#forensic scientist!reader

[p-taryn-dactyl]

way down we go: the before (i)

the series: (i) (ii) (the aftermath)

a/n: hi! i really liked writing for this AU so I decided to give a little backstory! this is the story of the first meeting/date of reader and Agatha who is in her less than legal hobby phase. hope you enjoy!

word count: 2k

warning(s): reader is a little bit oblivious...or is agatha a mastermind?; cursing oh no; mentions of stalking; did i mess up the timeline i myself created? maybe shh; also guys, it feels weird to write about the police when im not their biggest fan...eh it makes a good AU so; theres a murder! but who did it 👀 ; made up forsenics; hehe i have a plan; i kinda just throw MCU names around as characters in here sorry

You were convinced the universe had a vendetta against you as you rushed through your morning routine. You had slept in forty minutes past your alarm, much to the distaste of your neighbors, who had been the ones to wake you with pounding knocks on your door.

"Why do I have so many fucking creams and serums?" You muttered angrily about the purchases your past self had bought as a celebration of getting the job. The new job that you were now dangerously close to running late to your first day. Finally your frustration came to a head and you finally just started on your makeup, pausing your blending and swiping to pull on pants and a sweater. A sweater you realized was on backwards and inside out once you were in your car and in front of your regular coffee stand. You had pulled the sweater off and was in the process of turning it right side out when you realized you had caught the eye of one of the coffee stand customers. You also realized you were only in your bra and your car windows were far from tinted. Heat rose to your face and you sheepishly pulled your sweater on over your head. If you ever had done the walk of shame, you imagined it would feel like how you did as you got out of the car. The customer who you had made eye contact with smirked at you as you made your way to join the coffee line.

"If I known I would be getting a show, I would've brought more cash."

While her voice held a joking tone, you saw no malicious intent in her blue eyes. Dear lord you had just flashed the most beautiful woman in the world. Forget your new job, you were just gonna run away to Argentina and change your name. You gave a small laugh, embarassment still coursing through you. The woman seemed to realize and bumped your shoulder with hers.

"Oh come on now, don't be shy. I liked what I saw." She whispered into your ear and made even more heat rise to your cheeks. The blatant flirting made you genuinely smile and a small burst of confidence had you responding.

"I guess the next logical step is to buy you dinner...or coffee! This coffee, I don't know why I jumped straight to dinner." You trailed off to a mumble, the burst of confidence gone. But the woman just looked at you with a fondness that you didn't know someone could have for a stranger.

"You'll offer me dinner before you learn my name?"

Your eyes widened and your hand shot out in front of you for a handshake.

"I'm sorry, that's just rude of me honestly. First I flash you and now this!" You started to pull your hand back, wondering why you even put it out but she grabbed it, shaking your hand softly. Her eyes shone with humor as she told you her name.

"Agatha Harkness, lovely to meet you dear."

You smiled but it quickly fell as you noticed the time on her watch and how long the coffee line was.

"Oh shit, I have to go. Guess I'll push through the day without a caffeine boost."

Agatha laughed, a sound you knew you wanted to hear more of in the future.

"Dinner?" You anxiously asked as you fumbled with your car keys, unlocking your car. Agatha nodded, cocking her head to the side as she smiled at you.

"I'll meet you here around 6? We can walk to The Bistro just around the corner."

While it was a question, Agatha spoke as if it was a demand. You smiled and nodded, internally hoping Agatha wouldn't take you up on your buying dinner offer. The Bistro was a delicious restaurant but was known for prices that normally took weeks saving up for. You waved at your date, climbing in your car with a giant smile on your face. Before you shut your door, Agatha called out.

"See you later, Y/N!"

It didn't occur to you that you never told her your name.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha watched as you drove away, a smirk pulling on her lips. Finally. She had been keeping tabs on you for weeks, the new forensic scientist who was the new obstacle in her way. Over the weeks, she memorized your schedule, where you frequented and when. This coffee shop was a constant, a perfect place for an impromtu meeting. But even with all the information she collected about you, she didn't expect to genuinely like you. You were adorable, both in your mannerisms and how you spoke. If she didn't already know your history, she would be more concerned about the profession you had chose.

She also didn't expect you to ask her out, an interesting development. Agatha was prepared to inch her way into your life as a friend, slowly coercing information out of you as the friendship progressed. But this, this dinner would would change everything.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The universe definitely had it out for you.

Almost the second after you situated yourself in your new lab, after meeting the team and thankfully clicking with them, a call came into the precinct.

A body had been found.

The excitement of your first officical case made the whole process become a blur. But reality became stark the second you crossed the yellow tape. Red and blue illuminated the air, flashing in your eyes as you made your way to the body. Almost immediately, you were grabbing the arm of Detective Jimmy Woo, the man who had been kind enough to let you have the last of the coffee pot.

"This isn't where they were killed. This is a body dump."

Jimmy, quick to grab his notepad, started jotting down what you said before looking up at you, a quizzical look on his face.

"How do you know?"

You slowly started circling the body, Jimmy following you as you explained, careful to not disrupt the photos Darcy, the CSP, was taking.

"The way he's positioned," Jimmy looked like he was about to ask how you knew the sex but you held up a hand as if to say you'll come back to that, "His arms are up against his chest and so are his legs, rigor mortis sets in after death, meaning since there's no outward indicators on the scene of a struggle and from what flesh is left, it looks like the wrists and ankles were tied, creating the position he's in now. If I'm allowed to make an educated guess, he was stuffed in the back of a vehicle of some sort and died while back there. He probably was dumped when whoever put him in the vehicle realized."

Jimmy just stared at you and you fidgeted in place. The excitement of being in a crime scene made you break a rule you learned while completeing an internship at the Jeffersonian. Never make assumptions about how the victim died, wait until you have evidence for a hypothesis. But Jimmy just nodded, an impressed look on his face as he taped his notepad with his pen.

"We're lucky to have you as our main analyst, Y/N. Welcome to the team."

Jimmy went to talk with the couple who had found the body while fishing. If you had to guess, you would say they would be staying away from seafood for a long time.

Along with your new forensic team, you inspected the scene, collecting and bagging everything and anything that seemed out of place. Finally, it was time to head back to the lab.

Dental records of the victims skull gave you an identification quickly.

Vis Maximoff, 32, reported missing two weeks ago by a neighbor, who had chosen to stay anonymous. You were surprised to see a pending case attatched to his name in the system, one that had been open for almost a year. Vis's wife, Wanda, was reported as deceased under unusual circumstances but all evidence detectives had to even start thinking about arresting Vis was either circumstancial or non-existent.

You passed on this information to Jimmy, who had a confirmation from the coroner, Hela, that your theory of how Vis died was correct. Fibers found on his body matched those of the floor of a 2017 Buick Verano. He died of asphyxiation, meaning either he had no air in the trunk of the car, or something had been covering up his nose and mouth, keeping him quiet and ultimately leading to his demise.

The rest of the day went by in what felt like a second. Soon, it was coming close to your date with Agatha and you had no time to change. Darcy proved to be your savior as she walked into your lab without knocking, quickly clocking the panicked look on your face.

"Girl are you okay? I mean you did have to look at a dead man for hours so I guess that could be it but I'm also going to guess this is about something else because you keep picking at your sweater."

You looked up at Darcy, forcing yourself to stop plucking at your clothes.

"Maybe you should be a detective," you joked, Darcy snorted as she leaned on the table across from you, silently prompting you to explain, "It's just, I have a date with someone I met at the coffee stand and she's gorgeous - I mean really pretty, and we're going to a super nice place and I'm pretty sure I have dead man juice on my pants."

Darcy shuddered before coming around to loop her arms through yours.

"Well thankfully, this department has plenty of clothes used for undercover assignments and stake outs. I'm sure we can find something that screams 'FUCK ME' in time for your date."

If you had pearls, you would have clutched them. Darcy just rolled her eyes at your dramatic reaction. She pulled you up, dragging you to the giant walk in closet where the undercover clothes resided.

"Ok don't give me that scandalized bullshit, do you or do you not want her to fuck you?"

You murmmured under your breath as you looked at the racks of clothing. Darcy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. You sighed, making eye contact with the brunette.

"I mean I was mostly hoping that she even likes me after this date, but yes, that would be nice."

Darcy laughed, shaking her head as she joined you in looking for an outfit.

"You're a funny one, Y/N. This woman better not break your heart because you just gained yourself a best friend and- ew no not that dress, it makes you look like a corpse." -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha tapped her foot against the concrete as she waited for you. A small part of her wondered if you had forgotten about the date that was made so quickly, and she hated how that thought made her stomach sink.

"Agatha!"

Your voice called out as you turned the corner, looking slightly out of breath as you walked over to her as quickly as possible. You came to stand next to her as Agatha's eyes raked over you, taking in the dress Darcy and you had agreed on.

"Oh I don't know if we can go into the restaurant like this." Agatha said while slightly shaking her head. Your smile fumbled as you looked down at the dress, surprised at how much you ended up loving it.

"Oh I thought it was ni- I don't- Why is there a dress code it's breaking?"

Your panicked flurry of words made Agatha come to stand close to you, cupping your face in her hands and lifting slightly so you could make direct eye contact.

"I just don't know if I'm okay with everyone staring at my date."

You rolled your eyes jokingly as Agatha pulled away, swatting at her shoulder lightly.

"You scared me! Now if anyone is going to be staring, it's going to be at you. Did you literally jump out of my fantasies?"

You only realized what you had said once you saw the growing smirk on Agatha's face.

"Fantasies huh? We only met this morning and you're already fantasizing about me?"

You felt heat rising to your face, a seemingly normal occurence around Agatha.

"Let's go to The Bistro! Probably a long line to wait in, should get to that!"

Agatha wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close as she whispered in your ear.

"This is going to be fun."

a/n: hihi! God I love this AU! This and The Aftermath parts of Way Down We Go are going to be two parts each, and then there's something else i have planned that hopefully y'all enjoy too!! thank you for reading!

[bigtreefest]

The Rainmaker Masterlist

A Mob! Steve Rogers x Forensic Scientist! Reader Series

Part of the Outta Nowhere AU

Main Masterlist

Series Summary: You’re just trying to do your job, solving crimes and running tests. It doesn’t help, though, that a certain ‘business man’ keeps showing up, a little too curious about your work

1. Fix Your Shoelaces

2. Cooks in the Kitchen

3. Pick Up The Pace

4. Splash Zone

5. So That’s What It Means

6. Storm Warning

7. Help the Bear

8. Never Be Sorry

9. Shortcut

10. Waste of Lime

11. Luke Warm

12. Alone Together

13. How About Pizza?

14. Cold, Then Hot

15. Banana Pancakes

16. Your Man

17. I Know You Do

Drabbles & Extras

Getting Along (ask answered)

Decks vs Honeybee Character Distinctions

How the Outta Nowhere AU Chapters line up

Conflict Resolution (ask answered)

Woman In Black (Future Halloween)

[neverthatsirius-jo]

november recs <3

— bucky barnes.

cold libraries create warmer hearts by @elvenrin

↳ fic a bit on the longer side (which i love <3) writing this is reminding me that part two is already up and i haven’t read it yet. librarian!reader x history major!bucky. cute, cute fic and steve’s and natasha’s appearances are the best ofc

— james potter.

unrequited, terrifying series by @aurynsia

↳ only read the first two chapters but i really wanna continue the series since it was a really sweet secret admirer!james fic <3

sunlight by @sun-kissy

↳ love a good friend to lovers confession moment and who better to execute that than san?? perfection <33

overheard that she was nineteen by @g1rld1ary

↳ this is for the people that somehow end up crying on every birthday. comfort fic <3

our names in the paper by @g1rld1ary

↳ do yourself a favour and read this, and then go on gia’s blog and read everything she writes cause she’s just that amazing, yk. 10k words of early 2000s romcom vibes and the best dialogues ever. witty and will have you giggling and kicking your feet.

i hate you series by @dreamingofmarauders

↳ haven’t read all of it but cute enemies to lovers james x reader <3

epiphanies over hotpot by @foodiegoogie

↳ loveliest fic written by none other than my twin rese! :D (established relationship <3)

— joel miller.

clay pigeons by @siriuslylantsov

↳ lovely fic, written by a lovely person. hadn’t read any joel fics in a while and him in this one is just 🤌

— matt murdock.

staring right through me by @elixirfromthestars

↳ went through a matt phase and this fic was perfect. go give mel’s blog a look especially if you like reading bucky fics!! <3

— remus lupin.

untitled by @iamgonnagetyouback

↳ honestly this was a very sweet fic and it stole more than a couple smiles from me <33

untitled by @siriuslylantsov

↳ will leave you wanting to take care of remus after a full moon. lovely <33

— sirius black.

bags series by @777heavengirl

↳ so silly of you if you like sirius black and you haven’t read this series yet!! friends to lovers, what more can you ask for? writing is top notch too <3

haircare routine by @siriuslylantsov

↳ pretty sure this was the first fic i read from ace and it had me GIGGLING. cutest thing <3

— spencer reid.

olive theory by @siriuslylantsov

↳ cute little short blurb <3

september rain by @parfaitblogs

↳ has there ever been or is there ever gonna be a jo’s recs without lia on it? well, probably not. cute comfort fic about spencer comforting reader when there’s a storm.

making the bed by @parfaitblogs

↳ another comfort fic with lia’s gorgeous writing <3

kissing in the rain by @catssluvr

↳ cutest fic about well... what the title says. it will leave you with the unquenchable need to dance with spencer under the rain.

slow it down by @reidmania

↳ this fic was the comfort i needed back in november at the stage i was 😭. 100% recomend, the writing is beautiful.

untitled by @parfaitblogs

↳ for some reason it took me the longest while to finally read this fic. forensic scientist!reader and a great fic, but again, read all of lia’s works. or else.

north star by @parfaitblogs

↳ comforting spencer after a nightmare fic <3

state of grace by @parfaitblogs

↳ genuinely loved this one so much. friends with benefits and a bit of avoidant!reader. lia, i love your dialogues. i think i’ve said that a thousand times <3

back to fic recs list

[parfaitblogs]

ive got quite a few... but we will start off simple and with something ive been DAYDREAMING about for a while

so reader is a new forensic scientist that started a lab in office for easier analysis of evidence (garcia reasonablism and best friendedness obviously) and earlier seasons reid likes to go in and hang out with her often and just be with her and they are both idiots in love and the first kiss is super rushed and akward; TEETH ROTTING FLUFF

i am too cryptic i fear but i will sell my left kidney for this fic PLEASE

spencer reid x forensic scientist!reader. fluff. 1.4k words. s1 spence!! descriptions of a case (typical cm stuff). std discussion? sorta? it's about a victim. reader doesn't have one don't worry. they're nerds your honour. 

a/n: i am SO sorry this took me so long?? writing fluff is not my strong suit (clearly). i researched bacteria for this fic. and std's. if penelope garcia looked up my search history she would ask why i'm asking about how to treat chlamydia. if the science talk is wrong, no it's not this is MY alternate reality. also i am but a wee acting major i know nothing about science? ANYWAYS thank u for the request angel it was so fun to write i hope i did it justice ♡ 

"Hey... I brought coffee."

Your head lifted from the computer screen you had been staring at for the past hour and a half, blinking your eyes to readjust to a light that wasn't blue — you were a big believer in warm toned overhead lights or nothing, and it was your first order of business upon getting a lab in the Quantico building. 

Your eyes softened upon recognising the man in your doorway, and your hands outstretched towards him to take the paper cup from him. 

It was a particularly gruelling case — a man putting victims through a meat grinder (charmingly so) meant your ability to positively ID victims based on... well, anything you'd usually ID them on, was out of the question. You were down to tampered with blood samples, and you were getting nothing. 

"Angel. Sent from heaven, I swear," you said, taking a sip of the warm, sweet (because anybody who drinks coffee black should be locked up) beverage that would help you in the long run. Spencer Reid's lips twitched into a smile — anxious, like the rest of him usually is whenever he's in your lab — and he dropped his gaze to the floor with a small shrug. 

"I thought you might need it. I know it's hard. This case," he said, and you nodded your head with an affirming nod.

"Tell me about it," you mumbled, spinning around in your chair, back to your computer, waving him over. "See this?" you pointed to the list of findings in one of the samples.

Your breathing hitched when you felt him behind you, not expecting him to be so close, his own breath audible by your ear. 

He hummed quietly as he read through the list, and you turned your head to the side to look at him. His lips were pulled into a frown as you watched him register everything — and God, was he pretty. "Yeah... Salmonella, Enteritidis, Listeria... they're all bacteria you can find in chicken. Raw chicken, to be precise. Did they send you chicken blood by mistake?" 

"That's what I thought," you said, snapping out of your Reid-induced-haze, and clicked at your computer until you pulled up another list. "But then I found these as well; Streptococcus mutans, Porphyromonas gingivalis, Fusobacterium and Lactobacillus. From the same sample. And I cross-checked it with all of them, and they're all like that. So I sent that to Garcia and asked if she could do some looking into butcher shops in the area, and she came up empty. So now I'm at a loss."

"Weird," he murmured, leaning further forward over your shoulder to stare at the screen a little more intently, and you found your breath hitching at it. Again.

"What do you see?"

"Chlamydia trachomatis."

"Oh. Yeah, all of the samples have it," you explained, and he nodded his head, before turning it to look at you. 

"Well, what do you do when you have a sexually transmitted disease?" he asked.

"Me? I don't—I don't know. I've never had a—" you cut yourself off when you saw his lips twitch into a smile, and your brain caught up with what he had just said, and your lips parted in an 'o' shape in realisation. "You'd go to your doctor."

"And if they all have it, then that means that—"

"—it's the UnSub whose got it," you cut him off, eyes lighting up as you sat up straighter. "Oh my God, I don't know how I didn't make that connection. Spencer Reid I need to reiterate that you are an angel sent from the heaven above, I could kiss you."

His eyes went wide, and his entire being froze, followed swiftly by you yourself freezing too, words you let spill past your lips registering a second too late. 

He stared at you. You stared at him. It was an awkward game of who would look away first, and it went on for hour long minutes. You needed to clear your throat but refused to, your lips opening and closing as you searched your brain for something — anything — to say to break up this tension.

"Are you serious?"

It was a meek whisper, and had you not been so hyper focussed on his lips, you probably would've missed it. You forced your gaze up to his eyes, catching the red tinge on his cheeks, mirroring your own. You decided if the one in a billion chance of a black hole swallowing the earth decided to happen now, you wouldn't complain.

"I mean, no," you force past your lips. A sentence you soon sorely regret when you watch a flicker of what you recognise to be hurt flash across his face. Maybe your brain made that expression up. Maybe it didn't. If it did, it was too late to consider that option, because you were already rambling again. "Unless you want me to be serious. In which case yes, I am totally serious. If not, then I'm not."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and an embarrassingly nervous laugh left your lips. 

"Yes. I'm serious," you finalised. Because at least if he found that embarrassing and didn't feel the same back, you could kick him out of your lab and avoid him until you manage to swap units. Or move halfway across the world. Whichever came first.

Neither needed to come first, it seemed. Because his tense body shifted, turning to face you, his own eyes seemingly locked on your lips, the same way yours were only minutes prior. 

"Is it okay if I..." he trailed off, a hesitant hand reaching up to your face, waiting for your confirming nod before his fingertips relaxed on your cheek. You weren't even kissing him yet, and you already felt that nervous-excited mix pooling in your stomach.

He was in the same boat as you, his own breathing hitching when you didn't pull away instantly from his touch. But then he simply stared at you, for maybe a minute too long, because an exasperated sigh left your lips before you could stop it.

"You know, you actually have to put your lips on mine to kiss, Spencer," you say, and though your intent wasn't to fluster him, you did. 

"Yes, I—um, I know. I've just never... what if I screw this up?" he stammered, and your lips pulled into a smile. 

"Worst thing you can do is be a bad kisser."

"That's embarrassing."

"Just a little," you agreed with a nod, watching his face fall, and you laughed at the expression. "I'm kidding. It's not that hard, and you're good at everything."

"Not this."

"You don't know that."

He fell silent, and you knew you had won the verbal argument — he was certainly still disagreeing in his mind, but he was always good at picking his battles. 

But you knew he was never going to kiss you first. Not when one hand was flexing weirdly by his waist, unsure of what to do with it, and he was so awkwardly holding one cheek with the other. 

It was the only reason why you placed two palms on his own cheeks and pulled his face towards you. He let out a shocked yelp that had you laughing for only a second, cutting the sound off short with your lips on his. 

Spencer Reid was in fact good at everything. 

He was hesitant at first, and you wondered if he was ever going to kiss you back. But he did, and then you wondered if he was lying about never kissing anybody before.

Because he was insanely good, and the way he kissed you was maddening and addictive and it seemed you were (addictive) as well, for he was chasing your lips even when you tried to pull away. So you didn't, and instead allowed him to keep kissing you with so much pace and force you thought you'd break. 

"Spence... can't... breathe," you gasped out, and he pulled back in an instant, his eyes going wide. 

He was stammering out apologies that fell on deaf ears, because you were staring at him and he was gorgeous. In every sense of the word. With hair that had fallen into his glassy eyes, cheeks as pink as his lips that were screaming to be kissed again, need for oxygen be damned. 

And actually, if the one in a billion chance of a black hole swallowing the earth decided to happen now, you would complain. Very loudly.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[bonbonly]

𝐓𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚���𝐲: heavily inspired by hannibal - after hearing tons of praise in regards to psychiatrist!max verstappen, you decide to test your luck and see what his true colors are 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you're not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following in this fic: dubcon, drugging/aphrodisiac, knife play, cunnilingus, p in v, character death, reader is not a good person, blood/gore, slapping 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i want to give a special shoutout to @gokyrts because look at the abomination she's made me write, oh my god...

"mr. verstappen's skills knows no bounds, but the only ones being bound under his spell are the countless patients he must've paid to spread his work as if it were a gospel," you echoed the words that you wrote onto your laptop, the rough draft being filled with small notes on the side of the document to remind you of any criticism of the man that you might've missed the first time. your fingers drummed against the keys of your laptop, your brows furrowed as you tried to find another sentence to add. to spite him. to inform him that he had to be a greedy, money hungry hoax. your friends always told you that his appointments were so relaxing, they were very helpful but you saw through his lies. you knew that something had to be up. working as a forensic scientist for the BAU, and secretly organizing a crime blog under a pseudonym, you've racked up enough credentials to be under verstappen's radar. perhaps he was the only one that knew about the blog, and it irked you.

he mentioned once after you stopped by his office to request his presence in the lab. direct orders from your boss, you stated, making it very clear with your tone that you didn't ask for it. you'd rather die than have him near the corpse, stealing all the credit that should rightfully go to you. the depths you went to find the real perpetrator days later was overshadowed by the single fact that verstappen had walked in and saw a petal of a rose just underneath the right calf of the corpse. a careless mistake, he told your boss, but one that could be easily tweaked if you had just scheduled an appointment with him so he could discuss parts of your childhood that you locked away, buried underneath your heels so that every time you stomped around, you imagined it to be the throat of your parents. you were told to accompany the psychiatrist back to his office, and when you dropped him off he merely smiled at you, his dutch accent infiltrating your ears, "you always miss the details, which is surprising because you never seem to do it under your blog, caroli- i mean, ms. (l/n)."

your blood ran cold at his words, and you stumbled out of his office with a hardened glare. he was reading your blog, and had somehow directed it to you. how did he know? there was no possible way for him to know. you worked for the fbi, for peter's sake, you knew how to tidy up evidence, to be careful when lurking through unclear waters. how did the bastard know about this? so, when you typed up the new article criticizing his work and suggesting that he might be behind the disappearance of a few colleagues of yours, you knew he would read it. with full confidence, you wanted him to read it and storm into your office ready to snap your neck.

but he never did. in fact, he never even looked at you at all the next day. or the day after. or the week after. he smiled at your associates, then locked himself in his room, welcoming in patients and booking appointments for the ones too timid to ask him for one. during a lunch break, you walked past his hallway and pressed your ear against his door to listen in to an appointment he had with your friend. the shattering of glass, a muffled scream, the sound of a bullet, metal cracking against her skull, any sound would do for you. you just needed one piece of evidence, but you received none. your friend walked out unscathed, a happy smile on her face as she greeted you back in the lab. your eyes cast down to your hands, a feeling of momentary guilt rising in your gut. you wanted to forge your hands into the fire for writing that article and painting him in a bad light; no favorable colors, no accurate brush strokes, a half-assed attempt where the paint bled through the canvas, seeping through the lines that you carefully concocted. it didn't make sense, you were so sure of it! all the victims -charles, lewis, carlos, daniel - your good friends who were missing had one thing in common: they had booked appointments with verstappen before their disappearance. they also were in contention to get a promotion, daniel had also been a psychiatrist, eagerly waiting for his new life to become the head of the department one day. it was a risky move, but you figured that if you pushed his buttons enough, he'd slip up. he'd expose himself, he'd make a mistake and then you'd have him trapped. the entire BAU would understand that they had a criminal right under their noses this entire time.

for this entire plan to succeed, you had to do a few things. your first plan was to write more articles on your secret blog. while the BAU was scratching their heads about how their confidential cases were being exposed so easily, you were dropping bombshell after bombshell on your blog, your finger always pointing to the psychiatrist that would now look at you across the room with a deadly glint in his eyes. his lips were always in a thin line, and occasionally you caught him smirking whenever you'd miss a detail during analysis. you were predictable to him, and you needed to find a way to defeat him at his own game. there was a reason as to why he hadn't exposed you yet, perhaps the lack of evidence but you realized that there was something about you that made him keep quiet. you had power over him, the thought of it made you giggle uncontrollably at your desk one day, spinning around your chair like a little school girl. the second plan was to use his own tricks against him, which meant finally noticing the smaller details, being smarter than the rest of the team and most importantly, being incredibly fast. whether it be responding to your boss, showing up to a meeting, scavenging a crime scene to find clues or evidence, you had to be first. this entire time the team thought of him as reliable because he was the first one present at all times. you had to change that, had to show the team that the tide was turning to your favor. you noticed the way he'd bite the inside of his cheek, the light illuminating from the side would highlight his cheekbones, the dent a shadow amongst the very little light on his face.

and then finally, the third part of your plan. book the appointment with him. this one hurt your ego the most, but in order to catch him you had to stoop down to his level. making him think that you were willing to open up to him should give him the opportunity to do the same with you, and once vulnerable you could easily coax the truth out of him. you sat across from him on a velvet chair, legs crossed as your eyes traveled around the room, memorizing the layout of his office and the objects that were on display.

"lots of cars i see here," you pointed towards one large model of an RB19 on his shelf. he buried his hands in his pockets, teetering on his toes as he let out a small chuckle,

"i like things that are fast. things that fly, speed through... run," the last word sent shivers down your spine, but you swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and forced a smile at him.

"care for a drink? i got some wine if you'd like?" he walked over to the stand of champagne bottles on display. the glass sparkled under the light, its contents swishing around with each step that he took closer. it reminded you of your guts wanting to spill out and as he grabbed the bottle's neck, you gulped and felt the ghost of his hands tightening around yours. with a cough, you shook your head but he rolled his shoulders in a way of disbelief and stalked over to you with a wine glass in his hand, "please, i think you need it. it's ok, it'll help you relax."

the liquid pooled down your throat, but you kept your eyes open in fear that he might take advantage of you like this. you couldn't let your guard down, not like this. you watched as he settles down on the couch directly across from you, his legs spread out giving you an ample view of what you assumed to be his cock fighting to be restrained in his pants but with a firm snap of his fingers, your eyes flicker up to his face and then you saw the smallest hint of a smile on his face. you hadn't seen one in weeks.

"so why exactly did you book this appointment?" he asked, tilting his head. his hands clasped together, the forefingers coming up to touch his lips. you shrugged in response, before quickly shaking your head. shit, you needed to follow along with the plan you made!

"just... just been having some bad nightmares about my past," you responded. the topic of your parents was sensitive, one that you kept hidden for many years after you graduated high school. their death was their own doing, but somehow you felt that you had a part in it. had the murderer been you, it would've made no difference because the guilt remained. the bystander was far worse than the actual criminal. your mother's head rolling down the hill as your father watched with a twisted back. you winced at the memories, the glass slipping from your hands, "fuck!"

max watched your reactions carefully. his eyes were drawn to the way your fingers hovered over the glass, almost afraid that it would grab you. you paid no mind to the wine stain, but the countless apologies that spilled from your lips was music to his ears. he wanted to hear you say them, but in a very different circumstance. he read every article you wrote, he noticed your shift in behavior around him. he was a psychiatrist; if you wanted to play mind games with him, he was already ten steps ahead. while guiding you to stand near the shelf of cars, he went over to his closet to grab the broom and dustpan. he took off his coat, rolling the sleeves of his shirt before crouching down to gently grab the large pieces of glass. he dragged his finger onto the pool of wine on the floor and licked a long stripe, "such a shame. i always hate seeing my appetite go to waste."

the appointment was cut short much to your chagrin. your carelessness, you thought to yourself, you just didn't understand why you kept making small mistakes like this. you had to train your mind to be better. you sighed and gave one last glance to the RB19 model when you noticed the initials D.R. in italics on the edge of the car. before you could step closer, you felt strong arms grab onto your shoulders, guiding you out the door, "ms. (l/n), i am so sorry about what happened here. i would love to hear more about your past, but perhaps in a setting that might not scare you too much. dinner at my house, maybe? would that be an offer you're willing to take up?"

you frowned at his words, wriggling away from his touch, "you invite all your patients to your house for dinner?"

"only the ones i believe i have a strong connection with," he responded, licking his lips as he leant against the doorframe. you tapped your heels a couple times, thinking the offer over. if you declined, you'd have to come back to his stupid office. but... but if you accepted, you'd be able to catch him in his environment - and while he had the advantage of home ground - he definitely had to be hiding things there.

"you mind if i bring a friend over?" you asked, and he smiled,

"the more the merrier, but i don't think we can talk about your history then."

"it's ok. we can talk about my life later."

"6:30 at my place, i'll send the address down to you shortly."

"oh, mr. verstappen, dinner is very lovely! did you make this all by yourself?" your friend asked while taking a bite of the lasagna. her words are tuned out as you shifted through your food with a fork. the darkness of the dining room did little to ease any of your fears. you had walked in feeling confident, ready to tackle the monster down with your bare hands, but his kindness. his professionalism. his unwavering stare. they all made you feel as if you were being suffocated. you didn't have much energy in you to continue with the fake conversations. excusing yourself to use the bathroom to then explore his mansion would be too cliche, he'd be waiting for you to do it anyway. being too predictable would bore him, which would mean the chances of you being killed would be higher.

"not liking the food, ms. (l/n)?" max asked, his eyes flickering down to the food he cooked being tossed around like a bird amongst hyenas.

"no, i'm just... not very hungry, unfortunately," you responded, grabbing the wine to drink.

"a bite wouldn't hurt. just one bite, i spent hours cooking for tonight," he chuckled, and your friend kicked your leg under the table, her eyes narrowing at you to take a bite. you could already hear what she was saying in her mind. the poor man went out of his way for dinner and here you are, being a rude guest! with a very reluctant sigh, you grab hold of the fork and let your teeth sink onto the lasagna, the flavor melting into your tastebuds as you let out a slow hum of approval. it tasted nice, very nice actually. so you took another bite, and then another. her appetite's back, your friend laughed and max nodded his head, smiling at you.

but when dessert rolled in, you felt uneasy. your insides felt empty, as if craving for something that you couldn't quite place. your thighs clenched together as your gripped onto the arms of the chair. you couldn't make out whatever max was saying. he was asking you if you were alright, but his eyes asked a different question. you hadn't noticed how big his eyes were before, or the fact that his pupils were so dilated. how did you miss that detail before? was he always like this? you quickly excused yourself, running to the bathroom but each brush of your thigh under the thigh made you choke on air, your mind hazy. upon locking yourself inside, you immediately collapsed onto the ground, your head in your hands. you felt strong pair of hands around your waist, groping at your tits that spilled out of your dress - or was it be ripped off of you? your pussy bare against the cold dampness of the room, your mouth propped open with fingers as the sweet taste of an apple made its way. your jaw was sore at how your teeth delved into the fruit and stood rooted there as your arms were bound above your head. was that the woody scent of a candle, or the fireplace that was underneath you? where was that burning sensation? under you... or inside you? your legs were being spread apart, the itchy rope curling around your limbs to make sure you wouldn't move. you opened your eyes lazily to see a figure with dirty blonde hair at the end of the table, his shiny teeth visible amongst the evil grin you saw.

"my favorite meal... all to myself." he whispered, letting his tongue rake over your glistening folds. your strangled moans are swallowed by the apple in your mouth, your body aching for more as his nose nudges your clit. his teeth nip at your labia, tongue invading your womanhood as you can't do anything but scream out loud, drooling from the corners of your mouth. his tongue rolls your clit around, lapping at any juice that seeps from your cunt. he wants to ensure your taste is on his tongue forever. the sweetest dessert that one would ask for. his fingers spread your mound to get a good look at his masterpiece and he lets his saliva stalk down to your pussy before harshly rubbing your clit. when you finally look past your tits to see who this figure was: your heart stopped at the sight of max staring down at you with a predatory look.

you screamed as you woke up in your bed, cold sweat dripping down your forehead. you glanced down to your hands, your feet, your clothes that covered your body. you looked around your room, unsure as to how you were back in your bedroom. it felt real... was it real? you couldn't tell. you pulled the waistband of your panties down, check to see if you were still a wet mess. nothing. laying back down on your bed, you placed a hand on your heaving chest and ran your free hand down your face. what just happened? what was going on? you had to find out, you had to get to the bottom of this.

which meant having to go back to his house. on guard, and once again with someone. you decided to bring a colleague that you despised, but it would be better to sacrifice her than your friend.

you sat across the dining table, and despite how predictable it was, you excused yourself to the bathroom, keeping note as to how his eyes focused on your ass. never miss the details, you thought to yourself. you headed to the bathroom, opening the door to turn the lights on before shutting the door. with a few fake thuds just outside the bathroom door, you took your heels off and carefully took them with you around the staircase. with the layout of the house, the dining room wouldn't give clear access to the left side of the kitchen. which meant that the pantry could be entered carefully without him noticing. your colleague was busy entertaining him about her vacation in milan, her loud voice thunderous enough to rattle the house... and enough to mask the creaking of the pantry door as you slipped inside. it was cold, almost like entering the arctic as you pulled out a tiny flashlight to guide you through the foreign place. the meat hung forlornly from the hooks, the torse of a pig on display. you frowned at the ink patterns on the meat, and you hesitantly turned it around. you'd seen these marks before somewhere. a vacation trip with your friends that you planned one evening. someone had dragged you into the pool as a prank and when you floated to the surface, spluttering out the chlorine water, your hands found the shoulders of a man inked with tattoos on his back. it was lewis. your flashlight slipped out of your hands and clattered onto the metal railings.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" you hissed, scrambling to grab the small material. you were delighted that your suspicions were correct, that this entire time you were right about verstappen. but you needed to get out. you could see the shadow of footsteps underneath the pantry door. there was a back entrance to the pantry, and you stumbled towards it. from the corner of your eye you noticed a bottle of liquid and you uncapped it with your teeth, chugging the liquid down. you really needed some wine to calm your nerves down at the moment. letting the bottle roll back onto the metal table, you ran out the door into the open woods. you'd have to go around the path to get back to your car in the front of the house. the more minutes you stood to think about a plan, the more time was being wasted. from the distance, you could hear the back entrance of his house being opened and you whined out loud, pushing your feet to continue running. you didn't want to die, not like this... no, not now, not ever!

and yet with each step that you took, you felt a strong pain inside you. that pain you felt when you had dinner for the first time at his house. you were craving for something, you didn't know. was it his tongue again? no, what? why were you thinking about that awful nightmare? you remembered the outline of his cock during your first appointment, oh it looked delectable. you could've gotten on your knees then and sucked him as payment for the appointment! as your mind was reeling with uncontrolled desire, your knees buckled and your leg caught onto a root from a tree. crashing forward with a loud groan, you struggled to get back up on your feet when you felt the underside of a boot press gently against your neck, pushing your face onto the ground.

"i told you before i liked things that run. at this point, you're just teasing me," a familiar dutch voice rang from above you. the boot nudged you over onto your back, causing you to hold back a whimper at the sensation. you were sensitive to everything, your skin on fire as he trailed his foot down your body and right below your heat. right below where your desire was burning.

"y-you killed them. i was right, you killed them all," you weakly laughed, "i was right this entire fucking time."

"round of applause for you, ms. (l/n), oh wait..." he paused, looking around the empty woods before he glanced down to you, "no one's here." he rubbed the toe-box of his boot against your clothed cunt, enjoying the way your back arched, squealing at the way your clit was being dragged along your damp panties.

"tsk tsk tsk," he circled to stand right in front of you between your legs, "you always missed the details. you could've made it, you know? you could've gotten to your car and made it back to your house, schatje. but it's your carelessness... what did you drink before you came out here?"

"w-w-wine?" you responded, tilting your head. you let out another moan as the boot dug deeper onto your mound.

"wine mixed into the aphrodisiac. which would've been my last resort if you had properly rescheduled the appointment that we never finished. details, ms. (l/n), always look at the details," he knelt down, letting his hand replace his boot. the warmth of his fingers made you whine, begging him to end your suffering. your mind was purely empty - save the thought of having him satisfy your primal needs. he bunched up your panties, tugging them up to see your pussy coat the fabric with more of your juices, "fuck... you're so wet. it must hurt doesn't it? you wish you had someone to help you, schat?"

"yes, yes, yes please... please!" you cried, bucking your hips up. max laughed, seeing the way your pussy was grinding against your panties. he ripped them off of you, throwing them over his shoulder as he picked you up into his arms, carrying you as if you were his bride.

"i think a change of environment will put you in your place." he mumbled, and while you didn't catch onto it at first, when he tossed you onto the metal table in his pantry, you felt fear course through your body. "such a nice suit i had on today, and now you made me ruin it."

he slips off his coat and vest, rolling the sleeves of his shirt that hugged his biceps. he searched around the pantry for a while before grabbing an apron, tying it around his slim waist. he gazed up at you as his chin tucked into his neck and he let out a dry laugh, "you know... if you had just stuck to your job, this wouldn't have been a problem. always wanting to be the hero, when you're the villain yourself."

he grabbed the butcher knife, tossing it in the air a couple times, "i used to keep him with a bunch of other knives, all neatly organized just like i love. had to use him so often these days that he gets his own special spot. what do you think? he's beautiful isn't he?" he holds the knife up to your hooded eyes, and when you don't respond, he uses the butt of the utensil to slap your face, beckoning you to respond.

"i-it's nice," you mumbled, and he nods his appreciatively, letting the sharp edge of the object gently kiss your skin before he cut away at your dress and bra, exposing all of you to him. he saw the lump in your throat when you swallowed, and he brought the edge of the knife to your neck, watching you crane around to avoid the sharp edge. he tossed the knife in the air once again, which caused you to shriek out loud in fear that it'll slice you but he caught it and tapped the butt of the knife on your lips.

"suck," he commanded, and still clouded by the aphrodisiac, you do what he asked and twirled your tongue around the tip before opening your mouth wider and letting it fully devour your throat. you caught your reflection in the metal, and you can't even believe how blinded you must be. the details, the details, the details. the body of daniel hanging above you, staring at you with closed eyes and parted lips should have you screaming as you rolled your eyes back, but instead you're feeling yourself growing wetter, eager to please max. the weapon hits your teeth as max trailed your saliva down the valley of your tits, over your navel and to your cunt that's been so desperate this entire time. he pursed his lips as if he was deep in thought and then brought his free hand to spread your legs wider, shoving the butt of the knife into you. the feeling of being stretched out, of finally being filled - even if only a little - had your back escape the confines of the metal table, your tits out in the air as you're sobbing in joy. max saw the way you're mewling, body contorting in pleasure and he left your cunt empty once again before slamming the butcher knife right beside your head. your breath hitched in your throat, the fear once again settling but it made your heart race in excitement. there was a small thrill present, maybe he was right earlier. you were the villain all along. you were worse than him. he took off the apron, unbuckling his belt and he snickered,

"you could've grabbed the knife and stabbed me by now, but you didn't... too desperate to get fucked, isn't that right, liefje?"

he let his cock spring free from the confines that tormented him since the day he saw you at the BAU. head held high, a haughty gleam in your eyes. the arrogance as you talked down to him, acted as if you were superior. he was waiting all along for this moment. his cock slid against your folds and when he pushed in, the tears that flowed from your eyes combined with the guttural moan made him smile. something was missing though, something that could make this so much more better for him. and as he began to thrust, he glanced up to see another corpse from a previous victim hanging to the side. a cruel idea formed in his mind and he grinned down at you,

"schatje, i don't think i could bring myself to hurt you... not when you're being such a good slut for me," he cooed, "but... but a man can't help but imagine..."

he grabbed hold of the butcher knife, slicing the corpse and letting the blood splatter onto the top half of your body. it trickled onto the table beneath you, the tiled floor now the canvas of a new twisted desire. he laughed out loud at the sight of half of your face covered in blood, and he brought the coated knife to your neck, continuing to thrust his aching cock into you as you screamed out loud in a horrid mix of fear and desire. you could feel your cunt clamp onto his cock, so close to cumming as his thrusts became more erratic.

"i knew you'd like this... you came all this way here to see if you could understand me. schat, but do you even know who you are?" he questioned, letting the edge of the knife kiss your neck. and as you came undone with a scream, your vision blurring at the intensity, you realized he was right all along. the details, you missed all the details. your parents death wasn't because of some man that had swerved the car late at night. it was you. you swung the sledgehammer at the car while they were driving down the highway, drunk out of your mind out of anguish from all the abuse you faced as a child. the man stopped to see the commotion and you sent his body flying down the hill. you'd done it, you were a murderer. you were twisted, you were... you were as bad as him. you glanced up to see max still bullying your cunt, pushing you to another orgasm before you could process the toll your body was taking in the process.

"your scent always drove me wild," he whispered, leaning down to bite your nipple, "fuck, schatje... i'll give you a deal." he lifted his head slightly to meet your gaze, "we can work together, you know? with your skill and this cunt of yours, i could keep you around. no harm to you at all, unless of course you'd like it."

"t-the blog... no, no, i can't... i'm better than you. i'm not you, i'm not fucked up like - oh fuck, don't stop!" your argument melts away with each snap of his hips,

"you have no other choice here. there's two ways this can go. you keep coming to my office, be my personal slut, trained completely to take my cock and i'll let you live... with the added benefit of working and helping me. and if you don't," the butcher knife digs a bit deeper into your neck, "i think you understand what i mean, right schatje?"

you nod your head, throwing your head back as you let out another visceral scream as your second orgasm rips through your body. he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, murmuring praises at how perfect you'd be, how you were always destined for this, no matter how much your ego told you differently.

and yet as you laid beside him on his bed that night, well-cleaned and taken care of as his new trophy, you secretly uploaded the photos of his pantry to your blog and slipped out of his house, past your dead colleague in the living room. he'd come after you, that was for sure. but he liked to hunt, and you've learned to run.

[gurugirl]

oldest to newest

First Smutty One Shot (3.5k words)

in which Harry wants to buy your albums but then he realizes he wants a little something more from you or where Harry fucks you so you'll calm down

Again & Again (5.4k words)

in which lhh!Harry is your server and he takes you home after girl’s night is over or where lhh!Harry fucks you good, but comes too fast

Gonna Make You Mine (6k words) (mafia!harry)

extra

in which Harry is your boyfriend's boss and he wants to have you for himself or where Harry fucks you in front of your boyfriend

The Work Call (1.3k words)

in which you’re desperate for Harry’s attention when he’s ignoring you on a work call

Too Hard to Keep Quiet (678 words) (boyfriend!harry)

in which you and Harry try to keep it down while having sex in your childhood bedroom down the hall from your family

The Doctor & the Psychopath (9.7k words)

extra

in which Harry is facing serious assault charges and you’re the forensic psychologist tasked with analyzing him or where Harry manipulates you into having sex but you kind of like it

Music For a Festival (896 words)

in which you meet Harry, the lead singer of a local rock band, at a music festival and you bring him back to your tent

Thank You, Next (7.3k words)

extra

in which you are at a club with your very drunk boyfriend and you and Harry spot one another from across the room or where you meet lhh!Harry at a club while you're with your boyfriend and he fucks you in the bathroom

A Public Nuisance (1.6k words) (coworker!harry)

you and Harry are office coworkers and everyone’s out tonight at the local bar celebrating, but you and Harry find yourselves in a rather compromising position

Sex Ed With Harry (7.4k words) (innocent virgin!reader)

in which you’re a sweet, innocent, Christian, virgin and you meet Harry at a college party and he can show you a few things

Dirty & Rough (1.6k words)

reader ask:harry cheats on his gf with you and maybe not necessarily a breeding kink but cream pie kink ?? like, “i’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum”. veryyyy rough and degrading like he’s just using you to get off. “cumdump” etc..maybe he’s quite a bit older than u as well. face slapping, spit kink, as dirty as possible…you get me LOL

I Guess You're All Mine (11.9k words) (friends to lovers)

based on a true story: in which Harry is the hot drummer in your boyfriend’s band and he tells you a secret that changes everything

The Long Weekend (9.8k words) (friends to enemies to lovers)

extra

in which you and Harry hate one another but then things change

The Wedding Guest (4.5k words)

in which you meet Harry at a friend's wedding and show up at his hotel room the next morning to take him up on an offer he made you the night before

Lactation kink (700 words)

reader ask: I don't know if this sounds weird, but you would write one where the reader and Harry had a baby and while she and Harry are having sex, milk starts to come out of her breasts and he starts to suck

The Scientist & the Stripper (15.2k words) (nerd!harry | virgin!harry)

extra #1 | extra #2

in which virgin/nerd!Harry moves in next door to you and you invite him over for a small get together with friends where he gets more than he bargained for at the end of the night

On Halloween Morning (8.7k words) (ghost!harry)

a horror-filled Halloween one-shot. Harry is a ghost and you don't believe in ghostsbut you find out you were dead wrong.

Psoriasis Fluff (652 words)

reader ask: Heyy, how you doinggg!! Could u write smthg abt a reader with psoriasis.. maybe she's insecure to go out in a dress or smthg and harry helps her feel better. Mines been pretty bad recently and I could use some fluffrry (no smut)

Mixed Signals (9.5k words) (best friends to lovers)

bestfriends to lovers one shot - You and Harry have been best friends since you were children and now that you're both adults you can no longer deny the feelings that have been there all along

The Threesome (3.3k words) (Fratboy!Harry)

Harry's hot but he's nice and he's into you tonight

A Delicate Thing (7.6k words) (mafia boss!harry)

extra

Harry is a crime boss and he meets the woman of his dreams on an important night.

Tell Me You Hate Me (12.1k words) (male!reader | enemies to lovers)

Based on this request - You and Harry work together as bartenders and your relationship is hot and cold which infuriates you to no end. But you can't say you don't find him attractive, regardless of his cocky attitude.

The Italy Blurb (1.6k words) (boyfriend!harry)

reader prompt: some plotless smut featuring a little bit of jealous yn riding Harry's tiger & yacht sex.

Bad Morning (3.6k words) (professor!h x professor!yn)

You run late to an important meeting with your colleagues and Professor Styles decides to punish you.

Spiderman (4.2k words) (fratboy!harry | lhh!harry)

You’re at the big Halloween frat costume party and get to flirting with someone dressed as Spiderman. The tall, masked man with a deep voice just so happens to know a private spot to reveal his true identity to you.

The Ex (3.4k words) ex!harry

Harry's your ex-lover and you see him at a wedding after many years apart. You're both married but Harry proposes something that you have a hard time saying no to.

Nympho (4.5k words) nympho!poly!harry

Y/n is a nymphomaniac who just loves people. One day she happens upon a "harem" arrangement that seems perfect for her and her insatiable appetite. Loosely based on this Tumblr request.

Harry bruises your cervix - blurb (450 words) husband!harry

A quick filthy, requested blurb. Nothing more and nothing less.

Next Door Neighbors (7.8k words) neighbor!harry

Part 2 (5k words)

You just wanted peace and quiet and Harry just wanted to jam out in his garage for his birthday. So you decide to confront your new neighbor but things don't go as you planned.

The Fleshlight Blurb (1.5k) subrry

Harry has to go on a business trip without Y/n so she gets him a special toy to use while he's away and she tells him to send her a video of him using it.

The Handyman (11k words) the check-in (3.6k)

When you inherit your aunt's estate after she passes away, you hire Harry to fix up the old house but that's not all he winds up being good for.

Breeding Kink Blurb (587 words)

Requested - just straight up smut

Sex Tutor (10k words) Part II (13k+ words)

Harry's got a reputation on campus and you're curious to know if he can help you.

Daddy's Pretty Girl | dom!daddy!h (4.4k words)

Harry just wants to make his princess happy OR The story of you and Harry, how you met, and all the rest.

The Trio (3k words)

Three strangers meet at a club and things get sexy. Featuring a MMF threesome.

Baby Daddy (14k words)

After you have a one-night stand with your good friend Harry and become pregnant he doesn't know for certain that the baby is his, but he has his suspicions.

Little Flower (4.5k words)

You're startled during a power outage late one night when your co-worker, Harry, is at your door, drenched from the rain. How does he even know where you live?  dark!harry | stalker!harry

Use Me Up (7k)

Harry's your boyfriend's best friend and he's very hard to resist. boyfriend's best friend!harry

Assistance Needed (3k)

Harry finds himself in an awkward position when you walk in on him in his office just as he's in the middle of something quite improper. ceo!harry x assistant!reader

The Babysitter (2k)

PART 2 (2.5K)

Based on this request: The cute babysitter Harry's wife hired has always tempted him, but now that his wife is away for the evening Harry might just give in. dad!harry x babysitter!reader

She Likes To Watch (4.8k)

Harry and his wife have an interesting lifestyle but when they invite you over for a night of fun you realize you're more into it than you thought you'd be. hothusband!harry

Truth or Dare (6.7k)

Based on this request: Harry's never been to a slumber party so Y/n decides to remedy that and give him a sleepover he'll never forget.

The Mushroomer | friendly!ghost!harry (11.5k)

Based on this request: Y/n moves into a small house in the woods and she soon realizes the house is haunted. But it really turns out to be not so bad at all to have a ghost when he's as kind as the one living with her.

Says Who? | demonrry (3.1k)

A Halloween Blurb! Y/n goes to an underground club and meets the devil and she'll never ever forget it.

DILF | older!harry (6.5k)

PART 2

Based on this request: Y/n meets an older man at a bar and she's not taking no for an answer. Harry likes her persistence.

Famous!reader blurb (1.1k)

Request! Harry learns you’re famous and you’ve written a song for him.

Maybe Fate (8.3k)

The first time you meet Harry is under odd circumstances. But the second time you meet him it feels like fate. Well, if you believe in that sort of thing.

[maiamore]

JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

⟶ THE LINES WE CROSS Pairing: Javier Peña x Forensic Scientist!Reader Rating: 18+ Status: Ongoing PART ONE | MINI SERIES MASTERLIST Series Tags: set during seasons 2 & 3 of narcos, smutty filth of course, angst, no use of y/n, pwp, p in v intercourse, f&m!receiving oral, pet names, mutual masturbation, dry humping, office sex, enemies to lovers, mentions of drugs & violence, more tags added on fic

in the heart of Colombia’s war on narcos, you, a forensic scientist transfer in from the states. you find yourself working closely with Javier Peña and quickly find that he isn’t the man who stays—letting him in will only lead to heartbreak.

LAST UPDATED: 12 JAN 2025

[orangeblossomsintheair]

DON’T BE A STRANGER | CS55

summary : faceless driver + secretly royalty carlos sainz w leclerc!reader

wc : 2k

an : ring ding ding ding- its me again >:)) what an amazing week this has been on the website, thxx everyone. i mostly just wrote this so the idea could stop bludgeoning me

The faceless driver of Ferrari steps onto the paddock like a rumor, all sharp lines and shadows, the prickle of something not quite real. They call him Sainz, only Sainz, as if a single name could hold the weight of everything unknown.

His helmet never comes off.

Never.

Not on the podium, not in interviews, not in moments of victory or failure.

A flawless red shell.

And the rumors?

They twist through the paddock like smoke from an invisible fire, impossible to pin down but inescapable all the same. Louder than the engines sometimes, they cling to the corners of conversations, the edges of glances, until the air is thick with questions no one can answer.

After all, the motorsports world is small, excruciatingly tight-knit, and talent doesn’t spring from nowhere. It has roots. And roots, as everyone in the paddock knows, have a way of surfacing when you dig deep enough.

Surely, he belongs to someone.

People don’t just rise to the pinnacle of Formula 1 without a trail to follow, without whispers of their origin. There are always breadcrumbs: the karting academy, the private sponsors, the family connections that weave a web so tight it’s impossible to escape.

And yet, with Sainz, the web feels intentionally erased.

Which is why the theories have grown, wild and unruly, feeding on the silence Ferrari so fiercely maintains.

Some say he’s royalty.

“Think about it,” one engineer murmured late one evening over drinks at the hospitality tent. “It makes sense. Why else would Ferrari go to such lengths to protect him? Royals love their secrets.”

“Royals?” The mechanic across from him snorted into his beer. “You’ve been reading too many tabloids. Royals don’t hide. They thrive on attention.”

“Not if they’ve got something to lose.”

“Like what? A throne?”

The first engineer leaned back, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why not? Formula 1’s full of money, right? What’s the difference between a billionaire’s kid and a prince? Nothing. Except one of them has a crown.”

The argument has traction, though. The idea that Sainz is an heir to a European throne, Spanish, most likely, has fueled countless debates, forums, and conspiracy threads.

“Think about it,” fans say online, dissecting every detail like forensic scientists. “A prince could afford the best. He’d have access to elite training, connections, and anonymity if he wanted it. He’d be untouchable.”

And yet, skeptics roll their eyes at the notion. “If he were a prince,” they argue, “you think Ferrari wouldn’t plaster that all over their marketing? A royal in the red? They’d be printing posters and selling merch faster than the car hits 200 miles an hour.”

It’s a fair point. Ferrari doesn’t just protect Sainz, they shield him, encase him in layers of secrecy that feel deliberate, almost sacred.

Why? That’s the question that eats at everyone.

They defend him like he’s the crown jewel of Maranello, and when it comes to Ferrari, you don’t defend just anyone like that. The Scuderia doesn’t go to bat for drivers like they go to bat for Sainz.

Why would Ferrari, a team known for its relentless media machine, its flair for drama, its love of spectacle, choose to keep someone like Sainz hidden?

Why fight tooth and nail to keep his helmet on, even when the FIA itself came knocking?

The fight with the FIA was the turning point.

It started with whispers, rumblings that the governing body was “concerned” about Sainz’s anonymity. Drivers, after all, are public figures. Fans deserve transparency, or so the FIA claimed. There were rumors of mandatory press appearances without helmets, of new regulations aimed squarely at pulling Sainz into the light.

Ferrari’s response was swift, brutal, and uncompromising.

“The helmet stays on,” Luca, Ferrari’s head of PR, told the press during a heated exchange after qualifying in Monaco. His tone brooked no argument. “His performance speaks for itself. His identity is irrelevant.”

When pressed further, Luca leaned into the microphone, his voice like steel. “We protect our drivers. Always. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the board in Maranello.”

Behind closed doors, it was said that Ferrari’s lawyers were already drafting lawsuits before the FIA even made their first official statement. Confidential documents circulated among team principals hinted at Ferrari’s threat to pull out of the championship entirely if Sainz’s privacy was breached.

“They’d never leave,” Toto Wolff scoffed during a press conference. “Ferrari is Formula 1.”

But the threat worked.

The FIA backed down, releasing a carefully worded statement about “respecting driver boundaries” and “valuing individual choices.” And just like that, Sainz’s helmet remained firmly in place, untouchable once more.

It was the kind of move that convinced everyone that Sainz wasn’t just another driver. Ferrari doesn’t go to war for nobodies. They don’t risk their reputation, their legacy, for just anyone.

“He must be someone important,” a junior driver muttered once, staring at Sainz’s car as it glided into the garage. “You don’t get that kind of protection unless you’re…”

“Unless you’re what?”

The driver hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

But here’s the thing: it’s never enough.

The rumors spread, and with them, the obsession. The more they try to pin him down, the more he slips through their fingers. It’s the perfect magic trick. Sainz isn’t just a driver.

He’s a myth, an idea, a story unfolding with every lap.

He is both the question and the answer.

—-

The paddock is a sensory overload: cameras flashing, fans yelling, mechanics rushing around like their lives depend on it. The heat and humidity press down on you like a second skin.

You weave through the chaos, dodging a camera crew and a gaggle of reporters, the noise too loud, the air too thick.

All you want is a quiet place to breathe.

You pull your phone out and fire off a quick text to Charles. Where are you?

The reply comes almost instantly. Driver’s room. Come here.

Relief washes over you.

Finally, somewhere away from all this madness.

You know the layout of the Ferrari paddock well enough to navigate without issue, your access pass swinging from your neck giving you clearance to move unbothered.

You round a corner and spot a door, slightly ajar, with a sign you swear reads “Leclerc.” Close enough. Without thinking, you push it open and step inside.

It’s quieter in here, the noise from outside muffled by thick walls. You let out a breath, already feeling the tension in your shoulders begin to ease. But as you glance around, something feels… off.

This isn’t Charles’s room.

The walls are too clean, the floor too pristine. There’s no sign of your brother’s clutter: no jacket thrown over a chair, no half-finished water bottle on the counter. Instead, everything is painfully organized, the space clinical in its perfection. And the overwhelming Ferrari red, too much of it, everywhere, makes your stomach twist.

Before you can retreat, you hear footsteps. Sharp. Purposeful. Coming right toward you.

Your pulse spikes. You freeze, too startled to even turn around. When the figure emerges, it’s not Charles, or a mechanic, or anyone you recognize.

It’s a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a kind of quiet intensity that instantly sets you on edge. He’s already pulling a balaclava over his head, but not quickly enough, you catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline, his piercing dark eyes. He stops when he sees you, his body going rigid like a predator caught off guard.

His voice slices through the silence, sharp and low. “Who the fuck are you?”

You flinch, your throat dry as you scramble to explain. “I- uh- this is-”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps, cutting you off. His accent is Spanish, his tone icy. “How did you even get in?”

Your brain short-circuits. The balaclava, his tense posture, the way he’s blocking the door—it all screams danger.

Your fingers move before your brain catches up, fumbling for your phone.

“I- uh- just stay right there!” you stammer, raising the phone like it’s a shield. “I’m recording this! You’re not gonna- uh- get away with- whatever you’re doing!”

The man’s eyes narrow. For a moment, he just stares at you, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then, with terrifying speed, he lunges forward and snatches the phone out of your hand.

“Are you serious?” he growls, holding your phone up like it’s a toy. His voice drips with disdain. “You barge into my space, and now you’re trying to record me? Do you even know who I am?”

“No! Do you know who I am?” you snap back, panic making your voice louder than you intended. “You’re the creep in my brother’s driver room! I should be suing you!”

He pauses, his head tilting slightly, confusion flashing across his face. “Your brother?”

“Yes, my brother!” you shout, emboldened by your growing irritation. “Charles Leclerc? Ring a bell?”

His eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place- amusement? Annoyance?

“Leclerc,” he repeats, almost like he’s tasting the name.

“Yes! And he’s going to be so pissed when he finds out- ”

“This isn’t his room.”

His words are slow, deliberate, and laced with sarcasm. They hit you like a bucket of cold water.

You blink, your bravado evaporating. “What?”

He gestures lazily toward the door. “The name on the sign. Read it.”

Your stomach churns as you turn to look. There, in bold letters, is a name that definitely isn’t “Leclerc.”

Sainz.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, the realization crashing down on you.

“Anything else you want to accuse me of?”

You stammer out a garbled apology, your face burning with embarrassment. “I- uh- thought- I mean- oh god, I’m so sorry- ”

“You thought,” Sainz interrupts, his voice flat, “so now I’m the creep in your brother’s room? Really?”

Your tongue feels like lead. Every molecule of bravery evaporates under the weight of his piercing stare. “I didn’t- I mean, I-”

He sighs, glancing at the phone in his hand. “Did you take any photos?”

“What?” you squeak.

“Photos.” His tone sharpens, patience wearing thin. “Did you take any?”

“No!” you exclaim, horrified by the implication. “Why would I-”

“Because if you did,” he cuts you off, leaning in slightly, “I’ll sue you.”

You take an involuntary step back. “Sue me? For what?”

“For trespassing,” he replies coolly. “For invading my privacy. For whatever the hell I decide to call it. Take your pick.”

“I didn’t even know this was your room!” you blurt out, frustration bubbling over. “I wasn’t trying to invade anything! And you’re the one wearing a balaclava like some kind of-”

“Like some kind of what?” he challenges, his eyes narrowing.

“Like some kind of criminal!” you fire back, your voice rising in pitch.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick in the air. His lips twitch, almost like he’s trying not to laugh, but his gaze stays icy.

“I wear this because I’m a driver,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining it to a child. “Not because I’m robbing a bank.”

You press your lips together, mortified and furious at the same time. “Look,” you say, holding out your hand for your phone, “this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to walk in here, and I didn’t take any photos. Can I just have my phone back so I can leave?”

He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before finally handing it over. “If I find out you lied,” he warns, “I will sue.”

“Noted,” you mutter, clutching your phone like it’s your lifeline.

You spin on your heel, desperate to escape this nightmare, but his voice stops you just as you reach the door.

“And maybe next time,” he calls after you, “learn how to read a sign.”

You don’t turn back. You can’t. Your face is burning, your heart is racing, and the humiliation is seared into your memory forever.

[passionwillow]

Friendship Bracelets

I came up with this in my head last night while I was half asleep lol. Takes place during season 1 because that’s where I am on my rewatch of NCIS.

Reader is mid-late twenties. No warnings, just fluff! Just a cute lil blurb.

You work as a forensic scientist side by side with Abby at NCIS. She’s one of your closest friends there, along with Kate and Ducky (you’re the only one who’s really interested in hearing his stories).

DiNozzo is that annoying order brother you can’t stand yet love dearly at the same time. Gibbs, on the other hand.. You really weren’t sure.

He could be a hard ass boss, and yet there were times he’d just sit and listen to you talk, head cocked with that familiar little smile on his lips, blue eyes amused. You sometimes expected him to tell you to “get to the point”, but he didn’t. Just listened.

You were as much a coffee addict as he was, and you were always pleasantly surprised when he’d bring you a cup in the morning, pressing a light peck to your cheek before getting to work.

It was shortly after you started that your love for arts and crafts came out. You and Kate loved sketching things out together, and you were always making little trinkets for Abby.

But one night, unable to sleep, you made friendship bracelets for everyone. You chose specific colors for everyone, little charms that reminded you of them, and took them in the next day.

Abby wore hers immediately, grinning ear to ear and showing it off to Ducky, the older man surprised when receiving his and delving into a story about bracelets and the history behind them. You handed out the rest of them through the day, Kate and Tony keeping it at their desk as a little decoration.

But Gibbs surprised you. You half expected him to take the bracelet without comment, setting it aside and delving into the case file in his hands. But he took it and admired the blue beads you pick out, the little wood carving you added on.

And he smiled.

He stood up and pressed that little kiss to your cheek, slipping it on his wrist and walking off without a word.

And he wore it ever since.

There wasn’t a day you saw him without it, and every time he spotted you looking at it he’d smile.

[rosenclaws]

this close to writing my own indulgent hardened but flirty detective logan x nerdy and quiet forensic scientist reader (gonna put this degree to good use fr)

“Got anything for me sweets?” Logan looks utterly delicious in his tight jeans and button up shirt. His badge shines on his waist as he leans against the door to your lab. You look down at your microscope. Trying to contain the butterflies in your stomach.

“Uh, well. There was at least two different guns involved. See these two cartridge cases?” You set the two of them into your microscope and pull up your computer screen.

“They’ve got two completely different apertures. See this one’s rectangular and this one isn’t. It’s not possible for them to have come from the same firearms.” You point it out to him. He hums as he inspects the two cases. He looks over at you and winks.

“Thanks sweetheart, always know I can count on you.” He leaves and you watch him go.

“You’re welcome.” You squeak out after he’s long gone.

With a sigh you look at the pile of work still left to do. Outside of talking about work you can’t seem to say more than two words to the man. He just makes you so flustered. You sit back down in your chair and place the evidence back into its packaging.

Ready to start on more comparisons, you glance towards the door. Hoping he visits again soon.

[pluckyredhead]

So Jon went into space when he was 11 and came back 6 years later, when he was 17, yes?

And then he hung out with the Legion for a bit, but since Bendis is the king of decompression, it doesn't seem like he was there for more than maybe a few days before the book was canceled.

And then in Superman: Son of Kal-El, he decided to enroll in college. Which made me raise an eyebrow, because he's only 17, but fine, some people start a year early. Or maybe he had a birthday somewhere in there. But more importantly, he never finished high school. So...what's the plan there, Jonno?

Anyway, Jon literally doesn't even make it into the administration before he blows his (temporary) secret identity and has to leave. And since that comic, which was published nearly four years ago, Jon has not attempted to go back to college. Or finish high school. Or get a job. All of which are valid choices, but like...what does he do all day?

Also, where does he live? Because Clark and Lois adopted two kids and I doubt their apartment had three or more bedrooms. Did they move? Did Bruce buy them a penthouse? Is Jon sleeping on the couch?

Meanwhile, Jay - who last we saw is a college undergrad, probably a freshman - shows up as the head of communications for Steelworks. Which...no! Not only is he hilariously, insanely unqualified for that job, but from everything we know about radical leftist anarchist Jay Nakamura, the last thing he would ever want to do is become the mouthpiece for a corporation!!!

And then Jon decides he wants to move to San Francisco.* Um...with what money, baby? You don't have a job. Are you going to live on your boyfriend's VP salary? How is he supposed to finish his second semester of college from the other side of the country?

And this week Jay declared that they are "twentysomethings." NO! NO YOU ARE NOT!!! YOU ARE NINETEEN AT MOST!!!!!**

Anyway this is mostly a petty rant, but here's the reason it matters. Even though I would love to know how Jon spends his time and where he sleeps, it's not all that important for me as a reader to know. The issue is that I'm very certain that DC doesn't know. I'm sure if you asked all the writers and editors who have worked on Jon in the past five years, they'd have different answers.

And that matters, because how a character chooses to spend their time when they aren't punching Doomsday tells us something about them. Clark Kent being a reporter tells us what he values. Same with Barry Allen being a forensic scientist, or Hal Jordan being a test pilot. Even Bruce Wayne having a civilian life that is mostly for show.

If Jon is [insert vague age here] and lives [somewhere] and puts his energy into [file not found], he isn't a character. He's a cardboard cutout with the words "Good Representation" written on it. (Which, on that note, I feel like if you asked those same writers and editors to describe Jon, they'd say "He's Superman's son and he's bi" and...that's it.***)

Anyway. If you're wondering why Jon seems so much less vibrant now than he did when he was ten, it's worth noting that when he was ten, we knew where he lived and who his friends were and how he felt about his pets and his parents and his cultural heritage. And now we don't even know how old he is.

*Well, actually, I'm not convinced that Jon does want to move to San Francisco, but he's convinced himself that he does, which is pretty much the only interesting thing they've done with him in half a decade.

**Do not tell me that time passed and they've been dating for years, because a) that has not been demonstrated in the comics in the slightest, and b) Damian is still 14. So unless Jon and Jay went back to that volcano, they've known each other for maybe six months.

***Possibly excepting Nicole Maines, who seems to be doing something interestingly messy (see above re: San Francisco), and Sina Grace, whose issue of Shazam! this week was the first time in five years a writer has acknowledged that Jon probably has trauma. But I'm still mad at him over "twentysomethings."

[p-taryn-dactyl]

maybe for way down we go somehow agatha manipulates everyone/the evidence so it looks like she's innocent/falsely accused or reader has to hide her bc she doesn't want aggie to go back to jail idk I'm sorry lol i just love reading your work

way down we go: the aftermath (ii)

a/n: ok confess did you read my mind? but really, i’m so glad you sent this in bc i was wondering if the ideas i had were bad😭 but great minds think alike and so now here’s part 2 hehehe (also thank you anon! i’m so happy you enjoy my work!) edit: dear god i am so embarrassed by what i have written here but also i hope some of y'all like it?? oh god imma go climb in a hole christ maybe i should go back to church idk word count: 1.6k warning(s): first part of this fic is smut, or what i consider smut (ok idk why it's harder for me to write spicy shit on this blog when ive written it so many other times) the rest is back to normal production of murder, crime and debauchery; like a second or two of angst; im making so much of this shit up plz don't come for me

Once she started, it felt like she would never stop. 

You didn’t want her to. 

Your hands grasped Agatha’s neck and shoulders, trembling as she brought crashing waves of pleasure over you. With eyes screwed shut, your head leaned back, hitting the wall with a soft thud. But your wife wouldn’t allow you to rest. With the hand not pumping into you, she grasped your chin, forcing you to look at her as you pried your eyes open.

“Look at me,” her voice commanded softly as the heel of her hand pressed into your clit, drawing a surprised whimper from your lips as her pace became slow and languid, “I want to see what I do to you, what only I do to you.”

At her words, there was a question radiating in her eyes, along with a sudden hardness that took your remaining breath away. You tightened your grip on your wife, following her instructions and looking deep into her eyes. 

“There was no one else, there’s always been no one else. Only you.” 

Agatha nodded slightly, increasing her pace once more and looking proud of herself as your face twisted with pleasure. 

“Only me.”

Agatha added a finger, continuously brushing your bundle of nerves with the heel of her hand, relishing in your moans and how you wrapped your arms even tighter around her neck, bringing a hand to tangle in her hair and bring her into a crashing kiss. A battle for dominance was quickly lost as her tongue parted your lips, devouring you. You felt your mind grow hazy from pleasure, the hot coil in your abdomen threatening to snap. 

The ring of your phone interrupted everything. 

You felt it buzz in your backpocket, vibrating against the wall behind you. 

Agatha didn’t like your attention being taken away. 

She shifted, removing her fingers from you, much to your chagrin. You only had a moment to process before you were moved. In a blur, you now sat in the very chair Agatha once sat, your legs propped over her shoulders, your phone in her hand as she handed it to you. You furrowed your brow in confusion as you watched it ring, Agatha’s eyes never leaving yours. 

“Answer it, we can’t have anyone worrying for you.” There was something in Agatha’s tone that you couldn’t decipher but you couldn’t go against what she told you to do. You put your phone to your ear, hitting the answer button. Darcy’s panicked ramblings flooded out, barely giving you time to answer any of her questions. 

“Did you see the news? Y/N, this is crazy. Do you think she escaped? Oh god with our luck she was behind it all! Where are you right now? Do you need company? Girl I can be over to your place so fast-”

You were quickly distracted from your best friend as you felt Agatha’s hands tighten on your thighs, pulling your pants and underwear down with her teeth. She only took a second to take in the sight in front of her, your glistening folds, wet from the pleasure she gave you. Then she dove straight in. You could barely contain your surprised squeal, slapping your free hand over your mouth. 

She was relentless, fingers parting your folds as her mouth covered your entire core, tongue going straight to your clit. It was like she was doing everything to get you to fall apart before her and you were oh so close.

"...Y/N, are you ok?"

It was like Darcy was speaking to you underwater, your focus purely on how your wife's head moved between your legs. Swallowing back a moan as Agatha's tongue flattened and lapped harshly at your folds, you gave your friend an answer.

"Yeah...I'm, I'm just shaken. Can I call you la-later?"

You could practically feel Darcy's hesitation through the phone but the second she agreed you hit the hang up button. Throwing your phone onto the floor somewhere, your hands tangled in Agatha's hair, encouraging her. You felt her smirking before she removed a hand from your thigh to slip two fingers into you, almost immediately finding that electric spot within you. Paired with her lips and tongue staying firmly suctioned onto your clit, you felt your orgasm crash into you and over you. Your mind and body felt seperated as you caught your breath, Agatha peeling herself away from you, coming up to kiss your forehead. She nuzzled you with her nose for a moment, the soft action sending you into a light sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The weeks that followed Agatha's return were nothing less than stressful. Constantly looking over your shoulder as you walked into your home, unplugging every and any device that could connect to internet, and ordering food but having them deliver to your neighbor finally made you snap one day at the lab.

You knew how to do it, you knew how to collect evidence, how to manipulate it wasn't exactly hard.

The issue was Darcy.

While she was a great friend, constantly checking in on you, making sure you were okay with your supposed serial killer ex-wife being on the run, she was the greatest obstacle in your goal.

One night, while the two of you had dinner, you mentioned this to Agatha, angry at yourself for being untruthfull to your friend.

"Well, I could always," Agatha made a gesture with her knife jokingly, smirking to herself as she cut into the steak. It was like all the air left the room, the reminder of what your wife was hitting you like a truck. At your silence, Agatha looked up, her eyes widening at your expression. With a shaking hand, you pointed at your wife and shook your head.

"No, no, you don't-" your voice broke as everything swirled around in your mind, "You don't joke about that. Definitely not about Darcy."

Agatha opened her mouth to respond but you found yourself not wanting to hear her voice. Some petty, evil, part of you called from the dark part of your mind to call the police. Turn Agatha in once more and remove the weight from your shoulders.

You ignored that thought, instead pushing your chair away from the table before Agatha could speak and walking to the bedroom, calling over your shoulder.

"I'm going to bed, I need to think."

You got into your pajamas, going through your nightly routine with a lump in your throat, like your flight or fight was being triggered. It took a while for you to notice that Agatha had yet to come to bed, the time well into the night. Making your way into the living room, you took some steadying breaths. While your reaction was valid, maybe you should've stayed to listen to what she had to say. When you crossed the threshold into the living room, you saw that Agatha had gotten some spare blankets out of a closest, making bed on the couch. She too was awake and smiled at you hesitantly when she noticed you standing in the walkway.

"I didn't know if you would appreciate my company tonight." Her voice was soft, almost as if she was trying to be careful. You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow.

"I always appreciate your company, I didn't appreciate the comment you made."

Agatha nodded, slowly getting up from the couch to come stand in front of you, holding her hands up as if she wanted to hold you.

"It's too early for jokes, I understand."

At a peculiarly pointed glare, Agatha quickly added on,

"And Darcy is off limits, of course. I would never, I mean- she's safe, totally safe."

Some part of you wanted to laugh at your flustered serial killer wife but you simply held out a hand, pulling her back to your bedroom, your plan and anxiety of tomorrow swirling in your head.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You'd never been more grateful for a robbery before. Since you specialized in murder or special victim cases, you were able to stay behind in the lab while Darcy and Jimmy went to case the gas station and talk to the poor teen who was at the register. You reviewed the two key pieces of evidence that were used to hammer the final nail in Agatha's coffin. A strand of hair and the blood profile. Anything else was circumstancial or based on a loose psychological profile.

The hair was easy enough to make doubtful as it wasn't a reliable source by itself. The follicle of the strand wasn't even attatched, meaning the only use this had was to be compared with a strand of Agatha's hair taken during the trial process.

One click and the hair was digitally gone.

The blood, however, was the tricky part. It was a 94% match to your wife, meaning it could either be her or a relative. You felt your stomach drop when you realized this could be the evidence that ruins everythings.

Until you noticed something.

In your report, in the other forensic report, and in the court transcript, it said the other blood profile was heavily mixed into the victims. You did a cross reference between Agatha's supposed blood and the victims, the result showing that one couldn't be distinguished from the other. Agatha's blood was triggered as the closest possible match of the two blood profiles, even though realistically the computer should've said the evidence was inconclusive.

An excuse formed in your head.

You, and your team, were so focused on catching the serial killer that had been terrorizing the town, you had overlooked key inconsistencies, instead focusing on the one true suspect you'd had on the case.

One click. The blood was deemed inconclusive.

One click, the case was reopened.

One click, all evidence of Agatha being guilty was erased.

One click, no one would know it was you who had manipulated the system.

One click.

Agatha was officially innocent.

a/n: was this ok? lie to me and say yes, wait no don't do that I'll get happy then remember you're lying and then ill be sad. on another note, r is officially a criminal whoo. i do have something planned for this series but can y'all tell me if you genuinely like this series? many thanks 🙏

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 9: Shortcut

From: The Rainmaker Series

Pairing: Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader

Summary: There’s no shortcut to you love, but that won’t keep Steve from trying to earn it the hard way

Word count: 2,830

Content/warnings: lil but of yelling, angst, some softness, ummmmm some not so nice play between coworkers, rage throwing, swears, mentions of death and dead bodies

Author’s Note: once again, this isn’t exactly how I saw this going, but I’m so excited for you to read!

Your feedback is appreciated in all forms! Comments, reblogs, and asks are golden

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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You were already muttering to yourself as you walked up the steps to your apartment. This week had been grueling at work, but at least you were wrapping up a bunch of cases!

The paper work alone had kept you busy thus far, not to mention the new cases that were stacking up while you tried to finish and submit your analyses. Your closeness to the finish line on this particularly long case didn’t negate the fact that your days were still long, though. You were getting into the precinct well before sunrise and leaving far after sunset, hardly even eating in between.

As you pulled out your keys on the final flight of stairs, you were praying that you had another freezer meal left after weeks of depleting your food stores, when an unmistakable smell hit you. You sprinted up the last couple of steps to see a paper bag sitting on your doormat.

With a groan, you brought the package inside and tossed it unceremoniously on your kitchen table as you set down your bag and keys. When you peeked inside, you saw a note.

“Decks. I’m sorry. I know this is far from a proper apology, but I want to show you how much I care. I hope you’re doing well and will consider talking soon. -SR”

He got one thing right. It was far from a proper apology. And your tiredness and lack of emotional regulation was catching up to you. You weren’t really even mad at Steve nearly as much anymore as you truly thought about the situation he was in over the past couple weeks, but this was still too much for you right now.

Who was he to think he deserved forgiveness for this gift, and his constant messages checking up on you, and who knows what else kind of surveillance you were under?

Before your conscious brain could even catch on, you picked up one of the containers of pasta, shaking your head fervently. Even looking at this gesture was pushing you towards the tipping point.

It started as a whisper, losing control, rising in volume and upsettedness.

“No….no…no….no, NO!”

In a split second the container was out of your hand and launched across the living room of your apartment. You looked on in terror as red sauce was all over the window and the container laid separated on the floor, although surprisingly not cracked. Just as quickly as you’d thrown it, regret started to seep in. Regret at being so stupid, regret at wasting food. You sat on the couch, your eyes nested in the heels of your palms as you took a sharp breath, preparing yourself to deal with the mess you made. It wasn’t your best moment, but at least what you did next was in your control.

You got back up out of the plush cushions with a vengeance and stomped over to the window, picking up the container on the way. You carefully dropped to your knees and silently scraped the strewn noodles off the glass, back into the container, and picked up the meatball from the floor, gathering as much sauce as you could by scooping it with your hands. You were sniffling as you continued with your mission until as much as possible was back in the container. It felt like such a shame to waste this food, you couldn’t do that. Couldn’t bring yourself to throw it away, so you came up with a better solution.

Once it was all repackaged and tossed in the fridge, and the windows and floor were thoroughly wiped down and sanitized, you went to your room, showered, and crawled straight into bed without having eaten at all.

You wordlessly strutted into the office the next morning, sunglasses on to hide your eyes. That was probably for the best, they could’ve turned someone to stone if you weren’t careful. In your hand was the pasta container in a fresh paper bag from your stash, swinging with your gait. As you entered the labyrinth of desks and passed Walker’s, you dropped the bag without making eye contact, speaking shortly in passing.

“Happy birthday. Never say I don’t do anything for you. Didn’t get any for Scott.”

He looked up from his computer, head following your swift movements, before opening the bag and beaming. You’d never gifted him your food before. And with that, you waltzed straight into the lab, shutting and locking the door behind you.

Just as you were finally submitting a few more evidence files, you were interrupted by knocking at your door. You didn’t want to disrupt your flow by opening it, so you just turned up your music louder to cover the sound of the jiggling handle. Except the door busted open and there stood Scott. He took a step in the lab, still a good distance from you, a large lab table in his way, and closed the door behind him. With a huff, you turned down the music.

“Fuck, I regret giving you the spare key to here. What do you want?”

Scott shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “Simple. Pasta. How come Walker gets some? We hate him.”

You lightly scoffed, eyes still glued to your computer screen, double checking your entry was right. “Trust me. You don’t want that pasta.”

He cocked his head to the side, putting his hands on his hips. “Um, yeah, I do.”

“Um, no. No you don’t. You don’t deserve it anyway. I know you knew about Steve and you didn’t tell me.”

Scott rolled his eyes and threw his arms up. “You know that wasn’t my place. Plus, I kinda thought you knew. I’m surprised you didn’t, you’re smarter than all of us- but I swear that’s not a jab!”

He was doing his best to cover his ass now, holding his hands up in surrender, unsuccessfully placating you before he sighed.

“But I know you know I wouldn’t work with him if I didn’t think it was what’s best for the city. You and I have always seen eye to eye on that. However, you know what I can’t get on the same page as? You thinking Walker’s deserving of eating the food of the gods out there.” He pointed, gesturing to the scene going on through the slits of the blinds of your window.

You rolled your eyes with a groan. “Walker is more than deserving of my floor pasta. I literally scooped that up off the floor last night.”

Scott turned around and you both looked out the window now to see Walker wiping his face on the cuff of his sleeve, the container empty. Gross. Not classy at all.

“If he’s that bad of a detective that he couldn’t tell the food was tampered with, he deserves the floor pasta for sure.”

Scott laughed and shook his head as he conceded.

You nodded along with him. “Now is there anything else you need to talk to me about? Perhaps a case? For our jobs?”

“No, pasta was pretty much it.”

You walked to the door and opened it, gesturing for him to leave. “Okay, then get out, otherwise next time I make your coffee it’ll be with water from my mop bucket.”

Over the next few days, it was more of the same at work. You were exceptionally busy, but an idle mind would’ve driven you crazy, so it was better this way.

Earlier this morning, you had been called in to a crime scene and were currently working on shoe print matches, which was a nice change of pace from the usual numbers on your computer screen that were starting to make your head go dizzy.

It was kind of enjoyable, too, smearing the tread of the sneakers in mud to simulate the way the suspect ran on the scene. Albeit, a little messy, but again, a good switch-up from the same old and it was keeping you in a decent mood. That was until a knock came on your door.

You were suspecting it was Lang asking if you’d made any progress, and you’d kept the door unlocked now as you cooled down over the past few days.

“Come in.”

You didn’t look up from your work, not wanting to lose your place or focus, but your peripheral vision was just good enough to make out a tall form that was most definitely not Scott. The black, high-quality, tailored fabric stood out like nothing else you knew of.

“Steven, great to see you. Again. Dressed to the nines, huh? Because that was smart to do in a lab. Full of chemicals and blood and mud. Smooth move.”

Your voice dripped with sarcasm, eyes unmoving from behind your magnifier, looking at the mud smears on one of the shoes.

He was taken aback by your tone, even though he was expecting it.

Steve cleared his throat. “I-um… yeah. These are my work clothes. Kinda gotta wear them everyday. But trust me, they’ve been through worse than your lab.”

You slammed the shoe still in your hand down on the counter, finally looking up at him. “Quit saying that! No,” your voice lowered, “business man… should ‘go through worse.’”

You wished he was just trying to reference how filthy money is, but you knew he probably saw way more blood than you had in your entire career.

“I’m just so sick of this.”

He slung the garment bag he was carrying that you just just now noticed over his shoulder as he closed the door behind him. “Decks, I own other clothes, you’ve seen me in them, why is it such a big deal? I’ve got work to attend to. Would it make you feel better if I changed into sweatpants every time I came to see you?”

You struggled, almost at your wit’s end. “You coming in here in all the sweatpants in the world couldn’t fix this. But… well I don’t really know if I’m work or not for you. Just another enforcer of the law? You know what! Maybe that’s better. So what can I help you with Mr. Rogers? Need to come in and ID another dead body? Huh? Need to consult on business conglomerates? Here I am, a public servant, at your service, I guess.”

You threw your arms out to the side and offered him a bow. That escalated quickly, but it was honestly much kinder than what you expected to come out.

Steve tossed his head back and to the side, appalled at the image before him. “C’mon, Decks, you know that’s not why I’m here. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you for so long, but I just couldn’t let you know everything. It was for your own protection.”

You scoffed. “First off, you don’t get to call me Decks anymore. Congratulations. You’ve been demoted below Walker. From now on, don’t even use my name. You can call me hey you. And secondly, my own protection? Yeah, it definitely seemed like I was being protected when you made me compete in a game of pool face-to-face with the head of your rival mob! And I’m feeling soooo protected at the fact that one of my best friends was kidnapped. I guess that’s fine with you, though, right?! Because you never really liked him anyway.”

Steve took a step forward and sighed. “Woah woah, hey. I like Curtis. And more importantly, I was the one who ran point to get him back.”

You nodded, a bitter smile on your face. “And what if you hadn’t? Would you still be standing here like this? Would he be another obituary in the paper? Reduced to that? A case some small town CSI has to solve? Steve, I don’t want to be on that side of it all. Because yeah, I would’ve done anything to get Curtis back, but I don’t think I would’ve been able to live with myself in the aftermath. I investigate dead bodies, I don’t make them. But you seem pretty nonchalant about this all, so what about you, Steven? Ever make a dead body? It’s different when it’s someone close, huh?”

Steve ran a hand over his face as he let his head fall back to look at the ceiling before pulling his gaze back to you and placing a hand on his hip. “Are you asking me that as a genuinely curious friend or a person who works in a police precinct?”

Your voice had gotten so much smaller now. You knew it wasn’t all his fault, but you were still sort of hurting. Every time you tried to push it down, it somehow got dredged back up, and now, it was fully exposed with Steve here in front of you. “Which one do you think I value right now? Which one didn’t betray my trust? You or my job?”

Steve hung the garment bag over the stopper on the back of the door and held his hands in front of him as he took another step closer. His voice was calm, and inarguably earnest.

“Decks, put me in handcuffs. If that’s what makes you happy, if that’s what makes you feel safe, I’ll do it. But I don’t ever purposely put people in danger. I’m the one controlling things so they don’t get too out of hand. People are going to do drugs. People are going to illegally buy and sell arms, but this way, we’re at least regulating it and keeping power out of the hands who want anarchy. People like Lloyd. I’m in this industry so I can keep the people I care about safe. So I can keep you safe. And I just have to work outside the law so people inside the law like you can do your job the right way.”

You sniffled, ignoring the burning that was behind your eyes. “So what, you’re saying you made a sacrifice for me? I didn’t ask you to. Your altruism isn’t going to win me over.”

You took off your gloves and took a step around the lab bench, finally without anything in between the two of you. His body almost relaxed with your new proximity.

“I know. It’s not meant to. But just know that even if I didn’t tell you the whole truth for entirely too long, and you don’t believe the reasons I’m giving you, my care for you has been true this entire time.”

Your lips parted in a breath, unsure of what to say at the genuine care and affection he still held for you. But your mind was fighting your body, trying to deny it, so you forced yourself to break eye contact, looking down and to the side at the corner of the room.

“So, uh….why did you come here? What’s in the bag?”

Steve’s brow drew together, the corners of his lips fighting to turn upwards at the fact you weren’t fighting him right now, but that could change any minute.

“Oh! Yeah, I’m, here to return your clothes. You left them at my place.”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “You can burn them. That wasn’t a fun day. Wait-actually, that pantsuit was expensive. So you can burn it, and then you can pay me $500 in cash so you and I don’t have any traceable transactions. You’re used to that, right?”

Steve laughed dryly, brushing off the last part of your statement. “You know what? I don’t really have too much cash on me right now, but how about this?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, flipping it open. You watched intently as he slid out the small piece of black plastic. Wait- was that plastic? He handed it over to you between his middle and forefingers. God, his hands were so pretty, but you weren’t thinking about them too much when the weight of this gesture hit you.

“Steve, you can’t just give out your black card, especially so freely.”

He urged it towards you again. “I’m not giving it out freely. I’m giving it to you. And although you’ve not always been happy with me, you’ve never given me reason to not trust you. And you should know, my offer still stands. You walk into any of my businesses, whatever you want is yours.”

Without another argument, you grabbed the card from his hands and slid it into your back pocket, even if you had no intention to use it.

“Okay, but this is just because I really liked that suit. And don’t think I won’t max this thing out. Scott’s niece wants a trampoline and that’s just the beginning.”

Steve gave you a wink. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

You nodded, looking down and playing with your fingers. “Now get out of here before I have Walker arrest you.”

Steve turned on his heel, grabbed the garment bag, and walked out before you even looked up.

Next >

Bonus A/N: is everything perfect? No. Will it be eventually? Idk, you tell me how much you’ve psychoanalyzed my writing at this point.

Also, I really wanted to include the fact that canonically, Steve’s been pretty accepting when he gets arrested. Sure, he breaks out after, but in the moment, he doesn’t fight it. He knows what he’s doing is against the grain and I appreciate that about him.

Taglist: @evie-119 @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13 @mercurial-chuckles @thezombieprostitute @stellar-solar-flare

[parfaitblogs]

masterlist 𐙚

all my works are spencer reid x reader (currently)

a playlist (in case you ever want to know what song specifically a fic is about) ♡

key angst ✿ smut ❤︎ fluff ୨୧ requests 𐙚

series ♡

lia’s advent calendar

one shots ♡

waiting room ✿

-> loml (pt. 2) ✿୨୧

scared of my guitar ✿

peace ✿ ୨୧

you’re losing me ✿

𐙚 forensic scientist!reader ୨୧

so high school ୨୧

(18+) false god ❤︎

risk ୨୧

(18+) guess ❤︎

never grow up ✿୨୧

(18+) illicit affairs ✿

daylight ୨୧

(18+) fresh out the slammer ❤︎

september rain ୨୧

(18+) bad idea right? ❤︎✿

𐙚 (18+) it will come back ❤︎

north star ✿୨୧

(18+) baby it’s halloween ❤︎

roadkill ✿୨୧

making the bed ✿୨୧

over the moon ୨୧

(18+) persimmon ❤︎

(18+) state of grace ୨୧

(18+) as time goes by ✿❤︎

hard times ✿୨୧

𐙚 tolerate it ✿

(18+) pretty isn’t pretty ✿ ୨୧

(18+) cedar ❤︎

blurbs ♡

𐙚 (18+) clumsy!reader ୨୧

𐙚 shy!reader ୨୧

𐙚 girly!reader ୨୧

oh no! ୨୧

perfect night ୨୧

𐙚 sunshine!reader ✿୨୧

(18+) oh my lover ❤︎

[meritski]

𓏲⠀ no bone to pick ─ heizou x gn!reader .ᐟ ⋆

warnings: mentions of suicide, murder, blood, and corpses (nothing very detailed but please be aware) , reader is a forensic scientist

“Regarding the victim’s past mental health problems and the medicine she has been using for the past months, her suicide can be explained by the depression she’s been experiencing. The divorce must have taken a toll on her. Poor soul, may she rest in peace.”

Heizou gave the man in front of him a close-eyed smile, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes at all. ‘Bullshit.’ The interview was not going to his liking, it seemed. 

“Ah, I see. Thank you for your input and contribution.”

The man’s eyes lit up immediately. 

“So, May I take my lea—”

“Ah, there is my favorite doctor!”

Heizou stood up quickly, leaving the man hanging in the room while not batting an eye. Intentionally, of course.

On the other hand, hearing his loud and somewhat energetic voice, you sighed while arranging the papers that were in your hands. You seemed tired, he noted. And worst of all, you seemed in a bad mood. Ah.

“Hey.”

It was a simple, curt response. One that he expected but didn’t like it nonetheless. He decided he wasn’t going to dampen your mood by wasting your time even more like he usually did. 

“Got any news?”

You nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Not good ones, I suppose?”

“Well, good for the investigation.”

“Oh, they must be bad then.”

“It’s probably not a suicide,”

Hearing him hum in acknowledgment, you sighed and thought: ‘Of course, he’d guess’ and continued. 

“Their hyoid bone is fractured and they are past 30, which means their bones are not flexible at all, also since they don’t weigh much— It’s unlikely for the hanging to cause a fracture. So I’d say it’s most likely to be a…”

You were giving a piece of important information while his thoughts were having none of it.

‘Are they rambling? Cute.’

“Yeah, guessed so.”

“I could guess you’d guess, detective. I am afraid that’s all I got. I wasn’t even allowed in the medical examination room, and the autopsy reports are—”

“Whoa, you sneaked a peek for me? My my, aren’t you adorable—”

“Shut up.”

He laughed. Even if you didn’t want to admit it, his presence was comforting. After being surrounded by dead bodies and the smell of blood all day— his cologne was refreshing in a way. And maybe his personality was also helping you to clear your head. But you’d never say that to his face and feed his ego even more.

You let out the breath you weren’t aware of holding and spoke again,

“Can you get me the blood samples of their ex-husband?”

“Ah, so we are on the same page. Though I don’t know why you need it, of course.”

This was surprisingly going well; you were waiting for him to play around a bit first. Well, it clearly saved you from the headache.

“Thanks,”

Finally, your eyes met his. Ah, now looking at him closely, he seemed tired too. Though it didn’t affect his smile, his eyes were telling a different story.

“...want to grab a drink?”

Okay, maybe the tiredness didn’t affect his smile, but your suggestion clearly did wonders because you could’ve sworn his eyes shined at the sound of it.

“Lead the way, then.”

He extended his hand to you. You looked at it for a few seconds before placing the reports on it. You opened your phone and looked at the time, all while avoiding his eyes, the words slipped between your lips,

“The café or the vending machine?”

 “...vending machine.”

His tone sounded like a disappointed child who was pouting. 

Good thing you didn’t look at him because, boy, was he sulking. He mentally sighed and followed after you.

‘So much for wanting them to hold my hand.’

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑⠀ notes below .ᐟ ⋆

𓏲⠀ heizou is my baby, i love him sm <3 .ᐟ ⋆

𓏲⠀ not proofread (again), so it might get rewritten later! (it probably won’t, anyway) .ᐟ ⋆

𓏲⠀ why do i study medicine? .ᐟ ⋆

☐ money

☐ my family forced me to do so

☐ because i want to help people

☒ to write fanfics based on what i’ve learned in class

© meritski .ᐟ all rights reserved to me, which means; you can not plagiarize, repost, translate or feed my works to ai .ᐟ

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 1: Roadside Help

The End is Near (Gravity Falls x Reader)

← Prologue | Masterlist | Chapter 2 →

Word count: 6.9k.

WARNING: mentions of violence, nausea, blood, injuries, weapon and gun usage, a monster, and body horror.

Note: thank you for the likes and reblogs! Btw, this is the first time I write a character with a country accent, I apologize if it's horrible xdd

══════════════════

‘Good evening, folks! Or is it morning? Well, either way, fantabulous of you to tune in at The New Wave Network, where we’re grooving no matter the time of day! It’s the 2nd of October and the clock strikes at 1:15 a.m. Hoo boy! We’re just a few weeks away from Halloween, so, let’s set the mood with Shadowplay’s new wicked song “The Graveyard Shift”. Have a listen, folks!’

As you step on the accelerator, pine and cedar trees zoom past your window and the outside world becomes a blur. You've been surrounded by greenery and nature for two hours now, and while it's been a pleasant sight at first, you're quickly becoming concerned as the scenery repeats itself. Your destination seems completely unreachable, almost non-existent.

When you woke up two days ago, you didn't expect to uproot your entire life and move halfway across the country for your job. It started when you arrived at the precinct that morning; a week earlier, rumors of a possible promotion in your unit had spread like wildfire, leaving your colleagues and friends suddenly on top of their game.

For example, Craig, who always had food stains on his shirt and an unshaven face, wore immaculate button-downs and slicked-back hair. Jack, who had always flipped the bird at your boss whenever the old man wanted something, now happily made his coffee and showered him with sickly sweet compliments.

You, on the other hand, were content with your position as a forensic scientist. That's not to say that the possibility of a better salary and even having your own office away from the row of wall-to-wall cubicles wasn't tempting, but you weren't exactly desperate for a change within the precinct. You were planning on moving sometime soon.

But that thought flew out the window as your boss immediately dragged you into his office and offered you the opportunity. But what the rumors didn't tell you was that it wasn't a promotion... you were being transferred to another precinct to fill an empty position and it offered better benefits, like a new house and a higher salary... though it was in the middle of nowhere.

It was a tempting offer, and you almost gave in when you were shown a picture of the beautiful house. But something kept nagging at you: the town. Gravity Falls? Never heard of it. Sure, you don't know every single place in the United States, but something about it told you to not take that chance.

When asked why you were chosen, your boss simply replied: “You’re the perfect candidate for this.” He didn't let you probe further into his answer but fervently insisted on hearing your verdict. He almost checked the "yes" box on the form until you physically stopped him.

“I’ll think about it,” that didn’t last long, because as soon as you exited the office and made a beeline to your cubicle, you ran into Jackson Murdock, an asshole who thought he was more important than the moon and who worriedly took far too much pleasure in pestering you, leaning against your desk and sneering that he would love to take said “opportunity”. 

So, without a moment’s thought, you turned right back around and shook your boss's clammy, wrinkled hand. His smile was rather off-putting as he handed you the paperwork.

And that's how you found yourself here, your entire life packed into a myriad of cardboard boxes shoved into your car as you drive through a darkly lit, foggy forest. You were supposed to arrive five hours earlier but ended up getting stuck in traffic due to a massive accident. 

The soft rock tune from the radio fills the quiet space as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel, desperate to stretch your legs. “Fucking hell, where are you, Gravity Falls?” as if on cue to your annoyed tone, you finally drive past a massive weathered billboard with the town's name accompanied by a: ‘Nothing to see here!’. 

“Finally,” you murmur in relief as exhaustion tugs at your eyes, the coffee from earlier did nothing to keep the sluggishness at bay. You lean forward, eyes squinting as your foot deftly shifts to gently press against the brakes, slowly decreasing the car's speed. The last thing you want right now is to miss a possible exit into town and end up deeper in the woods.

Speaking of which, you knew that Oregon was famous for its breathtaking scenery and gorgeous natural landscapes, but where the hell were you driving? Outside your window, the forest looked like something straight out of those recently popular horror movies that everyone in the precinct was talking about.

Tall, monster-like trees stretched far into the sky, their dense foliage and branches so intertwined that it was almost impossible for any of the moon's rays to penetrate through and illuminate the dirt road. Past the bare nature that forms a pathway, there is nothing to see, not even other trees, rocks, or signs of wildlife. It's completely pitch dark and dead.

Your stomach is in knots, perhaps from the lack of food or the scenery outside. Whatever it is, you need to get through this as soon as possible, because you're exhausted, and the less you're near this road, the better. You crank up the heat a little more and take a sip of the now-cold coffee that sits on the cup holder, as the engine of your car hums quietly climbing over a dirt hill, its dim headlights breaking through the thick fog.

But before you get very far, you come across a peculiar sight. Down the small hill, parked on the right between some large rocks, is an old, somewhat battered red pickup truck. Exaggerated clouds of thick smoke billow from the raised hood, and through your window you notice a pair of hands clutching some tools in a desperate attempt to repair the car.

Curious, you approach the vehicle and catch a glimpse of what you assume to be its owner, blowing away the gray clouds while coughing furiously, his small round glasses barely hanging from the tip of his nose and his green patterned shirt stained with grime. Your headlights cast a shadow on the car, and when the man hears the sound of your car’s engine, he lifts his head excitedly, but accidentally smacks his forehead against the hood.

You cringe at the image and watch as the poor man stumbles away from the truck, holding his head in pain as he almost falls to his knees. You feel sorry for the guy, not only did his car break down in the most eerie place possible, but it also happened in the middle of the night. Still, you remain cautious, silently reaching for the police-issued Taser tucked in the left pocket of your coat, which is haphazardly lying on the passenger seat on top of your purse.

Even though the man looks scrawny, and you assume that if he were to throw a punch it would only leave a nasty bruise, you can't help but think that he might want to inflict some harm on you. You've read countless files, back in the archival rooms of your old precinct, of victims who kindly stop to aid others only to be robbed or even murdered in return. 

Dazed, the man looks up in the distance at your car, and his eyes light up in pure relief at the sight but are quickly replaced with desperation as he furiously wails his arms around, silently begging you to stop. Meanwhile, you maneuver the vehicle to the side of the dirt road, harshly pulling on the hand brake as you swiftly attach the taser’s holster to your belt before quickly lowering your sweater to cover it. 

Cold, harsh air bites at your warm skin as you lower your window, making sure to keep your feet near the accelerator and your left hand on the hand brake to book it as soon as this man tries to do anything remotely suspicious. Soon, two shivering hands cling to your windowsill and you’re finally able to get a better look. You noticed that he clumsily cleaned his face and glasses using his sleeve. ‘He’s rather cute.’ 

“Yer a lifesaver! I’ve been sittin’ here for what feels like a whole eternity!” he exclaims in a thick country accent, giving you a closed-eyed smile as he shivers from the freezing wind. You make a small note of his fast speech and silently wonder if it’s the temperature or an underlying anxious habit. 

“No problem, what can I do to help?” you don't mean for your voice to sound so monotonous, but you're exhausted from the long drive and the eerie atmosphere isn't helping. The man removes his hands from your car, opting to shove them into his pants pockets as a puff of condensed breath escapes from his mouth, his back hunched at an awkward angle. “Do ya happen to have a lantern or somethin’ to light up this here mess? I just wanna see how bad this damage is.”

You decide not to blurt out that his car might be beyond repair, as you swear the thing will burst into flames in a matter of minutes. Instead, you wordlessly reach for the open cardboard box on the floor of the passenger seat, silently thanking yourself for putting your work stuff in the front, as you quickly find the lantern and hand it to him. “Careful, it’s an industrial flashlight so it might be a bit heavy.”

The man beams at your actions, his cold fingers gently brushing against yours as he takes the lantern from your grasp. “Thanks a bunch! Could ya give me a hand here and hold this light for me?” he asks rather cheerfully as you mull over your answer. Well, the faster he gets his car fixed the sooner you’ll be able to get home and sleep. 

After a few seconds of silence, you wordlessly nod before rolling up the window to preserve the little heat left inside and then turning the key on its side, your car ceasing its small vibrations as the motor shuts down. You don’t waste any more time as you grab your coat and kick the door open, immediately slipping on the warm attire as your teeth slightly chatter. ‘Fucking wind, why is it so cold? It’s not even winter, yet.’

The man has already made his way back to the pickup, and your tired eyes notice that the amount of smoke coming from under the hood has, thankfully, decreased. Taking wide strides, the dry leaves crunch underneath your boots as you quickly approach the man and gingerly slide your hand out of your pocket, your index pointing to the flashlight. 

He perks up at your presence, but when his gaze lands on your face, you notice in the dim light that a small blush adorns his pale cheeks.

He stares at you for a few seconds with a dumbfounded expression, and it's only when you clear your throat and jab your finger forward that he seems to snap out of it, clumsily handing you the lantern as he focuses on the car's motor. A rather awkward silence ensues as you simply shine the light on the battered machine and he quietly tinkers with it. You should ask him his name.

“So, what are you doing out here at such an hour?” you ask, holding back a yawn. The man doesn't look up from his work, but you notice a small, rather endearing smile on his lips. “Oh! Well, my college buddy moved out here about a month ago and was lookin' for a research partner. Asked if I'd help him out and here I am!” he remembers enthusiastically as he looks at you for a moment, quietly inquiring about your reasons for being here.

“I’m the new Chief of Police in Gravity Falls,” if he was about to try something, then perhaps mentioning your work would dissuade him from that thought. Instead, however, his eyes twinkle with what you assume is excitement as he gives you a broad smile. What a bizarre man. “Well, I reckon we'll be seein' each other a whole lot!”

Suddenly, as if processing his words, he pales at the implications of his sentence and stares at you, eyes wide. “N-Not like that! I’m a law abidin’ citizen, I-I swear! We ain’t doin’ anythin’ illegal!” his panicked reaction gets you to laugh out loud, the light slightly shaking in your grasp. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I get what you were trying to say,” as the laughter dies down, the two of you fall back into silence, but this time it is more comfortable.

Unfortunately, it doesn't take long for the man to let out a frustrated sigh as he runs a dirty hand through his caramel blond hair. “Darn it… radiator’s busted,” he mutters under his breath. He won't be able to start the truck tonight; he'll have to look for a spare part. But your conscience won’t allow you to leave him here, especially when you feel as if something might jump out of the bushes and attack you.

Yes, the forest is creepy, but you doubt it is plagued by cryptids. At most, some predators are lurking around.

You lean over to take a look at what's in his truck; there aren't many boxes or luggage stuffed in the back seats, and it seems like everything fits perfectly inside your car. “Hey, how far’s your friend’s house? I’ll take you there,” he perks up, a hopeful expression washing away the worries and stress of the broken car. “Really!? Oh, bless your soul! It should be ‘bout ten minutes from here.”

The man scurries off to put his tools away and pushes the hood shut before getting his luggage out. Meanwhile, you leave the right-hand door of the back seat open as you start to take some things from his hands, wanting to hurry the process as the cold has now seeped into your bones and you can't stop shivering. You think the cold will kill you before any imaginary monster can.

Soon, the man's truck is empty and locked, but just as you're about to climb into the driver's seat, he lets out a small gasp and rubs his hands roughly against his trousers before extending one to you with a polite smile. “My mama would give me a piece of her mind for bein’ so poorly mannered. I'm Fiddleford H. McGucket, pleased to meet ya.”

You return the greeting firmly, noting that his hand is calloused and freezing, as you reply curtly with your name. Fiddleford repeats it under his breath, testing to feel how it rolls off his tongue, but a strong gust of wind causes you both to rapidly let go of each other's hands as you hurry to get into your car.

You waste no time turning on the heater, both of you breathing a sigh of relief as the warmth relaxes your muscles and soothes your frozen skin. Soon the wheels are turning and the sight of Fiddleford's truck grows smaller and smaller as you make your way along the foggy road.

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The ride is peaceful as Fiddleford leads the conversation, telling you a few facts about himself before turning his attention to you, his dark eyes full of curiosity. You cringe a little, not meaning for your voice to be so flat and your responses to be curt, but you're still getting used to socializing and you're tired. You also don’t understand what’s so interesting about yourself. 

But Fiddleford doesn't seem to mind, enjoying the brief silences and conversations he has with you as he stares out the window. You also finally start to see some signs of civilization in the form of crude wooden signs haphazardly nailed into the trunks of trees, indicating how far the town is. After a few bumps in the road, Fiddleford pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it.

“Ok… so, when ya see that sign sayin’ we’re three kilometers from the entrance to Gravity Falls, turn left,” from your peripheral vision, you watch as he extends a finger and motions to the side. “Your friend lives quite far away from town,” as the words leave your mouth, you’re made painfully aware of the taser still strapped to your belt. You hope that Fiddleford didn’t trick you… you were starting to like him.

Thankfully, your comment seems to resonate with him as he turns to look at you with an excited expression. “Right!? Told’im the same thing! But he said the place was perfect ‘cause there’s a ‘large concentration of specimens’ or somethin’ like that. Gosh, what a pain s’going to be to go to the market every week,” you can help but quietly chuckle as he huffs in frustration, relief coursing through your body.

Soon the two of you return to your normal routine, and before you know it, you're turning your blinker on and maneuvering the steering wheel as the car begins to enter the man-made driveway. A few meters ahead, you see a bizarre A-shaped house with the lights on, and Fiddleford exclaims happily, "That's the house!" 

But just as you're about to step on the gas to start driving up the hill, a figure suddenly dashes out of the trees and you instantly hit the brakes, stopping the car just in time to avoid hitting the person standing a few inches from the hood. You and Fiddleford lurch forward as you gasp in shock, staring with wide eyes and fast-beating hearts at the scene ahead of you. 

You grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles turning white as you hold your breath from the momentary fear that quickly turns to worry. In front of you, a young boy, no more than 16 years old, stares blankly at the window like a deer caught in the headlights. His face is deathly pale, his cheeks sunken as his chest rises and falls at an increasingly rapid pace, puffs of white steam quickly condensing against the cold air. It’s almost invisible, but you notice he’s trembling either from the cold or fear.

But what makes your stomach fall is the state he’s in. Three long cuts decorate the lower part of his jaw, the blood around the wound is dried, he has a busted lip and a large bruise surrounds his left eye, you can see that he is having trouble keeping it open, perhaps it is already starting to swell. 

His blond hair is disheveled, mixed with twigs, leaves, and dirt. There are several cuts and other wounds on his neck and near his stomach, his shirt has four large gashes, although he does not appear to be bleeding in that area. But that does not explain the fact that his hands and part of his forearms are covered in dirt, moss, and a combination of fresh and dried blood.

From what you can see, he's wearing pajamas and doesn't appear to be armed or carrying any kind of weapon. Nevertheless, he appears to be in a state of hysteria and shock so any sort of rapid or sudden movement could lead to a violent reaction or you could scare him away. You must approach him with caution.

You get out of the car, taking care to open the door gently but quickly, not hearing Fiddleford's warning to wait. The sound of the door seems to wake the boy from his stupor, and as you expected, his face falls swiftly and he begins to back away, his body shaking uncontrollably. “Please… don’t hurt me,” his voice trembles, filled with panic as his eyes become crystalline, tears threatening to spill.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just worried, are you okay?” you stay put, making sure your tone is as gentle as possible to not alarm or scare him away. You notice that the atmosphere outside is deadly quiet, you can’t hear the singing of the crickets, much less the howling of the wind. ‘What the hell is going on!?’

“I need to know you’re human,” the boy demands in a shaky tone, having put a good distance between you and him. You raise an eyebrow at his request, but he seems deadly serious as his forehead furrows and his jaw clenches, his fists balling up as if ready to fight if you don't comply. “How do you want me to prove I’m human?”

For some reason, the question seems to put him at ease, as he relaxes his posture though he remains rather hostile. “I… I don’t know but… I-I just don’t know who to trust,” through whispers, tears spill from his eyes as he holds a hand out, terrified. You stand still for a moment, completely confused as to what to do, but it seems the best way to calm him down is to tell him about yourself.

“My name is (Y/N),” you begin and gently close the car door as you take a step forward. The boy perks up, teary eyes staring at you in confusion. You continue, slightly shivering as a gust of wind passes by, yet you don’t hear anything but your voice. “I’m 27. I graduated from Backupsmore as a forensic scientist… um… I hate bees and my favorite color is-”

Before you can finish, the boy suddenly bolts from his spot, his frail arms quickly wrapping around your torso and hugging you as tightly as he can. Unfortunately, due to the force, you come tumbling down, your back harshly scratching against the dirt. You're shocked for a moment, but then you feel his tears rapidly soaking your sweater and his bloody hands tightly clutching the material as he wails loudly, the sound reverberating through the dead ambient.

Somewhat stiffly, your arms embrace the boy, one hand gently rubbing circles on his back, which is shaking as he sobs. His skin is frozen, he's been out for a long time. Fiddleford quickly gets out of the car and crouches down beside you with a worried look on his face, quietly asking you if everything is alright. You just give him a small smile in return, hoping to reassure him.

"M-Miss, please help me, I'm so scared," he mumbles between loud cries, hiding his face in your shoulder. You just nod and guide him through some breathing exercises to help him think more clearly and calm down. When the crying ceases, you take off your jacket and drape it over his shoulders hoping it will warm him up a bit, while Fiddleford gently places a hand on his head.

"Let's start at the beginning, what's your name?" your question in a soft tone. The boy lifts his face from your shoulder and two red-rimmed eyes look at you sadly. "M-My name is L-Lawrence W-Woodworth," he replies scared, the words barely leaving his mouth as he shivers. "Nice to meet you, Lawrence. This is Fiddleford, my friend," the brown-haired man gives the boy a slight smile as he nods.

"You have to tell me what happened, how did you get here?" Lawrence shudders at your words but dryly swallows, as if to gather courage, and begins "W-We were coming back from my house, Dylan, Kyle and I... we were working on a s-school project. And out of nowhere, I don't know what it was, but s-something came out of the trees and..."

His palms harshly wipe away at his eyes, though he winces as he grazes the injured one. Fiddleford silently encourages him to continue as he rubs his shoulders. “I-It ripped Kyle’s s-stomach out… D-Dylan called 911 and t-then in the woods something that looked like Kyle but wasn’t Kyle… it even talked like him… it was just standing t-there and i-it started to chase us… w-we got separated and somehow I ended up here…”

You can't believe what you're hearing. If it weren't for the fact that Lawrence looks completely paralyzed with fear, you'd think this story was taken from a horror book. Could the monster be a product of the possible trauma of seeing his friend badly hurt? Or did they mistake the killer, who was standing at a long distance from them, for a more twisted version of a friend? Those are the only explanations you can currently come up with.

You look up and notice that Fiddleford has a much more serious look on his face, he seems to believe everything the boy says. But before you can question him, a bloodcurdling scream followed by a distorted roar echoes through the forest and Lawrence looks up, what little color he had regained in his face drained away. "DYLAN! OH GOD IT'S DYLAN! I HAVE TO GO GET HIM!"

Lawrence is about to run off into the woods when you grab his wrist to stop him from moving, causing the boy to yelp in pain. "Sorry, but you're not going, you're injured and putting yourself in more danger. Fiddleford, take Lawrence to your friend’s and call the police. I'll look for the other boy," you order firmly, before getting up and going to your car, opening it forcefully and diving between all the boxes.

Behind you, you hear Fiddleford gasp in surprise, his boots breaking several branches as he quickly approaches your figure. “(Y/N), be extremely careful, please. Whatever it is, it's dangerous. Please tell me you're carrying a weapon or somethin’,” the man exclaims worriedly. You quietly nod before you notice a small, thin, black briefcase, unfamiliar to you tucked between some cardboard boxes labeled “kitchen”.

Quickly, you unlock the clasp and open the lid, revealing a Smith & Wesson Model 4506 stored in the middle. Your stomach twists, this would be your first time using this thing. But you swallow that fear, a kid is in danger. Fiddleford gasps as he watches over your shoulder as you quickly load the gun with nine rounds and strap the holster to your belt, right next to the Taser. "Don't worry, it's police-issued, I've got a license and I know how to shoot."

You quickly head over to your driver’s seat, shut the car off, and grab the lantern that you stored in the glovebox. As you turn around, you quickly shove your car keys in Fiddleford’s unexpecting hands and turn over to look at Lawrence, who’s now standing up, still trembling. “What does your friend look like?” you walk over to the car, momentarily covering one of the headlights.

“D-Dylan’s tall, has short curly black hair, dark skin, and glasses. H-He was wearing… I-I think I white T-shirt,” you nod, creating the mental picture of his friends as you begin to sprint over to the forest. “BE CAREFUL,” Fiddleford’s voice filled with concern sounds distant as you book it, the cold wind cutting at your skin.

The forest is deadly quiet, the only sounds you can hear are your rapid breathing and the crunching of dried leaves and twigs as your boots stomp over them. Your stomach curls into a knot and your mouth goes dry as the faster you run, the darker your surroundings seem to get.

"DYLAN!?" your voice echoes through the trees as you flash the light around you. There are only trees, trees, and more trees! They are all starting to look the same. And the fog makes it worse as you can barely see past a few feet in front of you. You exhale exhaustedly, pausing for a moment as you try to regain your sense of direction. Your muscles ache from the sudden movement, you were more used to a life behind a desk than running in the field.

"OVER HERE! PLEASE! HELP ME!" your head whips to the right as you hear the distant screams of a young boy. There was no time to waste, as the force you used to push yourself forward caused the soles of your feet to kick up a patch of dirt and moss. You call his name again, trying to locate him more easily, and he answers, his voice much clearer now. 

Soon you come to a clearing illuminated by the moonlight, and sitting against the trunk of one of the trees, his head tucked between his head and a hand on his left shoulder, is the boy who fits Lawrence's description.

"Dylan? My name is (Y/N), I met your friend, Lawrence, I'm here to take you to safety," you say breathlessly, watching as the boy slowly lifts his head, tears streaming down his face as he quietly holds back a sniffle. "L-Lawrence is okay? H-He's not hurt?" you nod softly and quickly walk over, kneeling in front of him and as you give him a warm smile.

"Yes, he's with my friend now, and help is on the way. Are you hurt?" now that you're closer, you notice that there's a deep cut on his left cheek and that his glasses are nowhere to be found, most likely lost while running through the woods. As you gently encourage him to roll over, Dylan hiccups, having cried the last of his tears, before carefully removing the hand that was holding his shoulder.

Underneath his bloody palm are two deep, heavily bleeding cuts that look very similar to the ones on Lawrence's shirt. Up close, the injury looks unnatural, and you can't put your finger on what could have done this; you assume it could be something like a hook, but the width of the gash is much wider than a butcher's hook or something heavier. "I-It got me when I tripped on a corner. I managed to f-fight it off though," he admits sheepishly, dropping his head back to his knees as he recalls the encounter. So that was the scream.

"You were incredibly brave, don't be ashamed, Dylan," you whisper comfortingly, focusing your attention on treating the wound. Placing the lantern on the ground, you grab the bottom of the sweater with both hands and pull in different directions with enough force that the threads begin to snap. Ripping the fabric until it reaches above your belt, you pull so that it goes around your waist, gathering enough to make a makeshift tourniquet.

Dylan watches quietly as you successfully separate the torn piece from your sweater. "Okay, this is going to hurt, but I'm going to wrap this around your wound, okay?" he nods shakily at your instructions, lowering his knees and stretching his injured arm out to the side. You quietly guide him to take deep breaths as you slip the fabric underneath the armpit and tightly twist and turn the cloth, softly apologizing when he winces or gasps for air.

After a few seconds, you tie a knot with the remaining cloth, successfully stopping the bleeding for the moment. Dylan tests his arms by stretching and moving the limb before standing up and grabbing the lantern left on the grass. "Where did the attacker go?" your eyes scan the area around you, but the overwhelming darkness and fog make it impossible for you to see what is beyond the clearing. The area is so quiet, so devoid of life, that you can hear your heartbeat, which begins to pick up as you hear the crunch of leaves and twigs.

Dylan and you have not moved an inch.

"Mooooooom," a distorted and crooked voice wails sadly from the trees, shaking you to your core. Its pitch goes up and down as it gets closer and closer to where you're standing, calling out in pain, searching for its mother. It doesn't even sound like a human, let alone an animal, it's as if something is painfully trying to imitate human speech.

Then you remember what Lawrence said: something that had the appearance of his friends yet it wasn’t him. There's no way... there's no way that things like that exist… Those are just myths, right? You feel Dylan tense up next to you and the light source emitting from the lantern begins to shake in his grip. The creature is determined to find you, it keeps calling out, and whatever it is, it is big, as the ground beneath it shakes and rumbles slightly whenever it takes a step. 

"When I tell you to run, keep going straight until you find a hut. Don't stop and don't look back," you command in a hushed whisper, feeling your heart pounding loudly against your chest as your nimble fingers quietly unlock the holster and grab the handle of your gun. “O-Ok, please be careful, ma’am,” he replies, holding the lantern tighter.

Soon the footsteps are shaking the pebbles scattered across the ground and the mushrooms growing in the trunks of the nearby trees, and you can feel the vibrations in your ears. Beside you, Dylan slowly begins to back away from the noise, inching closer to where you first entered, while you stare at the source of the sound. "Mooooom... I want my mom," it cries again, this time louder, and you shudder at the disgusting tone in which it speaks.

"I hate it... why does it sound so much like Kyle?" Dylan whispers through clenched teeth, this time further away from you. So you were right, it's trying to imitate human speech, but you wonder why it's calling to its mother. You don't have time to answer as a massive figure begins to break through the mist, and you hold your gun tightly, raising it so that the barrel points straight at what you assume is the creature's head.

But you freeze up as soon as the thing reveals itself. The monster is incredibly tall, it reaches to the middle of one of the pine trees and you estimate it to be about two meters in height. It is dragging its arms on the ground, massive hands with dirty nails pointing up towards its pale and bony palms, and its head is tilted to the side, in a childlike manner. 

Sunken and completely hollow eyes with a single silver dot are staring directly at you, the toothless mouth is open wide, creating an oval shape in which you can’t see anything other than an empty void, while distorted boyish cries are coming from the deepest parts of its throat. 

Worst of all, you finally understand what Lawrence and Dylan were saying. It has copied the appearance of a young ginger boy, but because its body is so large and deformed, it looks as if it has stretched an image of what you assume to be Kyle and plastered it onto its body. 

The skin is ghostly pale and looks pulled and torn, its hair is a mangled mess with various bald spots revealing a fleshy black interior, and its "clothes" look painted over and reveal a thin torso with paper-thin skin that closely exposes a skeleton with way too many bones for you to count. It twitches unnaturally as it just stands there, looking at you while begging for his mother without moving.

You can't begin to comprehend what the hell is in front of you. It doesn't feel real, the lack of sound around you, the intense fog, and the imagery make it feel like you're in a lucid nightmare. But you're brought back to reality when you realize that Dylan is still behind you, crying softly as he stares at the mockery of his friend's image. "Run on the count of three, okay?" you don't take your eyes off the creature.

"One," your body's facing forward, you move your dominant leg a step back, both feet planted firmly on the ground as you aim the barrel to hit right between the monster's eyes. It doesn't move, only keeps twitching and wailing in a deep tone.

"Two," you steady your body and take a deep breath as your finger hugs the trigger. Behind you, Dylan prepares to run. Once he's gone, the moonlight will be your only guide during the fight. Your heart beats faster as you take one last breath...just get this over and you’ll go home…

"THREE!" without wasting a second, you squeeze the trigger and fire, a flash of bright light shooting from the barrel and the bullet lodging deep inside the creature's head. The sound of the gun being fired echoes through the forest and you swear you can hear birds flying from the trees and some of the sound comes back. Dylan has already started to run, straight ahead as you instructed.

The shot sends the monster reeling a few steps back, but in retaliation, it lets out a distorted roar so loud it makes your eyes vibrate with pain. You don't let that deter you, though, as you load the second bullet into the chamber and prepare to fire at the creature's chest, right where you think its heart is. Unfortunately, it recovers rather quickly and stands up shakily before charging at you like a bull, swinging one of its gigantic arms in your direction.

You're able to dodge the attack, but the limb is so heavy that as soon as it hits the ground, the force knocks you to the ground and the weapon almost slips from your grasp. Luckily, you hold on tight, but the creature is relentless, one of its clawed hands grabs your right ankle, its sharp, bone-like claws digging easily into your flesh, tearing some of the skin. You grunt loudly, your teeth clenched as tears sting your eyes, but you aim the gun at the creature's shoulder and fire.

As the bullet connects with the skin, the monster screeches and painfully removes its claws from your ankle, nursing its new injury instead. You back away as fast as you can, grunting in pain and after a considerable distance, you do your best to stand up, limping slightly as you plant your feet firmly on the ground and load another bullet.

And you fire the third one.

And the fourth.

And the fifth.

“Won’t you just die already!?” you scream in frustration, fear and paranoia seeping into your mind as you watch the monster rise from the ground once more, five small holes in different parts of its body spilling a tar-like liquid onto the grass, staining it. It's almost invincible, no matter how many bullets you fire, it seems to do nothing but temporarily stun it and make it scream horribly.

You jump to the side as the monster charges forward again, but it miscalculates and runs straight through the tree instead. The impact is so powerful that it leaves a massive hole in the trunk, but it is temporarily stuck there; as it struggles to free itself, you waste no time finding its ankle and stomping down as hard as you can.

You almost fall forward...you did not expect its bones to be so fragile. But you almost rejoice in pure happiness as you've found its weak spot; it seems that physical actions are more effective. So you don't stop, kicking and punching with all your might as your limbs easily leave dents and holes in the monster's body. Your hands and boots are covered in the slimy dark substance, but you don't care, you're not going to die here.

In your angry tirade, you fail to notice that the creature is now free of the trunk. It turns, an arm swinging violently, making contact with the side of your torso, sending you flying to the other side of the clearing, where you crash hard into another tree, the air escaping your body as your lungs burn from the pain and your back cracks loudly.

Tears cloud your vision as the monster walks toward you, its actions mimicking a predator that has finally caught its meal. Your hands desperately search your surroundings for your weapon, but as you cough violently, you realize that the weapon has been crushed under the creature's weight on the other side of the clearing. “Oh fuck,” you mutter as the creature stands before you and wastes no time reaching down, its claws digging into your neck as it lifts you into the air.

You struggle to free yourself, your throat slowly crushed under the monster's grip, as something cold and plastic digs into the side of your hip. The Taser! As dark spots begin to fill your vision and your lungs burn, your hand reaches for your belt, unlatches the holster, and shakily pulls the device out.

Your scratched thumb quickly locates the switch and flips it on, and with all your might you jam the probes against the monster's skin and squeeze the trigger. As the volt of electricity coursed through the thing's insides, it let out a blood-curdling scream before dropping you to the ground. The pain is so great for the creature that it falls to the ground, rolling on its wrist.

But even though your world is spinning and you want nothing more than to throw up and fall asleep, you push through the pain and stand up shakily as you sprint to the monster and mercilessly stomp on its head, its skull cracking against your sole and the grass. You keep going, even when there's nothing left but a messy pile of mush and the tar-like substance, you don't stop.

You want this thing dead. Gone. Fuck whatever this thing is.

“(Y/N), STOP! It’s already dead!”

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