#1 not dead 1 kind of injured | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sundrop-writes · 10 months ago

Text

Figure It Out

A Criminal Minds Casefic

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” -Friedrich Nietzsche

Summary:

Since you joined the BAU, you have been keeping a terrible secret from the team.

When the team takes a case in your hometown - your festering secret comes to be known with a vengeance.

Fem!Reader x Gen!BAU Team (Platonic). General Casefic, modelled after a Criminal Minds episode. Angst, Mystery, Hurt and Comfort. Set during Criminal Minds Season 3.

Word Count: 18,000

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed Warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is a general casefic - there is no romantic pairings in this fic, it is more about the mystery of the case and how the reader character fits into it (if this were a real Criminal Minds episode, this would be the episode named after the reader) - with that being said, the main relationship focuses are between Emily and the reader and Spencer and the reader (because I am biased and I love them) but there isn’t any romantic threads or romantic tones, it is all platonic; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and is described as a woman, but I went out of my way to make sure that there is no descriptions of the readers looks or body type; there is use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); mentions of the reader being from Georgia (because the case takes place in her hometown); smoking/cigarettes - mentions of the reader character smoking tobacco; mentions of the reader character being injured (severely in a past incident, and minor injuries during the course of the fic); mentions of vomit/mentions of the reader character throwing up; lots of warnings for general Criminal Minds topics; murder, killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, violence, guns/gun violence, mentions of rape and sexual violence, mentions of systematic violence towards women; there is no graphic depictions of rape/no rape scenes in the fic, but there is mentions of the event of rape happening to certain characters, references to rape culture, and the shame/guilt/self blame a rape victim feels; mentions of stalking/stalking behaviors - including the delusion mindset of a stalker, obsessiveness, sending someone unwanted letters, mentions of a ‘one sided’ relationship; mentions of trauma/PTSD; descriptions of symptoms of PTSD; themes surrounding the cycle of violence; I did kind of purposefully make the warnings a bit more vague than I usually do, because I really don’t want to spoil the plot of this fic. But as lot as you are okay with the maturity of all these themes, you should be okay with this fic!!

A/N: This is pretty much 100% inspired by the music video for Figure It Out by Royal Blood - which the fic is named after. I highly recommend watching the music video, because it is fucking art in my opinion, but I have taken such heavy inspiration from it in terms of the style, tone, and even storyline - so the music video kind of spoils this fic. So probably watch it after you read the fic lmao. I also feel like the instrumental version of the song goes very well with this fic. This fic is not at all typical and I am terrified that people won't like it, or that they won't 'get it'. But I am very proud of it, so I am going to put it out there and hope that people enjoy it. So - please enjoy!! I really love writing Criminal Minds casefics and coming up with the details of a case, and writing it in this style was so, so exciting and interesting for me, and I really do hope that you can enjoy reading it.

...

“All things are subject to interpretation. Whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.”

-Friedrich Nietzsche

...

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret more palpable in your lungs.

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would soon be resigned to a cage.

You hated it, but you had to wonder what you would have done if you had ten more minutes. Ten more minutes before they had arrived, sirens screeching, lights flashing. Your mind kept replaying the moments over and over again. The knife had felt so perfect in your hand.

Ten more minutes.

“I just want to talk.”

So caught up in your thoughts, your mind so foggy from the hectic night - you had almost forgotten that there was someone sitting in front of you.

He looked so entirely stiff - wearing his cookie cutter suit and his carved-in scowl. He did nothing to shift your mood.

“This is just a conversation. Nothing more.”

He continued on, using a monotone, would-be soothing voice when you didn’t say anything.

The metal chair felt stiffer underneath you, and you felt further suffocated within that small, concrete box.

You felt inclined to call it an interrogation, but you wouldn’t be so quick to tell him that. It’s not like you were going to tell him what he wanted to hear.

“You can smoke in here if that makes you feel more comfortable.” He added on, pushing something from the middle of the table toward you.

A pack of cigarettes and a lighter. There was also an ashtray. A collection of things that someone had put there, knowing that you would be resigned to this tiny, tiny room.

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves, Hotch.” You huffed, saying his name, using the same technique that he would likely be using on you. You could mirror him, get ahead on the mind games. “I’m not as crazy and detached from reality as you think I am.”

Perhaps that was a false statement. You weren’t even sure how crazy he thought you were. Perhaps, that in itself made you detached from reality. You couldn’t be sure.

Nonetheless, you took him up on the offer. You reached out and eagerly picked up the pack of smokes, ripping off the outer plastic before you took one out, shoving the tip between your lips and lighting it up.

You took a heavy draw, and the nicotine throbbed through you. Seemingly adding to the headache you already had from the large gash on your forehead that they had hastily bandaged before bringing you in here, rather than relieving it. Still, you sucked on the cigarette like it was your only lifeline - taking a moment to tap some of the ash into the small ashtray while you stared at Hotch carefully.

You wondered if you should really tell him all the gory details.

“Just tell me what happened. Tell me your side of the story.” Hotch said, trying his best to sound warm and convincing. It didn’t work. “I’m just trying to figure it out. Just like you are.”

Perhaps your biggest regret was that you were here, cooped up in this hole - and he was in the hospital somewhere, laying in a soft bed, being attended to by nurses, being comforted. The fact that he was still breathing - even with the assistance of a tube down his throat, and not in a body bag.

“You’ll never look at me the same if I do tell you.” You managed to find these words, and these words only. Ominous, almost threatening - more so than you intended.

“I won’t.” He returned. Shallow, fallible.

Suddenly, a crash from the hallway broke the tense silence that was brewing between the two of you. The door was thick, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the ruckus coming from outside.

“No! No! You have to let me through! I have to be in there!”

The voice was familiar, but that tone of desperation certainly was not.

“Reid, he specifically told us to sit this one out-”

“Sit this one out?!” Reid repeated the words back, his voice warping with pure shock, the inability to conceptualize such a thing. “You expect me to just sit out?” He scoffed. “If it wasn’t for me, two more people would be dead, and there wouldn’t even be a ‘this one’! Now let. Me. Through.”

“Reid-”

With all his bolstering stubbornness, he shoved past whoever had been trying to stop him, and as you took another heavy puff off your cigarette, the interrogation room door came flying open.

Hotch stood up, rushing to block the door, but you smiled. Though you were numb from the day’s events - it was your natural instinct upon seeing him.

“Reid-” Hotch choked out, trying to block the gangly man from even entering the room.

“Good evening, Doctor Reid.” You greeted him gently.

Upon seeing your reaction - so much more open and warm - Hotch allowed him in. This was the wedge that he needed to pry you open. Reid closed the door behind himself with an indigent huff and a glare toward his superior.

Reid crossed his arms, hovering near the door as he turned his stiff-jawed glare toward you now. Your cigarette turned to a hot cherry in your hands - sucked to death already, and you stubbed it out in the tray before starting a new one. You knew chain-smoking was an even filthier habit than the occasional ciggy, but you had one hell of a day under your belt. If there was ever a time, it was now.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Reid asked, his voice stiff and oppositional.

“Oh, so many things.” You said, your tone clever and unphased. Hotch let out a sigh as he sat back down in his chair. He was glad that you were talking openly now, at least. “Shall we go in alphabetical order, or start at my birth and work or way back from there?”

Reid let out another nasal thick sound. Apparently, he wasn’t in the mood for banter.

You were met with nothing but a stony wall of silence, and cold glares of disapproval. It almost made you feel guilty. Almost.

“Let’s start with this,” Reid corrected you. “Why?”

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself.

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.”

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

Prentiss led the team as they searched through the house. It was the only solid lead they had as to where you might be. It was a house that your parents used to own - a place of significance because you had lived there the summer when it first happened.

“Clear!”

She went through the living room, the kitchen, the entire first floor, leading the team with Reid at her side, guns drawn.

“Clear!”

As she crested the top of the stairs, she heard sobbing.

It was distinct - something that tugged harshly on her heartstrings.

Even though it was against protocol not to clear the rooms in order, she rushed toward it. Reid continued to flank her - obviously he had heard the noise too.

Prentiss landed a sharp kick on the door’s handle, causing it to fling open.

The picture on display in front of her almost caused her to drop her gun.

Hotch had been right.

You were on top of the man, straddling him. Both you and the man were badly beaten - but right off the bat, Prentiss could tell that he was far worse off. Clearly, you had bested him in the fight this time.

The contents of the room strewn about; broken glass, busted furniture, the curtain rod torn down. It looked like the remnants of a bad WWE brawl. You were the picture of desperation - heavy, hot tears coming from your eyes, blood smearing down your face from a gash on your forehead as you stared down the man beneath you with fiery madness in your eyes.

You had a knife to his throat. A large hunting knife - the same kind that all the other victims had been stabbed with.

You had the tip of it poised to his throat, just barely touching his skin. If you put any amount of pressure on the blade - if you bared down, then you would slice right through his esophagus. It would take almost no effort from you at all to end his life.

From what Prentiss could see, the man was unconscious. He was completely slack, his body still on the ground. He was bleeding from a small head wound. His life was entirely in your hands. He couldn’t fight back.

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of the confrontation with your life’s biggest monster.

Though it went against everything inside of her, Emily kept her gun raised. She kept her arms stiff, keeping her gun pointed at you. As much as she detested that man, knowing what he had done - it was her job to shoot you if you tried to kill him. Right now, she hated that job.

“Put the knife down!” Prentiss ordered sharply.

You didn’t move.

Naturally, Reid, in all of his softness and empathy, slackened his arms and holstered his gun before anyone could blink.

“Come on, put it down.” She tried again.

You ignored Prentiss entirely, your hands still shaking, making no moves to lift the knife away from the man’s throat.

Reid moved to step into the room, and from his view at the top of the stairs, arms stiff and gun pointed in your general direction - Hotch called out to him.

“Reid-!” He tried to warn Reid against doing this. Of course, he didn’t listen.

Reid knelt down beside you, posturing in surrender with his arms. Of course, he wasn’t even on your radar at the moment. Your entire gaze, your entire focus was on the unconscious man underneath you - the true target of your agony.

“Y/N,” Reid said your name calmly, trying to capture your attention. “You don’t have to do this.”

You hesitated for a moment, and Prentiss worried that even his gentle voice wouldn’t be able to get through to you.

“I have to.” You sobbed out. More heavy tears slid down your face, and you began to shake more visibly, shockwaves moving throughout your entire body.

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.”

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls.

It made Prentiss’ heart jump inside of her chest. If it wasn’t protocol, she would have dropped her gun and run over to comfort you with a hug. But she knew that you weren’t in the most stable place. You might have tried to stab her with the knife.

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-”

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, trampling over his quiet voice. “I killed those women. I killed them!”

“Prentiss!” Hotch edged in, warning her.

If you didn’t move off of the unconscious man soon, then she would have to take you down.

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back. She had faith in Reid.

“We both know that’s not true.” Reid told you. “You didn’t kill them. You didn’t mean for this to happen-”

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.”

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.”

There was a gutting silence.

“Please, just give me the knife.”

At this point he was doing some pleading of his own - but your hands were unsteady and you still refused to look at him.

You weren’t going to give up the fight that easily.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Somewhere On The Country Backroads - Madison, GA. 2:11AM.

“I want two squad cars down the road, I want state police cutting off all the possible exits to the major highways.” Agent Hotchner was on the scene, doing what he did best - giving orders. “I want to cut off any chance of possible escape incase the suspect tries to flee-”

“Hotch, do you really think that’s necessary?” Morgan asked. “We’ve got the house. Thermal cam’s got two bodies on the second floor. There’s nowhere to run from here. We’ve got spike strips on all the dirt roads. No car is getting past any of that. It should function as a hard extraction from here.”

Hotch glared at Morgan as he fastened the straps on his bulletproof vest. The glare of the red and blue lights from the squad cars only made the deep frown lines on his face look firmer.

“I am not taking any chances.” Hotch said. “We both know this is an incredibly delicate matter. We found one of the victims across state lines. We know this suspect has mobility. I’m not risking finding another body.”

The air became tense as everyone realized what he meant by ‘another body’.

“I want tactical swat to go in first-” Hotch began, and was quickly cut off by Morgan.

“You’re sending in swat when there’s a hostage in there?” Morgan questioned harshly.

“Even if we go in there blazing, showing force, she might not come in quietly.” Hotch explained.

“You’re serious?” Prentiss replied, hooking the wire of her earpiece around her ear in order to tuck the mic in. “She’s the one you’re worried about? She’s a victim in all this.”

“You saw the incident report.” Hotch reminded her. “The amount of defensive wounds she had… the first time he attacked her, she fought back hard. She’s desperate, she’s feeling cornered, she-”

“She’s terrified right now.” Prentiss pressed harshly. “She doesn’t need a bunch of men going in there waving guns in her face.”

“She could sacrifice him.” Hotch theorized, further trying to prove his point. “This could be her chance to finally get justice. Finally getting rid of the man who’s tormented her for all these years.”

“So we have to bring them both in. Quietly.” Morgan said. “We can’t just go in there shooting. If your theory is correct, then she could use him as a human shield.”

Hotch nodded. “Fine. No tactical swat. Prentiss, you take the lead.”

“Yeah, and I’m taking Reid with me.” Prentiss told him sharply. “Somebody with a little compassion around here.”

Prentiss nodded and scoffed, walking past Hotch, gently whispering ‘what the hell is wrong with you’ on her way to get in the car with Reid.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

When JJ let out a harsh sigh, Emily turned to her, swiveling in the borrowed office chair with a creak.

“What is it?” Emily asked.

“Don’t you feel that?” JJ replied. Emily shrugged, waiting a moment for her to finish the thought. “That… overwhelming feeling of dread?”

Of course, it was obvious. No leads. No breaks in the case.

It was hopeless.

“Come on, I thought you were the hopeful one.” Rossi pointed out, tossing his empty paper coffee cup into a nearby trash can.

“How can I be hopeful when one of my best friends is caught up in all this?” JJ fired back. “If she-”

Before she could finish that thought, Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention.

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.”

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

You knew that it was cruel, but you couldn’t help but to enjoy his groans of pain.

There had been so many others - so many monsters to take down. So many men that you had gotten rid of without a second thought. Men you had put bullets in that didn’t mean as much to you as this. So many others you had easily forgotten about. But he had taunted your soul in a special way. And you knew that you were enjoying this too much.

“Tell me you like it!”

You screamed, taking another downward swing with the piece of wood - a leg broken off from the chair he had bound you to. He had been convinced that you wouldn’t break free. Laughable. He should have known better.

When he didn’t respond, you took another swing.

You could have stopped. You could have ended it. But you didn’t.

“Come on, tell me you like it!”

You screamed in his face, sputtering blood across him. At one point, he had punched you in the mouth. You weren’t exactly sure where the blood was coming from. You didn’t exactly care.

That would be your excuse.

He had hit you too. You were battered. You were just a fragile woman, after all.

“You’re a fuckin’ crazy bitch.” He coughed, sputtering out some blood himself. “I… I always liked that about you. It was one of the reasons I fell in love.”

He grinned - bright red spread out across his teeth, and it gave you the intense desire to see those teeth missing. To make him swallow them.

“You don’t love me.” You told him firmly. “You just get an adrenaline rush from being around me because I’m not afraid of you.” You explained. “Unlike the other whores, I fight.”

While you were preoccupied with the words, he flipped onto his stomach and began crawling across the floor.

He thought you were too stupid to notice, but he was inching his way toward the hunting knife that had been thrown out of his hand during the scuffle. It was a slow, sluggish crawl. You had broken a few of his ribs, his kneecap. It was nice to see him so slow. You had probably severely damaged his internal organs with how hard you had been beating him with the makeshift baton.

It was worse than last time. You stood above him like a menace - watching and waiting. You hated that you knew you would take an odd kind of joy in removing his hope when you stole the knife from his grip.

Just as he grazed his fingers across it, you brought another harsh swing down across his achilles tendon, causing him to scream out in pain.

You still had a lot of strength left in you. He was tiring out.

He was losing the game.

“Come on baby, tell me how you like it.” You continued to mock him. “Tell me how good I am.”

“Fuck you.” He moaned out.

You felt satisfaction bloom inside of you - those were the words.

He had finally given up hope. He had finally realized that maybe: he wasn’t going to beat you. Maybe he wasn’t above you on the playing field anymore. He was fucking around with a fellow predator, not toying with his prey.

“Oh baby. You know I’m only doing this because I love you.” You said, repeating his own words back to him in a cruel mockery.

That was when he realized: this wasn’t just a lover’s spat. This was a culling.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Just Outside of Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:04AM.

Reid needed some air.

Working on the case so diligently, not coming up with any leads. It was intensely difficult. Letting the balmy summer Southern air flow over him, getting a good gulp of the fresh air into his lungs - it was a bit more awakening than drinking his sixth cup of coffee for that day.

He was surprised when he rounded a corner, trying to go for a short walk to stretch his legs, and he saw a very recognizable face hovering near a gray Honda.

“Mrs. L/N?” He posed, approaching her gently. “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

JJ had promised to call her if there were any updates. Reid didn’t want to disappoint her by telling her that there were none.

“It’s Miss L/N.” She said quietly. “I never married.”

Reid nodded at this. “My apologies.”

She looked deeply troubled.

Reid waited patiently for her to reply to his initial question - for her to tell him whatever was burdening her. If he was lucky, it could help with the case. It was always the families who could help put those final puzzle pieces into place. That was something Gideon taught him, so he took it as sacred advice.

“You’re Doctor Reid, aren’t you?” She posed, stepping forward to approach him slightly - still stiff, still stand-off-ish. He easily understood why. He nodded in response. “My daughter speaks very fondly of you.”

Reid cracked a small smile at this.

His attention was then brought to a small box - a shoe box as she held it out to him.

“I don’t mean to bother you at this late hour, but… you said to let you know if I thought of anything that might help you.” She reminded him. He nodded again. “And I - well, the reason I didn’t bring these up the first time… you can understand that I have a need to protect my daughter?”

“Of course.” He affirmed. “It’s every parent’s natural instinct to protect their child.”

She looked solemn at his words.

“I had no idea that… that what happened to her could potentially be connected to these… these murders in any possible way.” She told him, shuddering as the word passed through her lips. “I was just trying to shield her, you have to understand.”

She handed him the shoebox, and when he took it and lifted off the lid, it took him only a moment to understand. He would need to find a quiet place to fully inspect the contents, but it was all being pieced together in his mind now.

“Thank you for bringing me this.” He told her quietly.

“Doctor Reid, you have to promise me that you’ll bring my daughter home unharmed.” She said, tears coming to her eyes. “She’s a good girl. Please, just bring her home.”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t promise her that. Not under the circumstances.

“Ma’am… I will try my best. That is all I can promise you.” He told her.

She nodded in quiet understanding before Reid turned and marched back inside.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 11:03PM.

The flint of the lighter flicking seemed to be the loudest thing in the room in that moment - even with the low hum of the eleven o’clock news playing in the background.

It was so odd. Everything was exactly like you remembered it. Withered - but the same.

Even the chair you were sitting in. The old wooden chair that had been lugged up from the kitchen, one that you used to sit in for hours and do homework - it was rickety, but somehow the same.

You took a sharp drag off the cigarette after it was lit for you, continuing to listen to the feminine voice on the radio as the news played.

“I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, and I’m speaking on behalf of the Madison Police Department. Tonight, we are making an urgent appeal to the public for information. Earlier this evening, a woman went missing in the area of-”

“I never took you for a smoker.” He said, his voice sharp and confident in the words.

You tapped your cigarette into the ashtray with your free hand before raising it up to your lips to take another drag. Right now, the smoke heavy in your lungs was the only thing keeping you sane.

“I never smelled it on you back then.” He added on when you didn’t respond to him. “Bitches who smoke always smell like dirtbags. You just… smelled nice.”

“I didn’t smoke back then.” You quietly replied.

He had driven you to take up the habit.

You took another drag of your cigarette - you wanted to enjoy it. The longer you could drag it out, literally, the longer you could delay the inevitable.

“-The suspect was last seen driving a blue and white, 1970s Ford truck. If you see the vehicle, please-”

“They’re lookin’ for ya.” He said casually, nodding toward the radio.

You wished they weren’t.

You directed the conversation elsewhere.

“Tell me how this is gonna end.” You urged him quietly, ashing your cigarette again.

“You and I both know… this was only ever gonna end one way.” He told you, his voice irritably cocky.

He had you now. He had won.

“-We believe that this abduction is connected to a string of recent murders in the area. It is critical that if you have any information, you call our tip line at-”

He rose from his spot then, and turned off the radio.

The silence was gutting.

He moved toward the door, but you abruptly caught his attention.

“Remember,” You told him. “You made me a promise.” You said quietly. “No more. No more girls.”

He chuckled at this. “Of course, darlin’. No more.”

It felt like a lie.

“But only because I love you.” He gave a filthy grin along with these words, and your insides shuddered.

You knew that he wasn’t actually capable of love. You had known that from the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You didn’t bother to muster any words in return.

He crossed the room back toward you and leaned down, planting a kiss on your forehead. Your body stiffened, entirely stony toward it. It was selfish on his part - loving on you like a doll, rather than trying to bring you any comfort.

He moved back to the door silently.

You worried about what would happen the moment he went out the door. He turned to you just before he left.

“Don’t run off now.” He said with a wink. Ego. Sarcasm.

“Where am I gonna go, Dan?” You sighed.

You lifted your tethered hand up to drive the point home, and the clink of handcuffs was now apparent in the otherwise silent room.

He shut the door with a chuckle. You put out your cigarette in the ashtray, reaching for the loose spoke in the back of the chair. This was a chair that you used to sit in for hours while studying. That loose spoke used to bug you all the time.

It came free after only a few tugs.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 10:24PM.

The previously dark parking lot of the secluded, back country convenience store was now entirely lit up with red and blue. Four police cars had crowded into the area, surrounding the place where you had last been seen.

Inside, under the harsh white fluorescent lights of the store, Hotchner and Prentiss were interviewing the store clerk - a young man who had supposedly been the last person to speak to you before the abduction.

“So, you’re sure that you didn’t see anything?” Hotch pressed the young man - someone who seemed so entirely nervous under his harsh, unmoving gaze.

“I swear, man, I didn’t see anything.” He said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “She was parked in the back of the parking lot, and once you walk around the corner, there’s no way to see someone through the doors. It’s like - like a total blind spot, man.”

“The UnSub had to have known that.” Hotch noted quietly, turning to Prentiss. “He approached her knowing that he wouldn’t be seen.”

“Do you think he was waiting out there?” Prentiss wondered aloud.

Then she turned back to the clerk.

“Was there a man in here before she came in? He would have been in his 30s. Very cold, he wouldn’t have said anything. Just paid quietly and left. He might not have even bought anything - he might have just walked around, checking the blind spots. And if you asked him what he was looking for, he would have given you a glare rather than speaking. This man is not sociable. He’s very distant. He likely wouldn’t have looked you in the eye.”

The clerk shook his head.

“No, nobody like that.” He explained. “That lady - she was my first customer in, like, hours. She just bought her ciggies and left. And I thought it was weird cause she bought a lighter too. Most smokers already have a lighter on them.”

“I didn’t know Y/N smoked.” Prentiss said quietly.

“Me either.” Hotch confirmed.

Hotch’s attention was captured by a screen behind the counter - surveillance feed, showing several different places inside the store. There was one camera just outside the door. If he wasn’t mistaken, that camera was pointed at that ‘blind spot’ in the parking lot.

Without asking permission, he raised the partition and walked around the counter, his eyes hyper-focused on the screen.

“Can you get me this footage from a few hours ago?” He prompted toward the clerk. “The view of the parking lot. We need to see what L/N did after she left the store.”

The clerk nodded and began typing things onto the keyboard, and Hotch prompted him to stop when he saw you appear on the footage. Prentiss came around the counter as well, leaving the three of them crowded in close to the small screen as they watched the past version of you.

You walked across the parking lot - toward your car, a cigarette hanging out of your mouth. You were making determined steps - until something stopped you.

“The UnSub caught her attention.” Prentiss noted.

Then - something entirely strange happened. While staring at the man off screen, you leaned against your car, and began ashing your cigarette, as if chatting idly with him.

“He’s not using force.” Hotch thought aloud. “Do you think he’s got a gun trained on her?”

“Maybe.” Prentiss hummed quietly.

He was out of the frame, so it was only a guess.

Then, after a few moments of this - you simply walked off. You walked in the direction he had been standing.

“Did - did she just go with him willingly?” Prentiss gaped, entirely in shock.

When she glanced over her shoulder, Hotch was gone.

He stormed out into the parking lot, frantically gazing around. Prentiss followed him, chasing his chaotic energy.

“Hotch!” She called out. “Hotch-!”

“We need more camera angles! We need-”

“Calm down.” She urged, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“It just doesn’t make any sense.” He rasped. “Why would she go with him willingly? Why - why? Why would she?” He was frantic. “He must have threatened her. He must have-”

They both didn’t want to think of the obvious.

That you didn’t fear him. That - it hadn’t even been an abduction.

“He must have threatened her.” Prentiss easily agreed. “She wouldn’t have gone with him otherwise.”

They didn’t bring up the fact that you had a gun and plenty of training on how to use it. They didn’t bring up the fact that the profile said the UnSub couldn’t easily charm - he would have kidnapped you by force.

Unless you were special. Unless he thought he could talk to you specifically for some reason.

“Guys, what’s the news?” JJ asked, finally walking onto the scene.

She hated the grave looks on Prentiss and Hotch’s faces.

“I want you to put a press conference together.” Hotch said, straightening himself out and turning to her. “Make an appeal for witnesses. Tell them that there’s been a woman abducted in the area, but don’t tell them that L/N a Federal Agent. It could set the UnSub off if he believes that this abduction is being treated with a higher priority. If he feels a higher pressure from law enforcement, he might-”

“Right.” JJ nodded. Hotch didn’t need to say the words in order for her to understand. “So: release her name and her photo, but act like she’s just a regular civilian?”

Hotch nodded. “Exactly.”

“If I get going now, I think I could still make the eleven o’clock news.” JJ said, rushing off with her cell pressed to her ear.

“Let’s just hope that it brings Y/N home safely.”

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. QuitTrip (Corner Store) - Madison, GA. 8:03PM.

You felt an odd amount of relief having nicotine in your system again.

This was the first time you had smoked a cigarette in years. You had quit the habit shortly after you joined the FBI Academy when one of your advisers warned you that it might cause you to fail the fitness test. And you felt like you should just knock the habit, seeing as the only reason you had taken it up was because of… him.

But - all of this was so triggering. Being back in your same small shitty town. Feeling it suffocating you like a plastic bag.

The murders.

You sucked on the cigarette for dear life as you walked back to your car, and just as you were about to get in - the windows of the car open, inviting in the sweet summer air, the keys still inside because you did feel an odd amount of trust in your hometown - something captured your attention.

“Y/N.”

Hearing your name in that voice made you freeze on the spot. The warm breeze felt like ice against your skin as you took your hand off the door handle, turning toward him.

“You’re lookin’ gorgeous as ever, darlin’.”

“You.” You ground out the word with as much disdain as possible, hot rage boiling in your blood as you looked at him. “I should have known it was you.”

He let out a sharp chuckle - a sound that made your throat tighten up. He flicked his tongue out across his teeth, grinning his terrible Cheshire grin at you.

A hand instinctively went for your gun, and your palm hit an empty section of your belt. He let out another sharp chuckle when his eyes followed yours, making the same realization that you did.

You had left it sitting on the passenger’s seat of the car. Right beside your phone.

You wondered if you could dive through the open window before he could get to you. When he made a posturing move, brushing his unbuttoned plaid shirt away and revealing the gun he had strapped to his belt underneath - you realized he would shoot you if you moved too quickly.

You were stuck.

“Of course it’s me, baby.” He said, casually replying to your earlier words. “You had to know that I did all this for you. For us.”

Giving into your fate, you propped yourself against the side of the car - trying desperately to steady your wobbling legs without making it look like you were doing so. You tapped your cigarette, spilling some of the ash before you brought it to your lips once again.

“I missed you like hell.” He told you with a snakeskin grin.

“I didn’t miss you.” You bitterly fired back. “Not for a fucking second.”

“Guess I made it difficult to miss me, huh?” He said, cocky as ever. “With my frequent correspondence and all?”

“You know what I meant.” You fired back.

You glared at him sharply but didn’t say anything more, afraid that he would whip the gun out and shoot you.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, something that sounded utterly sarcastic.

“Ooh, darlin’ that’s harsh.” He said. “That would almost hurt. If I didn’t know the truth.”

You wanted to argue. You took in another large drag to help hold your tongue. You knew the results of arguing with him - it wasn’t worth it.

“So… I think you know how this goes.” He announced. “You can come with me now. Or… I can go get another girl.”

“No more girls.” You told him. “I’m here now. You won. Whatever business you have - it’s with me.”

You stamped out your cigarette as you walked toward him, and your phone began to ring on the front seat as his truck rumbled to life and pulled out of the parking lot.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 7:26PM.

“Hello! Everyone, listen up.” Hotch called everyone to attention as the local police continued to filter in, most of them standing around with cups of coffee in hand or notebooks out, ready to take notes. “We’re ready to give the profile.”

“Yes, and please keep in mind that this is just a general set of guidelines describing the suspect.” Rossi said. “This is not a concrete list of things you should be looking for. A profile is more useful in the elimination of suspects, rather than the inclusion of them.”

He then turned to Derek, who began reciting the profile that the team had put together so far.

“This UnSub, or Unknown Subject, is most likely a white male in his thirties to forties.” Morgan explained. “He drives an American made vehicle, something large enough to conceal and transport victims, and something that has off-road capability in order to get to the more secluded areas where some of the bodies were found. So think trucks, heavy duty vans, anything with thick treads on the tires and a large payload. And his vehicle will most likely be in a more discreet color. This guy won’t be driving around in something flashy. He’ll be in something that blends into the background, like a beige or black truck.”

“So what?” One of the local cops piped up. “We put out an APB for every single heavy duty black truck in the area? This is the south, do you have any idea how many people around here drive a truck? Especially ones driven by men in their forties.”

“There’s more.” Hotch noted, looking toward you.

“This UnSub likely believes that he is dating these women in some capacity before he kills them.” You explained. “He has left scraps of poetry at the scenes, pages of romance novels - several of the victims had wine in their stomachs or burns from candle wax on their skin. And it’s highly likely that he turns violent when the women reject his advances, or don’t live up to the fictionalized relationship he has made up about them in his mind.”

“How does that help us?” Someone asked.

“Well, it’s very likely that he frequents the same hunting grounds.” Rossi explained. “We encourage you to go to local bars, and nightclubs, even gyms or cafes and pass out the profile to women who fit this type.” He said, motioning toward the pictures of the other victims. “He will be on the hunt again soon, and he has a very narrow hunting ground, living in such a lowly populated area. So we might be able to catch him off guard if his potential victims have the profile as well.”

“This man is romantic, but he’s not charming.” You added on. “He isn’t sociable. He’s very cocky, very self-centered. He believes that he is God’s gift to women, and he has a very fractured sense of reality in general. If women reject him in everyday interactions, he will get noticeably irritated, and even violent. So he will be remembered as an unpleasant person in most women’s stories.”

“This UnSub most likely has an inside knowledge of law enforcement.” Reid stated. “But, because he has a very antisocial personality, he wouldn’t do well working with the public. We currently have our analyst combing through files of those who flunked out of the police academy or live in the area and are retired from the military in some capacity. We believe that he might have even been in prison for an unrelated crime or institutionalized at some point, giving him a close look at the inner workings of law enforcement, and also attributing to the large break between the first two crimes.”

Reid took a breath, and then continued on.

“He was knowledgeable enough to purposefully dump one of the bodies across state lines in order to get the FBI involved in this case, but it was just one of the bodies, and it was dumped in a very well trackied area where it would be found. So that leaves a heavy insistence that he was fed-up with the local police not giving his case enough attention or - simply not being smart enough to keep up with him.” He explained.

“He is very cocky.” Prentiss added on. “Incredibly over-confident. He is a narcissist to his core, and he believes that he will never be caught unless he wants to be. He thinks that he has an intricate cat-and-mouse game with law enforcement, and he can go off the grid and disappear at any time that he wants.”

“Well… isn’t that true?” One of the cops asked. “I mean, the guy’s been at it for years and we still haven’t caught him. There’s no DNA, no real leads.”

Hotch hummed, nodding. And then he walked over to the evidence board and motioned to the pictures of the two most recent victims - barely recognizable compared to the shining, smiling photos their families had provided.

“We believe that he’s decompensating.” Hotch explained. “He is growing more violent toward each victim, which means that he is getting more sloppy - eventually, he will go off-book. He will break his routine in some way, and that will be the moment he’ll give us something to catch him with.”

“So… you’re just waiting for him to kill again so you can actually catch the guy?” Someone asked sharply.

“No.” You easily replied. “We’re praying it doesn’t come to that.”

“Thank you everyone.” Hotch said, clearing his throat, giving an unconscious signal for everyone to disperse. “That’ll be all for now.”

Everyone easily fell under his authority, and meandered back to what they had been doing before, now armed with the profile and ready to distribute it to members of the public, to the potential victims.

You had a harshly, sickly feeling in your stomach as you gathered some of your files. It was the same feeling that had been turning your guts into knots since you had arrived back in Madison for the first time in years. Your eye accidentally caught the evidence board - the tall, intimidating wall lined with the gruesome photos of all the women.

Women who looked strangely like you. Same hair color, same skin tone, same body type. All of them horribly brutalized and left for dead. All of them terrorized, tortured right up until their last moments.

“Hey.”

JJ’s voice snapped you out of your swirling dark cloud of thoughts, drawing your eyes away from the evidence board with a gentle hand on your upper arm. You huffed out a harsh breath as you let her guide you, turning around to face the blonde woman as she stared you down with a distinct look of concern knit across her features.

“Are you okay?” She asked. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

She had a point. You had been doing this job for some time. You had gone to the FBI Academy straight out of college, after getting a degree in criminal forensics. And none of it ever bothered you. You had learned about the study of blood spatter and the decomposition of bodies on live body farms, and you never flinched.

But this case - it was getting to you.

It was likely the first time anybody on the team had ever seen you so disturbed.

“I’m fine.” You lied, trying to shrug off her touch.

“Come on.” JJ sighed in return. “I don’t need to be a profiler to figure out that was a big fat lie.”

You rolled your eyes at this.

“You’re so brilliant.” You let out a sigh of your own, and put down your files on the nearby conference room table. You stretched out your back, deciding that you would give her an inch, hoping that she wouldn’t take a mile. “I’m freaked out. So what? Doesn’t everybody have room for a bad day?”

“Of course.” She nodded. “Of course, you can have a bad day.” Her lips pursed, and you knew there was more coming. “Is - is it anything more than that?”

“I’m tired.” You lied again, hoping she wouldn’t call you out on it this time. “It’s been - what? More than twenty hours since we landed. For these guys it’s been years, searching for this bastard. I wanna catch him.”

“We will.” JJ assured you, sounding rather dull in her declaration.

“I’m gonna drive down the street and grab an energy drink or something.” You announced, grabbing your blazer off a nearby chair and putting it on. Not that you would need a jacket with the southern weather - but your cash and your keys were in the pockets.

“I thought you quit Redbull.” She chuckled.

“It’s been one of those days.” You replied, shaking your head as you walked out of the room.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 5:13PM.

“There’s still one thing that’s buggin’ the hell out of me.” Morgan announced as he walked back into the room with a fresh cup of coffee in hand.

“That is?” You posed, looking up from the stack of personal files - potential suspects - that you were reading in order to engage him in the conversation.

“What is with the two year hiatus from this guy?” He said, motioning to the board.

The first victim had been abducted and killed all the way back in the summer of ‘99, but none of the other victims matched up until a missing person from September of 2001. And from there, the killings picked up in frequency - and the killer had taken over twenty six victims in and around Madison up until now.

“It is weird.” You commented. “Usually after the first kill is when an UnSub is the most hungry for more. After that first taste for violence.”

Morgan raised a brow at your strange choice of words and you shrugged it off.

“Maybe he was hospitalized.” Reid said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere to make this comment, studying the board with his own intense expression. “Institutionalized? Maybe he was arrested for something completely unrelated, like - drugs, outstanding traffic violations?”

“That’s helpful.” You sighed.

“It could be.” Reid replied, sipping his own coffee. “I mean, we theorized that this UnSub has pre-existing knowledge of law enforcement - if he was in prison, maybe he was reading up on the law while he was in there? Who has closer knowledge of the law than ex-cons?”

“Good point.” Morgan nodded. “I’ll call Garcia and have her widen the search.”

“She is gonna love that.” You mumbled under your breath, already frustrated with the large pile of potential suspects you had to go through.

Morgan took out his cell and walked into the other room, and you heard a distant ‘hey mama!’ as he chirped to Garcia on the other end.

Then, you heard another voice that was all too familiar to you.

“See, you’ve all just been working so hard, I thought you could use some sustenance!”

It was your mother.

You rushed out of your seat to find her in the middle of the bullpen, handing out muffins from a large basket that she had in her hand.

It wasn’t entirely surprising to you, but it made your stomach sink. She was too much of a social butterfly for your liking. She knew about the last time you had been in this police station, she talked too much. No. You couldn’t risk her telling anyone.

“See, that one’s blueberry, you like blueberry?” She was chatting idly, being her usual overly social self.

“Yes, thank you so much Ms. L/N,” Prentiss smiled as your mother pushed more food into her hands.

“Oh please, call me-”

You knew that you must have looked like a storm, walking toward her with a scowl on your face.

“Ma!” You barked, much harsher than you meant to, causing her to look up at you abruptly. “Ma? What are you doing here?”

“Well see, you’ve been here all day, and you’ve been working so hard, so I made dinner for you and your friends,” She grinned, motioning toward a large tinfoil tray filled with mac and cheese that she had placed onto one of the desks next to a stack of paper plates and plastic forks. Naturally, a chunk of it was already missing.

You wanted to scream when Reid walked over and began scooping out a portion for himself.

“Ma, they’re not my friends, they’re my co-workers.” You said, exasperation ripe in your voice.

You knew that this, too, ended up sounding much harsher than you had intended. As if you didn’t think of these people as friends. But you couldn’t stand the woman babying you. It’s not like she did much of that when you were an actual baby.

“I’m an adult now, and-” You continued on, and she cut you off.

“Oh yes, yes.” She nodded, reaching out to pinch your cheek in an utterly frustrating way. “Your co-workers.”

“Please, Ma.” You sighed. “You can’t be here right now. This is a police station, not a bake sale.”

“She can stay for a few minutes, can’t she?” Prentiss grinned, peeling the wrapper off her muffin. “We can take a break for dinner. I wanna hear some childhood stories about you.”

Reid looked up eagerly at this, and you glared at both of them.

“Oh, you should hear about the time she painted her face blue with the paint from-” Your mother began to tell a delightful embarrassing story, but you cut her off.

“No.” You said sharply. “I’m sorry, but we have work to do. Important work. Once we actually catch the guy, I’ll bring everyone by the house for tea and cookies and you can show everyone my naked baby pictures, the whole nine yards. Just - not now.”

You unceremoniously ripped the basket of muffins out of her hands and placed them on the desk beside the tray of mac and cheese, and she began to argue with you, calling you rude, telling you that she had raised you with better manners while you ushered her out the door.

Prentiss and Reid exchanged a particular, concerned look as they watched you and your mother argue through the glass doors of the precinct.

“Now what do you think that was all about?” Emily asked quietly.

“For once, I have no idea.” Spencer mumbled in return.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Georgia Highway 72 - Madison, GA. 1:32PM.

“This is new.” Morgan noted as the two of you walked away from the SVU, approaching the dumpsite where the latest victim’s body had been found. “This guy doesn’t usually dump bodies out in the open. You think he was in a rush?”

The two of you had been sent to check it out while Hotch and Prentiss spoke to the family, and the others went over evidence from the many pre-existing cases at the station.

“Not likely.” You replied. “Preliminary report says there’s still no DNA, no skid marks from his tires, no shoe prints. He’s not getting sloppy.” You felt a sickly wave of vomit splash up as you looked at the woman - her ankles sticking out of the tall grass just off the edge of the highway, where she had been left, entirely visible for anybody passing by to see. “This was a present. Like a fuckin’ cat leaving a dead mouse on the porch. He wanted us to find her. And he wanted us to find her quickly.”

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Morgan noted, tentatively stepping into the grass and gently moving the long spokes of greenery back to get a better look at the victim. “He’s definitely escalating.”

You crouched down to get a better look yourself, and you had to agree.

Her face was almost entirely caved in, but it appeared to be from a series of blunt hits, and not from a singular swing with a heavy object. Between the pre-mortem swelling and the post-mortem rage, where he had continued to mutilate her even after her death, she was practically unrecognizable from the photo that her family had provided you with. The only reason the team had been able to confirm her identity for sure was that she had been reported missing, and she had been found wearing a unique custom charm bracelet that her parents could confirm belonged to her.

You wished that you could guarantee they would never see her body in this state.

“What’s that?” Morgan wondered aloud.

You hummed back in confusion.

Before you could wonder any further about what he meant, he reached out and gently pried open the victim’s mouth, fishing out a small piece of plastic that he had seen sticking out from the corner of her swollen, bruised lips. He had to fight to get it out of her stiff, death rigored body, but when he was able to - a small plastic bag came out of her mouth.

A small plastic bag containing a piece of white paper.

“What the hell?” Morgan mumbled quietly.

Naturally, he opened the bag and took out the paper, and you looked on with nervous curiosity as he read what was on the note.

“You are the stars hidden by clouds.” He read aloud. “I know you’re there even when I can’t see you. Your shine peeks out and reaches me in the depths of my soul. Tell me your arms are long enough to reach me across oceans. Tell me someday we will be together, somehow, some way. Tell me that this love we have can survive being together as well as we’ve survived being apart. Tell me we are more than the chasm of our divide.”

Bile splashed up in your throat.

You hated that the quote was distinctly familiar to you. You hated how you knew it.

You could still hear his voice in your head, and it made your bones quake.

“Hmm.” Morgan looked over the paper thoughtfully. “It’s another page ripped out of a book. Just like the other one. I’ll call Garcia and have her look it up, maybe-”

“You don’t have to.” You said, hoping that your throat wasn’t too painfully constricted around your words. “It’s Jacqueline Simon Gunn.”

Morgan easily saw the haunted look behind your eyes - the years old terror that you were having a much harder time suppressing now.

Oddly enough, it was a feeling that he knew well. Perhaps that’s why he saw it in you so easily.

“You alright?” He bothered to ask, even though he knew the answer was ‘no’.

“I’m fine.” You lied. “We should bring this back to everyone else.”

You rushed away from the crime scene like a bat out of hell, and even though he knew he should have pressed further - he let you.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 10:08AM.

“Good morning, y’all.”

The BAU was greeted by Chief Dalton, the Madison County Chief of Police, as you all filed into the small police department.

“You can set up in the conference room over there, I hope we got y’all everything you need.” He said, flashing a warm, welcoming smile.

“This looks fine, thank you.” JJ said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I’m Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is Doctor Spencer Reid,” She pointed to him, and he nodded in return - of course, rather than shaking hands. “This is Special Agent Emily Prentiss, Agent Rossi, and Agent L/N. Our Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner and Special Agent Morgan will be here later - they wanted to go and interview some of the families of the victims, get some more background information.”

“L/N?” He motioned toward you, his eyes becoming fixated on you as you set down your bag and lifted one of the lids off the boxes to get a glance at some of the files. “That name sounds awful familiar to me - are you from Madison?”

“Oh yes, I am,” You grinned at him, stepping forward and giving him a handshake, to which he grinned back widely. “I grew up here. This is actually my first time back in years.”

“Well, welcome home.” He said. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Me too.” You easily agreed.

You thought that would be the end of it, until:

“You know I hardly recognized you. Such a pretty face, but the last time I saw you, you was beat to a darn pulp.” He remarked, giving a pained chuckle.

Your stomach swelled with anxiety, and it felt like a pure balloon of concrete sitting inside of you. You felt all the eyes in the room on you - Rossi, JJ, Emily, Spencer - all of them staring you down as this man aired your dirty laundry like it was as casual as the weather report.

“You came through here - what was it, the summer of ‘99? I’ll never forget that assault report. I’m surprised you can still see out of that right eye of yours, with the way-”

“Coffee?” You cut him off when you managed to find your voice, rushing to change the subject and praying he would get the hint. “Where can I get a coffee around here? Long flight. And we’ve had an early morning. Long flight, going over the case.”

You didn’t even realize you were tripping over your own words, repeating yourself in a rush to fill the air so he wouldn’t speak about the past anymore.

“Oh, it’s right through there. In the break room.” He said, motioning vaguely behind him.

“Would you mind showing me, please?”

You knew it was cowardly, but you were now desperate to escape your colleagues, and wanted to drag the Chief away before he spilled anything else from his loose lips.

He escorted you out of the room and it was only a mere moment before conversation ensued about the strange thing that had just happened.

“Am I gonna be the first person to say ‘what the hell’?” Rossi asked, looking around to his teammates, who all had equally shocked and confused expressions.

“It’s a small town. These people don’t exactly understand secrecy. Or tact.” JJ sighed.

“Yeah, but why would Y/N keep that a secret from us?” Spencer asked, frowning. “If she was assaulted-”

“Yeah, in the summer of ‘99.” Emily pressed. “That was a long time ago. Have you told everyone on the team every little detail about your life from ten years ago?”

“Eight years.” Spencer easily corrected her.

“Whatever.” Emily rolled her eyes. “We’re not here to profile her. We’re here to catch another scumbag and leave.”

There seemed to be a resounding nod at this.

“If she wants to tell us about what happened, she will.” Rossi added on.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Outskirts of Madison - Madison, GA. 9:52AM.

“There’s my beautiful girl.”

He had a perfect view of you through the scope of his gun.

Of course, he would never hurt you. There was no bullet in that gun that was intended for you. This was just the perfect way to see you. Up close and personal. Just the way he liked it.

This was the first time he had seen you in so long. You wore your makeup differently now - your hair was a bit different. But you were still his girl.

“You’re gonna love the present I left for ya.”

You spoke his language - violence.

You wrote your life in blood, just like he did.

You were perfect. His perfect girl.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. Inside the BAU Jet - Somewhere Above America. 7:12AM.

“So, the ME dates eight of these victims from within the last year alone?” Prentiss questioned, looking over some of the files on the table in front of her.

“Well, it’s difficult to tell with the soil erosion and the heavy rain that the area had recently, but they are significantly less decomposed than the others.” JJ explained.

“What I don’t understand,” Morgan noted. “Why would he give up his gig now? I mean, twenty four victims in a mass grave in the middle of the woods, and he leaves a twenty-fifth victim in the middle of the road, clearly intending for police to find it. With a damn note attached, giving up the exact coordinates of his mass dumpsite. Why?”

“It is strange.” Reid agreed. “Typically, whenever killers have contact with the police, it is to taunt them for their inability to get caught, believing that the police are stupid and they as killers are invincible.” He said. Naturally, this rolled into a rant as more facts came to mind about the subject.

“Serial killer Dennis Rader, also known as the BTK killer, standing for Blind, Torture, Kill - he taunted police with letters over a period of three decades, between 1974 and 1991, each one that he sent to the local police simply saying ‘good luck hunting’.” Reid explained. “Occasionally, he would send them graphic descriptions of how he had posed the bodies at each crime scene. And he was only caught when a floppy disc he sent to a local television station was traced back to a computer that he had used at his church.”

Reid laughed at this revelation, finding it amusing. With all eyes staring at him, he reached the realization that this wasn’t helpful to the case at hand - and then he easily clammed up.

“So, this UnSub gives up the dumpsite because… he’s feeling remorseful? He wants to get caught?” Rossi theorized.

“The level of violence across these recent victims has no indication of remorse.” You replied. “One of the bodies found at the dumpsite was missing over half her teeth, and had all ten of her fingers broken in multiple places. Seemingly pre-mortem.”

There was a heavy silence at this.

“Perhaps he’s feeling ignored,” Hotch posed. “He feels like his crimes aren’t being well covered by the media and he wants glory. He finally wants recognition for what he’s done.”

“Well, wouldn’t he have sent some kind of manifesto or another letter to the police?” Morgan posed. “And it seems like the guy went through a whole lot of trouble for a long time, trying not to get caught. He buried them out in the woods, secluded. Wrapped them in plastic, scrubbed the bodies clean so there’s absolutely no DNA. Doesn’t seem like someone looking for glory to me.”

“Not to mention that he wrote the coordinates for the dumpsite on the back of a page ripped out of a novel.” Rossi said, squinting down at one of the files - a close up forensic photo that had been sent over by the local police department.

Prentiss held out her hand, and Rossi handed over the photo, and then she began reading the words off the page aloud.

“-I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy, but-”

“-but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.” You finished the quote before she could, the words flashing through your mind with a sickly twist in your gut. It was all too familiar to you, in the worst way. “It’s Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austin.”

Everyone fixated on you with a strange gaze, wondering how you knew this off the top of your head. Especially when usually this would only be something that Reid would be able to recite so perfectly by heart.

“Maybe he thinks that he’s romancing these women?” Prentiss theorized, trying to move on from the strange moment.

“That’s plausible.” Hotch agreed. “When we land, Morgan and I will go interview some of the families. JJ, get us their contacts. I want to know if any of these women had problems with an ex boyfriend or even a bad date whom they rejected. It could be someone they once viewed as a potential romantic partner that went horribly wrong.”

JJ nodded at this, going to look through her files for the information.

“This level of torture - it’s likely a substitute for sexual gratification.” Morgan theorized, looking at the crime scene photos one again. “Maybe he is romancing these women, but in his mind, this is the ultimate form of romance? Having all of his conquests together in death - it’s a declaration of what a casanova he is. In his fractured world.”

“It still doesn’t explain why he gave up the dumpsite to the police.” Prentiss argued.

“Men like to brag about their sexual exploits.” Rossi said, nodding toward Morgan. “If these women are his conquests, in his mind, then he wants his manliness, his accomplishments, to be appreciated by other men.”

Prentiss sharply rolled her eyes at this.

“Well, at least we know our UnSub’s not a woman.” She remarked sharply.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:15AM.

JJ stood at the front of the room, ready to present the newest case to everyone.

“Last night, a body was discovered on the backroads of South Carolina, about five miles outside of the town of Delph. She was found naked, mutilated. Heavy bruising all over her body that insinuates the killer kept her and tortured her for days. Final cause of death appears to be blunt force trauma from multiple hits to the head, but she also had several shallow stab wounds across her body, seemingly from some kind of hunting knife with a rough blade.”

JJ explained, beginning to present the case as she clicked the small remote, causing images of the crime scene to pop up on the large screen in the room.

“The victim - now identified as Ashley Prembrooke, hadn’t even been reported missing. She left her parents house in Madison, Georgia, about three days ago to drive back to her dorm at the University of South Carolina. When she didn’t show up on time, her roommate assumed that she was staying at home for a few extra days. Her father has cancer, so she wanted to be there for him.”

There seemed to be a particularly dark aura in the room at this news.

“Did the killer know that she wouldn’t be reported missing, or did he just snatch her up by chance?” Morgan asked.

“Her car was found abandoned at a rest stop a few miles from the border of Georgia.” JJ explained. “So… it seems to be random.”

“Well, I hate to ask this,” Rossi said. “But why are we being called out for just one body?”

“That’s the thing.” JJ sighed.

She clicked the clicker again, and several close-up photos appeared. Photos of the victim’s mutilated body - among the harsh bruising on her torso, there was a piece of white paper, partially stained with blood. It had been folded and stapled into her flesh.

“The victim was found with this page… stapled into her skin.” JJ said, clearly finding the words disturbing to speak aloud. “Written on the back, was a set of coordinates. Local police discovered that these coordinates lead to a random patch of woods, about ten miles outside of Madison, Georgia.”

JJ queued more pictures onto the screen. It was those very woods - overturned dirt. And more than a dozen bodies, wrapped in plastic among the soil.

“It was the site of a mass grave with twenty-four other victims - all women around the same age, with the most recent ones all having the same body type, the same hair color, same general makeup as Ashley Prembrooke.”

“He has a type.” Hotch stated the obvious.

“And for some reason, he tipped the police off to his hiding place.” JJ reminded them all.

“Twenty four victims?” Prentiss questioned, clearly shocked by this number.

“That’s what they’ve found so far. The decomposition on some of the bodies seems to go back as far as a decade, but it’s difficult to date them exactly.” JJ replied.

“So… the guy is experienced, hasn’t been caught in years, and he hands over his honey pot to the cops? Is he trying to get caught? Is he feeling guilty?” Rossi posed.

“No, not with that level of violence. There’s no remorse there.” Morgan replied.

“He dumped Ashley Prembrooke over state lines. We could be looking at somebody with an incredibly wide hunting ground who gave up one of many dumpsites as a way to taunt police.” Hotch theorized.

“That doesn’t seem to be the case.” JJ explained. “So far, eight of the most recent victims have been matched up with missing persons reports, all of them women from Madison. All within the last year alone. It seems like he targeted Ashley because she was from Madison - that’s his comfort zone.”

When the pictures of the missing women - now confirmed dead, murdered violently, popped up on screen, your throat tightened.

You had known at least two of them. You had gone to school with them. You had seen them cheer proudly at high school pep rallies - you had known them lively and bright. And now they were bones rotting in the soil, taken by some monster.

Beyond that, there was an alarming trend.

They looked like you. You couldn’t deny that. Same hair color, same body type, same skin tone.

And they were from your hometown.

Between this, and the letter, the morning was getting to be too much for you. You wanted to believe it was all a series of terrible coincidences, but…

Looking across the roundtable at you, Reid was the only one who saw that sickly look come over your face. He was desperate to know what was troubling you.

“Reid?” Hotch got his attention, finding it strange that the overly talkative man was quiet this morning. “You’ll work the geographical profile?”

“Yes.” Reid nodded, finally taking his eyes off you. “It’s unusual for the killer to hunt wider than a five hundred mile radius from home. So it’s likely that he lives, works, and operates all within Madison.”

“Good. We could be looking at a copy-cat who knew about the previous killer’s dumpsite, or… something else entirely. But we need to get on the ground there and find out.” Hotch said. “Wheels up in thirty.”

Everyone dispersed from the table when Hotch finalized with this, and you found yourself much dizzier than you realized as you tried to stand. As everyone moved to their desks to gather their things, you moved to the counter to get a coffee - hoping to calm your nerves.

“Y/N.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Reid’s voice came from behind you - your own blood was pumping in your ears, and seemingly, he had snuck up behind you. But his usually quiet footsteps simply couldn’t be heard beyond the nagging thump of your own anxiety.

“What?” You barked back, knowing it was far too harsh.

“Are - are you alright?” He asked, hesitant to bother you with the question.

“I’m fine.” You lied as you dumped the sugar packets into your cup, your shaking hands accidentally spilling some across the counter top.

“Are you sure?” Reid pressed.

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face him, crossing your arms heavily over your chest.

“What?” You said the word again, sternly, glaring at him.

All he did was give you a soft, understanding expression in return.

You hated it.

You hated how he was so open - it was almost horrifying, how you could have easily told him what was bothering you.

Sweet, accepting, understanding Reid.

If you told him the truth, he probably would have told you some statistic that he found comforting. It would have been sweet, coming from him. But then, he would have been looking at you with those eyes all damn day, holding pity in his heart and not truly focusing on the work that needed to get done.

“Can you look at the shit we see every single day and always be okay with it?”

You easily made up an excuse, pretending you were rattled by the crime scene photos, even though this murder was no more graphic in nature than any other you had been subjected to seeing recently.

“I’m human. So what?”

Reid studied your face carefully. He saw guilt dancing in your eyes - the way you gently bit your lip was your tell for lying, that much he knew from playing many rounds of poker with you on the plane rides home.

But he felt that simply nagging you more wouldn’t get the truth out of you. Not right now.

“Okay.” He acquiesced. “I know it’s hard. If you ever need someone to talk to-”

You stormed off, accidentally slamming into his shoulder on the way along in your haste to escape the conversion. Reid heavily eyed the cup of coffee that you had left cooling on the counter before he turned and left himself.

…

Wednesday, August 15th, 2007. BAU Offices (FBI Headquarters) - Quantico, Virginia. 6:04AM.

You walked into the bullpen with your bag on your arm, sipping a strong coffee in a travel mug you had brought from home.

“You look tired.” Emily commented as you walked over to your desk. “Late night?”

You moaned in reply, not yet ready to let go of nursing your coffee mug, taking a few more long gulps as you took the strap of your bag off your shoulder and slung it into your chair.

“Last night, the fire alarm in my building went off at 3am.” You told her, finally surrendering the mug and putting it down on your desk. “I was out of bed in a panic, barely awake, went into the hallway to evacuate - and the sprinklers had gone off. So I ended up standing outside for more than an hour in my little jammies, soaking wet, and it turns out - some teenager from the third floor pulled the alarm because he was having an argument with his mom. He didn’t want to go to summer school.”

“Yikes.” Derek commented. “Well, you know, if you ever need a calm, cozy place to sleep, you can always give me a call. And you can bring your little jammies.” He told you with a wink. You rolled your eyes, knowing that flirting was his default. “As long as you don’t mind Clooney licking at your toes in the mornin’.”

That almost made it sound more appealing. You did love that dog.

“You know, a study was done at the University of New Hampshire that concluded that twenty to thirty minute windows of sleep actually optimize the human brain for functionality the most.” Spencer added on, leaning back in his chair at his desk as he explained this.

“The schedule of a ten to twelve hour work day, followed by an eight hour sleep period has only been instituted in society as a commonality since the industrial revolution. And it doesn’t actually flow with how the human brain has been optimized by evolution. Before that, most people optimized their lives around a wake-sleep period of three to four hours, taking care of chores in the morning, participating in a midday nap, and then socializing in the evening and partaking in community events before sleeping again in the evening. And most communities functioned around people sleeping and waking at vastly different times rather than everyone having one collective morning routine.” He concluded, giving you a smile.

You found his rambling fascinating, but you found it ironic that you could barely process half of what he had said - because you were too tired.

“Well, unfortunately we can’t all live in villages and pick berries for a living.” Emily remarked with a yawn.

The conversation shifted when Penelope walked in, and gave you a bright smile.

“Good morning, pretty girl.” She greeted you.

“Mornin’, Penny G.” You replied.

“This arrived on the mailcart for you, postmarked from a few days ago, stamped express. I figured you’d want to have eyes on it as soon as possible.” She told you, handing you a very average looking white envelope.

You weren’t sure why, but it invoked a strange feeling in your gut.

The moment that you saw the handwriting on your front - the script that made up your name.

The way he had written it.

Bile rose up in your throat, and you forced yourself to swallow it back down. All eyes in the room immediately knew that something was wrong.

“What is it?” Emily asked.

“Nothing.” You quickly replied.

You didn’t even want to open it, but bitter curiosity was eating at you.

How the hell had he found your work address? He knew where you worked now?

“I’m gonna - bathroom.” You mumbled an excuse as you rushed back out of the room again, practically fleeing toward the bathroom, leaving all eyes on your shadow.

In particular, Spencer’s eyes followed you hard as you retreated. He wondered how a simple letter could upset you so much.

You secluded yourself safely in a locked stall, your heart thumping in your chest as you began to tear into the letter. The envelope turned to sinew in your hands with your anxious inability to open it properly. In a few moments, you pulled out the piece of paper with a shaking hand, and dropped the shredded envelope onto the floor.

You barely managed to read its contents through tearful eyes.

Lover,

Fate has sent us on such different paths, but I will be with you again soon.

I still miss you every single day. I remember your smell.

I know none of the men you have spent your recent years with can measure up to me, which is why I have set you on the path back to me.

“I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but like everybody else, it must be in my own way.”

-Daniel

Your chest caved in when you realized that there was something taped to the corner of the page.

You recognized the piece of dark cloth in an instant.

It was from that night. He had kept it.

You couldn’t keep the bile down that time. You turned to the toilet and puked up a horrible swirl of black coffee and half a toaster waffle that you had scarfed down while getting dressed for work.

When you had just barely caught your breath, you heard the door to the bathroom creak open.

“Y/N?” Emily called out your name. “Are you in here?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you heaved a large glob of putrid spit into the toilet and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Are you okay?” She asked, her voice now coming from right outside the stall you were in.

“I’m fine.” You handed out that lie, not knowing how many times in the next day you were going to be saying it.

“You don’t sound fine.” Emily told you. “I thought I heard you throwing up.”

“Bad sushi.” You lied. “Stopped by the corner store on my way home. You know I never cook. Food poisoning is usually 50/50 with that kind of shit. Just another thing to add to my great night, right?”

You let out a sour, sarcastic chuckle, but Emily didn’t follow suit.

You knew that you would have to face her sooner or later, so you wiped your mouth again and then turned and unlocked the stall door.

“I’ll be fine.” You told her, throwing her a very fake smile.

“Yeah.” She said, tone flat, entirely disbelieving. “Would it have anything to do with that?”

She motioned to the letter, which you had almost forgotten was crumbled up in your fist.

“Can I see?”

You didn’t even consider how suspicious it would be, but as her hand moved toward the paper, you ripped it up and tossed it into the toilet, grabbing the envelope up off the floor and tossing it into the mess of paper and vomit as well before you flushed it all down.

“It’s nothing.” You grunted out, another very poor lie coming from your lips as you exited the stall and moved toward the sinks. “It’s garbage.”

You turned on the tap and leaned down, taking in a mouthful of water to rinse out your mouth while she watched you with careful, piercing eyes.

“It’s kind of pathetic that you’re trying so hard to bullshit me.” Emily remarked. “Not just because we’re both profilers, but because it’s so painfully obvious that something is wrong.”

You swirled the water around your mouth, rinsing it out, and then spit into the sink before you turned the tap off. When you rose up to your full height, you caught Emily’s eye in the mirror - pitying. You hated it.

It was that kind of pity that held you back from telling her the truth.

She reached over to the dispenser and got you some of the paper towel, handing it to you as she spoke again.

“You know you can tell me what’s bothering you, right?” She said, reaching up to put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

There was a small, quiet moment - the words edged on your tongue.

You truly considered just coming out with it.

But then-

A harsh knock on the door cut through the silence.

“Y/N? Em?” JJ poked her head in through the door, clearly looking for the two of you. When she spotted you, she continued on. “I need everybody at the roundtable in five.”

“Let’s get going.” You said, wiping your mouth and then crumpling the paper towel to toss it into the garbage can.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department - Madison, GA. 1:45AM.

Reid stormed in, capturing everyone’s attention.

After being given a shoebox full of strange letters by your mother, he had finally pieced it together. He finally realized the secret you had been hiding - the thing that put you right in this killer’s crosshairs.

“Guys, I think we got the profile all wrong.” He announced, a look of worry knit into his features. “And - if I’m right, then I think I know where she is.”

He motioned to something in his hands - it was a worn-out old shoebox, something that made everyone curious and confused.

“What the hell is that?” Prentiss asked.

“Come on.” Reid ushered everyone into the conference room, and once the whole team was gathered, he shut the door.

He opened the box and spilled it into the middle of the table, revealing a flood of hand-written letters. JJ stood back in shock, Hotch observed carefully and silently as usual, and Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss began to pick through them while Reid explained his revelation.

“Y/N’s mother gave me these.” He explained. “All of them are addressed to Y/N, and from what I can see, they’re pretty much weekly, and they go back as far as 1999.”

“When the first murder occurred.” Morgan easily pieced the two things together.

“Not only that,” Reid added on. “The first murder took place in August of ‘99.” He said, pointing to the picture of the first known victim on the evidence board. “And I think the first letter, or one of the earliest, is from July of ‘99. At least.”

“So - so she was having correspondence with the killer?” JJ questioned. “What? Was he in prison? Are you saying that Y/N is involved with this in some way?”

“No-” Reid rushed to correct this assumption, and Morgan cut him off.

“She was at Quantico when the latest victims were killed. Even if the guy has a partner, I really don’t take her as bein’ responsible for this.” He said.

“Plus, these don’t exactly read as love letters.” Pretniss pointed out, her expression growing disturbed as she read what the killer had written from the letter in her hands.

“-every day I dream of you, my love. I remember the way you felt underneath me - clawing for your life, desperate. I remember the way you screamed. Tasting your blood for the first time made me feel alive again. I hope the bruises meant as much to you as they did to me.”

“The use of ‘I’ language denotes self importance - the author has a natural narcissistic personality disorder, but he pretends that it’s a fulfilling two-way relationship, when naturally it’s a fixation on someone who could never truly live up to his fantasies.” Reid explained.

The room fell silent as the reality of it hit everyone. You were the target of someone truly dangerous. Someone who was going to kill you when you didn’t perform the fantasy that he had in mind for you.

“She was being stalked.” Reid declared quietly, sounding defeated. “She still is.”

“These killings aren’t someone having separate, individual fantasized relationships with each victim; this is about the killer repeating the same relationship over and over again, performing the same ritual killing in order to relive the same fantasy over again, projecting it onto different women of the same type.” Hotch said, coming to the realization as he stared at the different victims photos on the evidence board with a firm look on his face. “He’s been in love with the same woman in his mind for years, but nobody can live up to the real thing. That’s why he gave up the dump site. Because he wanted to lure her here. He wanted the FBI here, because he wanted to get L/N here.”

“Okay, but the bigger question is: why L/N? What was the incident that got him fixated on her in the first place?” Rossi questioned, asking what was on everyone’s mind.

JJ’s face was struck with horrible realization, and she ran to the door, ripping it open. She screamed the Chief’s name at the top of her lungs until she got the man’s attention, looking entirely crazed to everyone else in the station. Naturally, she didn’t care. He bustled over, scurrying toward her urgent voice, spilling coffee on himself in the process.

“Chief.” JJ breathed out. “You said that Y/N came through the station, and she was beaten up the last time you saw her - when was that?”

“Oh, I dunno?” He creased his brows with concentration, trying to remember. “About ‘98? ‘99?”

“Did she file a report about the incident?” JJ asked.

“Yeah.” The Chief replied. “It was a break-in. Poor thing. Summer vacation, her mother wasn’t home, off with the church on a retreat hittin’ the bingo halls up in Texas. She said that she never saw the attacker, though. He was wearin’ a ski-mask.”

There was a silent exchange among the group that said they knew the truth - you had seen the attacker, you knew him. It’s why you had gone with him willingly this time. But you hadn’t told the police the truth back then because you had been too scared.

“Can you get me that report?” JJ asked.

After too many anxious minutes, the Chief came back with an old file in hand, and JJ snatched it out of his hands with a mumbled thank you before she shut the door in his face once again. She placed it down on the table among the mess of letters, and flipped it open.

“Oh my god.” Emily gasped when she saw the photos inside.

There was a spread of old polaroid photos, pinned to the sides of the file. They were almost too graphic for the team to look at - one showing the damage to your face; both of your eyes bruised, one of them entirely swollen shut. Scratches, deep gashes, harsh bruising all over your body. You were wearing a dark cotton tee shirt with patches ripped out of it - as if someone had been clawing at you and nearly ripped the clothing off your body to keep you from getting away.

“This wasn’t a burglary.” Derek mumbled, frowning as he picked up one of the photos and inspected it closer.

“Get Garcia on the line,” Hotch told JJ.

She dialed the tech’s number on the conference hub, having to unbury the small bit of technology from some papers before she did it. It rang for a few moments before the woman on the other end picked up.

“Where’s our girl?” Garcia asked anxiously, talking about you. “Is there any news? You’re calling because there’s good news, right?”

“Babygirl,” Derek called out, trying to get her to focus, but she trampled right past this and continued to ramble on.

“Please don’t tell me she’s dead!” Garcia shrieked on the other end. “Cause I can’t keep losing people! And I know it’s selfish to say that I can’t lose her, but she’s one of my best friends, and I’m gonna be a mess! And she promised to be the maid of honor and my wedding, and I know I’m not even engaged, and I don’t even have a boyfriend, but I need to have her around for big milestones in my life like that, she’s like the best person I know, and-”

“Garcia, we need you.” Hotch told her firmly, cutting off her emotional ranting.

“Right.” The tech replied, sucking in sharply, trying to catch her breath. There was some scraping in the background - the wheels of her chair on the floor as she scooted her chair into her desk. “What do you need? I’m here.”

“I need you to look up reports of rape in and around Madison County between 1991 and 1999.” Hotch told her.

“Rape?” Garcia replied, seemingly shocked by the topic and how it might relate to the case at hand - how it might relate to you.

“Come on, babygirl.” Derek encouraged her. “Work your magic.”

“Yeah. I got it.” She said hesitantly, and then there was the clacking of her keyboard as she worked.

“Oh. Ugh.”

“What is it?” Rossi was the first to ask.

“There’s over five hundred cases.” Penelope told them, clearly disgusted by this number.

“Can you narrow it down to women in their twenties? With similarities to the victims who have been targeted by the killer. Same hair type, same race, same body type.” Hotch told her.

“Turning on the creep filter.” Garcia said, using her usual sense of humor that she turned on to shield herself. “That leaves us with… about twenty cases.”

“Were any of them prosecuted?” Hotch asked.

“Two of them.” Penelope replied. “A couple of sorority sisters from the University of Georgia were held at gunpoint and raped by a pizzaman in ‘95. He went to trial, got ten years. And he was paroled for good behavior in 2003. Yikes.” Emily rolled her eyes in agreement with his comment. “And shortly after his parole, he crashed his car into a tree in a drunk driving incident. Looks like he’s probably not your guy.”

“What about the other eighteen cases?” Reid asked.

“Um… no.” Garcia replied. “None of them went to court. A lot of these say that the victims were attacked by a stranger… that he broke in through the back door. Hold on.”

“What?” Derek prompted her.

“There is one here. Terry Driver. She said that she was raped, and she identified her rapist as someone she knew - Daniel Matthews. But he was never arrested because his brother gave him an ability for the night of the incident.” Garcia explained.

“I bet that one was air-tight.” Rossi scoffed.

“What type of injuries did the victims have?” Hotch asked.

“Um… nothing major.” Penelope replied. Hotch frowned. “A black eye… a few scratches.” She hesitated. “Ligature marks… from being tied to their beds. God. That sounds like the most horrible night of your life, doesn’t it?”

Hotch shook his head, sweeping a tense hand over his face. “He doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Wait.” Reid swallowed thickly, staring at the photos of you that were sitting in the middle of the table.

Battered. Bruised. Broken.

“Some of the letters refer to him having an awakening. ‘An awakening in my soul. A bond through blood.’” He explained, naturally reciting the words from memory after having only read them once.

“She fought back hard.” He held up one of the photos - one of your arm, showing deep, bloody scratches. Defensive wounds. “She found back so hard - he must have liked it. It-”

“It gave him a taste for violence.” Prentiss finished off the thought, fear written all over her face. “She - she was the one who made him realize that he could use violence to replace sex completely. So he switched from rape to murder.” She came to the shocking realization aloud, her eyes flickering from the photo of you to all the photos scattered across the evidence board - all the victims he had practiced on in the wake of you.

“Oh - oh my god.” Penelope gasped, having heard all of this over the intercom. “He’s gonna kill her? He’s gonna kill Y/N?”

“Garcia, What can you get me on Matthews?” Hotch asked.

“Um, right - Daniel Matthews…” There was more clacking of keys, and then Penelope replied. “He grew up in Madison. Looks like he went to the same high school as Y/N. He used to play football. He has a juvenile record for… vandalism, underage drinking. The usual. Oh…”

“Oh?” JJ wondered aloud.

“He had a very brief stint in the FBI Academy. He was kicked out 2001 when he was accused of sexually harassing fellow female applicants, and he was flagged on the psych eval as having a possible narcissistic personality disorder.” Garcia explained.

“Bingo.” Rossi sighed. “That’s our UnSub.”

“Oh my god. The hiatus.” Morgan said, his eyes fixated on the evidence board now. “‘99 was the year he attacked Y/N, when he first got a taste for it… and then… he followed her to the Academy?”

“And he resumed the killings when he got kicked out.” Rossi picked up on the thought. “When he couldn’t be in close contact with her anymore… he couldn’t get a high off of retraumatizing her, reliving that night in his mind, he needed to relive it through the other victims.”

It all fit together now.

It was a horrible puzzle, but it all fit together around you.

“Reid, you said you might know where he took her?” Pretniss said, turning back to the very tired looking genius.

“Yes,” Reid shoved aside the file with the graphic photos of you, and went shuffling through the letters for something. When he found it, he handed it over to Prentiss. “A lot of the earliest dated letters make reference to ‘our special place’. Or-”

“-the bed I first made love to you in.” Prentiss read it off the page, clearly holding back vomit.

JJ grabbed up the file with the report about the break-in, shoving aside the photos, looking for an address. “It’s here. I’ve got it.”

“Okay, I want squad cars, tactical swat, I want spike strips on every road in or out of that place. I need everyone mobile in ten minutes.” Hotch ordered sharply, causing everyone to jump into action.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Abandoned Country House - Madison, GA. 2:20AM.

It should have felt like a victory to hold a knife to the throat of your rapist - someone who had been taunting you for years after the incident.

But somehow, you still felt small. You still felt so chaotic and out of control.

Both your hands shook vigorously as you struggled with the warring inside of you, as you struggled with the weight of confronting your life’s biggest monster.

In the back of your mind, you were aware of the guns pointed at you. You would have liked to believe that because Emily was your friend - she wouldn’t shoot you.

Part of you thought it would be worth it. To kill this man and take a bullet in the process.

You just hoped that she would aim to wound and not to kill.

“Put the knife down!” Emily ordered, her voice sounding muffled in your ears as blood thumped hard through you. “Come on, put it down.”

“Reid-!”

You heard his name being called out, and you saw a figure moving from the corner of your eye, but all you could focus on was the blade in your hand. The sight of a thick, unmarked neck, ripe for the taking in front of you. The idea that all you had to do was press down and slice through flesh - and then, this would all be over.

No more torment. No more letters. No more taunting.

“Y/N,”

His soothing voice spoke your name, and you held a sob inside of your chest.

You had grown so much of a life beyond this. Beyond him. He had tried to ruin you, he had tried to keep you in some little cage in some shitty town, and you had outgrown him. You had friends. You had people who loved you.

But you still couldn’t escape him.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Your hand shook as you held the knife.

“I have to.” You replied, unable to hold back your sobs. You barely noticed the tears coming out of your eyes - barely able to identify why your vision was blurring, why your face was suddenly wet.

“You don’t have to.” Reid told you, his voice calming, gentle. “You - you can give me the knife, and then we can just… walk away. And then it all ends.”

“It won’t just end!” You screamed out, your voice a curtling weep that bounced off the walls.

If you let Daniel walk away from this, he would come for you again. He would.

Or he would keep killing other women in your place. And you couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t let your cowardice be the reason that so many women had died. You should have killed him the first time he had ever touched you. You should have been brave enough then.

“It can end.” Reid assured you calmly. “You just have to come with me. You just have to put the knife down and-”

It just sounded like noises in your ears at that point.

Spencer just didn’t understand.

“I have to make it stop!” You screamed, urgent to make him truly hear you. “I killed those women. I killed them!”

“Prentiss!” A voice called her name, but it was so distant in your ears.

“Just give him a minute!” Prentiss fired back.

“He killed them because of me!” You shouted, cutting him off. “We both know it’s my fault.”

“It’s not.” Reid choked out. “Please don’t say that.”

There was a gutting silence.

“Please, just give me the knife.”

You couldn’t give up.

You had come too far to let Daniel win now.

“It was my fault. I know what happened. If I had just been a good little girl… if I had just laid there and taken it… it’s all my fault.” You quietly wept, your arms still shaking - muscles ripe with hesitation as you struggled with your grip on the knife. “I have to be the one to make it stop.”

By violence it was done, and by violence it would be undone.

You could be brave enough this time. You could be the one to end it.

“No, no you don’t.” Reid told you. “You don’t have to do it alone. We can make it stop together. Just give me the knife. Please.”

You had been alone your whole life. What was one more thing?

Just press down. Something in your mind screamed. Slice his throat. End it.

“Please, just look at me.” Spencer begged, his voice growing more desperate. “Please.”

You didn’t look up at him.

You knew that you couldn’t.

If you took one look at those soft, pitying eyes, then the tiny bit of bravery you had gathered up would crack away.

“Y/N, please.” Spencer continued. “I know why you think you have to do this. I know that his face is the one that’s been in all your nightmares since that night. I - I know you were all alone then, on the night that happened. You must have felt so alone.”

You let out another sob at this.

You had been so alone.

“But you’re not alone now. You’re not alone now, okay?”

Spencer’s gentle voice delivering the words made them feel so true.

“We’re here with you now. I’m here with you. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to fight by yourself anymore. You don’t have to be strong.”

You heard a crack in his voice for the first time - his own tears.

It wasn’t pity.

It was genuine sadness for you, as he thought about what had happened to you. What had happened in this very bedroom all those years ago.

“Spencer-” You choked out his name, and your body betrayed you.

You finally collapsed, your hand dropping the knife, and Spencer reached out and grabbed you as you fell, helping to move your shuddering form away from the unconscious, horrible man as the others finally moved in.

You heard more voices, more shouting - maybe Hotch giving orders.

But all you felt was Spencer’s arms around you, creating a shield as he rubbed your back and gently hushed you, letting you sob as loudly as you needed to, giving you a kind of comfort that you had never felt on that horrible night.

…

Thursday, August 16th, 2007. Madison Police Department, Interrogation Room #1 - Madison, GA. 3:39AM.

The chilled air of the interrogation room only made the regret of it all more palpable in your lungs.

Maybe Reid had saved you from yourself, or maybe he had caused you to make the biggest mistake of your life.

You should have killed Daniel.

Ten more minutes.

The hum of the fluorescents overhead made you feel like a bug about to be zapped - like your entire life was over and you would be resigned to a cage.

Daniel had been hauled away in an ambulance. He had been entirely unmoving. In ‘critical condition’. They would likely charge you with manslaughter if he didn’t recover - it wasn’t likely that he would. You had overheard Prentiss remark on the irony that he was an organ donor. Because you had beaten him so badly, but not killed him, it was likely that his comatose state would lead to his organs being donated, and saving more lives.

It could be viewed as a beautiful thing.

But you had to wonder if the poison he had in his veins was contagious. Should the heart of a killer really live on inside someone else’s body?

“Let’s start with this,” Reid asked you sharply. “Why?”

Truthfully, you couldn’t give him that answer. You didn’t think you would ever have enough time to conjure it up within yourself.

“You’re the genius profiler, Doctor Reid.” You fired back coldly. “You tell me.”

You let out another puff of your cigarette, and he frowned at you.

“No.” He said. “No more bullshit. No more games.”

You definitely were not used to this version of Reid.

You were surprised that it had taken you almost killing someone to bring out his cold side. But you supposed that everyone had a line. And you had crossed his.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had been raped?” He asked. “Why didn’t you tell us that the rapist lived in your hometown and was a viable suspect in all of this? Why didn’t you tell us that the letter you received the other morning was just one of many your rapist sent you over the years, stalking you, obsessing over you after-?”

“Why?” You said, your voice scraping against the word harshly as you tossed it back at him, cutting off his ranting.

He gave you an impatient expression as it hung in the air - eyes wide, pursing his lips.

It caused you to flare with anger.

You let the cigarette burn down to a hot cherry between your fingers, the harsh sting against your skin being the only thing keeping you from lunging across the table and strangling him.

You stubbed it out in the ashtray before you answered him.

“Why didn’t I want to suddenly announce to a group of my intellectual peers that I was raped?” You echoed back, more tears gathering in the corners of your eyes - you knew that you must have looked quite crazed, especially when Hotch stiffened, and Reid’s expression dropped. “You know, when I first came to the BAU, it was the only time in my life that I wasn’t viewed as a victim.”

“Y/N-” Spencer said your name in that gentle tone again, but you weren’t having it this time.

“My dad left us when I was only a year old. And everybody viewed my Mama as this fucking martyr because she raised me by herself. ‘Oh poor girl. She doesn’t have a daddy. Poor little girl, all alone. Her mama does such a good job.’” You said, ranting in a crazed tone. But the floodgates had opened, and you couldn’t stop it. “Nobody wanted to talk about how my Mama was off half the time, drinking at bars, out partying with friends. She got pregnant at sixteen and she didn't want to stop having a life. God forbid I get in the way of that. I took care of my damn self! I raised myself!”

You knew you were screaming, but you couldn’t stop it.

“L/N-” Hotch tried speaking to you in a firmer voice.

But you couldn’t stop.

“Daniel only broke into the house that night because he knew I would be alone.” Your voice warbled harshly on the word, and you hated it.

You hated the look that Reid and Hotch were giving you.

Pity.

That look you had been trying to avoid for so long.

“When I came here that night and made the police report, they all knew I was bullshiting. They knew that it wasn’t a fucking burglary.” You pressed on. “But none of them said anything! They didn’t care.”

There was a tense moment. You swallowed thickly around your own tears, holding back sobs once again.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Spencer tried again, seeming to be personally stuck on this point. “I asked you if something was wrong. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That look in your eye.” You told him, entirely honest. “That look you have right now. I - I couldn’t stand the idea of you looking at me like that forever.”

“Daniel approached you in the parking lot of the corner store.” Hotch stated calmly. “Why did you go with him willingly? Did he have a gun on you?”

“He had a gun.” You told him. “He did have it pointed at me. But - I didn’t have mine. I didn’t like the odds.”

Hotch nodded at this.

“I didn’t want him to take another girl.” You added on. “I knew they were replacements. At that point, I realized what it was. I figured nobody else should have to die because of my mistake.”

“Mistake?” Spencer echoed back quietly.

“Not killing him the first time.” You said, knowing this was likely a bit too honest. “I should have killed him the first time he ever put his hands on me. I should have. I wanted him dead.”

Tears leaked hot from your eyes at this, and Spencer’s eyes grew glassy - he blinked back his own.

“You wanted him dead, but… did you want to kill him?” Hotch posed.

“I don’t know.”

...

“That is how heavy a secret can become. It can make blood flow easier than ink.”

-Patrick Rothfuss

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, meant to function as an episode of Criminal Minds, so please respect it as such. Please do not ask for a sequel or a continuation, because there will not be one. If you are going to comment about the work, please comment about the body of what has been written. I highly appreciate reblogs and comments if you enjoyed it, and if you want to see more of what I have written for Criminal Minds, definitely check out my Criminal Minds masterlist.

#sundrop writes #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction

845 notes · View notes

hopelesslonelyghost · 7 months ago

Text

part 2 for simon and his emotional support medic (protective mode)

part 1 can be found here

tw for assault, choking (the unsexy kind), violence, medical inaccuracies probably

i promise there will comfort, but i just love the idea of simon going feral if anyone ever laid hands on his medic

as always, this isn’t beta read, sorry for any typos. enjoy!

in all honestly, the enemy getting the jump on you while you were crouched and hunched over an injured soldier, trying your best to keep them alive, was a bitch move.

simon was always drilling it into you—

“never turn your back for too long. it leaves you vulnerable, love.”

oh how you should’ve paid more attention then, instead of ogling his huge biceps.

a strangled yelp escapes your throat, but is subsequently cut short when an arm bears down. you instinctively go to grip your assailant’s forearm, digging your nails as deep as you can in hopes they’ll release their deathly grip.

they snarl and bark something in a language you can’t understand. whatever it is they said must have been them voicing their displeasure at your action, because their vice grip tightens around your neck, effectively cutting off your ability to breathe.

that’s when the panic really sets in and you earnestly start to struggle against them. you tried all the moves simon taught you when it came to this exact situation. you tuck your chin into the crook of their elbow, then place your right foot behind his. you can feel your eyes drooping from the lack of oxygen, so with all your might, you bite down onto his arm.

you make sure to dig your canines as far as they can go, the taste of blood floods your mouth. the man screams, gripping your hair as they release you, tugging as they try to free themselves from your unforgiving clamp of sharp teeth. in the process of pulling your head back, you bite down harder and then throw your head back the rest of the way, ripping off a chunk of his arm, spitting it out.

there’s no chance for you to continue your attack before a fist comes flying down, hitting your face dead center and roughly getting thrown onto the concrete ground of the abandoned building you’re in.

despite the attempt to break your fall, your forehead comes into contact with the floor, a splitting pain running from the front, that travels through the nape of your neck and down your shoulders.

“гребаная сука! (1)”

your ears are ringing, but you try to bring yourself to sit up—only to be kicked back down, steel-toe boot burying itself into your ribs.

a groan manages to slip through, a small oof! as well when you fall to your side. it’s your first time able to see your attacker’s face. an angry snarl etched on their face. you feel a little satisfaction build in your chest when you see them tightly clutching their right arm, a stream of blood trickling down their fingers and onto the floor, forming a puddle.

“тебе не следовало этого делать (2)” the man spoke again, letting go of his arm and reaching behind him, a tanto coming to view as he holds it up, twirling it, “я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку. (3)”

his boot shoves at your shoulder, forcing you onto your back. you scramble to get up, but he’s in much better fighting shape than you are, and he jumps on you, straddling your waist and shoving you back down. your head hits the ground with a loud ‘thud’ forcing a pained whine from your lips. your ribs throbbed, the weight pressing down on your probably broken ribs was unbearable.

you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the cold metal press against your neck. you did not want your attacker’s face to be the last thing you see before you died. your mind immediately flew to simon. simon and his pretty face. his pretty brown eyes and his pretty blonde hair.

it wasn’t fair. there were more things you wanted to do with simon. you had your whole life ahead of you, and you wanted your sweet lieutenant to be in it.

suddenly the awful weight on top of you was gone. snatched and dragged off. you heard a growl. something so primal and scary. you slowly opened your eyes and sat up, leaning on your elbows as you took in the scene before you.

simon—no—ghost—sat on top of the enemy, just like he had you, thighs around his waist and was viciously landing his fist with all the weight and strength he could muster over and over again. once satisfied the man wasn’t in any shape to get up, ghost stood, unholstered his handgun and fired 3 shots into the bastard’s skull.

you could see his shoulders heaving up and down. his back expanding and deflating with every breath he took. you wanted to so badly wrap your arms around him.

you rolled over on your right side, feet dragging broken glass as you dragged yourself up onto you knees. your hand immediately pressed down on your left side, where the enemy landed that nasty kick. you swore you could feel your ribs shift, breathing getting more and more painful each passing moment.

you hunched over, left arm supporting you up, preventing you from face planting. your pained wheezing must’ve caught ghost’s attention. quick footsteps made their way towards you. from your peripheral you made out a pair of black combat boots, and then he was kneeling by your side.

a gloved hand delicately cupped your chin, moving your head up and to the side to face him. he inhaled sharply.

“jesus fuckin’ christ.”

he dropped your head, going around and coming towards the side your uninjured ribs were.

“cmon love. we have to get up.”

he threw your arm around his shoulder, gently lifting you. you gasp as what you can only explain a lightning bolt ran down your left side.

ghost crooned, shushing you, “i know love, i know. i’m gettin’ us outta here.”

once on your feet, he left go and turned to look at you, “can you walk?”

you nodded, “i can— i can try.”

all you got was a hum of acknowledgment, “grab onto my vest, we’re leavin’.”

•••

ghost and you were the only survivors. the mission was a bust, according to laswell. the intel was false. it was an ambush.

ghost finished up talking to price and laswell through his radio. yours, as you would later find out, was ripped out and stepped on during your fight. shattered into tiny little pieces.

through his sniper’s scope he had seen the enemy make a break for you shortly after rushing inside the building to assist a fellow teammate. he’d raced down from where he was perched, and hauled ass towards you.

“found ya in the nick of time.” he had said. he didn’t see the way you silently winced, the thought that you were mere milliseconds away from certain death.

you two settled inside a safe house, where he stripped you of your gear (and unfortunately) your top.

“hafta see your ribs love.”

after wrapping them tightly, he’d moved on to cleaning up your face. butterfly stitches carefully applied after he’d wiped the dried blood from your face. then came the worst part.

“your nose, it’s broken. i need to set it.”

you think you passed out, because you woke up bundled up on the dusty leather couch. opening your eyes was hard, feeling the effects of your nose being broken as it swelled with broken blood vessels and blood.

sitting on the floor next to you was simon. skull mask long gone, and so was his balaclava. staring back at you was your sweet simon. his face bared for you.

you reached for him, trembling palm making itself home against his cheek. your thumb rubbed his cheekbone.

you swallowed the knot in your throat, “thank you.”

his brows furrowed, “wha’ for?”

“coming for me.”

simon reached up and gripped your wrist, pulling your hand away. his hand moved up and cupped yours, leaning in and kissing your palm. you shivered at the feeling of his lips.

“don’ ever thank me for something’ like tha’.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but he beat you to it, “i’ll always come for you. always.” he shook your hand, “got tha’?”

you felt tears well up. despite the ache in your neck, you nodded.

simon kissed your palm again, “need to hear ya say it, sweet thing.”

“you’ll always come for me.”

he leaned forward, dropping your hand and gently cupping the back of your head, careful not to move you too much, and kissed your forehead.

“‘m proud of ya, you know tha’?” he murmured against your skin. you hummed. “tore off a piece of his arm, could see the bloody tendons.”

you groaned, “i swallowed his blood, si. gonna have to get tested now.”

that pulled soft belly laugh from him, “i’ll be sure to let the medics on base know.” he pulled away from you, pushing your hair away from your face, “rest up. i’ll keep watch.”

you gripped his wrist, “but you’re tired too, si.”

he only shook his head, grabbing your hand and pulling it off his, before kissing the back of it. he stood up, “‘m not the one who’s got broken ribs. rest love, i’ll wake you when we’re headin’ out.”

•••

you were placed on mandatory medical leave for 3 weeks. simon requested leave as well. said someone had to watch after you. which is how you ended up now, laying on your bed on your good side, watching tv that was mounted on your wall with simon laying next to you. his hand was on your hip, drawing lazy circles into your skin.

“you’re gonna put me to sleep if you keep that up.”

“tha’s the point, love.”

you hummed, settling further into your pillow. simon pulled the strap of your top down, allowing him to place a chaste kiss in the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

“sleep, love. i’ll be here when you wake.”

and who are you to say no to that?

“promise?”

“promise.”

•••

translations (done by yandex translate, probably not accurate!

1. гребаная сука! —> you fucking bitch!

2. тебе не следовало этого делать —> you shouldn’t have done that

3. я действительно получу удовольствие, разрезая твою прелестную шейку —> i’m really going to enjoy slicing your pretty neck open.

#es!medic!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod x you #ghost cod x y/n #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley

542 notes · View notes

letoasai · 1 year ago

Text

dp x dc Chronos Part 4

Part 1 - Previous - Master List

Danny woke up confused, stiff, aching. He didn’t know where he was, but he got the distinct feeling of déjà vu. Honestly, he was used to waking up dead tired. Heh, dead tired. For the last year or two it had even been his normal.

The bone deep pain however was something he only had every now and then. He had gotten hurt often while trying to protect Amity Park but being seriously injured seemed to be left for special occasions.

Memories came back sluggishly, and he didn’t exactly delight in them. His father breaking his ribs like he was a twig... Relishing in the pain he supposedly didn't feel...

His mother trying to pin him down like a butterfly on a board was an image he’d like to have erased from his mind forever. Her weapon trained him him was almost underwhelming. When did he become used to it?

Unfortunately, he needed those horror driven moments. His parents' reaction to him had never been a sure thing before. Only speculation at best. He’d hoped their love for him would override their hatred of ghosts. It was what kept him under their roof. That hope that they’d still love him.

He’d grown up with borderline mad scientists for parents and he’d always put that notion aside. It was its own box in his head. The Fentons and their questionable science. They’d been mom and dad first. Always, mom and dad first. He’d hoped to be Danny first to them.

He wasn’t. Now he knew though, and he could free himself from that house and their neglect and dangerous excentrics. When things were safe he’d contact his sister, but he didn’t have parents anymore. Not living, human ones.

He did have Clockwork though. Clockwork who had been at the right place at the right ‘time’ to save him one more time. He had Frostbite too, who would fret over Danny’s injuries while in the same room, and rage later, away from Danny’s senses.

There was something overwhelmingly kind about that. Frostbite put Danny first and didn’t make him feel badly about his attachments. He worried more while Danny needed him. His anger could wait for later.

His human parents hadn’t been much, but at least he had ghost guardians.

It took a moment, but alarm slowly settled in when he didn’t know where he was. He couldn’t move well, a blanket tucked in tight around him. It was the slowly quickening BEEP BEEP BEEP that spiked his adrenaline but when his eyes cracked open, he wasn’t met with a white ceiling and a very obvious ghost shield.

The room looked more like a barely used guest ro-.... That déjà vu again.

Danny looked around, the door had been left cracked open, on his other side… Oh… The curtains were open. Even in his human form, his obsession could easily take root. Space. Was the bed closer to the window than it had been before? Did it matter? He had such a good view. Looking out into the vastness of space could hardly be considered comparable to looking up at it from Earth. It was beautiful and distracting…

Danny reached up on reflex alone and grabbed the oxygen mask someone had put on him at some point. With a flicker of power he turned it intangible and pulled it off of his face before dropping it on the floor.

He…ached. It was a literal, bone deep kind of ache and it occurred to him all at once that it was just because he was an idiot. He’d just… transformed. Just like that. Like that was a good idea. Like he wanted to impress Wonder Woman and instead came off as immature doofus with a death wish.

Death wish… Funny…

Danny inhaled slowly, feeling the air fill his lungs that were tender around bruised ribs. Bruised but maybe not broken anymore. Healing left him exhausted but the open curtains and the expanse of space before him would help with that.

“Highness. Danny. You’re awake.” Diana was pushing the door open, looking fairly relieved. He wondered if he’d have even been able to tell if she didn’t have the same stress markers that Jazz had. The small tics and twitches of a woman who was normally so poised and put together. Someone unflappable who in some cases had really seen it all.

There was the squint to her eyes, the way her shoulders lowered when she walked in and saw him awake. The octave of her voice betraying how tightly wound with worry she’d been.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so weird to introduce Diana to Jazz some day. He’d probably regret it instantly. They’d likely get along a little too well.

Wonder Woman came in, dragging the seat closer again and the bed was definitely closer to the window than it had been before.

“You gave us quite the scare. How are you feeling?”

“Like i got hit by the GAV.” Danny muttered, inhaling carefully again. “I’m…sorry. That was stupid. I knew better.”

“I’m quite certain you did, but the concussion you’ve recently sustained probably did not help that.” Diana said, and he was weirdly having a hard time deciphering if she was just politely giving him an out for acting like an idiot or if she really thought a concussion would alter his decision making.

“I have a concussion?” he asked slowly.

“You do. Among a myriad of other injuries all in various states of healing.” She gave him a firm nod. “I apologize for bringing medical personnel in here without your permission but you were losing quite a bit of blood and we had very little knowledge to work with. Chronos did say one of your forms healed faster than the other. I understand that better now.”

Danny winced. “Sorry about that.” He did have a headache but he attributed that to passing out from pain. That and the fact that it was easier in his living form to focus on Diana and not just the space beyond the window. “As long as there’s no experiments or intentions of ripping me apart molecule by molecule, then it’s okay.”

Judging by the way Diana’s expression darkened, that wasn’t the thing to say. “Is that something you’ve had to worry about in the past? Chronos did say you were removed from your home. Is there anything more you can tell me?”

“Eh…” Danny made a face. He wanted to sit up properly in bed but he knew that was going to set off a chain reaction of pain and he wasn’t interested in that yet. “Clockwork really didn’t say anything? Figures.”

“There was one thing he said.” Diana said, after a short pause between them. “He said that you would ask for help if you wanted to.”

Danny snorted. “Brillant, CW, thanks.” He reached up and rubbed his face tiredly, he could still just barely feel the marks on his cheeks from the mask. “Yeah, it’s a worry. It’s a worry for everyone like me. I’m not a person after all. The US Government says so.”

“Excuse me?”

Danny blinked slowly and hopefully hid the way his body tensed. He wasn’t a fool, he knew that tone. Sam had that tone. Val definitely had that tone. It promised hell for someone. “Uh, yeah? The Anti-Ecto Acts? The Ghost Investigation Ward? Did we cross wires somewhere?” Danny paused. “I don’t remember. Did we talk about the fact that i’m dead? You know, Ghost King?”

Diana’s lips tightened unhappily, and she was sitting more rigidly then he remembered during her last visit. “Yes, Chronos called you the Ghost King. I recall you as well mentioning ghost guardians. It was also impossible to miss your lack of pulse when you arrived, and your sudden pulse returning when you switched forms. Is this normal for ghosts?”

Danny appreciated the way she kept her voice calm and curious despite the bits of anger he could taste in the air. She wasn’t trying to make this an interrogation but the need to know details would eat at anyone.

“No. There’s only two others like me. To my knowledge.” he amended. “I’m something else. Half dead and half alive. It’s… yeah, that’s probably why i’m here. I can be in the Infinine Realm no problem, but my living human half needs, you know, a living realm from time to time.”

He plucked at the blanket around him, not sure where this own nervous energy was coming from. “I’m meant to be a balance. Something like that anyway. I can’t go home so Clockwork…was trying to be helpful by finding me a new one.”

“Which you have.” Diana said gently, hesitating for only a moment before laying her hand on top of his. “You still have your home with me. That has not changed. If you are in danger however, you are in the right place.”

“Am i?” Danny asked, trying to make his expression as blank as possible. “You’re the Justice League. You follows laws and…stuff. The law says i don’t feel pain. Says i’m not a sentient being. Says it’s completely legal for me and others from the Infinite Realm to be hunted. That we are free game to be caught, tortured, experimented on and exterminated. Legally, you should be turning me in.”

“Hah?” It wasn’t a happy sound. “I understand a few of your fears, but Justice will come first. You are talking about the genocide of an entire species. An entire realm.”

“They did try to nuke us once…”

Diana’s free hand tightened into a fist. “The Anti-Ecto Acts, yes? We will be looking into them. I’ve little doubt that it is already on the immediate docket. You are obviously an intelligent being. I have witnessed myself the pain you are in. Not only are you a king, and a child, you are my family. I would never turn you in.”

Danny averted his gaze and looked at the wall, hoping it hid the way his bottom lip trembled. His own mother was happily planning to hand him over. She believed her own biased research.

He’d known Diana less than a day. Less than a couple hours? “I…” His voice was clogged.

“You focus on healing.” Diana whispered, squeezing his hand. “Resting. Let me have a turn with this mess.”

He hiccuped, but he didn’t dissolve into tears. That meant he was holding himself together right? “Y..yeah. Sure.”

“Are you in pain now?” She asked. “We weren’t sure of your exact biology for all you appear perfectly human. Only mild pain killers were given to you while you were out. Small doses in case there was an adverse reaction.”

“I dunno.” Danny said quietly. He tried twice to clear his throat. “Maybe. Yeah. I’m so used to it, i don’t know anymore.” He laid there for a moment, too afraid to even move and find out what would tug and pull. “I am, you know, perfectly alive right now so i think i would like a little more pain killers. It was never an option before.”

“I’ll call for a nurse.” Diana said with a nod, hitting a button on the side of his bed that he hadn’t noticed before.

Danny heaved a sigh, overwhelmed with the direction his day had taken. “Probably better that way. Frostbite says i can’t just hide in my ghost form and expect my human form to heal naturally. He says that should be for emergencies.” The problem with that train of thinking was that it was always an emergency. He couldn’t have just bled all over his bedroom in Amity Park. His parents were oblivious unless it would be a headache for him. He wasn’t going to explain to them that he was bleeding because they’d shot at his ghost form two hours prior.

“Frostbite?”

“He’s my doctor. He’s chief of the Yetis.”

There was something…hilarious about Diana just nodding and mentally filing that information away for later. She didn’t raise a brow or question the existence of yeti’s or anything. She just took him at his word. “Then i imagine he knows what he’s talking about. I wasn’t sure since you were brought to us in your white haired form.”

“Probably because i was brought from the Infinite Realm. I’m obviously liminal and that changes a few things but Frostbite still doesn’t like me to depend on that alone. He treats me like i’m normal.”

Diana smiled weakly, but the upturn of her lips did express her amusement. “I’m starting to think i will have a new question to ask every time you open your mouth, Highness.”

“Danny.” He corrected with a small smile of his own.

“Danny.” Diana agreed. “Your usage of the word liminal?”

“Oh, uh. Basically death adjacent?” Danny shrugged. “A lot of people in Amity Park are liminal because of their proximity to the portal my parents made. My sister and three of my friends are very liminal. My parents are liminal too though they’ve never noticed. It’s spread through the town.”

“Portal.” Diana sighed a little.

Ah, yeah. She was probably right. It was a lot of information when it was only passed on in bits. “Yeah…” Danny muttered. “Maybe you should get a notebook. Write this down…”

He paused when a nurse came in after knocking. Her smile was friendly but she was clearly there to do a job and not loiter when Wonder Woman was right there. She did greet them both and told Danny how relieved she was that he’d woken up while setting up his IV that would double as both pain control and hydration.

She didn’t even notice Danny taking the glowing green post-it off her back. He instead just held it in his fist until the nurse finally excused herself.

It’s a good view. Frostbite will come to you.

“Cool.” Danny muttered dryly, suddenly exhausted before deciding to eat that note too.

“Yes?” Diana just raised a brow at the action. It was kind of funny how that was the thing that threw her off. She’d been observing the nurse the entire time with a keen eye and had only moved herself to pull out her cell phone.

“Clockwork often communicates via vague ass post-its. I’m taking that one to mean i need to heal as much as i can by my obsession with space before Frostbite shows up to scold me for stupidly hurting myself like that.” Danny heaved a sigh. Frostbite’s disappointed looks could be weaponized.

“And eating it?” She asked and if Danny wasn’t mistaken, she’d be laughing if she wasn’t so composed.

“Ectoplasm. The reason the post-it glowed. It’s good for the dead. No sense in wasting it.” Danny offered a one sided shrug, and relaxed back against his pillows. He sagged, rubbing his face tired and glancing out the window.

He’d love to get some paper and chart out what stars he could see.

“I guess you have questions? If you really think you can help with the Anti-Ecto Acts and all…”

Diana had her phone on her lap, ready to take notes. “I think the most pressing question i have…” She leaned a little closer. “How did you sustain your injuries? Who hurt you?”

Danny frowned, his entire body almost closing in on himself. He should have expected that, but somehow hadn’t. “My parents…”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging started to get difficult but a bunch of people recommended a master list that i'll update. It's linked at the top ^__^

Also i never planned past part 3 so we're in uncharted territory now.

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #Danny Phantom #wonder woman #The GIW have no idea they've just made an enemy out of Wonder Woman #Safe space for Danny #space pun

1K notes · View notes

aemondwhoresworld · 4 months ago

Text

JACAERYS VELARYON IDEAS RECCOMENDATION!

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x fem!tarlarys! reader x baela targaryen (*) | angst to fluff, happy ending, jace has 2 wifes (you can add more to it)

*MUST READ: reader is also have Valyrian blood and she also rides a dragon. the Tarlarys and Targaryen families are great-distant relatives, so in this plot, there is no incestuous relationship between Jacaerys and reader! lady Baela Targaryen is already pregnant in this idea/story.

mae: yea i know i made up the tarlarys noble house but you can change it to your own noble house name ⭐️ i wish my english is better, or maybe more about the vocab 🥲 literally wanted to write a fiction myself 😭 anyways most of my ideas are suitable for like a series/ multi-part kind of.

warning: this is just an ideas, not a full imagine/ fic/ one-shot so if any writers here want to write a fic base on this idea, all name can be change to fit your story, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO USE IT! 🤗✨| i wrote this idea based on this scence 👇

! A FEW SMALL NOTES :

rhaenyra being a kind mother-in-law

no hate relationship between baela and y/n

in this idea the friendship between y/n and baela is a good friendship, but in terms of closeness, it is only at the social level, helping each other when needed.

the way y/n treats jace and baela’s two children also comes from her love for children. maybe y/n often spend a lot of time embroidering for their kids. because she also wanted a child herself so that’s why

of course there will be intimate between both jace and y/n on the wedding night.

- 1 MONTH BEFORE THE BATTLE BETWEEN TEAM BLACK & GREEN HAPPEN

in this story Jace marries 2 wives, the first wife is Lady Baela Targaryen married out of love and the second wife is Lady Y/n Tarlarys out of duty.

at this time, Baela and Jace already had 2 daughters (both inherited all the beauty of both targaryen, strong features). Jace and Y/n still haven’t had children yet, of course Jace has no intention of giving his seed to his second ladywife.

talk more about y/n's personality, i potraits her as a strong women who does not show how her feeling outside, but is a bit humble and y/n also has a personality abit weird like Helaena, a bit strange, but overall she still has her own unique characteristics because she has pure Valyrian blood.

the story will begin when team black is negotiating (like the scene in the GIF), then y/n steps in, instead of the person riding on dragon's back to go into battle is Rhaenys, the one who volunteers to go into battle is Y/n. because she thinks she is an ‘not so important’ person in this family, but then also come from the pressure from her own family, the Tarlarys caused after a long time of marriage, Y/n still has no news anything about having Jace’s child in her womb, or Jace's heir. therefore, it led to an argument between Jace and Y/n about this issue, when Jace said harsh words to Y/n such as "You will never have a chance to get carry by heir, only Baela". that’s why she think the best that she disapear or maybe dead

i will go through the scene of the battle between the dragons, and in this situation Y/n did not die but was only slightly injured but not significantly. when Y/n returned to Dragonstone, she didn't want to meet Jace or anyone, perhaps in this moment when she spent all her time on herself, thinking for herself, she somehow decided to end this marriage and she also asked her father not to try to withdraw his alliance because of her respect for Queen Rhaenyra and also because of she think Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the iron throne, not Aegon.

while waiting for a response from her father, there was a cold war between Jace and her as things gradually became more tense not a single word between them, but at the most devasted moment, Y/n finally found comfort when she became pregnant, when she learned about the babe, that the only person that Y/n told was Queen Rhaenyra, Y/n also told the truth about the absent marriage between her and Jace that only happened in 1 month like that with Rhaenyra.

maybe after their talk, Rhaenyra has told Jace about what Y/n has said and from there Jace realized her sacrifices for this family, although at this time Jace still saw her as redundant but because of her, being pregnant, Jace has gradually spent time with Y/n, although not too much, but still has time for her during the day or night. in addition, Jace also wrote a letter for the crow to send to the Tarlarys House with the hope that Y/n's father would not accept her request to annul this marriage, because Jace knew that if her father agreed and didn't know about her pregnant, when the child being born this child of his might be called 'Bastard' and of course Jace didn't want any of his children to be called that because he himself had been be like that before.

gradually, as Jace spent more and more time with Y/n, it was time for feelings to blossom, but when Y/n just felt the love from Jace, that small hope was turned off when Jace learned about Baela was also pregant with their third babe, from then on Jace seemed to disappear from Y/n's sight until Y/n went into labor and gave birth alone, after giving birth to the child. Rhaenyra came to meet Jace's first son with brown hair, slightly curly, holding the child, looking at the child with love and affection because when Rhaenyra looked at the child him she remembered her late son, Lucaerys. Jacaerys late younger brother (possibly naming the child Lucaerys Velaryon after Jace's late brother)

time passed when Lucaerys was now 3 years old, there were times when Jace would spend with Lucaerys, it could be said that for 3 years, the feelings between Y/n for Jace were always the same, always loyal towards Jace, and Jace gradually fell in love with Y/n but he never told Y/n, thus making Y/n misunderstand that Jace only cared about her because of Lucaerys. Maybe when one time while having dinner with the family, Lucaerys just ask Jace about why he don’t have any siblings, which make him feel bad so that’s when Y/n decided to sit down and talk clearly, about everything, everythings that had happen in the past 3 years, all about her loneliness and also to admitting her feelings for Jace, and maybe Jace also told her the truth. followed by days when Jace always tried to make up for Y/n about all the time that he treats her.

306 notes · View notes

juneberrie · 9 months ago

Text

DATING APPLEJACK !

request || equestria girls!apple jack x fem!reader

author's note: everyone say thank you to mars for encouraging my delusions & to the person who requested this. also ive been picturing her the way @/cloiiiiii on tiktok draws her so like yeah

ⓘ word count : 0.8k || applejack masterlist

probably didn't realize she liked you until someone (rarity) told her

"what? no way, i don't like-" and then the "HOLY SHIT I DO LIKE HER!"

she was the last to know

rainbow and rarity have to give her advice on asking you out (rarity's is serious and helpful, dash's is just "ask her out dumbass")

probably asked you out with flowers.

"so uh– i was wondering' if you'd, uh, y'know, wanna go out with me sometime? it's fine if not– y'know what, nevermind its stupi–"

she's so nervous!!!

anyways onto the actual dating hcs

she was the one to say i love you first

you guys were probably taking a walk or something and you were talking and she'll like smile at you really lovingly and go "i love you, y'know"

calls you really cheesy nicknames — sugar, sugar cube, pretty girl, my girl, princess, angel, darlin', missy, sweetheart, sweet pea, honey, etc etc

would take you on the cutest dates!!!

sunsets, picnics, apple picking (duh), late night drives

if u like shopping then she's def the kind of girl who'll hold all your bags

she'll also walk you to all your classes / walk you home

also!!! kind of gf who won't leave u alone in public. like if you guys go out she WILL stay with you at all times cause yk 😕

she's such a sweetheart

will open doors for you and get offended if you try to do ANYTHING yourself

SHE WAS RAISED RIGHT 🗣

can and will give you her clothes to wear. PLEAAASE wear her flannels/shirts around her she will lose her mind

"well, darlin', don't you look nice?" whenever u get dressed up

she either gets flustered really easily or she doesnt

pls imagine her in like. a white tank and jeans and cowboy boots

1 million dead 4923 injured

her voice in the morning >>>>>

it has a little rasp and her accent is like ten times thicker and just ugh

she's jacked btw. apple jacked.

she grew up up a farm like what'd u expect

anyways imagine needing to get smth off a shelf or something and she just comes up behind you and reaches to grab the thing and her arms ohmygod

love languages are definitely acts of service & quality time

CONSTANTLY doing little things for you

holding open the door, getting you flowers every week, randomly cleaning your room when she's at your house, filling up ur drink, ordering for you, etc

such a "my girl" kind of gf

"attagirl" "my girl" "pretty girl" "sweet girl"

randomly gives u compliments

also!! i don't see her as the kind of gf who comments under ur insta posts but she's def the kind who'll post them on her story

she's not a very social media person in general, but any post she does make is probably of you

would def write you a sappy letter on your anniversary/valentines/christmas/new years/your birthday

basically any chance she gets she'll write u a long, sappy letter telling you how much she appreciates you and loves you and yap yap yap

i don't see her as a person who wears much jewelry, but i can definitely see her having a locket with your picture in it, or some kind of matching bracelet

randomly starts yapping about you to the girls

"she's so sweet and i love her an–" "SHUT UP WE GET IT." "dang okay"

they're your biggest fans!!!

pinkie probably made a fan account on insta thats just her posting cute pictures of you guys

rarity helps applejack plan dates and shit

dash playfully flirts with you any chance she gets because she finds it hilarious when aj glares at her

speaking of that, i can't see her being someone who gets jealous super super easily?

like, i can definitely see her sidling up beside you, putting an arm around your waist, and glaring at the person who's flirting with you

"who's this, darlin'?"

she has an rbf so if you're really sunshine-y you guys look ridiculous tg

scary guard dog gf!!!!

such an early riser but if you ask her to stay in bed with you she'll be so dramatic about it (she'll sigh and be like "alright, alright, but just this once" <- its happened multiple times)

apple bloom adores you!!! she'll randomly barge into aj's room to talk to you (aj thinks its cute how much she likes you but she does NOT appreciate her sister's interruption)

100% your biggest supporter

if you do theatre or choir or orchestra, she'll show up to EVERY. SINGLE. PERFORMANCE. you will ever have

if you do sports, trust she'll be at all your games yelling her head off and holding a big ass sign

she's really good at cooking so she'll learn how to make your favorite dishes!!! this also means you guys have cute little dinners at home a lot <3

#mlp x reader #my little pony x reader #equestria girls x reader #mlp eg #applejack x reader #apple jack x reader #mlp applejack #liz’s writing ♡

824 notes · View notes

knightjpg · 3 months ago

Text

Tending the Garden

Living by yourself on your little homestead gets lonely after your father's passing. And so, when you find a handsome wounded stranger alone and left for dead in the dust, you take pity on him. Oh, he'll leave again someday, you know that. Which would be fine—if only he wasn't so damned sweet.

tags: Javier Escuella/reader, pining, falling in love

part 1 | part 2

Christ, not again.

“You better not be dead,” you tell the man lying crumpled in the dirt.

He doesn't stir. With a sigh you put your shotgun on your back and crouch down.

Scrawny, filthy, and bloody. “What a sight you are,” you mumble, checking for a pulse. It's there, however faint. When you turn the man over you see a young, handsome face; black, half-long hair, a nose that's definitely been busted at least once, and a faint scar across his left eyebrow. He's wearing a tattered poncho, its colours old and faded.

You sling his arm over your shoulder and whistle for Copper, who obediently trots closer. As an afterthought you grab the man's sombrero and push it onto his head more securely.

“Alright, girl,” you soothe your horse while hoisting the man over her rear. “Let's get home.”

You were heading that way, anyway, your little hunting trip yielding two fat rabbits in the traps you'd laid out some days ago. You're not used to catching less, not yet; it’s only been a few weeks since your father passed.

Maybe that's what moves you to take the stranger with you—the strange bouts of loneliness that have plagued you ever since the funeral.

Fortunately the stranger isn't seriously injured save for the angry, fresh wound around his neck and some cuts and bruises. You wrap him up in poultice and bandages and put him in your father’s bed; the rest is up to him.

As for yourself, you set to skinning the rabbits and preparing the meat, curing it and hanging it out to dry to add to your stock of provisions in the cellar. Part of it you set aside to prepare for a late dinner, humming as your knife makes quick work of your home-grown vegetables.

It's a quiet life out here, in the middle of the grassy hills and patches of dense forest. Redwood's less than an hour away by horse, and you go there on occasion to sell your pelts and buy the few supplies you can't fashion yourself at the little homestead you've lived in all your life.

That said... since your old man died you have to admit you're struggling a little managing it all by yourself.

When you set aside the now finished stew on the old, wooden table you can see the barn from the window across you, and it's not in a good state. You've been meaning to get around to the repairs, just—after the funeral... it's been hard.

You eat slowly. The crackle of the fireplace, the clink of your spoon against your plate, and the familiar creaks of the house withstanding the blustery winds of spring are your only companions. Your potatoes are doing nicely; so are your carrots and onions. Might be time to get started on those tomatoes soon... Maybe squash this year, too.

You're pulled out of your musings when the door to your father's bedroom creaks open and two guarded, dark eyes meet yours.

You reach for the shotgun lying next to your plate. The man's eyes widen and he takes a hesitant step back. “’S alright, stranger,” you say. “Just makin’ sure you don't repay my kindness by tryna slit my throat. How you feelin'?”

Your tone is gentle, yet the man hovers near the doorframe, clearly unsure of how to proceed. He's undeniably of Mexican heritage; maybe he doesn't speak English too well? You offer a smile, patting the chair next to you. “You hungry? Food?”

His eyes light up at that and he nods.

“Alright. Take a seat and I'll get you a plate.” You stand up, strapping your shotgun over your back. Just in case. Don't you trust no one, girl, your father always told you. It's what's kept you alive until now and you're intending to keep it that way.

The man shuffles forward and slowly takes a seat on the hard wooden chair. As soon as you put a plate down he inhales the food in front of him with such gusto it draws a surprised laugh out of you. “'S that why you were lyin’ in the dirt out cold?” You shake your head. “Poor bastard. Well, eat your fill.”

You hand him water as well as whiskey, both of which he accepts graciously. Once he's polished his first helping and starts on the second, you ask him his name. He looks up, cheeks near bursting, and your lips quirk up. You gesture to yourself, introduce yourself, and then, with an encouraging raise of your eyebrows, nod to him.

“My name, Javier,” he says with his mouth full, pointing to his chest.

“Nice t’meet you, Javier.” You touch your own neck and pat your abdomen in the spot where Javier got an especially nasty cut. “How's that feelin’?”

He understands, mirroring you by touching his bandaged neck. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, his accent curled thickly around his words. Not exactly what you meant, but you'll take that to mean it's bearable.

You let him be, then, content to watch him eat until he's satisfied. When he's done your eyes linger on his dirt-stained fingers. Actually, forget his fingers—he's covered in grime from tip to toe.

“You wanna wash up? There's a water pump just outside.” When he looks at you uncomprehending you get up, scraping your chair back over the hard wooden floor, and gesture with your hand. “Come. Outside. What's it called—? Agua.”

That seems to land. He follows you, and once you work the pump to fill a wooden pail you leave him to it with a nod. After heading back inside you rummage around in your late father's meagre belongings and pull out a shirt and some jeans that will surely be too big on Javier. Well, at least they'll be clean.

“Javier!” you call out before rounding the back. “You decent? Got you some clothes.”

His voice carries back to you in some kind of affirmation and you step around the corner of the house. You're not quite prepared to see him shirtless, however, and for a moment your eyes linger on the expanse of his back narrowing into slender hips. You tear your gaze away from him the moment he turns, thrusting the clothes into his waiting still-wet hands. “Here.”

“Gracias,” he says, his lips curling in an appreciative smile. It strikes you then just how handsome he looks with his hair dripping wet and little rivulets streaming down the hollow of his neck. His dark eyes regard you with a curious intensity in the beat that passes before you excuse yourself and head back inside.

Javier returns looking much cleaner, sleeves rolled up around his forearms and jeans tucked neatly into his scuffed boots. He allows you to take his dirty clothes from him and you set them aside for tomorrow's washing. Then you gesture him to sit down, checking to make sure his bandages haven't gotten wet or displaced; but it looks like he was careful, and you don't need to redo any of your work.

“Rest,” you tell him before moving back to the kitchen to clean up the dishes. When he shakes his head and follows you to the sink you raise an eyebrow.

“Quiero agradecerte por salvarme. I help you,” he says, gesturing. You snort, pushing his hands away.

“Ain't nothin’ for you to do ‘side from sit pretty ‘nd heal up.” His brow furrows at that, and you smile, nodding to the kitchen table. “Why don't you sit and tell me what happened to you? Y’looked a fright when I found you.”

When he remains quiet you look back over your shoulder and see a shadow has fallen over his face, his shoulders tense and drawn up. You hum in understanding, drying your hands on a towel before leaning your hips back against the counter. “Where you headed next, then?” you ask gently. “You got someplace to go?”

He shakes his head, eyes downcast on his hands folded across his lap.

“Well. I could use a hand with the barn,” you muse. “Reckon I can let you stay a while if you help me out ‘round here.”

He looks up that, brows upturned in a hesitant, hopeful expression. “Stay?” he repeats.

“Sure,” you smile. “You help me, and you stay.”

—

With some rest and care Javier makes a quick recovery, and after a while of having three hot meals a day his strength returns. His scrawny figure fills into lean, wiry muscle, following your every request with an eagerness to please that never fails to makes you smile.

He helps fix the barn with you, and when that's done he moves onto a leaky part on the roof. He helps plant you tomatoes by day, and during the evenings you help him practice his English. You ask him to teach you Spanish in return. There are several times you both end up laughing by what essentially turns into a strange game of charades.

“Ah, cómo describirlo... You sit on a horse.”

“Ridin'?” you offer.

“No, no... The chair on the horse...”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from chuckling. “The saddle?”

“Sí!” a smile breaks through on his face, pleased you've understood. And so on. You talk about anything that comes up; the chores you do, the vegetables you plant, the animals you catch. You lend him the few books you have, once having belonged to your mother, and read to him while explaining the words best you can.

Javier doesn't talk about his past nor what he's running from, but that's fine. As long as he doesn't lead trouble to your doorstep a man has a right to his secrets. And though he clearly has moments where he struggles with a heavy sadness weighing upon his shoulders, Javier slowly becomes livelier.

Sweet spring air with its budding green things lifts your own mood, too. Weeks roll into months, and both of you settle into your comfortable new normal; for as long as it'll last. You don't know what Javier has in mind for his future, but you're assuming he'll probably want to move on from here at some point. It's what makes you force yourself to look away from the way he pulls his ever-growing hair back into a ponytail, forearms flexing when he ties it secure.

It's also to this end that you share your earnings from what you sell in town, insisting he has a right to it; it was a team effort, after all, wasn't it? It's a joy to see him look down at the money he's earned with his own hands, awe and gratitude lining his face.

Javier's not the best at hunting or tracking, but he takes to fishing, and you're happy your father's fishing kit will get to see some use rather than collect dust in a corner. He's skilled with a knife too, and your usual workload of skinning and cutting is easily halved.

“You know, I been thinkin',” you tell him one evening, seated across each other like usual on your couch. “’Bout getting some chickens. Lotsa fresh eggs every day. We'd have little chicks runnin’ ‘round, too. What you think?”

Javier nods. “We have to build a chicken house.”

“That's right, a chicken coop. You up for it?”

“Claro. Tell me when we start.”

It feels natural, to have these kind of idle conversations with him. To plan, to dream a little. With the rising temperatures Javier often works in the garden shirtless, his hat shielding his face from the sun. You're not sure if it's a blessing or a curse. Several times you feel the desire to reach out and smooth your hands over his skin, to taste the sweat a day's work has collected in the nape of his neck.

One time Javier catches you, and you're not sure he believes the half-coherent excuse you give him. Good Lord, you need to get yourself together.

There other moments where you swear lightning takes a hold of you. When you climb down the ladder from fixing the roof his hands steady your hips. When you pore over the English books he painstakingly works his way through he's so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. When you harvest the vegetables in your garden his fingers brush against yours.

Has it been that long since you've been touched?

It gets to the point you saddle up Copper to go into Redwood just to be away from him and the homestead for a day. You go out to town every few months to stock up on a larger amount of goods and supplies; you're on friendly terms with the general store's assistant, Jimmy, and he's always happy to drive you back with a wagon full of things to last you a good while.

Copper nuzzles your hand affectionately and you stroke her neck, slipping her an apple. Javier spots you and jogs over, smile bright. “Are you leaving?”

He's wearing a blouse today, the first couple buttons undone. His collarbones dip so beautifully along his shoulders, and when he wipes the sweat off his forehead the fabric stretches around his muscles. You swallow, mouth feeling dry.

This is the whole reason you have to head out. Clear your head. Talk to some other people that don't have glittering dark eyes and crooked smiles and stupidly attractive laughs.

You focus on strapping on Copper's saddle while you answer Javier. “Yep. Time to stock up on some things. I'll be gone for the day, so watch the house for me, won't you?”

“Of course,” Javier nods. “For the chicken house? Ah, coop?”

“That's right,” you smile. “I'm gettin' us the materials and some chicks to start out with. A rooster, too. So no more sleepin’ in late,” you add with a little grin.

Javier groans, but it's in good humour. “Monta con seguridad. Ride safe.”

“Always do.”

It's wonderful to feel the breeze on your skin as you ride, and once you reach town you find it was the right call. There's plenty to distract you, though Javier never quite leaves the forefront of your mind. When you get to the general store and greet Jimmy, who gets the catalogue ready for you to place your order, you can't help but add a few clothing items you think Javier might be in need of. You've noticed he enjoys taking care he looks nice, fussing with his hair and polishing his boots, and while your late father's clothes are sturdy and durable they don't possess a lick of fashionable flair.

A bandana, a vest, leather boots with finely stitched patterns, several blouses... You hardly notice how much attention you're pouring into it when Jimmy chuckles and nods to the pages you're so intently poring over. “Never thought that was quite your style, sugar.”

Your cheeks grow warm. “Oh—No, that ain't it. I've... Well. I got a wanderin’ stranger on my hands, and I feel obliged to him. Helped me out a lot, now that my Pa is gone and all...”

Jimmy's surprise melts into understanding. “’Course. You look like you're doin’ a lot better though—just be careful of strangers.”

“Don't worry. Ain't no one gonna get the jump on me.”

You pick out the rest of your items, and once you're satisfied you have all you'll need Jimmy tells you he'll start loading up the wagon for you. “I'll take a bit, sugar, so feel free to come on back in a while.”

You take the opportunity to sell your furs and take a stroll around Redwood, noting the subtle changes that present themselves after not having visited for a while. The saloon has a fresh coat of paint; there’s a new butcher in town. Stores have swapped out their previous goods for things more currently in style.

Behind one of the storefronts’ windows a fine, dark bowler hat catches your fancy, and you imagine Javier wearing it along with his crooked little grin. You exit the store only minutes later, feeling foolish and yet helpless when you imagine his delight at your gift.

After killing some time in the local saloon you find your way back to the general store, pleased to see Jimmy's loading up the last couple items. He helps you onto the front bench of the wagon, and then you're rattling off. Copper obediently follows behind.

“Saw you got some chicks 'n a rooster, miss. Think they'll do real well for ya...”

Jimmy's small talk is pleasant, and you're almost surprised at how quickly your little homestead comes into view again. It never fails to make you feel comforted, to see the squat little buildings and the garden nestled among the hills.

Jimmy insists on helping you off the wagon again; “You're a lady, I gotta treat you well,” and you allow him with a bemused smile. Only when your feet touch the grass again do you spot Javier from the corner of your eye, holding your shotgun and wearing a much darker expression than you're accustomed to seeing on him.

He slowly steps closer, dark eyes boring into Jimmy's hand still holding onto yours.

“Javier!” you call out with a smile. “It's alright, put that gun away, now. This is Jimmy; the feller I told you about.” You turn back to Jimmy, thanking him again for taking the trouble with the deliveries.

Javier's frown doesn't disappear, however, not even when you gently touch his elbow, asking him to take Copper to the barn while you unload. Jimmy hangs back nervously, eyes darting between you and Javier. He helps you unload quickly, and when you ask if he'd like to stay for dinner he shakes his head.

“I'd best be goin', miss. You take care now,” and with a tip to his hat the wagon rattles off again. You watch him leave, then turn around to raise an eyebrow at Javier.

“Ain't like you to be so unfriendly.”

Javier looks away, an unhappy frown tugging at his lips. “This man is touching you too much.”

You blink. “Jimmy? Oh, he's harmless. Known him for years; he's always been a good kid.” When Javier's frown remains you chuckle, gesturing for him to follow you. “Alright, alright. Come on, let's go inside. I got somethin’ for you.”

That piques his interest. “What is it?”

“Un sombrero,” you grin, then think for a second. “...Algo así.” Ain't really a sombrero, exactly...

“Algo así?” Javier's lips curl upward. “Me estás dando curiosidad.”

“Just wait till you see it.” The cool interior of the house feels wonderful after riding in the sun and you exhale, removing your hat and running your fingers through your hair in relief.

Javier obediently lets you direct him to sit on the couch while you sort through the boxes. When he’s presented with the clothes you picked for him you can hardly take your eyes off of him: Javier's whole face is aglow with delight.

“I might have to make some adjustments to make ‘em fit you well,” you tell him when he holds up his new blouses to his chest.

“Estos son maravillosos!” Javier beams. He's especially taken with the boots, his fingers tracing the delicate stitching. He looks up at you, eyes softening. His smile is a beautiful thing. “Muchas gracias, señorita.”

That damn fluttery feeling in your chest... “Now close your eyes, mister. Got one last thing to complete the picture.”

You're made to eat those words. When Javier obediently closes his eyes it's so tempting to reach out and put a hand to his cheek, to touch a thumb to his lips... It takes real effort to tear yourself away from these thoughts and instead open the hat box, unwrapping the bowler hat from its crinkling, protective paper, and to put it on Javier's head. His hair tickles the back of your hand as you do, and maybe you're imaging it, but you swear there's a little hitch in his breath when your fingertips graze his temple.

He looks every bit as dashing as you'd pictured. “Well, well,” your smile seeps into your voice. “Ain't you a fine-lookin' gentleman. Here's a mirror—open your eyes, señor Javier.”

He does, eyes widening in surprise and then crinkling in happy delight as he sees the hat adorning his head. He turns this way and that, admiring the fine make and material in the small mirror you're holding up in front of him.

“Tell me if it don't please you, and 's no hard feelings,” you reassure him, but that statement is met with such an indignant expression you laugh. Javier gets up from his chair, taking your free hand in his. His mouth curves into a sweet smile, and the fact that it's aimed at you warms your cheeks far too much.

“Cariño,” Javier murmurs, his tone one so gentle as you've not heard before. “¿Para qué es todo esto? ¿Para consentirme?”

You scrunch your nose, brows knitting together. “Them's too many words I don't know...”

To your surprise Javier lifts your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. “You are very good to me.”

You let out a soft little “oh,” and when Javier's gaze on you lingers you fluster, pulling your hand from him and turning away, pretending to be busy with the few supplies still strewn across the kitchen table. “Well, I—I just couldn't bear seein’ you wear your clothes to rags ‘s all.”

All you hear in response is a little chuckle, but it makes you feel entirely too pleased.

—

“Do you go—often? In town?” Javier asks you over dinner. Mashed potatoes, summer salad, smoked rabbit. It's a lovely spread, garnished with the flavours of your little herb garden.

“Not often, no. Why? You miss Jimmy already?” you tease.

Javier wrinkles his nose in distaste, and you laugh. “I do not miss Jimmy.”

“Well, maybe you'll warm up to him. Most folk in town ain't too bad, really.”

“¿Te gusta él—Jimmy?” Javier's tone is casual, almost disinterested. But when you look at him he's awaiting your answer with the watchful eye of a hawk.

“Él es un amigo,” you reply easily. “A friend. My Pa was fond of ‘im too.”

Javier does a little “hm”, then goes back to poking at his food. You nudge his foot with your own, forcing him to look back at you.

“What's the matter? You were so happy earlier.”

“I am happy,” Javier rushes to reassure you. His hand reaches out to touch yours, and when you turn your palm up instinctively to catch his fingers he finally smiles. “Nothing is wrong.”

After dinner and cleaning up you sit outside, side by side. The air is finally starting to cool. Cricket song hums in the air, the dying light of the sun smattering its final red hues on the evening sky. You share a bottle of whiskey between the two of you, exchanging small talk about the garden.

When the conversation trails off you watch Javier, his expression serious and thoughtful, gaze resting on the horizon. Not for the first time it fills you with a strange, sad sort of feeling. He'll leave you here someday, and that day is bound to come sooner rather than later.

“Say,” you speak up. “We should get you a horse.”

It's almost like you want him to leave. Might be better if he did, actually. You're not in too deep, not yet—or so you tell yourself. You can still let him go.

“A horse?” Javier looks at you, smiling with intrigue.

You shrug, trying to appear casual. “Yeah. We could go out ridin’ together if you like.”

“I would like that.”

And so plans are made for a visit to a ranch just outside of Redwood. You weren't expecting to be returning that way so soon, but oh well. Not like it'll kill you.

...Actually, no, it might kill you. Javier's strong arms wrapped around your waist to keep steady when you mount Copper are going to be the death of you. He's already seated just behind the saddle, and the way he instinctively reaches out to help you up doesn't help the stutter of your heartbeat in the slightest.

A puff of his breath tickles your neck, and you're suddenly very glad he can't see your face. Lord forgive you, but his hands...

“Ready?” you ask, your voice coming out slightly higher pitched than usual. And when Javier murmurs “Ready,” close to your ear you have a hard time suppressing a shiver.

Thank God for Copper's easy and dependable nature, because even when you're more distracted than usual by your very attractive cargo your journey goes smoothly. Javier's dressed himself up in his fine new clothes, including his new bowler hat, and he polished his boots till they were shining.

When you arrive at the ranch he slips off Copper first so he can take your hand as you dismount. “Gracias, señor,” you smile, and he grins.

Your playful smiles slip when you see the way the ranch hand that's coming to meet you is eyeing Javier. In response Javier ducks his head, letting his hat cover his face in shadow and keeping his eyes to the ground. His tension is a palpable thing. You give the ranch hand a curt greeting, not missing the way his eyes flick between the two of you with wary apprehension.

“We'd like to take a look at your horses,” you say. Best to move the conversation along quickly, now. “Nothing fancy, for ridin’ 'nd workin’.”

The ranch hand eyes Javier. “For this greaser?”

Javier looks up at him for a second, brief surprise followed by muted anger. Christ. Of course he'd know that word without you having to teach him.

“For my friend. You mind your mouth, boy,” you tell the ranch hand in a clipped tone. The man gives you an odd look. You don't care.

“Alright then... Follow me,” he says, and though he makes no additional comments about Javier, the way the ranch hand glances back at him says enough.

“We'll be fine from here,” you're all too happy to dismiss him when he's led you to the available horses. Then, turning to Javier in a much gentler tone. “Alright, darlin'. You take a look and see if there's any you like.”

The endearment slips out so naturally you surprise yourself. If Javier notices he doesn't say anything; he just nods, focusing his attention on the horses. Poor man. Running from God knows what and then shunned because of his heritage.

You join Javier, watching him walk past the horses with a concentrated little frown furrowing his brow. When he stops in front of a grey-and-white American Paint he finally smiles a little, stroking the stallion's neck. He catches your gaze, and you nod encouragingly.

“Fine breed. Learns quickly. Just like you—but a lot more obedient,” you smile, eyes soft so he knows you're teasing. Javier turns his head to you slightly, the tension momentarily lifting from his shoulders. A little grin curls around his lips, crooking it in that way that lately never fails to make your heart skip a beat.

“Then I will take him.”

He pays for the horse himself, looking proud that he's able to. He shushes and pats the horse gently, telling that its name is Boaz, now, and if he'll be a good horse for Javier he'll get some treats when they get home.

Javier looks so genuinely happy with himself as he rides Boaz you can't bring yourself to mourn the loss of his arms around your waist. This is good; this is a good thing. He has clothes, money, a horse. Everything he needs to get on with his life and leave you behind as a brief but kind memory.

The two of you ride slowly, letting Boaz adjust to his new owner and to you and Copper. You don't talk much on the way home, letting Javier fill the silence with excited chatter about Boaz. The barn will just be perfect for him, plenty of space, and Javier is sure Copper will be happy to have a friend, too, and maybe once Boaz gets used to Javier he can race you, you know, friendly competition, but if he wins then maybe you could make that apple pie again?

“Claro,” you smile, feeling both wistful and endeared with Javier's boyish grin. The way his eyes light up at the promise of your cooking. “...I'm sorry ‘bout what happened earlier,” you add in a much more serious tone. “And I'm sorry if I should've left it to you. Ain't like I think you can't stand up for yourself.”

Javier shakes his head. “It is not a new thing,” he tells you. “Thank you.”

You wave your hand. “My pa always used to say people's people. Don’t matter what they look like—we all get hungry 'n thirsty 'n tired.”

Javier hums, seemingly pulled into deeper thought by your words, and the rest of the way home you ride in silence. You're not sure what's on his mind save for that he seems vaguely troubled, his mind miles away. Must be about his past.

You let him be when you get back, wanting him to have the space without someone prodding at him. He spends a lot of time with Boaz the rest of the day and you busy yourself with your own chores. But you eat together outside in the warm summer evening, as always, even if Javier's still caught in his pensive mood. You don't mind the silence anyhow. You look over the grass waving in the wind, the soft sounds of chickens drifting from their coop. Your eye rests on your garden with a mix of contentment and pride, and absentmindedly you let yourself be pulled into musings of what to plant next and where. Peas do well this time of year.

You startle when Javier starts to speak. “I came to America because I killed a man in Mexico.” You turn to him as he talks. His eyes are set on the horizon, softening orange and reds announcing the end of another day. “Powerful man. If I stayed everyone I loved would die. I was afraid when I got here—I had nothing except fear. I was starving. Weak. ...Alone.”

Javier looks at you, finally. His dark eyes are pained, grave. So that's what happened to him before you found him. You'd wondered, of course. The scar around his neck that he hides with his bandana. His wariness, his guarded gaze when he meets someone new.

So he killed a man. You wonder if you should be frightened of him—beautiful Javier with his sometimes sad eyes, who calls your chickens ‘ladies’ and who hums while he brushes Copper for you; who burns his fingers and his tongue because he's too impatient to wait for your pies to cool, and who fusses over the wrinkles in his blouses.

You can't bring yourself to be.

“I thought I'd die crossing the desert. I thought I'd be killed here—instead I was simply starving because nobody cared.” He puts his plate beside him, the spoon clattering against the ceramic with a soft clink. Reaches for your hand, hesitant, slow. “You cared.”

Without thinking about it you turn your palm upwards to take his hand, and his fingers hold onto you tighter when you do. Compassion and sympathy pinch your brow. “Then I'm glad I found you when I did.”

“You saved my life,” Javier replies. His tone is so soft, and it squeezes your heart. Oh, the soft feelings pooling in your chest—you can't, you shouldn't. You attempt a smile, trying to force levity into your voice.

“And you paid me back ten times over with all the work you done ‘round here.” You hesitate. Try to burn the feeling of the weight of his hand in yours into your memory. “...You're free to go where you like now.”

The way he smiles at you then makes you wonder if he understood what you meant, but somehow you just can't bring yourself to ask.

#javier escuella #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #rdr x reader #rdr2 x reader #javier x reader #javier x you #x reader #javier/you #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella rdr2 #javier escuella x you #javier rdr2

234 notes · View notes

red-viewe · 1 year ago

Text

general lilia x reader thoughts 🔫 (part two✌)

COLORED TEXT IS FAE LANGUAGE (tw: metions of bl99d, swearing)

Part 1 part 3

---

'Fuck my life.'

Here's the tea. You found a half-dead but sexy asf fae on your sidewalk and decided, 'Hey! Let's bring him in, warp him up and fall asleep!' Which was a stupid decision, because now, you're leaning against Mr. Hot Guy's head, pretending to be asleep, because right now, THE FAE GUY IS AWAKE AND HE MIGHT KILL YOU.

After about 5 minutes of awkward silence, this happened.

"I know you're awake."

He said, as he slowly started to get up from the couch. "W-wow, i didn't think you would notice..." God, get yourself together, dude.

"Where am I?" He says, turning to the very sweaty(?) you. God, this man is so hot.

"You're in my house...in the woods, a-and you shouldn't stand up right now, you're still injured.

" You abruptly stand and gently push him down back on to the couch.

"I'm Y/n L/n, by the way... " Mr. Fae still seemed to be om guard.

"Why did you save me? Don't you know about the war going on right now?" He asks in a stern tone (which was kind of hot...).

"Well, war is stupid when you can literally solve everything without death." You say as you walked away into the kitchen.

"...Is that so.." He mumbled.

---

It toke time for the fae to tell you his name, you respected that. You wouldn't tell a stranger your name either. (Expect you did, but we ignore that) Afte a while, he finally said to juat call him Liliy. Being shot in the stomach with an iron arrow, it toke Liliy time to be able to actually move, but it was progress.

Your days suddenly became more interesting, as you spent more time with him, learning more and more about him.

Like how he's insanely good at games, even when he doesn't try, or when he sometimes helps you prepare for the day before you open the bar.

---

"I'm not playing with you anymore." You cry in a joking tone as you lose yet again another game of chess.

"Pft, if you'd like, perhaps you'd desire an easier game? May i suggest rock paper sissors?" Liliy says with mischievous smirk on his face.

"Oh, screw you."

'Is this man trying to poison me?' Was the first thought you had when you opened the lunch Liliy attempted to make for you.

"It can't be that bad..." You say out loud, slightly gagging when you scooped up some of the meal(?) onto your spoon.

---

And...sweet moments, which made your heart beat a little faster and your cheeks warm up.

---

"Sleeping late, beastie?" Liliy said, as he toke some of your hair into his hands and started combing playing with it, making you blush when you felt his breath a little too close.

"Mhm, I'm doing some stinky taxes before i go to bed." You said, writing down information. After a while of liliy playing with your hair, you started to feel drowsy and fell asleep, waking up the next day on your bed, with a half asleep liliy next to you, staring at you with half closed eye lids and a blush on his face.

'How are you so freaking fine?'

---

You honestly did not know when you and the fae started getting so comfortable with each other, but are grateful for your friendship with Liliy.

---

The some of the buildings were set ablaze, others half torn apart, and human bounty hunters were tearing the town apart looking for Lilia Vanrouge. Rumours of the infamous general seeking refuge with someone spread far and wide, wide enough to reach the ears of the royal family. The bounty on his head was more than 9 million thaumarks, and bounty hunters were eager to find the fae.

'Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck' You screamed on your mind as you swiftly ran back to your home in the woods, running from the danger.

"LIliy!" You burst into your home, praying that your fae would still be there.

"Y/n." Liliy was dressed in the armour you found him in, with his gargoyle mask on this head, carrying his weapon. "I have something to tell you, beastie."

"That you're Lilia Vanrouge, I know." You're not stupid. You saw the bounty posters. Bro.

"Are you leaving..?" You silently said, eyes meeting his.

Lilia stepped closer, his voice now low and soft.

"I have to. If I don't I- You- my queen needs me, and it's too dangerous for me t-" You hug him, eyes watering. Lilia's arms gently embrace you, and he kisses your forehead. "I swear I'll be back, my love"

Tears fall down your face, as he slowly releases you and leaves, turning back for one last glance of you.

'Please come back'

Authors note

This one was a bit sad😭 maybe if i finish part 3 i can make some side stories with crack and stuff 😭🙏Would you like that ?🤔

(Also just comment if you want to be tagged if theres a next one)

(Tag list: @anonima-2)

#twisted wonderland #twst x you #twisted wonderland lilia #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia x you #lilia vanrouge x reader smut #lilia vanrouge x mc #lilia vanrouge x you #red-viewe

1K notes · View notes

persevereforahappyending · 1 year ago

Text

This isn't Your Fault (Revenge)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: She turned back to the display case, after contemplating it for a moment she lifted the lid, reaching down and grabbing the knife.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Murder, Torture (I guess?)

Word Count: 7.5k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Enough!” Tara snapped. “We’re kind of on a time limit.” She glared at her sister, Chad, and Mindy. “Come. Don’t come,” she directed at the twins. “I don’t care, but we’re leaving. Now,” she turned to Sam and then began walking towards the door.

She heard footsteps stumbling to catch up to her. She didn’t need to turn around to know all three of them were following her. “We need to meet Gale,” Tara said, still not bothering to glance back at the others.

“Where are we meeting her?” Mindy asked. Sam pulled up her phone showing the location. Mindy’s eyes widened. “Why would we want to meet there?”

“Because it’s the perfect spot to set a trap,” Sam started to explain.

“Who cares!” Tara snapped again. “Let’s take the subway, it’ll be quicker.”

She finally glanced back at the others to see all 3 of them sharing a concerned look. She narrowed her eyes at them, making all three of them, even Sam, drop their gaze to the ground. Her girlfriend was lying injured in the hospital after almost being brutally murdered, they would have to forgive her for being a little impatient, and they needed to hurry the fuck up or Ghostface wasn’t going to be the only one suffering this night.

They made their way to the subway, all of them barely shoving themselves on. Once the doors closed all four of them tensed up when they got a good look at their surroundings. Tara had almost forgot it was Halloween. Nearly everyone was dressed in costume, a majority of them wearing a Ghostface costume specifically.

“How many stops?” Tara asked, glancing around at the Ghostface’s that surrounded them.

“Ten,” Sam answered, shifting closer to Tara as she watched the movements of every Ghostface.

Chad shifted, putting his body in front of Mindy and partially in front of Tara and Sam. Tara could see the fear in his eyes and the way his jaw was locked in place. His hand held onto the pole so tight his knuckles were turning white, but he stared down any Ghostface that so much as glanced their way. Sam moved behind Tara, resting her hand on the pole so her arm was resting around Tara’s shoulder. Mindy and Tara stood there, eyes darting all around the subway, squished between Chad and Sam.

With each stop a Ghostface moved, inching closer and closer to the group. All four of them watched and waited, ready to make a move. Attacking someone on a crowded subway would be a bold move, even for Ghostface, but Tara wouldn’t put it past him. Knowing Ghostface, and their luck, Ghostface would stab at least two of them and be off at the next stop before anyone were to realize what had happened.

Luckily their stop finally came, and they all piled out, lucky to escape without an incident. The four of them quickly made their way down the street to the location they were to meet Gale. They slowed their pace as they approached the alley, it wasn’t dark yet, but the sun had just begun to set.

“Good, you made it,” Gale said, popping out from the alleyway.

All four of them jumped, Chad even pushing Mindy in front of himself. Mindy turned around, slapping her brother hard on the shoulder. Tara glared at Gale, she didn’t have time to almost have a heart attack, she needed to find Ghostface, kill him, and then go back to you and spend the rest of the night apologizing. Tara would spend the rest of her life groveling for your forgiveness as long as she got to tell you Ghostface was dead.

“Are you ready for this?” Gale asked, looking at Sam before settling her gaze on Tara.

Tara nodded. “Let’s make this bastard pay,” She growled out.

Gale nodded, leading them down the alley and through the first set of doors. “Okay, I got everything all setup.” They followed her to the cage where she swiped the keycard, unlocking the metal door, they all piled into the room, waiting for Gale to flip the switch.

When the lights came on Tara’s breath caught in her throat. Gale had found the theater with a shrine to Ghostface and all the killings a couple months prior. She contacted them and they all came to see it. She had discovered it after two boys from Tara’s class had killed their teacher, only to end up murdered themselves. Sam was freaking out that it was Ghostface related but after Tara’s relentless begging and giving the police time to investigate nothing ever happened. No phone calls were made, no other killings happened, there was just silence. Sam was still one edge but without Ghostface coming after them it was hard to believe it was a real Ghostface attacked, it was chalked up to a copycat.

Tara had only been to the theater once and once was enough. She walked the display cases, seeing every gruesome detail of all the past killings. She even saw photos of her own attack, the shirt she had been wearing proudly on display with her blood still staining it. Tara hated the theater and wanted everything in it to burn, but if Ghost had a headquarters this was the most logical spot. It was also the spot they could most likely surprise him, setting up their own trap and catching him off guard.

“What’s the plan?” Chad asked, running his fingers across the glass display cases.

“We lure Ghostface here and then we kill him,” Tara said bluntly.

“We created a kill box,” Sam explained, looking at Tara with concern. “Once he steps foot in here, the doors close, and no one can come in or go out.”

“So, we’re bait?” Mindy said slowly.

“You didn’t have to come,” Tara snapped. She knew her friends didn’t deserve her attitude, but she couldn’t help it. She just needed Ghostface to arrive trying to kill them so they could turn the tables and kill him instead.

“So, what do we do now?” Chad asked, trying to diffuse the tension.

“We wait,” Gale said.

Everyone nodded, moving to separate corners of the theater. They all had visual of each other, but they didn’t want to be next to each other, they knew it wasn’t time to talk. Sam made her way up the stage where the case with Billy Loomis’s cloak hung. Tara watched her for a moment before her eyes drifted down to the display case in front of her. It was her attack, crime scene photos of her kitchen and hallway decorated with blood. Tara tapped the glass, flashing back to that night.

Tara ran a hand down her face even though she hadn’t begun to cry. She shook her head, getting back into the right mindset, she couldn’t focus on the past, the only thing that mattered in the moment was avenging you. She glanced back up at Sam when a ring broke out making everyone jump as it echoed through the room. Everyone followed the sound, their eyes all landing on Mindy.

She slowly pulled out her phone, looking at the screen. “It’s Anika,” she sighed in relief. Tara held her breath though, waiting for Mindy to answer. When she had been attacked, she thought she had been talking to Amber, but it was Ghostface, who turned out to be Amber but that was beside the point. Until Mindy heard Anika’s voice there was no telling who was on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” Mindy asked. “Hello?” she scrunched her eyebrows. “Babe, I can’t hear you.” She took the phone away from her ear looking at the others. “I don’t have signal, let me take this outside.”

“Wait,” Sam said, taking a step forward.

“It could be important,” Mindy argued.

“I’ll go with her,” Chad said.

That ended the discussion. The twins wandered back out of the room, hoping to get a better signal. Tara looked to Sam who stood in the middle of the stage. Something didn’t feel right but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She turned back to the display case, after contemplating it for a moment she lifted the lid, reaching down and grabbing the knife. Tara’s hand shook as she gripped the handle before tucking it into her pants, it was the same knife Amber had used to stab her and it was going to be the same knife she used to kill Ghostface.

The second Tara closed the lid of the display case the lights went out. “Tara?” Sam called. Tara stumbled making her way in the direction she knew the stage to be. The lights flipped back on and her and Sam ran to each other, gripping on to each other’s arm as they stood in the middle of the stage. They spun around in a circle looking for who had turned the lights off.

Gale started to make her way up the steps towards them when a Ghostface appeared behind her. “Watch out!” Sam screamed, pushing Tara behind her. It was too late, Gale barely had time to turn before the blade was imbedded into her shoulder. Gale stumbled back down the steps, putting a hand to her wound to stop the bleeding. She turned, facing Ghostface but they quickly kneed her in the stomach, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head into the side of the stage.

Tara gripped Sam’s arm, and Sam gripped her hand back just as tight. They backed up, neither of their eyes leaving Ghostface who stood at the bottom of the steps, his head tilted, staring at them. The lights went out again and the only thing Tara could hear was her and Sam’s breathing. Then there was loud banging from the outside door and what sounded like Chad screaming. That’s when Tara realized it, they didn’t set up a trap for Ghostface, he set up a trap for them. Tara and Sam were locked in the theater with Ghostface while Gale was unconscious and bleeding out, and Chad and Mindy were locked out on the other side of the door.

Tara’s eyes darted all around the room, it was pitch black, any light that had been on was now out. She couldn’t make out anything, she couldn’t even hear the shuffling of feet. When the lights came back on Ghostface was standing right in front of her, head tilted, staring into her with those empty black eyes.

Tara jumped, letting out a gasp, as she gripped Sam’s arm, pulling her back. Sam spun around to see Ghostface in front of Tara, she let go of Tara’s hand, giving Ghostface a hard shove. They stumbled back, dropping their knife in the process. Sam quickly scooped it up, holding out towards Ghostface as he was left kneeling on the ground.

“Girls!” came a voice.

Tara and Sam turned, searching for the voice, Sam making sure to keep the knife pointed at Ghostface. They saw Quinn’s dad, detective Bailey entering through the gated door. He had his gun drawn and his head was looking from side to side as if he was checking the place out.

“How did you know where we were?” Sam asked. Tara moved closer to her sister, eyeing Bailey suspiciously.

“Kirby called,” he said, still moving his gun as he eyed his surrounding, slowly making his way to the girls.

“Kirby?” Sam furrowed her brow. Tara glanced at Sam, having the same look, they never told Kirby where they were going.

Before they could question him further another Ghostface appeared, knife raised and running up behind Bailey. “Look out!” Sam shouted. It was just the distraction the Ghostface kneeling before them needed, he reached up, ripping the knife back out of Sam’s hand.

Sam moved, elbowing Ghostface in the mask, causing him to drop the knife again. They both dove for the knife, their fingers nearly grazing it when Bailey fired, his bullet flying into the floorboard next to the knife. Sam jumped, looking back up at Baily. Ghostface grabbed the knife, turning around to point it at her, just as she had been doing to him. The Ghostface backed up slowly, joining Bailey at his side, as the one that had been running towards Bailey stood on his other side.

“You?” Sam asked, the shock evident in her voice.

“Yeah, me,” Bailey said, shrugging with a grin. “You’ve probably put together the rest,” he slapped the shoulder of the Ghostface on his left.

The Ghostface reached up, lifting off his mask to reveal Ethan. Both girls’ eyes widened. Tara shouldn’t be surprised. You had been attacked, she knew it wasn’t her sister, Mindy, Chad, or Gale. The options of who Ghostface could be were pretty limited and if Anika was still at the hospital with you that only left… Tara’s gaze shifted to the still masked Ghostface on Bailey’s right.

“Hey, roomies,” Quinn said with a smile as she revealed herself as the final Ghostface.

“What the fuck!” Sam said, looking between the three of them.

“You think you can mess with our family and just get away with it!” Quinn snapped, waving her knife around.

“Family?”

“They’re still not getting it,” Ethan said, rolling his eyes. “My name isn’t Ethan Landry! Isn’t that right dad?” he looked towards Bailey. The three of them breaking out into a laugh.

“Dad?” Tara questioned, out of everything, that surprised her the most.

“It was easy to dupe the roommate lottery and get Chad.”

“It was just as easy finding your roommate ad,” Quinn added. “I mean who wouldn’t trust a girl whose daddy is a police detective.”

“Look, whatever you think I did, I didn’t!” Sam shouted, as if she was trying to reason with them. Tara was sure Sam was just processing all this new information though. “I don’t know what you read about me online but I’m not a murderer!”

“Yes! Yes, you are!” Quinn shouted, her movements quick as she stood before Tara and Sam, angling her knife down at them. “You killed our brother.”

“Your brother?” Tara questioned.

“You stupid girl,” Ethan groaned, glaring at her as if the fact that Tara couldn’t figure out their motive was the most irritating thing in the world.

“You’re Richie’s family,” Sam said, her eyes widening with the realization.

Bailey nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Yeah, and you took him from me.”

“He was psychotic,” Tara spat out, barely dodging the knife Quinn swung at her.

“He was incredibly passionate about the things he loved,” Bailey said. “And maybe I indulged him a little too much. But I helped him build all this,” he raised his hands at their surroundings.

“This was all his?” Sam asked.

“His legacy,” Bailey sighed, admiring the memorabilia that reminded him of his son, even though all the items belonged to serial killers or their victims. “Which is why you have to die here, surrounded by what he loved the most.”

“What even is your grand plan?” Sam held up her arms, confusion written all over her face.

“It’s not enough to just kill someone anymore,” Ethan said. “You have to assassinate their character.”

“It’s as simple as posting a few conspiracies on reddit,” Quinn smirked. “Re-writing the story.”

“That was you?” Sam couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.

“It was too easy,” Quinn giggled. “The rest just fell right into place.”

“Those two film nerds even helped out,” Bailey said. “We had to kill you before them, so we kill them, make it look like Ghostface is back but don’t do anything after to get you to let your guard down.”

“Which you did,” Ethan said, pointing his knife at the girls.

“Then we go after what you care about most,” Bailey snarled.

Tara’s eyes widened, instantly filling with tears again. “Y/N,” she whispered.

Ethan broke out into a devilish grin. “I have to say, I’ve never had so much fun,” he said, giving a little jump of excitement.

“It was you?” Tara looked at Ethan, though her eyes were filled with tears a darkness lingered underneath, all her anger slowly bubbling back to the surface.

Ethan shrugged with a smirk. “I volunteered.” He fiddled with the knife, spinning it around with his fingers. “Nearly begged for it actually.”

“Why? What did she ever do to you? How did you even find out about us?”

“Because you’re not as smart as you think you are!” he shouted, shaking his head to regain some of his composure. “It was an accident at first, I was at the library late and caught the two of you leaving all cuddled up,” he wrinkled his nose at the memory. “You don’t get to be happy,” he shook his head. “You don’t get the girl when my brother is dead!” he gritted his teeth, staring at her with a wild look in his eye.

Tara clenched her jaw, glaring at Ethan. Tara and Sam ended up standing back-to-back as Bailey, Quinn, and Ethan began to circle them. Sam kept her eyes locked with Bailey’s while Tara’s sole focus was on Ethan. Quinn stood in the middle, smiling from ear to ear, she’d occasionally swiped her knife, barely missing Tara, and Sam.

“You know, I was meant to give her the whole experience,” Ethan taunted. “The phone call, all of it,” he wiggled his knife. “You were on the phone with her. I was disappointed, thinking it would be too easy. She put a up a fight though.” He pointed his knife, as if he approved in your survival skills. “She still screamed like a little bitch when I beat her though,” he said with a maniacal laugh.

“Fuck you!” Tara screamed, making her move, she rushed forward, shoving him into one of the display cases, shattering the glass and sending the memorabilia to the floor.

Sam went for Bailey, grabbing his wrist as he fired three more shots. They struggled, pushing each other back and forth into display cases and mannequins.

Quinn gripped her knife, swinging wildly, getting a lucky shot and slicing Sam across the arm. Quinn went to stab Sam, aiming for her heart when Tara grabbed a brick randomly lying on the ground, swinging it right against Quinn’s jaw. Tara could swear she heard a crack, she didn’t stop to look at Quinn though, she grabbed her sister’s hand and took off, ducking through a door as Bailey began firing at them again.

“What’s the plan?” Sam asked, breathing heavy.

“We kill this fucking family once and for all,” Tara said, shooting a glare at Sam so her sister knew she meant it.

“Split them up,” Sam said, nodding along. “We’ll pick them off one by one.”

“Ethan’s mine,” Tara practically growled out.

“Find them!” they heard Bailey shout.

Tara and Sam quickly jumped behind the counter of the old snack bar, getting into position. The second the door they had come through swung open they pushed the popcorn machine over, sending it crashing into Ethan. Sam jumped over the side of the counter, grabbing the old glass gumball machine. As Ethan shook out the stale popcorn from his hair, slowly pulling himself to his feet, Sam used both hands to swing the gumball machine down onto his head, shattering the glass as it came into contact with his skull. Ethan crumbled to the floor knocked out cold.

Sam or Tara didn’t have time to finish him off before Bailey and Quinn were rushing through the door after hearing the commotion. Tara gave Sam one final nod before taking off down the hallway behind her while Sam ran down the other hallway in the opposite direction. Tara slammed her body into the walls as she took the turns to sharp, she glanced back to see Quinn following her. There was no sign of Bailey, meaning he most likely went after Sam.

Tara got to a staircase, taking the steps two at a time she made her way up to the second floor. She pushed through a set of double doors, stumbling out onto the balcony seating. Tara turned facing the door she had just come through, she watched the doors, ready for Quinn to come through them. She heard a slight creak to her side though, turning just in time to see a flash of silver, she dropped to the floor, rolling away.

Quinn had come up using the other stairs, on the opposite side of the balcony. Tara moved with caution, keeping her eyes on Quinn and the knife in her hand as she slowly backed away, stepping up the short set of stairs that led to the seats. Tara could see the blood dripping from Quinn’s mouth from when she smacked her with a brick, Tara couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Quinn gave her a toothy smile, showing that Tara had knocked out a couple teeth.

“You know I wanted to kill Y/N,” Quinn said with a bloody smile. “But dad thought Ethan could use the confidence boost.” She rolled her eyes “I might have had a bit more fun with her before her demise though,” Quinn wiggled her eyebrows.

Tara stood before Quinn, gritting her teeth, and snarling like a caged animal. Quinn swiped her knife back and forth, aiming for Tara’s stomach but Tara moved, dodging each swipe with ease. When Quinn swung her knife, bringing it back the other direction Tara reach down, gripping her wrist and then rushed forward. She pushed Quinn back until they both tumbled over the railing, crashing down onto another display case.

Quinn scrambled around, searching for the knife she dropped. When Quinn got ahold of her knife, she brought it up, ready to stab Tara. Tara grabbed a broken shard of glass, ignoring the way it ripped into her palm as she impaled it deep into the side of Quinn’s neck. Tara’s eyes held no emotion as she stared into Quinn’s wide eyes, her face falling slack. Quinn dropped her knife, bringing both hands to her neck. She tried to stand but quickly crumbled back to her knees, then collapsed the rest of the way onto her side, eyes lifeless and a shard of glass sticking out of her neck.

“No!” Bailey screamed, firing his gun at Tara but the clip was empty. Sam came out from the shadows, tackling Bailey back, crashing through the movie screen.

A door creaked and Tara crawled away from Quinn’s body, making sure not to be seen. She made her way over to the electric panel, being just out of sight but having a clear view of Ethan stumbling back into the theater, a large gash on his head from where Sam had hit him with the gumball machine. Ethan had his knife up, ready for a fight, but slowly brought his arm down as he saw his sisters body lying in a bloody mess.

“Tara!” Ethan screamed. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he spun around, looking everywhere. A phone rang cutting through the silence, making Ethan jump. He pulled out his phone, rolling his eyes when he saw the screen before he brought the phone to his ear.

“Hello, Ethan,” Tara said, using the Ghostface voice changer she had swiped from the broken display case.

“Cute trick,” Ethan said, kicking at some of the broken glass on the ground. “Too scared to fight me yourself?”

“Aww, don’t whine,” Tara taunted. “I thought you liked playing games. I just want to play a game with you.”

“You know the whole point of the Ghostface call is to scare the person, let them know there’s someone watching them, but not letting them know who it is or where they are.” Ethan spun around the middle of the room, waving his knife around. “I know who you are Tara,” he raised his hands in the air.

“But do you know where I am?” she asked then killed the lights, all except the, what would be emergency lights, around the perimeter of the room.

“Come on!” Ethan shouted, spinning around in circles.

Pulling out the knife she tucked in her jeans, Tara tightened her grip around the handle, quickly darting towards Ethan, shoving the knife into his side, underneath where the bullet proof vest she knew he was wearing ended. Ethan howled in pain, slashing his knife blindly but Tara had already disappeared, ducking, and weaving her way around the few display cases and mannequins that remained.

“You’re such a coward, hiding in the shadows,” Ethan said, putting pressure on his side with the hand that held the knife, while the other hand kept the phone near his ear. “What will your girlfriend think?”

“A coward?” Tara repeated. “Like dressing up in a costume, making scary phone calls, hiding every part of yourself from your victim?”

“Come out and face me you bitch!”

“With pleasure,” Tara said, the Ghostface voice not coming from the phone anymore but right beside Ethan. He turned to stab her, but she ducked, driving the knife into the opposite side she had before.

Ethan hissed in pain, gritting his teeth, his grip slowly loosening on the knife until it clattered to the floor. Tara walked around to finally stand face to face with him. Ethan held both arms to his sides, trying to put pressure on both wounds. “Aww, not enjoying the game?” she asked, holding the voice changer up to her mouth. Ethan stumbled forward, reaching out for her with a bloody hand but she easily side stepped him. She dropped the voice changer as she walked closer, digging her thumb into his wound, making him open his mouth wide as he screamed in pain.

“Who’s the one choking on their blood now?” Tara said as she brought the knife down into Ethan’s mouth, giving it a final twist before ripping it out.

He coughed up blood, spraying it across her face, she didn’t care about that though. As Ethan stepped back, stumbling to the floor, Tara followed. She tilted her head, watching him like the prey he was. She got down on her knees, straddling him, so she had a better position as she lifted him up by his cloak. She watched as tears filled with the realization as to what was about to happen. Tara tilted her head to the other side, watching as he struggled, gasping for breath, only for his throat to be filled with blood.

She spun the knife in her hand before getting a firm grip again. A darkness took over her eyes as she stared down at Ethan, before shoving the knife through one cheek and out the other. His body jolted against hers, she had to put her free hand on his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the floor, as the tears finally started falling from his eyes. She just as quickly ripped the knife back out, smirking down at him as he gurgled on the blood, just like he had said you were going to do. She watched as he cried, dying in the same way his brother had, the brother he had been so adamant about getting revenge for.

She looked to the side when she heard some commotion. Detective Bailey had stumbled back into the room, he gripped his shoulder, as he spun around with his gun in his injured arm, waving it around all directions. A few seconds later Sam pushed through the curtain, approaching him slowly, with an unreadable expression. Bailey aimed his gun, pulling the trigger multiple times, but the clip was still empty. Sam walked up to him, swinging her knife and slashing Bailey’s hand, causing him to drop the gun.

“You’ll never get away with this!” Bailey shouted.

Sam tilted her head, she glanced towards Tara. If Sam was surprised by the position Tara was in, she certainly didn’t show it. She glanced down at Ethan underneath Tara, a ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I think we already have,” Sam said. Bailey turned, seeing Ethan bleeding out on the floor with Tara on top of him. Two of his children were dead, one was dying, and he was about to die himself.

Bailey stepped forward, as if he was going to come for Ethan, as if he thought he could actually help his son. Sam stalked up behind Bailey, wrapping her arm around the front of him and lightly dragging the knife across his throat. It wasn’t deep enough to kill him instantly. He reached for his throat with his bleeding hand Sam hand sliced. Blood slowly started to gush through his fingers, running down his arm. He turned, looking back to Sam in shock. He stumbled past her, and she looked on, flipping the knife around in her hand, as if she was a cat playing with a toy. Sam gave Tara one last look before she followed after Bailey, impaling the knife in the side of his back, watching him crumble to the floor.

Tara let out a small sigh before turning her attention back to Ethan. “First your brother,” she said with a light smirk. “Then your sister and now your dad.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Don’t worry,” she said with sweet smile, “you’ll be reunited with them soon.”

Tara used the tip of the knife to tap Ethan’s chin, making him tilt his head back. She ran the knife down his neck, making sure to only graze him and not break the skin, yet. She dragged the knife down until she got to the cloak. Then she dragged the knife over the cloak and down his chest. She could feel the bullet proof vest underneath his cloak. She tapped the knife against his chest, right underneath where the vest stopped.

Ethan coughed, spitting up more blood. Tara grabbed Ethan by the hair, yanking his head up hard. She inched the knife up higher, so it was now above the bullet proof vest, she pushed it down, knowing it was piercing his skin when he gritted his teeth. Tears fell from his eyes, he tried to look at her with hatred as he gritted his teeth, pretending to be strong. He couldn’t mask the pain though, as the knife dug deeper into his chest he winced, blood dribbling out of his mouth.

“How’s it feel,” she whispered, leaning closer so she was staring into his eyes, “being so helpless?” her eyes raked over his body in disgust. “Knowing no one is coming to save you?”

She let go of Ethan’s hair with an aggressive fling, letting it drop back to the ground with a hard thud. Ethan coughed, his whole body shaking with the struggle. His head flopped to the side, looking in the direction Bailey and Sam had been. Tara didn’t look, she knew Sam had it handled and based on the sob that racked through Ethan’s body she could make an educated guess as to how their fight turned out.

She tilted her head with an almost bored expression. After giving an Ethan a second to see his dead father she rolled her eyes, removing the knife she had been pressing into his chest. A hiss broke out through another sob. He turned back to Tara, looking up at her with his broken expression. She tilted her head to the other side. She wondered if this is how you looked up at him as he chased you around your house, as he tried to kill you, as he took a baseball bat to your ribs. Tara clenched her jaw, tilting her head down as she gripped the knife tighter despite the blood coating the handle making it slippery.

Tara gently ran the knife from Ethan’s chest back up to his neck before stopping. She gave the knife a few light taps on his neck before slowly sinking it in. Ethan’s eyes widened, his head jerked forward as he gasped for breath, only managing to gurgle up more blood. Tara tightened her grip on Ethan’s cloak, pushing down harder on his shoulder as he struggled against her. His arms flailed, one of them weakly coming up to grab at her arm but she just shrugs him off. When the knife was fully in Ethan’s neck he opened and closed his mouth a few times, the blood pooling in the back of his mouth before the struggle finally ended. His arm loosely fell back to the ground, his mouth left open, blood still trickling out of it, and his eyes wide open as Tara watched the light finally leave them.

Tara ripped the knife back out of Ethan’s neck, pushing her hand off his lifeless body to stand back up on her own two feet. She stood over him, looking down at her work, she didn’t necessarily feel happy, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t satisfied at having got her vengeance for you. Ethan had hurt you; he had attacked you; he had almost killed you. Tara had no mercy for him or the rest of his family. They deserved everything that had happened. Ethan deserved it. He would never hurt you again, Tara made sure of that.

Tara stepped over Ethan’s body, looking over to her sister who was in a similar position, standing over Bailey’s body. Tara looked down, the knife and her hand both coated in blood. She dropped the knife, letting it fall to the floor with a small clang and made her way to her sister. She stood behind Sam, looking past her to see Bailey dead, a knife sticking out of his eye. Sam turned to face Tara, they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before giving each other an approving nod.

“You, okay?” Sam asked softly, her tone not matching what the both of them had just gone through.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Tara said tiredly with a humorless chuckle.

*********************************

As soon as they got back to the hospital Tara made her way to your room. After the fight, Chad and Mindy broke down the door, pouring in with a team of cops. Tara and Sam had been taken out of the theater, immediately being given medical treatment, both ended up needing stitches, Tara for her hand and Sam for her arm. They watched as the medics carried Gale out on a backboard, she had a pulse, but they were rushing her to surgery. While Tara was going to see you, Sam was going to be at Gale’s bedside, waiting for her to wake up.

Tara made her way through the hospital; she had run into Anika at a vending machine while she was getting a bag of chips for you. Tara sent Anika back down to the lobby to be with Mindy, telling her she’d bring you the chips. Anika had handed her the chips, mumbling a, good luck, before making her way to the elevator. Tara sighed once she was outside your room, rubbing her hands on her pants. She had made sure to clean up before coming back to the hospital, but she could still feel Ethan’s blood soaking into her hands.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before pushing down on the handle, opening the door to your hospital room. Tara’s eyes flicked up, her mouth open, an apology at the ready when she froze. You were out of bed. You were standing right beside the hospital bed with one hand lightly grazing the edge for balance. But you were out of bed. You were standing. Tara couldn’t be happy at seeing you standing on your own feet again because her eyes were too busy raking over your body.

You were in the process of putting on a shirt, you had your arm with a cast and your head in but were clearly struggling with the other arm. Tara’s eyes stopped, focusing on your stomach and your ribs. For once she wasn’t checking you out, she couldn’t take her eyes off the bruising. Both sides of your ribs and your stomach were painted black and blue. Tara brought a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears, she had seen the baseball bat on the floor, she knew you had broken ribs, but she never imagined what lay under the hospital gown.

She must have let out a gasp or a sob, she wasn’t sure, but she did something that drew your attention. Your head quickly snapped to her. You clenched and unclenched your jaw, your eyes flicking from her face to the floor, you were mad at her. Tara knew you would be mad at her when she left, she knew you’d worry, she deserved your anger, but she didn’t regret her choice because it meant avenging you, it meant you were safe, and more importantly it meant making sure the person who did that to you would never do it again.

“Would you mind?” You asked softly, clenching your jaw, and looking at the floor as if you hated having to ask for her help.

Tara nodded quickly walking over to your side, tossing the bag of chips onto the table next to the bed. When she stood next to you, she got a better look at the injuries, some of the bruising was more purple and a dark red, wrapping around ribs towards your back. The front part of your body was a darker purple, dark shades of blue, looking almost black. Where the bruising ended, she could see the faintest impression of the bat. Her hand reached up, subconsciously wanting to touch the injury, wanting to hold and bring you comfort. She didn’t though, she kept her hand moving until it reached up, grabbing your shirt. She lifted your shirt, allowing you to maneuver, not without wincing, and get your other arm through the sleeve. Tara helped pull your shirt down, making sure not to touch the bruising that was now covered.

You gripped the sheet of the bed tighter, your eyes pinched shut as you let out slow breaths, wincing with each one. Tara held her hands up, ready to catch you if you started to fall but making sure not to touch you. She couldn’t take her eyes off your abdomen, now knowing what lied underneath your shirt. Out of the corner of her eye she saw you loosen your grip on the blanket, your body stretching as you stood taller. You slowly let go of the bed all together, making sure not to move to far from it, as you turned to fully face Tara. You didn’t say anything, Tara could feel your gaze burning into her until she slowly lifted her eyes to meet yours.

“I’m mad at you,” you whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back.

“Do you have any idea,” your voice cracked, your eyes filling with tears. “Any idea how worried I was?”

Tara nodded, a few of her own tears starting to fall. “I’m sorry,” it was her turn for her voice to crack. “I needed to make sure they’d never come after you again.”

“You could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten killed,” your voice went higher, making you quickly wince in pain.

“I know.” Tara looked into your eyes, seeing all the worry and love you held for her. She watched as your eyes scanned up and down her body, darting all around her face for any potential injuries. “I’m sorry,” she sniffled.

Y/N reached down, taking Tara’s bandaged hand into her own. “You did get hurt,” you whispered.

“Technically I did this one to myself,” Tara said with small smile, trying to lighten the mood, it didn’t work.

You continued to hold her hand, gently running her fingers over the bandage. Considering how her last Ghostface encounter went Tara would argue she came out above everyone this time. Sam got a slash on her arm from Quinn that she needed stiches for but that was it. Tara on the other hand only got a gash on her hand because she grabbed onto a piece of broken glass to kill Quinn with. If Tara had just used the knife she had, she wouldn’t have had any injuries, but in the moment, she was feeling quite theatrical, and the shard of glass just felt more dramatic.

You reached up, gently turning her head to the side to brush some hair behind her ear. “Are you okay?” you asked. She nodded, wiping at her eyes and nose. “Don’t ever do that again, okay?” You stared her down, until she nodded. “Not without me,” you whispered.

Tara let out a shaky breath, nodding again. “You weren’t exactly in a position to come with me,” she tried to joke, letting out a chuckle that turned into more of a sob.

She heard you let out a small laugh then a louder groan. “I told you, no laughing.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again through more laughter.

“Did you get them?” you asked, your voice getting quieter, almost hesitant.

“Yes,” she said seriously, making sure there was no questioning, that she knew for sure they were dead. “We got them all.”

“Who?” you whispered, if Tara wasn’t standing right next to you, she would have missed it.

“Detective Bailey, Quinn-”

“Shit,” you breathed out, cutting her off.

“And Ethan.”

Your eyes widened at that, first in shock, then scrunching up in confusion. “Ethan? Why?”

Tara ran a hand through her hair, letting out a long breath. “Apparently Ethan is Bailey’s son and Quinn’s brother.”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s not all.” Your eyes widened at that. “They were Richie’s family.” Tara dropped her gaze to the floor, ashamed that you really were attacked for knowing her. Tara and Sam killed Richie and Amber and then Richie’s family came after them as revenge. It was all Tara’s fault, if it wasn’t for her, you never would have been attacked.

“Hey,” you said softly, tilting her chin back up to make her look in your eyes again. “Come here.”

Tara wanted nothing more than to come closer to you, to hug you and never let you go but she didn’t. She stayed where she was, she didn’t want to hurt you. She didn’t want to cause you any more pain than she already had.

“Please come here,” you said again. “You can hug me, I want you to hug me, you just need to be gentle.” You looked at her with those puppy dog eyes that always made her cave. “Please, I could really use a hug.”

Tara slowly inched forward. She knew you really wanted to hug her, to comfort her. She knew that you were only saying you needed the hug because you knew she could never turn you down if you asked, saying you needed it, even if she knew it was a lie. That’s why Tara caved, making her way closer to you until she was standing close enough for you to wrap an arm around her. She stood still, letting her arms rest at her side as you wrapped your injured arm around her neck as well.

“A hug is meant to be a two-way thing,” you mumbled.

She slowly lifted her arms, bringing them around you, trying to make sure they were positioned high enough, so she didn’t hit any of your injuries. She felt you tense up and suck in a breath, it made her freeze. She was about to pull away, clearly giving you a hug was a bad idea, your ribs were all kind of messed up, you could barely put on a t-shirt, the last thing you needed was someone hugging you. Before she could pull away though you relaxed into her, your shoulders sagging with relief. The hug was a little awkward since Tara couldn’t press herself against you, she made sure her body wasn’t actually touching yours, keeping a couple inches between the two of you in case someone shifted slightly, she didn’t want any accidental touching, she didn’t want you in any more pain. Despite the awkwardness, Tara had to admit it felt nice. It was exactly what she needed.

You didn’t seem content with the distance though because you pulled her closer, burying her head in your shoulder. You let out a hiss as her body brushed against yours, but you quickly melted into her embrace again. Tara finally gave in, burrowing her head further into you as she clung to your shirt, afraid that if she stepped away, you’d disappear.

Tara wasn’t sure where it came from, but she let out a sob. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into your shoulder, staining your freshly clean shirt with tears. You shushed her, starting to run your fingers through her hair. “I thought I lost you,” she rasped out.

“I’m here,” you whispered into her hair, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“I love you.” Tara gripped you tighter, inching her feet so they were touching yours. She was pushing herself as close to you as she could get without putting more pressure on your wounds. You made a mistake in asking for a hug from her because now she was never going to let you go.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #this isn't your fault

782 notes · View notes

unreleasedwrites · 6 months ago

Note

I LOVED the gitae fic it was so good😔🙏 We need part two where Maybe he feels pity for us and takes us out to eat or smth, you do the magic im bad at writing lmao 🤧

Thank uuu♡♡♡♡

A Planned Coincidence (pt. 1) (pt. 2)

“Where’s the fun in spoiling it? How about I show you instead?”

summary: You’ve been stuck in the same warehouse you woke up in about three weeks ago, and no matter what plan you would make to escape— it’s no use and you’d only get in trouble. One of the times you did try with Gitae around, he had to clean up after you and the topic of your friends came up and so you begged to meet them. Unfortunately, it didn’t go as planned and you ended up ignoring Gitae for days. Eventually, he decided he’d take you out in hopes you’d finally speak to him.

character(s) included: Gitae Kim x fem!reader

cw: swearing, implied kidnapping, very toxic, same warnings as my first gitae fic (part 1) , yandere gitae, mentions of blood, death, kissing, suggestive, nicknames, cartel mentions, this is FICTIONAL, abuse, mentions of drugs, guns, his axe, implied cannibalism, a bunch of crimes so beware dark and possibly disturbing content

unwrapped on: Tuesday Morning, April 30 2024

wrapped up on: Friday Evening, May 03 2024

published on: Friday Evening, May 03 2024

“You tired of playin’ these stupid fucking games yet, doll?” Gitae said in an agitated tone, as he held your bruised hand and covered it in bandages. Afterwards, he planted a light kiss on top.

You remained dead silent and only looked towards the ground of the warehouse you were trapped in. You accidentally injured yourself in another one of your escape attempts, so here Gitae was, taking "care" of you once again with some condescending mockery.

“Well? Now you’re gonna go and play the quiet game with me, huh?” He said with a slightly more irritated expression on his face.

“Look at me when i’m speaking to you.” He said and he grabbed your chin to meet eye to eye with him, and you could tell he looked angry. He tightened his grip on your already bruised hand, causing you to yelp in pain from how much pressure was applied.

“Gitae.. I-I—, I was wondering if yo—” You were trying to speak when a few rounds of open fire suddenly interrupted you. You flinched and a visibly frightened expression was evident on your face. Gitae saw this and took you into his arms to face him, while on his lap so that he could straddle you and stroke your hair.

“Sorry about the noise, little girl. Just part of my men’s duties, I’ll let them know to keep it down though,” he said in a less irritated tone.

“Back to where we left at earlier.. Why do you keep tryna fucking escape?” He said in a slightly more raised tone.

“To leave..? Isn’t the answer to that question already kind of already a given?” You replied.

“Leave?” He scoffed, “and just where exactly would a little girl like you go? If I can recall, the friends you came to Mexico have gone missing.. And technically, you’re now known as a missing person, just like your four other friends.”

“Gitae, I hate to have to ask but— Did you have anything to do with those disappearances by chance? You’re speaking as though you know all about it and from what I’ve seen in the past few days..”

He cut you off and laughed, “did I? I thought that was already a given from when I took you here, was it not?”

“I think I get it now, I’m next.. Aren’t I?” You replied.

“What? When the hell did I ever hint something even close to that? I was talking about your little friends, they’re alive, but let me just tell you now that they won’t be for very long if you keep continuing this bullshit of trying to leave me.”

“They’re alive—? Where are they?! Can I please, pleaseee see them, pretty pleaseee??” You begged with your usual pouty face.

“It’s hard to say no when you say it like that,” he said as he held your cheeks together with his hand, “if you’re good for the rest of the day, I might consider it. How’s that for a deal, doll?”

“Deal!” You exclaimed and he tapped his cheek with his finger a few times while saying, “but first~?”

You then tried to give him a kiss on the cheek but he swiftly turned his head so that your lips would land on his instead, and it worked. Despite your situation, you turned into a blushing hot mess and Gitae simply laughed at your reaction, thinking “how cute.”

A little fast forward into that same day, the sun was finally setting, so you may finally get to see your friends again. You waited patiently in the warehouse, sat on top of some boxes, reading the books Gitae gave you to pass time while he was out doing who knows what.

Some kind of bell or alarm started to ring and from what you’ve been observing in the past three weeks, that alarm means that it’s around 8 or 9 in the evening, where most of Gitae’s “men” go out to do unspeakable acts that you’ve witnessed at some point.

Usually, This was around the time you’d try escaping the warehouse because everyone was way too busy to watch over you and most of the men there have left the warehouse, getting on some sketchy vehicles with all sorts of equipment, weaponry, and drugs. The remaining people were either asleep or high in the clouds.

But when you start to see the men leave, you’d usually start to see the second batch of men arrive with Gitae. You’ve noticed a pattern where half of the men go out with Gitae during the day and the rest of the men go out during the night and what similarity both batches shared was that they all came back bloody, smelling really odd, and sometimes Gitae would bring you what he calls a souvenir,— human flesh from one of his victims. Anytime Gitae would do that, you just ignored him for the next hour or two, depending on just how much his patience is willing to endure from you being a so called “brat.”

But, it was around 8 in the evening when the bell had rang, and now it’s past midnight. Yet you haven’t seen or heard from Gitae at all.

Reluctantly, you finally resorted to asking the men around to which they only replied with stuff like, “just give him another half hour and he’ll be here. He’s probably just ran into some trouble with a gang fight or somethin like that.”

One of the men was nice enough to give you some paper that you used to make little bookmarks for the various books you had.

Gitae usually takes you to sleep with him in one of the compartments of the warehouse that led to a bedroom, but since he wasn’t here and you had no idea on how to get in there, you fell asleep on the floor beside some boxes.

You woke up the next morning when you overheard a bunch of men who sounded like they were arguing. And weirdly enough, you were on the bed in the hidden compartment of the warehouse, with Gitae fast asleep beside you. His breathing was steady and he looked tired so you decided to just look around and take mental notes of what the room looked like. It was very different from the rest of the warehouse and was pretty cozy. Gitae’s usual leather jacket was hung on a chair nearby and you noticed some of his belongings on the table. One of which, was a gun. It had you thinking if you wanted to risk your entire life, jumping off the bed to get the gun which was on his side of the room, and shoot him blank.

But that was stupid, what about all the men outside? Gitae told you he isn’t a fan of silencers on his personal guns. They’ll definitely rush over thinking that you in fact, did something— because they all know that Gitae wouldn’t dare hurt you to such a foul extent.

So, you scratched that thought and looked at the door, where does that lead? You thought to yourself. Before you could even continue thinking as you were sat up on the bed, you heard Gitae suddenly start speaking in a raspy morning voice, “what are you up to, little girl? Shouldn’t you still be asleep in my arms?” You turned over to see Gitae, with messy morning hair, not in his usual state of a few loose strands with his hair slicked back.

“Nothing, I was jus-” You stopped for a moment when you saw Gitae sit up and reach for his gun, “doll, could you riddle me this,” he said.

You nodded in response and he spoke as he loaded his gun, “did you try to escape in any form and at any time yesterday?”

He looked you dead in the eye while readjusting compartments of his gun, you lost focus and started to stare at his hands fiddling around with the gun to which he suddenly snapped his fingers, “my eyes are up here, what did I tell you yesterday?” His eyes narrowed and you responded with, “to always look you in the eye when you speak..?”

“Correct. Now, answer.” He slowly finished prepping his gun.

“I didn’t, you could ask the men out there for proof of that.” You said.

“I already did, they told me you were finding me last night? Is that true, my pretty doll?” He said as he caressed your face.

“Well, you were taking much longer than expected to arrive.. A-and you did tell me that if I was good for the rest of the day, I’d get to meet my friends..” You said hesitantly.

“Right.. About those little friends of yours,” he spoke as he placed the gun on the table and your eyes widened, “what about them..?”

“Hoho, do you wanna find out for yourself?” He said with a smirk on his face.

“Gitae.. What do you mean..?”

“Where’s the fun in spoiling it? How about I show you instead?”

“Fine then,” you replied.

Gitae stood up from the bed and so did you, it was still about 4 in the morning so it was cold outside of the bedroom, which is why Gitae put his leather jacket on you since you weren’t wearing much.

He unlocked the door with some sort of key that he took from a high shelf you couldn’t reach for yourself. Before he even swung the door open after unlocking it, he took a blindfold and placed it on you first, something that typically happens whenever you guys were going to leave the bedroom. From there he just carries you to the main open area of the warehouse to which he then takes the blindfold off once you’ve arrived around the usual boxes you stay at.

“So.. Where are they??” You asked visibly confused, tilting your head to the side as you looked up at Gitae.

“Silly girl, they aren’t here.. They’re at some other location we’ll be driving to,” he replied as he looked at one of the men who usually drove you and Gitae around. To which that man immediately left, starting up one of the cars that were outside.

“Awh, but it’s so early.. It doesn’t even look like it’s 5 in the morning, why would you suggest we go now..?” You pouted as you looked at Gitae, because of how sleepy you were he had to hold you with one of his hands to keep you from falling.

“Don’t worry, sleeping beauty— It’s a few hours to get to where they’re at, so you could just sleep on me in the meantime.” He replied as he carrier you once again and took you to the car.

He positioned you on his lap to face him and you settled your head in the crook of his neck, slowly drifting away. He gave you kisses on the top of your head and stroked your hair while you gently caressed his shoulders. You fell asleep easily and stayed in the same position.

Eventually, the car parked at some hidden area which appeared to be in a secluded part of a forest. You were still asleep when you guys arrived so Gitae started pressing kisses all over you. You started feeling ticklish from all of it and woke up.

Not even sure how you guys got here because you didn’t see a road to drive on but you didn’t question it.

“Good morning doll~ We’ve arrived, would you like to finally meet your little friends?” Gitae asked you, who was still sleepy and had woken up from a good dream, still not processing anything.

You simply nodded and clung onto Gitae’s shirtless body because you were too tired to even try getting up and walking.

Gitae carried you with ease and walked towards what appeared to be a pretty run down building, but what it specifically looked like was a blur to you because of how out of it you still were at the time.

An awful stench was evident from the exact moment you were in the building. A loud screech coming from a girl was heard all throughout the large building, echoing amongst the floors. The voice sounded a little too familiar, almost as if it were one of your friends producing a vile screech, a desperate scream for urgent help. The echo suddenly came to a stop without repeating the rest of the noise. Gitae tried to assure you that was someone else but it was no use, you were in an environment you’ve never been in before, hearing all sorts of things. You were terrified and started to both panic and cry, while you were still in Gitae’s arms. He started to get irritated with how your current state was, he even threatened to hit you if you didn’t stop screaming and crying, trying to get away from him. You ran off into some other part of the large building, hiding from him. At first, he was annoyed but decided to play your little game of hide and seek. But, couldn’t find you and so he started to punch different walls, some of which collapsed in an attempt to find you easier and to get you out.

He couldn’t take it anymore and pulled out his axe, he said that you had exactly 5 seconds to reveal yourself or this wouldn’t end well.

“This is a stupid fucking game, Y/N. 5,” he started his countdown, “4,” and you knew better than to disobey, so hesitantly “3,” you started to leave your hiding spot to reveal yourself, “2,” before he could even reach 1, you were on your knees behind him, sobbing.

“Gi-Gitae, please..” You sniffled, “I already have gotten a good idea of what you did with them, so please.. I don’t need to see it for myself.”

He scoffed, “after you just ran and hid from me? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so.” He grabbed you by your hair harshly and dragged you to the basement floor. And that’s where you saw another nightmare right in front of you, from the scene of the group of men who attacked you, to your own closest friends, all dead.

Except one of them, she was your closest friend in the entire group and she was completely unharmed. But had to closely witness all that was done to the other girls. She was tied up with chains and from what you know, her voice was the noise you heard earlier.

Which had you wondering, why did her screaming suddenly stop? But instead of focusing on that, you looked over to Gitae who has never looked so angry before. His grip on your hair was only becoming tighter as you tried pleading with him.

You were terrified to know that in any second, Gitae could literally crush your skull with his bare hands if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Gitae suddenly let go of the grasp he had on your hair and looked down on you, “I’m letting you know in advance that what happens next is thanks to you being such a brat.” He then struck his axe at your friend, multiple agonizing times while the one man that was there forced you to watch, holding you at gunpoint and purposely turning your head in the direction of both Gitae and your friend.

Gitae looked back at you after he struck your friend with his axe so many times that she’s no longer recognizable, you were a sobbing, pitiful, and distressed mess. You were screaming at him, begging him to stop, all the while trying to break free from the man’s harsh grip on you but it was no use and you couldn’t do anything at all.

I won’t go into too many details but it was extremely gruesome and gut wrenching. By the time Gitae finally decided he was finished, he threw the axe at your direction, purposely missing by just an inch to slightly scar your neck (since you were moving around a lot, it just barely scraped the side of your neck).

You yelped, Gitae then took a part of her flesh, and bit it— but unlike the last time, he ate this entirely and licked his fingers clean. He then spoke out “clean this place up, (insert name of man who was holding you).” To which the guy nodded and finally let go of you, you fell immediately to the ground and continued sobbing, you were twitching at this point from how terrified you were.

Gitae then looked over to you, he’s seen you upset but he’s never seen you this upset before. He looked back at the girl he had just mauled and at the other girls that were laying dead on the floor. That’s weird, he was starting to feel— bad for you?

Gitae spoke with someone on the phone and after, he carried you to the car. You never stopped sobbing and you were trembling as Gitae had you on his lap, facing his blood scattered face and body. He was trying his best to comfort you but you were ignoring him. Eventually, the car started to move and you knew this was gonna be a long ride, but you just kept on sniffing while your head was nestled in between the crook of his neck. He took the hint that you really weren’t gonna talk to him at all, so he stroked your hair with his unstained hand while you silently sobbed, clinging onto him so tightly that it left marks on his body. He also bandaged up the tiny scar you got coming from his axe.

A few days had passed and you still hadn’t spoken to Gitae no matter how many times he tried or how much he threatened you.

He was fed up, but he had an idea that might just work. He decided he’d take you out for dinner at one of the places that had gambling addicts so no staff would care. He hadn’t told you all about his plan yet but he had some guy book a reservation and he went out to buy you a little gift. You didn’t know of any of this because you couldn’t understand Spanish so you were just reading books in the corner.

He went out to buy you some clothes that he was badly hoping you’d like. He bought you more sleepwear and a cute outfit that you could wear on your little date with him. He bought some more things you mentioned you like, like some more books he knows nothing about.

He arrived back at the warehouse at around 5:30 in the evening and asked you to come with him, he blindfolded you and brought you to a bathroom. It was much nicer than the usual bathroom and you were assuming that this was another compartment of the warehouse.

He told you to shower, and you nodded in response. But, he was just standing at the doorway, staring at you. So you just stood there.

“Well?” He rose a brow, “I thought you wanted a shower, what are you doing just standing there?”

You gulped and finally spoke for the first time in days, “d-do you really.. have to watch..?”

He looked you up and down, “either I watch or join you, take your pick.” You remained silent, you didn’t want either of that.

He scoffed and put the blindfold on you once again, you could hear him fiddling with his belt and clothes rustling. After, he started to undress you as well, disposing of your clothes in the trash.

He turned on the running water in the bathtub and while it filled, he was doing some things but you couldn’t see so you had no idea. He took you into his arms and the next thing you felt was pure water, you haven’t showered in a while so this was a bliss. He took your blindfold off and to your surprise, you were on top of him in the bathtub. He gently sunk you into the water, and laid you on his figure, showering your hair with water.

He then applied different products on your hair and massaged your scalp. after he finished washing your hair and body, he started fondling around with your body.

“Your skin is so soft, doll,” he said as he played with your boobs. You lightly moaned from what he was doing and he smirked, “you like that, don’t you?” You subconsciously bucked your hips in response which caused him to twitch down there. You could feel his dick on you and he started aggressively kissing you. Things escalated and you ended up having to take a second bath.

“Doll~, I forgot to mention it because you riled me up so much earlier that I lost the chance to— butt, we’re going out tonight and I bought you some clothes.” Gitae said as he took out some unfamiliar clothes from the shelf and started to dress you while he was still in a towel.

After you were fully dressed, he smiled at you and commented, “you look adorable, just like a doll.”

Afterwards, he got dressed and was finally wearing something other than just jeans. He was wearing black pants and a formal shirt. You thought he looked handsome in his outfit so you commented, “you look handsome, Gitae,” you giggled. He chuckled and planted light kisses on the top of your head.

You guys then went out and arrived at some nice and flashy building. It was weird at first, you couldn’t possibly fathom why he would do this. Either way, you just went it.

“Well?” Gitae suddenly spoke as you were sat across from him, in a nice restaurant.

“Thank you,” you replied as you looked around the secluded spot you guys were sat at.

Gitae sighed, “still not happy?” He frowned.

You simply looked at him, pouting. To which he pouted back at you mockingly.

The food eventually arrived and Gitae wanted you to try some of his rare practically live ass steak, so he fed you some of it with his fork. You made a dissatisfied face and he laughed at your reaction. He loves the way you react to absolutely anything, he finds it adorably irresistible.

“Thank you,” you said as you were about halfway done with your meal.

“I don’t care for words, you silly little girl. How about you just show me your appreciation after dinner?” He said with a smirk.

You didn’t take the hint and so you asked, “how?”

He laughed at your response, “I’ll give you a better idea once we’re in the car, and once were back in bed, you continue wherever we left off in the car.” Your eyes narrowed until you finally understood what he meant to which you looked at him with a pout while you were chewing your food.

“What kinds of food do you like?” Gitae suddenly asked as he looked at your food then at you.

You shrugged, “I’m not really picky, but I do have my preferences and dislikes.. For instance, that steak you’re eating or any sort of steak.”

He looked at his food, “it’s delicious, how could you not like it?”

“We have wayyyy different diets, I’ve seen you eat raw meats of all sorts you bastard.”

“Awh, how am I bastard?” He pouted, but deep inside he was amused and enjoying this.

“Because of your question about food! I suddenly had a flashback about my friend, whom you took a bite of!” You said, somewhat sarcastically because you know how moody Gitae is and you didn’t want him to get angry at you again.

He just laughed, “I remember that, she tasted alright too, I should’ve had seconds.” You rolled your eyes and he was only more amused and said, “but because of your whining and puffy eyes, I had no choice but to leave as soon as I finished the job. Such a pity.”

“Hey, would it kill you to have some remorse?” You said as you picked up some meat with your fork and lifted it up to his mouth.

“I don’t really like this, but it seems like something you’d like.” You said as he was chewing what you just gave him. He would never admit it, but you feeding him made him feel something.

“It tastes good, I thought you said you weren’t a picky eater?”

“I’m not,” you said as you grabbed more of that meat on your fork and fed a bunch of it to him. He was genuinely so happy inside and his amusement turned into butterflies because for once, you weren’t scared of him and he for some reason, cared about that pretty badly.

Your guys’ dinner date went on like normal, exchanging words and actually getting to know each other.

Eventually you felt the need to use the restroom so you mustered up the courage to ask permission to go.

“Gitae,” he turned his gaze over to you and mumbled in response.

“Could I use the women’s room, please?”

Gitae looked around, “I’m trusting you don’t need me to make sure that no stupid attempts of leaving will happen?” He asked sternly.

“Yes, I promise.”

“Fine then, go ahead but don’t take too long.” You nodded in response and excused yourself from the table.

And just as you said, you did go to the women’s room. And just as you promised, you came back right after. While you were making your way back to the table, you saw that Gitae was approached by two guys who he seemed to have known from somewhere.

You got back to the table and the two men that Gitae was talking to looked over to you. They looked to have been working in the casino area of the building.

One of them turned back to Gitae and said, “I see now why a guy like you is brought to a place like this. I’m guessing she’s your girlfriend, right?” You all looked at Gitae who replied with a smile, “yes, she is.”

“Damn, you’re one lucky guy. She’s gorgeous from top to bottom!” One of the guys exclaimed as he placed his hand on your shoulder, rubbing it intensely. Gitae stared at his hand then at him.

How dare he lay his hand on something I own? He’ll pay for even daring to look at what clearly isn’t his. Gitae thought to himself.

“Well, we’ve gotta get going now.. But you two enjoy your night, especially the pretty lady over here,” one of the guys said as he stroked your hair and then proceeded to walk away.

You turned over to Gitae who looked like his veins were popping out of his skull and his aura seemed to have changed. He then looked back at you and smiled, “don’t mind them, I’ll make sure to deal with them some other time. But not tonight, tonight’s supposed to be our night.” He tried to keep his composure.

“Right.. Who were they anyway? And must they be so touchy..?”

“They’re friends with some of the people I know, but they won’t be for long.” He said as he took the final bite of his food and placed his fork down.

It’s safe to say that those two were never seen again, and the police didn’t even open an investigation about the disappearances when it happened. Soon, the news about those two guys went cold and if anything, any trace or information of them was wiped out entirely.

notes: I did more than the request and added way more before the actual dinner date because im gonna be busy in the next few weeks so idk when I can post again, and because i have a bunch of Gitae requests, I thought I might as well and this is long asf, also i’ve got another gitae fic in progress 😭😭

- With or without proper credits, please don't try to steal or claim any of my works as your own

I genuinely appreciate opinions, feedback, likes, and reblogs

Once again, I hope this isn't too bad for a request, and l'Il be doing more characters in lookism so feel free to request!!

288 notes · View notes