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avis-writeshq · 7 months

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01 — better than revenge

summary: “she’s not a saint, no, she’s not what you think. she’s an actress.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn warnings: fluff, angst with a happy ending, Lila is a real piece of work here, VERY CANON COMPLIANT, Spencer’s a bit of an ass :( wc: 10.4k a/n: special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading MWAH SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

“Hey kid, wheels up in thirty.” Derek nods towards you, dropping a case file on your desk.

You raise an eyebrow, flicking open the case file to the first page. A small laugh of disbelief leaves your lips. “Ooh, Los Angeles, media capital of the world. What’s the occasion?”

“Three murders, all shot in the head executional style.”

Your face falls into a grimace as you grab your go-bag and tuck the file under your arm, following the rest of the team to the jet. “Spence and Gideon are there already, right? Talk about timing.”

Elle can’t help but grin at your words, slinking an arm over your shoulder. “Looks like you’ll see loverboy a lot sooner than you think.”

A shriek of betrayal leaves your lips as you throw her arm off of you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Sure you don’t,” JJ all but cackles as she boards the plane, grinning the entire way.

“I’m gonna kill you,” you grumble, dropping your things on one of the seats in the jet. “Seriously, I mean it. I know how to get away with murder.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow at you, his gaze that of a disappointed yet amused father. “Not the brightest thing to say while you’re in a room full of FBI agents.”

Elle lets out a ‘hah!’ as she sits across from you, crossing one leg over the other as she grins. “Get comfortable, buttercup, six hour flight and you’re not going anywhere.”

“Assholes.” You roll your eyes teasingly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you turn to your case files. “And it’s not like that.”

“Oh, of course not,” Elle snickers, “you’re just friends.”

You throw a pen at her and it bounces off her leg harmlessly. “I can smell the sarcasm.”

“You’ll be smelling more of it,” Derek laughs, ruffling your hair. “Sit tight, kid, we’re in for a long flight.”

Once everyone was settled and the jet was high in the air, the team began to look through the files with Garcia on speaker as usual.

“First two victims, Wally Melman and Chloe Harris,” You recite dutifully, glancing over the grotesque crime scene images. “Seems like they were both killed in public places.”

“Chloe was killed while walking her dog on the beach in Santa Monica which she did every morning, and Wally was killed outside of a massage parlour,” JJ reiterates, sitting down with a cup of tea in her hand.

“In Culver City,” Derek adds.

“Which he went to every Tuesday,” Elle continues.

Derek looks to the rest of the team, a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, if he knows their schedules, maybe that means he follows his victims for a while.”

“And not a single witness. So we know this UnSub can blend in,” Hotch mutters. “Regardless of the location, he has the ability to hide in plain sight.”

“So, he’s meticulous.” Elle nods, her eyes drifting from Hotch to the case file.

“The media is calling Natalie Ryan’s murder the biggest celebrity homicide since Sharon Tate,” JJ adds, looking through the images of the newspaper clippings that were sent to her laptop.

“Great,” You muse, although frustration is clear in your voice. “What does that mean for us?”

Hotch lets out a sigh. “That everybody will be watching.”

***

“This guy is an assassin?” Detective Kim asks with disbelief as the rest of the team reiterates their thoughts once they were in the police department.

“When you look at the victimology, there’s no obvious links,” Morgan points out. “All the kills were clean except in the instance of the last victim, Jeremy Collins.”

You nod, tucking a strand of hair as you reference the case files. “There’s absolutely no evidence left at the crime scene. Labs have found zero DNA, no manifestation of psychosexual release, and from what we can tell there’s no detectable signature of any kind. These kills are straight forward, almost like he’s on a mission.”

“Remember, our profiles are formulated not just by what’s present at the scene but also what’s absent,” Gideon says to Detective Kim.

“From all the evidence that we’ve gathered, we believe you’re looking for a Type Four Assassin,” Elle explains.

“Type Four?”

Spencer immediately jumps in to explain, gesticulating throughout his explanation. “Type One’s are political assassins like John Wilkes Booth. Type Two’s are egocentrics looking for simple recognition.”

“Type Three’s are psychopaths,” Hotch continues, “cold-blooded killers who leave far messier scenes. Type Four, our UnSub, suffers from a major mental disorder and is frequently delusional.”

“The closer we come to figuring out that delusion, the closer we’ll get to finding the UnSub,” Reid points out.

Everyone is left to their own thoughts and you look over to Spencer, a soft grin on your face. “How was your father-son bonding time?”

Spencer gives you a pointed look, but a soft laugh leaves his lips. “It was… fine.”

“Fine? Out of everyone on the team, Gideon chose you to present a talk about behavioural analysis and profiling to the LAPD. You love conferences. C’mon, give me something!” You nudge his shoulder gently.

“We uh.. we went to an art gallery the other day. We met a movie star, so that was cool…” his cheeks are dusted with a soft pink as he talks and your curiosity only increases.

“A movie star, huh? Look at you, mingling with the high and mighty.” You poke his cheek with a laugh. “Tell me about them.”

He flushes at the contact, clearing his throat. “Um… her name is Lila Archer. Have you heard of her? She’s–”

“Reid, (L/N), we’re meeting with someone,” Derek cuts in, nodding towards the both of you.

You blink in confusion as you follow him to another room. “Suspect?”

“Someone received a note,” Derek says quickly, glancing over at the note in Elle’s hands. “On a newspaper clipping of the latest murder.”

“Lila?”

A blonde woman was sitting in the next room over, her legs crossed over as she waits. Her eyes light up in recognition and she stands up. You can’t help but be impressed as you give her a quick once over. She’s gorgeous, exactly what you expect from a famous movie star.

“I’m Agent (L/N),” You say gently, moving from your spot next to Spencer and holding your hand out. “This is Agent Morgan and I’m assuming you already know Doctor Reid. I understand that you received a note this morning?”

She wearily shakes your hand, her blue eyes flitting between you and Reid. “Yeah.”

“We just have a few questions to ask. We know that these things are sensitive, but we promise we’ll try to make the situation as easy as possible for you.” You shoot her a kind smile, excusing her weariness for fear or anxiety. “Is that alright?”

“Sure.” She respond curtly, shooting a smile towards Spencer before walking past you.

“Uh… okay?” You let out a little laugh in confusion and Derek raises an eyebrow at you.

“What was that about?” He asks, frowning.

You shrug your shoulders, watching as Spencer leads her to an empty desk. “Trust me, I have no idea. Maybe she’s just nervous and wants to talk to a familiar face.”

Derek hums in thought. “Maybe. But usually victims like this are more willing to speak to someone of the same gender. It’s strange that she was so direct to you.”

“She’s been through a traumatic experience. If I got a newspaper clipping with a message written in blood, I probably wouldn’t be too thrilled meeting new people either,” You defend, pursing your lips. “She’s probably just… scared, right?”

He doesn’t respond, moving to follow Spencer and Lila further into the police department. A few questions were asks about her relationship with the other victims, only to find that she was in fact the connection between the other victims. Wally Melman was a producer who Lila met with a few times to discuss a role, only for him to cast Natalie Ryan instead. Chloe Harris looked an awful lot like Lila, so it was likely that the UnSub got rid of her in order to ‘ice-out’ the competition.

“(L/N), may I talk to you for a moment?” Hotch asks quickly, waving you over.

You blink in confusion but nod, walking over to where he stands by the desk. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I want you to try and get as much information from Lila as possible.” He gestures to where Lila sits in one of the victim waiting rooms. “This is your area of expertise. Try and find out if there’s any distinct information that she’s given to anyone so that we can track the UnSub.”

“Got it.” You offer a smile, fixing your shirt as you agree. “I’ll update you if I get any new information.”

You make your way over to where Lila was sitting, trying to look as friendly as possible. “Hey, Lila. Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

She glances over you for a second, looking you up and down before shaking her head. “I’m fine. Where’s Spencer?”

Your brows furrow at his words. “Doctor Reid…? He’s currently going through the timeline of events with our colleagues. In the meantime, I was hoping to ask a few questions, maybe shed some light on the entire situation.”

She raises an eyebrow before nodding. “Okay.”

“Alright…” you clear your throat, taking a seat across from her. “You mentioned that you receive a bowl of red anemones on the seventh of every month. Do you mind… telling me why you like those flowers so much?”

She shrugs dismissively, running a hand through her blonde hair. “They’re pretty. I like the colour.”

You nod slowly, writing that down in your notes. “Well that’s understandable; they’re very beautiful flowers. But they’re a little uncommon as a favourite flower, don’t you think? If you like the colour, a more common favourite flower would be poppies or roses… are you sure there isn’t another reason? The meaning behind red anemones is forsaken love and death… does that intrigue you at all?”

She scoffs, “are you trying to accuse me of something?”

“Not at all,” you say quickly, “I apologise if it comes off that way. I’m just trying to find out as much as possible about the entire situation. For all we know, those flowers could have been sent by the UnSub.”

A short silence lulls in the room as well as an awkward tension. So, you try to take things from another angle.

“I love hydrangeas,” you say gently, a small smile on your lips. “I like the way they’re always bunched together and the colours are beautiful. Only a few people know that I like them though. My close friend and colleagues, my family… do you remember telling anyone about your favourite flower?”

She’s quiet for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know.”

Your face falls and you press a little more. “Are you sure you don’t remember? Maybe… maybe your manager, or a friend of yours?”

“I said ‘I don’t know’, okay?” She snaps, her hands balling into fists as she glares at you. “God, it’s not that hard to understand.”

You lean back in your chair, your gaze hardening. “I understand that this is difficult for you, but any information–”

“I don’t have any information!” Lila huffs, her hands placed in her lap. “Are you stupid or something?”

“The likelihood of these people being murdered because of you is incredibly high,” You say sharply, shutting your notebook. “If you’re withholding information from us it could prove detrimental to the investigation. I’m only trying to do my job. Asking you questions is part of my job.”

Her lips twitch at your words and she scowls. “I already told you I don’t remember.”

“Not remembering and not knowing are two different things, Ms Archer.” You place your card on the table. “If you remember anything, please give me a call.”

You get up from your seat, heading to the door, only to see that it was wide open with Derek and Spencer standing at the doorway. In seconds, Lila’s gaze softens and she runs out of the room, sniffling as she does. Your gaze follows her as she runs out of the police station, a look of disbelief on your features.

“What the…”

“Seriously (Y/N)?” Spencer demands, a frown on his face.

You gape at his words. “What are you–”

He cuts you off, running after Lila. Derek raises an eyebrow in their direction before turning to you.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Derek asks gently, patting your shoulder.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” You confess quietly, biting your lip. “I’ve never seen him get so…”

“Upset? Angry?” he finishes, a small laugh leaving his lips. “You and me both. Look, kid, it’s not your fault. She was clearly being dismissive of your questions and she needed a reality check.”

“It’s not like I’ve never spoken that way when interrogating someone before,” You point out, brows furrowed in frustration. “Even then, Spencer has never had an issue with it. I just– I don’t understand what’s got him so worked up.”

Derek can’t help but laugh. “You’re a profiler. Isn’t it obvious?”

You pause for a moment, thinking through their interaction. “He has a crush on her, doesn’t he? He likes her. Of course he does. Brilliant, now he’s involved.”

Derek pats you on the back sympathetically. “Come on, pretty girl. We’ve got a job to do.”

***

Despite your original hesitancy, Hotch asked you personally to go with the others, meaning that you had no right to refuse. Well, you could, but that would mean throwing Elle under the bus and she would be much more helpful at the precinct than on set. So, before you could fake being sick and bail the investigation, you, Derek, and Spencer went to check out the set of Lila’s movie, hoping to better observe her interactions with her costars and the staff.

The inside of Lila’s small trailer is hot. Incredibly hot but relatively empty. As you look around, you gather that she’s either a minimalist or just didn’t have to spend a lot time in the trailer at all. Lila sits in front of the little group, wearing a robe to cover her costume: a cyan sequinned bikini set that she looked absolutely criminal in. Her hair has been styled in a classic blowout and you wonder how much time it took to get it to look so effortless.

“I’m not stopping my life,” she says, her voice almost stern as she steps out of the trailer and back onto the set.

You purse your lips as you glance at the paper in the plastic pocket, now labelled as ‘evidence’. Apparently it was taped up to the door of her trailer. Your eyes shift to Spencer who’s gaze doesn’t leave the door that Lila just walked out of for much longer than necessary. Neither of you have spoken since yesterday’s incident.

You hum thoughtfully, as you pull out your notebook, glancing at the notes you’ve been making. “Well, I guess the only thing we can do is talk to the people on set. Maybe they saw something. I’ll see if I can find out who has access to Lila’s trailer.”

Spencer nods in your direction. “Yeah, that’s… that’s a good idea.”

One of your eyebrows quirk up. “Okay…? Why do you sound so surprised?”

He flushes under your scrutiny, clearing his throat as the three of you begin to walk out of the trailer and towards the set. “I’m not! I– I’m not surprised. You’re good at your job.”

“You didn’t seem to think that yesterday,” You respond lightly, your tone petty and passive aggressive, gaze flickering between the cameras and lights on set.

Derek coughs awkwardly before excusing himself and entering further into the set leaving you and Spencer alone outside by a vending machine. Spencer falters at your words and he runs a hand through his hair. The harsh Los Angeles sun beats down against your skin and you fiddle with the notebook in your hands. In turn, he fixes up his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbow, giving you a clear view of his forearms and large hands.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, chewing on his bottom lip. “I didn’t– I was out of line.”

“You were,” You agree, your gaze shifting between the chilled bottled drinks in the vending machine and him. “Buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”

A boyish grin grows on his face and he nods, pulling out his wallet. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, awesome. Iced coffee?”

“You know me so well,” you respond with an equally large smile, poking his cheek. “Thank you!”

He presses a few buttons, grabbing a Cola for himself. You can’t help but laugh, giving him a pointed look. He quickly moves to defend himself, “It’s a hot day, okay? An exception.”

“An exception,” You repeat, trying to hide your smile as you crack open the lid of your drink and take a sip. “What happened to ‘Cola has 50 grams of sugar in it. That’s the equivalent of eating two full bars of milk chocolate’?”

He pouts at your words, opening his drink and you watch as a few bubbles rise to the top of the bottle. He takes a swig of his drink, sighing in content. “Shut up.”

You laugh again once you officially enter the set, nudging Spencer with your arm teasingly. He nudges you back, rolling his eyes and poking your cheek. You retaliate by doing the same, swinging your drink as you walk.

Before you could do or say anything else, Derek taps your shoulder. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.”

Spencer’s brows furrow. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just wanted to cross reference answers,” Derek dismisses.

“Let me pull up my list,” You respond helpfully, grabbing your notebook. “Hey, Spence, do you mind canvassing the rest of the crew? See if anyone pays any special attention on Lila?”

He nods at your words, moving towards Lila, sipping on his drink. In the meantime, you turn towards Derek, a curious look on your face.

“Little Miss Madonna has been glaring at you since the moment you entered the set,” Morgan says quietly, his gaze flitting to where Lila was making coffee.

You practically snap your neck as you look up in her direction, watching as she quickly fumbles to make herself a cup of something. You turn away and you could practically feel her gaze burning against your scalp. A frown makes its way onto your face and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. You glance over to where she and Spencer were talking, blanching when you watch as she takes a swig of his Cola.

“You don’t mind, do you?” You hear her ask as she drinks and Spencer hurriedly shakes his head.

A quiet scoff leaves your lips and Derek nudges you with a look that reads ‘behave.’ You lift your hands in surrender and follow him over to where Spencer now stands by himself, Lila gone to talk to some other staff member.

“An exception, huh?” You ask Spencer, referring to his aversion to germs and sharing food. Your tone is mostly teasing despite the underlying bitterness beneath it.

“Shut up.” He mutters quietly, cheeks hot from embarrassment of being caught.

Derek snorts, clapping his shoulder before moving on.

***

The next day, you were going over the evidence that was provided by the LAPD. Considering that it was a relatively young case, there weren’t copious amounts of evidence, meaning that there were still untied strings to go through. The entire situation proved more difficult than necessary; no one seemed to notice anything amiss when it came to Lila and her relationships, and considering that the actress wasn’t very forthcoming with the information she knew, you were hitting dead-end after dead-end.

Although geographical profiling was more of Spencer’s expertise than yours, you figured it wouldn’t do anyone harm by triangulating the previous three murders. He was standing beside you, his presence not unwelcome as he guides you step by step on how to plot an understandable and accurate profile. Hotch had asked him to coach you through the entire situation and explain his point of view, as well as his thought process when it came to geographical profiling. With a comfort zone now clearly expressed, you were discussing probable suspects on the phone with Garcia.

“Will Hunter… currently the town hermit, previous criminal record of armed battery and robbery,” Garcia recites, and you pull up his file.

“Mm… maybe? No, I don’t think so. His crimes don’t match the UnSub’s profile. He seems to be messier, uh, tending to use bats and knives than a clean shot to the head. And the profile suggests that the UnSub is able to blend in with the crowd.” You hum in thought, turning to Spencer.

“Hermits like Will Hunter wouldn’t be able to do that,” He explains to Garcia, putting his file into the ‘unlikely’ folder.

Garcia sighs in frustration and you can hear her furiously type away on her computer. “How about–”

“Hold that thought,” Elle says quickly, cutting Penelope off apologetically. “(Y/N), did you know Lila’s here?”

You blink in confusion, slowly shaking your head no. “She’s here? I didn’t get any calls from her.”

Elle shrugs at your words. “She looks like she’s going to burn a hole through your head.”

Your brows furrow and your gaze shifts to the blonde woman through the office window. She has her arms folded over her chest, a scowl on her face, before her cheeks burn in embarrassment of being caught. Spencer follows your gaze, his face lighting up at the sight of the actress. It’s almost as if he has selective hearing when it comes to his celebrity crush, clearly not hearing the part where Elle points out that Lila has been glaring at you the entire time.

“Can we talk outside?” You ask Elle quickly, getting up from your seat, not taking no for an answer.

Spencer opens his mouth to say something before he shuts it, watching as you drag your other co-worker out of the room. Your attention shifts between Lila and Elle, your brows furrowing.

“What is it?” You ask, your back turned towards the actress. “Why is she here?”

“She gave me a list of people who know what her favourite flower is,” Elle says quietly.

Your ears go red at her words, your eyes practically bulging out of your head. “Excuse me?”

“She called me yesterday,” she explains, handing you the list of people. “She said that she remembers who they were and came in today to give me a list of people.”

You scoff in disbelief, throwing your hands up in the air in frustration. “I gave her my card.”

“She called and asked for me.”

You scoff again, rolling your eyes. “Oh, so suddenly she can remember everything when she talks to you, but nothing when she talks to me? She’s not very slick.”

The door behind you opens, revealing Spencer who has been listening in the entire time. His jaw is clenched and a frown is etched upon his features as he looks at you accusingly.

“Maybe she just didn’t remember,” he points out harshly as you and Elle re-enter the room.

An incredulous look makes its way into your face. “Excuse me?”

“She didn’t remember, and now she does,” Spencer says, and from the corner of your eye you watch Elle slowly leave the room once more. The door closes with a soft click.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she went to Elle and not to me,” you respond, trying to keep your voice even and your words clear. You take a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself down.

Spencer scowls at you. “Maybe she has every right to go to Elle after you snapped at her the first time you tried to talk to her.”

“Are you– are you being serious right now?” A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you glare up at him. “Look, Reid, I’m sorry that I’m not her biggest fan and that I don’t kiss the ground she walks on, but I was doing my job. A job that I believe I am quite good at. It’s not like speaking harshly is unheard of when it comes to the retrieval of information.”

He flinches when you call him by his last name but he stands his ground. “If you were so good at your job, you wouldn’t have to speak to her that way,” he argues, and you can see the vein in his forehead begin to protrude.

His words sting and bite you and suddenly you feel your resolve snapping. “You know what?” The words are slow and deliberate as they leave your lips, and you jab a finger against his chest. “I get that you have a crush on her and that you’re finally going through puberty but that does not mean that you can ignore the job you are currently on.”

He swallows thickly and he opens his mouth to retaliate but you push your finger against his chest once more.

“I am not finished.” Your voice is low with frustration and annoyance as you scowl, glaring up at him. “I don’t care who you’re attracted to or who you want to sleep with. I don’t give a damn if that someone is victim in the investigation because it’s not my problem. I do, however, have a problem when you undermine my ability to do my job and do nothing to fix it.

The worst part is the fact that you’re my friend. You’re supposed to be supportive and helpful and– and– and understanding.” Your mouth is moving quicker than your brain can register and you’re stumbling over your words as you snap at him. “I’m supposed to be able to go to you if I’m going through something. I should be able to talk to you if someone or something is bothering me, but now I’m just afraid that you’ll call me crazy and then criticise me all over again.”

His face falls and he looks at you like a kicked puppy as the words slowly sink in. He reaches out to you, his hazel eyes searching your face but the only emotion that you’re showing is anger. You push his hand away, the frown set on your eyebrows. It’s only then when you realise that Garcia has been listening into the conversation the entire time, your heart lurching to a stop when you hear her cough on the other side of the line.

“Um… is now a bad time to say that I didn’t get any other hits for the profile?” She asks tentatively through the speaker, and you feel your face burning.

“I need air,” you announce to no one in particular, before grabbing your files and storming out of the room.

Elle catches your arm on the way out, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “(Y/N)-“

“Hey. Sorry.” You bite your lip, loosening the grip you have on your papers. “Where’s Hotch?”

“With Derek and Gideon,” she says gently. “Lila got another note and we’re going to check on her manager. Do you want to come with?”

You exhale before nodding. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

“Okay.” She squeezes your arm gently, her eyes flitting between you and Spencer who was inside the conference room, pacing back and forth. “Is… everything alright?”

“Honestly? No.” You offer her a wry smile, shoving your files into your bag. “But it’s fine.”

She chuckles a little in disbelief, leading you to the black SUVs outside. Derek and Gideon were already there, waiting patiently for the two of you while Hotch has already left in another SUV. Apparently the ‘no profiling each other’ rule was thrown out the window as soon as they saw the state you were in, and Derek quickly makes his way over to you.

“(Y/N), are you–”

“I’m fine,” you snap, before closing your eyes tightly and letting out a deep breath. “Sorry, Morgan. I’m okay, just had an argument with Reid.”

At that, his eyebrows shoot upwards. “Since when did you call him ‘Reid’? And what do you mean you had a fight with him? He literally can’t say no to you.”

“Yeah, that was before a Miss Archer walked into the room,” you mutter bitterly. “Shot a literal arrow through his heart. She put her name to good use. I never stood a chance.”

“Hey now, don’t say that,” Elle says, climbing into the SUV. You follow closely behind and she continues. “He’s just confused right now.”

You can’t help but scoff. “I really doubt that.”

Gideon starts the car, looking at you through the rear view mirror. “You’re a profiler. What do you really think?”

The words die at your tongue and you deflate into the seat of the car. You hate to admit it, but Gideon is right. You should be able to figure out exactly what Spencer is thinking. After all, he’s your best friend– you shouldn’t have to be worrying about guessing games when it comes to him.

Hotch is the first to arrive at the manager’s office, watching as your group pull up in front of the building. Once everyone clambours out of the car, they enter the building, a sigh of relief leaving them as they enjoy the air conditioned lobby. With a flash of a badge, the receptionist is quick to tell you which floor and room number Michael was in.

“Floor 11, Room 03,” you mumble to yourself as you scribble it down in your notes.

The elevator ride is silent and you rock back and forth on your feet as the lift begins to rise. Your head is spinning with thoughts and regrets as you consider the harsh words that you spat at Spencer’s face less than an hour ago. You must not have been hiding your frustration well because Hotch finally says something.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, much like a father would when their child is having a tantrum. It’s fitting.

You shrug. “I will be.”

“Is it to do with Reid?”

You cough awkwardly, glancing back at the notes in your hand. “That obvious?”

Derek snorts from behind you. “Yeah, a little.”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with him,” Elle adds, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“I am– I am not in love with him!” You all but shriek, shooting her a half hearted glare and you stutter out a response. “I mean, I– uh– I like him but–“

“You are a horrible liar,” Derek cackles and you groan.

Hotch and Gideon watch amused at the interaction, and the latter finally pipes in.

“Profiling isn’t something you can just turn off,” he explains to you, his tone gentle. He reminds you of a grandfather giving advice to their youngest grandchild, and a small smile makes its way onto your face. He continues to speak, “it’s subconscious and it becomes a habit. The only time it stops is when you either need it most, or when you don’t want to see anything.”

The elevator comes to a stop on the eleventh floor and Michael’s office wasn’t far away. The writing on the frosted glass reads ‘1103, Michael Ryer & associates, talent management’ and Elle raps on the door.

“Hello?”

“Mr Ryer?” Gideon calls.

She knocks a few times again before opening the door entirely. “Michael–”

You’re met with Michael Ryer, dead in his arm chair and shot to the head, just like all the other victims. Despite having faced these circumstances before, you still feel sick to the stomach as you stare at Michael’s lifeless body and soulless eyes. It’s unnerving.

“Up until now every victim was a person who could be perceived as a threat to Miss Archer,” Hotch comments as they enter the room, pulling out his phone.

“Yeah, but Michael was a friend,” Elle says with a frown.

You look up from your notes. “He was a threat to the stalker.”

In less than twenty minutes, the LAPD dispatched forensics and evidence teams to the office. Lila and Spencer were on their way back to her house, deciding that it was best to deny the stalker access to her. You rifle through Michael’s belongings: his schedules, his files… everything until you come to one particular manila envelope.

“Morgan, Elle, look at this,” you murmur, pulling the photos out of the envelope. “Pictures of Lila… nude.”

A flash of a grimace passes along Elle’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. “He was probably paying someone to keep them out of the press.”

“The name on the file says Joe Martinez,” Derek mutters, turning the envelope over.

The name must have struck a chord, because Detective Kim’s head immediately snaps around to look at you. “Paparazzo?”

You blink. “You know this guy?”

“Yeah, I deal with him a lot,” Kim responds, his face stoic.

“We should follow that lead,” You comment, tucking the photos back in the envelope and looking over at Detective Kim and Derek. “I’m ready to go when you are?”

After an okay from Hotch, you, Derek, and Detective Kim make your way over to the Joe Martinez’s place. After knocking on the door to his place multiple times, Derek decides to open it in the way he knows best: by kicking it down. You grip your gun, holding it out in front of you as you travel through the hallways.

“Clear!” You yell out upon pushing another door open, seeing nobody inside.

“(Y/N), you need to check this out,” comes Morgan’s call, and you follow the direction of his voice

Pinned above a small desk are picture upon pictures of Lila Archer. When she has lunch, when she’s out with her friends… it’s almost as if this person has completely documented her life. It’s a little nerve wracking, knowing that someone could follow you and take photos without anyone even realising.

“Hey is that–” you pause, pulling a piece of paper off the wall. “This is Lila’s schedule.”

Derek blinks in surprise. “I’m guessing he’s not supposed to have that?”

“No,” Detective Kim responds, and your gaze shifts to the table.

“Hey, isn’t that–” you feel your heart practically stop as you see who’s in the photos.

“That’s Reid,” Derek mutters.

Kim shifts through the photos. “There’s a whole bunch of them,” he says, pulling out at least five or six print outs. “Is he a target now?”

Derek scoffs, throwing the photos on the table and pulling out his phone, making a beeline for the exit. “Not if I can help it.”

You and Detective Kim follow him out, making your way to the SUV.

“Reid? Hey, it’s Morgan. Listen, you gotta watch your back over there, we just found a bunch of close-up photos of you at this guy Joseph Martinez’s studio. It looks like he could be the UnSub.”

As he speaks you feel your heart pound in your ears. Your head is dizzy with fear and you’re following after Morgan who’s walking unbelievably quickly.

“He has a ton of photos of Lila and Nathalie plus a call sheet for Lila’s show,” Derek continues, the speed of his walk not wavering. “(Y/N) and I are on our way right now but I need you to be real careful until we get there, all right?”

You look down to shove your notes back into your bag when you hear it. The distinct vrooming of a motorcycle engine. You don’t think too much of it, only turning your head to look over your shoulder, your hand finding the handle of the car door. That’s all it takes for the motorcyclist to drive straight toward you and the others, pointing an arm out.

“Gun!” You manage to scream, just before the UnSub open fires, hitting Detective Kim.

You dive behind the car, grimacing when your knee collided roughly against the pavement. By the time you manage to recover and grab your gun out of its holster, the UnSub is long gone. You stare as Morgan fires a couple shots before watching the motorcyclist ride off into the LA traffic, and you turn to Detective Kim.

“You got hit. Where?” You ask, shoving your gun back into its holster.

He grunts in pain, his entire weight on the car as he groans out, “yeah, it’s fine. Just my shoulder.”

“Derek, call for help,” you order, pressing firmly at the wound with your hand to lessen the bleeding. He lets out a cry of pain and you wince. “Sorry, it’s bleeding a lot. Gunshot wound to the shoulder, no exit wound. Seeing as you’re not already dead, I don’t think it hit any major arteries, but it might have busted your collarbone. You’re lucky if that’s the extent of the damage. The shoulder contains a bunch of important and major bloodlines, as well as nerve endings.”

Derek turns to you with a wry smile. “You’re starting to sound like Reid.”

“You spend four years with him, you’ll start to learn a few things,” you respond with a humourless laugh. You continue to press against Detective Kim’s wound, murmuring an apology.

“You should talk to him,” Derek prompts.

You scoff, “we have a detective bleeding in front of us and the thing you’re worried about is my love life?”

“Isn’t the first rule of relieving pain through distraction?” He asks. You shoot him an unimpressed look and he quickly nods his head. “Okay, sorry.”

Ten minutes later, Detective Kim is hoisted into the ambulance. You cringe as you wash his blood off your hands, once, twice, then a third time to make sure everything is gone. Your shirt has a couple of blood spots and you can’t help but frown; you liked that shirt. At least the stain isn’t too big– just a few splotches here and there.

“It’s a good thing you held the wound,” an EMT praises, working quickly to secure Kim’s shoulder. “He shattered his collarbone, but you seemed to have managed to control the bleeding.”

If it weren’t for the circumstances, you would have shouted a clear ‘I told you so’ to both Derek and Detective Kim, but you keep your mouth shut.

Hotch, Gideon, and Elle arrive moments later, speaking to Derek about the detective’s injuries.

“You okay?” Elle asks gently, squeezing your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you murmur, wringing your hands together. “Just a little jumpy. I’ll be fine.”

“We need to get to her house,” Gideon mutters, glancing at the group.

Without another moment to lose, you’re clambering into an SUV, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. Elle climbs into the passenger seat beside you, her brows knitted together in concern. She opens her mouth to say something but shuts it, watching as you start the car and speed off into the direction of Lila’s house.

After slamming the door shut and gripping the gun firmly in the palm of your hand, you follow Derek through the back entry of the house. You weren’t even sure if it could even be counted as a ‘house’; the place looked like it had at least five bedrooms on both floors. Derek glances at you, signalling to be quiet, then another to keep your eyes on him. A quiet splashing in the pool alerts your attention, and despite his attempts of getting you to not look, you do. And as soon as you do, you really wish you hadn’t.

You are met with the sight of Lila Archer in her bikini-clad glory, in the pool with Doctor Spencer Walter Reid. Doctor ‘pools are incredibly unhygienic, harbouring more than 50 million different types of bacteria’ Reid. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, you watch as their lips touch again and again, his hands cupping her face and her hands arms around his neck.

Spencer pulls away from the kiss, his breath heavy and his head spinning. This is wrong. He’s not supposed to being do this. His brain is short circuiting and it’s even worse when he considers all the germs that could be in this pool. His head spins with the names of viruses and bacteria that could be festering in the waters he was currently in, and then he remembers he has more pressing matters to attend to. Namely the girl who was literally pressing her lips to his.

He pulls away, stammering over responses. “We can’t– we shouldn’t. I’m a federal agent and you’re–”

Lila stares at him, amused, with her hands cupping his neck. “There’s no one here.”

“I’m supposed to be protecting you,” Spencer tries again, anxiety gnawing at his stomach. This is wrong. Unprofessional. Then his mind wanders to you and the nagging voice in the back of his mind urges him to do something.

“There are police out front,” Lila says, kissing him again before continuing, “there are coyotes out back.”

“This is completely inappropriate,” Spencer stutters out, his hands reaching for her shoulders. Her skin is cold from the summer night’s breeze, even more so considering how they’re submerged in disgusting chlorine-filled pool water.

“This?” She presses her lips to his once more. “What’s this?”

“This isn’t–” he swallows thickly, his cheeks flared. “No, there’s this thing called transference–”

Lila pulls away, her stare drifting from his eyes to his lips as she asks, “you don’t like me?”

Spencer blanches at the question. “What?”

“You don’t like me,” Lila repeats, more sure of herself now. “It’s because of her, right?”

He frowns at the insinuation. “‘Her’? Who’s ‘her’?”

“The other person on your team,” Lila says, her words bitter. “You like her don’t you?”

His mouth goes dry and he opens and closes it like a fish out of water. “What?”

“Let me change your mind,” she whispers, bringing her lips to his for the nth time.

Spencer barely has time to react, his hands moving to the side of her face and he imagines that she’s you. But she’s not you and you would never kiss him in the middle of the pool. You would never pull him in by his tie and cut him off when he’s speaking. He pulls away.

“Stop. Stop, Lila, I’m sorry, I have to– I have to tell you something.” His mind is blanking. Why is it that when he needs it, his brain shuts off?

“What?” Lila asks, her lips moving to his cheek and then to his jaw.

“I didn’t want to tell you this before because I was a bit worried.” He’s screaming at himself in his head, kicking himself because ‘why the hell did he just say that?!’ Regardless of the way he wishes he could shut his mouth and run out of the pool, he continues, “I don’t know how to say it but I can’t not tell you.”

“What is it?” She finally pulls away and Spencer lets out a breath of relief.

The relief is short lived because he starts to blab, “Your manager, Michael–”

“What?”

“Gideon went to check on him but he got there too late.” Spencer thinks he’s going to hurl, his mind running a million times an hour and screaming, ‘No you idiot! No, no, no! Out of all the things you could say–’

Lila scrambles out of the pool, clearly distraught, and he reaches out to touch her arm… only to be swatted away with her sobbing and telling him not to touch her. He figures he deserves that and follows out of the pool after her.

“How could you– how could you not tell me?” Lila demands, her tears mixing with the pool water already on her face.

“I was afraid you’d be upset,” Spencer says lamely, water dripping from his trousers and he just wants a towel.

“You– you knew what you knew and… how could you not…?” She’s on the verge of hyperventilating and she looks at him before looking away.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says quietly, not knowing what else to say.

Lila retreats into her house, shutting the glass sliding door behind her and Spencer can only watch as she throws a pillow at the wall before going up the stairs to her room. He stands there, in the cold, dripping wet from the pool water and he wipes his face with his hand. His gun sits on the table, damp, and he has the urge to scream. Before he could do something exceedingly stupid, the sound of footsteps alert him and he spins around.

“Elle?”

“We found him in the bushes,” she says to Spencer, nodding to the guy being cuffed by Derek.

“I told her she should cut those.” He says dismissively, wiping his gun with a towel. He looks at her and then at you. He swallows thickly, noticing the way your eyes look him up and down, the disapproval oozing in your stare. “I– uh– I fell in.”

“Yeah,” you respond, holding the camera up and a sarcastic smile blossoms on your face. “I’m sure there are plenty of photos of it.”

He sighs, “(Y/N)–”

“Hey, stop shoving me, man!” Joe snaps as Derek pushes him to walk forward.

“You’re a suspect in the murder of Wally Melman, Natalie Ryan, and Jeremy Collins.”

You watch as Joe’s face comically contorts from annoyance to confusion as he jumps to defend himself. “Murder? What? Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

“Just shut up with the ‘whoa’. We know for a fact that you have hundreds of photographs of Lila Archer and Natalie Ryan on the walls of your studio. You have Miss Archer’s daily schedule on your desk. You’ve been stalking her.”

“Look, guy, hold up. Every paparazzi’s a celebrity stalker,” Joe says and the rest of the group turn to look at him incredulously. He continues to speak undeterred. “If you don’t stalk them, you don’t get the shot, and if you don’t get the shot, you don’t sell no pictures.”

“Yeah, well this one’s gonna cost you,” you hum, holding the camera in your hands and ripping the film out despite his yells of defiance.

Derek steps forward, pushing Joe to keep him walking. “Tell it to your lawyer.”

“Wh– I’m still being locked up?”

“That’s right, at the very least you’re trespassing.”

Elle and Derek walk Joe out of the premises, and you push the pulverised film against Spencer’s chest. He grips it in his hands, a soft ‘oof’ leaving his lips at the contact.

“You’re welcome,” you mutter, albeit a little bitterly, as you turn to follow the rest of your team out.

“(Y/N), listen, it didn’t mean anything,” he says softly, squeezing the film in his fist tightly while the other hand reaches out to you.

You roll your eyes, opening up the sliding door. “I told you, Reid, I don’t care who you sleep with.”

He splutters a little, pushing his hair away from his face. “We didn’t– I didn’t– we didn’t sleep together, you know that.”

“Even more reason why I shouldn’t care.”

His hand grips onto your shoulder, turning you around so that you’re facing him. “But you do. ‘Shouldn’t’? You care. You clearly obviously care, (Y/N).”

“I don’t,” you deny, pushing his hand away. “Reid–”

“Stop calling me that.”

“–it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’m leaving.”

He grabs onto your arm, stopping your retreat. “Why are you being like this?”

“I am not ‘being like’ anything!”

“(Y/N).”

“Doctor, this is highly unprofessional.”

He has to stop the frustrated groan that was moments away from leaving his lips as he stares at you. His eyes ghost over your frame, stopping directly at the dark red splotches on your shirt.

“What happened?” He demands, taking a step closer. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

“Who’s blood is that?”

“Detective Kim’s.”

“What– were you shot at?”

His hands fly to your face, trembling and cold, and you would have thought it was romantic if he didn’t do the exact same thing less than twenty minutes ago with another girl.

“It doesn’t matter,” you dismiss quietly.

“Don’t say that.”

“God, you act as if we’re dating or something!” You snap, pulling away from him.

He stops short, his cheeks and ears reddening at your words. His mind goes blank and suddenly he feels very warm at the idea. Dating you? Every moment he had with Lila in that pool is nothing compared to the idea of dating you.

He watches as you roll your eyes before tugging your arm out of his grip. He wants to cry out again, to say something, but his head just seems to repeat the words ‘we’re dating’ over and over again.

“Just forget it, Reid.” You look to the house and your gaze grows steely once more. “Your girlfriend is calling.”

***

“I want to try and talk to some of Lila’s close friends,” you say to the others after getting off the phone with Garcia. “According to Penelope, there’s a girl named Maggie Lowe on the list that Lila gave us and they’ve known each other since college. Apparently, they spent a lot of time together and Lila helped her get a job.”

“I’ll go with you,” Elle says instantly, climbing into the car. “Why Maggie?”

You start the ignition, backing out of the driveway and onto the main road, following the GPS directions. “They spend almost all of their time together. I mean, she must have noticed something off, you know?”

Elle nods slowly in understanding. “She knows about the red anemones, right?”

“Yeah. And she was the one who found the note taped to the door.” You pause, thinking through the evidence again. “Her apartment is right in the middle of the comfort zone.”

“You think she could be the UnSub?”

“It all seems too convenient. But then again, we didn’t profile the stalker as a woman. There have got to be some inaccuracies or things we overlooked because of the gender,” you murmur, stopping at a red light. “Call Garcia for me.”

The phone rings once before Penelope’s unmistakable voice chimes through. “Speak my pretties, and you shall be heard!”

“Hey, Pen, can you check what vehicle is registered under Maggie Lowe’s name?” You ask into the speaker, parking in front of the apartment.

“Checking, checking… aha! It’s a Honda Motorcycle, she just got it serviced six and a half months ago.”

“That’s the vehicle that the UnSub was driving when they shot at us,” you mumble in realisation. “Call the others, the UnSub might be Maggie Lowe. We’re checking the apartment now.”

“Gideon and Derek are at the art gallery to talk to Parker Dunley,” Elle points out. “I’ll let them know we’re at her apartment.”

There’s a typing on the other side of the line and Penelope chimes in once more. “Bad news, my loves. The cameras report Lowe’s motorcycle leaving the apartment complex half an hour ago.”

“Garcia, call Reid and tell him what we know. Elle and I are going into the apartment. We might find evidence or clues on who the next victim might be.”

With that, you hang up, getting out of the car and running up the stairs with Elle hot on your heels.

“Maggie Lowe?” You call through the door, knocking once then twice.

You’re met with silence and you grimace, deciding to do Derek’s favourite move: kicking the door down. With a crash, the door slams open and you grip your gun a little tighter in your hand. Bathroom, clear. Kitchen and pantry, clear. Lounge, clear. Bedroom, clear– you stop short. Pictures– framed pictures– of Lila hung around the wall. A cork board with newspaper clipping and magazine cut outs were pinned meticulously to the cork backing, each one with Lila’s face and name circled with bold red marker.

“Holy shit…” Elle whispers, holstering her gun and staring at the wall. “This is… this is beyond obsession.”

“You’re telling me,” you respond, putting on a blue glove and flipping through the cork board. “Call the others, Maggie is definitely the UnSub. Someone this obsessed must have…” you pause, filing through the desk on the other side of the room, “… a diary. Each murder was described to detail in each entry, as well as her feelings towards Lila.”

Elle grimaces as she looks over your shoulder to read the diary entries. “Grim.”

You huff out a laugh. “Yeah.”

Above her desk are images of Lila. Every single show she’s been in since Julliard, every time she was mentioned in an article, posters, newspaper clippings of the murders… the entire ordeal makes you feel sick.

Elle sucks in a breath, staring at the desk. “She’s got Lila’s entire life documented.”

“And she’s probably already at Lila’s house,” you mutter, grabbing your phone. “We need to get over there, now.”

***

“The city of angels everything you thought it would be?” Derek asks amusedly, leaning against the wall of the jet as he watches you pour your third cup of coffee in the past three hours.

It’s a couple days after Maggie Lowe was apprehended and the team were on the jet home getting some much needed rest. The aircon was put on full blast and you couldn’t be more grateful for it, enjoying the coolness on your skin in contrast to the hot Los Angeles weather.

“I’m never coming back here,” you quip, your gaze shifting to where Spencer sits. He’s reading a book but he hasn’t turned a page for the past thirty seconds. “If I were to overthrow America, Los Angeles is the first place to go.”

Derek snorts, his eyebrows raising. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you huff, finally looking at him. “I’m serious!”

“Sure kid. Totally believe you.”

He’s teasing, a knowing smirk on his face as he watches you chug the coffee with a grimace. Your tongue burns and you fill the cup with water and chug that as well, ignoring the amused look Derek keeps sending you. From the corner of your eye you see Spencer reading his book. At least, it would appear that he was reading to someone who didn’t know him. But you know him. He’s been staring into the pages for the past minute now and that alone was enough to let you know that he was paying more attention to your and Derek’s conversation than to the words on the page.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you sit beside Elle who is already fast asleep. You envy her for a moment as she leans against the plane window, blissfully unaware to your mental torment. Stupid Spencer and his stupidly pretty face. From where you’re sitting you can see the back of his head and you glare at that the ridiculous mop of brown on his head.

The rest of the plane ride is uneventful and by the time you make it back to the office it’s already late. It’s nearing one in the morning and everyone begins to head home. Derek is yawning as he leaves the office and Elle has a look that screams ‘Don’t talk to me’. Gideon is long gone and Hotch was in his office, packing up the last of his papers and files.

Spencer is sitting at his desk, combing through the paperwork and stashing a couple pages into his satchel. He bids farewell to Derek and the others before shoving his train pass into his pocket.

“You’re taking the train?” You ask, finally speaking to him.

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he shifts on his feet, gripping the strap of his bag. “Um, yeah. I took the train here, so...”

“Oh.” You nod, glancing at the clock. “No you’re not.”

He huffs out a laugh. “What?”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you get onto a train at one in the morning,” you say, pointing with your chin to the elevator. “You might be a man and all, but it doesn’t change the statistics.”

You know his weakness. Statistics. Facts. Spencer hates the fact that you know him so well.

He relents, getting into the elevator with you. “I thought you were mad at me.”

He hears you scoff, pressing B1 on the elevator. “Just because I’m mad at you, doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you do something potentially dangerous.”

He hates the way your words makes his heart flutter and he continues speak. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you did,” you respond curtly, watching as the elevator doors open. “Come on, my car is that way.”

Spencer flinches at your tone. “I’m sorry.”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”

“I–” the words die on his tongue as he wracks his brain. “I thought it was because you didn’t like Lila.”

“That’s true,” you murmur, unlocking the car. “Look, Reid–”

“Please,” he cuts you off, his voice cracking as he practically begs. “Please stop calling me that.”

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to him as you tug the car door open. “You want me to stop calling you by your name?”

Spencer’s nostrils flare as he gets in the car. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

You laugh again as you start the engine, glancing at the mirrors. “Everyone calls you Reid. It shouldn’t be any different for me.”

He huffs. “But it is different. You’re… different.”

“How?” You challenge, backing out of the parking spot and getting onto the main road. You’ve memorised the route from Quantico to Spencer’s apartment in DC– an almost one hour drive and you understand why Spencer hates driving to and from work.

He falters before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just please don’t call me by my last name again.”

“Spencer,” You try again, missing the visible relief in his eyes, “I’m not mad at you because of something as miniscule as a girl. You’re entitled to your own relationships outside of work.”

“I don’t under– oh.” The realisation dawns on him when he recalls all the words you threw at him at the precinct. “I wasn’t a very good friend, was I?”

“No, Spencer, you weren’t.” You don’t hesitate to say it and Spencer winces at how quickly you agree with him. “You were unfair and let your emotions get in the way of the case. You criticised me and undermined my authority and then you had the absolute nerve to act as if nothing was wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” he croaks out, the lump in his throat getting bigger.

“It hurt, Spencer,” you say, and your voice cracks as well. “It hurt because you’re my best friend and I would have supported you through everything. You know that. And I get that friends fight, but I thought that we wouldn’t fight about something as stupid as who you hook up with.”

“I didn’t hook up with her,” Spencer says quietly, and he thinks he might cry. “I’m serious, (Y/N), I didn’t hook up with her. She kissed me–”

“It doesn’t matter.” Your gaze shifts to him for barely a second before it’s back on the road. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter who you’re attracted to. I just didn’t think it would effect our friendship.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer says again, holding onto his bag.

You’re quiet before continuing, “ I know you are. I know that. I’m sorry that you thought that you needed to justify your feelings to me.”

He swallows thickly, watching your face carefully. You didn’t do anything to make him feel like he had to justify himself. If anything, it was Spencer’s conscious that made him feel the need to explain himself. The guilt that he felt after kissing Lila was enough to get him to feel sick. The guilt that he felt after knowing how badly he hurt you was enough to make him want to grovel at your feet.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” He mumbles, wetting his bottom lip. “You had– have– every right to be upset.”

“I don’t want to be upset anymore,” You say as you continue to drive down the freeway.

He’s quiet before he finally says, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

He swallows the lump in his throat and he presses the pads of his fingers into the corner of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

You finally park in front of his apartment, leaning against the chair. “I know. I know, I’m sorry too. I said… a lot of things.”

“I deserved it,” he says, a small laugh leaving his lips as he finally looks at you. “You’re right, I wasn’t being fair.”

You hum, leaning over the console to give him an awkward hug. He presses his nose into your shoulder, breathing in your vanilla perfume. His arms wrap around your middle and he realises how much he missed this. How he missed being close to you.

“I won’t do it again,” he promises.

“I know.”

“I really am sorry.”

“You need to stop apologising.” Your words come out like a laugh and he realises how much he misses that sound too.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says into your shoulder. “Coffees for a month. I’ll even get you those croissants you like, even though they’re really overpriced.”

You laugh again and he smiles.

“You apologising is already good enough,” You say, squeezing his arms. “Now go get some rest, Spence.”

His smile widens at the nickname and he finally pulls away. “Good night. Thank you for driving me home.”

You smile back. “Good night. Don’t mention it.”

The next morning, you find a steaming coffee on your desk and a freshly baked croissant in a brown paper bag. Spencer waves at you and you can’t help the goofy grin on your face as you take a bite into the croissant.

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elsgooglyeyes · 9 months

Text

long distance situationships are hard. so here’s cute little drabbles about the random domestic things you and ellie would do for me to cope.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟﾟ☾

first off, ellie will do anything with you, and i mean anything. you’ve gotta go drop off a box at the post office? ellie is right by your side. you’ve gotta run to cvs for a new charging cord? ellie is walking up and down the aisles with you because she insisted you get snacks while you’re there.

“i dunno babe…you never know when you’re gonna need snacks. you especially need some when someone wants to come over and like…watch a movie or some shit…” ellie mumbles and shrugs her shoulders. you smile softly and pause, “is that you saying you want to come over and watch a move?” ellie eyes you from the side and bites back a small smile, “i mean if you’re suggesting it, babe. i’d fuckin’ love to. thanks! let’s get these and these…oh! and these…” she starts piling different chips and candy into your basket on top of your charging cord, burying it in the bottom. later that night, you’re both cuddled up in bed, the laptop propped onto of your legs and whirring ever-so dramatically as if it’s a plane about to take off. ellie’s arm and hand is intertwined with your own, your head resting on her shoulder. her thumb draws slow circles on your hand and you hum at the feeling.

“i can’t believe you’re getting me to watch this fuckin’ movie…” she mumbles and you laugh. “it’s my favorite! you’re gonna have to learn to love it,” you state matter-of-factly as the universal intro begins, sung by a bunch of men a capella. you immediately start singing along to the first song, and ellie just chuckles and shakes her head. she sighs softly and gets more comfortable, knowing it’s gonna be something she’ll have to like just because you like it. by the end of the movie, however, she’s engrossed; watching you sing the final songs with enthusiasm and marking the choreography while still seated next to her. you laugh along and ellie pipes up, “i feel like they should’ve revealed benji is a good singer at the end during his solo. that would’ve been a crazy reveal! they should get me to write and direct these,” and then another with “beca and chloe aren’t endgame? what the fuck?” you both end the night in each others arms, a comfortable silence washed over you. your head is buried in her side, trying to engrave her scent into your mind. “can we watch the second one tomorrow…?” ellie whispers and you giggle, nodding your head. “i knew you’d like it” you whisper back. “shut up.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟﾟ☾

ellie would sit on the counter as you cook her breakfast, her boxers hung low and hair running rampant. you hum softly as you cook the eggs and begin the bacon. ellie watches you intently, mesmerized by every little thing you do. how can someone make peeling raw meat look so hot? okay, kind of gross. but you make it attractive. her eyes wander down your body, soaking it in like the first and last time she’s ever gonna see it. taking in your marks, scars, wrinkles, and anything else she can make note of like she would need to draw a map of your body. her eyes wander back up to your face, and she smiles softly. “jesus…” she mumbles and your eyes widen a bit as you look at her. “what’s wrong?”

“you’re just…too fucking perfect…everything about you…” she draws on as she continues looking at you. you feel heat rise to your cheeks and you return your attention to the food. “thank you babe…but i’m not all that.”

“ohhh but you are,” ellie mumbles as she slowly gets off the counter and comes up behind you, hands resting on your hips, goosebumps following in their wake. she places a soft, lazy kiss on the spot between your shoulder and neck. her hands roam to your stomach and you swat them away softly, giving her a pointed look with your eyebrows raised. ellie chuckles and places her hands back on your hips and places another kiss, and then another. in between each one she whispers praises to you, “you’re so beautiful,” kiss “and kind,” kiss “and you make me laugh like no one else can,” kiss “i think you’re even funnier than me,” kiss and smirk. your face continues to heat up as she does this. fortunately, the food is done before she can continue and you turn around abruptly in her arms. “food is ready, but we can continue this later, yeah?” you smirk and place a soft kiss on her lips to which she happily accepts. your lips slot together and ellie sighs softly, but you pull away too soon and ellie is left chasing you with her lips. she sighs and grabs a plate to begin eating. “this better be the fastest we’ve ever eaten, babe…” she states as she eats her food quickly, “i’ve gotta show you all the ways you’re perfect to me…” she smirks and puts her attention back to her food as you bite back a smile and begin eating as well.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x you #the last of us #tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams drabble

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queen-of-reptiles · 4 months

Text

𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙳

description: In which chloe kelly's girlfriend is giving all she's got at the world championships of Athletics 2023 - especially after being so close to gold last year

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chloe kelly x female reader

disclaimer: this is all fiction! Do not take any of this seriously, i am in no way saying chloe is bi-sexual or gay!

warnings: language, cuteness, slightly suggestive

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y/n just posted

liked by, chloekelly, bun_bun10 and 1.3 million others

y/n Smiles and Sands :)

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username1: BODYYYYY 🔥🔥

username2: 🫣🫣

username3: so excited to see you jump!!!!! 👏👏

username4: COME ON Y/N!! ❤️

username5: ❤️🔥

username6: will the author respect anyone who gets the reference of the post's caption??

username7: yeah I think so ;))

chloekelly: babyyyyyy 😩

y/n: my loveeeeee 😏

chloekelly: killing me here! 😫😫

y/n: get your ass to Budapest then! 😚

bun_bun10: Go y/n!! 🩵

y/n: love ya! 🩵

lauren_hemp: wooooo! goooo y/n!!

y/n: 🩵

username8: forgot how much the man city team love her lmao!

alexgreenwood5: 🩵🩵

y/n: 🩵🩵

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chloekelly just posted on her story

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y/n just posted on their story

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twitter/X

username1: ITS SO FCKING CUTE - CHLOE AND HALF THE MAN CITY TEAM + ALL OF THE LIONESSES ARE IN BUDAPEST RN !!! 😭😭😭

username2: chloe's shirt of 'y/n's my girlfriend' 🥺🥺

username3: throwback to y/n wearing her shirt and screaming in the WWC crowd! 😂

username4: every time the camera zooms back in the crowd to the players the cheers and then the commentators trying not to laugh! 😂🥺

username5: y/n's first jump is up next - I'm so nervous for her!!

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y/n let out a sigh as she stared down the ramp, her lover was watching her with quiet breaths, barely feet apart as the rest of her friends and teammates quietened.

The stadium was silent for a moment, before y/n's hand's clapped, the audience copied and she did it again, and the stadium now boomed with rhythmic claps.

y/n's feet took off, her legs pounding against the track. She was 5ft 9, short for a long jumper, but she was quick, and light and as y/n's foot hit the board, she flung herself forward.

Her legs piked as she pushed her hips forward her body travelling as she was pushed down by gravity, landing on the sand below. She jolted as she landed but instantly stood up and rolled off.

She looked at the measurement, waiting for the green light of valid to appear, which it did. y/n shouted in happiness looking over to her coach who nodded as she moved over to wait for the measurement.

"7.17." The voice called.

y/n screamed in relief, hands flying to her head as she realises the record she had broken in her first jump, the British record. Her competitors all paled at the large first jump but patted her on the back none-the-less.

"Go on kid." The accent of Tara said as she patted the girl on the back and y/n grinned at her. "Got sick of coming second aye?" The American joked and y/n laughed.

y/n moved to the crowd, leaning into her lover who lent over the barrier and whispered words of calming encouragement in her ear as the rest queued up to jump.

Pats on y/n's back from Lauren, Georgia, Leah, and Keira echoed as she and Chloe pulled away. The blonde pressing a kiss to her lover's cheek.

"Jump harder." Lucy said as she and her close friend did their usual handshake.

"Always." y/n grinned as she went to take her seat and prepare for her second jump.

y/n's second jump was 7.15, her third, 7.16. None as good as her first and yet somehow, all still winning jumps. Tara and Ivana followed her into the top three, and at their last jump, the three were proud of what had been done.

SB and PB's had been set and Ivana was at 7.14 and massive jump for the young girl. y/n had to push, use up all she had. She started the clap once more.

She waited, then she threw her arms down, silence echoing the stadium as she then raced down the track, the sound of her foot hitting the board echoed and she leaped.

y/n hit the ground hard and rolled, her hips groaning as she covered herself in the sand, hoping praying as the green light lit up and she gingerly stumbled off the sand.

"7.30." The call ran out.

y/n's head snapped back, her body buckling as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. Screams echoed as Tara groaned aloud, knowing she nor Ivana were going to beat that.

Chloe screamed for her lover as y/n grinned at the crowd, shouting in what she knew was a sure victory. And after Tara had jumped and her gold was confirmed, y/n screamed once more.

The gold which had avoided her so long, which had always slipped from her grasp from a last ditch effort or harsh injury, finally she had it, she had the title which had evaded her. World Champion.

Chloe jumped the barrier, y/n grinning as she caught the blonde who wrapped her legs around her waist. y/n grinned up at her before the blonde lent down and pecked her lips.

"Proud of you." Chloe mumbled into her shoulder as y/n walked her back to the stands, her hands firmly on Chloe's thighs keeping the blonde wrapped in her.

"Couldn't have done it without you lovely." y/n promised her as she placed her back over the barrier. They pulled away and Chloe suddenly groaned.

"I'm covered in sand!" She protests and y/n chuckles as the blonde tries to shake it off, and shake it at a laughing Bunny who shrieks and scrambles away

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chloekelly just posted

liked by, bun_bun10, leahwilliamsonn and 654, 222 others

tagged y/n

chloekelly my baby's got a gold medal... what's yours got?

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username1: they're so cute my heart! 🥺🥺

username2: the way she shouted in victory had me sobbing 😭

username3: Chloe's face as well 😭

username4: all of their faces

username5: her falling to her knees - I CANT 😭😭

lucybronze: we are all very proud of her! 🩵

chloekelly: that we are! 😭❤️

y/n: ily both sm omg ❤️

stanwaygeorgia: I think I could do it tbf 🤷‍♀️

y/n: I'll throw you that far stfu 🙄

bun_bun10: Chloe got me sandy :(

chloekelly: ooops …

username6: hahahahahahaha 😂

leahwilliamsonn: I don't get how your legs move like that tho 🧐🧐

y/n: fold like a deckchair - like you when you had that ninth drink at Maisy's! 😝

leahwilliamsonn: istg ! 🙄

lauren_hemp: WOOOOOOOO!

y/n: WOOOOOOO

y/n: ily baby <3 sm

chloekelly: ily more!

lucybronze: 🤢🤢

keirawalsh: LUCY!

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END

fun one on this one boysssssss

I used to b cracking at Long Jump cannae lie

queenie xox

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russellsppttemplates · 12 days

Note

Could you do a Lance blurb where reader and Genevieve are released to go home from the hospital and without reader knowing that Lance, the girls, Scotty and Chloe along with Lance and reader's parents have planned a surprise welcome party for the new member of the Stroll family

Cw: postpartum

"Do we have the cakes mummy likes?", Margot asked your mother as she set the cups on the coffee table, "she did ask for them in the hospital but the nurse said they were out of them by the time they got to her room".

"We do, grandpa got them from the pastry shop this morning", your mother smiled.

"Lance just texted me saying they're leaving the hospital now, so they'll be here in about twenty minutes, give or take", Lawrence said before he helped you father with the balloons, "they look so pretty!", Addalynn beamed, "Mummy is going to love it! Genevieve can't see much yet, can she?".

"No, princess - she can see big blurry things but they're not clear to her yet, with time she'll see just as well as you do, though", Claire-Anne assured, helping your mother bring the plates to the coffee table.

"We need to make the sofa comfy for mummy and Viv - yesterday mummy had to have pillows on her back because it was hurting on he tummy", Margot recalled, asking her older sister for help in bringing the fluffiest blankets and pillows from their bedrooms.

"Do you think that will be enough?", Addalynn wondered as Margot fluffed the blankets, "hopefully yes - and daddy also brought the other blanket for the baby so I think it's fine", Margot smiled.

The sight of your home after spending the night in hospital after giving birth to your babies was always a relief. Despite not having had any issues in hospital - and frankly, being a bit scared because you didn't have all the doctors and nurses around to help -, being home was bliss and you couldn't wait to fully embrace the newborn bubble at home.

Scotty and Chloe seemed to run a little late, getting their kids out of the car just as you got out of your own with Lance's help, "you didn't tell me we we're having visits", you noted.

Lance let out a small chuckle as he got Genevieves out of the car, "before you get scared or jumped on, my parents and your parents are inside with the girls and they organised a small afternoon tea like situation - it's just food and drinks, and they said that we just need to say the word if we need then to leave", he defended the whole situation, "Chloe is late as usual".

Scotty and Chloe stepped closer to you, their kids hugging your legs softly, "hi, auntie Y/N", they greeted.

"Since you're here, can you help with the hospital bags, please?", Lance requested as Scotty promptly got the bags from the cartrunk and headed up to the door.

"We bring guests and the guests of honour", Chloe announced as everyone got up to welcome you home, speaking softly as your babygirl was still asleep in the car seat.

"Oh, look at how sweet she looks", Lawrence cooed as they made way and room for you to sit on the sofa.

"Please, honey, sit down", your father encouraged, "you just gave birth to a baby and you should rest", he smiled, kissing your forehead, "I care about and love your girls tremendously, but you're still my babygirl", he whispered and winked.

"You didn't have to do this, but thank you for being here", you said as you arranged the pillows to accommodate you, letting Addalynn and Margot get cuddles from you, "we also have your favourite cakes, grandma Y/M/N has them in the plate there, and grandma Claire-Anne also made that pasta bake we really like, but she said that's for dinner", Margot offered gently.

Genevieve stirred on the carrier, bringing Lance to take her out and let her cuddle into his chest before needing to change her diaper. After you fed her, your babygirl was carefully passed around her family who had gathered to meet her.

"Are you feeling okay?", Lance asked once he got to sit down next to you, "I am", you held his hand on your lap and kissed his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder, "she's so loved", you cooed as you looked at the attention your youngest daughter was getting, the older kids busy in the playroom since they knew they couldn't be too loud in the living room.

"She is", Lance checked before grabbing some food for you, "I noticed you eyeing them up earlier", he nudged, offering it to your mouth, "delicious?", he giggled, kissing your cheek as you carried on eating.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#lance stroll blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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katemartinismywife · 2 days

Text

all mine - n.m

☺︎ nika muhl ☺︎

"Soo, what exactly are you and Nika?" Chasity asks Chloe continuing to drink the rest of her drink. Chloe shrugs keeping her and her girlfriend's secret. "You guys flirt and go to each other's houses just to be nothing?" Chasity lightly laughs.

"We are friends.. why did you bring up Nika?" Chloe looks at her strangely wondering why she was thinking about her girlfriend. "Because if looks could kill I would be dead right now" Chloe looks at the girl confused turning and seeing Nika sitting on the arm of the couch.

"I'll be back" Chloe leaves her drink on the kitchen counter and walks over to her girlfriend. "I thought you weren't coming?"

"Who is that?"

"She's a friend from one of my classes Nika" Chloe kept her distance from Nika since they were in a pretty public space. "Nika?"

"That's your name isn't it?" Chloe responds confused. "Come here" Nika pulls Chloe in between her legs, rubbing up and down her arms. "I thought you didn't want to be touchy in public Nik"

"That was last week. I don't care anymore. I want everyone to know I am yours and you're all mine" Nika wrapped her arms around Chloe's neck placing pecks on her lips.

"You're going to regret this in the morning baby" Chloe sighed placing her hands on Nika's waist. Nika shakes her head moving over, so the two can sit on the couch cushion.

Chloe sits in the corner leaning her head back and looking at her girlfriend who began to straddle her. "What is up with you baby?" Chloe states hiding her smile. Chloe has been waiting for Nika to be ready to come out, so they could be able to do stuff like this.

"Hi my love" Nika smiles staring into Chloe's eyes. "Hi, pretty girl" Chloe smirks connecting their lips. "I don't want us to be a secret anymore," Nika says between kisses. "I think it is too late for that baby" Chloe smiles gripping Nika's ass.

"It's time to go home love" Nika states kissing on Chloe's neck. "I think I like it right here" Chloe chokes out suppressing a moan. "You know I don't take no for an answer my love"

#wcbb #oc #wlw #uconn wbb #uconn #fluff #nika muhl #nika muhl x reader #nika mühl

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ataraxiaspainting · 5 months

Text

Hier Encore II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore I.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), forced tattooing, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, mentions of starvation, some minor Hunter x Hunter spoilers, violence, Hisoka showing up sorry about that in advance, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 13.7k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

ii. “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies. You’re happy here, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage. You’re happy here, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is always carrying gifts for you–lovingly ignoring your pleas to better learn how to budget his money–cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan… your favorites. His too.

You hope he’s happy here with you too.

He says he does.

*~*~*~*

“Where do you want it? The neck, the leg? Lower, higher?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but exhaustion and annoyance overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you lay on your stomach, the plastic beneath you crinkling. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song was at, and also because of how loud the tattoo artist was as she asked Chrollo a few questions.

“The lower back.” he touches it with his cold finger, almost making you jump and run out of that parlor. “Somewhere around here.”

You try to close your eyes and imagine you are anywhere else in the world. Even a sketchy bar would be better than this tattoo parlor because at least then you could leave with no pain in your body.

“Okay.”

“Thirty thousand Jenny, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You hear a large bag filled with coins being placed on the table. The same bag that made the owner of this place go on his knees and kept repeating that there was no appointment necessary anymore. While the sound of money jingling would make anyone feel happy, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. No one will ever know though, because you keep your mouth shut unless you have to say something sweet. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I’ll pass.”

“Alright then. Are you going to use a stencil first to show me what it would look like? I think that would be best.”

You hear a tired sigh. “If that’s what you want. I’ll take it out.”

Your legs want to run. Your heart wants to burst out of your chest. Your eyes want tears to come out in rivers. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Here we are.”

You feel thermal paper going on the spot just above where your butt is.

“Looks good.” Chrollo hums, pleased. “Behave. I’ll be back soon.”

His voice is soft but still firm. He steps toward you and squeezes your hand lightly, his thumb rubbing circles around it. He hums again. You can only see his shoes from this angle, but you know he is smiling. You want to scream, but you can’t.

You nod, still not talking. You hear a praise leave his lips, but you’re too scared to pay attention. He thanks the tattoo artist and leaves. The door shuts behind him quietly. For a brief moment, you sigh with relief.

The tattoo artist also sighs. There is a nervous chuckle that escapes both of your mouths, the type where both of you know what would happen if either of you were to step out of line. You try to move your neck upwards to look at the posters on the wall. Most are Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, with a few of Audrey Hepburn. The largest poster is of the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, with Monroe and Russell dancing above the title in revealing magician outfits.

The tattoo artist turns the dial on the radio, putting on I Put A Spell On You instead, which you'd rather listen to.

The tattoo artist leans in closer and talks to you in a whisper. "I'm so sorry about this. I had to do it."

Your eyes are wide, but you manage to keep your calm. Your fingers are shaking. Chrollo's voice is in your head, telling you to be still or he'll know. You do your best to ignore it as the tattoo needle stabs your back, sending shivers down your spine.

The entire process takes five hours, with you zoning out after about twenty minutes.

The tattoo artist lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in her chair. "We're done, darling. I hope you're satisfied with your new tattoo."

You're exhausted. Your back feels numb. You have zero interest in looking at your new tattoo. You just want to leave.

Chrollo walks through the door with an even bigger smile on his face. "Ah, she's done, is she? Let me take a look."

He walks closer and sees the spider web tattoo, the number zero being on top of it.

"Beautiful. Your tattoo looks amazing, darling." Chrollo stares deeply into your eyes. "Now, would you mind standing up so I can see you in full?"

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops as you stand up.

Chrollo looks from your head to your feet as you stand. With every inch of your body, he smiles more deeply. "You look amazing, my dear. Stunning." He runs his smooth fingers across your skin, tracing the design of your tattoo. "Well, I'm satisfied with your new tattoo." He grabs your hand and pulls you towards the door. "Now, let's head back to the room. Don't you need to sleep? It's been a tiring day."

He stares at your tattoo one last time before reaching out and touching your back, tracing the black spiderweb pattern. You want to cry, but you can’t. You feel both the physical and mental pain silencing you. So, all you do is nod.

Nothing is worth the risk.

The tattoo artist doesn’t look at either of you because of the intense guilt she feels.

The December weather outside only makes you want to shiver more.

Life is death. Death is a blessing that allows the weak to rest. Death is life. Life is a curse that allows only the strong to reap the rewards.

*~*~*~*

Even after all this time since the incident happened, your lower back still hurts.

It burns whenever you touch it–like your skin is on fire–but it may be more mental than physical.

There is no scarring, thankfully, and because it is on your lower back, it can easily be hidden. Perhaps that was the point of the placement, for only if you do not have a long shirt or high-waisted pants would anyone see it; and only Chrollo was the only one you were allowed to be nude with, not that you had any choice.

It is the 21st of October, 1998. Sebaste now sleeps in the same bed as you. He talks in his sleep sometimes, about celebrating Halloween with you or his mother. It’s cute, you think. The photo frame beside the bed has a Polaroid photo of you and him, both smiling brightly. It’s a gift from his mother to you in more ways than one. Whenever your paranoia is set off, you hold it in your arms until you have calmed down.

You loved Robin like you would your mother, and aside from Sebaste, she was the only one you would regularly talk to. She is kind to you, and once gave you hand-carved furniture as a gift when Sebaste first introduced you to her as his girlfriend. On colder days she brings you a pot of her homemade pumpkin soup and chatters away as soon as she sets foot in your home. She was talkative, very talkative, which funnily enough contrasts with Sebastian's introversion.

*~*~*~*

“What will you do to stop people from knowing I am still alive?”

The question you asked, mere days into your kidnapping, came when you were lying down, restrained. You did not mean to sound aggressive, but you think you did by accident. Your nervousness is making you lose your touch, it seems.

“If you would like to know, my dear, I shall tell you.” Your captor responds, sitting on a chair beside the bed.

You want to scream for help. You want to demand him to take the silk binds off of you and run for the hills. But you can’t, because you know it would be useless. You have to wait for the right moment.

“I want to know.”

A book covers the lower part of his face, but his eyes still look down on you from your helpless position. The Brothers Karamazov. How fitting.

“We will request more money for your release.” Even though you cannot see half of his face, you know he is smiling from how pleased his voice sounds. “So much money that the authorities will simply give up on you, money that simply cannot be paid.”

Here you are, with a silk scarf tied around your wrists, not too tight but not too loose, and another binding your legs. He got rid of the handcuffs when he returned with you to a penthouse, wanting in some sense to make sure you were at least partially comfortable. Perhaps the handcuffs were just to ensure the public thought that you were a hostage taken for ransom.

“Four million, sixteen million, perhaps twenty million for just a cut of your hair, maybe fifty million for a photo of you in your presumed last moments.” There is a pause, with you finally being able to hear your rapid heartbeat hidden behind a mask of calmness. “They will give up on you eventually, and the world will continue to go on as it always has.”

You silently wish that you could turn your hearing off like a light. There is such depravity, devotion, and greediness in his tone.

“Maybe they won’t.” Your eyes keep moving around the room to avoid his intense stare from above. “Maybe they’ll know whatever body you plant is fake. Maybe they’ll locate me. Maybe they’ll… they’ll pay everything off.”

“That does not seem plausible, my sweet.”

You are holding back a sea of tears.

“Even though you think so, there is quite a small chance that will happen. That chance will only dwindle as the price increases, I am afraid. Money is far more important to governments than human lives in all cases. You know that, don’t you?” Chrollo says, his voice slightly teasing, turning a page of his book. “Perhaps it is for the best that they think you are dead though, angel, with all of the… dealings you have done when you thought no one was watching. You are quite resourceful. It’s something we have in common, you know.”

You know that you’ll only make this situation worse if you try to fight back anymore.

You just look up at the ceiling and count the tiles, waiting for the moment he unties you.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

*~*~*~*

You liked gardening before your capture, and still do. As a hobby, you grow plants that are suitable for the fall setting. You cook with them when they have matured enough, or give them to Robin if you have too much of them. You especially like yams because they can be cooked into both sweet and savory dishes. A duplex trait you love.

It keeps your mind off of Chrollo.

You got yourself a new watering can recently. It can hold more water for your plants and it is prettier than your old one. It is a metal one, the spout rose freshly cleaned from rust by your gloved hands scrubbing for what felt like a millennium. It was worth it. The water compartment has purple lilies and white jasmine flowers on its bottom half. There are also a few butterflies, bees, and praying mantises among them. It’s cute and comforting to you.

This new life is also just as cute and comforting to you. You feel a sense of stability now that you aren’t forced to go from place to place by your captor or in fear of being caught by him. There is a sweetness and simplicity to it all. You get better sleep now that you share a bed with someone you love rather than someone you hate with all your being. You wear sweaters and sweatpants instead of those revealing shirts and short skirts, being free to dress warmly for once. Even when you were given tights as a reward for good behavior, they always were not nearly enough to make you stop shivering. Whenever you go to a clothing store in the town you avoid the section with clothes that are meant to show off collarbones or thighs. You’d rather die than wear them, even in the scorching heat of the summer months, bearing the rolls of sweat that appear on your face and your back.

*~*~*~*

The clothes are too tight. It’s hard to walk like this.

Everything itches.

You would love nothing more than to take your clothes off right here.

One of your hands goes to the upper part of your back while the other goes near your spine, your arms almost hugging you from how odd their placements are. As much as you fidget, you cannot seem to get that one spot, until you feel someone else scratch it gently.

“Here?”

You sigh, relieved as Jean’s nails move up and down, subduing your discomfort.

“The bodice is almost strangling me, and they gave me ballet slippers twice my size.” You groan as you sweep your bangs to the side so you can see what is in front of you. You start walking with Jean away from the stage and into the darkness of the hallway where the dressing rooms are.

“Don’t you think you can buy a new pair?” A well-meaning question, but their tone doesn’t stop you from dryly laughing.

“I’m not the one who had the lead role.” You walk to the door with the number four on it, twisting the handle and pushing it backward. “This is just a sideshow, anyway. As soon as I get that promotion, I’m getting out of here and moving to a different Yorknew district. One with a name that does not claim to be a saint.” Upon entering the dressing room, you raise your arms towards the ceiling and emit a low, discontented sound. “Hilland or Kingstown, hopefully. Those have the highest crime rates, after all.”

“Saintshore isn’t that bad.” Jean leans on the door and begins to take off their shoes, their quality much higher than yours. Your eyes go back between your vanity and theirs, both of which have bouquets piled on top of each other, along with other gifts. “The audience loves you, you know.”

“Then why was I the deuteragonist yet again?” Your hands shift through your mound, separating the flowers from everything else. Some chocolates, makeup, perfume, confessional love letters… nothing to pay much attention to, as usual. Frustration overtakes you, but you don’t let it show.

“I mean it. Everyone loves you. You rival my popularity most of the time.”

Another dry laugh from you. “Then my dog days should be over by now.”

“Perhaps they will soon.” You don’t need to look in the mirror to know that Jean is smiling, trying to comfort you as they always do. “I think you’ll be okay. You have plenty of potential and you are admired by many here, from the patrons to the staff.”

“If those people loved me as much as they say they do, then I wouldn’t be in this dress and instead be living in a penthouse, living a life of luxury without working a single hour.”

“Maybe that will happen someday. You never know.” A hug from behind. “Maybe you’ll be swept off your feet tomorrow by some charming, tall stranger. Like those meet cutes from those movies you like watching.”

“If only, Jean. If only.”

*~*~*~*

Robin took you to the library today because you had mentioned that the few books you had were getting boring. She told you that she had never taken for an answer when you said you didn’t want to bother her. She then grabbed your hand and pulled you all the way here, repeating that you were never an inconvenience to her and that she loved you. She accompanied you to the horror section, remembering your fondness for the genre as you had mentioned a few days ago. That and Halloween were just around the corner.

You were glad to have someone to talk to while Sebaste was busy working in his office, at least.

Robin was chattering away, talking about random stuff that she remembered or events that happened when she was younger. A few weeks ago, she went on a tangent about the history of execution methods and how it related to racial segregation, and if you were being honest it was interesting to listen to. You learn a lot from Robin this way, even things like carving you learn more from her words and less from her movements.

As much as her interests are varied and odd, you cannot deny that Robin is very knowledgeable. Whenever Robin is present, it's as if you're engaged in a conversation with an old buddy or a younger sibling passionately discussing their interests, even though Robin is significantly older than you. If it wasn’t for the fact that there are many small sections of white hair amongst her ginger locks and her wrinkles, a stranger would probably have assumed that she is your little sister.

You love her and trust her.

“What about this one?” Robin asks, holding out a book with the title We Have Always Lived In The Castle on its monochrome front.

If you recall correctly, it’s a Shirley Jackson work. Someone recommended it to you a long time ago, you think. You can’t remember who exactly, though. It was not Chrollo as he was not the most interested in horror to begin with. All that was on his bookshelves were books relating to philosophy or something else in that vein.

At present, the library houses a mere handful of people. The librarian, the village teacher with two visibly tired children. A girl about your age with bright purple hair and a black leather jacket with tiny spikes on its cuffs and a white skull on the back of it. A man who looked a bit older than you was reading a book with his other hand on his chin looking zoned out in a way.

*~*~*~*

There is a pleased, wanting moan coming from behind you on the bed.

“We’re finally alone, baby…”

Don Dario lays on his bed, large enough to be used by at least five people. The frame is made of agarwood, and the headboard is crested with what you assume is pure gold, considering how rich the Don is. The pillows are encased with wine red and medallion yellow silk. So are the curtains of the canopy. The blanket is doused in similar shades, but slightly darker than you think. If you choose to lie down, you could see the painted inside of the marquee, but you don’t want to. You do not want to sleep with this slimeball. So you simply sit at the corner hoping the Don would just give up and let you go.

“Don’t be shy, baby.” His knees are stabbing into the mattress and he is quickly unbuckling the belt of his crimson velvet robe, moaning and chuckling with excitement. “Come on, pussycat. Come to Daddy.” Even though you refuse to face him, you can envision how he is licking his lips as you hear his mantle being thrown to the floor. “No need to keep playing hard to get. Nobody’s here aside from you and me. I know you want me, darling.”

Click, click, click.

He crawls on all fours to your backside and then to your right side, still cooing and cawing. You finally look at his eyes, and you see the direction they are facing; downwards. After a slight scoff from you, though, he looks upwards towards your face. “You’re so cute, you know. I feel like I will never get tired of looking at you.”

Click, click, click.

“You like me too, don’t you?” There is a smirk on his face, making his double chin even larger and making you in turn narrow your eyes. “You must, at least a little bit, right? Everyone wants a piece of me. But I don’t mind if such a pretty girl like you wants to get a bit more than you were told that you would get. You will, if you promise to come back, that is. For another round.”

There is a whisper of a glare in your eyes, and when Don Dario notices this he simply laughs haughtily.

“Now, now, sweetie.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “I always keep my word. You just have to do your part and everything will be fine.”

“I never said I would do this, you forced me to be here.”

The grip tightens and you wince. “When I saw you on that stage, I knew I had to have you. I was feeling generous. I still am.” His voice is now cold and demanding, the opposite of how it was just a few seconds ago. “I’ll pay off your debts and have a word with your boss, I promise, if you do as you are told.”

“Asshole.”

Click, click, click.

There is a murmur of fondness from Don Dario’s mouth, but you don’t care enough to make out what he said.

“You know no sane woman would sleep with you willingly, and so you order your lackeys to grab one by the hair and drag her to your room. Quite pathetic, wouldn’t you say?”

Don Dario rolls onto his back and cackles like he is being tickled. “This kitten is trying to use her claws to fight a lion! How adorable.” You want to throw up.

Click, click, click.

A flash.

“What was that?” You ask, irate.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Your neck turns to see him start to unbutton his shirt, the golden letters and medals of the many necklaces around his neck smashing against one another. “Just a few mementos, and also to make sure you don’t say anything… crummy.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Call me whatever you like, but one way or another you’ll do what I want.” There is a sudden grab of your hair as you are forced to lay on the mattress roughly. The touch of the velvet beneath you, despite being soft, also feels like molasses on your skin and makes you feel slow and heavy. “Let us not wait a second longer, my bride for today. Be good for me and maybe I’ll even send more money your way in the future.”

You want to cry out for help, but his henchmen are right outside his bedroom door in case you try to run. It would be useless. You wouldn’t be let go and all that would result from it is you being pushed and shoved back into Don Dario’s arms eventually. He would find you if you ran.

You decide not to fight anymore. You’re exhausted and there would be no point in the long run. You nod and the genuine smile that appears on Don Dario’s face is a terrifying sight to you. At least you would get that promotion and the money to pay off your debts, even if it hurts to walk in the morning.

“Give daddy some sugar, baby.”

Every hair on your body stands on end as you nod.

You are nothing now but a Mignonne who is forced to be swept off her feet.

“Lay all your love on me.”

*~*~*~*

The newspaper today had an odd headline, to say the least. Especially because this town is so far away from the Saintshore district of Yorknew. It would take forever to get to it, not that you would ever want to return to that place that should be categorized as a nuclear dump if anything. The food was greasy. There was always a whiff of smoke, either from the smokers or the many, many cars, and rusty needles on the ground below you if you set foot outside. Not that there would be a point in going for a walk as Saintshore was practically unwalkable except for a few suburban areas and a small portion of the poorly taken care of parks.

Mobster Don Dario Niccolo Found Beheaded In Alleyway was not a title you had ever thought would be read or even seen by you or anyone for that matter, but it makes sense. Dario was not short of enemies who would do anything to kill him or at the very least sabotage his business affairs with other criminals. He always had the limelight on him, whether his deeds were good or bad. That gave him the nickname of the uncrowned king of Saintshore. You don’t feel bad for his family or his ‘friends’ in the slightest. That is one person who is part of your unwanted past gone, after all, and someone will be there to get the blood-soaked inheritance and probably continue the Niccolo legacy to take more money.

You’re happy to be far away from that district and from the Phantom Troupe, almost enough to get you on your knees and worship the stars above you.

*~*~*~*

His movements are always silent, never betraying his presence with the sound of footsteps. You never hear them coming.

He does it on purpose, you think, to keep you on edge and to catch you in any act of escaping he suspects you will do.

He’s right if he does expect you will try something, though.

His earrings glimmer in the moonlight, hypnotizing you with their beauty. His eyes glimmer too, his irises reminding you of the pitch-black sky that is above you two and this picnic blanket. His teeth remind you of pearls sold in unpurchasable jewelry shops. At least you feel hypnotized, because you do nothing as he takes your hand, not even flinching. Like the devil, Chrollo is beautiful. But the beauty is only hiding what lurks beneath the surface; a monster.

“Open wide, dearest.” The chocolate-covered strawberry leans closer, pale fingertips holding onto its dark green leaves. “This is romantic, is it not?”

Maybe you can blur out his words for a bit longer to again remove the bitter taste in your mouth. Then only the sweetness of the scenery in front of you would remain, hypnotizing you yet again.

*~*~*~*

When you step out of your house’s door, it is like you are instantly transported back to four years ago; the last time you celebrated Halloween.

All the houses on every block have decorations of some kind, whether going all out with animatronics supposed to resemble monsters like the popular Bays’ house or a measly jack-o-lantern standing out amongst a poorly taken care of front yard like the lone Mr. Hyde’s house. Perhaps the weeds only increased the scariness for the children and were done on purpose. Ah, weeds. How horrifying. All of the houses also have candy to give out to the trick-or-treaters, from Ms. Alson’s house down the street to the unpopular Blissetts’, your neighbors. In Ms. Alson’s case, she is giving out handmade gift bags to everyone who passes by, even adults. However, the Blissetts only put out a smaller-than-life basket of candy corn with a ‘take one’ sign next to it. Terrifying.

“Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat!” The kids chanted, running around in circles as they all wore costumes.

*~*~*~*

As you ponder the origins of this situation, you diligently search for any missteps on your part. Chrollo, in his typical fashion, remains silent about the expression on your face as your mind races. He always waits for you to speak first, yet you are certain he is aware of your thoughts. Together on the balcony, he feigns interest in his book, his sunglasses serving as a disguise to conceal the gaze fixated upon you. What could you have possibly done to cause such a high-ranking criminal to be romantically interested in you? Did you meet somewhere before? Did he see you from afar and become obsessed with you that way?

“You look rather nice with only my shirt on.” A hand is placed on your bare thigh, squeezing the meaty flesh gently.

“When did you first start liking me?” Your vocal tone emerges with a softer and huskier quality than initially intended. You discreetly clear your throat, contemplating whether a repetition of your words is necessary. Chrollo's gaze is fixated upon you, yet you avoid meeting his eyes, instead directing your attention towards the captivating spectacle of the sunset. The hues of yellow seamlessly blend into orange, which seamlessly blends into red, the colors melding together without complete separation. He affectionately applies more pressure to your thigh, emitting a gentle hum. This shirt serves two purposes: to allure him, ultimately facilitating your escape, and to maintain a facade of modesty, despite it being the most conservative garment available in the hotel room. Your loathing for him burns fiercely within, yet you must never allow it to manifest outwardly.

When you fixate on the sunset, you wonder to yourself if you perhaps can distract yourself from the sensation of his hand caressing your thigh.

Placing his book on the table near the outdoor couch, he leans in your direction and gently draws you onto his lap. You make no resistance, acknowledging the potential advantage this holds for your scheme. After all, even if you tried, he wouldn't allow you to escape.

“I mean if you don’t mind. If you don’t want to tell me, I won’t get mad.” You lean in, Chrollo’s hair slightly tickling your nostrils. “It’s your choice.”

“You’re right in that aspect. It is my choice.” He hums and you can picture his eyes behind his sunglasses shifting upwards in reminiscence. The arm around you pulls you in closer so that your nose is right next to his neck. “But I’ll tell you if that is what you want. I was in Saintshore and saw you dancing in a ballet.”

“Which one?” You mumble, not even surprised that he knew your side job before you were promoted. You can smell his cologne; musk, sandalwood, rum, and vanilla. He always sprays just a bit too much, not enough to make you cough but enough for you to smell it whenever he is close. Not that you would ever tell him that, as that would ruin your plan and he is self-aware enough to know what he is doing.

“Swan Lake. You played an excellent Odile, beloved.” His hand brushes your arm while the other dances on your thigh still. The queen of the black swans.

“That’s it?” You ask, and Chrollo responds by having his hand over upward from your thigh to your bangs, brushing them to the side.

“You were just so graceful. You still are just as beautiful, you know.” He kisses your forehead and you try your hardest to not flinch. As you gaze at the sunset, you make a conscious effort to divert your attention from the affectionate tone in his voice. He passionately shares his journey of falling in love with you, while his hand gently rests beneath your shirt, and you sense something hard beneath you. It’s best not to think about it too much, you tell yourself.

*~*~*~*

Two years, five months, twenty-two days, twenty-three hours, and five minutes.

That is the duration of time that had passed since your triumphant escape, about half the duration accounting for the time it took for you to reach a considerably distant location from the place where you were held prisoner.

Tickets to films, musical adaptations, ballets, stage adaptations, and operas. Piles upon piles of novels, fashionable clothes, and delicious food that were more expensive than anything you had ever bought before your capture. Everything was given to you in the blink of an eye, all aside from freedom.

Memorabilia like heart-shaped sunglasses, flared sundresses, lingerie made with lace and silk, violas, violins, cellos, croissants, cream puffs, macaroons, rings, necklaces, chokers, thigh highs, garter belts, short skirts, sheer tights, and hotpants were all given to you without you even asking. You only wore them and played them and ate them when it would help you with your escape plan, which you guessed was all the time. You became the archetype known as the temptress, a symbol of lust and desirability. Unethical, a Queen Bee, mysterious, wanting, and seductive. But you also had to become Chrollo’s sweetheart at the same time. A princess from a fairytale, a coquette, gentle, sweet, and alluring.

*~*~*~*

The bedroom is suffocating to you. It was too clean, too pristine, the walls having all furniture mounted on it tidy with not a speck of dust or dirt. There is a low hum of the air conditioner that is above hung paintings that were both stolen and bought legally. A pendulum clock above the bed with its hand swinging from side to side with a constant tick-tocking sound. The blanket restraining your wrists was tied to the headboard, the half that was all things considered a piece of your part of the bed. He doesn’t restrain your legs anymore, a reward you suppose for good behavior, for not trying to kick him whenever he touches you or at the very least within your range. Similarly, he doesn’t gag you anymore for not screaming and crying and demanding to be let go.

He sometimes feeds you and sometimes lets you feed yourself. He brings you whatever you want to eat whenever you want to eat. Pastries, cheese, bread, pasta, all of it you have access to, all you have to do is ask for it. If you don’t request anything, the meal will be something nutritious and balanced, like steamed rice and broccoli with tofu and miso soup. One time you refused to eat, clamping your mouth shut like a toddler as he gently tried to guide a metal spoon to your lips.

You tired your neck out that way and gave in about an hour later, though the food was ice cold by then.

You don’t refuse to eat anymore. You don’t do a lot of things you want to do anymore. You are scheduled as to when you can and cannot walk within the penthouse like you are his dog. The only room you have privacy in is the bathroom, when the silk restraints come off and you can walk around freely, as small as the room is. Though it is windowless, and there would be nowhere to hide if Chrollo ever decided to open the lockless bathroom door.

If you are good, he lets you watch movies or shows on the television, he’ll read to you, one time he even gave you some of your old things from your apartment, putting them on the table beside you. If you are bad… On days that you are bad, he ignores you, aside from when you ask to go to the bathroom, he describes the brutalness of the murders he has committed in great detail as you squirm, or he will tickle you for an hour straight until your face is red with tears and you can hardly breathe.

“I’m willing to wait.”

He repeats this every time you try to tear the blanket off of your wrists and ankles, every time after you cry and scream your lungs out, every time you refuse to look at him and at yourself in a desperate attempt to control at least one thing; your imagination. He wants you to break and leave only your vulnerable, core self. You could never resist the pull of rebellion forever, your thread of patience always eventually snapping and forcing yourself to tie it back together. You could never resist what lays dormant in the deepest crevices of your heart; a chained-up beast.

“With time, all pain fades.”

*~*~*~*

Maybe he is right in that aspect. As much as you want to deny it, with every passing month you were held captive, what Chrollo does then surprised you less and less. You sort of became comfortably numb to it all, only focusing on escape and not how much he touched you everywhere and told you sweet nothings both in and out of bed.

*~*~*~*

“The bathroom is well stocked with all sorts of soaps and shampoos and creams, as well as any other necessities you will need for this.” Chrollo says as he presses one of the mirrors above the sink, the mirror opening and revealing more products than are at the rim of the bathtub already. As always, his voice is calm.

You have never heard him angry before, or sad before, and you don’t want to. You don’t know what he would do if you pushed him to that point. That is why when Chrollo had told you that he wanted you to bathe him as a reward for you being so good these past few weeks, you agreed. You had just graduated from being restrained from the bed to being able to walk around the penthouse freely, and you don’t want that taken away from you, especially so soon.

“And I expect you to do a good job.” He adds, bringing your focus back on him and not on the restraints he had tucked away in his closet a few days ago. “There might be other rewards for you if you do so.”

“I know.” You mutter and pull the handle above the bathtub. Water starts to flow and warm up. You want to ask him if those rewards would be for you or him, but you can’t bring yourself to. Rewards from Chrollo are always a gamble, ranging from making bread to him bringing you a spider lily plant home to gifting you clothes that showed off your collarbone to you sitting on his lap as he read.

“Good girl,” Chrollo says, watching as the tub begins to fill with water and he closes the mirror with a soft click. “And if you’re a very good girl,” He pauses for a moment as the edges of his lips bend into a smirk from what you can see in the foggy mirror. “Who knows what kind of reward I might just give you.” He turns to you, his face still covered by a sly smile. “That is, of course, if you’re a very good girl.”

As much as you try to stop it, your eyebrows furrow slightly at his statement, unsure of what to think. All he does is chuckle.

“Why don’t I make this as fun for you as possible?” In his hands are narrow glass vials, each a different color. From the grainy appearance you can see from each bottle, you can safely assume that they are bath salts. You are right as Chrollo puts them each on the area around the sink one by one. “After all, you’re going to be taking a bath with me.” He pauses for a moment, allowing his words to hang in the air. “I hope you’re excited, darling.” He leans in close and presses a kiss on your forehead. “You’re going to enjoy this very, very much, I promise.”

“I know.” You mutter again as you step forward toward the sink, and Chrollo steps back a bit for you to see the options of bath salts. As you expected, there is a wide variety of scents. Floral aromas such as lavender, rose, cherry blossom, and vanilla. There is also a selection of sweet scents, like strawberry and apple, while at the same time, there are some muskier, darker scents, like cinnamon and sandalwood.

You have no say in your hell. You don’t want a say in your hell.

You pick up the narrow periwinkle flask labeled as lavender with shaking hands. As the warm water in the tub fills your bathroom with the sweet smell of lavender, you hear Chrollo speak up from behind you.

“Good choice, love.” He says, his voice filled with anticipation as he speaks. “Now then, I think it is about time for you to give me that bath.”

You hate how you automatically nod, and how Chorollo coos as he starts unbuttoning his shirt.

*~*~*~*

You still have trouble having baths in the village bathhouse because of him. You have trouble doing a lot of things you had no problem doing before. You sometimes wake up and because of Sebaste’s dark hair and white skin, you mistake him for Chrollo for a few moments of drowsiness and almost cry and scream. When you are brushing your hair, you style it the way you like it but almost consider putting it in a style Chrollo likes, just in case you see him that day out of pure chance and bad luck. Whenever you see a book that used to be on Chrollo’s shelves, you almost buy it or borrow it so you can burn it later.

*~*~*~*

“What are you looking for, dollface? Treasure? Get rich quick schemes, history?” a voice, still trying to be cordial but curiosity and wandering eyes overtook it halfway.

The faux leather furniture squeaks slightly as it is pushed down a bit by you sitting on it. You try to adjust yourself as you sit down on your butt, crossing your legs. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me is playing from the small radio, the audio is slightly too quiet for you to make out what part the song is at, and also because of how loud the construction is outside.

“You are a Hunter, aren’t you?” You lean in slightly and make direct eye contact with him, putting on a slight smile. “I would like to know more about a certain Spider if you catch what I am saying.”

You hate how the man looks at you, confusion clear on his face. You knew it would be risky coming here, but you have no other options.

“Why them?”

You place a large bag filled with coins on the table. “The thirty thousand Jenny fee to talk to you, along with a million for keeping silent about this.” You now see the man’s eyes glitter with greed as he smirks. Some people were just too easy. This feels like child’s play compared to Chrollo with the lengths you would have to go to manipulate him. “Feel free to count it if you wish. I will not stop you.”

“Nah. I want to get straight to business if you don’t mind.”

“Alright then. What do you know about them? Tell me everything.”

The man leans back and looks at the cracked ceiling. “Just be warned, pretty little lady, if they come after you it’s not my fault. You’re asking for trouble.”

You’re annoyed at him keep calling you pet names. You want to slap him. You want to say you would rather not be here at all. But you can’t.

You can’t because it’s useless and all of your progress would be ruined.

“Just one sec.”

He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales, the smoke erupting from his nose onto your face and almost making you loudly cough.

“I’ll tell you.” He smiles, the cigar still wedged between his two golden teeth. “You young ones are so dumb. You aren’t even a Hunter, dollface.”

His grimy voice is like nails on a chalkboard to you. He takes the cigar out of his mouth and his finger taps on it, making some of the burnt parts fall onto the ashtray. He hums again. You just want your information so you can go. You don’t want to do small talk, especially with this prick.

You nod, still not talking. His grin widens at that. He raises one of his hands and a man in a suit and sunglasses comes out of the shadows and hands him a folder, leaving straight afterward without making a sound. So you have unwanted company.

You almost let out a sigh then. The man whistles a tune unfamiliar to you as he looks through the file. He then throws it in an uncaring way towards your side of the table, the folder letting out a slight thump as the paper makes contact with the wood. He whistles a bit more and puts one of his legs over the other. He sighs and your disdain for him only increases by then.

He leans toward and taps on the document inside, some of his cigar ashes staining it.

He grabs the bottle of liqueur beside him and pours some into his shot glass, his many golden rings shining underneath the dimmed lights. "Here is all the information we have on them. It is troublesome how little we know about them."

Your eyes are full of annoyance, but you manage to keep your calm. You lean forward and read through the paper in front of you. You have to do this. You have to do this to make sure that your freedom is everlasting.

To read the entire page took only a few minutes at most, the man being truthful in the fact that no Hunter knows them very well despite the Phantom Troupe being much more than infamous.

The man lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair. "Sorry, miss. We know hardly more than you do, but I’ll try to tell you anything else we found out recently."

You want to let out a sigh again. The paper is littered with stains and leaves residue on your fingertips. This is necessary, you tell yourself. Though you just want to leave.

The man clears his throat to get your attention and holds up one of his fingers. "According to my resources, the Spider has recently lost a leg. They quickly gained another to replace it, unfortunately."

It indeed should not be surprising considering how many enemies the Phantom Troupe has, but it is a bit to you.

"We don’t know which one. That’s the most we know of the situation." He stares deeply into your eyes. "I don’t have any other information to give you, I’m afraid."

His eyes wander around your body. Your heart drops slightly as he grabs the folder and closes it.

You don’t stand up, instead briefly gazing at the liqueur bottle. The man smiles more deeply then, and you feel like you are about to throw up. "You know, you’re very pretty, miss. Just beautiful." His hand moves toward you in one brief motion, to which you respond by leaning away, "I don’t bite, no need to be scared." You stand up. "Now, now, dollface. We should talk a bit more, don’t you think? Maybe I can even drive you back to your place later, or mine."

You scrunch your nose in disgust and begin to walk out of the room. He does not physically stop you, but he mumbles insults under his breath. Slut, whore, the more unoriginal ones. You just ignore them and leave.

That guy was an asshole, but at least you got something out of it.

You wonder which Spider has died.

You hope that it was Chrollo, but that would be near impossible.

Chrollo is hardly known about, after all. There was hardly any information about him anywhere; from the news to the people you question and bribe. You don’t know anything about him either, despite being previously a captive of his. Perhaps even Chrollo does not know much about himself, or at least that is what you theorize.

To entirely free oneself from his clutches, one would need to strike a pact with the devil.

*~*~*~*

Sometimes you think you are an escaped ballerina from her music box. You were always in the same position and only did what you were told.

All you have were the walls of the orchestrina and Chrollo. Without him with you in those many penthouses and hotel rooms, you had no one and could speak to no one. Even when you had escaped by shattering your silk-clad, bleeding feet, some small scattered porcelain pieces of you are left behind for him to find.

If you ever told Sebaste the truth, it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it?

You would be back to being on the run, trying to pick up whatever ceramic drops from you to avoid leaving a path of breadcrumbs that would lead him directly to you. Just one mistake is all it takes, and it would all be over in a flash. You would try to fix it as quickly as you can, but it wouldn’t be enough, because one day his grabbing hands will grab the soles of your feet, and there you will stay forevermore, attached back onto them, never being able to leave his palms.

A few breaths would kick the door down. The windows would rattle. Weeds would sprout in your garden. You would smell cigarette smoke because the palm of your hand would be back to being used as his ashtray. Everything would burn to the ground.

You don’t want that. God, you do not want that. More than anything in this world.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you don’t think they are here to kill you.

There is someone in your home, and although you don’t think they are here to kill you, they do not come with the best of intentions either, though.

You think they are in love with you. Love may not be the best to describe it, you think, maybe obsessed or infatuated instead.

Whoever breaks into your home regularly leaves you gifts; flowers, cards, clothes, and other things they know you like. They must have been stalking you for quite a while before doing this because hardly anyone you know knows what your favorite instrument or candle scent is.

Sometimes they go on rants in the letters they send to you once or twice a week. Sometimes they bring you trinkets, usually hairpins or porcelain figurines. One morning you woke to find a bag of coffee grounds, your favorite brand but also quite an expensive one. When you used them that very morning, they praised you greatly with a long note the next day. However, when you refused to eat the slice of strawberry shortcake that was put on your kitchen table and threw it away in your bin, there was no note whatsoever.

You don’t think they cared, or at least didn’t want to let you know they cared. The amount of gifts put in your apartment only increased every time you ignored the last present. They kept getting more and more expensive, too. Whoever is in your home is either filthy rich or does not know how to budget their money well.

Sometimes you hear the lightest of breaths when your back is turned and you are sitting on the sofa, watching a comforting movie. They are fast and good at hiding because whenever you try to catch them in the act there is nothing behind you.

Every time you try to tell someone, they say to just install more security, more locks, cameras, and invest in self-defense lessons and tasers and alarms. You have tried that, and nothing works, the gifts and trinkets keep coming.

No one believes you and your stalker knows it. Every time you try to report it and get shut down, there is a mocking chuckle from behind you when you come back home.

You aren’t alone, you’re with them, but you wish you were because then you would at least be able to rest. You wish you were alone in the dark.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and you think they want you.

There is someone in your home, and you know you don’t want them.

…

You’re tired. You don’t know how to express it.

It’s nearly midnight and you just want to take out your resentment on something. You just want to be alright. You lock your apartment door behind you and walk from the entrance to your small sitting area. You sit on the couch, ignoring the large box on the table beside it. Instead, you grab the basket of VHS tapes on the floor, shuffling through them with both your hands.

Billy Madison. Perfect. You take it out.

Your fingers tap against the front of the tape, your other hand scratches the back of your head and rubs the back of your neck, and your feet shake.

Your stalker must have turned your lamp on when you were out working, maybe for you to see the gift, because you know you didn’t. You don’t care to address the box or them right now, as you are used to it by now.

You snap the VHS tape in half with both of your hands.

All this world does is hurt you, so who can blame you for wanting to hurt it back?

It was a shitty movie anyway. A horribly written plot. Horribly written characters. You were never really a fan of comedies, especially those with a spoiled rich kid as the protagonist. You were going to throw it out even if you didn’t break the tape. You want to demote that assistant who gave you that as a joke.

But that would be petty, and it was a joke. You just wish he got you Gone with the Wind or The Princess Bride or Romeo and Juliet or something like that instead. You could go for a romance movie right about now, especially one with a forehead kiss. You love forehead kisses.

You throw the smashed VHS tape in the garbage.

You could swear that you heard a chuckle as you did so.

…

There is someone in your home.

There is someone in your home, and they put a gift beside your bed as you sleep.

There is someone in your home, and they put an unused VHS tape with the title ‘Romeo and Juliet' on your bedside table before you could wake up.

There is someone in your home, and they give you a forehead kiss before slithering off again into the dark.

You know they won’t stay there for long, but you foolishly hope that they will.

Dark goldenrod, rich black, gray, baby powder, blood red.

*~*~*~*

There is someone in your home. You are sure of it.

The placement of everything is slightly off.

The perfume bottles and makeup products in your bedroom are slightly tilted, and your figurines are placed in places where you know you didn't put them, like finding your cat music box on your vanity when it is always by your bedside table, and your bed is slightly unmade. You feel a gaze whenever you are at home and when you are just about to fall asleep, you hear the soft clicking of a camera. You hear the floorboards creak, too loud to be your dog’s. You know Sebaste would never do those things because he is in his office all day working, even when you are in bed already.

Your kitchen is dirtier than usual. There are always some fallen, dried leaves on the floor even when neither you nor Sebaste had gone outside that day. Some of your food is missing, like the leftover pancakes you planned on eating. Sebaste claims to have not eaten them, and you know he is telling the truth.

It is not just your paranoia. There is someone in your home, watching you.

That same person is most likely watching you outside your home too. You feel a gaze wherever you are.

Whenever you go to the library to read something, you always feel someone looking at you whenever you are paying attention to the books, turning their gaze away the moment you look around. Whenever you pick up takeout from the local saloon, you feel someone staring at you in the corner, blending in with the rest of the dancing, friendly villagers. Whenever you are at the farmer’s market, you feel a gawker behind you, hiding behind one of the stalls, one filled to the brim with boxes and boxes of produce. Whenever you turn your head as you are walking to your cottage, you hear quickening footsteps, running farther and farther away. Whenever you are in the town’s museum, you can sense someone near you in the same exhibit, pretending to pay attention to the artifacts and not you.

Their eyes feel intense like you are made of gold. Something sellable at an auction or something to be stuffed into a penthouse and never see the light of day again. Within your blood flows aureate brilliance to them. You are something to be used, to be fed to the wolves.

You found a few muddy footprints in the bathroom coming from the window above it a few days ago. They are too big and too misshapen to be your dog’s, and they don’t look like the footprints that Sebastian's sneakers leave behind. You clean it up with a mop and some spray. As much as you want to be, you cannot say you are exactly afraid, but a few tiers below that.

You are cautious, sure. You make sure your doors and windows are locked before going to sleep now as well as double checking them in the middle of the night. You cannot say you are afraid, though. You are plotting to catch them in the act, and you don’t think someone afraid would confront their stalker.

You keep doing your usual routine. Wake up, boil water for coffee, wash your face and brush your teeth, make coffee and breakfast, and eat said breakfast. You prefer this life to the one you ran away from by a landslide, still, even though your stalker is somewhat ruining it. Chrollo would treat you like a glorified dog.

Sit, stay, and roll over.

Good girl.

Here is a treat.

You think Sebaste is the only one keeping you from snapping and hunting down your gawker with a bow and ax. Ironically, he still doesn’t know about them. But that’s alright with you. You prefer it.

His routine mirrors yours. He makes coffee for you some days. He eats with you. He walks the dog with you. Then he goes to his office to work.

This is a life you are happy with. You aren’t going to let your stalker ruin that for you.

You are not going to tell Sebaste either. It is much better if you handle this problem on your own. Solving problems on your own is what you are used to, after all. Sebaste could be in danger if you tell him. You’re in danger, and you don’t want him to share your fate more than he already is.

Sebaste is the one person in this world you can trust wholeheartedly. You want to protect him, and you would give up everything if it meant he would be happy and safe. So, you buy a taser, some pepper spray, and a pullable alarm, and learn how to hold your keys in just the right way so you could be able to use them as weapons in case your confrontation with your stalker goes sour.

You have planned what to do with your stalker if things do go as you intended. An abandoned shed, a chair, zip ties, and some… equipment if they do not tell you everything they know right away.

*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a terrible curse placed upon her by a witch when she was an infant. Everything she touched would die in but a few moments. One day, she got tired of living alone on the outskirts of her kingdom, banished when she was near adulthood, and set out into the woods to search for someone to be her first-ever friend.

However, what she discovered was a malevolent man exuding an overwhelming aura of greed.

She hated him. She hated him with all her being, from how he looked to how he spoke to how he treated her; everything he did she disliked.

So, a few days after meeting him in the forest behind her cottage, the princess asked him to touch her face. He did, gently caressing her cheek with his palm and fingers. As his hand made contact with her delicate visage, the princess gently shut her eyes and silently counted to five. But when the princess opened her eyes, she was horrified by the sight in front of her.

The stranger was still there, alive.

…

The unexpected visitor revealed himself as King Death, who is in relentless pursuit of a bride who embodies purity and possesses a power comparable to his own.

"To discover an angel as calm and radiant as the morning doves and dew is an immense stroke of fortune."

Uttering these words, he ensnared her with a gaze as binding as a wedding vow, his eyes devoid of light and depth, unlike anything the princess had witnessed in her secluded little forest. Without delay, he then accomplished his task with an air of satisfaction.

…

Princess Blossom bemoans her unfortunate circumstance, trapped in a desolate garden devoid of life and sunshine. “Do you have not an ounce of mercy for me or anyone?"

Across from her, King Death relishes in the corpse beneath his feet, a lifeless dove's remains, its once pristine white feathers now drenched in crimson, reminiscent of cherry wine. “If you think a bird is beautiful, just wait until you find it dead, dearly beloved by life itself until its last breath.”

…

In the palm of King Death rests a delicate flower in bloom. In a casket adorned with white wisterias lies his cherished bride, eternally his. "A blossom as lovely as you, my rose, should not wither away so easily." Her eyes exude a captivating beauty, a reflection of innocence mingled with fear. "What troubles you, causing such tremors? It cannot be the chill in the air." Though she trembles with fear, he hungrily consumes her terror as the flowers around her wilt.

…

“The nearer you are, the more I break! Have you always been this cruel to us mortals?” Princess Blossom bangs on the wood above her, the coffin sealed shut and buried six feet underneath the beautiful grass, stars, and flowers. She hears someone coming to dig her out, but that hope is replaced with fear as soon as she realizes the sound is coming from beneath her. This is King Death’s reply to her question; to take her to the underworld where only his eyes will see his radiant queen forevermore.

*~*~*~*

It’s necessary, you tell yourself. If there was any other path you could follow, you would have taken it. At least, you think you would have.

Your stalker follows you everywhere. You know it, they know it, but Sebaste doesn’t know it. They probably have seen you in the abandoned shed preparing everything, and either are preparing themselves for confrontation or not taking you seriously.

You hope, for their sake, that they are doing the former. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply tell you all they know without you even bringing them to the shed. You hope, for their sake, that they will simply do that. But you know it won’t be that easy. Either this person is obsessed with you or was paid to follow you.

If your stalker indeed fits into the latter category, they are certainly in for an unpleasant surprise. You won’t let them get away. You won’t let them do anything other than cry, say what they know, and beg for mercy. Eventually, they will have no voice box to scream with, and only blood will come out of their mouth instead of any sound.

You will make sure of it.

You made a vow with yourself to make sure of it.

You have no choice other than to be cruel. You know that, and you hope your follower knows it too. It would be far less trouble for either of you that way.

You have to protect yourself and Sebaste, no matter the cost. You love him too much to lose him. He is in the house and you are outside, defending him. You will do anything to make sure he is alright.

So, you wait. You wait for hours.

There is someone outside your home.

You are sure of it.

You are going to confront them here and now.

You aren’t afraid. You are merely cautious. You don’t want Sebaste to hear any struggling or cries.

Through the window, you smell warm, fresh coffee being brewed in the French press. Sebaste has always had a bad habit of drinking coffee late at night. But it’s alright, he most likely has to work a bit more anyway.

You wait until your thoughts go numb with a lack of sleep. You slap yourself in the face, hard, to keep yourself awake.

*~*~*~*

If one were to compare, this penthouse resembles a work of art in a museum.

It is untouched by dirt and if the small flames of the candles on the table where the television is placed didn’t move from side to side, you would forget anything aside from you and Chrollo could move. Everything shares the same color palette, and there are no warm hues aside from the roses on the vanity in the bedroom and modest fires. Rose ebony, gunmetal, reseda green, silver, periwinkle. Black. Black, black, black, like one day someone decided to cover the counters, walls, and chairs in soot or charcoal.

It is like whoever designed this had won a lifetime supply of ink paint and decided to use it in different concentrations. Rich on the desks and the vanity, but lighter in some areas like the walls, showing designs of olive roses. The farthest you can go here is to the balcony or lean on the door of the entrance like you could pass through it like a portal if you wished hard enough. You cannot jump from the porch, if you remember correctly the room number is 20008. You are twenty floors off the ground, and you know that you cannot survive a plunge from that high up.

You feel like a canary in a hanging birdcage.

You can only tweet and look pretty. You cannot leave unless your captor is there with you every step of the way. You are only allowed to do what you are told to do and not what you want to do.

This is an impeccable, foolproof, ideal enclosure for any imprisoner.

All is flawlessly pristine, to the point of nausea for anyone trapped inside.

You can only chitter and peep like the baby bird you are forced to be. You can only be cradled within suffocatingly loving arms. Chrollo is like your shadow, following you to every part of this place, treating you like a porcelain doll or a pet. You don’t dare act outside of the role you were given because then you know your detainer won’t be pleased with you and your chances of escape will be even lower than they already are.

“Dearest?”

There is that sickeningly sweet voice again, from beside you. He does not know how to shut up, not that you would bother telling him such. You are here, in his domain and his clothes and eating his food. You have no say here, and he knows it.

“Yes?”

You try your best to replicate the tone of a doting, little lover. You don’t fiddle with the skirt of the short dress you were given. According to your kidnapper, your solitary pair of jeans and single hoodie has ‘vanished under enigmatic circumstances’ and thus gave you this attire as compensation. Asshole.

You are waltzing whether you like it or not.

It is how you act that chooses whether you are pulled with puppet strings or not, though.

“You look beautiful.” His tone is so sincere that it almost induces a nauseating urge to vomit directly onto him. “So beautiful.”

You feel like a statue only brought here to be gawked at. He is always touching you in some way, most of the time it is your thighs that are held captive by being caressed with hands akin to velvet. You let him because what else can you do? You would want nothing more than to push him away and run out the door but you simply cannot. You are trapped here, and using Chrollo with honeyed words and passionate kisses is your only key out. You cannot stay in this consolidated coop any longer or you will break.

If you falter, you will never get out of here.

If he catches you in the act of escaping, you will never be free. The silk restraints will be replaced with shackles. A mile of running only means an inch of a chance of escaping. You don’t want to die here. You don’t want to die with rotting, choking hands around your neck.

As you expected, Chrollo’s hand squeezes your inner thigh. “Thank you, Chrollo.”

From the look in his eyes, you can tell he wants so much more than just those words.

*~*~*~*

Footsteps. Calm, poised ones. There is no sound of stray branches snapping or dead leaves crunching. Footsteps of one who knows what you plan to do.

You do not recognize him. His eyes are as bright as gold yet as hungry as a wolf’s, unblinking. If he was a word, it would be dangerous, in bold, yellow, large, lit letters.

His hair is as pink as bubblegum. His nails are quite long, pointed, and painted black. He has a teal star on one of his cheeks and a yellow teardrop on the other. With his mere presence, he towers over you in height and strength and everything else possible. He is as odd-looking as a clown, you note to yourself.

“I had heard the Spider had lost and gained a leg.” You say as the grip on your knife gets much stronger than before. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Correct, my dear.”

“Which one did you replace?”

“Fourth.”

“So Omokage then.”

“I think. Can’t recall right now.”

You scoff at that. “Can’t recall, huh?” The stranger’s grin stays on like a sticker of a smile that was placed on his face where his actual one would be.

“It doesn’t matter who died, I defeated them and that is all that matters. There is no use in remembering the name of a rotting corpse.”

“I would thank you, but you have the same mission as he probably did.”

“Whether you like me or not does not matter either, I am here either way.” One, two steps closer. “I am here either way and there is nothing you can do about it, my dear.”

“I never liked Omokage, anyway. He always treated Luna so poorly.”

“Who?”

“The captive that was forced to be his doll of some sort. Though I assume she is dead by now, right?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and laughs. “Probably.”

“Was wherever you all buried her marked if somebody even buried her at all?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I do remember something about a body being put in a dug-out hole by Machi.”

At least she was given that, you guess. “How did she look?”

“There was hardly a body to bury if I remember correctly. It looked like someone took a skeleton and put leather over it.” Another amused chuckle.

“So she starved to death then. Slow and painful and probably chained up. He always restrained and gagged her before he left, after all.”

The man yawns, disinterested. He is not even paying attention, is he?

“If you ever find out where her grave is, please put a jasmine flower on it for me. Jasmines were her favorite.”

“If I remember. Why are you asking so much about her anyway?”

*~*~*~*

Luna is kind to you, so kind. Despite being taken by such a monster that treats her so horribly, she still manages to smile whenever she talks to you, albeit how rare those times were. You remember one time she wore a turtleneck, the only one she was allowed to wear according to Chrollo, to cover the bruises on her neck, arms, and collarbone. Another time she wore a surgical mask, though because of how bright the teal color was it did the opposite of what Luna wanted it to do; not attract more attention to her face. Omokage only let her wear it because he thought it would “humble her”, whatever that fucking meant. Luna never hit him or at the very least tried not to, even when he broke two of her fingers in front of you. It was a punishment for asking for five more minutes to chat with you.

“It will all be okay.” It is a repeated saying of hers.

“I know it will.” She would always answer that when you asked how she knew that things would get better. She repeats the saying and her answer both to you and to herself when the times get tougher than they usually are for her. She looked out for you and tried to make your situation better by telling Chrollo how good you were to her. Omokage only ignored and glared at you when you tried to do the same for her. You hate Omokage. You do, with all your being. You hated him more than you did all the other Troupe members.

You hated Omokage more than Chrollo even, which is quite the accomplishment if you say so yourself.

Chrollo thinks it is funny. At least you think he does. Maybe that is why you see Luna more than you do the other “Webs”, as you captives are named.

“It’s okay if he hurts me, I won’t hit him back. Violence is not the answer, it only creates more.” She grinned as she said that, one of her front teeth missing. “He’ll die one day and then I will be free.” It is clear to you that if she continues to think that way, she will break. “You’ll be there to tell Number Zero to free me, right? Then I can go home.”

She is always such an optimist. It’s a trait you wish you had. You almost wish you could trade places with her because at least Chrollo does not treat you as his punching bag, though you suppose being his plaything isn’t much better.

“I’ll do the same for you if Number Zero dies. At least then one of us would be free, either way, the ball rolls.” Her light is fading, you can tell by how she looks at you, how her blue eyes don’t shine as much as they used to. “I’ll do anything to make sure he listens.” She is going to break soon. You want so badly to stop it. You want to save her. But you can’t. “I mean it. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be free.”

You know she means it, and it brings you so much more pain than if she didn’t. She unintentionally twists her knife further into your heart

“It will all be okay. I want you all to be happy. You all deserve it.” You want to tell her that she does, more than you do. She deserves a good life, a normal life. “We are friends, aren’t we?” You can’t bear to tell her the truth of what will happen if either Omokage or Chrollo dies. “Friends look out for each other.”

She placed a kiss on your forehead then, before Omokage could stop her. She was dragged back by him pulling on her long sable hair as she cried out in pain. He called her a whore and pulled her out of the room. Neither she nor Omokage came back to the room that day.

*~*~*~*

“She was so sweet. She didn’t deserve to die like that at all.”

“I am Hisoka, by the way.” He bows, the smirk still being plastered on his face without faltering.

You take a few steps back as he approaches further, trying to remain some distance apart from him. “Stay back.” Hisoka hums and merely comes closer.

“If the description I was given and what you know checks out, you must be [First]. At least, I hope that’s who you are, for your sake.” He smiles and he moves forward. “You have certainly been going on a few little adventures, haven’t you?”

“...Yes.” He stares down at you. You know that to him; you are a mere rubber toy to twist until your head pops off.

His gaze shifts to your house, behind you. “You certainly are resourceful; I’ll give you that. The life you have built for yourself was made from nothing. Quite admirable.”

“Do you mean that?” You ask, your voice both cold and inquiring as to why one of the members of the Phantom Troupe is here, in front of you and your house. But you already knew the answer.

“I do.” His voice seems somewhat truthful, but you can tell he wants more.

“Why are you here, Number Four?”

“Now, now. No need to be so aggressive.” He puts his hands up in a mockery of surrendering as he goes back to looking down on you. With the dying trees and debris behind him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. “I have a favor to ask of you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The way he looks at you, a look of one that is about to skin a poor, defenseless doe.

“What kind?”

“Simple. Tell me all you know about the boss.”

“What would I get in exchange for telling you such information?”

“I will not tell the other Troupe members of your location.”

“Is that a threat, Number Four?”

“Oh, no, it is not a threat. It is a potential promise if you don’t listen. While you are at it, you can also tell me about yourself. I believe we haven’t had an actual conversation before if the boss told me the truth that you have been on the run from him for more than two years.”

“Don’t be greedy, Number Four.”

“Oh, no.” Hisoka grins with a proud smile. “I believe you are the one being greedy, my dear.”

“...you’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“You ran away from a life of luxury and comfort. Surely you feel at least somewhat foolish for doing such a thing?”

“Perhaps.”

“The boss is quite displeased with you, though I assume you know that by now. He has been searching high and low all over for you.”

“I’m quite aware, Number Four. We both know I don’t intend to go back.”

He nods and hums. “I know. That is why if you still want to play house with your precious boy toy, you’ll do what I say.”

You scoff and look to the side. “He is not… just a plaything. He is different.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He looks off to the woods. “Plus, I believe there is a rat in your midst. I am sure you have noticed. If you tell me what you know, I’ll trap him for you.”

“You mean you’re not…” Your posture slightly relaxes, but soon firms up once again when you realize that you have two people following you now; Hisoka and your mysterious stalker.

“No. I’m not. So, will you accept my offer, darling?”

“Why does such information matter to you?”

Hisoka shakes his head, still smiling. “That doesn’t concern you, my dear. Now, tell me what you know if you don’t want the rest of the Troupe being here in a matter of mere hours.”

You’re happy here.

You’re happy here, being independent once again. You’re happy here, having stability and not fearing a sudden, gruesome death where you die alone with no one but your captor. You’re happy here, being able to find some humanity within yourself.

You’re happy here with Sebaste.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, who is in the house, blissfully unaware of the laurel crown placed on your head, its thorns digging deep into your skull and dying the tips of it crimson red. He doesn’t know of the invisible scars that mark your body, a gift from the very pits of hell’s flames.

He will remain in that place, never knowing of anything you have buried underground.

He will stay, no matter the cost you will have to pay.

You’re happy here with Sebaste, and you’re not going to let anyone take it away from you.

“Do we have a deal?”

The moment your lips part, the words that escape your mouth are the ones Hisoka longs to hear.

#yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #hxh #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hier encore.#ultraviolet.#author aya

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pearl-star · 2 months

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It's Not My Job

I had written and had this story finished back in August of last year, but just never got around to posting it. I revisited it again yesterday and decided to just go ahead and post it. It's crossed posted to my AO3 if if you would prefer reading it there, here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54107548. (Also, fair warning, this fic is 10K words long. I didn't feel like dividing it up into different chapters so here it is in its entirely.

Summary: After becoming too stressed out from her class rep duties, Marinette talks to the other class reps about the work she’s been doing, hoping for some help. In a few moments, she discovers that none of the work she’s been assigned to do is what she should be doing as class rep. And when she goes to Miss Bustier only for her teacher to threaten her, her friends and family finally decide that enough is enough and take the issue to the higher ups.

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

Marinette was on her last legs. The swell of akumas over the past month was bad enough, but the extra work that came with it just made her life so much harder. On top of her regular school work and make-up work from missed classes, she had to handle her class rep duties as well. She had to be an example, help her classmates when Chloe acted up, check essays and homework, and do her other general class rep tasks.

Not only that, but she had to hatch out a whole plan for the class trip. Not just a general idea but the specifics of where they would stay, the exact activities they would do, how they would get there and travel around, and so on. She also had to plan out the fundraising activities, and had to do enough of them otherwise she would have to put in the rest of the money herself. Chloe had no issues with that in the past, but she was also rich. Marinette couldn’t exactly use her parent’s credit card to get it all situated.

Alya, by her sense of duty as both her friend and class deputy, tried helping her out but for some reason wasn’t allowed. She could help instruct people once the plans were made, but she couldn’t be a part of the planning process. Otherwise, according to Miss Bustier, the plans would have to be redone completely. The blogger had suggested working on it together secretly, but Marinette was hesitant. She didn’t want to risk Miss Bustier finding out and for her to demand that the plans had to be redone. So for now, the bluenette was working on her own.

Everyone in class had noticed the toll the extra work was doing on her. She barely made it to class on time and was always the last to leave. Her bookbag was stuffed with papers with notes and plans. She always had her shoulders slumped, like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and her eye bags were barely being covered by her makeup. She never smiled unless Miss Bustier told her to be a better example, in which case she would stitch on a mechanical smile similar to that of Adrien’s model smile.

The model, for his part, was freaking out over the fact that the sweetest and most happy girl in class (besides Rose, who is just a sparkling ball of pink, glittery sunshine) was struggling. He went so far as to get her coffee order from Alya and made sure to bring one in daily, as well as leave a thermos of heavily sugared black tea on her desk after lunch. The fact that Marinette wasn’t reacting to Adrien’s actions with anything more than a thank you, with no stuttering or blush in sight, proved how tired she really was.

Marinette’s sole goal was to catch up with all of this work as fast as she could, otherwise she would get behind again and be stuck in this loop forever. So when she was asked to attend a lunch out with the other class reps, she hesitated. She didn’t really have time to do much of anything. Even patrols had been cut down, something her partner had insisted on when she almost fell off a building when she zoned out mid jump. Still, maybe they could help her.

Miss Bustier had said that planning the class trip and all that was only the job of the class rep, so her getting advice from the other class reps shouldn’t be against the rules. So Marinette found herself that Friday walking to the cafe where Aurora said to meet. Once she got there, the weather girl waved her over to an open chair next to her.

As she walked over, she looked at the group. Marinette knew who most of the class reps were, but never got the chance to talk to any of them. Some were in the art club with her, but they tended not to discuss class rep duties there.

“Sorry I’m late.” The bluenette apologized, sliding into the empty chair. “I had to show Miss Bustier my progress for the class trip.”

There was silence, and then.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, my plans for the class trip. I’ve narrowed it down to a place and found a hotel that we could stay at, but I still need to figure out travel plans and the exact activities.” Marinette looked at the confused faces around her. Then a thought came to mind. “Am I late on this too?! Miss Bustier only brought it up to me at the end of last month, so I thought that I had plenty of time still but-”

“No it’s not that.” Kimberly said, cutting Marinette off from her panic. “It’s just that… class reps don’t plan out their class trips.”

Marinette blinked at the news. She had been class rep for the past two years. The first year, she didn’t have to be as in depth with the class trip. She proposed a general trip idea, fundraising ideas, and helped coordinate the fundraisers, but this year Miss Bustier said that class reps had to be more hands-on with the trip. The teacher had even given her a packet on the new rules.

“What do you mean? Yes they do. It’s in the newest handbook.”

“What handbook?”

Marinette dug in her book bag before pulling out the packet and handing it to Claude. He flipped through the pages, scanning them while a few other class reps looked over his shoulders. As he read, his frown deepened.

“This isn’t right. The handbook has been updated last year, but not in this way. It actually had deputies taking on more of the load to help lessen the stress of class reps, as well as a newly added duty to help plan out relaxation days throughout the year to try and lessen the chance of akumas during testing weeks. Where did you get this from?”

“Miss Bustier gave it to me and explained it all. She did say how class reps were now responsible for helping to lower the class’s stress.”

All of the class reps looked at each other, before Aurora finally spoke up.

“Marinette… I don’t know why Miss Bustier gave this to you, but it isn’t right. I don’t have the handbook on me right now but there is one in Ms. Meedeveli’s classroom that I can show you once we get back to the school.”

Marinette paused, before nodding and thanking the weather girl. Slowly the conservation changed to something else, but the bluenette’s mind couldn’t stop from drifting. Why would Miss Bustier give her the wrong packet? Maybe the school had made this version and then changed it, but didn’t inform the teacher of the change. Marinette did become class rep for the first time last year, so it is possible that Miss Bustier went and asked for the newest handbook early so that she could have it at the start of her role.

The pigtailed girl was finally able to relax. That had to be it. Miss Bustier thought that this was the correct version and just didn’t know. Once she gets the new copy, they can figure out how planning for the school trip should really go.

After lunch she walked back to school with all of the reps, and then split off from the group as she followed Aurora to Ms. Meedeveli’s room. The science teacher was already in the room, working on writing something on the board for the lesson later on.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Meedeveli. Do you have a copy of the class rep handbook?”

“Good afternoon to you too, and yes I do. It’s over on the wall next to the classroom rules.”

“Do you think Marinette can borrow it for the afternoon? There was a bit of a mix-up with the handbook in her homeroom.”

The teacher stiffened at that, and Marinette was worried that she would say no. Instead, once the woman realized the bluenette’s eyes on her, she shook her head.

“Go ahead. And feel free to keep it in your homeroom, Marinette. I can pick up another copy later. Just let me know if you need anything else.”

Once Aurora handed her a packet, a by far smaller one than the previous one, Marinette nodded.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Meedeveli. I’ll see you later in class.”

She gave her thanks to the blonde as well before walking out of the room, looking over the packet. She was in such a rush that she didn’t notice the usually strict teacher give her a look of pity.

As Marinette read through the packet, she felt less and less stressed already. It was definitely much different than the one she was given, and would absolutely help her catch up on all her other activities. Without having to plan the class trip, she would have so much more freetime. All she would have to do is tell Miss Bustier of the mix up and then she’ll be good.

She decided to wait until after school though, since class was about to start and she didn’t want to be the reason they had more makeup work. However, once class was over and she talked to Miss Bustier, she got a rude surprise.

“What do you mean this packet is wrong? I got this from Ms. Meedeveli’s room. All the other class reps said that the handbook you gave me was the wrong one.”

“Yes, the other class reps have a different handbook, but you need to follow the one I gave you. You’re my star student, Marinette. You can handle more work.”

“I can’t though.” Marinette nearly cried, before composing herself. “I’m really struggling with just homework with all the akumas interrupting class time. And the handbook you gave me said that Alya can’t even help me with all of these extra duties. I’m gonna fall behind at this rate.”

“Now Marinette, that would be your own fault. You need to manage your time better. Also you do need to help prevent akumas. That thing in the other handbook we can include in ours. I want you to plan a destressing activity for the class to do by the end of next week. We can do a different one every week to keep things different.”

Upon hearing that more work was being put onto her, she opened her mouth to refuse before being silenced.

“I really wouldn’t want to have a talk with your parents about you becoming a problem to our classroom, so make sure to keep up your good job as class rep okay?”

Miss Bustier was… threatening her? The bluenette was so shocked that she could only nod, numbly leaving the classroom. As soon as she turned the corner, she bumped into Alya.

“Oh. Hi, Alya.”

“Marinette… did Miss Bustier really say that?”

It was then that Marinette realized how shaken up her friend was.

“What do you mean?”

“She really-” Alya started, before looking at the direction to the classroom door in contemplation. It seemed like she made a decision, as she pulled Marinette away.

“We’re telling your parents. I can’t believe she said that to you.”

The bluenette got a sense of dread with Alya’s suggestion, realizing that Alya had heard some if not all of the conversation she just had. The reminder of Miss Bustier’s earlier threat rang in her mind.

“No. Miss Bustier-”

“She’s forcing you to do more work. Quite frankly, I was about to ‘accidentally’ hide some of the work I’ve been doing for the class trip in with your notes so that you’d actually be able to get some sleep. But now? I can’t just sit by and let this happen to my best friend.”

“But my parents won’t believe me.”

“Don’t you have both packets? Show that to your parents. Besides, it's the entire class’s words against Miss Bustier. Your parents will believe us.”

Marinette still didn’t like the sound of it. She’d never gone against her teacher before. But Alya was hard to stop once she got an idea in her head, so the bluenette was dragged to the bakery.

Her mom was handling the counter, and was finishing up checking out a customer. Once they left, she finally noticed them.

“Good afternoon girls. Feel free to take a pastry on your way up.”

“Actually Mlle. Cheng, we need to speak to you about something.”

“What is it?”

Alya nudged Marinette forward, but when it was clear that she wasn’t going to talk, Alya took charge. She grabbed the two different class rep handbooks, walking forward and giving them to the women.

“Miss Bustier has been forcing Marinette to take on more work as class rep. When Marinette asked her about it, she threatened to call you two up and tell you that she’s causing issues.”

Sabine blinked at Alya’s words, before her confusion was swapped for a blank stare. Her eyes shifted from the packets in her hands to her daughter.

“Marinette, is this true?”

“We-Well I mean, I’m sure Miss Bustier didn’t really mean-”

“Marinette. Please tell me the truth.”

Yep. Her mom was definitely mad at her. She sighed and decided to just take the bullet.

“It’s true, but I-”

“What has she been making you do?”

Marinette flinched at the anger sounding clearly in her mother’s tone. She looked down at her hands. Alya kept a hand on her shoulder to try and calm her. When it was clear that the bluenette had no intention of speaking, the blogger took over.

“She’s been forced to plan the whole class trip by herself. Where we’re going, the hotel we’re staying in, activities we’re doing, the exact travel plans, fundraising, all of that. I wasn’t even allowed to do any of the planning process with her.”

“Anything else?”

“I had to help with grading some things.” Marinette finally added, sighing in defeat. “I also had to help when Chloe acted up.” She leaned back into Alya’s touch, causing the redhead to wrap her arm around her and give her a tight squeeze.

Sabine looked between the two girls and then back at the packets in her hands. She frowned in thought at the clear size difference between the two.

“I’d take it that this is the real one?” She asked, holding up the smaller packet.

“That’s the one that the other class reps use. I got it from Ms. Meedevelei this afternoon.”

“I’m gonna look these over during my break. That will be in… thirty minutes. For now I think you two should grab a treat and relax upstairs. Would you two be okay staying here in case I need to ask you something else?”

The two girls nodded, grabbing a pastry and heading back and up to the apartment. Marinette fiddled with the hem of her jacket, thinking about what had just happened. Alya sighed and pulled her towards the chaise.

“Don’t worry, let your parents handle this.”

“But what if I get in trouble in school? Miss Bustier could do to Principal Damcoles and say that I’m not cooperating and-”

“And then everyone will tell him off if he tries to punish you. Miss Bustier threatened you. That’s a whole other thing to consider, above her dumping a bunch of work onto you and making you do it by yourself.” Alya scowled. “I don’t understand that part. Why did she not want me to help with anything?”

Marinette didn’t have an answer to that. If Miss Bustier truly wanted her to do all of these things, then having Alya help her would have made life so much easier. Why not let someone else who was willing to help take some work off her shoulders do it? The redhead shrugged and reached in her bookbag.

“I guess it doesn’t matter right now. I know your mom said to relax, but I also know you can’t do physics for the life of you so let me help you out while I can.”

The bluenette felt tears prick up at the offer of receiving help, but she quickly wiped those away before her friend could notice. They were so distracted with the work that they didn’t hear the muffled shouts from below.

“That woman did what?!”

“She threatened our daughter. All because Marinette asked her why the manual she was given as class rep was different from every other class reps’ handbook.”

The two adults were hard to anger. Their life was full of simple joys, being able to live peaceful lives despite running a business and being in a time when a magical terrorist was in their city. But let it not be said that they could never get angry. Because right now, the only other thought in their minds besides concern for their daughter was the anger towards the girl’s teacher.

“I want to talk to Miss Bustier today. I know that Alya can be dramatic sometimes, but Marinette would never lie. Especially with something like this.”

“We can close the bakery. I want to be there as well.”

Sabine thought about it for a moment before shaking her head.

“No. I’m just gonna do a phone call for now. Besides, we can’t just close the bakery today. I’ll update you once I’m done talking to her.”

She thought that it would be a fifteen minute phone call max. Just her asking to confirm things and then asking for them to be changed to how they should be. She didn’t expect Miss Bustier to try and defend herself. Yes, Marinette was a bright kid and an excellent student, but that didn’t mean that she should be doing the work of her teacher. The more she tried to defend her daughter, the more the teacher defended her own actions. Sabine ended the call more frustrated than before, and she decided to instead talk to Mr. Damocles. Because surely he would be able to correct the teacher? After all, what Ms. Bustier was doing was an abuse of her power.

Alas, Sabine ended her night early. Both adults saw it best to just close the bakery early. Heaven forbid if that principal or teacher decided to pay them a visit. The cup of chamomile tea was not helping her to calm down in the slightest, and her husband paced around as he ranted. The woman herself, while not outwardly expressing her thoughts, did silently stew on the issue.

How dare those people do this to her child. It wasn’t a big deal? It absolutely was. Neither parent had missed the way Marinette was getting more sluggish and tired. It was part of the reason why they had stopped making her work in the bakery as of late. All that extra work was affecting her studies and normal life, and neither of those adults cared? It was an outrage! But who else could she turn to?

It was then that an idea struck her. Sabine grinned, leaving her half finished tea on the table and walking off.

“Calling them back is not going to do anything. I think we need to go in person and demand that they stop this.”

“Oh, I’m not calling them. I have a better idea.”

If those two wouldn’t listen to her, then she would have to get someone who would make them see the error of their ways. Sabine sat down at the computer, typing out a very detailed email before sending it off. She continued to check her inbox throughout the weekend, waiting for a response, but there wasn’t one. Not until Sunday afternoon.

Dear Madame Cheng,

We have reviewed your complaints regarding Madame Bustier and Mister Damocles, and have officially filed for an investigation to take place. We will begin the investigation starting tomorrow, Monday XX/XXXX, and will inform you of any updates as well as the results. If you are worried about any misaction towards your daughter by Madame Bustier because of this investigation, please let us know. We will be happy to make arrangements for her to be situated in a different homeroom both during and after the course of this investigation.

We ask that you and your husband be available during some point this week for a meeting to discuss the problem more in depth. We will try our best to be courteous and inform you ahead of time when we will be paying you a visit. If you have anything urgent to report before our meeting, please do not hesitate to reach out either through email or using the phone number listed below. We promise you that your concerns will be taken seriously, and the investigation will not end until a solution is made.

Jon Garnier, Dupont School Board Member

Sabine smiled at the email once she finished reading it. It was done. With the school board involved, Miss Bustier would be forced to take off the workload from her daughter. She sent a response email to him, thanking him and informing him that he could come to the bakery at any time and she would be sure to be available to talk to him.

There were some other things, some very concerning things, that Alya had filled her and Tom in on Friday before the girl went home, but Sabine didn’t add those in. As awful as they were, they could wait to be discussed once she was face to face with someone.

Marinette was told that things were being handled, but the girl still seemed worried. She was given a choice to switch homerooms temporarily or even just stay home for a day or two, but she rejected both. Not only was Marinette behind on classwork, but she still needed to continue her class rep duties, even if her parents didn’t seem happy when she said that. Reluctantly, her parents sent her off to school on Monday.

Alya made sure to pick her up, trying to offer her support and then try to distract her with little success. It was very clear to anyone that Marinette had not gotten any rest, despite the reassurance from her parents and Alya. She was told not to do any of the class rep work and instead just relax and focus on her other school work, but she wasn’t able to feel calm. Her anxiety at what would happen now that her parents had talked to Miss Bustier and Mr. Damcoles kept her from sleeping. So she worked on not just all the extra class work, but also her guardian work. Tikki was not happy with her, but there was only so much that the kwami could do to stop her.

The two girls slowed down a bit as they approached their friends by the steps. Both boys eyed the bluenette with great concern with one of them being… a bit more dramatic about it.

“Marientte! What happened? Why do you look more tired now?”

The blond fretted, handing the cup of coffee he had to Nino to hold as he examined the girl, holding onto her face with one hand as he lightly touched the bags until her eyes with his finger.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t sleep? You look more tired than I do when I have a night and morning shoot back to back. Maybe you should go home and rest for the day?”

“I can’t. I’m already behind on all my work. Besides, as class president it’s my duty to show up.”

The pigtailed girl couldn’t say it with as much conviction as she once might have, due to how much energy that would have taken. Even talking was just wearing her out. How she would be able to handle Chole’s inevitable fits, she didn’t know, or really care about right now. None of the trio were happy to hear that, and even the students who fluttered around looked at the girl with a mix of concern and pity.

Adrien had always wanted to be able to have a straight conversation with the budding designer. One where she wouldn’t be so flustered that she would have to run off. But if she would have to be like this for him to get that? He would have never wished for it. For now he turned and took the coffee cup back from Nino to hand it to the girl.

“Here you go. If you refuse to go home then at least have this.”

The small smile she gave him was genuine, and Adrien only wished that it had come at a time when she wasn’t so tired.

“Thank you. I need to get some things done before class starts.” Before anyone could stop her, Marinette started her walk up the stairs. Alya was immediately on her trail.

“She’s wearing herself out. I want to be able to help her more but…” The blond murmured, wishing that he knew what was happening to her. He knew that she was stressed out, but surely there had to be something else he could do besides keeping her caffeinated. Nino patted his shoulder, still looking at where the girls disappeared off to.

“You’re doing what you can. Besides, Alya’s figured things out.”

“Figured what out? Marinette is still… like that.”

“She didn’t tell you? With the way Alya went off in the group chat and then to me, I thought for sure you would have known.”

Alya did what? Adrien had been on his phone, and he hadn’t noticed any messages coming in at all. Checking his texts, the last message from the class chat had been someone commenting on Marinette’s behavior, but it was just a message of concern from Rose. Nothing from Alya. Nino looked over his shoulder and let out an oh.

“You must not have been added to the chat. Here, let me do that real quick.”

In a few seconds, a request to join a group chat came in. Clicking accept, he quickly scrolled to the top of the conversation before pausing. He blinked once, twice, then screamed.

“She did WHAT to Marinette?!”

“Yeah, it happened on Friday. Alya overheard it and went to Marinette’s parents. They-” Nino went on, but Adrien drowned him out.

He couldn’t believe it. He knew that Marinette was stressed out about her class rep position and he saw how Miss Bustier treated Marinette sometimes, but this? That woman just decided to threaten her? A growl sounded out, and it barely registered in his mind that it came from him.

“That’s it. I don’t care what I have to do, I’m-”

“Adrien.” Nino said, grabbing onto his shoulders and snapping him out of his thoughts. “You need to calm down. Trust me, everyone is upset about this, but you can’t get akumatized.”

He tried to calm himself, but it was hard. This whole time this was happening without him knowing. He was a failure to his princess, his everyday Ladybug. Did his partner have something like this happening in her life and he was failing her too? He knew that she was more tired lately, due to having more work in her civilian life on top of guardian work but she didn’t give specifics. He had tried offering to do some of the guardian work too, but she had declined citing how it would be too dangerous to do it in the open and they had nowhere private to go. Maybe he should have pushed more?

“Dude, calm down.” He instructed again, once again jostling him from his thoughts. “Alya already told Marinette’s parents. They have things covered.”

The question of “how” popped into his mind, but before he could voice it he spotted two adults walking up the steps. Adults who he did not recognize, but felt like they held an air of authority to them.

“Trust me,” Nino said, and it was then that the blonde noticed his friend’s knowing look. “They have things covered.”

Adrien knew that there was something else to Nino’s words, but decided against asking exactly what. For now he would simply keep a closer eye on both Marinette and Miss Bustier. No one would be allowed to hurt his princess on his watch.

Inside the school, whispers had already begun. There had already been some talk about the bluenette before. With her being one of the only two people in the akuma class who hasn’t gotten akumatized yet, they figured that the noticeable stress she was under would due her in.

But now the whispers were revolving around the reason for the two adults who entered the building. A man and a woman, both dressed in business attire and wearing the same stern expression. They came in to get answers, and they would get just that.

Walking straight to Mr. Damocles' office, they gave a sharp knock before letting themselves in. The man, for his part, seemed confused by someone bursting into his office. His confusion quickly turned to concern as he recognized the people standing before him.

“We’re here from the school board. There’s been a recent complaint filed and we will be investigating it.” The woman’s tone left no room for an argument. “I’ll be discussing this issue with you while Mr. Garnier does an observation in one of your classrooms. Depending on what happens, we may have to pull some students out of class to ask them a few questions.”

Mr. Damocles only had enough time to realize what the recent complaint was before the man walked out. The woman sat down in the chair across his desk, setting a file in front of him.

“So, tell me about your response to the mistreatment of one Miss Marinette Dupain Cheng?”

There would be no use lying. As required with all staff members, their school issued phones recorded every phone call that took place on them. It was meant to protect them if a parent tries to deny something that they said over the call, but in this case it would be used against him. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out a way to save himself. He remembered that last time these people came in they said that then was his final warning, but surely he would be fine. He was an excellent principal, and this issue wasn’t big enough for him to be fired, surely. So he began his defense.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mr. Gariner walked through the hallway, trusting that Mrs. Monet would be able to handle things. She was slightly biased in this case, as she had a soft spot for the victims in cases like this, but she was a professional above all else so she should be able to prove well into finding out exactly what Mr. Damocles’ thoughts were.

Truthfully, they should have done an investigation at this school sooner. They had seen the news reports about the students in this class, but since Hawkmoth was a new thing they had waited. He took his victims by using their emotions against them, and since uncontrolled emotions tended to run higher among adolescents they didn’t push investigating directly as their top priority.

They had simply decided to send an email and request that something was done within the classrooms to allow for some form of relaxation or meditation to be done. That had gotten accepted without any issues, and they foolishly had allowed their attention to relax from the school. But now they noticed the repeated pattern of akumas forming from one specific class, and something had to be done.

Even without Madame Cheng’s email, they would have been investigating Miss Bustier and her class anyways. Of course, what was said in that email worried them. From what it sounded like, it seemed like Miss Bustier was fostering her work onto a student. That would be bad enough, but threatening said student to continue doing the work was an extra layer that they would have to address.

For now he tried to clear his thoughts, knocking once on the classroom door before walking in. The students were all whispering to themselves, but stopped once they saw his presence. He simply ignored them, turning to the confused teacher.

“My apologies for interrupting your classroom, Madame. The school board sent me to do your regular classroom observation.” It wasn’t true, but it would at least help to make her not mask her true behavior as much. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t be showing off her real behavior though. She seemed a bit flustered, but nodded nonetheless. “I’ll just be sitting in the back. Please just go on with your lessons as you normally would.”

Without another word, he walked up the stairs and took a seat in the very back. The woman eyed him wearily, but called the class to attention anyways. Throughout the morning, he noticed all the students at some point or another looking back at him.

The one that caught his attention though was one blonde student in the front. Not because he was looking at him, but because he was turning around to look at another student. Marinette Dupain Cheng, he had to presume. He did see her photo when looking into her file, but even without that he could tell that she was the student whose parents had made the complaint. The amount of papers that were on her desk, as well as how the other students occasionally looked over to her in concern was enough of an indicator.

There were no major issues that had popped up, but there were a few times when he noticed Miss Bustier looking at Marinette. The first came when another student (Chloe Bourgeois, he remembered her from numerous reports before) made an insult to the girl. Instead of calling the student out, Miss Bustier looked over to Marinette and waited. When nothing happened, she opened her mouth before looking back at him and closing it again. Whatever she was going to say was instead replaced with her continuing the lesson as if nothing had happened.

There were a few other times, when she mentioned the graded homework and a quiz and she looked over to the girl, only to quickly say that she would be passing them back tomorrow. He caught her looking back at him then too. It happened several other times, one notable one being when she mentioned the class’s end of the year trip. The way Marinette’s body stiffened when the teacher commented that all plans would be finished and presented on Friday was noticeable to everyone but the teacher.

Another thing he noticed was the same blonde boy from before making to stand up, only for his desk mate to pull him back down and shake his head. It was easy enough to tell why he did that when they both looked back at him. He didn’t know if it was out of fear that they would be punished or if they were hoping he would do something.

He was going to do something, of course, Mr. Gariner would never allow for this kind of treatment to continue past today, but he was required to wait until the students left before talking to Miss Bustier directly about these issues. Of course, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t doing anything right now.

A few quick emails and texts got sent out and exchanged. Another member of the school board would be coming to help with asking the students and other teachers some questions regarding both Miss Bustier and Mr. Damocles. The principal had been warned not even a few months ago that he needed to have better control on his students and staff members.

Those issues had all stemmed from one Miss Bourgeois who had caused issues and hurt students all while never facing any consequences. He was warned to not let a student get out of trouble by threatening to call her father. He was even told that if the mayor tried to actually follow through on the threats his daughter made, that he would be abusing his power and would be kicked out of his position.

They hadn’t received any complaints since then, but it was a wonder if students had been making them and they never got received. That thought was also troubling. Not all people would consider turning to the school board for issues, not at first anyways. Contacting the teacher or principal was what families were encouraged to do. The issue needed to first be, or at least, attempted to be, dealt with at the school level before going up to the school board after all.

It was meant to stop unneeded cases from clogging up and stopping them from being able to work on more pressing issues, but it could be possible that people didn’t bother trying to contact them. It could be that they were promised that everything would be settled, or even that the school board wouldn’t be able to help out anyways. Another thought was that they could have been threatened as well. If Miss Bustier made a threat to her one student without a second thought, was it possible that other students were coerced into keeping quiet?

Once the bell rang for lunch, all the students were packing up and Miss Bustier said one final thing.

“Marinette, please stay behind for a few minutes.”

Those words caused everyone in the class to stop what they were doing and look between the two. The tension was noticeable, and Mr. Gariner decided to settle things. Walking down the steps and towards the front, he addressed the teacher, not even having to raise his voice to be heard by the rest of the students in the pressing silence.

“Actually, Miss Bustier, I need to discuss some things with you.” When she opened her mouth to refute, he pressed on. “You can discuss whatever it is with your student later on.”

Seeing how he wasn’t going to budge, Miss Bustier nodded. Marinette quickly walked out, the rest of the students following right behind her. Closing the door after the last student walked out he waited a few moments just to make sure that no one else was going to come in before turning to address the teacher.

“Please take a seat. This will be a long discussion.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette was freaking out. Not only did she not get the chance to hand Miss Bustier the homework and quizzes she helped to grade and would be getting in trouble for that, but she also would need to finalize everything for the class trip before Friday. Even with all the work she did over the weekend, she still wasn’t close to done.

She hadn’t been able to book anything since she wasn’t an adult, and even if she could bug her parents to help she wouldn’t be able to since they wouldn’t be going on the trip and whoever booked things had to be in attendance.

That left the only choice being Miss Bustier. She debated sending her an email, but Tikki had actually been able to stop her from doing that, unplugging the computer and causing enough commotion that her parents came up and brought her downstairs to get away from the work laid out on her desk. Her hope was to ask the teacher before class but then she didn’t come into class until the start time. And she wasn’t able to meet with Miss Bustier during lunch since then the man from the school board needed to talk to her, so she would have to put it off until after school.

Right now Alya was dragging her off outside the school and towards her house. She didn’t register the conversation that Nino and Adrien were having behind them. It was when she almost stumbled and felt arms wrapping around her body to keep her upright, while she could see Alya bending down to pick up her dropped items, that she realized they were outside the bakery’s doors.

“Okay. You’re eating lunch and then you’re gonna relax. Maybe you should take a nap too.”

“Adrien?” She tried to turn to look at him, but his arms pulling her back to be flushed with his chest prevented her from being able to do more than glance at him from the corner of her vision.

“You need to let her go dude. Unless you want to carry her inside.”

There was a pause, and it seemed for a second like he was actually going to do it. As he was adjusting his arms, Alya stopped him.

“Let’s just let Marinette walk. We’re here anyway.”

Adrien did let her go enough for her to walk forward, but kept his hand ghosting her back. The four walked in and headed up into the main part of the house. Marinette was sat down on the couch, held down by Adrien when she tried to grab the papers Alya was still holding.

“I need to work on the rest of the arrangements for the class trip.”

“Nope. That’s not your job.” Alya said, leaving no room for argument. Before Marinette could try though, the blogger walked out of the room with Nino in tow.

“Everything will be okay.” She turned and blinked at Adrien, who was still holding her. “I won’t let Miss Bustier hurt you again. I promise.”

“What do you-”

“I heard about Miss Bustier threatening you. I don’t care how I do it, I promise you I won’t let her get away with that.”

Marinette turned to better face him. Half of her brain was trying to mentally arrange things for the class trip while the other half was too tired to fully comprehend what all was happening. It still hadn’t even processed the fact that Adrien was going to carry her earlier. Before she could even attempt to understand what he was telling her now and how he knew, Alya and Nino walked back in with a bunch of food.

“You’re going to eat then you’re gonna take a nap until lunch is over.”

“But I need to get back to school before lunch is over.” If she was lucky, Miss Bustier would be done talking to the man from the school board. Then she could try and get things figured out in time for Friday.

“Eat. Then sleep.”

Alya pushed the plate of food onto her lap. Deciding that she could just sneak out after she got done eating, Marinette began to eat the sandwich Alya had made. During the whole time they ate, their eyes kept drifting back to Marinette. As soon as she was done eating and made to stand, they acted.

Marinette’s brain was able to conjure up the question of if all her friends were physic or if they had discussed this plan in front of her and she just didn’t realize it, because they all acted in sync. Nino grabbed her plate and cup from her hands, moving out of the way while Adrien pulled her down to lay on the couch. Alya threw a blanket over her body and adjusted it as a pillow got placed under her head.

“Nap time.”

“But-”

“You will be stuck here until the end of lunch either way. You might as well just sleep.”

Marinette let out a huff, making to move only for a hand to press her down. She looked up at Adrien’s face as he loomed over her.

“I will lay on you if you try to resist Marinette.”

That reminded her of Chat Noir. Even though he had canceled group patrols, and he took over her solo ones, she had decided to go out for one last weekend. She couldn’t help herself. She was anxious and just wanted to go out for a little bit. Still, once he realized she was out and hadn’t slept at all, he ran off before returning with a pillow and blankets. Somehow she ended up wrapped up in what she could only refer to as a blanket burrito with a pillow under her head and Chat Noir laying on top of her. She had fallen asleep to the sound of his purring.

Of course there was no way that Adrien would do that. But he did. As soon as she tried to sit up again, he laid his chest on top of her’s. He was still kneeling on the ground, so it wasn’t all of his body on top of her, but it was enough weight that it kept her from moving.

“Sleep.” He said, turning his head to look at her. His breathing began to slow, and her body mimicked it without thinking. Soon she was out like a light. He didn’t want to move, but slowly lifted himself off her.

“How did you do that?” Nino asked, his voice in a whisper to keep the girl asleep.

“I read that if you are with someone you both subconsciously match your breathing to theirs.”

He didn’t say it, but he had specifically looked it up on the off chance that he would have to help Ladybug fall asleep without being transformed. His purring only happened in suit, after all. Before anything else could be said, Madame Cheng walked into the room. Adrien quickly leaned back, hoping that she didn’t notice him laying on top of her daughter. She opened her mouth to speak, but the three teens shushed her and waved her off. The woman smiled to see her daughter asleep, but the expression slowly dropped.

“You three are wanted downstairs.”

“For what?”

Adrien resisted the urge to lay back down on top of Marinette and hold onto her. She was finally sleeping, and he wasn’t about to let her have any chance of waking up from her nap too soon.

“There’s someone from the school board who is interviewing the students in your class. She was interviewing me and Tom, but when I mentioned the four of you being here she said she wanted to interview you all now.”

“At the same time?”

“No. Tom and I went separately, so I imagine it would be the same for you three.”

“You two go down. I’ll wait here until one of you gets done.”

Even if Adrien wasn’t the one to watch over Marinette the whole time, he could at least make sure she stayed asleep while Alya and Nino got interviewed. They nodded, and soon Adrien was left alone. He waited a few seconds before laying his head back onto the girl’s chest, smiling as he closed his eyes.

“Oh Plagg, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Marinette is just a very good friend.”

Adrien let out a huff before looking up and glaring at his kwami. He really didn’t want to argue today, so he tried to close his eyes and ignore the god.

“If you think that will stop me, kid, you’re wrong. I-” Whatever Plagg was about to say was cut off. Adrien opened his eyes and looked up, to see him sporting a look of worry. Slowly lifting his head off Marinette’s chest and turned to look off where the kwami was starring. Nothing was there.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, turning back around. What Adrien did not realize was that Tikki was floating right behind him, giving Plagg her signature death glare.

My bug has had no rest at all. Her eyes said. If you stop her from being able to sleep because you’re too busy teasing your kitten and wake her up then I won’t hesitate to end you.

“Nothing.” Plagg said out loud, not wanting to unleash Tikki’s wrath. He was concerned for her bug too, which was why he was trying to get his oblivious holder to realize his feelings so that she would be cared for on both sides of the mask. Of course, he could do that later when he wasn’t at risk of being destroyed.

Confused, but deciding not to question it, Adrien laid his head back down and shut his eyes, falling asleep to the sounds of her gentle breaths.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing that Marinette noticed when she woke up, was the voices drifting into the room. She sat up and looked around, confused as to what she was doing in her living room. She turned around and looked over the couch in time to see her papa coming into the room with another woman.

“I guess she woke up.” Her papa said, before addressing her. “Marinette, this is Mrs. Blanchet. She’s from the school board and is here to ask you some questions.”

Marinette was immediately confused and also worried. She noticed the woman’s professional attire and immediately went to smooth out her messy hair. Mrs. Blanchet didn’t seem to care though, as she walked over and took a seat on the chair across from the couch, not once giving any judgemental looks.

“Sorry about my appearance.” Marinette muttered.

“It’s quite alright. I’ve heard from your friends that you haven’t been able to rest, so it’s good that you got some sleep at least.”

She had spoken to her friends? The questions continued to build up. She knew that there was a man from the school board who was speaking to Miss Bustier, but that didn’t explain why there was this woman here and why she would speak to her friends. The answer finally snapped into place with the next thing she said.

“So, Ms. Dupain Cheng, please tell me about your experience with Mlle. Bustier. And please, be honest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is she okay?”

“Relax, dude, her parents are with her.”

“But she should have been done by now.”

The trio had long finished their interviews with Mrs. Blanchet and were sent back to school. Miss Bustier wasn’t in class, but a sub was brought in to cover for her. Mr. Fournier was allowing them to work quietly together on the assignment, or really was just letting them have some time to discuss what was going on.

He knew that there would be whispering and notes being passed anyways, so it was better to simply let them go ahead with it so they could not feel so anxious about things. Besides, a few students were still out doing their interviews. It wouldn’t be fair to teach with several students missing due to the investigation.

“Should we call her?”

“Adrien, she is fine. We asked her parents to call us if something bad happens, remember?”

It was the only way they were able to get Adrien to leave the bakery. Even telling him that his father would be upset to find him skipping out on class didn’t get him moving. The two bespeckled teens tried to keep Adrien distracted with the worksheet they were giving, but his eyes kept snapping to the door each time it opened.

More students returned, none of them being Marinette, and Adrien was at the point of considering if he could run out of the room and to the bakery without being pulled back by Nino. So far the only three students out of the room were the bluenette, Chloe, and Sabrina.

But then Sabrina came back, and quietly explained to Mr. Fournier that Chloe wouldn’t be returning to class today. Adrien assumed that it was because Chloe didn’t want to bother returning to class, but if he was paying attention he might have noticed Sabrina’s wide eyes and flustered tone. As if she was just exposed to some harsh truth and still trying to comprehend it.

By the time the door came open again, Adrien was standing up to run to the bakery. As soon as he spotted the familiar pigtails, he got in front of the girl and hugged her as quickly as he could.

“Is everything okay? Are you feeling a bit better now?”

Marinette, for her part, did get enough rest to comprehend some things. Not enough for her to be flustered around Adrien yet, but enough to realize how he got to her so quickly.

“Did you just… jump over your desk?”

“Dude.” Nino muttered, head in his hands.

“Um… no?” It was more of a question, because Adrien truly didn’t know if he did that or not.

“Please sit down. I need to make an announcement to the class.”

It was then that Adrien realized that Marinette wasn’t walking in alone. Behind her was another woman, one who he hadn’t seen before. It also registered in his mind that if he really did jump over a desk, not only did this woman see it but the rest of the class also did. He quietly went back to his seat, but not before making sure Marinette got seated in hers.

“My name is Mrs. Monet and I am a member of the school board. As you know, we have been asking you questions regarding your teacher and your time here at Francoise Dupont. The school board doesn’t like to make rushed decisions, but we feel like this decision will be best for the students and other members of this school’s safety.” She took a pause before continuing. “Miss Bustier will no longer be your teacher.”

Before, if someone were to say that to the class, they would all be devastated and demand answers. However they had seen how she’s been to Marinette over the past couple weeks. Not just that, but once they heard about her threatening Marinette a lot of the love and respect they felt towards the teacher was burned out. Mrs. Monet had been expecting them not to be upset, and continued on with her speech.

“I am sure you might be confused as to what is happening, but I assure you that the school board makes all of its decisions with the school’s wellbeing in mind. We will be ensuring that this choice doesn’t harmfully impact your education. Mr. Fournier will be taking over as your sub for the rest of the school year. I do ask you to please be patient with getting answers to the questions that I’m sure all of you have.

“We cannot give out full details of an investigation without permission from several people, and that only can happen after the investigation is fully finished. Of course, if you do have questions you need answered you may contact me and any of the other two school board members who you’ve seen today with the emails we’ve provided you. We will be happy to answer your questions if we are able to.

“It is also decided that since the decision to remove Miss Bustier as a teacher here is affecting multiple classes, that tomorrow will be an optional school day. Students may come in to work on school work or just hang out. However you will be required to come within the first hour of school and stay the whole day if you do wish to come here. It is to ensure all of your safety. Your parents have already been notified and told that they will receive a call just to confirm that you aren’t coming to school. If you have any more questions regarding that, you can ask Mr. Fournier for more details.

“Another change that is taking place is that your principal is also being removed.” This caused whispers of confusion to sprout up, but they quickly died down when the woman raised her hand. “We unfortunately cannot say much about this other than he was breaking some rules and had to be terminated. An official announcement regarding that will be made once the investigation is finished. I wish you all a good rest of your day, and if you have anything else you need to ask or have to tell us please reach out to any of the members you have seen today.”

With that, Mrs. Monet walked out and allowed the class to finally speak what was on everyone’s mind.

“This is my fault.”

Well, clearly one student didn’t share the same thoughts as everyone else. All eyes immediately turned towards Marinette, who looked very upset at the current news. Which didn’t make sense given what had happened to her just last week.

“Marinette, no it’s not.”

“But, Miss Bustier-”

“Did you ask to have all that work dumped on you? To be threatened?” Adrien said, eye flashing with rage. A pat from within his pocket, unknown to anyone else in class, reminded him to take a deep breath and calm down.

“But what about the class trip? I still needed to get things booked.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Dupain Cheng. As your current homeroom teacher, I’ll be handling things. Everything will be fine. As for you, I think that it would be a good idea for you to take a break being class representative so that you can focus on your school work and your other activities. Your class deputy can take over for a few weeks, and can appoint someone to help her temporarily as well.”

In the back of her mind, Marinette knew that what the man was saying was supposed to lift a burden off her shoulders. After all, she had been wanting a break for weeks now. But right now it felt like all the work she had done up to this point was all for nothing.

“But, what about the plans I’ve already made? All that was left was to book things and get them approved?”

Mr. Fournier paused in consideration. It would be wrong to use work that a child was forced to do, but it was clear that it could cause the bluenette more distress if all of her work was for not.

“See me on Wednesday. I��ll have to reach out to the school board to ensure that it is okay, but if you wish we can take your plans and implement them without you having to do all of the work. For now you all can just finish up on the worksheet I gave you and then have quiet conversations. If you need anything feel free to ask.”

Alya handed Marinetted a worksheet but less for the reason of working on it and more just so she wouldn’t forget about grabbing one later. Right now she wanted to check in on her.

“Miss Bustier had this coming to her.” Alya didn’t let Marinette try and defend that woman. “She was the one who purposely dumped her work onto you. Not just that, but she refused to let anyone else help you out. Then she decided to threaten you whenever you were politely trying to figure out the truth. Whatever happens to her is on her.”

Adrien and Nino nodded, and the rest of the class would have agreed but were pretending that they weren’t eavesdropping to try and give her some privacy. Marinette didn’t seem so sure, and the rest of the class all came to the silent collective decision that they would make sure Marinette wasn’t hurt from this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Before the end of the week they found out that Chloe got expelled. Turns out all the threats she gave to both staff and students alike was enough to seal her fate. Her father tried to fight it, but there wasn’t a lot that could be done with all the evidence. In fact, he was too busy trying to save himself from being exposed of him abusing his power at the school to worry about abusing it even more.

Another two weeks passed before they found out why Mr. Damocles was fired. Besides just ignoring Chloe’s behavior and Miss Bustier’s abuse, he had also been stealing the school’s money. Turns out the pay of being a principal alone couldn’t afford him all the comic books and fancy gadgets he wanted to become The Owl.

It took a few weeks for Marinette to feel okay about things. Tikki adamantly went through, relaying out what responsibility meant for her to ensure that Marinette would take care of herself. Adrien, Alya, and Nino all distracted her when she got doubt that it was her fault more than Miss Bustier’s, and all made sure that she got plenty of rest.

With all the rest she was getting she was finally able to go on patrols again with Chat’s approval. That still didn’t mean that he didn’t wrap her up in a blanket and make her take a nap instead of patrolling some days, but Marinette found that falling asleep to his purrs made her feel more relaxed so she was okay with it.

It was two months after the whole debacle, when Marinette was made to nap before a study session with her three friends only to wake up to the purring coming from a different blonde boy, that she realized something else. A quick freak out, the two hiding in the bathroom whilst Alya and Nino looked at each other confused from their spots in the living room, and Adrien decided that he really wasn’t going to let Marinette go. Like, literally.

“Adrien.”

“No.”

Marinette sighed, deciding to just lean back into him. He immediately burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, and it was only due to her slowly slipping out her exhausted mindstate and being able to be calm around him during that time that she wasn’t a completely flustered mess. Oh, she was still blushing hardcore, but at least she wasn’t squealing like a kettle.

Alya and Nino could only stare at the two, who had emerged from the bathroom with Adrien carrying Marinette before the blond sat her down between his legs. After a few moments, Alya was able to speak.

“So… are you two dating now or?”

“Engaged, actually.”

“I don’t remember you proposing.”

“I would say married, but just because we act like a married couple doesn’t mean that we are legally married yet.”

“We’re fourteen.”

“... I can wait.”

#miraculous fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfic #mlb marinette #marinette dupain cheng #Ms. Bustier Salt #mlb salt #Alya sugar #protective adrien agreste

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massivedrickhead · 4 months

Text

we’re here tonight (and that’s enough)

Words: 2778

Summary: Merry Pitchmas @wordsofmyreality! I’m your secret Santa this year! I hope you like this little bit of Christmas fluff 💖 @merry-pitchmas

Read on AO3

“Chlo’?” Beca called from her spot in the living room, her hands on her hips as she surveyed their fireplace.

“Yeah?” Chloe replied from the kitchen.

“Did you move my stocking?”

“Your what?” Chloe asked, struggling to hear her wife over the sound of the music playing in the kitchen.

“My stocking,” Beca said back, raising her voice so it could be heard over Mariah Carey.

“It’s on the fireplace.”

“It isn’t,” Beca said, staring at the empty spot where her stocking had once hung. Bright red with a golden B embroidered on it. She turned her head to where Chloe’s still hung - bright red with a golden C - and then back to the empty spot where hers should be.

“Huh,” Chloe said, entering the living room, wiping her hands on her apron before resting one on Beca’s back. “Weird.”

“It was here this morning before I left for work,” Beca said.

“Have you checked David’s hiding spot?” Chloe asked.

Beca glanced down to where their dog - named after David Guetta - was curled up. His head lifted at the sound of his name. He did have a habit of stealing their clothes, but he’d never pulled anything down before.

“I’ll look now,” she said. “How’s dinner prep going?”

“I’m almost done,” Chloe said. She gave Beca a quick kiss on the cheek. “Once you’ve checked his spot can you take him for a W-A-L-K?”

“Sure,” Beca said. “You don’t want to come?”

Chloe shook her head. “I’m so beat from work this week, I just wanna go lie in the bath for an hour. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” Beca said. “Are you feeling okay? You’ve been tired all week.”

“I’m fine,” Chloe said, smiling at the look of concern on Beca’s face.

“Am I a bad wife for letting you do all the Christmas dinner prep?”

“A terrible wife,” Chloe replied, rolling her eyes as she kissed Beca on the cheek again. “I need to get back in there.”

Chloe returned to the kitchen and Beca watched her go, feeling that pull to follow that she always got when Chloe left a room.

David nudged her leg with his head and she looked down. His tail was wagging, and Beca wondered if he’d somehow learned to spell.

She scratched him behind the ear and then went to the spot in the room where he hid his stolen wares.

Beca had been reluctant about getting a dog all those years ago. She’d always liked dogs, and had always envisioned having one in the future, but she’d still been hesitant.

It was before they were married - before they were even engaged - and they’d only been living together for a few months when Chloe mentioned the puppy that had been brought into the veterinary surgery where she’d worked at the time.

“He’d been abandoned, Bec,” Chloe told her, tears in her eyes as she showed him pictures on her phone. “Left on the side of the road, tied to a telephone pole. He’s just a baby.”

Chloe told Beca about how skittish and afraid he was of them. How he wouldn’t let anyone get near him, except for Chloe. He reminded her so much of Beca, that Chloe just had to have him.

“Comparing me to an abandoned dog isn’t the compliment you think it is.”

Beca had been hesitant but eventually agreed. Now, nearly five years later, she couldn’t imagine their life without him.

Chloe had been right, as always.

Beca scratched him behind the ear again as she searched through his dog toys for his hidden stolen goods.

She found several of her missing socks, a dish towel, and even one of Chloe’s bras, but there was no bright red stocking.

“So you’re not the stocking thief,” Beca said to him. “But we do have to talk about the bra thing, dude. Those things aren’t cheap, you know.”

Once she was wrapped up in her winter coat and had pulled on her boots, she clipped David’s leash to his collar and they set out for his evening walk.

They walked around their neighbourhood, David sticking close to her side instead of running ahead like he usually did.

She supposed he must be able to feel it too, that tinge of sadness that had clung to Beca ever since she found out that - once again - her Mom wouldn’t be coming for Christmas.

Beca had told Chloe she was fine, that she was used to her Mom flaking on her by now, and while all of that was true, there was still a part of her that had hoped for change. It had been years since they’d spent any real time together and, despite her flaws, Beca did love her Mom.

David stopped to do his business, and Beca looked out at the houses in their neighbourhood. The Christmas lights shone through the windows, casting their snow-covered lawns in warm and colourful glows. She wished she could take some of that glow with her and bring it into her own home.

She took a deep breath of cold air and held it in her chest before slowly expelling it, watching a cloud form and dissipate quickly as the air left her body.

David tugged against the leash, pulling her arm back in the direction of home.

“Okay,” she said out loud. “I’m coming.”

The house was quiet when they got back, and Beca was desperate to shift the sadness that clung to her like the cold. She tried to leave it at the door along with the snow she’d kicked off her boots, but it wouldn’t go.

She spent longer than necessary in the entryway of their home, drying David’s paws with the towel they kept in there for that reason.

Chloe was on the sofa fiddling with her phone when Beca finally entered the living room.

Everything felt heavy, and the lack of her stocking on the fireplace seemed to perfectly mirror her lack of Christmas cheer.

She dropped onto the sofa beside Chloe and wasted no time in pressing a kiss to the side of her head. Chloe’s hair was still damp but the familiar smell of her shampoo seemed to ground Beca.

“You’re freezing!” Chloe shrieked as Beca’s cold hands slipped beneath Chloe’s Christmas pyjama top and pressed against her warm skin.

Beca laughed as Chloe batted her hands away. She removed them and placed them over the pyjamas, her hand going to Chloe’s stomach without thinking.

Chloe covered Beca’s hand with her own. “We’ll find out soon,” she said. “I promise. I just… it was our first attempt. There’s a good chance it didn’t work and I don’t want to put a downer on things if that's the case.”

“I know,” Beca said, kissing the side of her head again. The anxiety of not knowing if they would soon become parents mixed unpleasantly with her already lingering sadness about her Mom, and she searched for something to distract herself. Her eyes fell on the fireplace. “How come you stole my stocking?”

“What makes you think it was me?”

“Well it wasn’t David, and it wasn’t me, so that doesn’t leave a lot of options,” Beca said.

“Santa?”

“That’s like the opposite of Santa’s vibe,” Beca said. “He gives presents, not steals them. You’re thinking of the Grinch.”

“Oh, well it must have been the Grinch then,” Chloe said, smiling as Beca’s thumb continued to brush back and forth across her stomach. “Or maybe Santa knows that you can’t be trusted not to peek in your stocking before Christmas morning, and he wants your gift to be a surprise for once.”

“Ah, is that it?” Beca asked.

“It must be,” Chloe replied.

The Christmas stockings had been a tradition that Chloe had brought from her childhood.

Beca had always thought they were a place to put small gifts - ones that weren’t really tree-worthy - but the Beales had used them for the gifts that were more sentimental or special.

It’s how Beca had proposed to Chloe all those years ago, only to find that Chloe had had the same idea, and now Beca couldn’t be trusted not to squeeze the stocking and try to guess what might be inside.

She was fairly confident in her gift this year - a USB full of original songs that Beca had written, sung, and produced just for Chloe - but she still couldn’t stop herself from checking her own stocking just in case Chloe had once again outdone her.

“What time are your parents arriving tomorrow?” Beca asked after a comfortable silence had settled over them.

“Around midday,” Chloe said. “We can do the stocking presents in the morning and save the rest until after dinner.”

“Let’s hope Santa brings mine back in time,” Beca said, the conversation lapsing into silence again.

“You’re sad about your Mom,” Chloe said. It wasn’t a question. Beca could insist she was fine and that she didn’t care, but Chloe knew when she was lying.

“Kinda,” Beca said. “But it's my own fault. I should know by now what she’s like, I don’t know why I expected anything different.”

“You’re allowed to hope for the best and hope that people might change,” Chloe said, turning her head so she could press a kiss to Beca’s temple. “This isn’t your fault.”

“It is what it is,” Beca said. “I’m gonna go get changed.”

“I’ll order pizza,” Chloe said.

They spent the rest of their Christmas Eve curled up together on the sofa, eating pizza, and watching Chloe’s choice of Christmas movie.

Beca had a glass of wine, but Chloe complained of a headache so just stuck to water.

“I hope you aren’t getting sick,” Beca said, running her hand through Chloe’s hair, her nails lightly scratching her scalp.

“I’m just tired,” Chloe said. “Work was crazy this week.”

“Thank you for taking care of the dinner prep,” Beca said. “It really makes cooking it all so much easier tomorrow.”

“I prep, you cook,” Chloe said, stifling a yawn. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

“Let’s go to bed,” Beca said with a soft laugh. “I’ll let David out. Do you want anything for your headache?”

Chloe shook her head. “It’ll pass,” she said. “You go on up, I’ll let him out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Chloe said. “You took him out, I can stand by the door and wait for him to pee.”

As soon as Chloe heard Beca begin climbing the stairs, she withdrew her stocking from where it had been stashed. She smiled to herself as she hung it back on the fireplace, and she hoped that what was inside would do something to help cheer her wife up.

When Chloe reached the bedroom, Beca was lying in bed scrolling on her phone, but she set it down on the charger as soon as she felt the bed dip beside her.

“Are you answering work emails at 10 pm on Christmas Eve?”

“Not anymore I’m not,” Beca said.

“You know if I see you working tomorrow you’re going to be in trouble, right?”

“Does that mean I can’t fake a work call when your dad tries to talk to me about college basketball?” Beca asked.

“If I have to discuss classic literature with your dad when we see him at Thanksgiving, you can handle college basketball with mine when we see him at Christmas,” Chloe said.

“Fair,” Beca said, curling into Chloe’s side as soon as she was settled in bed.

It didn’t take long for Beca to drift off, but Chloe stayed awake for hours. She was full of the kind of Christmas Eve excitement that she hadn’t felt as a kid.

She heard the neighbourhood church bells begin to ring, and it took everything she had not to wake Beca up, wish her a Merry Christmas, and drag her downstairs.

Eventually, she managed to get some sleep and woke up not long after 8 am, Beca still sleeping soundly beside her.

Chloe woke her up and coaxed her out of bed with kisses and promises of coffee and presents.

Beca grumbled but didn’t argue when Chloe took her hand and pulled her downstairs.

“My stocking came back,” Beca said, raising an eyebrow at Chloe as she settled on the sofa, a mug of coffee in hand.

“I told you, Santa must have taken it,” Chloe replied, setting her own mug down on the coffee table before retrieving their stockings from the fireplace. She handed Beca hers, who wasted no time in squeezing the sides, and she sat down beside her.

“You go first,” Beca said.

Chloe reached into the stocking and pulled out two small wrapped gifts.

“Open the bigger one first,” Beca said,

Chloe did, and her eyes lit up as she pulled out a CD case. The cover was a photograph of the two of them from their wedding, and when she flipped it over she saw a list of five song titles that she didn’t recognise.

“Open the second one,” Beca said. Chloe unwrapped a USB drive. “No one really uses CDs anymore,” she said, by way of explanation.

“Bec, is all of this new music?”

Beca nodded. “My next EP,” she said. “All the songs were written for you.”

Chloe squealed and wrapped her arms around Beca. “I love it!”

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” Beca replied, laughing.

Chloe wiped the tears from her eyes and looked back at the CD case.

“I don’t know if that’s the final album art,” Beca said. “But I wanted you to have your own version.”

“This is amazing, Beca. I can’t wait to listen to it,” Chloe said. She looked back up at her wife. “Is it okay if… can I listen to it on my own first? Just so I can really listen and hear it all?”

“Of course,” Beca said. “So, can I open mine now?”

Chloe swallowed and nodded, a smile spreading across her face.

Beca pulled three small wrapped gifts from her stocking. As she always did, she gave them a squeeze and a shake. Two were soft, and one was a box that rattled when it shook. “Which one first?”

Chloe thought for a second, before tapping on one of the softer gifts.

Beca unwrapped it and pulled out what at first seemed like a small red piece of fabric. She unfolded it and saw it was a stocking, just like the one she and Chloe had.

“Is this in case my stocking goes missing again?” Beca asked, laughing lightly but not really understanding the gift. She looked at Chloe, whose eyes were now shining with tears. Something started happening in Beca’s chest. It felt like her heart was starting to beat faster. Like her body knew what the gift meant before she did.

“Open this one,” Chloe said, tapping on the box.

Beca did, her hands shaking though she couldn’t explain why.

Under the paper was a clear plastic box, and it took Beca a second to realise what was inside. She swallowed and looked back at Chloe.

“Two lines?” Beca asked, her voice trembling. “Two means… right?”

“Open the last one,” Chloe said, the tears that had been filling her eyes now slipping down her cheeks.

Beca did, her hands shaking harder than ever.

She pulled out a tiny white babygrow, with the words ‘Baby Mitchell’ printed on the front.

She couldn’t describe the noise that came out of her - something between a gasp and a sob and a cheer - but soon she was sobbing hard, her hands reaching out for Chloe, who eagerly pulled her into her arms.

They held each other and cried until David jumped onto the sofa to try and investigate.

Beca laughed as he wiggled his way in between them.

“I take it these are happy tears?” Chloe asked, wiping her own eyes as they ended their hug.

“The happiest,” Beca said, laughing. “How long have you known?”

“A couple of weeks,” Chloe said. “It’s been killing me keeping this in, but I wanted to wait until after I’d seen my doctor, just in case. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“Don’t apologise,” Beca said, looking down at the tiny babygrow in her hands. “This is the best present you could have gotten me.” She wiped her eyes and took hold of Chloe’s hand. “We’re going to be parents. I’m… I’m so happy.”

“Me too,” Chloe said. “Merry Christmas.” She pulled Beca into a kiss which Beca eagerly accepted.

“Merry Christmas,” Beca replied, between kisses. “I love you so much.” Her hand touched Chloe’s stomach. “I love you both so much.”

“Me too, baby,” Chloe replied. “Me too.”

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jpitha · 7 days

Text

Between the Black and Grey 33

First / Previous / Next

Gord... floats.

He lays on his back in the pool, staring up at the window. Beyond is the deep blue-black of space, with the interior lights of the room blocking all except the brightest stars.

Suddenly, he flips into the water, pushes off the wall and swims laps. Three, then Five, then Ten. Back and forth, back and forth. When he can swim no more, he rolls back onto his back and floats.

He does this two or three more times, and a woman enters the pool room. She's very tall, over two meters, with long silver-white hair and an imperious expression. Her lips purse and she crosses her arms. "Gord you are going to rust if you don't get out."

Gord's eyes flick to her, and he turns his head. "Don't be racist, Chloe."

Chloe harrumphs. "You've been swimming for more than an hour Gord. It's time to come back to the world of the living."

Gord stands. The shallow side pool is only a meter and a half deep, he's in the water up to his head. "Chloe, you can't have come all the way down here to just to bother me into getting back to work. What's wrong?"

Chloe snaps her ankles together and dives into the deep end of the pool. Her form is tight, controlled. When she enters the water there is barely a splash and she dolphin kicks up to him. She surfaces behind him and puts her arms around his chest tightly. Her head rests on his shoulder. "Please Gord. Come out."

Gord turns around and returns the hug. Chloe doesn't seem bothered by her wet clothes. "Fine."

They both climb out of the pool and Gord throws Chloe a towel. She peels off her sopping wet dress and dries off. She wraps up in the towel and grabs another for her long hair.

In the locker room, they get dressed. Chloe's locker has a change of clothes in it already. When Gord sees this, he raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

Gord makes his way up to his office. As he passes people in the hall, he greets them and makes conversation. The more people he talks to, the more agitated Chloe seems. There aren't too many of them yet, but more than Gord has seen in centuries. It's important to him to say hello and ask after them.

Finally, they enter Gord's office. Chloe rolls her eyes. His office is an anachronism, just like him. In the center is a large desk, made of real wood. She has always wondered where he got it. Soon after they arrived and he started up his operation it appeared one day. The rest of the office is done up in muted tans and browns. A carpet quiets their footsteps, the walls are colored in an innocuous tan color, like a pale beach sand. The lighting overhead is muted and diffused, and there is a lamp on his desk. In the corner is a coffee machine.

Gord walks over and makes a cup of coffee. As it hisses and bubbles Chloe grows more impatient. He takes his time. Once it has finished, he pours it into an old battered mug and carries it to his desk.

As he sits at his desk a small grunt escapes his mouth. He takes a sip of the steaming brew and nodding to himself, puts it down on a coaster. He takes the pad and glances at it, while Chloe sits at one of the comfortable seats on the other side. She waits while he looks at his pad. He continues to look while Chloe tries to find something to do with her hands. She puts them together on her lap, then takes them off and grips the arm rests. She shakes the damp hair off her shoulder. Her leg twitches. There's an antique mechanical clock on the wall in the office. Every time Chloe sees it she shakes her head. It's always running but never at the correct time. As she sits and waits for Gord, the ticking grows louder, and louder, and louder. It feels like it's ticking on her skull.

A small smile escapes Gord's lips.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you, Gord." Chloe says testily.

"You were always so easy to wind up Chloe. Good to see time hasn't changed that." He looks up from his pad. "I'm also waiting for Spyglass to arrive. She pinged me while we were walking up to my office."

Just then, there's a knock - a real, knuckles upon the door knock - and the door slides open. A woman enters, shorter than Gord, much shorter than Chloe. Her dark hair is tightly curled naturally on her head, and she's wearing the inner suit from a spacesuit, form fitting and leaving nothing to the imagination. Chloe's stare could melt tungsten, but the woman doesn't seem to care. "Hey Gord, hey Chloe. Sorry if I kept you waiting!" She takes the seat next to Chloe without waiting to be invited to sit.

"Gord puts the pad down. "Hey there Spyglass. How's the body?"

She smiles and shakes her shoulders and it jiggles - just a little bit. Chloe rolls her eyes again. "It works great Gord. I'm just distracting enough that people don't look too hard, but not so distracting that I'm attracting too much of the wrong attention. That's actually why I came back, I have news from Sol."

"Oh? Something too important to send in a beacon?"

Spy shrugs. "That and I got sick of all the BIs. I need some time off."

Gord smiles and leans back in his chair. It squeaks slightly. "Well then, give us a debrief and you can have a few days off."

Spy nods and unfolds her own Pad. "So rumor on the Floating Cities is that the Empress doesn't have her powers anymore."

Gord's relaxed posture falls away. He leans forward. "Her powers are what?"

"Gone" Spy's eyes flick up to meet his. "No official word of course, and everything coming out of the Floating Cities is that everything is fine, but there is talk."

Chloe nods to herself. "Sounds like it's time to attack. We should prepare immediately."

Spy looks at Chloe, and then at Gord. He makes a face at Chloe, but doesn't reply. Spy continues. "Anyway. Word has been swirling around for a little less than a month before I left. If it's true, it's just happened. They're trying to keep it as quiet as they can, but she has attendants, and they talk." Spyglass winks. "Especially when properly motivated."

Chloe makes a horrified face.

"Pillow talk has been a source of intel for millennia Chloe, you know that. You think you're above the humans and all of their biological impulses, but it's still a valid source, and has provided us some of our most valuable insights." Spyglass shrugs. "Plus, it's fun."

Gord leans back in his seat. "We need people of all kinds, Chloe. Spyglass's up front infiltration as well as your behind the scenes management. We're more than three people now. We have to cover all our bases. That said-" Gord flips through his pad. "-We are still fewer than five hundred Chloe. We're in no shape to retaliate. We have to be more subtle. Spy, do we know why the Empress lost her powers? I know the Nanites are fickle."

"No insight into that yet Gord. I've put feelers out, but the galaxy is a big place. Speaking of that, turn to the other report I sent." Gord, Chloe and Spy all look at their pads. "The pirate Hemmi Navarren has started operating again. Looks like the coup against him was overturned. The Heap has moved twice in the last month, and we're getting reports from Imperial vessels that they're being targeted."

"So?" Chloe scoffs. "What do we care about one K'laxi pirate?"

Spyglass turns to Chloe. "What is with this attitude Chloe? We're all on the same team and we're all moving in concert towards the same goal. I don't need you scoffing and rolling your eyes - yes I can see that - at everything I say. We care because Hemmi seems to be attacking Imperial ships nearly exclusively and because of his daughter."

Chloe opens her mouth to reply and then stops. Her expression softens and she tries again. "I apologize Spyglass. I was in a mood from something earlier and I let that color our interaction. I will do better in the future. Why is Hemmi's daughter important? I thought the K'laxi didn't think of their progeny that way?"

"Thank you Chloe, I accept your apology. We all have bad days. As for his kids, Hemmi is different, apparently. He doesn't mind who the mother is, but he has paternity tests done on all the kits and gives special attention to 'his.' Zherun Navarren is his oldest and current most likely person to take over his organization."

Gord puts the pad down. "That's all good intel Spy, but I think I have to agree with Chloe here. Why do we care about one mid-tier K'laxi pirate and his daughter?"

"Because of who Zherun is currently with. She's been seen as the one of the commanders of a new mercenary group." She grins wickedly. "A group that's headed by Fenchurch Whitehorse."

"Hah!" Gord slaps the top of his desk. The sharp noise causes Chloe to jump in her chair. "Fen! I knew she'd turn out all right. She's got her own ship?"

Spy nods. "Yes, a former Imperial frigate. It's legally registered in her name, and we can't seem to figure out how she got it. It passes all cursory and even most in-depth checks of ownership."

Gord whistles low. "Nice work Fen. I'll have to ask her how she got it one day. Any other news about Fen?"

"She's running with a small group. Her, Zherun, an AI an a few other K'laxi. They're sticking to small jobs, trying to build networks."

Chloe's head snaps to Spy. "Who is the AI?"

"It's Northern Lights." Spy looks up at Gord.

Gord isn't looking at them. He was staring off into nothing. "Northern Lights is still alive. Holy Shit. It's been..." He blinks and looks at them both. "Sorry, I haven't heard from Northern since before the purge and I was sure she was gone. To find out she's not only alive, but active in this day and age? Shit. We have to find them. I want to say hi to Fen, but I really want to talk to Northern. Where are they?"

"As of a week ago they were on their way to Picaresque. They're probably still there."

Gord stands. "Come on Spy, Chloe. Let's go visit a friend."

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens #jpitha #writing #humans and ai #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #Between the black and gray

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amorest-viesse · 1 month

Text

[Rise and Shine] - Owen SSR Card Story Translation

Ft. Chloe and Akira

Until This Sweet Spell Breaks - Chapter 1

[Castle of Tears]

Chloe: Hm, maybe I should hang the ribbons here… Or would the flowers look better.

Akira: I think that looks great! The light purple of the lavender goes really well with the carpeting.

That day, the Sage’s Wizards were undertaking a mission at the Castle of Tears.

Chloe and I were decorating the hall in preparation for the Ceremony of Blessings and Gratitude when a figure suddenly appeared before us.

Owen: Ugh, what a drag…

Akira: Owen.

Chloe: Oh Owen! Do you wanna join us?

Owen: In doing what?

Chloe: Decorating the castle of course! The ceremony is tomorrow, isn’t it?

Chloe: The Master Sage and I wanted to help out any way we could, even without magic.

Owen: What a waste of time. Why do all this when I could single-handedly bless this castle right now?

Owen: Take a look and see. <<Quare Morito>>

As Owen casually uttered his spell, a heavy gloom fell upon us.

[Screen fills with miasma]

An eerie chill crept up our spines as the world rapidly bleached of color.

Akira: Huh!? All the lavender is withering up…!

Chloe: Y- You’re right! And the carpet is melting into black sludge…

Chloe: Um, Owen? Are you sure this is a blessing!?

Owen: To me it is.

Owen: I wonder how that slumbering beast will feel waking up to this.

Akira: Probably not very happy…

Chloe: In any case, we need to turn things back! <<Suispicibo Voitingoc>>!

Chloe: Oh, nothing changed…

Chloe: But we gotta do something or the walls are next! One more time…

Owen: Ahaha! Do you really think you stand a chance against my magic?

Owen: <<Cur Memini>>

[Miasma disappears]

Akira: Ah…

Chloe: Everything’s back to normal… What a relief.

Owen: It was always normal. The Master Sage aside, you couldn’t see through such a simple illusion?

Chloe: An illusion…? You mean all that withering and sludge stuff was fake?

Akira: I completely fell for it… It all seemed so real.

Owen: Hehe. Of course it did.

Chloe: Owen…

Owen: Aww, did I make you mad? Are you going to cry? Rage over how pathetically weak you are?

Chloe: Not at all! I was actually struck by how amazing you are!

Owen: What.

Chloe: I was totally convinced the castle was crumbling to pieces. It was terrifying!

Chloe: You’re so good at everything, Owen. I bet if you really blessed this castle, you could put that witch to rest for the next few centuries!

Owen: Hmph… As if I’d do something like that. I only care for torment and chaos.

Owen: What good is attending a ceremony when I could be spreading curses and misfortune?

Chloe: Ok, but don’t you ever get in a party mood?

Chloe: Like, you wanna get all dressed up and wear cute accessories for a special occasion?

Until This Sweet Spell Breaks - Chapter 2

Owen: What are you going on about… How annoying.

Akira: (Is Chloe trying to convince Owen to join tomorrow’s ceremony…?)

Akira: (Actually, knowing him, he probably just wants to play dress-up, but this could be my chance…!)

Akira: Yeah, there’s nothing like looking your best! It really makes you want to get out there and put some good in the world.

Chloe: Right!? You already look great in that outfit, but what if we made you look even better?

Owen: …Hmph.

Owen: Fine, you can try your luck, but I doubt you’ll change my mind.

Owen: I’ve nothing better to do anyways.

Akira & Chloe: Hooray!

Chloe: Alrighty then… <<Suispicibo Voitingoc>>!

As Chloe cast his spell, an assortment of accessories appeared out of thin air including golden buttons, ribbons, red and blue brooches, and lace.

Chloe: Okay, what do you think of this ribbon? The color is so chic right, and it’d be just perfect on you.

Akira: Oh, what about these fake nails? Your hands are really pretty after all.

Owen: I like this one. Its color reminds me of festering meat. And that one looks like a melted eyeball.

Crossing his legs, Owen sat down between us in the hall as we fired suggestions at him.

Although he acted bored, yawning and waving his hand at us from time to time, he didn’t seem to mind our attention at all.

Owen: Now I’m feeling a bit hungry. You don’t happen to have any edible accessories, do you?

Chloe: E- Edible…? I- I don’t think so…

Owen: Must I do everything myself? <<Cur Memini>>

As Owen cast his spell, an assortment of buttons, ribbons, and brooches appeared in our hands.

Chloe: These are gorgeous… Not to mention, they smell really good too, like candy.

Owen: These are sweets I made myself using magic.

Owen: If you’re curious, why not take a little bite? I can’t guarantee you’ll leave with your teeth intact though.

Unconsciously, Chloe and I made eye contact.

With the sugary scent of the accessories enticing our senses, the two of us cautiously lifted one and took a bite.

Chloe: …! This is a cookie!

Chloe: It’s so sweet and delicious… Oh, and this ribbon is made of chocolate!

Akira: You’re right! This brooch tastes just like a madeleine…!

Owen: Hehe. Of course they do; I made them after all. If you’re interested, then you’re more than welcome to keep taking some.

Owen: Why not try this corsage and ring too?

Akira: Wow, really?

Owen: Really. If I can get on your good sides, I’ll be able to eat sweets whenever I want.

Chloe: Wow wow wow! This is incredible! I can’t believe you’re sharing these with us…

Chloe: Hey, can I show the others too?

Owen: Be my guest. They’re yours after all.

Chloe: Yippee! I’ll be back in a jiffy then!

And with that, Chloe happily took off.

Then, I felt a hand reach from behind me, grazing my neck.

Until This Sweet Spell Breaks - Chapter 3

Akira: …!?

Lightly touching the base of my throat, Owen plucked the brooch off my collar.

Owen: What’s wrong? Did you think I’d chop your head off?

Akira: Ah um… N- no. You just startled me, that’s all…

Biting into the brooch, Owen slid his gaze towards me.

It was impossible to tell what lay beneath his expression. However, his eyes seemed to hold a twinkle of delight which inadvertently calmed me down.

Akira: (...That’s good. It seems like Owen’s in a better mood now.)

Akira: (Maybe he really was bored earlier and that’s why he went along with us…)

Owen: Don’t get me wrong. This whole ceremony thing is still a pain.

Akira: Huh!? D- Did I say that out loud…?

Owen: You’re like an open book, but it seems you still can’t read me at all.

Owen: How simple-minded do you think I am? Did you really think you could change my mind so easily?

Akira: T- That wasn’t my intention…!

Owen: Is that so? Then why don’t you eat this for me?

Suddenly, Owen thrusted a candy ribbon at me.

Pressing it against my lips, he gave me no chance to protest before forcing it in.

Akira: Mmphf…!

Akira: Mm… It’s delicious… Like candy…

Owen: Haha... Just as I thought. You really don’t get me at all.

Akira: Huh…?

Owen: Did you actually think I’d go through the trouble of making all these sweets to share with you?

Owen: On the contrary, I simply cast a little spell that turns things into sweets for just a moment. I’m sure it’ll break any minute now and all those pretty accessories will revert back in the pits of your stomach.

Owen: I wonder… Will your teeth and tongue be alright?

With a look that seemed to pierce right through me, Owen ripped another button off my clothes.

As he bit into the gold-green metal with a crunch, my face paled.

Akira: Y- You’re joking… right?

Owen: I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. I’ll be fine, but I wonder how a human or a weaker wizard would fare.

Akira: Oh no…! I have to let Chloe know…!

Owen: I’d worry for yourself first and foremost.

His mocking laughter drew me in as he dangled a sweet smelling bracelet before me.

Owen: Take another for the road. I’m sure you’ll like this one too.

Akira: N- no, I’m good! I’m already full after all…!

Owen: Aw, don’t be shy. Until this spell breaks, why don’t you enjoy some sweet, sweet candy with me?

Owen: That way, I’ll get to see the look on your face when your stomach finally bursts.

Remember the Taste - Card Episode

[Courtyard]

Akira: Owen? What are you doing in the courtyard?

Owen: Searching for things to turn into sweets.

Akira: You're... what?

Akira: (Oh right. Owen did turn all those accessories into sweets the other day...)

Owen: Hehe, so you remembered? The two of you looked oh so happy, clamoring on and on about how delicious they were.

Owen: Gnawing away at buttons and brooches without a care in the world.

Akira: The cookies and chocolates were really great...

Akira: Although having to worry about whether or not they'd revert back to metal and thread... not so much.

Owen: That was the best part. Seeing your fear and panic was absolutely hilarious.

Owen: Perhaps I should create a second course, although this time, I'll have them revert back as you're eating them.

Akira: Huh!?

Owen: I wonder what I should use. Bitter herbs? Sour fruit perhaps?

Owen: Maybe I'll mix them up in a batch of sweets just for you and Chloe.

Akira: I- I think we'd be more than happy with a regular old pastry...

Home Screen Voice Line

“Hey, were you foolishly hoping for a gift from me? I wonder, what have you given me? What have you done for me? Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind? Depending on your answer, I might just consider it.”

#mhyktl #mhyk #mahoyaku #chloe collins #mahoutsukai no yakusoku #owen mhyk

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libraryofloveletters · 2 years

Text

Summer Lovin’

Lance Stroll x Fem!Reader

Warnings: friends to lovers, a bit of tension and awkwardness, seb being number one bestie as always, alcohol and the consumption of, lance being a big softie, reader has an epiphany, some hints to smut, all around summer time fluff

Word Count: 4.8k

Author’s Note: I am back with another lance fic and yet again, it takes place between the Canadian GP and Silverstone lmao // idk what this is really, just go with it lmao

------

Being the younger sibling had its benefits. You and Lance were able to live your own lives away from the pressure of being the older ones. Your sister, Annie was best friends with Chloe, Lance’s older sister; much like your mothers who were friends as well.

You and Lance weren't exactly friends, more like acquaintances who spend a lot of time together because your sisters and your mothers were friends. You two ended up spending a lot of time together not by choice, but by force.

Not that you minded, Lance was entertaining enough.

He also had the same mindset as you did.

As much as your older sisters love to live off mom and dad's money, jet setting around the world when things got boring, neither you nor Lance were into that sort of thing. There was no denying that growing up with money did help shape you both into who you were, it was abundantly clear that you had been privileged enough to live a good life.

Lance’s father helped to fund his karting career which led to Formula One.

Your parents gave you enough to get your program up and running; a charity which built learning centres for unfunded communities as well as a scholarship fund attached to the charity.

As much as you liked the security of having your parents there, you were both in your 20s now, it was time to branch out and away from your families and their money.

Everyone was in Montreal this weekend for the Canadian Grand Prix, today was qualifying. The two families, yours and the Strolls’ were in the Aston Martin garage.

You had joined your sister enough times to know how things worked. While Annie and Chloe spent time lunching and catching up, you were in the garage getting to understand how things worked and why they did what they did.

“There she is!” His voice echoed across the garage. You turn to see who it was, even though you were already 100% sure who it was before turning.

“Sebastian!” You smiled, walking over to his side of the garage to give him a hug. “Are you excited ?” You ask him, watching as the mechanics hooked something up to the car.

“Business as usual,” he tells you with a smile. “I like your shirt,” he teased, knowing he could always find you in the same one. A green Aston Martin shirt hung off your body, Vettel between your shoulders on the back with a 5 in the middle.

“You know you’re my favourite.” You smiled.

“Not Lance?” Seb nudged you to look at the man staring at you two. “Please, he knows who I’m really here for.” You say, making Seb laugh.

Seb’s hand rests on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Go on before he gets jealous,” he smiles.

“Yeah, okay.” You start walking back over to Lance’s side. “Good luck!” You call back to the German who flashes you a smile.

You find your way to a seat by the back corner of the garage, Lance comes over and drops his gloves on your lap. “Hello to you too,” you glance up at the man.

“What were you and Seb laughing about ?” He asks you, tucking his fireproof top into his race suit.

Your brows furrow, crossing one leg over the other. “Wouldn't you like to know?”

“I would, that’s exactly why I’m asking, y/n.” “Okay shut up smartass.”

Lance was going through his last minute checklist, trying to make sure everything was in check with the car and his engineers. “Are you going with your sister ?” You ask him.

“Where?” He looks over at you, plugging the wires together before pulling the race suit up.

You get up, fixing his collar for him. “London, they’re going during the break you have this week. They said they wanna spend some time there before Silverstone.”

He shrugs, “are you going ?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not,” he tells you, his brown eyes meeting yours. “Honestly, I want some time away. I rented a place on the lakes. I'm gonna head up on Monday.”

“That sounds nice,” you smile, tugging on the zipper of his race suit and letting it come up before fixing the strap on the top.

Lance smiles, nodding. “You’re welcome to join me if you want.”

“I couldn't impose on you like that. Plus I’m sure your friends wouldn’t want me going.” You turn to get his gloves off the chair behind you.

“Actually, it’s just me. I could use the company.”

You hand the gloves over to him, “okay. Sure, if you want me too.”

“I do,” he smiles, taking the gloves from you. “I’ll talk to you after though, I've gotta go.” He nods towards the car.

“Yeah, duh.” You give him a shove, laughing.

Some time away at a cottage sounded like a dream.

As much as you loved travelling the world, you weren't exactly one for the fancy dinners, expensive clothes or lavish nightclubs. Sometimes a week at home, in your sweats while eating bbq and having a beer was better.

----

Race day has come and gone, it was now Monday morning and Lance was in your driveway, waiting for you to come out. You were lugging a bag over your shoulder and there’s a puppy on a leash behind you.

“Hi Milly!” Lance instantly bends down to pat the puppy’s side.

You knew how much Lance loved your dog, Amelia; he had been the one that convinced you to get a puppy and took you to adopt her.

Amelia was taken up with Lance, nuzzled into his hand as he rubbed along her brown fur. You toss your bag in the trunk, and go to get Milly’s leash to take her back inside.

“She’s not coming with us ?” Lance asks, glancing at you.

“No. I figured I'd leave her with my parents.”

“No you can’t do that,” he tells you, his hands resting on her face. “Look at this face, y/n.” He lifts Amelia up, “she’s too cute, she has to come with us.”

You sigh, “fine, but you can take her out in the middle of the night when she needs to use the bathroom.”

“Fine,” he smiles, kissing the top of the puppy’s head before walking around to get in the car. He hands Amelia over to you when you get in the car.

The drive from Montreal to Kawartha was about five and a half hours. Lance refused to let you drive but also told you not to backseat drive. You then reminded him that you can’t backseat drive if you’re next to him. It was about an hour more before you two got there and you changed the route in the GPS to Walmart.

Lance was more than confused when you two pulled into the store parking lot. “What are we doing here?” He pulls into a parking spot.

“Did you pack anything? Food? Water?”

Lance’s mouth forms an O, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Exactly mr. rich boy, let’s go.” You get out after setting Amelia on the backseat. Lance left the windows rolled down enough for her to get air but not enough for her to jump out of the car.

Lance pulls a shopping cart from the row of them outside. “I can’t remember the last time I came to Walmart..” he pauses, “I don't think I've actually ever been to Walmart.”

“What?” You look over at him, shocked. “How have you not been to Walmart? I love this place.”

“You have all the money in the world at your disposal and Walmart is your favourite place?” He looks over at you and you nod, happily.

You pull him along with you to find what you need. Before you realize, the cart is full; water, bread, cereal, milk, hot dogs, chicken, any condiment you could think of, milk, some veggies, pasta, sauce, graham crackers and chocolate to make s'mores and some candles just in case. You two were wandering the store right now, walking through the aisles as you looked for nothing in particular.

There’s a box on the shelf that catches your eyes, “Lance!” You call, the man stopping and turning around to face you. “Look!” You show him the box in your hands, little ducky water wings.

“What are we gonna do with that?”

“Not for us,” you shake your head, showing him the puppy on the box. “For Milly!”

“Doesn’t Milly know how to swim?” “Yeah but she's just a baby, plus how frickin’ cute would she look?” You smile at him and Lance can’t say no to you for some reason, taking it from you and chucking it into the cart.

You were walking through the other aisle; board games. “We should get one,” you tell him, looking through the selection on the left. Lance hums, taking the right side.

“What about this?” He calls and you turn, a black box in his hand. Truth and Dare, shot edition.

“Perfect.”

The bill was less than you expected considering you felt like you bought the whole store. You two dropped the bags off at the car, checking on Amelia before heading over the LCBO across the parking lot.

If you were going to play truth or dare - shot edition, you were gonna need shots. Lance wandered through the aisles, you pushed the shopping cart this time. There’s a case of Corona in the cart already but you were looking for something you could do shots with.

“How about Hennessy ?” You picked up the bottle. Lance shrugs, “that burns.”

“As does all liquor, Lance.” You roll your eyes, setting the bottle in the cart.

Lance waves you off, walking to the other aisle. “I found it,” he calls and you round the corner to find him. A bottle of Clase Azul tequila in his hand.

“That’s $305. There’s no way I’m letting you buy a bottle of tequila for that much.”

“I have the cash,” he tells you, taking his wallet out of his pocket. “It’s not about the money, Lance.” You take the wallet from him and stuff it in your sweater pocket. “It’s illogical. Who spends $300 on tequila ?”

Lance rolls his eyes, setting the bottle back on the shelf. “Fine, what should we get?”

“Here,” you hand him a bottle of Casamigos. “Still tequila, way cheaper.”

“It’s $80!” “Better than $300!”

He gives in, setting the bottle in the cart as you push it to the cash register. Lance covered the liquor store bill because you paid at Walmart. The rest of the drive was fine, Lance drove again and Milly had jumped back onto your lap.

You still weren't sure why Lance chose to take his Aston Martin through cottage country but he was driving so who were you to complain ?

The cottage was fairly normal and fit in with the surrounding houses. It was two stories, a backyard with a fire pit and a dock that led onto the waters.

That afternoon, you two spent unpacking your stuff and hanging out. There wasn’t a big dinner, you just tossed a frozen pizza in the oven.

The next 3 days were spent relaxing, most of the days spent in the sun and the water. Hanging out on the dock until your wet skin dried and you got back in the water.

Amelia was loving all the space, running back and forth between the house and the dock.

Lance had even blown up the little floaty you bought for her and put it on her. It lasted all of 3 minutes, he snapped a few photos of her before she pawed at it until it popped.

You and Lance found out you had a lot in common.

Aside from your jet setting sisters, you both loved racing even though you didn’t actually race. He spent one week off searching for the best poutine spot in Montreal out of curiosity. You agreed with his finding but you had a difference when he said he liked the crinkle cut fries and not the straight ones.

----

It was Friday around lunch. You hadn't woken up all that long ago and you were about to take Amelia out for a walk when Lance came downstairs. “Headed out?” He asks, pouring some orange juice into a glass.

You bend down to put her leash on. “Taking Milly for a walk.”

Lance downs the orange juice and sets the glass in the sink. “I’ll join you.”

He lets you step out first, the two of you headed down the pathway between the houses. Amelia is pulling on her leash and you unclip it, letting her run ahead for a bit. You and Lance are taking your time, walking and chatting and it was a while before you realize that she wasn’t in front of you.

“Milly!” You shout, looking around. “Milly! Where are you?!”

Lance glances around before speaking. “I’ll go this way, you go that way.”

“This sounds like a horror movie but okay.” You give him a look before walking through the trees to your right.

The woods were eerily quiet, you couldn't even hear Amelia barking. You stepped over a twig, the thing snapping under your foot. You had the feeling that someone was behind you but that was impossible, Lance was on the other side and you two hadn’t seen anyone else out there.

“Milly!” You shout once more, peeking around a tree for her.

There’s a snapping noise coming from behind you and you knew it wasn’t coming from you because you look down and there’s nothing under your foot.

You turn around and there’s no one behind you, maybe it was a squirrel or something. You go to turn back around and a hand grabs your shoulder before you turn all the way, you let out a scream and smack whatever or whoever was in front of you.

The man laughs, his eyes crinkled as he looks at you. “Lance! What the hell!” You smack his arm, your hand resting on your chest as you catch your breath.

He smiles, “sorry! I had too.” He tells you with Amelia sitting on his arms, you hadn’t even noticed her here.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you ass!” You let out a breath, the two of you walking back to the house.

Once you got back, you both went for a swim and left Milly inside as she fell asleep for a bit. You were in the water when Lance shouted for you. “Watch this!” He calls, running down the dock to do a cannonball into the lake.

“Wow!” You shout, clapping for him. Lance does a little bow, almost falling face first into the water again which makes you laugh.

It was close to dinner when you finished up in the shower, Lance had already come back down and was playing with Amelia on the back deck. You knock on the window to get his attention.

He sticks his head inside to see you. “What’s up?”

“Turn the bbq on, we should use out the rest of this.” You tell him, taking the chicken out of the fridge. Lance nods, going off to do what you told him.

You were getting your own stuff ready to cook when he came back in, Amelia trailing in behind him. Lance washes off his hands before grabbing the bowl off the counter and taking it outside.

You were midway through cooking when you figured you’d take him a beer. You had just put the lasagna in the oven, the mashed potatoes and the salad sitting on the counter. You cooked way more than two people could eat but you were unaware of how to cook in small quantities.

“Hey,” you call for him, stepping onto the deck. “Hey,” he smiles at you, accepting the beer you offered him. You were standing next to him, leaning over the railing as you looked out onto the water.

“I was thinking,” he says and you glance over at him, “I know we’re supposed to leave tomorrow but what if we stay this weekend too? I’m not supposed to leave for London until Tuesday anyways and if you don’t have any plans...”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I was headed to London on Tuesday as well,” you chuckle. “Something about some Canadian guy at Silverstone? I don’t know,” you shrug.

Lance laughs, “oh really? Wonder who that could be.”

“Yeah, I think his name is Nicholas? Not really sure.” You bite back a smile and Lance nudged you, laughing. “Yeah but if we’re staying, we’ll have to head to the store and grab some stuff. There’s not enough for the rest of the weekend.”

“We’ll go tomorrow,” he tells you, stepping away to check on the bbq.

Amelia runs back into the deck, Lance bends down to feed her a piece of chicken before patting her side. “Is dinner almost done?” He asks, glancing over at you.

“Yeah, should be out in a few minutes.” “Oh good, this is almost done.” He says and with that, you head in to check on the lasagna in the oven.

You and Lance end up having dinner on the back deck, heading down to the firepit after dinner to make s'mores.

“This was nice,” you tell him and he looks over at you, “getting away from everything.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to have some quiet.” He smiles.

It was starting to get chilly by the water and the mosquitoes were biting so you head inside. Milly was sleeping on your lap and Lance picked the puppy up, carrying her back into the house as you followed behind him. He sets her on the couch while you lock the backdoors. You were checking through the cupboards to see what you needed to pick up at the stores when you found the game you guys had picked up.

“We didn’t play this yet,” you tell him, setting the box on the counter.

He sits himself on the stool by the counter. “So let's play then.”

You open the box and take out the instructions, it was fairly self explanatory. You pick a card; truth or dare. If you don’t want to do or answer what said card has on it, you take a shot.

Lance goes first, picking up one from the dare pile. He reads it out loud, “eat a spoonful of mayo.”

“Ew!” Your face twists, the thought alone makes you want to gag and you’re not even doing it.

He looks through the fridge, finding the jar tucked away behind some stuff. “Just do the shot, Lance. That's gross.” You tell him, already pouring the tequila into a glass.

“No! I can do it,” he says, picking up some on a spoon. Lance brings it about half way before he drops it back in the jar, taking the shot from you and downing it.

You go next, reading off the card. “Make a prank call to whoever the last person in your recents is.”

Annie, your sister was the last person in your recents so you call her, caller id blocked of course and start on about some nonsense but Annie could barely hear you, she was at a club by the sound of it.

You two go through a few more, do some truths and some dares, the questions a little too personal which caused more than a few shots to be downed.

“Okay, my turn.” Lance says, reaching over to grab the card.

You were pouring out the next two shots, finishing off the bottle of Casamigos you had bought. Lance pauses, snickering as he reads the card. “Kiss the hottest person in the room.”

You laugh, “you’re not gonna find a mirror and start making out with yourself, are you?”

Lance shrugs, stepping closer to you as he reaches for the shot glass. He drinks the last of the clear liquid and he leans over to you.

“You’re the hot one.” He grins, clearly the tequila was kicking in.

“Am I? How sweet of you-” Lance cuts you off with a kiss.

You freeze, your hand on his cheek, almost to push him away but you can’t bring yourself to move. His hand came to rest on your thigh now that you were sitting on the counter.

You’re both far too drunk to be thinking logically hence why you don't stop him when he steps between your legs.

Lance's other hand rests on your jaw, pulling you closer to him. You find yourself scooting to the edge of the counter to wrap your arms over his shoulder when he picks you up. It wasn’t until you got to the bedroom that you realized what was happening.

Maybe a week with Lance wasn’t so bad after all.

----

The sun peeks through the curtains, your head pounding as you sit up.

You’re not in your room.

This is Lance’s room.

It’s a little past noon when you get up and you can feel Lance’s presence behind you. He was still asleep when you crept out of the bedroom.

Amelia was running through the hallways when you got up so you took her down to the dock, letting her stretch her legs and run around for a bit.

You were sitting in the chair by the docks, watching the puppy run in silence. The water crashed against the wooden posts of the dock. The sun was shining down on the water but the fog was creeping in, it was going to rain and yet you felt as if the fog had swallowed you whole already.

The creaking of the wood caught your attention and you glanced over your shoulder; Lance with two cups in hand.

“Figured you’d want some coffee after last night,” he hands the mug off to you. You give him a tight lipped smile, sipping on the coffee.

It was quite some time before either of you spoke, Lance sitting to your right and Amelia had sat herself between the chairs.

“I should go to the store,” you say as you get up.

Lance mirrors your actions, “I'll join you.”

“I’ll be fine, it’s 15 minutes.” You insist but Lance wouldn’t budge. “Or a 5 minute drive, let’s go.”

The drive to the store was quiet, you had left Amelia at home for the time being. You couldn't bring yourself to ask Lance what really happened last night.

Last you remember, you were kissing him on the bed and then it went blank.

Instead of asking, you choose to ignore it in hopes that the memories will come back.

You pick up a few things to hold you over the weekend before heading back to the cottage. Lance follows you back into the house but he heads upstairs to take a shower. You head up to change into your bikini because despite the rain, you couldn't bring yourself to spend more time with him in the house.

You were going to lose your mind if you don’t ask him what happened but you can’t bring yourself to ask.

Lance comes down to find the house quiet, Amelia playing with her toys in the corner and he peeks outside when he sees the backdoor unlocked. You were in the water even with the pouring rain.

He steps out, pulling his hoodie over his head. He’s got a towel in hand as he jogs down to the dock. “Hey,” he shouts for you and you turn to see him.

“What ?”

“Get out, you’re gonna get sick.” He says, leaning down to grab your hand. Lance pulls you up onto the dock before handing you the towel. “Can we talk?” He asks, following you back to the house.

You step inside, heading towards the stairs before stopping to look at him. “I need to shower, we can talk after.”

Lance makes himself busy putting away the stuff you had both left on the counters while you showered. It wasn’t a long shower, you didn’t want him to think you were ignoring him; which you sort of were but that wasn’t the point.

You didn’t have much time to think before you headed downstairs.

His back was turned to you as you walked to the fridge, about to grab a beer but you decided against it. Being drunk led you to this predicament. You turn to face him, back against the fridge, “talk.” You tell him.

“I don’t regret it,” he starts, turning to face you.

Your face twists, confusion evident. “Regret ?” You ask.

“Kissing you last night.” He answers. “I like you, y/n. I always have; since we were kids. You were always nice to me and you liked the same things as I did, you got up to watch the races with me while our sisters slept in, you skipped shopping trips to go karting with me. You’ve supported me more than I could ever explain.”

His words, rather his confession, catches you off guard. You never really saw Lance as more than just Lance; Chloe’s little brother and your friend. Even when he became an F1 driver, he was still Lance.

It never changed who he was to you.

It did prompt you to think back to all the big moments over the course of your life. Every big moment, Lance was by your side. He had spent so much time with you when you were getting the charity up and running, you were by his side through the start of his F1 career - you can still remember him getting his maiden pole position and his first podium.

He was the first person you turned to, good or bad, he was there for you and you did the same for him.

Maybe Lance was right. Maybe you shouldn't regret the kiss, what was there to regret anyways?

You’ve known each other your whole lives, liked each other for forever so what was the harm in trying ?

Lance was staring at you, his brown eyes fixed on you as you stood there, quietly. He calls your name, pulling your attention back to him and much like a hallmark movie, you can’t help but kiss him. Hands on his cheeks as he pulls you into him.

“Happy?” You mumble against his lips, the man smiling. “Very.”

----

Chloe and Annie find you and Lance in the garage, you step away to give them time to fawn over the driver before he gets ready for his qualifying session. All 3 of you had joined Lance for Silverstone. You and Lance weren't officially out to anyone yet.

The weekend spent at the cottage was between the two of you and only the two of you.

You wander to the back of the garage, putting yourself out of anyone’s way for the time being. The green t-shirt hanging off your frame was being tugged on and you turned to see who it was. “Am I losing my favourite fan?” His accent fills your ear as he stands beside you.

Anytime you came to a race, you wore an Aston Martin shirt but usually you wore one that said Vettel because when you and Lance were kids, you used to watch races with him and Seb was always your favourite.

You laugh, looking over at Sebastian. “Never in a million years. He knows who I'm really here for.”

“Good.” Sebastian smiles, nudging you with his shoulder. “Go,” he tells you. Your brows furrow, “where?”

“Go be with your man.” “Sebastian!” You laughed, “I know you did not just say that to me.”

“Oh, is he not?” Seb rolls his eyes, clearly not believing you.

“Hush, don’t you have a race to get ready for ?” You ask him as he walks off. “Don’t you have a boyfriend to love?” He asks, laughing.

You roll your eyes, laughing as you walk back over to Lance. Both yours and his sister had stepped away and let him get ready. You straighten his race suit, tugging the zipper up for him.

“Hey,” he smiles at you and you look up at him.

“Good luck.” You tell him, pulling him in for a hug. Lance lets you pull away before his hand rests on your cheek before kissing you. “See you when I get out babe.”

“Mhm hm, be safe.” You smile, wiping the lipgloss from his lips.

So much for a secret.

----

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