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cyber-dump-171 · 2 months ago

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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

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‘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!”

══════════════════

Tag list:

@rotknox @devotee-of-bill

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #stanford pines x reader #fiddleford mcgucket x you #fiddleford mcgucket x reader #bill cipher x you #bill cipher x reader

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celestialprincesse · 10 months ago

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police officer!Simon x detective!reader perhaps..? reader is higher ranked than him

I love love love this dynamic💕 @alwaysshallow writes Ghost and Higher ranked!reader perfectly too! I'd highly recommend reading their stuff on them!

The wind is nothing short of biting as you stand outside the forensics tent, pulling your coat tighter around your shoulders with a huff. Your watch reads 04:17AM, Thursday the 14th of November. Cold and tired. Homicides always come at the worst times. Sirens and blindingly bright blue and red lights only serve to worsen the migraine you can feel clawing up the back of your neck, trying to find purchase within the walls of your skull, already swimming with ugly ideas and images.

"-ed a perimeter." The gruff rumble of Simon 'Ghost' Riley's voice snaps you from your self pitying reverie, his eyes crinkling at the sides in a small, secret smile when you look up at him with bleary, confused eyes, envying the balaclava which covers his face from the nose down. "What?" A wince crinkles your stinging, cold face as your voice cracks like broken radio static. Simon's face softens at your obvious weariness. "You need to stop staying up so late." He chides you like a parent would a child, concern melting his brown eyes into molten brass. It's easy for him to forget that not everyone shares the same military background as him, that most can't go for days with only a few hours of sleep and stay sharp. "I was working on the Makarov case." You huff, running your hands down your face in an attempt to wipe away the lingering tiredness settled there. "I know it's eating at you, but you're no use to anyone when you can barely keep your eyes open." Simon's voice takes on that chastising tone that reminds you of his former military prowess - pre honourable discharge. The thought still makes you sad, fills your chest with warm, sticky pity, choking you up with a lump in your throat.

You stuff your hands into your pockets in a futile attempt to stave off the cold, rumbling out complaints and drawing instinctively closer to your colleague as he parts the crowd of forensic scientists and officers with his presence alone. The officer doesn't hesitate to lay his coat across your shoulders, forever looking out for you, if not just to see the way you relax under the warm weight of his jacket. "Can we go for breakfast after this?" A gentle smile flickers across Simon's face as you plead with him. The strength of your stomach never fails to surprise him, your ability to think about food in the middle of a crime scene eternally entertaining. Truly a person after his own heart. "Course we can."

You're not really sure why you're here, seeing as you only seem to get in the way of forensics gathering evidence as Simon walks you around the scene, detailing what the team knows so far about the crime, leaving you and your tired mind to decipher the rest. Unfortunately, with the lack of caffeine and bacon in your system, all you can do is nod dumbly and try to hide the way you keep yawning. Simon, as always, is ever present at your back, your side, letting you lean into him or mutter about how hungry you are under the pretence of talking about information relating to the crime. He's known you for long enough now to know that trying to get your brain firing at this time in the morning is futile. You work better at night.

Before Simon is given the opportunity to usher you away from the impending crushing of some poor kids' hopes and dreams, one of Graves' wide eyed, freakishly excited mentees is making a beeline your way - not that you notice when you've got your head in your hands and no will to live. The prepubescent sounding screech of their voice makes you wince, drilling a hole in your skull just big enough for the migraine to slip through. "You worked under Laswell right?" They chirp, far too energised for this obscene hour in the morning, and for someone play investigating the scene of a double homicide. "Yup." The dull, tired drone of your voice should be enough indication that you're not feeling talkative, and the look Simon angles them is unwavering enough to make a grown man weep. Not that they seem to notice. Or care. "Isn't this so cool? like a real life, actual homicide? Did you see the bodies? They were so gross."

Simon notices the way you bristle, shoulders at your ears. Despite your grumbling, you have the decency to respect the dead, something that Kate taught you long ago. "One of them had this like-" is enough to send you over the edge, shooting the kid a cruel look as you stand from where you'd been hunched in the back of the police van. "Enough." You growl, and Simon reaches out to place a grounding hand on the small of your back, trying his best to soothe your anger. "Don't be so fucking immature." The sound of your hiss is enough for the trainee to take a nervous step back. "Those are dead people. Those are dead people that were brutally murdered, in their beds at shit o'clock in the morning. Have some respect." You snap before pointing back at Graves with a furious blaze in your tired eyes. "Now go back to your shitty mentor and rifle through some bins."

"I'm impressed." Simon perks up from behind you, waiting with open arms for you to inevitably stumble into, emotionally and physically exhausted. "Breakfast?" You plead again into the plain fabric of his jumper. "Breakfast."

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hxney-lemcn · 1 year ago

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would you ever do a gotham [pre-riddler] ed nygma x a gn reader oneshot?? like the readers an assistant M.E. to dr. thompkins and they let ed come and help them examine bodies or something like that idk

btw i love ur fics ur writing styles rlly nice <333‼️

Gotham! Edward Nygma Befriending gn! M.E. assistant! reader

tw: mentions of death and dead bodies.

a/n: ok, so my requests aren't open but since I'm in a riddler mood I decided to write this anyways lol. Also, ik you said one shot but headcanons worked out better for me. I'm glad you like my fics sm! This can be seen as platonic or romantic

wc: 0.4k

Master List

❥When you were first hired as an assistant M.E., you hadn’t expected to stumble upon the forensic scientist examining the body you were supposed to. It was your first assignment on your own, given to you by Dr. Leslie Thompkins. He stood there, hands inside the body, his hair slightly falling into his face. You weren’t sure how to proceed as you both just stared at each other awkwardly.

❥That’s how you met Edward Nygma. The lovely dork of the precinct. He was surprised when you didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t give him a dirty look and you didn’t ask him to leave. No, in fact, he couldn’t believe his ears when you asked him to help. It was your first time being unsupervised after all, so it was comforting that someone who also seemed knowledgeable in your field was there.

❥What you thought was a one time thing ended up happening more often than you thought. Ed would join you, help you inspect the body, then take anything he needed to analyze as the forensic scientist. It became routine. The times he wasn’t there felt off, though he did have his own job to do. You enjoyed his presence. Being surrounded by death on the daily, his odd mannerisms and riddles brought some life into the environment.

❥The first time Dr. Thompkins, or Lee as she insisted, walked in on you two hovering over a body, she wasn’t surprised in the slightest. She didn’t even pause to process. Why would she? She had put two and two together forever ago. At first you were mortified. It was your duty to make sure policies and protocols were being followed so that any evidence found couldn’t be thrown out. You and Ed were definitely breaking protocol. He wasn’t trained after all.

❥She just continued on like it was the norm. In fact, it was the norm. Ed had been doing this since before she was hired after all. Best to just let him. He knew what he was doing after all. It got to the point that if anyone needed Ed, they’d just go to the M.E. lab. He was there 9/10 times after all.

❥It didn’t help that Ed found himself liking your presence. You never judged him, you weren’t afraid to ask him for help, and most of all, you didn’t push him away for his ‘unusual’ mannerisms. You genuinely tried to answer his riddles. You never got short with him, and if you couldn’t handle them you would tell him upfront. He thought of you as his safe space. Before, the M.E. lab was a safe space solely due to the bodies being like riddles. He found solace in trying to piece together the puzzle of how and why someone was killed. Now, you were a part of that.

#riddler x reader #edward nygma x reader #the riddler x reader #gotham x reader #edward nigma x reader #riddler #gotham #edward nygma #edward nigma #the riddler #x reader

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withlove-amber · 10 months ago

Text

He Did The Thing

gibbs x reader

“I’ll be right down Abbs.” Gibbs said, snapping his cellphone shut. As he made his way to the lab, he had started to wonder where (Y/N) had gone. She briefly mentioned something about going to see Abby for an update on the current case, but that was 20 minutes ago. He didn’t quite catch what she was saying, as he was on the phone with Ducky about an update on the case as well. The first thing he heard as he stepped off the elevator was (Y/N) asking Abby, “Did he do the hot guy thing where he puts his hand on the small of your back to get through a crowd?” “YES” the forensic scientist replied. “I don’t know what it is about that certain gesture, but when someone does it-” (Y/N) was interrupted by Gibbs asking, “What you got for me Abbs?” as he handed Abby a Caf-POW.

(Y/N) was starting to blush, and part of her hoped Gibbs didn’t hear the conversation, but the other part of her hoped very much that Gibbs heard the conversation. She’s had a crush on her silver-haired, steely-blue eyed boss, since she started working for team Gibbs as the new probie. But now, as a full-time NCIS Special Agent, she felt that having a crush on her boss maybe isn’t the best. But there’s something about the way his vivid baby blue eyes stare into (Y/N)’s when he’s talking to her, or maybe it’s how softly he speaks to Abby compared to the rest of the team. The ‘ding!’ of Abby’s computer brought (Y/N) out of her thoughts, and back into reality. Abby shared the new update, and Gibbs and (Y/N) went back upstairs to the bullpen to share Abby’s update to the rest of the team.

The next bit of the workday seemed to go agonizingly slow. Half the team was waiting for someone to call them back, and the other half went through evidence and bank records. At a certain point, Abby called everyone into the lab, asking for help. She needed extra hands to help with something, and wasn’t sure who could do what to help. It felt a little crowded in the lab with everyone being there, but (Y/N)’s thoughts abruptly faded away when she felt Gibbs’ hand on the small of her back, while trying to navigate through the crowd. She wondered if he overheard the conversation between herself and Abby, and the smirk on his face confirmed her thoughts. After that flirtatious gesture, she started to wonder if there was a chance he felt the same. And the way his beautiful blue eyes stared into hers across the room, gave her a little more hope that one day there could be something more between Gibbs and herself.

#ncis #gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #abby sciuto #ducky mallard

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anystalker707 · 4 months ago

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an ironic, bitter joke

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x [gender-neutral] Reader Summary: you're a forensic doctor who works for GCPD, and there seemed to me remains of the fear gas in the crime scene. after such a day, your boyfriend is waiting for you at home to comfort you. Tags: comfort / there's no major description of the dead body / no major description of fear or panic attack

Requested by @sw33tsuccubus ["i know you’re busy a lot dear but hear me out. jonathan crane (i’m on a bit of a kick lately) fic. maybe he’s in a relationship with a forensic scientist who ends up going to one of scarecrow’s crime sites. (...)"]

MASTER LIST

“The results of the last toxicology test seem a bit tricky. Maybe you could double-check?” Nygma raised his eyebrows lightly at you, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his forearm as he walked over to the sink and washed his hands.

You looked down at the papers before you, playing with the pens in your lab coat’s pocket. They wouldn’t be done or needed anytime soon, whether you wanted it or not, so you could busy yourself with something else in the meantime. Just as you were about to get up, the lab door opened, and one of the officers stood there.

“We need you two on the crime scene,” the officer said, looking down at the clipboard they had in hand, flipping one of the papers. “The van is leaving in a few minutes.”

You clicked your tongue. More work, more deaths. “Who?”

“Another one of those cases, fear stuff,” they said, turning the pages a few more times before placing the clipboard on the counter, and you shared a look with Nygma. “We have some people there already. Fresh scene. You’ll catch the body warm if you’re fast enough.” They looked at the two of you.

“On it.” You promptly stood up, receiving an assertive nod from the officer before they left, cursing the police under your breath. They weren’t only harsh when dealing with criminals and society but also with the other areas within the GCPD, like forensics, for example. As much as you, Nygma, and the others hated it, you weren’t quite a fan of being hungry and in debt, and there weren’t that many job opportunities anywhere else. Legally, at least. Your name wasn’t big enough to take any chance in the underworld.

Separating the needed materials and getting ready to visit another crime scene was automatic, practically a sign for your brain to shut tight the door between feelings and professionalism. By now, it didn’t take much anymore, even more so after the peak in criminality that Gotham had been going through for a while already, transforming the usual living hell into something worse.

A sigh escaped your lips as you walked into the van with the rest of the staff, giving your materials a last check.

The familiar rushed, nervous talk already permeated the air along with the strong smell of blood when you stepped out of the van, observing the crowd of officers and some other people standing there, with blood pooling on the ground not so far off. Occasionally, the sound of cameras going off would sharply echo, but everyone was too immersed in the situation to care.

Usually, a murder under a bridge down in the worst parts of Gotham wouldn’t raise that much of a commotion, though that wasn’t the case when it involved a politician—with a surname that matched one of the local mafia leaders—and characteristics of the last series of deaths, explaining Gordon’s presence there, too.

Formalities were dismissed as you walked under the yellow and black tape, approaching the corpse; Nygma stood back to exchange words with the others and grab the papers so that you could know the background a little better, to get an idea of what to look for.

It wasn’t the worst scene you’d ever seen, but still far from the best. Your case was left somewhere away from the drops of blood as you crouched next to the body. Rigor mortis hadn’t started to settle in yet, meaning it hadn’t been two full hours ever since that man’s heart stopped beating. Similarities to other cases were evident, looking like the person had died in panic, with sighs of despair like tugging on their own hair or scratching themselves, trying to run away or escape, even if they weren’t in a closed place. Sometimes it had a few differences, but the basics remained the same.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked for any sign of puncture, despite never finding them in any of the bodies, so you still had to make a background check to know if something else could’ve intoxicated them. You inhaled deeply while leaning a little closer to the corpse, trying to catch any sketchy smell, but there seemed to be nothing, as usual, even though this was the freshest body you’d gotten access to so far.

Even with the lack of any strange smell, something suffocated you, making it harder to breathe. Was there something really toxic? No, there hadn’t been anything like that in the last cases. Everyone else in there was fine. A shiver ran down your spine at the same time your breath hitched, and you couldn’t understand what stirred in your chest, your heart palpitating with the sudden discomfort.

The surrounding sounds turned muffled and distorted, your throat went dry, and your hands started to sweat. Was it getting darker already? The sun was just starting to set when you left the GCPD.

A hand landed on your shoulder, and your blood drained when you looked up to see a blurry, dark figure standing there, looming over you. You screamed without even realizing it, unable to say anything, every word turning into a scream as you fell back and tried to crawl away from the black figures that kept surrounding you, your heart hammering in your chest. You were alone, in the dark, without any family, without your boyfriend, without anyone.

𓆩𓆪

Your mind was still distant, messy, even after you woke up in the infirmary. Reality would come and go, something like when you’d been awake for way too long, making it hard to process beyond two of the uncountable questions that the doctors made you.

“You seemed… afraid,” Nygma said, furrowing his eyebrows as he helped you stand, holding your bag in one of his hands, and followed you out of the department. Everyone had said that to you before, and you do remember being afraid, wanting to run away and cry, but you simply couldn’t remember why. “Can you really go home by yourself?”

“I’m taking a cab, my boyfriend is home, waiting for me, anyway,” you sighed, still haunted by the awful feeling from earlier. When did your thoughts mix up with dreams? How much of it was reality? Knowing how far you could trust yourself was hard, but hopefully seeing Jonathan would help you return to reality. You’d forgotten about Nygma before he stood beside you again, handing your bag to you, saying something that sounded like gibberish, and you were too tired to ask him to repeat.

Everyone had been talking to you the entire time, ever since you woke up with the IV line in your arm, with sweat making your clothes stick uncomfortably to your skin and your muscles sore from the exaggerated tension. The unexplainable fear you’d felt on the crime scene was now a ghost that haunted the back of your mind, making your breath hitch whenever something caught you off guard. In a way, it was something like a hungover, but still not quite.

“Make sure to rest and drink a lot of water,” Nygma reinforced when a cab pulled up, squeezing your shoulder before you waved at him and moved to get in the car.

The drive home felt way too fast, and the numbers escaped your grasp when the driver told you the price, so you just told him to keep the change before handing him some crumpled bills and leaving the car.

Unlike the GCPD, home was warm and comfy, with a comforting smell that immediately calmed you down when you stepped past the doorway. Jonathan’s shoes were already behind the apartment’s door, his coat hung nicely as you hung yours as well. Just the sight made your heart warm.

“Sweetheart? I bought us some dinner from that restaurant you like. Also, some dessert because…” Jonathan trailed off as he walked out of the kitchen and saw you standing there by the doorway, his face falling. He was wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt only, without his tie, which was a rare sight. His eyebrows furrowed as he pressed his lips together, pushing his glasses up. “Love? You look… pale.”

You raised your eyebrows and took a deep breath, trying to get some sense of yourself so that you could answer him. “I had an incident at work,” you stated. “I went to investigate and collect materials in a fresh crime scene under a bridge, but people think I was intoxicated. I started… hallucinating? I don’t know. I was afraid. Seemed like a panic attack.”

Jonathan’s expression fell into a frown at the same time his shoulder dropped as he looked at you from head to foot before stepping closer, cupping your face in his hands, and turning your head from side to side before his thumb tugged on the skin under your eye. “Did they have you checked?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “They ran a blood test, medicated me and stuff, but I’m still…” You made a vague motion to indicate the haze that clouded your mind, focusing on the warmth of Jonathan’s hands on your skin, the care in his gaze as he observed you.

Jonathan felt bad. He tried his best to muffle down that feeling that bubbled up inside his chest by focusing on caring for you, holding onto your shoulders before he gave your hips a squeeze when he looked you up and down to make sure he didn’t miss any detail, anything. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he adjusted his glasses again before nodding and kissing your cheek softly.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jonathan furrowed his eyebrows, taking your bag and leaving it on the floor before he hugged you, rubbing your back comfortingly. “Or better, why didn’t anyone in the GCPD call me? Do they not have mine as one of your emergency numbers? Love, I—” His words came to a halt when you groaned softly. “Sorry, I’m just very worried,” he exhaled heavily, hugging you tighter. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if something had happened to you. You have a dangerous job, sweetheart.”

The irony of it all was a bitter joke that made Jonathan mad. To think that his fear gas—the one he had created to overcome his enemies and to protect you—had affected his own partner. Though, it did make him wonder how and why the gas had stuck around for so long. He was just supposed to get rid of the obstacles, clean the trash, not disturb his beloved partner! Jonathan wanted to strangle himself for a moment, but something—well, someone—else needed his attention right now. He kissed your cheek a few times more, hoping to ease both you and his anger.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” Jonathan caressed your face, and his heart fluttered and sank when a small smile tugged on your lips.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled with a nod. A sigh escaped your lips as you wrapped your arms around Jonathan, leaning into his touches, nuzzling his shoulder. “I just needed to rest. I really wanted to see you,” you whispered. “Be with you.”

“Of course, love,” he whispered and kissed your shoulder in return, staring at the wall while holding you there. “I’m here for you.” The words were true, even if most things about him weren’t, but he needed to keep you around, to keep the only person he loved happy, the only person who brought him a sense of reality. You were the main reason he kept trying to be better, to get a better life, even if his means weren’t the best.

“I’ll get a shower ready for you,” Jonathan said, interrupting himself from overthinking and also cutting through your thoughts. “Get you into some nice clothes, then we can have dinner, and we’ll go to bed, hm? How does that sound?” He squeezed you a little before stepping back and holding your hands in his, with a soft smile. “You’ll feel better in no time. You should call in sick tomorrow. Take the day off to rest. You deserve it.”

Jonathan swallowed dryly, trying to seem as natural as possible, his thumbs running over your knuckles gently.

“Okay,” you gave in reluctantly, making relief wash over Jonathan, and he was sure that taking a day off Arkham just to take care of you wouldn’t be much of a problem. He just needed to make a few calls.

That counted as some sort of redemption, right? Jonathan ruined you, but he’d fix you. He smiled a little before he gently walked with you to the bathroom, letting you sit down on the toilet’s lid while he helped you undress while the water ran, warming up.

“I love you, okay?” Jonathan whispered. “I love you, no matter what.”

༺♡♱⋆𓆩𓆪⋆♱♡༻

#batman #dc comics #dc universe #jonathan crane #cillian murphy #x reader #x male reader #x female reader #gender neutral #scarecrow #cillian murphy x you #batman begins

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p-taryn-dactyl · 4 months ago

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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 🙏

#agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #way down we go #agatha harkness fanfic #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x y/n #serial killer!agatha #forensic scientist!reader

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bigtreefest · 3 months ago

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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

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

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

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parfaitblogs · 6 months ago

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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 ✿❤︎

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 ❤︎

#criminal minds fic #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #masterlist #lia’s fics ♡#lia’s blurbs ♡

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thinkingaboutbetterdays · 6 months ago

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kindred spirits. ( zack addy x reader )

gif belongs to me

The psychiatric west wing was a chaotic place to be tossed into. The dysfunction surrounding him was overwhelming. Zack had no sense of routine for a long time in the adversarial asylum. The pain in his hands was loosely relieved with medication that he kept a close eye on. His arms were left bruised from the forceful nature with which the doctors or nurses administered the medication. Haloperidol was administered to keep him calm to avoid outbursts of aggression that he was never prone to, but after observing some of the other patients it appeared to be a drug given to everyone as a precaution.

Zack spent most of his first week in the new wing in his room, wanting to drown out the shouting with books Hodgins had given him, but on his eighth day he was ushered into what the bold lettering above the doorway spelled out the day room. Due to the high volume of patients, there were three, and Zack was shown all of them to decide which one he wanted to be in. Room number two was quieter, more promising so he agreed to stay there and the doctor informed him that he would check on him later, but Zack knew it was less to do with his wellbeing and more to do with ensuring he was still there.

A round white table was empty on the right side of the window and Zack made a beeline for the chair, narrowly avoiding colliding with a woman who was looking around as if she had gotten lost in a train station, tugging on her hair so hard that some strands snapped. His back faced the room and as he opened his book he tried to drown out the noise as he turned to the page he had left off. A short while later, he estimated seventeen minutes, he grew aware of someone's stare and resisted the urge to turn around and shifted in his seat, his eyes scanning the page instead of absorbing the information.

The book was taken from his hands and he lifted his head, watching as you took a seat across the table, sitting in the corner with a clear view of every aspect of the room.

"Ooh, Advanced Topics in Forensic DNA Typing Methodology."

"Give it back."

You flashed a smirk as your eyes scanned the cover, raising an eyebrow, "What are you? A murderer looking to mask his crimes or something?"

"Or something." Zack reached for the book and your smirk widened as you leaned back in your seat.

"You're a cop."

"Scientist."

"Ooh," You rested your arms on the table, "do you blow stuff up?"

"Sometimes." He admitted, moving his glove-covered hands below the table, and action that was subconscious and did not go unnoticed. You studied him for a moment before handing him the book and looked at his hands, seeing the burn marks peeking out from beneath his gloves. Two patients had started arguing about a chess piece and you knew it had been removed after someone had used the King to stab another patient in the thigh after losing a round.

You opened your mouth to speak when they grew louder until one bumped into the table, knocking the book out of Zack's hands. He turned to Zack and glared at the scientist who moved away slightly.

"Do we have a problem?" The patient shouted.

"No problem."

"Yes, we do." You replied, earning a stunned look from Zack and an incredulous look from the other patient. "You made him drop his book."

"So?"

"Pick it up."

"I can get it if you just step aside a little -" Zack anxiously glanced between you and the towering male.

"Make me."

"Oh, I'll make you." You stood up, but before he could grab you, you twisted his arm, holding the back of his neck, forcing him to kneel and he shakily picked up the book. "Now set it down." When the patient set it down you gave another order, "Say sorry."

"I'm sorry,"

You shoved the man away and occupied the seat across from Zack with a smile, not caring to comment on the way he glanced at you and the patient who swiftly put distance between you. "So what is the book about?"

Zack didn't respond immediately, still processing how quickly you shifted from hostile to friendly, but your smile didn't falter for a second, patiently waiting for his answer. "DNA Typing Methodology."

"Which is...blowing someone's capillaries open?"

"No." Zack began to list the topics covered in the book and seeing you were trying to understand, but not grasping the meaning or how important it was, he stayed at the table and listed the reasons why it was important and why each topic was considered advanced, even using the book to demonstrate. You smiled softly at the scientist while he closed the book and Zack turned around before looking back when he saw no one was behind him and your smile was directed at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I only have a thirty percent understanding of everything you just said, but you explained it to me. I enjoy talking to you."

When his name was called by a doctor, Zack stood up and picked up the book, walking a few paces before turning to you, unable to fend off his curiosity. "What's your name?"

"Y/N."

Zack expected to see you every day thereafter, however he learned that your altercation with another patient landed you isolated time in your room for a week. So he returned to the table, finding, that while he was first wary of your intentions, he missed discussing scientific matters, and no one else was bothered or interested like you were. So when you returned, he was surprised to see you at the table playing solitaire.

You looked up when he walked over and sent him a smile. "Morning."

"It's two in the afternoon."

"Oh. Well, it's bound to be morning somewhere."

"Can I?" He motioned to the empty chair across from you.

You sighed, "I'm sorry but Walden is here and he doesn't like guests." You appeared apologetic and for a moment Zack was concerned you did believe someone was sitting there, relaxing only when he saw the way your lips twitched in amusement. "I'm kidding!" You laughed. "Sit! I'll make some room." You gestured to your cards and Zack shook his head, taking a seat across from you.

"You have three of spades."

You added it to the pile and thanked him. "You've got a sharp eye."

"I prefer to see every viewpoint in an analysis."

"So...are you psychic or super smart?"

"I don't believe in psychics."

"So super smart. Got it."

"After Tuesday, they got overexcited putting me back in my room."

Zack opened his book and you returned to playing solitaire with a deck of cards, falling into a sense of contentment despite the patients yelling at the television. Zack looked over at you, noticing you were quieter today, his gaze falling to your arm where a bruise had formed, fingerprints visible. Sensing his stare, you answered his silent question, not lifting your eyes from the cards.

"I'm sorry."

"Why? It wasn't your fault."

"Why did you grab him like that?" Zack asked.

With a nonchalant shrug, you replied, "He wasn't nice to you. I don't like people who aren't nice to my friends."

"We met a week ago, for an hour," Zack stated.

"So? I know everything I need to know about you Doctor Zachary Uriah Addy." You lifted your head once all the cards were organized, flashing a grin. "Would you like to hear what I gathered so far?" Zack was silent and you decided to list everything you learned. "You work - sorry worked - at the Jeffersonian with Temperance Brennan, Jack Hodgins, Angela Montenegro, Seeley Booth, and Camille Saroyan. Forensic Anthropology is only one field that you study, Engineering is the second. Your IQ is well over 163. And you killed a man. Allegedly."

"Why did you say allegedly like that?"

"No reason." You nodded to his book, "Can you tell me more about Anthropology? Have you always wanted to get a doctorate? Ooh -"

"Do you want me to answer these?" He asked.

You nodded. "I have a list of questions I wrote." You took out a piece of paper and held it out to Zack who was surprised by the amount of questions. Ranging from his favorite color to his former colleagues.

"How did you find out so much about me?" He asked tentatively.

You shrugged. "I know people who are good with computers, and since I don't have anyone else to call, I thought I'd ask about you. You're different than everyone else in here. I like that."

Zack looked at the list of questions but before he could answer you handed him a pencil.

"So I don't forget."

With a nod, he quietly responded to the questions and you smiled softly as you watched him ponder his answers, taking the quiz seriously. Your break ended before he was done and you sighed when your name was called along with two others. "But I haven't finished the -" Zack turned, picking up the paper from the table.

"Keep it!" You called over your shoulder before leaving the room.

Zack noticed the stares aimed his way and returned to the quiz, drowning them out. A few minutes later he realized how quiet it was without you, how the hour seemed longer, and as he looked at the patients arguing over a chair before being escorted out, he assessed that while you had proven your strength and likely fatal ability, you were intelligent. However the 'friend' researching his past did unnerve him, but rather than worry for his safety, he worried about the safety of his friends.

Another week passed and Zack learned on the third day that you had argued with another patient, resulting in a time-out. He finished his book and had a visit from Jack who provided a riddle he solved easily. The distance forced him to admit he was intrigued by you.

When you entered the cafeteria, Zack was in line when you joined a few people behind him. You chose two sandwiches instead of taking fruit and when Zack took a seat, he was joined by a towering male who took his sandwich. You joined him when the man left and held out the sandwiches you brought for him, the same ones he had chosen.

"Thank you."

"You should kick his ass." You suggested. "Or I could -"

"No!" Zack stood up when you moved to stand and you both sat down across from each other. "I heard you were caught fighting."

"It was self-defense." You shrugged. "She wanted my stuff and tried to take it, so I kicked her ass."

"You know, if you quit fighting people, you wouldn't be confined to your room," Zack explained.

"They'd do it anyway. Hasn't stopped them before."

Your tone was nonchalant although your gaze was heavy as you prodded your sandwich with your finger before setting it aside.

"Why?" He asked.

"I'm not...good people." You grimaced at your word choice before gesturing to him. "You, you are good people. Me? I've been here for two years next month. Very bad."

"What did you do?" He enquired.

You shook your head, "Not today, okay?" You sighed. "I like talking to you and once you find out, you won't want to talk to me."

Zack merely nodded, trusting that you would tell him why you ended up here and continued with his lunch. For the rest of the week, you kept out of trouble, and Zack quickly found that you liked riddles and wrote some down for you to solve. You would work quietly while he reread his book and it was almost peaceful, enough to drown out everyone else.

A routine formed after that day and it brought Zack some comfort to form something familiar. You stayed out of trouble and still got locked away for days on end. Zack walked by your room on the way to his every evening and would slip a riddle beneath your door. When you were let out you would show him and stop him from putting the papers in the trash. He found out later that you kept them in a shoebox with other keepsakes. Every day, when you weren't locked away, you sat together at the same table by the window. You would quiz him on his book and when Jack brought more, you repeated the cycle. Zack would discuss interesting points made in his books and you would smile as you played with a deck of cards, sometimes stacking them, other times playing solitaire. By the end of his first month, he was surprised by how much you were listening and appreciated the interest you took.

During his second month, he recognized the patterns that formed in your day-to-day life. You would return with bruises on your knuckles and arms sometimes, and others with broken ribs. Zack stood up when he saw you enter with a bruised cheek and you shook your head when he asked what happened.

"I don't want to talk about it."

On days like this Zack filled the suffocating silence with random facts he knew, or learned from his books. He was told many times that he lacked emotional intelligence, and that's why he spouted random facts to try and distance himself from emotions. Your expression did not reveal whether you were listening or not, but Zack knew that you were. The first days out of a lock-in were tense. The slightest thing could set you off and Zack had seen more than once you ended bickering, and physical fighting and defended another patient from another who tried to intimidate them. You were a protective figure and Zack learned he wasn't the only one smuggling you things during lock-ins. One woman gave you a specific candy bar each time during check-in when everyone stood outside and they were accounted for. The woman had the room beside yours and easily slipped the candy into your hand when you stood next to each other during routine head counts.

By his fourth month, Zack could see clearly. The bruises weren't from fighting patients, not always at least, and it was the staff at the hospital when they got you alone. It wasn't until he was swapped with the woman, who he later learned was called Kathy after she had been caught giving you candy, that he realized this. And after the first night, Zack felt like he had forgotten how to interact with you when you stood side by side for a morning head count.

That night he waited long after the lights were out and the feeling that you would reach out to him was proven correct when he heard a light tap on the wall.

"It's a long story."

"I've got plenty of time."

As Zack listened to your past, he was both fascinated and horrified, but his trust only grew as while not great at reading people, you were an open book then, and you were anxious about telling him everything. You finished your story in the early hours of the morning and Zach realized he had been quiet for a while when you spoke. "I understand if you don't want to talk anymore." You waited a few seconds before adding, "Are you asleep?"

"I'm awake."

You sighed, resting your head against the wall, and closing your eyes. You were exhausted after unloading your history but when Zach began to talk about his siblings, his co-workers, and Gormogon, you were wide awake, memorizing every detail. Having a great memory was a blessing and sometimes a curse.

"I'm an assassin." You giggled, hugging your legs to your chest, sitting with your body leaning against the wall. "You are outnumbered by hundreds."

"Former assassin." He corrected. "In the time that you have been here, you haven't killed anyone. Have you?"

"No."

"Therefore it's similar to a retirement."

"Hardly. Once I'm back out there it'll be like I never left...and I-I prefer it in here. Especially with you." You rested your left temple on the cold wall.

Zack rested his right temple on the wall and while he didn't say it aloud, he felt it. Being here, when you were around, was marginally more bearable than the days he was forced to spend without you.

You had been given time outside on the grounds, surrounded of course in case someone tried to make a break for the wall, but it was easy to pretend you and Zack were alone, walking side by side. "Like someone is stupid enough to run away."

"Perhaps not right now, but it is possible to break out." He admitted casually, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Dude, lower your voice unless you want to get locked in." You giggled, grabbing his arm gently, and leaning into him.

"It is possible that -" You both stopped walking when a middle-aged woman sprinted away from the group and orderly's chased after her, others barking at the group to stand still.

"Oh look I was wrong." You turned your head, following the woman as she ran, only to be tackled onto the ground. "And she's down."

Zack looked down at you, his lips twitching in amusement at your commentary. He used his arm to gain your attention but didn't pull it away from your grasp. You walked inside the hospital together and as you stood side by side waiting to go into your rooms you looked at the scientist. "See you on the other side, babe." You spoke with a Jersey accent and Zack shook his head, an eyebrow raised in question as a chuckle left his lips.

"Y/N...are you there?"

You were stunned when Zack escaped the hospital. But also heartbroken. He was gone for a short time however and when he was brought back by an FBI agent you knew he had to be Seeley Booth, and you realized where he had gone. You looked at the ceiling of your room, hearing Zack being brought back to his room next to yours. A few minutes later you heard a knock on the wall.

You turn away from the wall, and after trying one more time Zack gives up. You closed your eyes as you ignored the ache in your side. You had handled worse but piled on top of feeling abandoned by Zack when he left, it hurt so much more.

You are in lock-in for almost two weeks and Zack still tried every night to talk to you, resuming his routine of slipping riddles under your door. At first, you were determined to ignore them but it was quickly tossed aside and you solved the riddles. Two weeks go by until he sees you again in the lunch room and he hesitates, unsure how you would react, before joining you.

You don't acknowledge his presence and he debates whether to ask why.

"Are you angry at me?"

"Should I be?"

Zack considers the question before shrugging. "You were gone for two weeks."

"I was ill." You lied, and he saw through it. You didn't look up from the label you were trying to peel off perfectly.

"I'm sorry."

When you didn't speak Zach decided that you weren't in a talkative mood and ate his lunch while you peeled off all the labels, leaving the food untouched. He was in the day room when Kathy approached him, bumping shoulders on her way to a table. Zack looked back at her in confusion, seeing the glare sent his way. He took his usual seat at the table and waited for you to arrive, beginning the new book Hodgins had given him.

He was on page two when three people approached his table and Zack realized you still hadn't shown up. "We don't like you."

"Why?"

"You hurt Y/N." One of them answered before knocking his book out of his hands. Zack watched them go as he slowly picked up the book, sighing when he saw a page was folded in the fall.

He was walking to his room when he saw Kathy and decided to confront the middle-aged woman when she continued to glare at him. "Where is Y/N?"

"Sulking I imagine." She replied.

"Why?"

"Because of the bruises and because you ran off."

"What bruises?"

"The bruises because you ran off." She stated like it was obvious and Zack frowned when she walked away.

When he entered his room, the door closed soon after and he took a seat on his bed, looking at the white wall across from him. He knocked on the wall connecting your rooms and when you didn't respond he sighed and looked down at his book.

He was reading page thirteen when he heard it. He lifted his head, believing he had been hearing things when he heard the sound again. He leaned against the wall and frowned when he heard the sound of crying coming from your room. He knocked on the wall, "Y/N?" He knocked again when you didn't reply, "Y/N?" He tried again, "Are you okay?"

When you didn't answer Zach sighed, slouching on the bed. He rested his head on the wall and closed his eyes when he could still hear the cries.

Three days passed without seeing you or hearing from you through the wall. Noticing Zack was distracted, Hodgins asked what was wrong and Zack pitched his dilemma about you. He was never great with emotions, facts were his preference and his specialty. So to give him the full scope, Zack briefly mentioned your past and Hodgins shook his head immediately when he was finished.

"Uh-uh. You do not want to get caught up in this. Just keep your head down and stay out of it."

Zack noticed he was not giving his full opinion. "If she wasn't in here, what would you say?"

"I'd say she was pretty bummed that you left." Hodgins could see the cogs turning in his brain and sighed, knowing Zack would not take his advice when it came to avoiding you. "Abandonment. If you became close then to have you run off suddenly, yeah, she'd feel pretty abandoned."

Zack thanked him for his advice.

"She is an assassin," Hodgins whispered. "In here, Booth can't watch out for you. Trust me, you do not want to get caught up in something like that."

When Zack returned to his room half an hour later, he knocked on the wall and you turned beneath the duvet, hearing another tap several seconds later. "I'm sorry." His voice broke through the wall. "When I realized I could help, I didn't think it through. I just knew I needed to get to the Jeffersonian. I didn't mean to hurt you."

You closed your eyes, hearing him sigh and just before he could give up completely, you spoke, "Did you get him?"

Zack smiled behind the wall and you listened as he explained what happened from the moment he left to his return. You smiled softly when you heard the excitement in his voice. You knew he would go back there, and you knew that your friendship was only temporary. He would leave again soon and you would be alone. You were getting used to it before he came along, and while a part of you deep down wanted to plot a way to keep him in the hospital longer you knew you couldn't hurt him like that. He belonged out there. He had an important job to do. A team and dozens of friends waiting for his return. So you decided to enjoy it while it lasted.

You walked out of your rooms at the same time and Zack saw the bruise around your lip and left temple. His frown was instantaneous and you would've playfully rolled your eyes if it wasn't painful. "I'm fine. I've had worse."

From what you told him about your past, Zack wouldn't be surprised if that was true. You walked together to the day room and began your usual routine. Zack read while you played with a deck of cards. He would speak up now and then about something he found interesting, and you hummed and said, "I should really get you to help with crossword puzzles."

During Sweet's latest visit, Zack asked him to send a book filled with crossword puzzles and the psychiatrist didn't have to ask to know if it had something to do with the mysterious woman Hodgins had mentioned, and after asking Zack began to discuss you frequently with Lance who was intrigued by the relationship that had formed between you and delivered the book to Zack a few days later. When he received the book, you began to work on the puzzles, asking Zack when you got stuck, and the anthropologist would glance up at you now and then his lips would twitch as he watched you try to figure it out. Your life before was isolated and when it came to pop culture references, Zack sifted through everything Hodgins or Angela had told him over the years. Together you never left a puzzle unfinished.

"Zack, what was that thing you did before joining the land of psychos?"

He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his gaze from his book. "Forensic anthropology."

"And who invented it?"

"Clyde Snow."

"Snow." You were writing the last letter when a patient approached your table and you raised an eyebrow when he gestured to the crossword book. Zack knew you didn't like interruptions. In a facility housing thousands, you only liked two people, himself and Kathy who you rarely saw after she moved to another wing. Your smile was forced, your voice sickly sweet as you asked, "How may I help you on this fine day?"

"I want it."

"Aw, that sucks 'cause it's mine and you can't have it. Germs and all." Your smile dropped, as did your tone, and you shot to your feet when the man snatched the book. "Hey!"

Sensing the brawl about to break out, Zack stood up and held you back, turning his head when he heard the patient ripping the book.

"Now, no one gets it!"

You tried to get past Zack who held you back. "Let me go!"

"No, you'll get confined to your room again. I'll get another one."

"I want that one!"

Zack shook his head and you took a deep breath, holding your hands up in surrender. Zack released you and you turned, raising an eyebrow. "What?" He asked. "I'm stronger than I look."

Zack struggled to catch you when you ducked under his arms and turned, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you away from the male patient who walked to two people playing checkers and knocked the board off their table. You stopped struggling, realizing it was futile.

"Who is going to miss him?"

"You do realize that I have nothing to keep me occupied for the next twenty minutes and I will spend it torturing you, don't you?"

Zack mirrored your expression, raising an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting you have been pleasant until now?"

"Yes."

Zack sighed. "Very well."

You sat at the table and Zack picked up his book, trying to focus when he saw you drawing on your arm with the pen you had stolen from a nurse. You drew squares and wrote D E A D in the gaps before drawing a hanged man underneath it. He set his book down and sent you an exasperated look.

"Really?"

"You wouldn't let me do it. You want to stop my dreams too?" You lifted your eyes from your artwork, sending him a smirk.

Zack shook his head, feeling his lips twitch upwards as he picked up his book and for a few minutes he managed to finish the chapter he was reading when you took his hand. He began to pull away, worried you were going to remove the glove but you drew on his exposed forearm and Zack was amused by the skull-wearing sunglasses. You sent him a toothy grin and quickly hid the pen when your names were called with two others. Zack didn't register your hand holding his until you were walking out of the room together, heading down the winding hallway to your rooms. He glanced at your hands before looking at you but you were admiring the hanged man on your arm, and Zack was torn between feeling repulsed at the scars on his hands, wanting to pull away, and wanting to hold your hand tighter. And he realized then how much you were starting to mean to him.

"We should get tattoos." You announced the next day, joining him for lunch.

Zack paused as he took a bite of the apple, and tilted his head, his brows furrowing as he tried to figure out when you got inspired to get permanent ink. "Tattoos?"

You nodded, eyeing your sandwich before opening a sealed bag and eating the carrot slices. "I saw a guy on the North Wing with a whole upper body covered in tattoos. And I was thinking 'Hey wouldn't it be cool if I got a skull tattoo on my face'?"

Zack shook his head, "You are not getting a skull tattoo on your face."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you are not. And that man was probably in a gang before being brought here. Not exactly the kind of lifestyle choices you want to be emulating."

"I'd look cute! But threatening." You grinned devilishly.

"You already look cute and threatening." He said matter-of-factly.

It was the first compliment he had ever given you and made it sound like he was stating a fact in one of his books. You tilted your head at the forensic anthropologist who continued eating his apple.

"Really?"

Zack nodded, "It's like a bunny suddenly shifting into a lion."

You couldn't help but giggle at his example, as it sounded more like something you would say than he would. "You spend too much time with me, you're starting to sound like me."

His brow furrowed, "I like spending time with you."

You smiled softly, "I like spending time with you too."

Appeased, he nodded slowly, allowing silence to fall for a few moments before he said, "You are not getting a skull tattoo."

You tossed your straw at his chest and he chuckled. You drowned out your surroundings, imagining him somewhere he deserved to be. A small café where they played smooth jazz and the people didn't squish their food in their hands and lick their trays. He didn't deserve to be stuck with you, but for a moment you allowed yourself not to feel guilty that he was.

Zack was asleep when he heard the sound of your door hitting the wall connecting your rooms, causing it to tremble, and got out of bed when he heard the screech and crash of furniture. "Y/N?" He rushed to his door and tried to open it, hitting it in a burst of frustration and rage. He was looking around his room for something to pick the lock with when the door opened, and Zack saw two nurses and a doctor entering.

"Restrain him." The doctor ordered.

"No! Something is happening to her!" Zack fought off the nurses and the doctor shoved him against the wall. He held his arm away from his neck as the needle got closer and closer and brought his knee up as hard as he could, winding the doctor before shoving him away. Zack called out your name as he entered the hallway, finding your door was open, and burst inside, seeing you curled up on the floor. "Y/N!"

You turned your head when you felt a hand on your cheek and blinked away the tears in your eyes to find Zack's concerned gaze taking stock of your injuries and the damage in the room. You noticed a doctor entering the room and coughed when you tried to speak, wincing from the pain in your ribs. "Zack..."

"I'm here. Hold on."

"Turn..." You trailed off as you coughed and Zack felt an arm wind around his neck, and the sharp pain of a needle seconds later. He covered the spot with his hand and you began to murmur something he couldn't understand. He quickly began to feel drowsy and reached for you, and you rolled onto your stomach, inching closer to him when he fell beside you. "Z-Zack..."

You felt a needle enter your neck and the room began to spin. You closed your eyes, struggling to open them again, falling asleep next to an unconscious Zack.

When you woke up in the morning you felt awful, your movements sluggish as you sat up in bed, taking in your trashed room, and as the events from last night gradually returned you smacked your hand against the wall, calling out to Zack. He swayed as he got out of bed, trying to open his door to find it was locked. He held his head, groaning when the room seemed to spin at the speed of the Earth revolving around the sun. He glanced around the room and realized everything had been moved. His bed was no longer against the wall connecting your rooms, but on the opposite side, and his books were tossed haphazardly on the ground next to his dresser that was clearly searched. Concerned for you, Zack knocked on the wall.

"Are you okay?" He hit his hand against the wall when he heard you groan in pain. "Y/N?"

"I'm fine." It was a poor attempt at lying. "Are you locked in too?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry." You sighed heavily, regretting it when a sharp pain spread through your ribcage. "Because of me, you've been brought into this."

"Into what?" Zack asked, slouching against the wall as he sat on the floor.

That night Zack learned about your ex-boyfriend whom you met while you were turning seventeen. He was in his late twenties at the time and you later learned that you were not the first teenager he had broken down and rebuilt in his image. He had charmed your parents, and when you realized his true personality it was too late. No one believed you when you told them what he was capable of - the things he made you do because he craved the power and the sexual thrill.

"He has people inside the hospital. Now and then they report back and he never likes what he hears. He must've found out that we're spending time together."

Zack shook his head when you apologized, but was unsure of how to comfort you. He wasn't good with emotions and his intelligence was his way of protecting himself. But at that moment he wanted to be able to be vulnerable, to let you know you weren't alone. That he believed you.

You recounted a vacation getaway your ex had taken you on when you were eighteen, the night you tortured and killed for the first time. And Zack rested his head on the cold wall, closing his eyes when he heard you cry, a gasp of pain following. Every time your body shook with muffled sobs, your body ached and it was a vicious cycle as the tears never stopped so neither did the pain.

"I won't talk to you anymore." You told him. "Now that he knows, nights like last night will happen to you too."

"We're already confined to our rooms? What difference does it make now?"

You hated that he was right. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You bit your tongue as you moved into a new position, your back against the wall, and covered your bruised body with the duvet. "You don't deserve to be stuck here with me."

"You were seventeen. You were hardly an expert on the human experience. Anyone would have fallen for it. Myself included."

You closed your eyes as a tear fell down your cheek, silent for a moment before you made a request. "Zack? Can you read to me?"

Zack agreed, crossing the room to his books and after tidying them he chose a book to read to you, before settling back on the floor next to the wall. He believed Sweets would be intrigued to know that you found listening to the tales of forensic anthropologists comforting, not knowing you just liked hearing his voice.

For twelve days Zack was confined to his room. He was finding the solitude peaceful, conversing with you through the wall passed the time and he could hear your laughter when he voiced his displeasure when you brought up getting the skull tattoo again.

"Hey, if I got a tattoo would it show up on the bones when I die?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

Zack was released after Sweets found out about his confinement and the FBI psychiatrist had pulled more than a few strings to get him out. When he was escorted to the meeting room where Sweets was waiting, the psychiatrist was keen to know what happened and Zack retold the story you had shared with him to Lance who listened with rapt attention.

"Sociopathy." He stated.

"She's a sociopath?"

"Yes." Lance nodded, "Psychopaths are born, but sociopaths are created. She was at a crucial stage in her development when she met him and it warped her views. She thought it was normal. Now, from what you told me, she doesn't."

"Is there something you can do? She shouldn't be locked away." Zack asked.

Lance eyed him for a moment, slowly nodding, "Leave it with me."

You were released from your room the next day and Booth had arrested the group involved in the attack. The doctors and nurses would lose their license to practice medicine and spend over twenty-five years behind bars for their mistreatment of patients. Unbeknown to you, Sweets and Booth were looking into your history further, finding that your ex had early signs of psychopathy that went ignored. Animal cruelty, missing kids in his neighborhood when he was a child, and run-ins with the law when he was a teenager.

At Zack's request, Lance brought a new puzzle book at his next weekly visit and you found life inside the hospital to gradually improve. You were allowed more time in the day room. Patients were allowed outside under close monitoring and you had a feeling Zack had something to do with it.

You looked at the forensic anthropologist with a smile and Zack didn't lift his gaze from his new book as he said, "Please don't mention getting a tattoo."

"You have connections to make it happen." Zack turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "Please, I'm crazy but observant. You told your friends at the FBI, didn't you?"

Zack nodded slowly, "Are you mad at me?"

"A little. I told you under the guise of confidentiality...although I'm sitting outside doing crossword puzzles." You scrunched your nose, "It's a hard call."

You looked at the crossword you were working on and Zack smiled softly as he returned his gaze to his book. "The answer to four down is Conundrum."

You filled in the blanks and looked over at him, "Do you ever get tired of being right?"

"Not yet."

A smile formed on your lips, growing wider when you noticed his lips twitch. "Feeling sassy today, are we?"

"I spend too much time with you apparently." He replied, meeting your gaze with a matching smile.

You bumped your shoulder with his and while your attention returned to your crossword, his focus was on you. Your mood had significantly improved since Lance had improved conditions in the hospital and Zack slept a little easier knowing he wouldn't wake up at night unable to help you again. While he had drawn attention to the mistreatment in the hospital which improved the lives of all the patients, he had done it for you. Seeing you lying on the floor, bloody, in pain with each breath, just because you were charmed by a psychopath when you were younger - he never wanted to see you get hurt. Never again.

One day, almost a week after the attacks, you were walking outside and Zack was taken aback when you argued that it was only fair that he told you what happened with Gormogon and his hands. Zack agreed, and the two of you kept your distance from the other patients as he told his story, ending with the experiment that left his hands scarred.

"Will you show me? I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Zack couldn't deny he was intrigued, but the thought of someone seeing the scars made him feel queasy. He didn't like to see the scars, so he always wore black gloves. To show you meant overcoming this discomfort and being more vulnerable than he had ever been with anyone else.

You never mentioned it again, and Zack was the one who brought it up a few days later. You were heading to your rooms one night and he closed your door, and your confusion became a brief surprise that turned into curiosity when he slowly began to remove his gloves. You moved closer, reaching out for his hands but he pulled away, and looked from your hands to your eyes, finding your expression unreadable. And in this moment of vulnerability he wanted, needed, to know what you were thinking. Were you as repulsed by the scars as he was?

You met his gaze after a few moments and reached out to take his left hand, lifting it as you pressed your palms together. Zack closed his eyes and you reached out to wipe away a tear that fell down his cheek.

"Did you know each hand has twenty-seven bones?"

Zack opened his eyes, tilting his head slightly. "Yes. I told you that."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. You were asking me how many bones the body has as a whole, and then per body part."

"I was trying to make you feel less awkward." You admitted. "I don't know any other hand facts. Except yours are bigger than mine."

"Statistically speaking, the average male hand is 7.6 inches and a female hand is 6.8 inches."

You smiled softly, "I like it."

Zack returned the smile as you intertwined your fingers with his, holding his gaze. "So do I."

That night, you kept true to your word and Zack thought the shock of you taking your shirt off would kill him. You didn't notice the way his eyes widened at your actions or how casual you were about it, pointing to each scar and explaining what caused it. Zack stepped forward when he noticed a scar above your left ribcage.

"There are two scars here."

"He carved his initials into my skin. When I ran away, I heated a knife and held the blade over it." You had successfully covered the branding and explained how much relief you felt when it healed and no longer showed the jagged initials. Zack's eyes lingered on the scar and you could see from the slight furrow of his brow that his mind was ticking away. "What?"

"You went through something horrible and make it sound like you came back from the grocery store, telling a story about how you couldn't find something on the list. All that pain...it shouldn't be discussed so casually, but for you it was normal."

"I did my fair share of hurting." You admitted. "That's how I ended up here. My dumbass got caught."

"Or did you let yourself get caught?" Zack's eyes darted up to meet your gaze and your lips formed a weak smile.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're really smart?"

His lips twitched upwards, "Once or twice."

You giggled, shaking your head, "Well, it's annoying. Especially when I try to maintain some mystery."

"Why?" He asked.

"Once people solve mysteries they move on to the next one."

Zack shook his head, "You'll always be a mystery to me. I'm emotionally stunted, remember?"

A smile formed on your lips, "A sociopath and an emotionally stunted genius walk into the bar...sounds like the setup for a bad joke."

"Hodgins would think of one."

From what he had told you about his best friend who visited him every week come sun, hail, or snow, you knew he probably would.

The weeks went by quickly without the threat of violence hanging over your head. While you still had a confrontation now and then with other patients Zack was there to lead you away and you would take a walk outside to cool off while he listed random facts he knew to take your mind off of it.

When you were brought into a room reserved for meetings with family or friends, you weren't entirely surprised when Sweets introduced himself. After Zack had told him about your past you were surprised the psychiatrist hadn't jumped at the opportunity sooner to study you.

"Let me guess, we play twenty questions and you decide whether I'm criminally retarded or a mastermind."

Lance shook his head, "Not at all."

You eyed him for a moment before sighing heavily as you sat across from him. "I don't want to play guess what the squiggly line represents. It gives me a headache."

"Actually I just wanted to check in on you. After everything that's happened it is perfectly natural to feel -"

"Homicidal?" You smirked.

"Angry. Betrayed. Abandoned."

"I gave up on anger a long time ago." You crossed your arms, "And I'm not alone. Zack is here."

Lance would dive into that later. "But you do feel betrayed?" You raised an eyebrow at the psychiatrist who observed you for a moment, realizing you were testing his capabilities and weren't going to offer any information. "You feel betrayed by your parents because you felt they should have seen the signs and protected you."

You shifted in your chair, looking at your fingernails in an attempt to appear disinterested, but it proved to him that he had hit the nail right on the head. "He was charming." You shrugged. "But he was also an idiot. I didn't realize how stupid he was until I met Zack."

It was the opening he wanted, and when Lance began to ask you questions about Zack you replied easily, much more comfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"Is that why you're here? To make sure I don't cut his head off?"

When Lance relayed his meeting with you to Booth and the Squints, he could see the varying reactions, everyone was concerned that Zack was bonding with a sociopath. Hodgins admitted that Zack mentioned you a lot when talking about his day.

"They spend every waking minute together."

"Can't you transfer him to another Wing or something?" Angela suggested.

Lance shook his head, "I believe that would cause a significant blow to Zack's outlook. He's not in any danger." Lance paused, trying to think of a way to explain it to the group, "Think of them like kindred spirits. They form a strong bond and connect immediately. They can share common interests, opinions, and values. They are extremely comfortable around each other and are supportive due to their understanding of each other's perspectives. It's someone who understands you the most. Given their past, trusting the wrong person, it fits."

"Are you implying that Zack found his kindred spirit?" Bones asked.

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Lance said, "And trying to keep them apart would lead to a rapid deterioration from both sides. She isn't a threat to him, and she trusts him. Take that bond away and it could destroy them."

Ever since you showed each other your scars, you grew more bolder and it became less of a shock when you would hold his hand. He always wore his gloves outside of his bedroom but when you were alone, he would remove them sometimes as he grew more comfortable and you would trace patterns on his palm as he balanced his book on his lap and turned the pages with his free hand. You realized that Zack would do anything just to see you smile. Except one thing.

"You are not getting angel wings tattooed on your back."

You groaned when he walked away, catching up to him. "I'd look so cool! Why do you hate me?" You rested your head on his back and he looked over his shoulder at you with a smile. "Ooh! We could get a matching tattoo?"

Zack pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow at you as you moved to walk next to him, taking his hand.

You sighed dramatically. "Fine, but we'd look hot."

He shook his head, suppressing a smile. Your good mood was ruined when another patient bumped shoulders with you as they left the day room as you walked in. Zack caught your hand before you could get too far, and put another hand on your back, leading you to your table that he quickly realized was always empty because people feared your wrath. And since he spent all of his time with you, no one had bothered him since that first day. "Let it go."

"It hurt!"

Zack shook his head, pinching your arm. You glared at the forensic anthropologist who calmly took his seat. "No, that hurt."

You grabbed the book from his hands, holding it close to his head threateningly, but it only made him chuckle and his eyes followed you as you took your seat across from him. "Let's see..." Your eyes flickered across the page before you closed the book and slid it across the table. Zack put his hand on the cover, stopping it in time. "You need to find a different genre. Or a hobby." You caught sight of a new stack of board games the hospital had brought in last week.

Zack turned, watching as you walked over to pick up a box from the floor and held it behind your back as you approached him. He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching upwards in amusement at your choice. "Operation? Really?"

"You study bones, don't you? Think of it as practice before you get back into the field."

You brought your chair closer for the first time and unpacked the buzzer game. "If you want to get really creative, pretend the buzzer is a landmine."

Zack shook his head but set his book aside to play the game with you. Your first attempts went well, but every try afterward ended in the buzzer sounding.

"How many times have I died now?" You asked a few minutes later.

"Twenty-seven." He replied. "Twenty-eight." He corrected when you set the buzzer off.

You turned your head to argue that he wasn't far behind when you noticed how close you were sitting as he reached over to take his turn. Zack noticed your staring and glanced at you before focusing on the game to avoid setting off the buzzer.

"Why are you staring at me?"

You shrugged, "I like the view."

Zack turned his head and you grinned when the buzzer was set off during his distraction.

"Oops. Now your leg has been blown off and you're bald."

Zack tilted his head, "I'm bald?"

"Like an egg."

He shook his head, and you smiled over at him when he chuckled. It was rare when he smiled or laughed, but you noticed it was becoming more common even if you were around other people. You had no idea what a Vulcan was, but after Zack explained the typical Vulcan characteristics that Hodgins claimed fitted his personality, you knew Zack felt more than most people and had learned to bury it down.

Your attention was drawn to Sweets when he approached and you glanced at Zack to see he was equally surprised to see him. "Dr. Candy Corn, want to play?"

Ever since your first meeting, Lance had cleared time in his schedule to have a session with you every week, and while you knew he had ulterior motives, wanting to learn more about you because of how close you were to Zack, you learned that it was simpler to talk to him because he would sit in silence for an hour quite happily. It became common for you to change his last name to a different candy every time but Lance knew it wasn't malicious, it was just your way of trying to hide how unnerved you were that two people knew so much about your past.

"Not today. I need to speak to Zack alone for a minute."

"Why can't she hear it?" Zack asked.

You stood up, shaking your head. "Forget it. I don't want to learn any more about Space Prawns than I already have."

Zack turned to you as you walked away, "That doesn't even sound remotely like Star Wars."

You flashed a grin over your shoulder before sitting in front of the television, crossing your legs and your arms as you stared at the screen with disinterest in the movie that was playing. Zack looked away from you with a shake of his head and turned to Sweets who sat in your chair. You subtly glanced at the two who spoke in low tones. Lance appeared optimistic while Zack grew more troubled as the conversation continued. After a few minutes, Zack stood up, book in hand, and walked out of the room. You didn't attempt to hide the fact you had been watching them both and followed him out of the room, catching up in the hallway.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't want to talk about it." He went into his room and your steps halted when he closed the door.

"You mean Darth Vader?" Zack looked at you with a slight smirk. "I think you purposely say the names incorrectly because you enjoyed the movies."

You turned to head into your room, meeting Lance's gaze down the hallway before he walked away. You frowned, glancing at Zack's door before heading outside. From his room, the forensic anthropologist could see you walking around with Kathy who was recently moved back into the West Wing. She always plucked your aura, citing you carried a lot of negative energy.

When you talked about it, you replied with, "Well, I am evil. Maybe I should wear a cloak. The dark refrigerator always wears a cloak."

"No!" You scoffed, "The dark refrigerator is a character I'm working on. He cures hunger and hangovers."

Zack shook his head when you grinned. "That sounds terrible. Although, you would look good in a cloak."

You agreed, "We could wear matching cloaks and rob banks."

"Why does every one of your plans involve criminal activity?"

You walked ahead, turning to face him as you walked backward, "Hello? Sociopath."

"Still upset Dr. Sweets downgraded you?" He asked with a knowing smile.

"Hey, I'm pretty scary when I want to be."

"It's nothing to do with the fear you evoke. Sociopaths are -"

"created and not born that way." You sighed, looking at the sky as you fell into step beside him. "I feel like someone stole a cookie from me."

Zack shook his head, "It's a good thing. There are rehabilitation options that Dr. Sweets wants to explore."

You stopped walking and he turned to you. "You still find me scary, right?"

"Terrifying."

"What did the good doctor say to you? Did he say you have parental issues too?"

You smiled, "Sweet talker." You looped your arm with his and fell into step beside him as you walked.

After his talk with Sweets, you didn't hear from Zack for several hours until it was almost time for the lights to go out. You were drawing on the wall with a pen you had stolen from Sweets after the last pen ran out of ink. You looked up when he knocked on the door and returned to your drawing as he entered.

"He said Hodgins found new evidence." Zack cleared his throat when your head snapped in his direction. "If presented in court my sentence would be changed and I will be leaving soon."

You looked at him, tilting your head. "You want to stay here? Why? The people are crazy." Your lips twitched upwards but Zack only sighed and you frowned when you saw how upset he was at the possibility of leaving. He changed the subject, and you allowed it. Your session with Sweets hadn't been cancelled and you would pry the answers from him.

"That's great news. So why so glum, chum?" You giggled, "Get it? It rhymes."

Zack stood behind you, looking at the scattered drawings on the wall, "I want to leave, but I don't want to go."

You expected his answer to be that after spending months inside a psychiatric facility, Zack was merely anxious about rejoining the world again but Sweets was blunt as he explained that the bond you had forged with Zack, made him not want to leave you behind. You would never get released. Your crimes were too heinous. But Zack had a chance to clear his name and live a normal life. And even if it meant not seeing him again, you wanted him to be happy.

After your session with Lance, you searched for Zack, finding him outside reading under a tree. Your body blocked the light and he lifted his head, eyebrows rising when you took his book and hit his shoulder with it. "What is the matter with you? I know you aren't stupid. So what is it?"

"I don't understand -"

"Sweets told me what you said. You don't want to go through with it because of me. Well, newsflash, genius, I never asked you to stay." You held his gaze as he stood up.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I do. And what the sociopath says, goes." You hit his shoulder again and Zack rubbed his arm. "Now you listen to me, Zachary. You are going to let Hodgins present the evidence and you will appeal and be proven innocent, and you will go back into the world whether you like it or not."

"What about you?"

"I'm crazy. I'll invent a new friend."

Zack sighed, pressing his lips together in annoyance. "That's not what I meant."

You realized he was worried that he wouldn't be here if you got hurt again. "I can look after myself. I've done it for a while now."

Zack shook his head, "I'm not ready to go."

"Yes, you are." You replied immediately. "You are going to appeal, Zack. I have enough on my conscience. I don't need to trap you here because you'll miss my charming personality." You pushed his book into his chest and headed back inside.

After that day you never addressed the matter again, but in your next session with Lance, he revealed that Zack intended to go through with it. You nodded slowly and Lance could see the dread in your eyes for the day you would have to say goodbye to Zack Addy. When he was released, you had no place in his world anymore, and would go so far as to shun him to stop him from visiting. You wanted him to get his old life back before it all went to hell. It was an option you weren't awarded, and all you wanted was the best for him. And you knew that was never going to be you.

You spent your days as normal without bringing up the appeal. Zack didn't want to speak about it, and you hated thinking about it, unable to stop counting down the days. You did crossword puzzles while he read, lifting his head when providing you with the answer. You no longer sat across the table, your chair now pressing against his and as you filled in the squares you realized how much you had grown accustomed to having him around after a few short months.

When the day of his hearing arrived, Zach stepped out of his room wearing a suit Sweets had brought him and when Booth lingered, Lance moved him away, but the FBI agent kept a close eye as you wished Zack good luck.

"Thank you. I'll see you later?"

You nodded, smoothing his tie with a smile. "Where else am I gonna be?"

Zack almost cancelled the hearing but Booth and Sweets made him see reason. Sweets assured Zack that he could still visit you if he wanted to, but it was important that his name was cleared to avoid serving a life sentence. Given how close you were, Sweets wouldn't be surprised if he said he didn't mind because you would be there.

You were playing solitaire on your bed when he returned and Zack loosened his tie as he sat across from you. "The five of diamonds."

You thanked him, moved the card, and looked at him when he stared at the cards. "How did it go?"

"They'll know by the end of the week."

Your eyebrows raised, not expecting it to be so soon. "That's good news. You'll be in your old bed before you can say antelope."

Zack shook his head fondly, "You say the strangest things."

"I am a sociopath, babe." You spoke with a Jersey accent and his lips curved slightly. "Aren't you scared about getting back out there?"

Zack nodded, "I'm afraid no one will trust me. Therefore they won't work with me."

"Send me their address and I'll persuade them. I'm good at that." Zack couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped his lips and you smiled at the sound. "I'm really happy for you, Zack."

He left shortly afterward and the lights went out for the night. For the remainder of the week, you both anxiously awaited the verdict of his hearing after Bones testified on his behalf. During your session with Lance, the psychiatrist noted that you were more pensive lately, and when he mentioned Zack he was surprised by how open you were about your feelings regarding the forensic anthropologist.

"I don't want him to leave. But I know he doesn't belong here." You crossed your arms as you sighed, eyes transfixed on the table. "Don't worry, I wouldn't dare ruin his chances to make him stay. I'd sooner hang myself."

After your session, Lance knew the transition was going to be difficult, not only for you but for Zack. You were protective over each other, never meeting anyone who took a look at all your scars and understood the way that pain weighed on the soul. You were never going to be offered a hearing. It never occurred to you to appeal, because you were guilty of all the crimes that earned you three life sentences.

You knew Zack was waiting in his room as he always was and he lifted his head when he saw you enter. You approached where he was reading on an armchair, his eyebrows hitting his hairline when you sat on his lap, catching him off guard. You released months of pent-up emotion with a kiss and he dropped his book, his gloved hands bringing you closer.

You pulled away after a few minutes, and he was disappointed that it ended, but relieved to catch his breath. "Don't you dare forget about me, Zachary."

He shook his head, "I couldn't." He replied instantly.

You placed a hand on his cheek, a bittersweet smile on your lips as you leaned in to reignite the kiss with more fervor.

Your days passed differently. You spent most of the hours in his or your bedroom, seeking solitude in what could be your final moments together. You completed your crosswords with your head on his lap as he read, and his free hand rested on your waist. He kept his gloves off behind the closed doors, writing the answers to a crossword with one hand while you played with the other. And Zack imagined mornings spent like this. Waking up every day to see you and start the day with coffee and a crossword. He hadn't realized how comfortable he had become with you, everything came naturally when it was you. As if you were two puzzle pieces finally clicking together.

One morning he was nowhere to be found. You spent the time in your room, awaiting his return by trying to pass the time. But the crosswords failed to hold your interest and you knew it was because Zack wasn't there. How were you going to survive without him when he was released?

There was a knock on the open door and you lifted your gaze from the doodle on your arm, sending him a smile when he entered. "How did it go?"

Zack explained what happened at the hearing, and the final decision. "I agreed to serve the remaining thirteen months for aiding a known killer."

You failed to mask your relief that he wasn't leaving so soon and although you knew you would have to say goodbye eventually, you were both relieved it wasn't immediate. You threw your arms around his neck and he smiled into your shoulder, closing his eyes as he memorized the moment for the days when he wouldn't be able to hold you this close.

After spending the remaining thirteen months in the psychiatric facility, Zack informed you when he was to be released the next day. When he entered the day room for the last time you threw up torn paper to make confetti and he smiled softly, appreciating the thought.

"You are a free man in two hours. How does it feel?"

"Odd." He thought for a moment. "Daunting, yet exciting."

You passed the time like you always did and when his name was called to gather his belongings, Zack looked at the male nurse before looking at you as he stood up. "I guess this is it." You smiled, "Time to go."

Zack looked at the book he had read to you dozens of times, before holding it out to you.

"I can't - I don't even know what half of it means."

"I want you to have it." He insisted.

You accepted the book and ran your hand over the cover. "I'll take care of it, I swear."

Zack looked at the nurse when he called him again and you watched, feeling your throat burn as he walked out of the room. You blinked away the tears in your eyes as you looked at the book he gave you, sitting down as you opened it. A piece of paper fell out and your smile returned when you saw the riddle.

You noticed writing on the back and a frown formed on your lips when you saw his note, telling you he would visit. While you didn't want to let him go, you didn't want to hinder his life as he got back to normalcy. There wasn't space in his life for someone like you, or so you figured, and you knew that you had to get out of the hospital before he stopped by in three days.

The next afternoon Zack was informed about your escape and Booth laid out your file the FBI had compiled since you were seventeen. With a final warning to contact him if he heard from you, Booth left and Zack read the file, seeing photos of your crimes.

When Zack arranged to meet with him before their session Sweets knew it was about Booth as the agent had mentioned the 'friend' Zack had made inside the hospital and urged the shrink to deter him from talking to you. But from his sessions with you, Sweets knew you once had a mentor, an ex-boyfriend, who led you down a dark path, which led to prison time before you were sent to the asylum.

Zack returned to his flat to see the book he had given you by the door and a note urging him not to find you. Which had the opposite effect. When Sweets enquired why he felt the need to find you, he knew Booth wouldn't like the answer. And he was right.

"He's what?" Booth exclaimed, hands on his hips in disbelief.

"What are you saying, Sweets?" Bones asked.

"During that time, Zack bonded with this woman. She listened to him talk about science and he felt like she was the only one who understood him."

"He's in love with an assassin?" Booth ran a hand down his face, "Oh my god, this kid is killing me!"

Bones decided to speak to Zack directly and while unnerved that Sweets had found a way around patient shrink confidentiality, he answered Brennan's questions about the time you spent together and what he knew about your past. "She was hurt when I escaped to solve the case. I don't understand why she left."

"The note said not to find her?" Bones asked, earning a nod. "Then maybe she's protecting you."

"You think she is in danger?"

"Well, no, I don't know I was making a -"

"I should talk to Booth."

She sighed when Zack left the office and shook her head, knowing she could've handled it better. Now, fearing you were running, Zack wouldn't be easily deterred. She decided the next step was Hodgins who quickly proved unhelpful.

"Oh, yeah. He's pretty interested in this woman. When he talks about that place she is in every detail."

Brennan knew Zack would only rest if he had proof you were okay and that meant a little investigating from Booth. For nearly two weeks the tracks had been cold when you suddenly resurfaced. You were across the street, seeing Zack enter with his friends and co-workers, a small smile on your lips before you turned to leave. Sweets caught your features before you turned and quickly got Booth's attention. When Booth called out, you took off running and the FBI agent left, while muttering under his breath.

"The things I do for you, Zack."

He caught up to you on a busy street but when you ran into traffic, narrowly avoiding cars, Booth fell behind and decided to look around for any signs that you were there. He sighed and decided to try another tactic in a few days, hoping to throw you off.

You knew he was trying to trick you and decided to go straight to the person who put the Feds onto your tail. Zack came home from work at his usual time, and Hodgins was almost inside the house when he heard Zack mention the door to his flat was unlocked. The two cautiously approached and Zack looked around, finding nothing was moved or taken. You closed the door when the two were inside and turned on the lights, aiming your gun.

Hodgins turned, quickly holding his hands in the air, "Crap."

Zack spun on his heels, "Y/N?"

"You need a better lock. Anyone could just walk in." You smirked.

"Wait? Y/N? As in the Y/N that broke out of the psychiatric hospital?" Hodgins looked at Zack who nodded.

"You sent an FBI agent looking for me." You began. "Tell him to back off. Or I'll be forced to handle it myself."

"You wouldn't," Zack replied with certainty.

"Don't antagonize the woman with a gun," Hodgins told him.

"I could wipe out every one of your friends very easily."

"Yes, you do indeed have the skills and resources to do so, but you wouldn't." Zack stepped forward and you raised an eyebrow, warning him not to move closer. "You liked the quiet life. Why are you running?"

Hodgins glanced between you and Zack rapidly. If he hadn't been so attentive to the way you and Zack looked at each other, he might've missed the way your hold on the gun loosened a little. For a brief moment, he could have sworn your eyes were torn, becoming teary as Zack refused to let you go without a fight.

You aimed the gun at Hodgins whose eyes widened and as your finger pressed the trigger, you moved your hand and the bullet narrowly missed his head. You looked at Zack when Hodgins ducked, seeing the shock in his eyes. "You don't know me. Next time, I will kill him."

You made a swift exit and Zack barely registered what Hodgins was saying as the two of them stood up. He looked around his flat and knew there had to be something hidden somewhere. Jack watched as Zack began taking books off his bookshelves and flipping through each book before dropping them to the floor.

"You're not even listening, are you? What are you doing?"

"There has to be something here. She broke in for a reason. I have to find it."

"Yeah, the reason being to threaten to kill us!"

Zack ignored him as he continued his search and with a sigh Hodgins began to help. The duo spent over an hour scouring the whole flat, checking cupboards, and looking under rugs, and just when he was ready to give up, Zack found an envelope inside his pillowcase.

Hodgins called out to him and entered the bedroom when he got no reply, finding Zack sitting on the bed. "What does it say?"

Zack found himself struggling to say the words. "She's leaving. It's too dangerous to stay now that she is out."

"So why did she leave?"

Zack handed him the end of your note that detailed your planned suicide weeks after he arrived. Jack read as you described the influence your ex-fiancée had inside the hospital and the regular beatings you took. The reason you chose to stay was because of him.

We are similar, you and I. We were both young when someone came and took us under their wing and we both paid the price for it. The big difference is that you have a group of friends to help you at the other side of the doors. All I have is you, Zack. And no matter what happens I will always be thankful, and grateful that we met.

I want you to forget about me. Lean on your friends and let me go. In a few weeks, I'll just be some wacko you met in a nuthouse. In a few months, you might not even think of me. And in a year you'll have forgotten me. And I need you to forget me, Zack.

Live a happy life for me.

Y/N

Hodgins looked at Zack who took out his cell phone, "What are you doing?"

"I'm calling Booth. He needs to see this letter. He can do something."

"Zack..." Jack began softly. "She said to let her go."

"Something is going to happen to her and I don't know what to do. Booth! Booth will know."

Days later, you were at the edge of town when Booth caught up to you in a gas station. You spotted him from a mile away but continued to your destination without letting him know you had seen him. You pulled into the gas station knowing he would follow and as you filled up your car, he approached you from behind.

"What do you want?"

"Just got a few questions for you."

"You've been looking for me." You stated.

"Zack was worried. You remember him, don't you?"

"Tell him to stay away from me. It's better for him this way." You turned to leave when he tried to grab your arm and take you back to his car but you swiftly took him down, leaving him groaning on the ground as you drove off.

"Booth! Booth!" Bones rushed out of the car and helped him off the ground. "What happened?"

"She really doesn't want to see him." He groaned. "She knows I've been looking around."

"What do we tell Zack?"

"He was right. She's running from something." Booth replied.

You kept tabs on Zack for several weeks, and almost six months later since your escape, you resurfaced again. You knew Booth had been delving further into your past, discovering your aliases which made you have to create new ones. But, as you suspected, you weren't the only one whose attention he had drawn and you knew he had no idea what he was up against, or rather who, and knew it was important to track the FBI agent.

The Jeffersonian was under siege when you arrived. The lab was locked down but you used the vents to find your way to where Zack and his friends were being held at gunpoint. You landed, swiftly disarming two of your ex's henchmen, and aimed one gun at your ex while emptying the bullets from the other gun with one hand, the sound echoing through the room.

You glanced at Booth who was bleeding from your ex's attempts to extort your location from him.

"Y/N!" He exclaimed. "How sweet of you to join us!" He turned with a smirk. "You've been hiding from me."

"Surprised?"

"No. Annoyed? Yes. However, I knew the second I saw this FBI agent looking around that you were nearby."

You felt a gun on the back of your head and hands patting you down soon followed. Your brow twitched when his hand lingered a little too long and fought the urge to bash his head against the nearest wall. Something Sweets noticed.

"Can you believe it? I made her everything that she is." Your ex-boyfriend approached you while the other members of his organization kept their guns trained on the team. "And this is the thanks I get. You starve my project to feed your cause."

"The only thing I did was give those women their lives back." You gritted your teeth when he backhanded you and felt the gun leave the back of your head, seconds before your ex grabbed your neck.

"You dare to stand against me, you will find out what happened to the others who tried." He punched your stomach and stepped back when you knelt on the ground, catching your breath. "And you will die as they did. Such a waste of a pretty face."

"What did you just say?" He growled.

You rested a hand on the ground, another on your stomach, and began to laugh, growing louder which drew his attention as you sat up straight. "So they died? You know you spoiled the ending, right? God, you are such an idiot."

"I D I O T." You spelled out. "Idiot i.e. you."

"How dare you -"

"The sad part is? I used to think you were the smartest person I knew." You swiftly get to your feet when he storms over to you, and he pauses at the sudden movement. "You're going to regret the day you met me."

You grab his gun and aim it at the ceiling as he fires. After struggling for a few moments you manage to beat him to the ground and shoot his left thigh. You dart behind a wall when his henchmen fire at you and Booth manages to trip one of them up as he runs, causing him to misfire and shoot another henchman in the back, killing him instantly. You swing your elbow into a man's face when he reaches you and disarm him while he's stunned, using him as a shield when gunfire rings out. Booth is quick on his feet, disarming the nearest henchman and taking his gun, firing three shots into the shoulder of three men heading his way. You fire a bullet, taking down the fourth as you approach the FBI agent. An arm winds itself around your neck and a gun is pressed to your head but before Booth can aim, you have the man down on the floor, unconscious.

You roll your eyes when you see his expression, "Relax, he's still breathing. I know you Feds get antsy about things like that."

You fire a shot over his shoulder casually and he turns, seeing a henchman who had been guarding a door down the corridor fall to the ground clutching his shoulder.

Seeing the group was taken care of, Booth took the gun from you, and you rolled your eyes. "What? I shot his shoulder."

"Uh-huh." He looked away momentarily to unload the gun and you frowned when you began to see two of him.

"Woah," You felt a sharp pain in your abdomen and Booth looked up when he heard shouting, his eyes widening when he saw the bullet wounds. "Do you have a twin?"

Booth fired as you hit the ground and the FBI agent left you briefly before he returned. "Hey, hey, hey."

You opened your eyes to find yourself staring at the ceiling. "Call an ambulance!" Booth shouted over his shoulder at the stunned scientists before looking down at you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, exhaling through the sharp pain. "Getting shot hurts more than I remember."

"Just hold on." He pressed his hands to the wounds and you winced.

"Y/N!" Zack knelt beside you and took off his lab coat, using it to put pressure on the wounds.

"Oh my god," Angela whispered when she saw the blood pooling through the material of Zack's coat.

"I'm sorry." You murmured so quietly that he barely heard it. "I tried to protect you but -"

"Save your strength." He interrupted.

You shook your head, "I knew the second I saw your note that I had to go. It's better this way."

Zack shook his head, "I'm not letting you die."

"I'm no good." You smiled weakly up at him. "If you were smart you'd forget about me."

"Then I'm not smart."

You smiled softly, "You're a genius." You spoke in a low murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat, finding it harder to breathe. "I'm better off alone." before your eyes slowly closed.

Zack looked up when Sweets ran in, announcing the ambulance had arrived, and reluctantly stepped aside when paramedics came to dress the wounds before loading you into the ambulance. He climbed into the ambulance and Hodgins agreed to meet him at the hospital. You looked at Zack when the doors closed and he sat next to you.

You listened as he started rambling about the process used to reconstruct a crushed skull and knew that he was trying to maintain your attention in the likelihood you would stay awake while simultaneously freaking out at the same time.

"So...how have you been?"

"Until now? Lonely. I spent every waking hour with you. I miss it. I missed you."

You swallowed the lump in your throat at the raw emotion in his gaze, "I didn't know someone who could be so kind. Then I met you..."

"Y/N -"

You turned your hand, looking down at your hand which drew his attention. He placed his gloved hand in yours and closed his eyes when he felt how weakly you squeezed it. The odds were low that you would survive. So Zack decided to make a desperate plea.

"You may think that I will be better off without you around, but I won't. I found something in you that I haven't with anyone else. A-And I'm not ready to let that go. I'm not ready to let you go."

He lifted his gaze from your hands to find your eyes were closed and his jaw fell slightly as the first wave of tears fell down his cheeks. While you were separated for the operation, Zack knew the odds of you surviving were slim. So that night, he was determined to ignore the statistics.

When Hodgins joined him, he silently sat down and patted his shoulder. A silent sign that he would stay beside him for however long it took.

On the fourth hour, Zack felt an instant relief when he heard you had survived and were currently resting. He was advised to return home and he would be contacted when you woke up but Zack was adamant about staying, despite Hodgins trying to encourage him to leave.

"There's nothing you can do."

"I left her once. It was a mistake I do not wish to repeat."

Zack remained by your side throughout the night, waking now and then to check on you before drifting off to sleep. In the morning Hodgins dropped off clothes and books to keep him entertained while waiting for you to wake up. Zack was reading a new medical journal aloud when you first stirred and you expected the sun to be bursting through the windows but he had the foresight to close them. You turned your head when you registered his voice and your eyebrows furrowed when you saw him sitting in a chair next to you, the bag Hodgins had dropped off all the proof you needed to determine he had spent the night.

"I told you that you're better off without me. Did you take a bullet to the head?" You winced as you sat up, eyeing the scientist when he adjusted the pillows.

"No." He replied. "I chose to stay."

"After I told you to leave me alone?"

"And what would your alternative be? To bleed out on the floor?"

"You read my letter. You know the things I've done. We aren't the same. You could live a normal life, without a psychotic former assassin complicating it."

"You freed the women he was smuggling. You formed a group to continue your work while you were gone. The number of those you helped is larger than the number of those you killed."

"And I'm still here. With nothing but ghosts screaming in my ears, so yes, you need to go."

"I'm not leaving." He replied. You looked at your hands, feeling tears in your eyes. "I didn't think before about how it might affect you. Now I do. And before you say you don't need anyone, you're right." You met his gaze and swallowed the lump in your throat when you saw his expression. "You don't need anyone. You're strong enough on your own. But I need you. As long as I'm here, you're never going to be alone."

You shook your head and Zack rested a hand on your shoulder, grimacing as he believed his attempt to comfort you was poorly reflected, while it was enough to make the first wave of tears fall. "It's over."

Your ex was gone and the FBI was dedicating a task force to destroying his organization. You wouldn't return to the asylum and Booth wasn't reporting your presence in Washington meaning you wouldn't face jail time. Although Sweets was clearing blocks in his schedule for you.

Nearly two weeks later, you left the hospital with a bag over your shoulder, biting the inside of your cheek to mask the pain spreading through your body as you walked away from the hospital. Your steps faltered when a horn honked and turned to see Hodgins behind the wheel. Zack got out of the car, taking the bag from your shoulder. He listed all the setbacks you could've suffered as he opened the door for you and you smiled softly at the scientist which made him pause.

"I am trying to scold you."

"I know." You smiled brighter. "You're cute when you're worried."

When you arrived at their place, Hodgins left Zack to show you around and you looked at the 'bug man' as he began to walk away. "Thank you."

Jack turned back in surprise, "You're welcome. Who knows? Having an assassin around might come in handy."

You looked at Zack when he unlocked his apartment, "I thought Booth said I wasn't allowed to kill people anymore?"

"He did. I wrote the full extent of his conditions for you. Hodgins is trying to make you feel welcome with humor."

You nodded, looking around the apartment. Zack set your bag down near the door, closing it behind him, and placing the keys on a hook.

You stopped in front of a diagram of the human skeleton, muscle and nerves listed beside it. You crossed your arms, turning to Zack after a few moments and found he was already looking at you. You smiled softly, not knowing where to go from here, but when he began to explain the diagram was three drawings on top of each other, you knew he was just as nervous as you were.

You reached for his hand and stepped closer until you stood chest to chest, tilting your head slightly to hold his gaze.

"If I am going to be staying here, shouldn't you say welcome home?"

Zack nodded slowly, "Welcome home."

A smile formed on your lips as you leaned in to kiss him tenderly. "I could get used to this."

"That's the idea."

You raised an eyebrow, giggling as you moved your hands to the nape of his neck. "Remember that time Jessie tried to take my pudding cup and you -" Knowing the incident in the lunch hall that you were referring to, Zack displayed his strength, lifting you and you rested your head on his shoulder as he carried you.

There were no more nurses watching your every move and Zack was as eager as you were to take full advantage of the privacy in his apartment to pick up where you left off.

#zack addy #zack addy x reader #bones

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