporters started showing up at the doors of the building.

A week later, there are still a few showing up daily waiting for you to come out.

Given that you were the only one who survived out of the five, there’s been a lot of speculation in the news about you. You've kept the TV off, but according to Sasha, they’ve dissected any piece of your life they could find on the internet. Your online print has slowly grown in the past few months, so there’s a lot to dig into. Luckily, most of it is about your work, there are only a few real tidbits of yourself out in the open. Still, you have no interest in whatever the so-called experts in those crime shows have to say about you. And you cross your fingers, hoping this doesn’t splash or reflect badly on your friends or Julian. You’d hate to be the cause this interferes with their lives.

The phone hasn’t stopped ringing, either, to the point you had to shut it off for hours at a time.

It’s not something you're proud of at this moment, but after your identity was revealed, the book sales went off the charts, and suddenly everyone wants a piece of it. Because pain sells, you've been approached by more than one publisher that has offered insane amounts of money for a deal. It'd be great if any of them hadn't come with the pesky condition that in exchange you'd have to write an all-tell book about what happened to you. It might be naive and crazy to pass up an opportunity like that, but as tempting as it is, you don’t wanna cash in your trauma. It’s hard just to live with it as it is, and you’d never be comfortable selling that part of you.

On the other end, you got yourself caught researching the other victims, trying to find a link with them other than the obvious resemblance. Just a click away from your fingertips, you can easily find each of their names, their hobbies, where they lived, what they did for a living… It only serves to unsettle you even further.

You blame yourself for their deaths. Especially after that specific piece of information you got from Sunday. They were marked with the same dragonfly you have on your arm, as if someone was trying to make a copy out of you. For what purpose? You’re not sure. Maybe they’re just infatuated with you, like the detective said. Or perhaps they have a festering grudge towards you, and they’re trying to scare you.

Your mind unravels with all the information you get your hands into. If you had trouble sleeping, this just serves to fuel your restless state.

How does someone bounce from something like that unscathed? You’ll probably need some help along the way. This has brought all the weakness to the surface you’ve worked so hard to push through, and they all paralyze you at once. It’s actually ridiculous, you can’t even take a bath without thinking of someone pushing your head underwater. You can’t sleep for more than an hour or two before reliving that in your dreams.

Detective Sunday calls a couple of times to give some information after digging into your former boyfriend; and Adam Gillespie. The latter has airtight alibis for each of the murders, and the night you were attacked. Logan, however, seems to be missing. He was in Ontario for a couple of years, but his current girlfriend, and mother to his one-year-old baby, reported his disappearance five months ago. It's really concerning given that's about the time when they found the first victim.

You haven’t left the apartment in 10 long days, though you had gone up to the rooftop, mostly at night with Julian, just to get some air and see the stars. He hasn’t left your side, either, other than to go pick up grocery deliveries and care packages your friends have sent. If something good has come up from this is that you’ve settled your disagreements with Von and Eve, and that’s been a huge help to get through this while the investigation is ongoing.

Julian has been incredibly patient and has put all his energy on making you feel comfortable that you feel that he’s put his life on hold for you, unconditionally. So, on the 11th day of your seclusion, you make an effort to get out of bed before he wakes up and prepare breakfast for him.

He's half awake when you carry the tray to the bedroom. His body stirs up at the smell, and turns to the side, and his mouth lovingly quirks up at the corners.

“Good morning, baby,” you whisper.

“Morning, honey,” he sits up against the headboard, and you place the tray on the mattress, so it’s hovering over his lap, “is this for me?”

Nodding, you lean closer and smooch his lips.

“Hmm, love some sugar in the morning,” she says gruffly, tracing your jaw with his fingers as you pull your head back. “Are we celebrating anything special?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Hm-huh,” you kneel by his side, let out a sight before rambling, “I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of me. You’ve gone up and beyond to make me feel safe, and I’ve been nothing but useless…”

“Babe-”

“No, let me finish, please… I’ve always been very independent, and now I feel like I can’t function if you’re not here, and it’s not fair to you or me… I know I’m going to be fine eventually. I just wish I could leap to the end. I hate feeling this scared all the time…”

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he opens an inviting arm, and you curl against his side as he presses his lips to your temple, “you don’t have to thank me. I’d do anything for you.”

“I wish we could just go somewhere and forget about this.” You contemplate, pillowing your head on his shoulder, having your fingers playing with his gold necklace.

“Yeah? Where do you wanna go, baby?”

“I don’t know… somewhere we can drink cocktails by the beach.”

“Hmm, I know exactly the place,” he picks up a piece of toast from the tray and starts devouring his breakfast with his free hand, “I’ll take you there for our anniversary.”

You smile to yourself and relax in his embrace while he finishes his food. You end up falling asleep. He rolls you carefully to the side and leaves you resting for a while.

A few minutes after starting his workout, he receives a message from Eli, who's telling him to turn on the news.

When he does, he’s absolutely dumbstruck by listening to the reported death of another woman in the same fashion as the other four. This one in particular, he knows personally. It’s his highest profile client to date– Martina Duvall. He was present during the extravagant celebration of her 25th birthday that lasted a week, and three other separate occasions she’d hired him.

Julian sits on the couch and watches Detective Sunday make a statement, announcing that she was found in her yacht, and confirming that it is the same MO.

One thing that puzzles him is that Martina doesn’t look anything like you. One would believe that it might be a copycat taking advantage of the open case to pin this on The Baptist– the name the media has chosen for the perpetrator. But Sunday herself wouldn't have made that official statement if she had any doubts. He trusts the detective surprisingly. Even if she was who arrested him in the first place 16 years ago.

His level of trust only reaches so far, and after turning off the TV, he texts Eli to come by. He needs to place a special order for something, a gun, and doesn't wanna ask over the phone.

He's not sure how deep this goes, but one thing he's certain is that he's going to do everything in his hand to protect you. If the killer has the intention of coming back here to finish the job, he's not going to get caught empty-handed.

It might not be the best idea, but he can't come up with anything better at this moment.

Julian looks out the balcony to see that the three reporters that were out in the street yesterday have multiplied again into 30 after Martina.

Then, he catches Detective Sunday making her way into the building, ignoring the questioning of the vicious attack of the press surrounding her.

Julian checks that you're still asleep and closes the bedroom door before having Sunday back in the living space.

She's not here for you this time, though. Her objective is questioning Julian after learning about his odd affiliation with Martina Duvall. She had him listed as her driver.

The detective confirms that Martina had the same drug in her system as the others, and the key temporary dragonfly tattoo placed on her arm. Those two clues haven't been made public, so certainly she can tell it is the same killer and not a copycat.

Sunday's theory veers into a different direction, however. She's not completely convinced someone is infatuated with you anymore. But without discarding that possibility, she plays with the idea of someone targeting you because of Julian.

There are a few other coincidences she’s discovered that have her believing someone wants to hurt Julian by going after you. The main reason being that a couple of hours ago, she found out that Martina was about to get married to someone twice her age. Nobody knew about it, except for her family and closest friends.

The man she was engaged to is about to make an appearance on TV, offering a 20k reward to whoever points them in the right direction of the killer.

His name is Richard Stratton, tech mogul and philanthropist, who was once married to Julian's old sweetheart, Michelle Stratton.

Julian told you about her a long time ago. They had an affair before he went to prison.

She visited him a handful of times at the beginning but after a few weeks, she moved to England, where his husband was expanding his business. From then on she'd sent letters that stopped after a while too. Much to his surprise, he received one 5 years ago when he was still in prison, where she explained that she had a kid and apologized for not staying in touch. He tried to reach back, but his letters were always returned. He figured she gave him a fake address, so her husband wouldn’t find out.

Like every flame, that one faded eventually. And Julian understood why she had to move on. They were nothing at all to begin with. He wasn't expecting her to wait for him those 15 years he spent locked up. It'd have been crazy if she had.

Not as crazy as discovering she died six months ago right here in Los Angeles in her house on The Hills. He saw her picture on the papers. Being married to Stratton took her to the front pages, but according to those, they were already divorced by the time of her death. Someone suspected foul play, and Stratton was investigated, but his alibi cleared him from suspicion.

They never said how she died, and Julian would’ve never imagined that today he’d find out she was found in her pool. She had hit her head on the edge and drowned for lack of assistance.

It was ultimately ruled an accident, but Sunday is not discarding any possibility right now.

If her new angle is correct, you might be in danger because of him, and he can’t have that.

Chapter 4: Between Two Lungs

You feel trapped in these four walls. They're like a cage. You could go outside if you wanted to. Nobody is stopping you; only yourself. You’re still too scared to do something as simple as taking a stroll or go swimming like you used to. You doubt you ever will again, at least not on your own. That’s how deep fear has reached you.

You’re holding your breath for this to be over, and you pray internally that it happens soon, so you can move on, start again, and do normal things you used to do instead of being obsessed 24/7 with the case. Every new piece of information just makes the puzzle more complicated. And after finding out about Martina and Stratton, you’re not sure what to believe anymore.

This evening, you shift gears and decide to have a little dinner date. An official one with candles, music, and wine.

You put on a simple wrap dress in your favorite color, and it helps to bring your old self back a little. It’s such a shallow thing to worry about, but you feel like you’ve been slowly disappearing into all those hours when you couldn’t get out of bed.

Julian reaches out from behind and loops the necklace he gave you for your birthday around your neck and clasps it at the back. It has a little half moon pendant that you touch for a moment, as his lips meet the curve of your neck.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he hums, and kisses the other side of your neck.

“Thanks, handsome,” you turn around to see him clad in jeans, and a black t-shirt that hugs his chest and biceps tightly. You smooth your hand on his arm, as you lean to capture his lips.

You have a lovely evening and enjoy a homemade meal you cooked earlier together for a change. You've been relying mostly on takeout for days now, and it feels nice to eat something you've prepared and has turned out to be good.

After dinner, with your hands clinging to his neck, you swing slowly to the music in the middle of the living room without shoes. His palms frame your hips, as his forehead touches yours.

His heart feels heavier than ever at this hour. You can feel it in the way he exhales and suddenly stops moving.

“I have to tell you something,” his voice comes lower than a whisper.

“What?” you scratch his nape softly.

“I uh… I bought a gun. Eli brought it this morning while you were sleeping.”

Letting the silence fill the room for a long moment, you close your eyes and process it.

“Why?” you simply protest, even though you know the answer to that.

“You know why.”

“Jules… I don't want you to get into trouble.”

“I won't. It's just a precaution.”

You inhale sharply, sliding your palms across his chest.

“Say something, sweetheart.”

“I just… I think you should give it back. I don't feel comfortable with it in the house.” While you can appreciate him wanting to protect you, you're not sure that this is the best way.

“It's locked in the safe. If everything goes right, it'll stay there.”

Taking a step back, and pulling away from his touch, you turn around and start clearing the table.

“What did I say?”

“Nothing. You're just not listening to me,” you go around the breakfast bar and put the plates in the sink.

“I’m listening… You want me to get rid of it and I can’t. It’s my job to protect you, and I’m simply not going to be caught off guard if anyone decides to come back and finish the job.” He braces his hands on the edge of the bar, watching you violently scrub the plates.

“That is not your job, Julian,” you counter, annoyed, “that’s what the police outside are for.”

“It’s just a gun. What is it really that you’re worried about?”

“It’s not just a gun. I’m worried…” you pause, take a deep breath, and turn off the faucet, “I’m worried that you’re going to get yourself hurt for me. All eyes are on us now… I hate it, but as long as they’re watching, nobody is going to try anything again… now tell me why you need to have it so badly.”

“I don’t need it. It’s just an extra measure,” he expresses, giving you only half the truth behind that choice of purchasing a weapon.

“Alright, don’t tell me,” you quickly dry your hands in a kitchen towel, and walk past him, heading towards the bedroom.

He swallows his pride and after a moment he trails behind you.

“Look, what do you want me to say? That I’m scared?”

“I want you to tell me the truth, Julian,” you respond quickly, having your voice wavering in your throat, “I know you’re as terrified as I am, but you’re playing with fire. The last thing we need right now is you getting caught with a gun.”

“Look, you’re right. I am terrified, but not for the reasons you think…” his head bows, taking a step forwards, so he can have you closer. He holds your face in his hands, meeting your gaze, as he utters, “I’m terrified cause I know this is my fault-”

“It isn’t,” you interrupt.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, sweetheart. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you got that?” he exhales, stating with passion, “nobody is going to put a hand on you again. So help me God… I don’t give a shit if I end up rotting in prison, as long as you’re safe. That's all that matters. Can you accept that? ”

“No, I can’t accept that,” your eyes well up, “I won’t have you doing anything stupid for me.”

“Well… what are you gonna do about that? How are you going to stop me?”

A tidal surge of mixed emotions makes your heart race between love and fright. It pushes you to lean and capture his lips to shut his mouth.

You anchor your hands to his sides as he lends you his breath and warmth. You feel it pass from his lungs to yours as the kiss grows more heated.

The pain ebbs at the edge of his kiss, and everything else fades as his tongue moves past your teeth.

“Hmm, touch me,” you urge, grabbing his hands and guiding them from your face to your hips.

He presses you against the wall, as his lips shift from sweet to vicious. He sucks your lip into his mouth, at the same time his hands blindly undo the strings holding your dress together and slip beneath the fabric to meet your skin. He smooths the plane of your body and grips at your ass, pushing his hips against yours.

As you circle your arms around his neck and find his tongue again, he molds your skin with desire, awakening your sex drive from slumber.

He hums and pulls away from your kiss, bringing his hands to remove your dress off you. Pushing it over your shoulders, it falls at your feet along with his gaze that scans your body, stripped to only your pair of panties now.

You shiver as his knuckles softly draw the curve of your breast, “so damn beautiful.”

He licks his lips, as one of his hands slide up to frame your chin, pressing your head carefully against the wall. His deep brown stare captures the gloss in your eyes, watching you gasp as his other hand slides under the elastic of your panties to massage your pussy.

“There’s my girl,” he purrs, collecting your arousal around his fingers.

You half-smile and trap your bottom lip under your teeth, holding for dear life to his neck, while he circles your clit with great skill.

His head bows to nip at your neck and capture your moans right from your throat when he presses a little harder.

His lips slide, descending from that point and down your body, stopping to kiss and lick your nipples before letting his tongue leave a wet trail to your navel. You can tell what his intentions are as he subtly gets down on one knee and pulls your underwear down.

Your breath catches as he glances at you with nothing but hunger for a beat before delving between your legs. He lifts one of your thighs over his shoulder, and blows some air on your slicked folds before tasting you.

You can't help but moan and grip at his hair as the wild swirl of his tongue touches every inch of your vulva before sucking your clit. It sends a shiver down your spine, and makes your back arch, pushing your center against his avid mouth.

His hands keep your jerking hips in place as he quickly drives you to ecstasy. The orgasm overcomes your body by surprise, and if he wasn't holding you, you'd totally fall on your face.

Julian gets to his feet without letting go of you. You link your arms around his neck, and he picks you up, bridal style, and carries you to bed.

As he lays your body down, you pull at the hem of his tee, and he takes it off. You extend your hands and undo his jeans before having Jules crawling on top of you. He pulls his bottom layers down, nestles between your legs, and you hug his torso as he tenderly brushes his plump lips over yours.

You're still very sensitive, but you tuck your hand in the small space between your body and his, grab his semi-hard length, and pump him leisurely until he’s fully grown. A pleasured hum falls from his lips as you guide him into your opening.

He catches you trembling as he slowly pushes into you.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Hmm, yeah,” you assure, palming the length of his back.

He pecks your lips, as you curl your legs around his hips. Then buries his face in the crook of your neck, fucking you ever so delicately, making you melt around him the longer he drags it out.

As much as you love having him inside you like this, in the middle of it you lose your focus and the pressing need for orgasm wanes out of the blue before even getting to that sweet edge.

He grunts and breathes against your skin, urging you to come with him, but you can't. You're too far away to bring yourself to orgasm again. Must be a first. It makes you anxious, cause he puts all his effort into it, and you can't even reciprocate when he spills inside you.

His breath steams the skin on your collar bones, and he stays there for a moment until he can speak again.

Clearing his throat, he props himself on one elbow, slips out of you, and reaches with his opposite hand to finish you off. He starts rubbing your folds, but you don’t let him finish.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, grabbing his hand and setting it aside

“You don’t want me to?” his brow creases. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, Jules. I… can you just hold me?” you let out a tired sigh.

He nods, and you shift together, turning to the side, so he can spoon you.

“It felt really good at the beginning,” you reassure after a moment, smoothing your hand on his forearm.

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to try again?” He insists, having his hand slipping down your body to grip at your thigh.

“No, it’s not gonna work.”

“Not gonna work? You’re hurting my ego, babe,” he quips, pressing his smile on your shoulder.

“You can tell your ego to go fuck himself,” you laugh softly, blindly finding his hand and lacing fingers with him.

“Listen, I think it’s time you and I get out of the house. Maybe just for a drive. What do you say? It’ll be good to clear our heads. Think about it.”

After long deliberation you decide that yes, it is time to leave the house, even if it's just for a little drive.

The next day, you step out of the apartment, filled with apprehension, for the first time in 15 days. It’s too hot during the day, so you wait for a milder temperature in the late afternoon, which is near to impossible. One of the things you miss about Portland, besides your friends, is the weather, and the smell of rain. Here, even the grass blades could burn your feet, especially in a summer blaze like this.

No matter what, he was right– it's nice to be out and breathe the ocean breeze as he drives along the coastline.

Just like the movies, he has the hardtop of the convertible down, so you can feel the sun on your face, and the air blowing your hair. You relax on the passenger seat, having your heart calm the longer you’re out. It'll be nicer if you didn't have the undercover police car following you everywhere, but it's a small price for security.

Safety is an illusion, you realize. Here or at home, anything can happen anywhere, at any time. Being locked up has only given you more anxiety than you ever thought. At least out here, you’re not a sitting duck waiting for something to happen.

Your mind clears as you stop by the beach and watch the sunset peacefully going down before driving back home.

It’s the apartment that flips that internal switch in your head the second you’re inside and takes you to spiraling again. You anxiously sit at your desk and turn on your laptop to check your emails while Julian gets a beer from the fridge. Your phone is pretty much dead to you at this point. You rely only on the written word from your friends and the news. There’s a couple in your inbox from Sasha, the subject line screaming urgency in all caps. You open the first one, where she explains she’s been checking your Instagram and found a few photos you were tagged on at one of your first book signings in Los Angeles from a couple of months ago. There’s a few of you meeting people, reading, and signing some books. And she’s highlighted the ones where you can see the crowd at the back, and in a couple of them, she’s spotted a familiar face– your ex-boyfriend, who is currently MIA. On the second email, she dived further to all the signings you’ve done, and found some more from several cities where Logan followed along.

You’re unsure what her findings are making you feel… obviously, unsettled. Has he been stalking you all this time? You wonder. And if so, why did he wait all this time to try… whatever he had in mind? He was clearly in Boston and New York, where you went all alone. He could’ve easily taken the advantage of that, and he didn’t.

You show them to Julian and send them to Detective Sunday before calling Sasha.

Then you go through every memory you’ve collected of him. He was clearly disturbed, especially at the end of your relationship, but you’d have never pegged him as a killer. He couldn’t have, could he? Despite the way he treated you, you can’t bring yourself to believe this was him. But you’re not in the best mind set right now to form any rational assumptions. You haven’t seen in a long time either, so who knows what his game is.

It’s not the pictures Sasha finds that help crack the case, not at all. It only adds up to the pile of evidence Detective Sunday has come upon against Logan. Because the next day, while you’re taking a shower, Julian realizes that they’ve pulled the police detail off you without notice, almost 24 hours after you contacted Sunday. He runs downstairs and circles the block to see that none of the inconspicuous vehicles he's spotted for the last couple of weeks are anywhere in the vicinity.

“What’s wrong?”

You’ve just dressed yourself and come when you see him locking the bolt of the door and quickly grabbing the phone.

“The police are gone. I’m gonna…” he dials directly Sunday’s extension but doesn’t pick up on the first few tries.

You turn the TV on and flip from channel to channel until you land on the news to see they’ve apprehended their prime suspect, Todd Harrison, aka Logan, who has been using a false identity all this time. Someone saw him lurking around Martina’s yacht, and called in a tip. That’s all the media knows so far.

You don’t receive more insight until later, when Sunday finally calls and informs you that they're absolutely certain your ex was the one who tried to drown you and killed those women. They're still processing the amount of evidence collected from his place that included hundreds of videos and photos of all of you, the transfer tattoos, personal items of each of the victims…

The detective paints a pretty grim picture by the way she speaks. It looks like you were his main inspiration and was currently preparing himself for something bigger. He had your laptop hacked and wasn't shy on recording you using your own camera when you had the lid open.

None of this makes sense to you yet. It's hard to accept someone you dated was capable of something so heinous.

Chapter 5: Enmeshment

In the aftermath of Logan’s arrest, there’s no peace as you once knew it. You can’t find it in yourself yet. Him being in jail is supposed to make you feel better, but it doesn’t. Something is still off, and you can’t quite figure out what’s causing you to stumble into your every attempt of regaining some sense of normalcy because there isn't such a thing as normal, and that’s a fact. You’re still being watched and scrutinized, and the end of this is not coming as fast as you’d want to. The case continues unfolding, and the only coping mechanism to navigate all of that, is to put on a mask and pretend everything’s okay while you bury yourself in your work. Otherwise, you’d fall apart. It’s a lame coping mechanism, but it’s the only thing that keeps you afloat. It only lasts for so long. Soon, the mask starts to crack, and you find yourself acting up in ways you can’t even recognize.

You fill your wine glass a few more times than you’re used to for dinner. It helps you fall asleep faster, especially when Julian isn’t home. He goes back to his usual routine too, though he’s only working on weekends now. It makes you feel helpless having to have someone watching over you as if you were a fucking toddler. You pick up fights with him about nothing sometimes. It feels like the world to you in that very second, no matter how small it is. A minute later, you feel like the biggest asshole. It's very conflicting. At times, you can't leave his side, at others, you can't even touch him or look at him. You engage more often in sex, too, you've realized. On impulse. It has to be quick and rough. It's not like your libido has gotten stronger, it's that you'd kill to feel anything other than whatever is going on inside you.

Any of this isn't right, you're barely aware of how wrongly you're losing control in very few moments of clarity. They pass just as fast as they come. You can't stop yourself. You've taken pride in always being put together, doing everything by the book, and following every rule that you were bound to break at some point. This is it. You're not processing everything that's been accumulating inside you and can't put it into words either. Not out of your mouth and not in your writing. It's like a void you can't escape.

Julian is not blind to it, he's been treating you with kid's gloves from the start, and he continues to do so. He indulges you, gives you space when you need, and it's always there to hold you afterwards. He also entertains any of your recently acquired bad habits without judgment. You truly don't deserve him. He casually mentions going to therapy a couple of times when you're calm. You've considered it… briefly. Your pride, ego, self-destruction, or whoever is in charge of you now keeps insisting that everything will pass on its own, that this is just temporary.

Your ex-boyfriend isn't speaking to the police. What they found in his possession speaks volumes for him, however. You had to go to the station to identify some items Logan had taken as trophies. You recognize your swimsuit, the one you were wearing that night and that you had Julian throw away.

You shouldn’t have, but you ask the detective to show some of the pictures he had taken of you. Most of them are just candid pictures in your daily life. Seeing through his vile eyes is absolutely terrifying and unnerving. The last one you see, though, that one takes the cake. You almost wanna throw up at the sight of yourself laying by the pool, soaking wet and lifeless. That’s the one he took that night. You’d tear it apart if you could, so nobody could look at it again. You gulp, turning it around and sliding it across the desk.

“Is he saying anything yet?” You ask.

Detective Sunday shakes her head, “word is he’s going to plead guilty.”

“Like he’s making a deal?”

She nods, “he’s got a good lawyer too.”

“Then, what am I doing here?”

“Procedure.” Sunday clears his throat, picking up the irritation in your voice, “listen, I hate this as much as you do, trust me. I’ve looked at these pictures more times than I can count. If it was up to me… he’d never see daylight again.”

Her words aren't very reassuring. You can't imagine what kind of deal he could be offered after what he's done, but no matter how many years he gets, it'll never be enough.

Your lack of judgment was truly poor when you met him. He was very sweet, you said. Nothing sweet about him anymore.

Julian is waiting for you in the parking lot when you get out. He has a cigarette between his lips, and you extend your hand, pick it up, and take a long puff.

“How did it go?”

You simply shrug, “he's making a deal or something.”

“That's batshit… they got him dead to rights. Why would the DA make a deal with him?”

“Beats me,” you blow out the smoke and pass the cigarette back to Julian, “he's got a good lawyer, apparently.”

You believe the absence of irrefutable physical evidence in the crime scenes is what might save the asshole. He really had this planned through and saw to leaving no trace. There's no digital evidence either, he's used his skills too to leave no mark, so anything in his possession is not comparable to what he could be charged with, had there been any of the mentioned.

They keep asking you if you remember seeing something that night. If only you had, this would be much different. So your testimony is pretty much worthless too.

As Julian sets the car in motion, it feels like someone else inhabiting your body when you reach with your fingers to curl around Jules' crotch while he drives out of the lot.

“Babe, you're playing a dangerous game there,” he gazes at you behind his aviators, then back at the road as you start pumping his length.

It's one of those impulses that shuts up all the unnecessary noise in your head. Keeps you distracted from going down on a spiral after what you've learned at the station.

“Let's go to Lorenzo's,” you propose. He's been wanting to take you to his friend's club for a while, and it has always intimidated you to go there. Not anymore.

“I thought you had to work.”

“It can wait.”

“It’s the middle of the day.”

“So? It is open, right?”

His head nods.

“C'mon, I wanna do something fun,” you insist as the car comes to a stop at a red light.

“We could go to the beach.”

“It's too hot,” hastily, remove your hand off him, “you know what? Forget it, let's go home.”

He sighs through his nose and thinks for a beat before grabbing your hand again and putting it back where it was.

“You wanna go to the club? Stop acting like a little brat and earn it,” he chooses to enable you.

You press your bare teeth on your bottom lip and fondle him softly. You don't want him to crash the car, either. You might be in the middle of a crisis, but you're not that far gone, so maybe there's still hope for you yet.

Enzo's club is not like any other club you’ve ever been. Let’s just say it doesn’t fit in the legal bounds of what constitutes a regular club. Part of it, at least. The bar side is legit. The gambling room at the back isn't however. And neither is the underground level, where he's created a safe space for casual sex, and prostitution. It operates closely to a kink club, where only vetted members can enter. Julian, being an old friend of his, has always had access to it. He's been wanting to get you here, partly cause he has been curious to see you in that ambience since the moment he met you and pegged you as a voyeur. There are a few rooms with one-way mirrors for people who like being watched and those who enjoy watching. He's always thought you might like that.

He's not wrong. You’ve been toying with the idea for months, and now you have nothing to lose. The worst thing that could’ve ever happened to you, it already happened. Maybe this is part of getting over all of it. Trying new things, and uncovering other parts of yourself you’ve kept mostly hidden.

You leave the car in a parking garage a block away from Enzo’s and walk the rest of the way.

Julian has an arm around your waist when you cross the door. There's not many people at this hour, so you're able to quickly get a drink at the bar for starters. The music has some people dancing on the dance floor. It's a very high-end space with a VIP section and a small stage.

You pick up your cocktail and since he refuses to dance with you, you stride alone towards the dance floor and have fun by yourself, swinging to the rhythm of a semi-upbeat song.

“Hey,” someone pats Julian on the shoulder while he watches you, and he turns his head to see hide friend Enzo, “never seen you here this early, Kaye.”

“It was her idea,” Jules points at you with the beer bottle in his hand.

“Is that your girl? The one from…”

“Yeah, that's her.”

“How's she doing?”

“She's really hurting right now,” he glances at you and sees you, trying to escape from all that pain by sipping your cocktail from a straw while you move, “she wanted to come here, do something different.”

“I bet. Are you staying long?”

“Yeah, for a while. I'm taking her downstairs.”

“That's good,” his friend nods, “you two have fun, yeah? I have a lot of work to do here today. It's nice seeing you.”

“You too.”

Afterwards, Julian finishes his beer and joins you, curling his arms around your waist from behind. .

“You ready?” he whispers in your ear.

“Hm-hm.”

Then, he guides you to a little hallway at the back, guarded by a security guy. Julian shows him some sort of pass, and he leads you into a room that looks like a coat check.

A woman behind a desk greets you and places a plastic box on the surface for you to leave your phones or any other recording devices. She recites a set of rules that boil down to no recording or photographing. No drugs or smoking allowed. No harassment and no interference with other people's activities. And several important rules about safety, consent, and protection.

You both place your cellphones in the box and check your pockets. You left your bag in the car, so you only have a small wallet that you keep with you.

She hands you a key after locking your phones in a square locker, and Jules tucks it in his wallet.

The receptionist presses a button and a door buzzes on the side. You go through it; it buzzes again as it closes behind you. You climb down the set of stairs to a small reception area with more security and a display of toys for purchase on the side.

You head straight to another door and Julian gazes at you before opening, “are you sure you wanna do this?”

“Hm-huh.”

He grins at you and opens the door to a much bigger space than you expected. You hadn't really pictured it in any way, but by the secrecy of it, one would think it'd be something more dungeon-like. It’s not like that at all. There's a plethora of things that shouldn’t go together, but somehow they do. It's all cream colors and red, neon lighting, with velvet curtains and leather couches in alcoves. There's a bar area and two separate hallways that lead to bedrooms behind those big curtains.

Mellow music playing in the background and a few people just hanging out in the bar. A group is casually conversing in one of the alcoves. Another one is occupied by a couple intimately touching the other. But your eyes are drawn to the man kneeling by an ottoman sucking a woman's toes in a different nook.

“Do you want another drink, sweetheart?”

“Uh… sure.”

You order another cocktail and take Julian's hand. He guides you through one of the curtains to show you one of the main attractions. It leads to a much darker hallway, full of windows on either side. Most of them are covered. There are a few people watching through the ones uncovered, where you can observe people having sex. The first one you pass by, there's a woman lying on her front with a mask on and four people brushing her body with feathers. On the second one, you see a man shoving his cock into his kneeled partner's mouth. The third one holds a picture of a woman with strap-on pegging a man. A fourth window holds a man walking slowly around a bed, observing the form of his partner, tied up to the bed. You stop at the fifth one, where a man is giving the pound of his life to a woman. He has her on all fours, punishing her ass with his hips, occasionally slapping her flesh with his palm, and yanking her hair. There's nothing special about it. It's just rough sex, and yet it evokes that something in you. Even though you can't hear anything that goes in there, they seem to be having fun by the way their faces contort.

“You like that, sweetheart?” One of Julian's arms circles your waist from behind while you sip your drink.

“Hmm.”

“What do you like about it?”

“I dunno… I guess they both seem detached from the other, like… she's acting for him, and he only cares about his own pleasure but not really wanting to connect on a deeper level. It feels… liberating.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm not sure that I've ever done that. You know, I can't fully commit to sex if I'm not cared for, and vice versa.”

“I know what you like, baby.”

“I wish I could do that sometimes… just not to care, you know?”

“But I love that you do so much, and that you have such a big, beautiful heart.”

“Well, it's broken right now,” you sigh, “I'm sorry, I'm such a downer right now. I just…”

“You wanna feel something different. I get it. Don't apologize to me. I got you, okay?”

“Okay,” you glance over your shoulder, smiling at him.

Watching other people having sex it’s entertaining, but not as much as you wanted it to be. Maybe in a different headspace, you'd be able to enjoy a little more being witness to those snaps of intimacy right in front of you.

Afterwards, you go back to the main space and take a seat on one of the alcoves.

“Who pays for all this?” you wonder, settling glued to Julian's side, draping your legs over his thigh.

“It relies on member fees and donations.”

“Hmm. But you don't come here often?”

“Yeah, I don't get as much here for a night as I do out there, but I still pay a fee. It helps keep it running. Make it safe and all for other people.”

“How much would you get here?”

“I don't know. Three or four hundred? Depends on the day.”

“And that's not enough for you, Mr. Greedy?” you utter playfully, “you rather take the risk out in the open?”

“Makes it more interesting,” he palms your denim covered thigh.

“Well, how about we make this more interesting,” you drink from your glass, settle it down on the table and tuck your hand in his pants' pocket to collect his wallet.

Julian stares at you, intrigued about what you’re concocting, as you take out a hundred dollar bill from it before giving his wallet back.

“Let’s say, for a hundred bucks you can do whatever you want with me,” you gesture with the bill in your hand, “what would you do with me?”

“You want me to pay to have sex with you?” he snorts.

“Would you?”

His head tilts to the side, considering, “I would… but a hundred bucks? You’re selling yourself cheap, sweetheart. I’d pay thousands to be with you.”

“What if I wanna be a cheap whore?” You fold the bill in your hand, slide under the hem of your v-neck blouse, and tuck it in one of the cups of your bra.

He clicks his tongue and sends one hand to hold your face, brushing his thumb ever so slightly on your bottom lip.

“Why do you wanna be a cheap whore?”

“Cause…” you exhale and pause for a beat, “I don’t wanna be me right now.”

“You can be whatever you wanna be, baby,” he sighs, pulling down your lip a couple of times, picking up on what you’re inquiring of him, “you want me to use you? Is that what you're asking?”

You nod.

“Yeah?” He brings your face closer, so you feel his warm breath on your lips, “want me to treat you like a little slut?”

Your cheeks heat up hearing him saying that, and you simply hum.

“You don’t mind people watching?”

You shake your head in his warm palm, spread across your chin now.

He quickly licks his lips and then swipes that same tongue on yours before ordering, “then get on your knees and earn that money.”

You swallow and slide between his thighs to kneel on the floor as he opens his fly and belt. You lean your head and kiss his bulge over his underwear.

You’re taken again by that urge of escaping from your entire being that you don’t give a fuck where you are or if there’s people around watching or not as you go down on him. You get lost in pleasing him, you exist only for that right now. And it’s easier to slip into that mindset than you’d ever thought.

You peel back his boxers, and watch him go hard in your fist as his fingers toy with your hair. Immersed in your role, you pump his length with ease, occasionally gazing at him. He bites his lip as you open your mouth to get a taste of his pre-cum with just the tip of your tongue. You swirl around his head, and trace his slit before wrapping your lips around the stately flared cock. Filling your mouth with hit, you bob your head, spreading your spit along his velvet skin. Julian hums and pushes your head down for you to go faster. It’s what you asked for anyway.

You rub your thighs together, feeling the arousal pooling between your folds as he mutters and praises what a good slut you are.

His cock twitches between your teeth, and he buries a grunt deep in his throat as he feeds you his warm load.

You suck him dry, swallowing every drop of him as if it was sweet honey. Pulling your head back, you lick the remains that stick to your lips under the sultry shadow of his stare.

While he catches his breath, he brings his hand closer and inserts two fingers in your mouth, slipping them in and out, as if he was still fucking your lips.

“You're something special, sweetheart.”

Playing your part, you hum pleasantly around the motion of his fingers, shamelessly blowing them off until he pulls them out, letting your spit dribble down your chin.

“Did I taste good?”

“Hmm,” grinning, you reach for the napkin near your cocktail to clean your mouth, as he tucks himself back into his pants,

You get on your feet, and he pulls down onto his lap, sideways, letting his hands roam your body, and his lips nibble your partly-exposed chest while you hug his neck.

You tilt your head back as he covers more ground, noting his hand sneaking under your blouse at the back. His fingers press and glide with electricity all over the plane of your skin, as his opposite hand grips viciously at your ass.

The scent of your skin intoxicates him, making him groan at the top of your breasts.

“Can we get a room?” you pant.

“Yeah, we can get whatever you want, baby.”

He pulls his head back and holds your face momentarily as he kisses your lips. Then, you both shift and stand up to get a key from the bartender.

You hit the ladies' room first while Julian settles himself in the bedroom. He moods the LED lights to a soft purple and lets the curtains cover the mirror, cause he’s not sure if you wanna be watched or not. He also makes sure that everything is cleaned and that they’re stocked with the complementary condoms, lube, and wipes in the nightstand. Everything’s perfect as he waits for you.

After ten minutes, he starts to worry that you’ve suddenly gotten sick, or have changed your mind when you don’t show up. He lets another two or three minutes pass by and then peeks out the hallway to see if you’re close. You’re not. He strides promptly back to the main space, and heads straight to the restroom. He calls your name, knocking on every stall’s door, asking if you’re okay, but there are no signs of you in there.

A woman coming out of one of the stalls gives him a look, and he apologizes. He’s about to get out when he glances at the floor and sees the half-moon necklace you were wearing. With a deep crease in his brow, he picks it up and swallows. Something it’s wrong here, he realizes all of a sudden. He inspects the bathroom further and sees a small trail of blood on the side of one of the sinks.

You’re dead. It’s what first crosses his mind. He’s let his guard down, and he’s killed you.

Julian rushes out of the bathroom and starts asking about you to everyone in his way. The bartender plainly tells him you just left, but he doesn’t buy it.

He makes another swipe around the lower level before heading up. A woman stops him and tells him that she saw you passed out, being carried by one of the security guys, and that you had blood trickling down your temple.

Rushing up the stairs, he collects his cellphone and yours and steps once more into the club. His eyes frantically search for you all around, but you’re still missing. Then, he notices security keeping an eye on him, and there’s no doubt in his bones that there’s been foul play in your disappearance. Someone has taken you. He’s sure.

Julian makes a quick decision and dashes straight to the employee's closed area, and enters Enzo’s office, locking the door behind him before anyone can get to him.

“What did you do with her?” he questions his friend, and quickly eyes a flashy gun with a gold finish on top of a filing cabinet.

“What are you talking about?”

“You knew exactly who she was when you looked at her… Nothing happens here without you knowing it. Who did you call?”

“She’s been all over the news. Everyone knows who she is.”

“Bullshit.”

Suddenly, there’s a relentless banging and pushing on the door behind him.

“Tell them to stop.”

Enzo pulls his palm up calmly and raises his voice to tell his men to stand back.

“Look. The best thing for you to do know it’s to get a drink, calm yourself, and go home, Julian.”

There’s a pounding in his chest that urges him to grab Enzo’s arm, twist it to his back, and push his front flush against the wall.

“What the fuck did you do?” Julian mutters, having Enzo pinned with all his force.

“I had no choice,” Enzo struggles to speak, “I owed a lotta money.”

Julian keeps him secure with his dominant hand, and reaches with the other to pick up the gun he saw before, cocks it and puts it against Enzo’s nape

“You fucking sold her?”

“I didn’t… someone was already after her.”

“Yeah, he’s in jail.”

“No,” Enzo tries to shake his head, “that wasn’t him. Logan was set up, just like you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s already gone… she's untouchable now.”

“Give me a fucking name!”

“You know his name.”

Julian sighs and lowers the gun, uttering, “Stratton.”

“He was after you,” Enzo explains, “and got obsessed with her.”

“Where is he taking her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he presses the muzzle of the gun again against his temple now, “I thought we were friends. Where is he taking her?”

“I swear, I don’t know!”

“Then, you’re no use to me, are you?”

“Wait, Julian… I can call him and find out.”

He gives the desk a once-over and locates Enzo’s phone. Without lowering his aim, he lets him move freely to get to it and make the call.

“Put it on speaker.”

Enzo clears his throat and dials Richard Stratton.

Julian can barely keep his thoughts straight for more than a second as the dial tone goes off three times before Stratton answers.

“What do you need now?” the man on the other side asks curtly.

“I uh… I just need to know that we’re squared now.”

“We are. You delivered. Your debt is gone, Lorenzo.”

“You’re not gonna hurt her, are you?”

“I promised I wouldn’t. She’s safer with me than with that degenerate, trust me.”

“Where are you taking her?”

“That’s none of your business.” There’s a pause before Richard speaks again, “is he there with you?”

“Who?”

“Julian. He’s there, isn’t he?” Another moment of silence as Julian's rage levels go off the roof when hearing Richard talking to you, “you wanna say goodbye, sweetheart?”

“Jules,” he hears your shaky voice come out of the speaker, and he lowers his gun, “are you there?”

“I’m here, baby, I’m here. Where are you?”

“I don’t know, I can’t… they hit me,” he can identify the fear in your voice as you speak and half sob, “we’re moving, but I don’t know… I’m scared.”

“Shh, shh, I’m gonna come for you, okay?” Julian’s own throat betrays him, as he tears up, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Promise.”

“I promise, baby. I’ll find you.”

“Time’s up,” Richard utters, and he hears you yelling his name in the background before the call is cut off.

“So help me God, Enzo, something happens to her, I’ll come here, and I’ll kill you myself. Tell your men to back off.”

“Logan,” Enzo utters in a last attempt to make him feel better.

“What about him?”

“If someone knows where Stratton is going, it’s Logan. He’s been covering all his tracks. Knows more about him than he realizes.”

Running against the clock, Julian takes Enzo’s gun and sets a lead foot in the pedal, driving straight into the big house. His thoughts go as fast as the car. He calls Detective Sunday on the way and tells her what happened, and to meet him there. He knows he can’t do this alone, as much as he wants to, he’s going to need her help.

Chapter 6: Clipped Wings

“Where are we going?” You keep asking in the back of a very luxurious vehicle.

Next to you is Richard Stratton. On the front seats, behind an opaque glass, are the driver; and the guy that you tried to fight off in the bathroom and hit you in the head with the butt stock of his gun, so you would stop struggling. You saw them briefly, when you woke up about an hour ago, you believe. Stratton closed the glass partition after that, and the car hasn’t stopped since.

You finally managed to stop crying after talking to Julian. Your wrists are restrained with a zip tie over your lap, and your head is still hammering from the blow. The door windows are completely blocked, too, so you can’t see where you are or where they’re taking you.

“If you're going to kill me, at least tell me why.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I'm not going to kill you. I'm saving you from him.”

It's utterly appalling the way he uses that pet name.

“You call this saving?” you show your join hands up in exasperation.

“That's for your own protection. Once you see what I've done for you, you won't need that.”

“You're crazy.”

He slides his hand over your thigh, and you flinch at his touch.

“Don't touch me.”

He laughs at you and squeezes your knee before removing his hand.

“Don't worry. After a period of adjustment, you'll beg me to touch you.”

“I'd rather die.”

“You already did. Four times.”

It takes you a moment to process, but by your count there are five women dead, not four.

“You killed all those women? Why?”

“They were imposters. See, they looked like you, but they didn’t feel like you or smell like you, or talk like you.”

“Why?” you keep repeating, having tears threatening to pour out of your eyes.

“Because I love you, don't you get it? I only want you. I was trying to ruin Julian's life, but when I met you… being with you was the only thing that mattered all of a sudden. I guess taking you away from him is sort of a tragedy for him. Two birds, one stone.”

“You don't know me.”

“Oh, I do. I've been watching you and learning everything that is to know about you to build the perfect place for you.”

He's truly out of his mind.

“Why did you want to ruin Julian's life?”

“If you must know… a few months ago, I found this letter that Michelle wrote to him but never sent. I guess it was too much to explain over paper… she was telling Julian that our son, my son Colin… was never mine, that was the offspring of that fucking bastard all along.”

“And you killed Michelle for that too,” you mutter, slowly processing this new shocking information.

“She had it coming. She's just a whore like him.”

“You weren't married anymore.”

“She was trying to take away my son. I gave that boy everything for 14 years, and one day she decides I'm a bad influence?”

The shoe seems to fit. Of course, you don't say that out loud. You swallow the dryness of your throat and try not to break into tears. You know you'll meet a similar fate, no matter what he says.

“What about Logan? Why did you bring him into this?”

“Hmm, you're such a curious cat, but I'll bite. Logan hurt you and had to pay for it. You know, actually, he's the one who tried to drown you. He thought that you'd be safer if the world was watching you… he never intended to kill you. He did kill Martina to get back at me. Tried to stage it to pin it on me, when we both knew he'd be taking the blame for all of it. Thing is he did me a favor, she was insufferable. It blew my cover, but I'll find another one.”

“Oh, it must really suck to be you.” You spit out ironically before you can stop yourself, “psychologists are going to have their field day when they catch you.”

You must have hit a nerve there, cause your head suddenly jerks to the side, having the backside of his hand striking across your face terribly hard.

“The others weren't this insolent either.” he mutters, “I was going to wait for you to settle in our new home to do this, but I guess this is a good time to start.”

You glance at him and see him produce a small case from a compartment that holds some vials and syringes. He takes out one of the syringes from its wrapper and loads it with one of the injectables.

“What the hell is that? Is it what you gave them?”

“Oh, no. I had this made especially for you.”

You try to squirm out of his reach, but he locks an arm around you, pulls at your hair to have your head tilted to the side, and shoves the needle in the crook of your neck. It goes stiff as you feel the strange liquid invade your body. You wince and tears slip out of your eyes.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” he removes the needle and pets your head, “It’s going to feel good really soon, sweetheart.”

“What is it?” You let out a sob.

“Attitude adjustment. It’s a drug we’ve developed to help you be more… compliant.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath.”

Your head falls back against the headrest, hearing his evil laugh mocking you. Closing your eyes and clenching your teeth, you focus on fighting the pain of the oddly, cold sensation under your skin, and try not to panic. It’s going to be fine. He promised he was right behind you. Any minute now, you think. Any minute…

Whatever he drugged you with, it works fast. Soon, your jaw goes slack, and so does your body. Your pulse speeds up, and it goes faster the more you try to move. There’s an overwhelming sensation building up in your chest as your anxiety levels skyrocket. You’ve never done any hard drugs or have ever been medicated with something stronger than Vicodin from when you got your wisdom teeth out, but this one has a huge kick.

“Relax. It’ll feel worse if you try to fight it,” you hear him say and notice that he’s touching your head again, cleaning the blood from your wound, “I’m sorry he did that. I told him not to hurt you, but you were a little feisty.”

“Go to hell,” you barely exhale.

You close your eyes again and wait and hope and pray for this to be over.

Then, something creeps out from inside you when you feel his lips touching your neck, as he sniffs the scent of your skin. You wanna move, hit him, kick him, anything… but your body isn't responding to the signals your brain is sending.

“You smell like him,” he utters, as one of his hands slips under your shirt to grope your breast over your bra, “we're going to fix that later.”

“Please, don't,” you babble, bursting into tears.

“Relax, baby. It’s going to feel really good.”

He grabs at you harder, and sucks disgustingly at your neck. You yelp between sobs pleading for him to stop, over and over. You try to move your arms, but they're not strong enough at the moment to get him off you.

His grip hurts so much that it awakens just the ounce of strength you need, strong enough for you to send your hands to dig your nails into his neck and draw blood, forcing him to stop.

“I see you like it rough, huh?” he slaps you again, “you should've said that b-”

Someone must have heard you pray, cause on a dime something explodes, making the car jerk violently before it stops, shoving Richard against the glass partition.

It sounded like the front tires.

You had a seat belt on and all you felt was the whiplash. Stratton however didn't, and ended up with his head smashed against the glass mid-sentence. He still looks alive, but he's completely out, curled in an awkward position between his seat and the partition.

You fumble trying to unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car for a long moment until someone tries to open the door on your side. It’s locked. You freeze and don’t say anything at all, wondering if someone is trying to help you, or if it's just one of Stratton’s men.

Then, a gunshot goes off, and you duck your head. There are a couple more afterwards, spaced out, and you hear a man shouting to stay down. It must be the police.

You try to unlatch the seat belt again. With your wrists restrained, and your senses impaired by the drug, it’s almost a victory when you do.

Feeling helpless afterwards, you tuck your arms to your chest and freeze, drowning in your own tears, waiting for someone to come to your aid.

It feels like hours, but it’s only a minute after that you hear sirens going off and someone successfully opening your door.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

You shake your head, unable to look at this new person.

“Are you hurt?”

There’s nothing you can compare this moment to. This is the most pain you’ve ever felt. Inside and out. You can’t respond. There’s something blocking you from doing so, must be the drug or the shock. Your mind feels warped and dizzy in a way you can’t really explain. All thoughts are seeping in your mind like water through a colander.

“Can you move?”

Can you? You’re not sure. You swallow and hold your trembling hands forwards, so this person can see that they’re bound. You can’t really tell if it’s a man or a woman speaking to you, but you’re aware enough to see that it's someone in a uniform.

You feel a couple of people maneuvering around you with great care. There is a click, and finally you can pull your hands apart from the other.

Someone offers you a hand, and you hesitantly take it and test if you can step out of the car. It's a learning experience. Your legs quiver on you as you stand up to feel the striking heat of the sun in the middle of nowhere.

You let them guide you to take cover in one of the two patrol cars while the other officers take care of the men that held you hostage.

They bring you water and keep asking you questions you can't really answer.

With a lost stare, you watch the scene as they remove the device they set on the road to stop the car. Julian must have called the cops, it dawns on you out of nowhere, otherwise, you'd still be in that car. That thought quickly dissipates when Stratton wakes up as they pull him out of the car and is handcuffed immediately. He yells all sorts of threats at the officers, and he’s quickly locked in the second cruiser.

Ambulances show up next. They care for the two men shot, and your captor. A paramedic mends the gash on your temple and notices there's a bump on the curve of your neck like a bee sting. It itches the same, but you know it was from the needle.

Then, you are set aside like a science project, waiting for CSI to roll by and collect the evidence from your fingernails and take pictures of you.

“She's in shock.” You hear them say. You must be cause you're completely unable to respond to anything the more time passes. It feels like an out-of-body experience. As if you were watching someone else's life.

You can't seem to snap out of it. It's numbing and utterly disturbing. You try remembering what you did earlier in the day to dig yourself out of that hole… You were mad when you woke up. You had to go to the station, and you weren't really up for it. Julian, being annoyingly sweet, drew a heart on your palm to make you smile. You rolled your eyes instead. It was one of those moments you were mean to him for no reason. You should have stayed at home, kissed him, and told him that you love him. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if you had.

There’s your anchor. You focus on Julian and the way he traced a piece of his heart on your palm, while someone brushes the gunk in your nails. You open your opposite hand and pretend that the comic-shape heart is still there, carved over the lines of your palm.

“Baby, can you hear me?” he's choked up, you can tell by the way his voice breaks.

He's there now, and you can’t tilt your head up to look at him. Your gaze states fixated on that imaginary spot until you see his fingers move ever so carefully to wrap around your hand as he crouches in front of you.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” he bows his head and kisses your knuckles, “we’re going to get you out of here now, yeah?”

Time fluctuates and in that daze from when you were injected to the moment you wake up in a hospital bed for a second time, and there are several pieces missing. It’s night now, you can see through the window having its shutters pulled up, and Julian is seated on a sofa, reading a copy of your book, with a deep crease of concentration in his brow.

After that trip you feel utterly lucid now, sleepy but lucid, thankfully.

He doesn’t realize you’re awake until you mumble a husky, “hey, do they sell those at the hospital now?”

His stare is torn from the pages and looks at you, having his expression soften as he rises from the two-seater, placing the book down open on the page he was reading.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he sits next to you, and tentatively reaches to caress your face, “someone left it in the waiting room.”

“Where are we?”

“I got you a private room.”

“Fancy,” you feel your lips pull up on their own.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, trying not to think too much about what happened, “better, I think. How long was I out?”

“Sleeping? Just a couple of hours… before that? Three or four without… Do you remember anything?”

“Some of it. He… he gave me something,” you point at your neck with your hand.

“Yeah, they found his stash in the car… Said it was PCP mixed with something else. They’re still trying to figure it out,” he glances at your neck, “the swelling is gone now. I should go get some-”

“No,” you stop him, “not yet. In a minute.”

You ask him to fill the gaps you have. And he tells you how they found where Richard was taking you by doing something impossible. Between him and Detective Sunday, they convinced Logan to give up the location. Apparently, Stratton was blackmailing him and threatening to kill his family. In exchange for their safety, he followed you for months, kept tabs on you and sent all that to Stratton. Logan was just a pawn. He tried to get out of it and keep you safe at the same time by making it look like someone tried to kill you, he never intended to actually do it; like Stratton told you in the car. That last part you knew, but it seemed like a vague memory of a dream until Julian confirms it. Logan kept quiet and let Stratton pin the murders on him, cause there was still a gun pointed at his family.

In trade for that information, he had Sunday reassure him that she’d see that his girlfriend and baby would be protected.

Afterwards, you try to fill some of those too for Julian. You remember questioning Richard, but there are some facts you’re completely unsure if they’re real or not. If your memory serves you right, he killed Michelle after finding out their son was actually Julian’s. He confessed to killing the other women too, except for Martina. He said Logan killed her. The situation was less than ideal to gather information like that, but you’re almost 90% sure that’s what you heard before being drugged.

“You have a son,” you say under your breath, and he looks at you as if you were making it up, “I’m not sure if it’s true, Jules, but it adds up.”

Shutting your eyes, you attempt to pry the name he gave you out of your mind. It starts with a C. Maybe Cole or Charlie. It sounded close to that.

“That’s impossible,” his brow narrows as he stands up to look out the window, “she’d have told me.”

Would she? You remember something about a letter that wasn’t sent. Maybe she did, but didn’t have the courage to send it while he was in prison. It’d probably broken his heart. Just as it’s doing now.

He can’t accept it, but part of you knows it’s true.

Chapter 7: Epilogue

They say time heals all wounds… Abigail’s were temporarily patched at best because the moment she stepped into that house, she felt the demons buried in that place prying at every opening of her being. Time stood still between those walls. The same furniture her mother kept spotless was occupying the same space to the millimeter. Except for pictures. There were no pictures of her in the house anymore. There used to be two on the wall leading up the staircase that were replaced by some of her cousins. The Angels. On the mantel was another one when she got her portrait taken at the back of the dollar store when she was 7 or 8. It had one of those fake sky backgrounds. She was wearing the dress she wore for church only, and wasn’t allowed to smile.

Days before she had that taken, Adventurous Abby had fallen on her face while she was roller-skating, and one of her front teeth was chipped after hitting the edge of the sidewalk. It made her feel ugly that her own mother told her to keep her mouth shut cause she looked like a fucking pirate. Sans the curse word, of course. Her palm covered her mouth more often than not when she spoke until she got that fixed years later. She did. Not her mother. And definitely not her father chipped in for her chipped tooth. They say it was a punishment of God for being cheeky. That was their logic. In all truth, those skates she rode belonged to her best friend, who wanted to show her to see how fun it was. Abby never had any of the fun toys. Only a couple of stuffed animals on her bed and a creepy porcelain doll that she couldn’t care less about. She hated her– Christine. That’s what her mother called her doll. She sat on a shelf looking over her bed with her perfect, glossy hair and skin, and beautiful dress, mocking her while she slept. She was convinced it gave her nightma---

“You gotta eat something, sweetheart,” Julian interrupts your flow, holding a plate with food close to your face, while you're typing on your laptop your second novel, “you’ve been at it for hours.”

“So? Can’t you see that I’m on a roll here?” You protest animatedly.

“I can see,” he scoffs, glancing at the screen, “but I can also hear your stomach growling from across the room.”

“That’s not my stomach, that’s the lil guy snoring,” you slide your chair back to show him that the puppy has fallen asleep by your feet, under the desk.

It’s three months later when everything starts to go back to some sort of normal. A new normal. Not better or worse, just different.

The tremor you've had in your hands since the day you were kidnapped finally stops altogether. You’re counting the days it lasts, six so far, and your pulse is as steady as ever. They believed it was psychosomatic, cause physically you’re perfectly fine. Therapy helped. Having a weekly session didn’t seem much at the beginning, but it truly has been a game changer.

Right now, your steady hands are full with your new puppy, working on your second novel, and helping Julian with his situation.

Inspiration struck you a few weeks ago, and you’ve outlined and drafted fully a new story that you feel pretty confident about. You finally got an agent, a trustworthy one, and two publishing houses are interested in your new novel after reading the early draft of your manuscript. Not having to worry about financing another book of your own pocket takes a load off your mind. You’ve broken even, and you’re just starting to see the fruits of years of work.

But the thing that has brought the most joy to your life is your new puppy– Flynn. You decided to adopt one of those doggies from Bailey, and now you have a black and white Siberian Husky with crystal clear, blue eyes. He's cute as a button; joyful, and active as they come. You’ve had him for a month and besides Julian, you’ve never loved anything as much as you love that dog. Caring for him, taking him out and getting into training classes with him is part of your new routine that’s keeping you uplifted. For a while, you thought you’d never leave the house again and now, with a few exceptions, you’re able to go out on your own with him. He follows everywhere you go and tonight, after eating his food, he started licking your ankle and fell asleep on the floor while you wrote. That’s how much time you've been spending writing, you've bored the little thing to death.

Julian on the other hand has been preoccupied with another matter. It took him a while to accept that he had a son. With the help of Sunday, you found out that Colin Stratton was living in England under the care of his grandmother and guardian, Evelyn.

There was no trace of him online, despite him being 15. The only photo you could find was one in Michelle’s Instagram account from when Colin was around 10. You could see a certain likeness to Julian, but it was very inconclusive. He didn’t look like Richard, for sure. He took after his mother, definitely.

It wasn’t a decision that was made lightly, no. The last thing Julian wanted to do was to disrupt a young boy's life. He merely lost his mom months ago, and the man he knew as his father just went to prison.

After long conversations and consideration, Julian decided that he wanted to meet him and go from there. Ideally, he wanted to be in his life at any capacity the boy considered. If it was none at all, he’d have to accept it. He was ready for it. He’d stepped up, had he known, back then; and was determined to do it now. There was nothing he could’ve done from prison, but he deserved to know the truth. If there’s something he could resent Michelle for, it was that, but he understood her reasons. He got a copy of the alleged letter that was in Stratton’s possession that was meant for him all along.

Via lawyer, Julian made his intentions clear to Evelyn Stratton, and added that letter. She didn’t reply right away. The request was simple enough, he just wanted to meet Colin. The lawyer called a couple of times, and she kept dismissing him.

There was another force at work, cause one evening, a week ago, when you two came back home from a walk with Flynn, you found the 15-year-old-boy waiting in the lobby. Up close, it was clear that Colin had grown to look more like Julian. Except for his eyes that were hazel, like Michelle’s, his features were a fresh-printed copy out of Julian’s. His hair was just as dark and abundant, and when you saw them walk side by side, you could see that they both carried themselves the same way. Julian didn’t believe you, of course, but you could tell.

Colin had a proposition of his own, he had been wanting to leave the boarding school he’s been enrolled in since he was 12. He loathed it and wanted to come here with Michelle, but Richard never allowed him to do so. Even now, his guardian was carrying Richard’s plan of not letting come here. He took the opportunity of visiting his aunt, Michelle’ sister, in Burbank during holidays, and found out where Julian lived. He knew about him, his mother told him about his real father a couple of years ago. Colin just needed a paternity test and the chance of fighting Evelyn and Richard for custody, so he could emancipate and live with his aunt.

It wasn’t an instant connection or anything. The boy was very stern in his intentions and was very skittish about meeting Julian, but he did, cause he had been looking to get away from that family that never truly treated him or his mom right. She always feared he’d hurt them if they tried to get away, and she was right. Now that Richard was locked up, this was his chance.

Julian agreed. His mind was already made before the boy came here that he’d help in any capacity he could.

“Did you love her?” Colin asked. It seemed very important to him to know that about him.

Julian stared at him for a long moment before standing up and picking up a book from the shelf. He sat back down and opened the front of it to collect a picture strip of him with Michelle. He just showed it to him.

“She looks really happy,” Colin kept his eyes on the pictures of her mother framed by love and joy in her eyes.

“She was,” Julian simply said.

Close to midnight, you save your document, leaving Abigail to rest for the night. Then, turn off your computer, put Flynn in his crate, and check that the door is closed before getting on with your nightly routine and joining Julian in bed.

“Thought you weren’t coming to bed,” Jules grins, placing the book he was reading down on the nightstand, while you slide into bed.

“Hmm, have you missed me, handsome?” you lean closer, and he links his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“Always,” he hushes, having his thumb back and forth rubbing your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you sigh, tilting your head up to look at him, letting your palm smooth his chest up to his neck, “sorry I’ve been absent the last couple of nights.”

“Don’t be. I’m proud of you.”

“I’m really proud of you too, baby,” you say back, touched, and lean closer to capture his lips.

Kissing him slowly, your fingers slip into his hair that it’s gotten longer, and you play with his curls at the back of his nape.

Julian gingerly shifts your body, removing your clothes in the process, so he can make love to you with all of him– lips, tongue, fingers, and cock, all work together to stroke every inch of your body. He claims all of you, including your heart and soul, during those delightful orgasms he gives you in return. His body buzzes, collecting the pleasure that vibrates out of you every time you moan and scream at his name.

He makes you feel vivid and precious, more than you ever imagined, with every caress and word.

“Look at me, sweetheart” he says, locking eyes with you, holding your face, getting you closer to the edge a third time. Your lips part against his, and you can barely mumble a felt I love you as you melt all around him.

#expensive delights #julian kaye x reader #american gigolo #julian kaye #jon bernthal #jon bernthal fanfiction #jon bernthal smut #fanfiction #darlingwrites #this post is excessively long #let me know if you prefer separate posts for each chapter

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