Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

You were out hunting again. You weren’t quite sure how you kept winding up on these little excursions, but you felt confident in the idea that you had asked Vincent to take you at some point or another, the interest sparking from when you two had murdered Daniel Reeves, your head producer. You had managed to talk him into meeting you out in seclusion with a hunting trip, after all, so it only made sense to learn the ropes of the lifestyle. Maybe it could have even come in handy for future kills!

There you were, a rifle in your hand you weren’t entirely certain on the make of, crouching in a bush and looking for… something. What? You couldn’t say. You assumed deer; they were the target last time. So, you kept your finger poised on the trigger, waiting to see movement in the bush over yonder… when a small fawn trotted out.

No, that wouldn’t do. There wasn’t even a license out there that would let you shoot a fawn, assuming you wanted to, of course, which you definitely didn’t.

You didn't.

Right?

So… why was your finger still hovering over the trigger?

Where was the fawn’s mother? Come to think of it, where was—

“Darling?” Vincent’s voice came. He had been whispering, yet it felt incredibly loud. Deafeningly so. Your head swung around so fast that you had no time to register that the noise wasn't a danger, and in doing so, the trigger of the rifle was squeezed. A loud BANG! echoed through the wood as Vincent's body was blown backward, blood, skull and brain matter scattering across the grassy plane.

"Sweetheart!" You bolted forward, dropping the rifle and kneeling at his side. You had managed to aim directly for his baby blue eye, the organ surely decimated somewhere in the mess. Little glass shards from his lenses had stabbed across his face… what was left of it, at least. The upper right corner of his face was entirely gone, Allowing you to see the leftover half of his brain, as well as into his sinuses and a small amount of his tongue. Though, with the massive pool of blood forming around his head, the details were a bit fuzzy.

"N-No… no…" You refused to believe it. That wasn't him, he had replaced his body with a dummy at the last minute or something. Vincent, always so clever with his tricks! "That was… really funny!"

Using your sleeve, you wiped away your tears, trying to see where the seams on the 'fake' body were. "Come on, Honey, you got me. You can come out now."

Yet, as you said it, you still couldn't break your gaze from his face.

"Come on!" you exclaimed with a shake of his shoulders. "Tell me what the joke is! Wake up! Wake up!"

"What have you done?"

A different voice came, then, one you weren't familiar with… yet, it felt like you were at the same time. With a hesitant motion, your head turned to look behind you; it was the buck you saw on the trail the night of Daniel's murder, hunched over you with glowing headlight eyes.

"What did I do?!" you gasped in disbelief, staring him down. "It was… it was an accident! I had no control over—!"

"But you still did it, didn't you?" The buck's voice didn't seem accusatory… almost matter-of-fact, rather. Simply stating what it believed to be true. "You have no discipline. Because of this, he is dead, by your hand."

"Shut up!" you shouted, turning completely around to face him, standing. "I don't need some fucking lecture from you! If you can't help me, then just… just leave us alone!"

"O' blessed be you, poor lamb…" The buck's head tilted to the side. "You would be unable to recognize help were it to crash through your own skull. There is no helping the one perfectly content in their misery."

Rage bubbled in your blood as you sputtered, looking from the buck to Vincent's mangled body. "Do I look fucking content right now?! I want you to fix… this! Please… please…"

Head in your hands, you hunched over, sobbing. "Everything we worked for, it… it can't just end like this…"

"And yet, it will." The buck got closer, its limbs extending unnaturally. "You have already been promised to me, sweet lamb… I have always been watching, waiting, for when the time is nigh, I—"

You jolted up in bed, again. It was almost starting to get annoying just how badly that reoccurring dream managed to continuously fuck with your head… though, shooting Vincent in the head was a new element.

He — luckily — then also awoke, instantly grasping for your wrist. It had almost become routine at that point, a way to let you know he was there and that everything would be okay.

"The deer thing again, huh?" Vincent asked groggily, pinching the bridge of his nose before reaching for his glasses case.

"Yeah… yeah. I'm okay." You took some deep breaths, trying to calm your shaking nerves. You had been getting better, but the mental image of Vincent's brain matter splattered across the ground… it stuck every time you tried to close your eyes. "Do you think maybe I should… you know… speak to a shrink about this? Some sort of dream shaman?"

Vincent chuckled heartily. "They're a useless lot. When we find a shrink that can fix me, I'll get you connected."

"But… you've never mentioned hiring a shrink."

"Precisely."

It had been around two months since Daniel's murder, and that almost seemed to reset Vincent's libido in a way, bringing him back down to his standard prior to the murders of Kenneth and Tina Westerman. Which, all things considered, was still abnormally high for a man Vincent's age, but at the very least you were able to walk most days.

What was it with this man and his effect on the well being of your legs?

"Now, then… if you recall, we have today off," he went on as though nothing had happened, standing up from the bed. "I… have a little day planned for the two of us."

"And does this 'day' involve me turning another man's head into a bowl of squashed grapefruit?" you sneered, your tone playful, despite being half serious. "Because you'll have to forgive me, Darling, but I'm still quite tuckered out from our hunting trip."

Vincent smirked knowingly, walking to a drawer to grab a pair of khaki pants and a light blue button up shirt, along with undergarments. "No, no, nothing of the sort. I have no need for another rung up the ladder right now, if you can wrap your head around that."

He made a good point: it had only been a few months, after all. There had been a good few years in between Vincent moving up from the weatherman position to become the news anchor, and the leap to the both of you becoming hosts had been largely by your influence.

Sighing in relief, you went to your own drawer, pulling out a turtleneck, a pencil skirt and your undergarments. Most of your wardrobe consisted of turtlenecks now, in fact, given that Vincent couldn't keep his damn teeth out of your neck during sex as of late, leaving you covered in little purple markings. Covering them up with fabric turned out to be much less tedious than applying makeup everywhere you went. You supposed you could just ask him to stop, but… where would the fun in that be?

"Alright, fine, I believe you. What do you have planned?"

"We're going to the aquarium."

You had been a few times, naturally — Vincent's love of aquatic life had rubbed off on you, as life enjoyed reminding you time and time again. Tickets were never that expensive, so it was one of the few times you could actually get away with asking your parents for money. You would be given enough for the taxi to and from, as well as admission, spending whole evenings after school there just staring at the endless tanks of colourful creatures… and maybe hoping to see that cute weatherman drop by.

"Oh! Darling, that's wonderful!" you squealed, wrapping Vincent in a playful hug that he warmly received.

"Ah, well… I try. Anything for my girl."

"Well, shit, don't wait!" you exclaimed, pulling him out of the bedroom by the hands and leading him to the car. There was no time for breakfast; you could grab something on the way. "If you had opened with that we could have left sooner!"

"Baby, Baby, please!" Vincent tried to plead with you, but it was clearly in jest. He loved seeing you get all worked up, the expression on your face so pronounced your cheeks would surely be hurting any time now. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

You practically spilled him into the driver's seat of the car, sending him tumbling inside as you ran around to the other door, seating yourself. "Come on, come on! Drive, Whittman!"

The smirk that followed from Vincent became almost knowing, then, looking up at you with a glint in his eye before he re-positioned himself. "It's a good thing I didn't tell you any earlier than I did, you'd have been dragging me out the door at midnight with a tent in the trunk so we could be the first in line."

"And?" you exclaimed as though the idea were preposterous.

"…Never mind." Vincent's key turned in the ignition as he readjusted his glasses, turning out of the driveway and quickly taking off down the road. "I take it you've come up with a plan for breakfast? I'd like you well-fed for what I have in store."

"Ooh!" you piped up after a moment of thought. "There's a little coffee shop just down the road from the aquarium. I'd always grab a scone from there when I went as a girl."

A loud, hearty laugh came from Vincent. "A scone? I didn't realize that as a girl you were fifty years old."

"Shut it, you!" You delivered a lighthearted jab to his shoulder. "They were filling and cheap! Usually fresh out of the oven, too… the blueberries just melt in your mouth, and…"

"Okay, okay, you're going to make me hungry just thinking about it," Vincent scoffed, putting a hand on your thigh. "So I guess… we can be fifty years old together."

The aquarium, luckily, wasn't a very long drive away. You both pulled up to the quaint little coffee shop, eating your scones and drinking your coffee at one of the tables.

"Mmm… not bad," Vincent admired, putting his cup down. "I can tell they don't skimp out on their bean selection here, at least. Guess you know how to pick 'em, huh?"

"Well, I picked you."

You knew full well he'd set you up for that, but it was just too easy of an opportunity. He smiled — the type to actually reach his eyes — using his free hand to take yours. "So, if you've been here before… why are you so excited to go now? I don't think they typically get new exhibits in…"

Fidgeting with one of the crumbs on your plate for a moment, you sighed wistfully. "Well, you know… part of it was getting to see it with you."

Vincent leaned in with intrigue as you went on. "I guess whenever I went, you know, after I sent in that drawing… I pictured you there with me. I'd sit on the bench, watching the hammerheads swim overhead and pretend you were holding me, assuring me that everything would turn out okay."

With that, Vincent practically melted.

"Sweetheart…" he cooed, almost looking a little sad, "that's… fucking adorable."

"Really?" you stammered, face going red hot with embarrassment. "I was worried you would think I'm utterly lame. What a horrible reminder of what a lifeless sad-sack I was, right?"

"No, no! Far from it!" He put his cup down, taking both of your hands. "I… love your devotion to me. You didn't even know me, yet you were picturing us on dates together. I can't imagine a more perfect partner for me."

"It… felt like I knew you…" you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Maybe I couldn't talk back to you, but you really put a lot of yourself into those weather segments. So many little facts about your life, your interests… like, the whale shark is the most famous filter-feeding shark, but there are two others—"

"—that aren't related at all!" Vincent finished. "Yes, the megamouth and the basking shark. All filter-feeding, yet they don't—"

"—share a taxonomic order!" you concluded, making you both laugh until your sides ached.

"Ah… maybe I should've taken you to see a movie," Vincent chuckled. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but it might do you some good to watch someone that isn't me."

"Well, we can leave that for another time." You collected your cup and plate, standing to take them to the counter. "We have an exhibit to see."

You both left not long after, walking the rest of the way to the aquarium. There wasn't much of a line, given that you were still in the low tourism season, letting you wander the place practically unbothered.

This, of course, gave Vincent plenty of room to talk.

"Oh! Parrotfish!" he exclaimed in that sort of hushed library tone, pointing at a fish in the tank with bright aqua stripes. "At least… so we think. They're notoriously hard to classify. The closest we've gotten is that they're a large family of wrasse, but even that is highly debated. Don't even get me started on their pattern identification, and the fact that they can change their sex throughout their entire life. Makes things pretty difficult."

"So, it's not just sharks then, huh?" you asked with a playful crook of your brow.

"Far from it," Vincent said, matter-of-factually. "Didn't get out much as a kid, but I had plenty of books. One was on aquatic life, which — of course — includes sharks. They just happen to be my favourite."

Your face softened a little. "I don't know why I never thought to ask this, but… if you love all this stuff so much, why did you never… you know, pursue marine biology? Why become a weatherman?"

Vincent's own expression darkened in response, watching the parrotfish swim off into the depths of the tank. "I… certainly considered it when I was a boy. Mother said it would be too dangerous, and Father said my voice was too good to waste on… how did he put it? 'Fish bollocks'?"

He tried to laugh again, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it. "Besides, if we did everything we loved as our career, then it would become… work. The passion would die, and we'd be a husk of our former selves. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise."

You decided not to push him any further on the topic, retreating further into the aquarium until you came to the best part: the shark tank. Which was, luckily, completely barren, spare the two of you.

Vincent motioned for you to sit on one of the cushioned benches, which you did. The room itself was only a clear tube, but a large body of water surrounded it, allowing you to feel immersed in the aquatic scene. His hand wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you close as you both looked up, the familiar hammerhead swimming overhead.

And, in that moment… you got to let that little girl live her dream. The one you had actually foreseen what felt like ages ago.

"Come here, this room. There's something I want you to see."

You were a little surprised that Vincent wanted to move on from the room so quickly, but you were sure he had his reasons. He stood up, opening the exit door to the tube as you stepped out into darkness before looking to him for guidance.

Vincent opened a door you'd hardly noticed, as it blended in with the rest of the aquarium's black wall, but it had a cutout of a jellyfish on it. He motioned you inside, and naturally, you followed.

It was only a small, circular room, but half of the wall was pure glass, revealing a glowing blue aquarium filled to the gills with bobbing, floating jellyfish. You stared up to the high wall in awe, the blue light reflecting in your wondrous eyes.

"I feel like I've been here quite a few times…" you noted, gently pressing your fingertips to the cool glass. "How have I never seen this room be—?"

You turned to look at Vincent where you expected his eye level to be, but instead had to gaze downward, where he had gotten down on one knee, fumbling for something in his pocket.

Oh, fuck.

The classic symbol of marriage proposal, practically every American knew it. It wasn't that you didn't want him to propose — quite the opposite, it was what you had wanted most — something just seemed… off. Where were the flashing cameras? The hordes of people clamouring with questions?

Goddammit, you were even starting to think like him now. That was embarrassing. But there was no time to hesitate, if you were going to say what you wanted to say, you had to do it fast.

"Darling…" Vincent began, looking at you with hopeful eyes, "we've been together for some time now, a little over a year. And yet, never before in my life have I felt so understood. I know nobody else will make me feel this way, not the way you do. So—!"

"Wait."

Your finger pressed to his lips as his whole body seemed to deflate, his face looking similar to that of a kicked puppy. You bit your lip in guilt, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "I have a thought. But just so you don't get the wrong idea… yes, I'd love to marry you."

With that, the balloon that was Vincent's body inflated again, rising to pull you into a tight, posessive hug. "Oh, thank you, Sweetheart, I promise you won't regret this, I—!"

"Wait, wait!" you giggled again, putting a hand to his cheek. "It's just… you were saying that nobody's understood you as well as I do. Well, here's my chance to prove it."

One of your perfectly manicured hands crept down to his back pocket, hovering over the ring box. "I don't want to see the ring, not yet. I'd rather you leave it a surprise… for when you propose on the Valentine's Day special of our show."

Vincent pulled away slightly to meet your gaze, scanning your face for any hint of foolery. "My god, Baby, I… you would do that? Publicize our special moment like that?"

You couldn't help but smirk knowingly. "Well, my book sales are starting to dip… I think this would give it another big push. You know, Maryland's talk show sweethearts getting to showcase their love on the small screen? Everyone will want to read up on how we came to be. It's the perfect ratings trap, truly."

Genuine, heartfelt tears pooled in Vincent's eyes. God… you really were perfect for him. Not only were you thinking of him and his desires, but you had also managed to word it in such a way that your own greed and hunger for more had slipped through. He was enamoured.

His lips pressed to yours hungrily, strong hands on either side of your face to hold you in position as he practically began to consume you. Even before he began to speak again, you could already tell his mind was racing with a million thoughts. "You want everyone watching to know? To see my pretty ring placed on your finger on live television, a reminder that you belong to me? You want me to claim you on the goddamn world stage?"

"You've already claimed me in every other way, I'm surprised you didn't think this up yourself!" you chuckled, wrapping your own arms around him. "We'll get them to broadcast the whole wedding ceremony, too. The damsel and her shining knight, together at last… ratings will skyrocket, Vincent."

A pang of guilt caught in your chest… you were tempting him. You knew you were. In some dark, twisted way, you wanted to say just the right words to turn him into that squirming, inconsolable creature from when you caught him masturbating in the bathroom that night. You missed the ache when your vagina would clench around nothing in the brief moments he wasn't rutting into you. The feeling of his cock trying to impale you through the throat in sheer desperation to get as deep into you as possible. You needed his neediness, as awful as it felt to admit, and you knew all the talk of sales, ratings and tune-ins was just what would do him in.

"You're fucking perfect…" Vincent murmured, his voice choked as he wrapped one arm around you, using the other to reach down and grip your ass. "Nobody else would care like this, nobody but you… by the time we're done, nobody will even remember those disappearances, just the brave girl who rose from the ashes. My girl, my wicked fucking girl…"

And, in the instant you closed your eyes to kiss him again, you'd been whisked off somewhere that smelled vaguely of dirty mop water and lemon.

"Vincent, wha—?" you began to say before you were cut off by his lips crashing into yours, and his hands groping your tits.

"It's the janitor's closet. I've watched his schedule for a long time now, he shouldn't be in for another hour and nobody comes in this room as is. I need you, Darling. Need you now." His voice came hot and heavy, though you could barely make him out in the pitch black room, only able to feel his hands and hot breath. His left reached down to lift your skirt, invading your panties like the Visigoths entering Rome as two fingers circled your clit.

"Fuck, you're so wet already… you'll really just take it from me anywhere, huh? Our dressing room was one thing, but this… this is getting ridiculous."

"You're the one who pulled me in here, lest we forget," you huffed hotly, pretending to reject him. Of course, that only got him even more riled up, pushing your face into the door before he began to grind against your ass. Just as expected, you could already feel the prominent tent of his cock protruding against you, ready and willing.

"Oh, but I still know this is what you wanted, Sweetheart…" He was up against your ear, then, his voice reduced to a whispering grumble. "Saying all those things that would get me excited, knowing what that fucking does to me… God you're evil. Maybe that pretty mouth oughta stop writing cheques her ass won't cash."

"No, I… I will…" you insisted, gulping down the growing lump in your throat. You could practically hear the grin stretch across Vincent's face as he pulled your panties down, lifting your skirt. You heard his knees hit the concrete floor as his pants rustled, presumably to pull his cock out as his tongue and nose got to work on your pussy.

Oh, how desperately you wanted to moan, cry out his name that you knew he loved hearing so goddamn much, but you had to stop yourself, covering your own mouth with your hand. He worked achingly slow, his face pressed so far into your folds that you were practically fucking yourself on the prominent cartilage of his nose as the tip of his tongue flicked back and forth on your clit, hardly making contact.

"O-Oh… Oh my god…" you could barely get out, your own voice breathy and meek. You thought you could almost come right then and there from the sheer lewdness of it all, forced to drip all over the floor of the janitor's closet and find some way to clean up your own mess. Though, he stopped before you could finish, standing up to kiss you from behind.

"You taste so fucking good…" he purred between kisses, "it's only fair you get a taste… we're sharing everything now, aren't we?"

Sharing everything… the thought rang around in your head for a while, pounding off the sides of your skull as his tongue intertwined with yours. And yes, you did notice the difference in taste. It was then that you felt two eager fingers sneak down and push their way inside of you, though his other hand was more than happy to clap over your mouth.

"Need you quiet, Sweetheart," Vincent reminded, though he was asking a shockingly large task with how quick his fingers were moving. "I think you've done quite enough talking for now. Maybe a little too much. You know how much pain being like this puts me in, and you're fucking contributing… sadistic bitch…"

Slick coursed down your legs with each word, mainly because you knew he was right. Well within his right to take it out on you. You whined when his fingers slowly pulled out, though they were quickly replaced by his cock thrusting into you in their place, causing you to moan loudly into his hand.

"W-Wait—!" you began to say around his hand, but that only made it clasp down harder.

"N-No, can't wait anymore, Baby, you know that," Vincent groaned, that familiar whine returning to his voice. His thrusts started slow, yet hard. "Been too long without being inside of you, I can't fucking take it… gotta come, need to come…"

Your eyes rolled back in your head a little with each thrust, burying himself so deep you could swear he was going to start pushing into your stomach. wet plaps echoed through the tiny room, giving you away to anyone who decided to stop by the all but forgotten room of the aquarium.

"I am going to wreck this goddamn pussy…" The statement came almost as a whine, then, like he was trying to reassure himself more than you. "I can't take it, can't take the waiting… can't take what you do to me… you really are going to be the perfect Mrs. Whittman, you're as fucking insufferable as I am…"

"Mhm! Mhm!" You could only moan hopelessly against his hand, nodding with intense vigour as the tip of his cock rammed into your g-spot time and time again.

"Is this what you wanted?" Vincent asked again, balls slapping against your clit with each thrust. "Taking every inch of my cock among this filth like the dirty fucking girl you are… You remember our first time, don't you? How I had to be gentle? What ever happened to her, hmm?"

"V-Vincent, fuck, please…" you murmured, pulling his hand away slightly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, just—!"

"It's too fucking late for 'sorry', I'm in too deep now…" His other hand was carving tiny red crescents into your thigh from how hard he was squeezing. "You're going to take my cock until I'm fucking satisfied. Teasing me with ratings, numbers, viewership… knowing I'll get worked up until I'm sick just to have me do this…. oh, fuck you, fuuuuuuck you…"

The arm gripping you then wrapped around your lower abdomen, lifting your feet off the air and letting them dangle as he tried to force himself impossibly deeper, so deep you could feel his pubic hair brush against your ass. "C-Coming… coming, Vincent, coming…"

"I know, Babygirl, I know. Do it. Come for me."

He didn't have to tell you twice; your legs squeezed meekly together, and with only a pathetic little cry, you felt yourself make a mess all over his crotch as he buried himself to the hilt, his cock giving a few twitches as he came into his condom. You assumed that would be where it ended, leaving you both in the blissful afterglow to take in each other's presence… until he resumed bucking against you.

"Hey! What are you—?!" You couldn't even get the question out before his large hand squeezed your cheeks, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he picked up speed. You didn't even know how that was physically possible.

"I said you were taking me until I'm satisfied. I'm not done."

And there it was, what you had been searching for. That feral, clingy beast of a man to show you just how badly he needed you, your two bodies mingled as one. Your minds, your names, your everything… they would be bound for eternity, and you simply couldn't be happier.

"Well, maybe I'm… not satisfied… either," you panted through ragged breath, the words coming out a little awkwardly from your squished cheeks. Vincent began to nip at your ear before his teeth pulled back, and you both heard it; the sound of a wheeled mop bucket rolling down the hall.

"…It would seem the janitor changed his schedule."

"Vincent!"

"It's fine! It's fine, just be quiet."

He carefully pulled out, making sure the condom didn't slip off before tying it in a knot and flinging it in the trash bin the room provided. He quickly pulled his pants back up, pulling your skirt down and escorting you out the door, closing it just in time for the janitor to enter the jellyfish room. Vincent's jaw tightened a little, almost as if he didn't recognize the man that stepped in.

"Good afternoon, sir!" Vincent said politely, making the janitor smile; it was clear he didn't hear that often.

"You too," his gruff voice came, scratching at his thick beard before he looked down at you. "Did you need a napkin for that spill, ma'am?"

"Wha—?" Your face went bright red as you looked down, noticing the trail of slick escaping your skirt and venturing its way to your ankle.

"Oh!" you exclaimed in a flurry, covering your mouth. "Oh, we went out to eat before we came here, I didn't think my water spill was that bad! This is embarrassing…"

The janitor reached into his cart and grabbed you a paper towel, all the while you glared at Vincent like you were going to kill him. You quickly — yet graciously — took it, wiping up the trail with many whispered thanks, power-walking out of the room.

Vincent followed close behind, who tried to continue walking as though nothing happened.

"New janitor?" you deadpanned.

"New janitor."

"You had better hope this goes well, Mr. Whittman, because otherwise, I am going to kill you."

The day finally came: Valentine's Day. The day of love. More importantly, the day the two of you would make television history.

Interns had surely spent countless hours snipping and gluing away to make all sorts of paper decorations for the studio set. It was almost gaudy, looking like cupid had exploded all over the walls, but it was precisely what Vincent requested; it had to be showy, bordering on cheesy. The point was, people would remember it was Valentine's Day. On top of this, you had made sure to wear the frilliest dress you owned, with Vincent wearing his own rose lapel instead of his usual anchor.

Your guests that day weren't particularly eye-catching… some romance author with a new book coming out (though you made sure to slip your own book effortlessly into the conversation, much to Vincent's delight), a pair of actors for some steamy romantic movie that the public seemed to believe were dating off-screen… so dull. Thematically relevant, you supposed, but painfully dull. Perhaps that was just because you knew what Vincent and yourself had planned was far more interesting…

Oh god, he really was rubbing off on you, wasn't he?

The actors finally cleared off, which gave you the chance to drop your rehearsed line: "Well, Vincent, those were our final guests of the evening! Anything you'd like to leave our lovely audience with before we sign off?"

He had spent every day of the last month with that little satin box weighing heavy in his pocket, his script memorized down to the blinks he would take. It had clearly taken every ounce of his self restraint to not just whip the ring out that morning when you two were doing your hair.

But he held on, biding his time. Waiting.

Vincent met your gaze as you finished your line. He knew what that meant — knew that he finally, finally got to claim what was his in front of the whole world, to be memorialized until film itself would cease to exist. He shifted slightly in his chair, clearing his throat.

"As a matter of fact… there is."

There were a few murmurs from the studio audience as he took your hand, leading you to the centre of the stage. The cameramen followed your movements with precision, not knowing what exactly Vincent's plan was, but knowing they had to capture every second.

People in the studio talked… you knew they did. You had watched eyes follow you around the place when Vincent was at your side, and you could practically hear their conversations, even if they were mumbled behind cupped hands.

"You think he'll ever pop the question to that woman?"

"Hard to say. By the sounds of things, I'd bet she proposes to him. You ever spoke with [Y/N]? She's a total nut! Can't say I wouldn't be too after encountering that psycho, though. Wants to take life into her own hands."

Okay, so maybe some of that was your own wishful thinking. But you were certain that people were taking bets on when today would finally happen. What none of them had bet on, though, was that he was going to say it to the entire globe. Vincent's hands took both of yours, then, looking deep into your eyes as the studio lights reflected off his thick rimmed glasses.

"Darling, I… I don't understand," you lie. Of course you lie, you had planned the day down to the fucking millisecond. But, in spite of this, you deemed it important to keep your ditzy, innocent persona's mask strapped firmly to your face, your eyes bubbling with wonder and hope as you gazed into his.

Vincent couldn't help the smile that curved his lips. God, you were good at playing dumb. For as much as he sometimes hated that you insisted the world only saw you as some foolish doll molded by tragedy, he knew in that moment, nobody could doubt how surprised you were by all of this. His smile was one of knowledge; nobody would ever see the version of you that he did, the one that lingered firmly behind a curtain, waiting for him to come and unveil it. Never.

He squeezed your hands gently, running his thumbs over your knuckles. You could see the hints of excitement and anticipation shining in his mismatched eyes… though, again, maybe that was also just the studio lighting.

"Well, Dear, I'd like to ask you a question. One I'm sure the audience has been dying to know your answer to for quite some time."

The chatter and buzz of the audience picked up, people leaning in with curiosity. They all knew what was coming; hell, some of them were probably already preparing to hear about this in the news the next day. The East Coast Herald was stuck to Vincent like glue, after all; you had no doubt in your mind this would be on the front page, your crying face and his beaming one in all their inky glory.

He lifted his hands, bringing yours along with them as he kissed your ring finger. He held them there, letting the moment linger for a few long seconds before he dropped to one knee, pulling the ring box out from his back pocket and presenting it proudly.

"Will you marry me?"

For the briefest second, you thought a bomb had gone off.

Everything erupted around you. The cameras zoomed in, clicking and flashing fired up in the crowd like a disturbed burrow of fireflies and loud shrieks echoed from fans. Some of your co-stars of the network who were watching from off-stage covered their mouths in shock, some clapping…

While Charles Bramwell stood in the wings as he had since the beginning of your host career, his eyes full of pride. It was like something in his mind had been put at ease… this marked the beginning of the end. The end of the killer's tyranny, and the beginning of happiness and peace across the station. Your love was the answer.

In spite of this, Vincent's eyes never left yours. Vincent, a man typically so focused on the reactions of others, yet in that moment only one mattered… yours. He watched every emotion that flickered across your face — the surprise, the excitement, the unadulterated joy — but he could see one other thing, the thing you kept for his eyes only.

Hunger.

You wanted this. Wanted him. You could tell it was a strange experience for him, to be the one craved without an ulterior motive. You had made the suggestion on taking things public, sure, but that was because it was something you knew he wanted. Anywhere you went, you planned to grab him by the hand and pull him right along with you, and he couldn't want anything more.

Both of your dreams were coming true right before your eyes, in real time. For once, you finally began to understand Vincent's unconstrained lust, his need for more. And goddamn did it feel good.

"Vincent, darling, I… I-I…" You began crying your best crocodile tears, leaping into his arms of embrace. "Yes! Oh, God, yes!"

You looked in awe at all the cameras, fanning away your tears. You had even made sure to apply the cheapest mascara you had so it would drag streaks down your face as you cried. "I think… this is the best day of my life!"

He pulled you into his arms, crushing you against his chest as the flashes and shudders only seemed to get louder. Vincent's cheek nuzzled into your hair on the side the cameras couldn't see, whispering against your skin: "My good girl. You played it beautifully. I'm so fucking proud of you."

Then, he pulled back enough just to slide that heavy, shimmering diamond onto your finger, a shine that was sure to reflect in America's eyes for the rest of the evening. The crowd screamed again, and somewhere, beneath all the glitter, half-truths and show business…

You both meant every word.