‧₊ ♪˚⊹ no1 party anthem - megumi fushiguro x f!reader
summary: the party is loud, the people are even louder, and you want to get out of there. that is until someone unknown bumps into you. | wc: 1.7k | meet cute, wing-woman maki, reader is silly, mentions of alcohol, jjk friend group.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
the house is packed, bodies everywhere, the air chilling and buzzing. someone’s blasting early 2000s r&b from a tiny speaker that’s definitely too small for this many people, but it somehow works, the bass is thumping through the floorboards.
megumi’s on the couch with a drink in hand, legs spread, eyes sharp as he watches the uno game like it’s a life‑or‑death mission.
yuji’s beside him, yelling about how “there’s no way you had four draw fours, that’s illegal, maki,” while maki just grins like she’s been waiting all week to ruin his night.
nobara’s half in his lap, half reaching across the table to snatch a card out of yuta’s hand, yelling, “don’t cheat, you bum,” and yuta’s laughing so hard he nearly spills his drink. they’re loud, messy, and having the time of their lives.
you, on the other hand, were dragged here by maki with the promise of “it’ll be fun, stop being so boring.” now you’re standing near the doorway, clutching your drink, watching your best friend scream at yuji about uno rules while the room spins with music, laughter, and way too many people.
it’s chaotic, it’s wild, and you’re already thinking about how to sneak out without anyone noticing. but before you can even plan your escape, someone bumps into you, chest hard enough to make you stumble.
megumi’s the one who bumps into you, his shoulder hitting yours hard enough to make your drink slosh. he turns around straight away, eyes half‑lidded like he’s been up for hours.
he looks at you with this flat expression, the kind that makes you wonder if he even realises how crowded the room is. you lean in a little, sniffing the air near him before you can stop yourself, trying to figure out if he’s had anything to drink.
he pulls back instantly, brows pulling together. “what are you doing?” his voice cuts through the music, loud enough to reach you over the beat.
you blink, heat rushing to your face. “oh-- sorry! i thought you were drunk.”
megumi shakes his head, annoyed but not enough to walk away. he mutters something like, “i’m fine,” under his breath, eyes flicking over you like he’s checking you didn’t spill anything on yourself.
the party keeps roaring around you, people yelling over uno cards and the music thumping through the walls, but megumi just stands there, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. he’s grumpy, sure, but he’s steady, and definitely not drunk.
maki spots the two of you standing there, megumi looking like he wants to leave the planet and you looking like you just sniffed a stranger.
she pushes through the crowd with a drink in one hand and this massive grin on her face, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“oooo, you two,” she says, grabbing megumi by the arm and dragging him closer. “megumi, this is my best friend. my very single best friend.” she shoots you a look that’s basically her yelling “play along.”
megumi gives you a short nod, still a bit grumpy from the whole sniffing incident. “yeah, we… bumped into each other,” he says, voice flat but not rude.
you’re about to apologise again when maki does this tiny fist pump by her side, whispering a quick “yes” under her breath like she just won a bet.
you stare at her. megumi stares at her. she pretends she didn’t do anything.
“right,” she says, clapping her hands once. “now that you’ve met, i’m gonna go beat nobara at uno.” she leaves before either of you can say anything, disappearing back into the chaos while the music blasts and the room keeps spinning with people and noise.
and now it’s just you and megumi, standing way too close for two people who met like twenty minutes ago.
megumi clenches his jaw like he’s holding back a whole speech he’ll never actually say. he stands there, hands in his pockets, eyes half‑lidded but focused on you in this way that makes you feel like you’re being judged and studied at the same time.
you try to make small talk because the silence is way too awkward for a party this loud, so you ask him something simple like, “so… are you having fun?” he barely reacts, just gives a short, “yeah,” that sounds like he means the opposite.
you try again, asking about the uno game, the music, even the stupid plastic cups everyone’s drinking from. every time, he gives you these dry, clipped answers that make you think he’d rather be anywhere else.
“it’s fine.”
“i guess.”
“not really.”
it’s like talking to a brick wall with nice hair.
but he’s not ignoring you. not really. you notice the tiny things-- how he licks his lips before answering, like he’s thinking harder than he wants to admit. how his eyebrows lift just a bit every time you ask something new, like he’s surprised you’re still trying. he keeps glancing at your face, then away, then back again, like he’s checking you haven’t given up on him yet.
you start thinking he doesn’t care, that he’s just tolerating you because maki shoved you together. but megumi’s standing closer than he needs to, shoulders angled toward you, jaw tight like he’s fighting himself. he might not say much, but he’s listening. he’s paying attention. and for someone like him, that’s basically shouting.
yuji’s halfway through yelling at maki about her “illegal uno strategies” when he suddenly stops mid‑sentence, eyes going huge like he’s just spotted a celebrity. he slaps his cards onto the table and points across the room with the enthusiasm of someone discovering fire for the first time.
“FUSHIGURO IS GETTING HIT ON! ,” he announces, loud enough that three people not even in their group turn to look.
nobara nearly falls off the couch trying to follow his line of sight.
“no way. no way. who’s brave enough?” she says, already grinning like she’s about to start live‑commentating. yuta leans over her shoulder, squinting like he’s trying to solve a maths problem.
“is that… maki’s friend?” he asks, sounding way too invested. maki doesn’t even pretend to be subtle.
she stands up on the couch, hands on her hips, eyes shining with pure victory. “hell yeah it is,” she mutters, proud of herself like she just won a championship.
all four of them stare openly, zero shame, like they’re watching a nature documentary. megumi and you both feel it at the same time-- that weird prickly sensation of being observed. you turn your head first, then megumi follows, both of you locking eyes with the uno table where the entire group is frozen mid‑game, gawking.
“what,” you say, confused and already embarrassed.
megumi’s “what” comes out flatter, but just as thrown off, shaking his, he’s regretting ever leaving the couch.
yuji waves his cards in the air like a man possessed. “LOOK AT HIM. HE’S TALKING TO SOMEONE. WILLINGLY.”
nobara gasps like she’s witnessing history. yuta nods like he’s studying rare behaviour. maki just smirks, arms crossed, looking way too proud of herself.
and you and megumi just stand there, caught in the spotlight neither of you asked for.
megumi lets out this tiny breath through his nose, like he’s already done with the circus happening at the uno table. he drags a hand through his hair, then looks back at you, eyes steady in a way that makes your stomach flip. he tilts his head toward the hallway, away from the noise, away from yuji yelling about betrayal and nobara threatening violence over a skipped turn.
“do you… want to take this somewhere else?” he asks, voice low but clear, like he’s actually trying this time.
you freeze for a second, caught off guard. “oh-- uh, i don’t know. i mean, you don’t have to. i thought you were kinda over this conversation.”
megumi’s jaw flexes again, but this time it’s not annoyance. he steps a little closer, enough that you can hear him over the music without leaning in. “i don’t bite,” he says, eyes flicking to your face, then back. “i want to keep talking to you.”
your brain short‑circuits for a moment because megumi fushiguro, king of dry replies, master of leaving conversations, is actually asking you to stay with him. he waits, patient in his own stubborn way, hands still shoved in his pockets like he’s trying not to look too eager.
behind you, yuji is whisper‑shouting something like “HE’S FLIRTING, HE’S FLIRTING,” and nobara is elbowing him to shut up, but megumi doesn’t even look their way.
he’s looking at you. only you. and suddenly, leaving the party doesn’t sound so bad.
megumi pauses at the doorway, glancing back at the uno table where yuji is still gawking like he’s watching a wildlife documentary. without breaking eye contact, megumi lifts his hand and very clearly flips yuji off, middle finger straight up, no hesitation.
yuji reels back like he’s been shot.
“MAN, WHAT THE HELL ! ,” he yells, clutching his chest dramatically while nobara wheezes with laughter and maki looks like she’s about to frame the moment.
megumi doesn’t even bother responding. he just turns back to you, nodding toward the front door like he’s done with everyone inside. you follow him out, the music fading behind you as the cool night air hits your skin. it’s quieter out here, calmer, and megumi seems to relax a little, shoulders dropping as he leads you across the driveway.
“i’ll drive you home,” he says, like it’s already decided.
you blink. “oh, yeah-- okay.”
his car is parked under a streetlight, small and all black, it looks that looks neat and practical, very him. he walks ahead a step, then stops and opens the passenger door for you. he doesn’t make a big show of it, just holds it open with one hand, eyes flicking to yours for a moment before looking away again.
“get in,” he says, voice steady but not cold. “it’s fine.”
you step closer, heart thumping a bit harder than it should. megumi waits, patient in his own quiet way, the door still open like he’s inviting you into his world for the first time.
you settle into the seat, and megumi closes the door before getting in beside you. the car lights glow faintly across his face, catching the line of his jaw, the way his lashes lower when he looks at you.
“i’m glad you said yes,” he says quietly, hands steady on the wheel.
your breath catches. “to the ride?”
his eyes flick to yours, usually they are hard but right now they are tender and he says, “to me.”
Could you write megumi getting a call from the hospital and hearing you've been in some sort of accident so he comes over very hurriedly and after the initial shock it's just fluff all over? Thank you :)
Hospital Visit - Megumi F.
words: 744
warnings: mention of injuries, Gojo
summary: you get injured during a mission and wake up in the hospital to Megumi at your side
Your mission was supposed to be simple, but unfortunately the higher ups were as incompetent as they come and couldn't bother to double check the mission you were sent on. Instead of fighting the grade three curse you were told you would be exorcising, it turned out to be a grade one. Luckily for you, you were strong enough to defeat it, but just barely. The curse had kicked your ass, definitely leaving you with at least a sprained wrist and concussion. The last thing you remember before waking up in the hospital was passing out of the sidewalk late at night.
When you woke up the first thing you saw was none other than Megumi sitting in a chair next to your bed. It took you a moment to register what was going on, and even then you were still a bit hazy. The moment you tried to sit up his head shot up, realizing you were awake.
"What happened?" you asked, "Where am I?"
"Take it easy," Megumi said, slowly helping you sit up.
"What happened?" you repeated, rubbing your head softly.
"I don't know exactly," Megumi said, "They told me someone found you passed out on the sidewalk and called an ambulance. They said you have a concussion and a few other minor injuries, but that they'd keep you overnight just in case."
You let out a long breath, trying to remember the details of what happened. Once did you tell Megumi exactly what happened.
"And the stupid curse turned out to be a grade one, but it doesn't matter anyway. That curse looks a lot worse than me right now," you joked, trying to have Megumi lighten up after what you just told him.
"I hate the higher ups, this is all their fault," he started to rant.
"I know, but at least I'm alive, let's focus on that for now, and curse them out later."
Megumi let out a grunt as the door to the room opened.
"Oh good, you're awake, now he can stop stressing," Gojo said, his hands full of random things.
"What?" you questioned, turning your head to Megumi with a teasing smile.
"I wasn't stressing," he grumbled as he crossed his arms.
"You woke me up in the middle of the night and almost flung Ijichi into the car when the hospital called," Gojo said, making you giggle, "I'm surprised you didn’t cause a fight on our way here."
"I was just worried," he murmured his voice low.
"It's nice to see you care," you teased, grabbing his hand in yours, making him blush.
Gojo placed down all the things he had bought, including flowers for you (and the nurses), some snacks, and a book you liked in case you got bored.
"Alright, well I'll give you love birds some space, while I bring these to the hot nurse over there," Gojo said, pointing to the nurse at the desk.
You let out a long sigh at Gojo's antics as he closed the door behind him. You moved over on the bed making space for Megumi to fit right next to you.
"I shouldn't," he said, "You should rest."
"I will when you get over here, and I'm injured so you have to do what I say," you told him, not letting his stubbornness win.
It worked though and the next moment Megumi was climbing into the hospital bed with you lying down under the covers. You quickly placed your head onto his chest, some of the pain being relieved as you snuggled up next to him.
"Did you really rush here like Gojo said?" you questioned, curious if it was just another one of Gojo's exaggerations or if Megumi had really been that worried over you.
Megumi shrugged, "I was just worried," he whispered.
"I'm sorry I worried you," you apologized.
"You don't have to apologize," he told you, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, "Just promise me you won't worry me like that again?"
"I don't know if I can," you whispered, knowing truthfully you had no clue if you would get hurt like this, or even much worse, in the future.
"You don't have to mean it, just say it, please?" he pleaded, just wanting to find some relief that he knew would always be okay.
"I promise," you said before shutting your eyes.
You both laid there in each other's arms as a soft slumber overtook you.
Fluffy kisses and fluffy late night cuddles with cute bickering with Megumi x femreader (if that makes sense) pretty pleaseeeee
Late Night Overthinking - Megumi F.
words: 700
warnings: none
summary: when you're overthinking late at night where else would you go besides your boyfriend's room
a/n short drabble, currently trying to get through my inbox lol
It was late at night and you had just gotten back from exorcising a cursed spirit. You and your classmates had originally been told it would take no more than a few minutes to complete, but unfortunately luck was not on your side. You defeated the first cursed spirit quite quickly, but out of nowhere a second one showed up. This one was way stronger than the first and put up more of a fight. Although it was stronger you were still able to manage and make it out with only a couple scratches.
You, along with the others, almost passed out on the car ride home from the exhaustion. Somehow you managed to drag yourself to your room for the night and get ready for bed.
You stared at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep for what felt like forever, but your mind kept racing. You kept replaying the mission and all the things that went wrong. How Nobara ended up getting flung into a wall by the cursed spirit, or how you and Yuji ended up having to duck for cover in a matter of seconds or else you would've died. You knew the danger that came with missions, and the overthinking of all the small details, and how even the smallest change could cause the biggest difference.
But, no matter how much you replayed every small detail, or went through every scenario in your head, there was always one place you could go when you couldn't sleep.
You slipped out of bed, your feet padding on the cold floor as you left your room, and made your way down the hall. You softly knocked on the door in front of you, hoping he hadn't fallen asleep yet.
Luckily for you he hadn't, and as the door opened you saw an exhausted Megumi let out a yawn as he opened the door. He immediately opened the door fully for you, letting you in. This was almost routine at this point after missions, but still you never tired of it.
"Everything alright?" Megumi asked softly as he closed the door behind him.
You sat down on his bed, taking in a shaky breath before answering.
"I don't know," you whispered, "I keep thinking about what happened, and how things could've gone wrong."
Megumi was used to your overthinking by now and knew exactly what to do. He ushered you further onto his bed as he made space for him to lie down and for you to follow. You laid down, directly facing him as he spoke.
"You thinking? That's a first," he joked, knowing it would get a small smile out of which, to which he was correct.
"I think," you shot back.
"Name one time?"
"I-" you said, trying to think, but were too exhausted to.
"I think you're mean," you told him.
"I think you know you're lying."
You rolled your eyes as you sunk further into the soft mattress. Megumi's bed always felt softer and warmer than yours, and you swore it was because he's Gojo's favorite.
"Come here," Megumi said as he scooped you up into his arms, placing your head onto his chest. He placed a small kiss at the top of your head as he started to run his fingers through your hair.
"I swear, I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered softly, "I promise."
"I know, I just can't help but to think about it."
"Maybe you should try talking to Yuji, he's really good at getting people not to think," he joked.
"Then maybe I should go to his room instead," you joked, lightly pushing yourself off of him.
Megumi only pulled you back onto his chest, this timing wrapping his arms more securely around you, "Actually, I take that back."
You let out a small laugh as you allowed your heavy eyelids to shut. Megumi continued to stroke your hair, occasionally placing a soft kiss at the top of your head as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Just before you fully fell asleep in his arms you swore you heard him whisper a soft, "I love you," making you smile as you fell asleep.
warnings: no war and no Voldemort au, in this charlie graduated about a year or two ago and reader is in her final year for no weird age gap purposes
a/n I'M ALIVE IK CRAZY, also i got so tired near the end like i saw alien spaceships type tired lol
It was the start of your holiday break and this year instead of going home for the break you decided to spend it at your best friend's house. The Weasley's were always inviting towards you, so you thought it would be only fair to finally accept their invite after all these years, and stay the full break, as it was your final one ever from Hogwarts.
The Weasley twins had been your best friends since your first year when they almost lit your entire head of hair on fire in the Gryffindor common room. The two red head twins were trying to hide a firework they snuck in from Zonko's, when it suddenly flew across the common room, nearly hitting several people. Unluckily for you it whizzed past your hair lighting the end of it on fire. You quickly scrambled to put it out before it managed to burn up too much, as the twins giggled at your frantic action. Most people would've huffed and ignored it, since the twin had already garnered a reputation for mischief and pranks, or even scolded them for it, but instead you had a different idea.
While the twins were too busy lost in their own world of giggles, you quickly grabbed out your wands flicking it towards them. Technically you were told to only use spells like this towards bullies, as instructed by your aunt, whose methods were not so approved by your mom, but she didn't need to know. You'd only practiced on random objects in your backyard, but it couldn't have been that much different than using it on a human.
George was the first to notice and stopped laughing momentarily before bursting back into laughter. Fred noticed his pause and looked at his brother before pointing at his hair.
"You're pink," he exclaimed before bursting back into laughter.
"What?"
"Your hair is pink," Fred pointed at his hair.
"No, your hair is pink," George told him.
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it isn't," Fred exclaimed, scrambling up from the floor.
He rushed over to one of the girls in the common room, who was fixing her hair in a small compact mirror. Fred quickly snatched it out of her hand as she exclaimed at him. He studied his hair in the mirror -- most likely all the studying he'd do for the year -- realizing it had turned pink.
"No way!" he shouted as he turned to face everyone in the common room, "Alright, who did this?"
"Yeah, pranks are our thing," George added as he scanned the room.
You tried to hold in your laughter, but to your dismay you burst into laughter at the two pink haired twins. They instantly whipped their heads towards you.
"It was you," Fred accused, taking a step towards you.
"It was only fair," you defended.
"Fair how?" George questioned.
"You lit my hair on fire," you argued back.
"That was one small part," Fred said, "You turned our entire head pink."
"How would you like it if we lit your entire head on fire."
You scoffed at the two of them, "I'd like to see you try," you challenged.
But before either could try anything a prefect descended the stairs, yelling at everyone in the common room.
"What is going on here?"
In seconds they turned their heads towards the three kids, confused on how the Weasley's went from redheads to pink-heads.
"Why are you two pink?"
"Ask this one," Fred said, pointing at you, "She did this to us."
"Only because they lit my hair on fire," you argued back.
The prefect just let out a long sigh, seemingly already hating their job.
"Look, it's too late for this kind of nonsense, and I don't want to deal with you, so I'm just going to let your brother handle it," the prefect said, looking at the twins before ascending the stairs.
The twins shared a look you couldn't quite decipher. How bad could their brother be?
You watched as another redhead descended down the stairs and into the common room. He immediately made eye contact with his two brothers, who seemed to already be trying to plead their case. But before they could speak he spoke first.
"Didn't mum tell you two not to burn the place down?" he quipped.
"We weren't trying to burn the place down," Fred defended badly.
You immediately made a face at the twins and interjected into the conversation without thinking.
"No, but you tried to light me on fire."
The three (technically one) redheads turned towards you as you spoke.
"We already said we weren't bloody trying, it just happened," George said.
You scoffed at them, "Like how I'm about to not try to mess up that stupid face of yours."
You moved forwards towards the boys, but before you could get very far you stopped by two hands on your waist holding you back. You tried to fight them off, but the person had a pretty good grip on you.
"You're feisty, aren't you?" the twins' brother joked, as he continued to hold you back till you gave up.
"Whatever," you grumbled once you settled down. The older boy removed his hands from your waist and instead slung his arm around your shoulders to still keep you in place just in case.
"Why don't I walk you guys to Madam Pomfrey and she can fix both of your hair problems," he suggested as he flicked the strand of your hair that was burnt.
You side eyed him which made him drop his hand and turn back towards his idiotic brothers.
"I think I'm good," Fred uttered, "the pink kind of suits me."
"I don't think anything could suit that ugly face of yours," you retorted, annoyed at the boy.
The boy with his arm around you let out a stifled laugh.
George did too and said, "You hear that Freddy she thinks you're the ugly twin."
Fred flicked him on the head, "We have the same face, you git."
"Yeah, but I'm the better looking one."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Fred said to his brother before turning towards you, "That's a pretty nifty spell you know."
You were confused by his compliment, but accepted it anyway.
"Where did you learn that anyway?" the other twin asked.
"None of your business," you retorted, "aren't fireworks like that prohibited anyway?"
You accused them as they questioned the spell you weren't technically supposed to know.
"They are," Fred answered.
"But we snuck one in," George finished
"Only one, right?" their brother questioned.
"Of course only one," Fred said, looking at his brother and smiling.
George turned back towards you, a scheming look on his face, "We're not questioning why you know?"
"We just want to know if you could teach us it," Fred finished, pointing between him and his brother.
"Why would I teach it to you?" you scoffed.
Fred thought for a moment before saying, "So that we can use it on people and pull pranks."
"What's in it for me if I teach it to you?"
Before either twin could answer, their brother was quick to whisper in your ear.
"I don't suggest working with them."
You rolled your eyes, already having had enough of him. You pushed his arm off your shoulders, taking a step towards the twin.
"Eternal glory of being one of the best pranksters at Hogwarts?" Fred finally answered.
"So what do you say?" George asked.
You thought about it for a second. Sure, they had lit your hair on fire, but oddly enough the twins seemed pretty fun to be around, and it would make your years at Hogwarts interesting.
"Sure, why not," you said with a shrug.
The twins jumped in celebration before immediately bombarding you.
"We have to show you our stash of-" Fred started to say, but then remembered his brother in the room, "sweets."
"Come on, we'll show you."
The two then proceeded to drag you up the stairs to the boys dormitories in the blink of an eye.
"Don't get in too much trouble you three," their brother shouted up the stairs.
"No promises, Charlie," Fred yelled back.
Charlie, Charlie Weasley, that was his name, and you never forgot it.
You took one last glance down the stairs at him. Surprisingly he was already looking at you. Something inside you told you that wouldn't be the last time you saw him, or caught him already looking back at you.
Of course that was years ago by now. You'd grown up since then and he had graduated Hogwarts. Sure, you weren't a frustrated first year anymore, but you were still you.
You spent the rest of your school years as the twins' best friend who helped and even came up with some of their pranks. You became a sort of honorary Weasley. Ginny accepted you immediately, always wanting another girl to talk to, Percy by some miracle tolerated you, Ron was honestly scared of you, and you'd only met Bill once or twice since he graduated years ago.
Charlie was a whole other topic though. You'd never forgotten him and he always slightly lingered at the back of your mind. You thought he was quite handsome from the first time you saw him, especially how he held you back so easily. He was also quite funny and sweet, which you learned from the few times you interacted with him.
You hadn't seen him in years ever since he graduated, but now you were in Weasley territory. You weren't sure if he would be coming back for the holidays, as the twins told you he hadn't returned the past few years, but you can never be too cautious.
As you walked into the Burrow you took in the familiar place. The old furniture that was oddly comfortable, the markings around the house of the twins failed pranks and experiments, and even the comforting smell that surrounded the place.
Mrs. Weasley immediately had you wrapped in her arms the second you walked through the door. She asked you a million questions before letting you free to put your stuff down.
"You'll be in the twins' room as I expect?"
"Someone has to keep them from blowing the place up," you joked.
"Hey!" both twins exclaimed, stealing sweets from the kitchen before their mom could notice.
"Get out of my kitchen," she scolded, as the twin giggled at their own antics, "I'm glad they have you around to keep them in line."
You let out a small laugh, "Don't worry, I'll make sure the house stays intact."
You then headed up stairs, throwing down your bags onto the floor. You threw yourself down onto the mattress placed in the twins' room just for you. The two boys proceeded to throw things at each other and mess with some of their products as they settled in.
"We've been here all of ten minutes and you've already made a ruckus," you said as you rolled your eyes.
"Don't like it, leave," Fred said, knowing you wouldn't.
"Whatever," you uttered as you tried to relax.
That lasted all of about five minutes as you heard a familiar voice fill the house. Your eyes flew wide open and you knew you were definitely fucked.
***
"I've missed you guys," you heard Charlie say as you made your way down the stairs.
The second you stepped off the last step he looked up at you. It was the same analyzing gaze he always had towards you that sent shivers down your spine. But this time something was different, you just couldn't tell what.
"I see how it is, I stop coming home for Christmas and you finally accept our invite," he joked.
"Its nothing personal," you shot back.
"Did you somehow get shorter?"
"Did you?" you rolled your eyes barely trying to engage in your usual back and forth.
"Touché," he uttered.
Fred then interjected himself between the two of you, slinging an arm around both of you.
"How I missed you two being in the same room as each other."
"You're just annoyed you're not getting attention," you retorted, shaking his arm off of you.
"How dare accuse me of wanting attention," he scoffed jokingly.
"You once made me sit through a demonstration of every single product you've ever made just because I said I wasn't interested in one of them."
Fred grumbled something under his breath as he made his way back over to his twin.
"How's dealing with them without me?" Charlie asked, a smile on his face as he looked at you.
"Stressful."
"I can imagine," Charlie said, "sorry I left you with them."
"I can't imagine they're much different than handling dragons?" you joked.
"How so?"
"Let's see, both are reckless, like to light things on fire, destroy most things around them, and are obnoxiously tall."
Charlie let out a light laugh, a sound you had missed over the past couple of years.
"I can see the similarities, but dragons are a lot cooler than them."
"Yeah, it must be so cool handling dragons all day," you said sarcastically.
Truthfully handling dragons did seem cool, but you couldn't let Charlie know that.
"It is actually," he said, "there's so many different species we see and some are easier to handle than others, but they're all wicked."
Charlie then told you every fact he could think of about the dragons he worked with and even shared some stories from his time working with them. You listened intently, nodding your head along as he talked. You liked the sound of his voice especially when he talked about something he was passionate about.
He probably would've talked more if it wasn't for his mum cutting him off.
"Charlie she just got here, you're going to talk the poor girl's ear off."
"Sorry," Charlie uttered towards you, "didn't mean to go on a whole rant."
You gave a small shrug, "It's fine," you said, "but you know you're a giant nerd right."
"How does liking dragons make me a nerd?" he questioned.
"I think you've said more dragon facts in the past twenty minutes than you've ever said in your lifetime."
Charlie rolled his eyes playfully, "You just don't know how cool dragons are."
"I think I have a pretty good understanding."
"You should come by the preserve sometime," Charlie suggested, "you could come by when you graduate."
You nodded your head, "I'll think about it."
"You could make a whole trip out of it, you'd love it, I promise."
"So what you're saying is, you want me to take a whole trip just to visit you once I graduate," you teased.
"And to see the dragons," he added.
"But you're not denying it."
"No, I'm not," Charlie said, "I've missed two years with you, I think I deserve at least some of your time."
His words made you smile. Somehow he always knew what to say to get you to feel giddy inside.
"I mean, I guess I do have to make up for lost time," you said with a playful sigh, "I'll visit you when I graduate, Weasley, I swear."
"You won't regret it I promise."
Molly peeked her head out the kitchen before you could say anything else, and asked you to help set the table since no one else was conveniently around to help.
"Come on, I'll help you," Charlie said as he put his hand on the small of your back, guiding you to the kitchen table, "you can tell me all about the things I've missed."
"Like the twenty different hair colors I've had this year?" you quipped.
Charlie let out a small chuckle at the mention of his brothers' antics.
"Those two do not deserve you."
"And who does?"
"I think I do a bit," he teased, standing in front of you as you leaned against the table.
"What qualifies you for that?"
"I've never once changed your hair color," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
You nodded your head, trying not to focus on how your heart skipped a beat.
"A lot of people don't do that," you told him, "you'll have to try harder."
"I treat you better than the two of them do."
"How so?" you asked, making him roll his eyes playfully at you.
"For one, I bought you this necklace you always wear," he said, lightly grabbing at the chain around your neck.
You froze as you felt his hand softly brush against your skin.
"Is that good enough?" he questioned, his voice lower now.
You shook your head, unable to form words at the moment.
"What do I need to do to prove it?"
"Come up with more examples on why you would deserve me more," you told him, "you have all break, good luck."
"I promise you I will."
"I'll hold you to it," you told him.
Truthfully you already knew just how well Charlie had treated you over the past few years. You also knew there was something unspoken between the two of you, that you hoped could become something. But for now making Charlie scramble to prove to you that he deserved you was enough. He already had your heart, but he didn't need to know that. Not yet anyway.
if you liked this please comment and reblog if you can
taglist (ask to be added or removed): @almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs @herondale-lightworm @purplerose291 @mitskiswift99 @crumby-child @rafslytherin @shanksvskidd @yerrmar @oceangirl15 @livia7137 @mp3nai @lvlyu
Can we get the next part of Luke Castellan kissing booth au
The Kissing Booth, Part 1-Luke Castellan
words: 3k
warnings: swearing, no war au
summary: you and Chris arrive to camp for the summer and how could this summer possibly be different from any other?
a/n I'm alive, not well (i'm sick), but alive, if there's any spelling or grammar errors my bad I'm HIGHLY dyslexic but please enjoy
The drive to Camp Halfblood wasn't too long, but any drive with Chris felt like a million years. He didn't drive slow, but he made countless stops on the way there. He argued that road trip snacks were a necessity, or else the car wouldn't be able to drive (you knew he just needed a reason to steal half of the gas station's inventory).
You rarely prayed to any of the other gods beside your father, but with Chris' driving you were praying to any that would listen. You'd fought countless monsters, escaped horrifying brushes with death, somehow managed to fend off teenage boys, yet you could just narrowly survive Chris' horrific driving.
"Seriously, how did you get your license?" you asked, after swerving around a mini van with a now very angry woman inside.
Chris popped a skittle in his mouth before answering, "And why don't you have yours?"
"That's not an answer," you argued, "And, it's because I'm poor."
"I said I'd pay for you."
"With what? Money you stole?"
"Incorrect," he said as he held up his right hand, "With money I made from stealing."
"Oh, wow, my bad Robin Hood," you shot back, making fun of him.
"Robin Hood was a noble man."
"Do you even know who Robin Hood is?"
Chris looked smug as he sat up to give his answer.
"I do actually," he said, "He's the fox dude from the old Disney movie, duh."
You let out a long breath, "If you weren't driving right now I would strangle you."
"Am I wrong though?" he exclaimed.
"Not entirely, but also Robin Hood was a character before the Disney Movie," you argued.
"No one knew him before the Disney movie though."
"Not, true."
"Very true actually."
"People knew of Robin Hood before that," you continued to argue with him for a few minutes before pulling into the road near the camp where the camp van was parked.
Not many campers were old enough to drive to camp, but the few that could would just park near the camp van. Sometimes you and Chris would sneak out late at night and take his car into the city for the night.
"Because we're here, I'll let you win this one," Chris said as he parked the car.
"I am right about this," you exclaimed before getting out of the car.
Chris walked around to the passenger side where you stood, "You ready for another summer of camp?"
"You mean am I ready to get weird looks, cuts from new campers that don't know how to wield a sword, and countless scraps from that fucking climbing wall?" you asked, listing your grievances, "Then yes, I'm ready."
"Don't forget being told by Chiron to not swear around the younger campers," Chris added as he started to walk up the hill.
"In my defense, if Mr. D can get all of our names wrong without consequence, then I can say a swear or two. Besides, these kids are going to fight monsters I think the word fuck is the least of their worries."
Chris just laughed as he climbed the rest of the way up the hill, leading to the camp entrance. Just from the entrance you could see the camp already bursting with life. Far down on the beach a game of volleyball was being played, a game you chose not to partake in due to the fact you shouldn't be near water. Younger campers that were there for the first time were being guided around by counsellors, as satyrs brought in the campers. There at the Big House like always was Chiron and Mr. D watching the madness that came with the start of a new year of camp.
You walked down the path with Chris, wondering how this summer would be. Obviously part of you knew the answer. You'd spend a decent amount of your time alone, considering no one wanted to hang out with the demigod that wasn't meant to exist, and being not the prettiest girl at camp, no boy was going to ask you to meet him in the woods late at night. It would be the same as last year and the year before that and the year before that, but who cares, you had Chris and even Luke to hang out with when he wasn't off with some girl or with his friends. Who knows, maybe this year will be different.
As you walked through the camp headed towards your cabin you noticed the same stares you got every year. Only now there were different ones, with the added new campers probably already being told stories about the Hades girl who everyone should stay away from.
"My favorite part of camp," you quip, keeping your voice low, "The inevitable stares."
Chris took a look around for a second before turning towards you, "Yeah, but I think it's for a different reason this time."
"What?" you questioned, "Do I have food in my teeth or something."
"Definitely or something," Chris said, "Have you not noticed you've changed in a few ways."
You gave him a confused look, "What does that mean?"
"You actually look like a woman now, instead of a teenager trapped in the body of a six year old," he explained.
"I looked older than six," you argued.
"Not with that height, I'm shocked Santa didn't take you away to his workshop during Christmas."
"Oh, fuck off," you said, lightly hitting his arm with the back of your hand.
He nudged you back in a playful retaliation before asking, "My cabin first or yours?"
"I think I'll just stop at mine then meet you at yours, that sounds good?"
He shrugged, "Fine with me, now I won't have to spend twenty minutes watching you organize your shirts."
You rolled your eyes at him, "Not everyone just leaves all of their clothes in their bag or a pile on the floor."
"It's very effective, it separates the clean from the dirty."
"It's all dirty if it's on the floor, and this is why they invented laundry baskets."
"I will not buy into the capitalist propaganda known as laundry baskets," he argued, as he stepped onto the stairs of the Hermes cabin.
"Whatever, see you soon," you uttered as you continued to follow the path to your cabin.
The Hades cabin, which only you occupied, was right down the path from the Hermes cabin, since it was cabin 11 and yours was 13. The walk to your cabin was calm as you let the sounds of frantic campers trying to find the items they swear they packed run around camp, as old friends caught up glad they were still alive. Camp wasn't that bad when you really thought about it. As long as you tuned out everyone else, everything would be just fine.
Tuning everyone out probably wasn't the best idea, as you walked right into someone by accident.
"Shit, sorry," you said, not yet looking up from the chest of the person you just bumped into.
"You should watch where you're going, sunshine," a familiar voice said.
Of course it was none other than Luke, Chris' brother. The one you had a massive crush on, but refused to break rule #9 for. He knew you hated the name sunshine after he started calling you that because you were anything other than sunshine.
"Maybe you should watch where you're going, wonder boy," you retorted back.
You knew he hated the nickname wonder boy, just as much as you hated sunshine. You chose the name after watching the movie Hercules (which is wildly inaccurate) and thought it was funny (and cute) that Meg called Hercules, wonder boy.
Luke scoffed as he took a step back and looked at you for a second. In your mind you were still the same girl you'd always been, but now you started to wonder if something had changed. All the new attention in an unusual way was starting to show that.
"When'd you get the boobs?" he joked with a laugh, his hand on your shoulder from when you bumped into him.
"Don't be gross," you retorted as you pushed him in his chest.
As your hand connected you thought about how all that training was really paying off. No wonder he was considered the best swordsman.
He put his hands up, "My bad, but you do look good, sunshine," he said.
"Whatever," you said as you rolled your eyes, "I'll see you around, boy wonder."
You then walked off towards your cabin trying hard not to think about what just happened and the way he was looking at you. You couldn't do that to Chris, you made a promise with rule #9 to never date any of each other's siblings. Which you were now starting to find just a bit stupid since you had none (except Nico, but he wasn't usually around, so he didn't count), and he had a really hot and kind and caring one that you wouldn't be allowed near. But, no matter what you thought Chris was important to you and you'd never break rule #9.
Would it really be that bad if you did though?
***
"We need to come up with an idea for the carnival," you said, now lying on Chris' bed.
"Dunk tank?"
"No, Percy already picked that one," you said.
"Damnit," Chris exclaimed.
"Hey, watch your language, there's little kids around here," you teased.
Every year the camp held a carnival at the end of the first week of camp, to help the younger and newer campers cheer up a bit. It's hard finding out you haven't been crazy your whole life and that there's monsters that want to eat you and you probably won't see adulthood. So, why not make it better with a carnival? Apparently that was the thought process Mr. D and Chiron had. Every cabin had to submit an idea and their counselor would present it to a counsel, usually kids from Athena, Demeter, and Apollo. You, being the only Hades kid (besides Nico who rarely showed up), had to submit an idea all on your own, but luckily you had Chris to help you.
"What about the game with the sledgehammer and bell?" Chris asked as he searched through his bag for his cologne.
"Ares cabin already picked that."
"Of course," Chris mumbled, "Why not those crappy psychic readings?"
"Hecate cabin already chose that," you explained as Chris gave you a look, "I know dude who would've thought."
Chris eventually found his cologne spraying a bit of it on himself.
"That smells," you remarked, fanning the air to get it to go away.
"Do you think Clarisse will like it?" he asked, hopeful.
"If she can't smell, maybe."
"I really want to kiss her at the party tonight."
Every year the older kids and counsellors would have a party at the beach to kick off summer. You rarely attended because it was on the beach, but this year Chris was determined to get with Clarisse so you agreed to play wing woman.
"She'd only kiss you if she paid for it," you remarked.
At that moment you and Chris looked at each other as if you both had the same epiphany.
"Kissing booth!" you both shouted, getting looks from nearby people.
"It's perfect, who doesn't love causing camp drama?" you asked, knowing the only thing the Aphrodite cabin loved more than shoes was drama.
"You just have to get it approved by the counsel."
"Don't worry I will figure it out somehow," you said, already trying to think if they would allow your idea.
Technically the carnival was for the younger campers, but who said the older ones couldn't have fun too, they might die soon anyway. That's a bit grime though you thought.
Chris let out a small chuckle he tried to cover.
"What is it?" you asked, your eyes narrowing at him.
"Isn't it a bit funny that the girl that's never been kissed is running a kissing booth?"
You turned grabbing one of the pillows on the bed to hit him with as he tried to shield himself, "Shut up," you retorted, "Don't be a dick."
"Hey, watch your language, sunshine," a new voice said, now entering the conversation.
"You can not be saying that," you argued as you put the pillow down.
Luke shrugged, "Just doing my job as a counsellor," he retorted.
"I'm also a counselor, you know."
"That's cause you're the only person actively in your cabin," Chris added.
You looked at him in betrayal, "Dude, who's side are you on?"
"My bad," he apologized.
Luke let out a scoff as he crossed his arms, "You're a counsellor by default, sunshine."
"That still makes me a counsellor," you pointed out.
"Whatever makes you happy, sunshine," he said, using the nickname an annoying amount of times to no doubt purposely aggravate you.
Luke then walked away towards a group of new campers to help them. You let your eyes trail towards him as he walked away, watching as his glance only left yours when it had to.
Chris, who was usually oblivious, noticed this.
"No, remember rule #9, that is not happening."
"It won't, I swear," you said, turning back towards him.
"I'll believe that when you stop looking at him like that," Chris said as he went back to searching for some new item from his bag.
You wouldn't break the rule, you swore. But, it was nice to think about breaking the rule.
Yesterday was my blog's one year birthday and I'd just like to say when I started this I was just really bored and was curious if people would actually read things I wrote at 2 in the morning and apparently people (you guys) did so yeah
lowkey think I should do something to celebrate, but also thank you to anyone and everyone who has supported or enjoyed my work this past year, you're like really cool
I’ve been reading your latest Jess Mariano stuff and it’s so good so i’m here to request another but if you don’t feel like writing more for him feel free to ignore this or take your time on it! 💕
so the bridge is like Jess’s little spot for when he’s upset and everything, before Jess moved to Stars Hollow it had been the same kind of spot for the reader, and coincidentally one day they both end up at the bridge and they start talking and I’ll let you take it wherever you want from there :)
The Bridge
requests: open
words: 1.4k
summary: You met Jess at your hiding spot, the bridge, and he rudely ignores you, but the second time he doesn't and that's all it took for you to fall for him.
warnings: Kirk
a/n heyyyy shocking I actually posted, anyway if you like it then like maybe like and reblog and lowkey comment to help out it'll be greatly appreciated, also I'm purging my masterlist just thought I'd say that
The bridge was your sanctuary. Always has been, and no matter what, always will be. It's where you went when you needed to escape from the frightening world of being a teenage girl. No matter what the problem was, when you were hidden away on the rickety old bridge surrounded by trees, and the calming nature, it all seemed to fade away.
No one else knew about it. Or, at least not that you knew of.
Obviously people used it occasionally as a quick short cut, but other than that no one seemed to hide out there. It was yours and yours only.
Or, at least it was till he showed up.
It was a night like any other. You needed an escape from the several assignments that you hadn't even started of starting, the idea of how much you needed to save for college, which meant many more hours you would have to work at Al's Pancake World, and even worse the co-workers that made you want to be buried alive instead of working there. The world seemed to have a personal vendetta against you and not many people were betting on you.
But, under the serene moonlight, the calming sounds of crickets, and the endless pit the water seemed to provide as you stared down into it, everything seemed to fade away. Time seemed to slow and so did the racing thoughts of all the future stressors soon to come.
Unfortunately, your silence was soon interrupted by footsteps making their way up the bridge.
You whipped your head around to make out the silhouette of a boy with his hands shoved in his pockets with his head down. He lifted his head up to see you after you let out a small gasp at the noise.
He paused as he stared for a moment, "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," he said awkwardly, stopping like a deer in headlights.
You slightly recognized the voice as you'd heard it a couple times during class and in the halls. It belonged to none other than Jess Mariano, the kid Stars Hollow had deemed the town "trouble maker". You knew the rumors, but never had a true opinion on him, since you rarely interacted with him, besides the couple classes you shared. But, even then you only saw him in passing.
"It's fine," you stumbled out, turning back to the water, watching as a frog jumped around.
"Cool," he mumbled, taking a seat on the bridge as he pulled a paperback out of his back pocket, resuming whatever page he left off on.
The two of you sat in a quiet silence letting time pass. Neither of you spoke. You because you didn't know what to say, and he seemed too busy with his book to even think of the idea of a conversation. Although the silence wasn't too awkward, you still felt compelled to say something.
"W-what are you reading?" you asked, genuinely curious.
Jess stayed silent, not answering as he continued reading. You waited for a response that never came. You chose to believe he didn't hear you, even though you knew he most definitely did, and just chose to ignore you.
"Great conversation," you quipped mostly to yourself, barely loud enough for him to hear, unsure if he even did.
The silence continued until it was too unbearable for you. Of course you enjoyed silence, but not even a 'hi' or 'how are you' or even a small look of acknowledgement from the stranger nearby made you feel as if you were unwelcome in your own space.
Instead of staying and torturing yourself in what felt like an unbearable situation, you quickly stood, sparing him one last look before leaving. Even then he still didn't give any sort of acknowledgement of your presence. Or, at least not one you saw.
If you had turned around you would have seen him stare at what to him was the mysterious girl who also seemed to be hiding out from her worldly problems.
***
You hadn't been back to the bridge, at least not at night. That way you could avoid another awkward encounter with the boy that seemed to ignore your presence. You still stopped by after school and work, sometimes in the early hours in the morning. Especially the mornings where you couldn't seem to fall asleep from the night before and needed to go somewhere to clear your mind.
Fortunately, you hadn't encountered Jess again. You guessed he only visited at not, or just that one time.
Except, your guess was entirely wrong.
School had just ended and currently you wanted to be anywhere else, but near the brick prison that drained the life out of you. The bridge was the first place you thought of to restore the life you felt had been taken out of you. This time though Jess was already at the bridge once again reading a book, but this one looked different from the other one those few nights ago.
"Sorry, I can go," you mumbled, trying not to be as awkward as you felt. You could've just left without saying something, but then if he noticed you then you would look like a coward and a weirdo. Obviously you could've just walked across the bridge and kept walking, but unfortunately that wasn't your first idea.
"It's a public bridge I can't make you leave," he said, still reading his book.
You nodded your head, walking to the other end of the bridge, unsure what you were doing, but felt guided by your feet as if you had no control. You stared down at the water like you always did as you felt yourself relax.
Maybe it was just a reflex, but once again you felt as if you needed to make conversation with the boy across from you.
"What are you reading?" you asked like you had the first night, not entirely expecting an answer.
"You always interested in what people are reading?" he shot back instead of answering the question, still not looking up at you.
For some reason that made the corners of your mouth turn up for a sliver of a second before dropping.
"Only the interesting ones," you said, hoping to make some sort of conversation.
He paused for a moment, pondering what you said, "I suppose that makes me interesting then."
You shrugged, "I mean a mysterious boy who reads on a secluded bridge seems very interesting to me."
"I wouldn't say I'm mysterious, especially not with how fast gossip spreads around here."
"I don't usually believe much of what's said around here," you told him, "I'd rather make up my own opinion about someone first."
That seemed to provoke a reaction from him as he looked up from his book for the first time. You weren't paying attention though as you stared at the trees in front of you.
"Not many people around here seem to have the same mindset as you."
"I've had my fair share of rumors here," you said with a shrug.
When you turned to look at him, you could've sworn you saw the slightest hint of a smile on his face, "What would anyone say about you?"
"Kirk once blamed me for stealing a duck because apparently I was the last person seen near it and it was his favorite duck. What actually happened was it got so annoyed of him it migrated to another pond," you told him, remembering the story of how you got labeled 'the duck thief' for a week.
"Sounds like Kirk," Jess said, "I think I'm one more rumor away from him running away in terror every time he sees me from now on."
"My dream," you quipped sarcastically, which managed to get a small breathy laugh out of Jess.
"I should head back to the dinner before Luke sends a search team out to find me," he said, standing up and putting his book back into his back pocket.
You watched him start to walk away before turning to ask, "What's your name?"
You said your name and he repeated it back to you as if it was a secret he needed to remember.
Once he left you stayed for a bit longer, hoping that maybe he would come back, or the next time you went to the bridge you would see him. You didn't know why, or what this feeling was. You didn't know that that feeling was what it felt like to start to fall for Stars Hollows resident 'trouble maker'.
jess surprises you by taking you to a starts hallow event
Sweet on Her | @thegettingbyp2
A Matter of Time | @/thegettingbyp2
We’re Not Friends | @/thegettingbyp2
jess mariano headcanons | @pprettypinkprincesss
i can fix him (no really i can) | @wordsarelife
jess got into another fight and you’re about to clean his wounds, but he has other plans, tired of always answering your questions
fem!doose!reader
Bibliophile | @merlieve
Jess says something about how it’s a shame that people arent as beautiful and interesting as books, but he looks at [Name] and realizes that she could be the only person who could be compared to the books he loves.
she’s my collar : | @/merlieve
good looking | @greyyson-but-no
The look of love | @aribluedreams
Jess decided it was a good idea to give you a gift... even if that makes him look like a soft boy infront of you.
Everyone Place Your Bets | @awriterinthenight
You and Jess were just friends, right? Even though everyone was constantly betting on when you'd get together
jess moves back to stars hollow to open a new branch of truncheon books in his hometown, and tries not to murder the girl living in the apartment above him and the town enjoys watching another grumpy business owner fall in love with a bubbly inn manager.
Confessions Between the Pages | @ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes
History Repeats Itself | @corrodedcoffins-blog
Being a teen mom is hard but without any help it’s even harder, after saving up enough she can finally move to Stars Hollow to be closer to her baby’s father
NOT A GAME | @iwritefandomimagines
the playful banter was fun at first, but the line had blurred so long ago that you were starting to get sick of wondering how jess really felt. luckily for you, he’s been thinking the same thing.
MISTLETOE | @/iwritefandomimagines
when lorelai gilmore insists on hosting a christmas party, you might just catch yourself under the mistletoe with the boy you, like, totally don’t have a crush on or anything.
ROMANTIC GESTURE | @/iwritefandomimagines
jess wasn’t going to buy your easter basket and risk the embarrassment of his potentially unrequited feelings. so instead, he pays kirk to buy it so he can steal you away.
NOTES | @/iwritefandomimagines
after months of mutual pining, jess arrives at luke’s having read your favourite novel. oh, and he has some notes.
“Are you cold?” | @eminems-skittles
The library | @graysnetwork
Jess is turning into a great student and Luke not lorelai can think of a reason he’s become an amazing kid all of a sudden.
Kiss it to make it better | @hisathingwfeathers
when you accidentally hurt yourself, your boyfriend is there to worry, and patch you up.
these are the days … | @lovings4turn
a couple of days in the life with your boyfriend
POISON | @hyunjin1e
jess has always kept to himself. never cared to like a girl since it “wasted his time,” but when he meets her…
Pop of Colour | @fandoms--fluff
Jess asks you paint his nails
a change in attitude | @wasabidottie
"don't go on that date" | @eminems-skittles
ᝰ Logan Huntzberger
“The Other Gilmore Girl” | @sabrinajenre96
Logan Huntzberger x Gilmore reader
THE GREAT HALL. | @oncasette
fake dating that turns into guy falls first.
Time will pass, but our love won’t | @leaawrites
When Logan asks Y/n the one question that could ruin their future together or make it last forever.
Maroon | @inej-ruination-ghafa
the three times you said no to his marriage proposal and the one time you didn't
ᴄʟᴀꜱꜱ ᴀꜱꜱɪɢɴᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ | @/magewritesstories
logan is in your business economics class and he absolutly does not work in class—except when you’re involved of course ;)
older!logan x reader hcs | @fbfh
receiver gets an object that the sender is asking for | @/leossmoonn
confessing his feelings | @ongaku-ato-kakikomi
Logan x reader | @/ongaku-ato-kakikomi
ᝰ Tristin Dugray
Headaches | @writerluca
𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆, i can see you. | @a-aexotic
Tristin Dugray relationship and intimacy hcs | @/fbfh
tristin dugray relationship and intimacy hcs pt 2 | @/fbfh
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a series of young women are being murdered in your town, and you — the host of a true crime podcast — are determined to investigate the case yourself, even if it means constantly getting in the way of a team of profilers and putting yourself in danger once or twice.
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x podcast host female!reader, criminal minds typical violence, case details, mention of sexual violence, abduction, addiction, and drug use, season 2 bau team [DISCLAIMER] this part contains content that is darker and more intense than the rest, so please proceed with caution
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.7k
𝐚/𝐧: we’ve reached the shore! thank you all for reading this series and for your engagement, i hope the final part lives up to your expectations!
𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟒/𝟒
The absurdity of the entire BAU team being in your bedroom reached you even despite the seriousness—the complete and undeniable seriousness—of the situation.
Maybe it was even necessary. The absurdity, you meant.
The only thing keeping you from going insane or curling up into a ball in the middle of the room, on its dark floor, while the recording was played back once again above you. Agents leaning over the desk where you used to do your homework and draw X-Files characters, band posters hanging above it. One of them sitting on the duck-patterned bedspread, resting his chin in his hand as he listened to the recording in silence.
Of course, you immediately told Reid about the tape that had been planted on you, though you had to admit you’d had your moment of doubt. A brief one. The message was clear. You were supposed to include it in the podcast or else…you didn’t want to think about what would happen to Keasy.
The thought crossed your mind, that question, whether the BAU would even allow you to publish it. It wasn’t an unfounded fear, but that’s something we’ll learn later.
Since you had already heard the recording, they didn’t seem to care about your presence. Maybe because of the breakthrough brought on by the new lead, the recording, they forgot about you standing behind them, almost completely still.
“Garcia, we need you to check if the voice modulation on this recording can be reversed,” Hotch instructed, addressing the woman they were speaking to on speakerphone, the one who had introduced them to your podcast. “Elle, come over here for a moment.”
She stepped up to the desk to help analyze the recording, at the same time Reid turned over his shoulder and met your gaze. He looked once more toward the tape recorder, then walked over to you, giving a small nod. “It might be better if you go downstairs now,” he suggested in a gentle, quiet tone.
The team had already secured the package the tape had come in, along with the note that had been attached. Now their full attention was on the recording. Despite his polite tone, you gave him a slightly sharper look, folding your arms across your chest. “The Executioner sent this recording directly to me. I want to know what happens to it next.”
He furrowed his brows at you slightly. “What happens to it next? We take it with us, analyze it again, or probably, knowing the nature of this job, ten more times, and…”
“Then I’ll be able to post it on the podcast,” you finished for him.
Reid only looked at you, as if hesitating, and before he could say anything, Morgan appeared at his side. Your room wasn’t some castle corridor that stretched endlessly out of sight. It was small, of course he had heard your entire conversation.
“That’s not even an option,” he stated, addressing you.
It felt like the air caught in your chest; you wanted to both let out a bitter laugh and scoff. How could it not be an option when a victim’s life depended on it?
You were already opening your mouth, ready to argue. But Hotch beat you to it, turning away from the tape recorder, holding the cassette in a plastic evidence bag.
“No part of this recording can be made public. That’s exactly what he wants, and the most important rule when dealing with perpetrators who try to play games to gain control over law enforcement is not to engage with those attempts.”
You shook your head slowly, in disbelief. That was really what mattered more to them, not letting The Executioner feel like he had power over them, instead of Keasy’s life?
You looked at Spencer, hoping to see any sign of disagreement on his face. Then at Elle, searching for the same. You found neither.
“I’m starting to think I was the only one who actually read that note,” you said, stepping back from all of them in one furious movement. “He kidnapped Keasy. He literally sent a recording of her and told me to put it on the podcast. It seems pretty clear to me what’ll happen if I don’t. And that’s what you should care about. Saving the victim.”
One by one, the entire team exchanged looks. Something was off, you could feel it. But you couldn’t quite place what. Maybe you were too shaken to figure it out.
“We appreciate you reaching out to us immediately after receiving the tape,” Hotch said with a small nod of his head. You opened your mouth in disbelief. Was he seriously changing the subject? “We’ll take the cassette in for further analysis, along with the actual footage from your cameras, to see if they might’ve caught whoever left it.”
“You’ll be wasting your time, the camera hasn’t worked in ages,” you warned. “You can’t just ignore that warning. We have to do what he said. I need to put it on the podcast, because if I don’t…If you won’t let me post the actual recording, then I’ll just tell people what I heard.” You were threatening the FBI. Wonderful. But you didn’t see another choice. “At least then I’ll be doing something.”
“That would count as interfering with an active investigation.”
A loud sigh came from Spencer, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. There was visible irritation on his face. Maybe even frustration.
“She’s going to find out anyway,” he said, directing his words to the team.
Your whole body began to tense. “Find out what?”
Hotch looked like he was about to say something to Reid, maybe to shut him down, but Reid was faster. “About Keasy,” he said, this time looking directly at you. His expression was almost apologetic, which sent a cold wave straight to your stomach before you even fully understood what he meant. He swallowed. “Her body was found this morning.”
Right after saying that, he pressed his lips into a thin line. It was easy to fall into the illusion that he hadn’t said it, that those words had never been spoken. But they had, and their physical weight now hung in the corners of the room.
On unsteady legs, you approached your bed, which, though it sank slightly under your weight, felt as hard as a rocky ground.
“We’re assuming the unsub didn’t expect us to find her so quickly,” Morgan informed you, and it was one of the few times his voice was truly gentle when speaking to you. “He wanted to blackmail us with Keasy’s safety, something he couldn’t guarantee from the start.”
“Or the message was never about Keasy,” Elle spoke suddenly, her face marked by deep focus. You lifted your gaze slightly to meet her eyes, not paying attention to the one or two tears on your cheek, now your chin. Her words had caught attention, not just yours. Elle bit her nail in thought. “The message cuts off after or…we assumed he meant the tape not airing on the podcast would lead to him hurting Keasy. But maybe it was about attacking another girl.”
“In other words, he’s planning to strike again,” Morgan summed it up.
Elle didn’t wait for anyone to say anything more or even react. Her firm gaze shifted straight to Hotch.
“I think she should record the podcast.”
You snapped your head up, thinking you must have misheard. You caught fleeting eye contact with Reid, who looked just as confused as you felt, but you quickly looked away when his eyes dropped to the tear on your cheek.
“Elle—”
“But not for the unsub. For the other women in town,” she finished her thought, placing her hands on her hips. “She’s got a pretty decent audience, especially lately. A simple message, a warning, something we say all the time ourselves. Don’t go places alone, especially after dark. Be cautious. She could work on it while we focus on analyzing the tape.”
You turned the idea over in your head and felt a sudden readiness rise in you, a drive to act on it immediately. You needed this, needed to feel like you could do something. Helplessness was the godfather of all murderers.
Hotch didn’t seem convinced at first, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. “As an additional form of warning, it’s acceptable. But it has to be just a warning,” he said to you. “You can’t mention the tape.”
Then, after a pause, he added,
“Reid should do it with you. He’ll give it a more serious tone, and make sure you don’t say more than you should.”
You weren’t even in the mood to argue. Not that you wanted to. Out of all the agents, they’d picked the one you were planning to meet with that day anyway. What bothered you was the fact that he’d be acting as your supervisor. Then again, you remembered how many times you’d managed to pull information out of him before, and you thought maybe you could work around that.
The BAU team was getting ready to leave your house, and it hit you. They give you a relatively minor task, just important enough to keep your mind occupied and to stop you from bombarding them with questions they probably didn’t have the answers to yet.
It was early afternoon, and once again, you were completely alone in the house. Reid was supposed to drop by later that evening so the two of you could record the episode together. In an effort to keep your mind off Keasy’s death, you threw yourself into drafting a rough outline for the podcast script. You also looked up Rebecca Yang online—the familiar name mentioned in the recording. She had been Robert Taylor’s intended victim, the woman who managed to escape his attack.
Of course.
At the end of the day, everything led back to that case. The first one you’d ever presented on your podcast. Sitting at your desk, you tried to break it all down. The Executioner couldn’t be him personally, not really, but the tape—the format, the interview style—it all suggested someone was out there trying to carry out justice in his name. He had even forced Keasy to play the role of his victim.
Keasy.
Your gaze shifted to the house across the street—her house. The one where, only today, you had dropped off groceries for a mother still waiting for her daughter to be found. Who had been found.
You stood up to draw the blinds.
Just before they fell all the way down, you caught sight of a bicycle crossing the street in front of your house. A boy riding it. The turn of his head and a stare that seemed to pierce straight into your room. The blinds shut completely, stopping him from doing so.
The sun had already set, though it wasn’t particularly late yet, just the natural effect of the advancing autumn. You turned on the lamp in your room, and when the doorbell rang, you made your way downstairs to let Spencer in.
He stood on your doorstep in a blue and brown striped shirt, a dark unzipped jacket, and—as always—his glasses resting on his nose. With a slightly sluggish motion, he raised his hand in a small wave, another one exchanged that day. You gave him a faint smile, the only one you could manage, and opened the door wider to let him in.
Silence hung between you as you made your way back up the stairs to your room.
“I’m sorry about Keasy,” he said first, reaching the top just behind you. You turned to face him. His hand was still resting on the banister, and his face was partially swallowed by the dimly lit hallway. But you were close enough to see it. The expression of concern written across his features. “I didn’t even know you two were friends.”
"First neighbors. But she and her mom would come over a lot and… yeah. I guess we were friends,” you said, your voice coming out weaker than you’d intended. You’d have to get a better grip on it if you were going to record the podcast. Under his gaze, you took a deeper breath and gave a small nod.
“Never thought I’d have an FBI agent on my podcast,” you added, trying to lighten the mood, motioning with your head for him to follow you into your room.
Spencer’s steps followed yours. He seemed to understand that you didn’t want to keep talking about Keasy. Maybe you were still in some sort of denial that allowed you to function normally, but the more you thought about it, the more you feared that illusion would shatter.
“I mean, well…I didn’t think my career would lead me here either,” he said.
You were facing away from him, giving your notes one last glance on your laptop. You glanced over your shoulder at him. He seemed slightly awkward standing in your room without the rest of the team around.
“This is a professional setup, okay? Don’t let the duck-print bedsheets fool you.”
Even with your face turned back toward the laptop, you knew he looked at your blanket and pillows.
“Perish the thought,” he muttered, and a small smile tugged at your lips.
You told him to sit across from you on the bed—you sat cross-legged with some pillows under you and your laptop balanced on your thighs, while he stayed on the other side, practically on the edge, feet still on the floor. It was a podcast, just your voices, so you didn’t have to pay too much attention to how you looked.
“So, before we start,” you looked up at him and fell silent for a moment. Of course, he’d left his coat downstairs, so he was in that striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows for comfort, and his tie loosely knotted around his neck.
He noticed where your eyes had landed and awkwardly adjusted it. You let out a laugh without meaning to. “No, it’s okay, I don’t want you choking to death in here.”
“I’ll be fine, it just looks kind of sloppy so—” he fumbled with the collar and tightened the knot.
“It looks really good,” you cut him off.
Spencer froze, hand still on the tie, looking at you. You felt a strange warmth spread across your neck. Definitely from the stuffy air in the room—you really should’ve aired it out before he came over. You were flustered by how quickly you’d said it, but honestly, you meant it. You swallowed and nodded, more to yourself.
“It looks good,” you repeated. Reid barely blinked as he kept his gaze on you, head slightly tilted. “And it’d look even better if you didn’t sit there like you’re on nails. Seriously, relax a little.”
A flush of red shot across his cheeks.
“I am relaxed,” he insisted.
“Mhm. I can tell.”
Reid, still red in the face, rolled his eyes. But right after, with a sigh, he shifted into a more comfortable position on your bed. Like he was your long-time friend, someone who by now could probably lay claim to part-time residency in your room.
“So, before we start,” you repeated again, getting back to what you meant to say before getting distracted by…well, him. “Anything new with the tape analysis? Maybe you managed to reverse the voice modulation or…or figured out anything else?”
For a moment, Spencer didn’t say anything, before letting out a quiet, apologetic sigh.
“The work on voice modulation is still ongoing, but it seems like it won’t be reversible. The rest is just our theories and guesses for now, a few leads the rest of the team is following while I… am here.”
You looked at his face after those words, pressing your lips together slightly.
You heard something pointed in them, a hint that he didn’t really want to be here with you or help with the episode. Well, that was probably true—after all, his usual daytime job was surely a thousand times more fascinating, so you should just swallow the sting that had settled in you.
“Okay, let’s get to it then,” you said. “We’ll get it done faster and you’ll be able to go back to more important things.”
You lowered your gaze back to the laptop. The room was quiet—strangely, too quiet.You lifted your eyes again and noticed Spencer staring at you, his lips slightly parted. He shook his head from side to side, ashamed. “That’s not what I meant, really.”
Now it was you who looked at him in confusion. You parted your lips as well and practically mirrored his head movement. “No, no, that’s not what I meant either. I mean. I didn’t mean to be passive-aggressive. Okay, maybe a little, but… but I get it, that maybe you don’t think this podcast is necessary.”
“I do,” he cut in, firmly. “I think it is necessary. Especially this particular episode. And I’m glad I’ll get to help with it.” His chest rose as he drew in a breath. The red lingered on his cheeks. Again. That room was really stuffy. “Besides, I really wanted to see you. Today.”
You nodded quickly, in rhythm with your heartbeat, not really knowing what to say.
Some force lifted the corners of your lips on its own. Something you didn’t even realize at first. Just like you didn’t realize you hadn’t said anything, and the two of you were stuck in that tense silence.
“I wanted to see you too,” you said after a pause that made the confession insanely, fucking awkward. Oh God.
Spencer held your gaze for a moment longer before dropping it, directing it somewhere—anywhere—else. There was a rasp in his voice when he spoke again, and he had to swallow to get rid of it. “You were right, we can finally get to it.
“Yeah,” you agreed quickly, adjusting the laptop on your lap. Yeah. “I’ve thought it through and in this episode, it’s mostly going to be you talking. I mean, I’ll ask you a few questions and keep the dialogue going, but since I’ve got a guest on the podcast, I want to make use of it. I’ve got throat lozenges in my drawer in case you need some later. Some vocal warmups wouldn’t hurt either.”
Spencer let out a laugh, then furrowed his brow. “Wait, is that something you actually do before recording?”
“Nope,” you denied simply. “I wanted to see if I could get you to make some ridiculous sounds, but you started questioning it too fast to fall for it. Anyway, does that plan work for you?”
For a moment, he looked at you like you were from another planet—but in a good way, like in fascination. Probably caused by the chaotic nature of your speech.
“It does, it does work for me,” he agreed. “But I’m not sure it will for your listeners. They might be disappointed by the lack of your rambling.”
You gave him a slight smile.
“A little bit of longing will do them good. They’ll learn to appreciate it more. Unless they fall in love with you so hard they’ll want to make you a regular guest. Then it wouldn’t be a guest anymore, if you think about it.”
“Doubt it,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “I’m way too nervous to make anyone fall in love with me.”
“Just imagine you’re talking to me,” you suggested. You stuck out your lower lip. “Okay, technically, that’s exactly what you’re doing, so you don’t have to imagine it, but you know what I mean. Me? I’m definitely not shoving a mic under your nose right now.”
You had a digital recorder you usually took with you out in the field, and a computer-connected microphone, which you were using now. Still with the laptop on your lap, you shifted closer to Reid to bring the mic nearer to his face. His gaze dropped to the device. You immediately placed a finger under his chin to tilt it back up.
His eyes locked onto your face, surprised.
“This microphone right here doesn’t exist,” you explained.
Spencer didn’t respond, still frozen in place.You withdrew your hand from under his face and, after clearing your throat, got to work on the episode intro.This was the part where you always left the most space for spontaneity, and your guest’s brows lifted slightly as he listened to you begin without a single stumble.
“...also, this episode will be a little different than the rest, for two specific reasons. Mainly because it has a very targeted audience—all the women of our dear, cursed little town of Fairview. And, well, everyone who wants to know how to live a little safer in this brutal world. Also because, for the first time in this podcast’s history, I have a guest. And not just any guest.”
Actually, introducing himself was what gave him the most trouble. hi, I’m Spencer Reid sounded incredibly stiff, but once you got into the topic of the episode, he only got better. When he spoke, you encouraged him with a slight smile on your lips and nods when he lifted his eyes to you questioningly, making sure he sounded right.
You took the laptop off your lap and placed it beside you so you could look at your questions for him written in the empty document.The microphone sat on the bed between you in that small circle created by your knees almost touching.
“Okay, now that we’ve talked about how to stay safe, the last thing I’m interested in—and probably the listeners too,” you said, and Spencer raised his brows at you with curiosity, “I’m sure by this point you already have a profile of the killer.”
Reid shook his head.“You can’t ask me that. We haven’t released that to the media yet, and the team probably won’t be happy if I suddenly decide to do it here.”
You leaned in slightly, looking at him pleadingly.
“Maybe it’s about time it was released to the media. Seriously. We warn everyone not to get into a white van when the guy says he wants to show them kittens, but not every killer is that obvious. It could be anyone. Better that they know what kind of… person to avoid. Because maybe he works at the shop around the corner and looks at them weird, or in extreme, but not completely unrealistic cases, they’re having breakfast with him every morning.”
He sighed, looking at you more seriously.
“Our profile changes every time something new comes to light. And something new does come to light all the time, even if it might feel like the investigation’s at a standstill. Just today, for example. That tape…it changed everything.”
You kept looking at him for a moment, hoping he might decide to add something more—but you didn’t want to push him either. You didn’t think you wanted to break the atmosphere that had settled, or the ease with which you were talking. You nodded in understanding.
“Okay. I’ll cut that last question,” you said.
He looked at you with a soft flash of gratitude in his eyes. Slightly embarrassed, he tilted his head to the side and asked hesitantly, “Could you also cut the part where I introduce myself…? It was so awkward.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” you shot back immediately, straightening up. “My podcast is authentic. I don’t cut things unless it’s absolutely necessary. That stays in. Worst case, a few listeners die from second-hand embarrassment.”
He parted his lips, like in protest.
“Die from second-hand embarrassment? You think it was that bad?”
There was almost dread in his voice, which made you laugh.
“It was bad. Maybe not that bad, but it was bad. Even the fact that I like you can’t stop me from admitting that, I’m sorry. But hey,” you added more gently, slowly tilting your head—Spencer’s eyes dropped to your face. “If someone sent me to a crime scene right now and told me to say who the killer was based on what the body looked like, I’d probably do okay-ish at best. Podcasting’s just new to you, and for the first time, you did just fine.”
Spencer just looked at you for a moment in this kind of warm way, before a short, fleeting smile crossed his face.“Thank you. But I think you’d do well at a crime scene. If someone actually let you in, that is.”
“Right, that might be an issue. Though I’d probably find a way. Wait—do you seriously think so?”
Spencer gave a slight shrug.
“Yeah, I mean…you’re smart. And you know your stuff.”
You laughed involuntarily, shaking your head side to side.
“Imagine Nikola Tesla patting you on the shoulder and telling you you’re a clever boy. That’s exactly how I feel right now.”
Reid visibly blushed.
You nodded toward him.
“Woah, you’re blushing. Did I hit the mark and Nikola Tesla is your science crush?”
“I’m not blushing,” he said quickly, which was clearly a lie. He brought a hand to his cheek, feeling it.“Okay, maybe a little. Because this room is stuffy. And because of you, probably to some extent as well.”
“Because of me, huh.”
“Because of what you said.”
“There’s not that much of a difference if you think about it.”
Spencer paused with his lips slightly parted, which also seemed to be blushing. Because their color was violently pink, something you noticed when you looked at them. Okay, you didn’t look in a creepy way, you just briefly glanced down. That’s all.They were raspberry-colored. That popped into your head because you liked raspberries. A lot.
“Well, in a way, yeah, there isn’t,” Reid continued, nodding with this sort of nervous enthusiasm. He swallowed. His Adam’s apple visibly moved, which your greedy eyes also noticed. You weren’t listening to a single word he was saying, oh God, now that was embarrassing. By the way, had you mentioned that this room was stuffy? “Actually, I shouldn’t even separate that. If your words made me blush—which, by the way, didn’t—then it’s kind of like you made me—fuck, please, can we change the subject, I really—”
You set your mic down at the edge of the bed so it wouldn’t be between you anymore, and with surprising ease, pushed yourself up onto your knees in one smooth motion, so that in the next, your hand was pressed to the back of his head, and your lips to his.
Spencer sighed into your mouth, like in relief. Here you were, saving him from completely humiliating himself. In a way that was, okay, maybe a bit drastic, but very, very effective. And even if it was going to result in an even more blush-inducing atmosphere later, for now, he chose to ignore that and hold onto your face like an anchor as he sank into the kiss. His thumb finding your cheek while the tips of his long fingers slipped slightly beneath your hair.
And…woah. It was good.You’d never thought you’d be hosting an FBI agent in your room, let alone kissing one on your bed until you were out of breath, with his hand suddenly dropping to your back and pulling you closer. This time it was you who sighed into his mouth, caught off guard.
You pulled back from his lips for a moment, slowly blinking your eyes open.Because he was sitting, and you were kneeling, your face was slightly above his. Your hand slipped from the back of his head, down his neck and to his shoulder, and both of you were breathing so loudly you couldn’t even hear the sound of the other’s breath.
You meant to grab his shoulder for support, but one hand was already tangled in his hair,
and the other. Well. Resting on your chest, in a sling.
Your gaze met his, and you weren’t really sure what to say. Actually, you weren’t sure if you were supposed to say anything at all, so you decided to get out of it the easiest way possible—by leaning in for another kiss.
But that’s when he spoke. A faint, probably involuntary smile on his lips.
“This part,” he said, “you’ll probably have to cut from the podcast. Unless it fits your definition of authenticity.”
Right. The mic was still on. That smug little expression made you lightly nudge his arm, to which he looked at you with mock offense. Which you ignored.
“That gets cut. Your awkward intro stays. End of discussion.”
Kissing and giggling.
The next kiss was more like the next ten. Or maybe just one, just chopped into pieces.
Your mouths couldn’t stay together for more than a second, two at most, before one of you started laughing—or to put it more adorably, enchantingly, glitter-sparklingly—giggling.
You always thought that phase in life had simply skipped you. Turns out, it was just fashionably late—showing up in the middle of a murder case investigation in your hometown.
That thought replaced the butterflies in your stomach with moths. You glanced at your mic out of the corner of your eye. Technically, you’d finished recording the episode, but suddenly it didn’t feel entirely appropriate. Your faces—mostly your mouths—slowly pulled away from each other, still lingering within reach, freezing there for a second.
You pressed your lips into a narrow line, thoughtful, while Spencer briefly lowered his gaze. His hand on your back moved. The pressure softened, turned into a feather-light touch, slowly sliding down and then back up, eventually finding its way to your side, his thumb brushing along your ribs.
You took a deeper breath, letting your whole body move with its rhythm. Your hand rested near his cheek, grazing his jaw, reaching toward his neck, and simply trying to settle into that exact spot, absently gliding across his skin every now and then.
“I looked up who Rebecca Yang was,” you said suddenly, your voice piercing the calm, dreamlike space the two of you had created around yourselves. “She managed to escape Robert Taylor. Thanks to her, they caught him. And that’s how the Executioner used to refer to Keasy.”
Spencer looked up at you, a faint tension appearing on his brow.
“You’ve probably figured that out already. Do you guys think that’s what this is all about? Robert Taylor is some kind of idol? He’s trying to seek justice for his death, claiming he didn’t deserve it? And that’s why he’s hurting these women?”
His brow furrowed even more, his eyebrows drawing in with it. For a moment, you both sat in a very uncomfortable silence. One full of expectation, on your part.
You didn’t know why you bombarded him with all those questions at that exact moment.
Maybe you just felt comfortable enough, relaxed enough in his arms, that they decided to rise to the surface on their own. Spencer’s hand suddenly stilled, just like his expression—
from warm and content, slowly turning colder.
“D-did you—” he began, stammering, giving a small shake of his head. He swallowed. “Did you kiss me just to get more information about the case out of me?”
You opened your mouth, freezing up as well.No, you didn’t want him to take it that way—
Your silence must have come across as guilt or confirmation, because his jaw tensed, and he pulled out from under you, shifting, which forced you to move away and sit at a distance.
As his feet met the floor, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a breath.
“We’ve recorded everything we needed, right?” he asked, his voice laced with forced indifference.
You sighed softly, apologetically.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would come across like that, really.”
“If so, then I guess it’s time for me to go,” he said, as if he hadn’t heard your words at all.
You sighed again, unsure of what to say in your defense. A sharp pang hit your chest as he stood up and headed for the door. Of all the moments, you really had to pick this one.
“I really meant it,” you tried again as he opened the door to your room.His movements, and the hand on the doorknob, slowed, as if with hesitation. “The kiss,” you added, just as the door closed behind him.
⚡︎
“Why are you so quiet, hm?”
The words came from your left as you half-lay, half-sat on the couch in front of the TV, your hoodie pulled up to your ears and a pillow hugged tightly to your chest. Some cooking show your mom liked was playing—the kind she always watched. She sat beside you with her feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Me?”
A dumb question, considering it was just the two of you in the house. Still, it took you a second to realize she meant you.
“Mhm. You haven’t said a word.”
You shrugged, chewing on the drawstring of your hoodie. It was late—night, really. Too much had happened that day for you to fall asleep easily, so you’d planted yourself in front of the TV just to zone out. The morning talk with Danny. Conrad. The visit to Elena. Then cassette and…Spencer.
“Just thinking,” you replied after a moment.
“What about?”
She gently brushed the hair from your face, first sweeping your bangs off your forehead, then lightly combing through the strands that had slipped inside your hoodie. There was something soothing in the way she did it, especially when it was her.
You bit the inside of your cheek. You loved her, but you didn’t really want to talk about yourself, not yet. Not when your mind was still trying to catch up with everything that had happened.
But there was one topic you did want to talk about—one that didn’t have anything to do with you directly. You turned your gaze to her.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about something lately,” you admitted.
Your mom nodded, encouraging you to go on.
“You remember Danny’s ex-wife?”
Your mom blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question.
“Danny’s ex-wife? Do I remember her?” she echoed, like she was making sure she’d heard you right. “No, sweetheart. I never met her. Danny moved here after she passed away.”
You froze, the hoodie string still between your lips. But Danny said—
“I feel like I remember her,” you said.
Your mom shook her head, looking almost amused.
“Impossible. You must be mixing something up.”
Her gaze drifted back to the TV, completely unfazed and uninterested by your strange confession. You thought of the photo in Danny’s car. You were sure you’d seen that woman somewhere before.
After a moment, your eyes returned to the screen too. Someone had just burned an omelet.
⚡︎
The next morning, bright and early, Charlie confessed.
To be specific, he confessed to the murder of Maggie Baker.
When he was arrested under that charge, a version of him began forming in your mind—and likely in the minds of the profilers as well. A version you didn’t want to become permanent. You feared it becoming permanent. You feared his confession. The confirmation of the kind of person who could use and kill a girl just a few years younger than himself, a teenager from the same small town, and then, out of fear that the truth would come out, have the audacity to desecrate her body completely. To make it look like the work of the killer.
And it wasn’t hard to copy the killer’s signature—after all, the man murdered in such a specific, recognizable way. All Charlie had to do was shave her head. Dress her in pajamas. Fry her body and dump it. Two other women had died in the same way, so of course the police would assume it was the same person. They’d chase a monster straight out of a horror story. Some figure of nightmares or urban legends. Someone who might never be caught.
And Charlie’s crime, driven by lust, simple in its brutality—what would that be in comparison? It would vanish. Unless…unless the guilt that haunted him day after day slowly started to crack him open.
He wasn’t, after all, some cold, calculating psychopath. He was just a boy working in a tech store, barely scraping through high school year after year.
When he confessed, he sealed it—and you, lying on your bed in your bedroom and working on the podcast, mechanically, like a robot, started to have doubts.
The strange thing was that when he was arrested, you were able to believe in his guilt—truly.
Maybe you were still driven by fear, after all, just the day before you had run from him, convinced you were running for your life. You broke your arm in the process, and the echo of the bone cracking made it really easy to believe.
You tried to look at it from a different perspective.
If he weren’t your friend, but a man you heard about in a true crime podcast or read about in police reports, would you still have so many doubts? Probably not. But it was nagging at you so much that you fought for the chance to visit him in holding. And you got it.
Danny offered to drive you, and you agreed. Mainly so you could take a closer look at the photo he kept in his car. Or at least, well, that was your initial plan. But once you found yourself in the passenger seat, on your way to speak with your former friend, a possible murderer, you completely forgot about it.
The man gave you a few worried glances during the ride.
“Are you sure you want to talk to him?”
You gave him a serious look. “I have to talk to him. Whether he’s really guilty or not.”
Danny nodded quickly. “No, I get it,” he said.
He went quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on the road.
“Confrontation is...it’s necessary in a way. I mean. What matters most is knowing for yourself. Try to look him in the eyes. Maybe you’ll see a version of him different from the one the police... and everyone else believes in.”
You fell into thought, your eyes lingering on his jaw—tenser than usual, just slightly.
Crime films often focus on this exact moment. The main character goes to meet the suspect, sits down in a chair separated by glass, holding the receiver to her ear. The inmate she’s come to see is brought in by two guards, takes a seat, and places his hands on the table. She lowers her gaze, unwilling just yet to face h
Hand cuffed together.
The skin around his nails was torn, tiny wounds scattered along his cuticles. You looked up—and your eyes met. Like in every film, you both remained silent for a moment, even though you knew your visit would only last a handful of minutes. No matter how it sounded, the change in Charlie wasn’t drastic. He had already looked terrible before, unhealthily thin, his face sunken, with deep purple shadows around his eyes.
The purple remained, but his frame seemed fuller now, his posture slightly stronger. Most likely the result of a forced withdrawal from drugs. He was looking at you too, though not as intently as you were at him. The fingers of his cuffed hands began to tremble slightly, so he curled them into fists. His lips pressed into a thin line, gaze dropping to the table and then returning to you. This time more present.
"I'm sorry about your arm," he said.
He didn't quite meet your eyes, rather somewhere nearby. As if trying to give the impression he was, choosing some point on your face to imitate eye contact. Your lips parted. You hadn’t expected him to speak first.
"Nothing hap—" your voice trailed off; the words came automatically. You drew in a deeper breath. It wasn’t true that nothing had happened. Something did—you had a broken arm. And a few bruises on your wrists from how he grabbed you multiple times, in some kind of frenzy. "Yeah. You should be sorry."
He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he repeated calmly. His gaze dropped back to the table. No more pretending to meet your eyes. He swallowed, his shoulders gave a slight twitch as he added, “I never wanted to hurt you.”
With those words, he was practically asking for it.
“But Maggie Baker, you did?”
His head snapped up—fast—for the first time. Your eyes met and held for a long moment. At first, his face showed no reaction, then it began to tremble, twist even, as if you’d held something foul right under his nose. He didn’t answer.
You drew a breath. Sharp, reluctant. It hurt a little.
“You know, I assume you realize I didn’t come here because I wanted an apology,” you said, resting your elbows on the table in front of you. The phone’s receiver trembled slightly in your grip. You tightened it.
Charlie nodded, lips pressed tightly together, showing that he knew exactly why you’d come. Or maybe it was just your imagination, but you thought you saw a flicker of pain cross his face. Pain caused by the reason for your visit. Because it wasn’t simply to see an old friend.
“You confessed,” you said.
A moment of silence.
“I did.”
A moment of silence on your end.
“Did you do it?”
Again, it dragged out. You didn’t know how much time you had left before someone tapped your shoulder and told you the visit was over. It was always meant to be a short conversation.
“I confessed,” he finally replied, lifting his head again.
His gaze was steady. He didn’t blink. He leaned slightly toward the glass pane, fingers around the phone receiver turning white.
To look you in the eyes. This time for real, not somewhere beside them.
Danny’s words suddenly echoed in your mind like a whisper try to look him in the eyes. So you did.
In his eyes…he was telling the truth.
He confessed.
⚡︎
“And how—”
You cut Danny’s question off halfway with a single look. You really didn’t want to talk about it. Was there even anything to say? A large part of your conversation had been encrypted in looks, with a code inaccessible to outsiders. Hard to understand even for yourself. So, you really didn’t want to talk about it yet.
Danny nodded understandingly, gave you a weak, briefly uplifting smile that vanished as soon as it appeared, and you drove back home in silence. It was late-lunch time and you planned to eat together with your mom at your place. You hoped she wouldn’t push for a conversation either.
You turned on your phone to check the time, to see exactly how long your conversation with Charlie had taken. You saw one new message. One you had to admit you hadn’t expected at all.
Can we meet later and talk?
For a moment, you just stared at it. You and Reid hadn’t been in contact since yesterday, for obvious reasons. Your question right after the kiss—which, by the way, you had really wanted—had made it look like some sort of game, a form of manipulation. Well, you knew that sooner or later you’d have to straighten things out, but honestly, you didn’t have the energy. In this overwhelming mess, you made room for romance (a serious word. let’s add silly at the start to soften it) only if it was built on giggling and kissing. When misunderstandings came into play…
You locked your phone without replying and slid it under your thigh, your gaze fixed out the window. You weren’t in a good mood after meeting with Charlie, and that’s why you didn’t want to see Spencer—afraid you’d drag him into your doghouse and make things worse. And you, well, you really liked him.
Before you knew it, you were standing in your driveway, and moments later you were stepping through the front door. Your mom was slicing iceberg lettuce on the kitchen counter; she turned toward you with a visibly concerned, questioning look, but then her eyes met Danny’s. He must have silently told her you weren’t in the mood to talk, because her mouth closed. She exhaled through her nose and, still holding the knife, asked, “Did you buy balsamic dressing?”
You pointed straight ahead, toward the stairs. “I’ll be upstairs.”
Neither of them protested, preferring to let you have a moment to yourself. Maybe there, in private, you’d decide whether you wanted to see Spencer today. You’d barely made it up two steps when you realized you couldn’t feel your phone in your pocket. With a heavy sigh, you turned back toward the kitchen.
“Dan,” you called. He was just popping a slice of cucumber into his mouth and looked at you questioningly. “I think my phone’s still in your car. Could I…?”
“Sure,” he replied immediately, patting his pockets until his hand stopped on the one at his chest, over his flannel shirt. He pulled out his keys. “Heads up, I’m throwing—”
“I can’t—”
“Fuck, I forgot about your arm. Sorry. Sorry for my language. Anyway, here you go.”
He stepped out from behind the kitchen island to hand them to you, a smirk glinting on his lips. Behind him, your mom let out a short laugh. “Apologizing for your language? Since when are you such a gentleman?”
“Since always! How could you not notice?”
Even you smiled involuntarily. For a brief moment, in a quiet sort of realization, you knew that no matter how many things had gone wrong lately—or even tragically—at least in your home, among your closest ones, everything had stayed the same. Safe and kind.
You opened the door to Danny’s car. Just as you expected, your phone was lying on the seat.
You reached for it, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught something on the dashboard. The photo you had forgotten to take a closer look at.
You froze for a moment, staring at the woman’s face. That strange feeling filled you again. The sense that you knew her from somewhere. This time, when you were alone with it, it was even stronger. That face was familiar.
Without thinking much, you shoved it into your pocket.
You nearly sprinted the distance from the car back to the house, eager to get upstairs as quickly as possible. You almost forgot to return the keys, skidding to a stop on your heels before tossing them toward Danny, who caught them with wide eyes. He said something about reflex, but his words didn’t register.
You, on the other hand, made it to your room, tossing the photo onto your desk. If it had been a book or anything larger, it would have landed with a thud.
Once again, you studied the woman’s face, analyzing every detail. The photo must have been taken when she was a teenager; it looked like something from a school yearbook. Her hairstyle, her outfit, and even the quality of the image all suggested…the 1940s.
You did the math in your head, your train of thought halting like ants caught in a death spiral. Danny was forty-nine. That would mean he was a teenager in the late 1960s. Something didn’t add up. Sure, marriages where the woman was older happened. But this whole thing reeked far too much for you to accept such an explanation.
You sat down at your desk, resting your chin on your hand. The memory of that woman in your mind was old, faded. Barely there at all. It had to come from long ago, from your childhood. You were born and raised in this town, you had no grandparents to visit elsewhere, and you doubted you’d met her at any summer camp. That narrowed the search to Fairview.
Specifically, you turned to the town’s online archives. Yes. Your little hometown actually had one.
The photo gallery was extensive. You dug your way back to the year you were born, then began moving upward through the years again. Carefully studying each photo from every fair, event, concert, and largest homegrown pumpkin contest. There were hundreds, and you hadn’t even realized that time was still slipping away behind you. At some point, someone knocked on your door, but without even turning around, you called out that you weren’t hungry.
Sometimes, in old photographs, you spotted women who looked physically similar to her, but none gave you that shiver down your spine, that rush of realization that it was definitely her. A few times you found your mom. Danny, too, but always without his wife. Your mom’s words came back to you, about how he’d moved here after her death. Why would he lie to you about that? Had you misheard him? Your mom’s memory was probably a more reliable source than your single conversation with him.
You sighed, resting your hand on your head in exhaustion.
It was only the afternoon, but your covered windows created the feeling that night had fallen, or at least evening. You were drowsy, but you didn’t want to sleep. You wanted to keep yourself busy with something calming, something that wouldn’t pull you out of rhythm if a theory or conclusion suddenly came to you.
You looked up at the empty corkboard above your desk. Sometimes you made small boards when discussing a case on your podcast, to capture that movie-like mystery-solving atmosphere. But honestly, you preferred keeping your information in files on your laptop, printing out some and storing them in labeled folders for each case. That’s what you had done with The Executioner.
Should you be working on that now? Pinning everything onto the corkboard in the hope that something in your brain would click? After all, you needed something to occupy yourself anyway.
When making a corkboard like this, the most important thing was to start from the beginning. The very beginning. So you reached for the folder where you kept all the information about the first case you ever covered on your podcast. Robert Taylor, we meet again.
You spilled all the documents onto your duck-patterned bedspread and…
Your hand froze above the page listing all his victims. Their photographs.
One of them. One specific one at the very bottom of the page — the one who escaped and helped lead to his capture. You even knew her name; you had looked it up again recently, though you hadn’t looked at the photos. Because you had heard it on the cassette recording. Rebecca Young.
You walked over to your desk, to the photo of Danny’s wife.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
The door to your room cracked open, and you jumped in place. Your heart started pounding as if you’d been caught doing something — which, in a way, you had. Your mother’s head peeked in through the doorway. “Just letting you know I’m heading over to the lake house to see how the tile work turned out. Eat something, okay?”
And with that, she left, and you pressed a hand to your chest, your first breath coming out heavy. Maybe it was good she interrupted you, good that she pulled you out of that trance. You needed to clear your head to think logically. Logical thinking was key.
You compared the photo of Rebecca Young with the photo of Danny’s wife. It was the same woman, you had no doubt. That’s where you knew her from. Not from your childhood, but from the very first case you’d covered on your podcast.
You swallowed hard. Had Danny kept his wife’s past from you to avoid painful questions? He knew you, knew you were nosy, especially when it came to these kinds of things. It was probably a heavy subject for him. A wife who had died of cancer. In your podcast, you always explored the later lives of women who had survived attacks by serial killers. If they managed to rebuild, you presented it as proof of their strength and resilience. Was Rebecca one of those women?
You couldn’t remember — you had covered the Devil of Bristol case a long time ago. But that’s what the internet was for.
You sat down in front of your laptop again.
Rebecca was the one who had survived the attack and led to his capture — of course there were plenty of articles about her later life. And… her early death. After the execution of her attacker, she had fallen into addiction and eventually overdosed in her home. So, she hadn’t died of cancer. Sure, Danny could have lied, made up the cancer story to avoid telling the truth about his wife’s tragic end.
His wife.
Suddenly, it felt like your whole room froze.
In any of those articles, there wasn’t a single word about Rebecca ever getting married. Your good hand began to tremble uncontrollably, and you reached for your phone.
The last message from Spencer.
Can we meet later and talk?
With a sharp pain in your chest, you ignored it and wrote something else, something more important at the moment.
Could you give me Garcia’s number?
The reply came immediately, as if he was waiting for your response. The pain in your chest deepened. Reid sent you the number, without asking any questions. Next message.
Can we talk, please?
Sorry, I can’t talk right now, I think I’ve just solved a criminal case — you thought. You were too shaken to reply to him. Later. You’ll do it later.
Taking a deep breath as if you were about to dive, you dialed Penelope Garcia’s number. Before she could say anything, you blurted out “Hi Pen. Okay, I don’t know if I can call you that but it’s me, hmm, you probably know me better as Rotten Cherry than by my name.”
There was complete silence on the other end for a moment.
Squeak.
“Oh my gosh, it’s you! Hi, I’m a fan! Oh my god, I probably shouldn’t be this excited, but aaa, I’m so jealous Spencer met you!”
You winced.
“Well, he’s told me a bit about you. I’m glad to be talking to you too,” you said, your throat tight, barely managing a friendly tone. You sat on the edge of your desk, closing your eyes for a moment. The world around you was slightly blurred, and your heart was racing. You think you could hear your blood rushing through your veins. “My listener from the FBI, I never would’ve guessed. Anyway…could you check something for me?”
“Sure, it would be an honor. I’m booting up my database now…whatever you wish, sunshine.”
She was surprisingly eager to help you, even though she didn’t know what you were really after. You thought maybe she would even give you access to some highly guarded information if you asked.
You exhaled sharply. “I want you to check if a man named Daniel Lewis was ever married.He currently lives in Fairview and is forty-nine”.
You heard the clicking of keys, something gnawing at your stomach. Your breathing was probably annoyingly loud.
“Hm,” she murmured.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, sunshine,” she said. “Okay, let me put it this way. Daniel Lewis was never married…”
You squeezed your eyelids shut.
“…because someone named Daniel Lewis doesn’t exist. At least not, well, officially. Are you sure that’s the name you wanted me to check? I can—”
“Robert Taylor,” you forced out. Another breath. You felt as though the air wasn’t reaching your brain at all. “Actually, Robert Taylor Jr. Check what he’s doing now.”
Once again, the sound of typing.
“Robert Taylor. Robert, Robert, Robert…” she muttered under her breath. “Well, he and his mother changed their last name to her maiden name in 1964. Any trace of Robert—since then Bennett—vanished…twenty years ago.”
The same time Danny moved to Fairview.
“You know, sunshine…you sound very, very strange. What’s going on? Do you think he, oh—!”
You hung up at the exact moment Penelope put it together. Of course, she didn’t know Danny, but she realized you uncovered something. For a moment, you thought you might collapse. Nothing you’d gone through recently, not Charlie’s arrest, not Keasy’s death, hit you like this. He’d been right under your nose.
The Executioner. And not for a week, a month, or since the murders had started. Always.
Once more, you grabbed your phone and, with a lump in your throat, opened your conversation with Spencer.
At my place in 15
You sent the message, standing motionless in your bedroom for a moment. At your place in 15? You couldn’t wait that long. You had to talk, to tell someone…God, you had to warn your mom. She was at the lake house they were renovating together. Usually, she went there with Danny. What if they were there together right now?
You physically couldn’t wait those fifteen minutes. You moved toward the door. Driving with a broken arm wasn’t impossible, just difficult. And, well, legally not recommended. Anyway, any cop who stopped you should understand.
You started running down the stairs…and stopped halfway, face-to-face with Danny.
With Robert Taylor Jr.
With The Executioner.
Your good hand gripped the banister, your body frozen in place.
“Hey, I just dropped by because I think I left my drill here when I was putting together that table for your mom’s bedroom,” he said with a smile.
Loose tone, relaxed posture, corners of his mouth tilted up. Typical Danny. Typical Danny, always hanging around your house, playing the father figure—and in his free time murdering young women in search of justice for his father, a serial killer.
Typical Danny who…didn’t know you knew.
Though your breath caught in your chest, you forced yourself to let it out.
“Yeah. S-sure, you know you don’t have to feel…awkward here,” you managed to choke out.
His brows drew together in mild confusion.
“Everything okay?”
“Mhm. You just…startled me.”
He nodded in understanding, his eyes scanning you more intently. The look sent goosebumps rippling across your skin, something you tried desperately not to show.
“Heading somewhere?” he asked.
You hesitated, letting out a nervous, betraying hum as you scrambled for a lie.
“Mhm. Meeting…a friend,” you said.
Danny tilted his head to the side. The same way your mom did when you tried going out after dark. Concern in his eyes. You eased slightly. Danny had never hurt you. And he wouldn’t, as long as you didn’t let him know you knew.
“Okay, actually…it’s sort of a date,” you added. Extra details made the lie sound more believable. “And he’s gonna be here any minute so…yeah, I should get going.”
You tried to step past him, but he placed his hand on the banister. You flinched.
“Woah, easy,” he laughed lightly, in what was meant to be a calming tone. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Again. Just wanted to say… be careful, you know? I don’t know this guy, but…speaking as a man. Most of us are pigs.”
“I trust him,” you blurted, the words coming out sharper, more forceful than you intended.
Probably the only true thing you’d said during the entire conversation.
Danny’s gaze locked on yours, neither of you blinking. His hand stayed firmly on the banister, blocking your path. You couldn’t ask him to move it. You couldn’t let him see how badly you wanted to get out of that house.
Suddenly, he gave a half-smile. In fact, his whole body seemed to move with a short, amused snort.
“You took the photo from my car,” he said. That same relaxed look was still on his face, unchanged. You froze. “You know which one. And I know you’re a smart girl. You’ve probably figured it all out by now, and here you are, lying straight to my face.”
Never. In your life. Had you been. This. Terrified.
“C’mon. Don’t make me out to be an idiot. You think I don’t know where you were going? To call the cops? That your date? A cop?”
You took one sluggish step back, forgetting you were on the stairs, and lost your balance. Danny caught you by the arm, and in your terror, you instinctively jerked away.
“Let me go!”
“You’re coming with me,” he replied, still calm.
You’d always imagined that in a confrontation with a deranged killer, he’d be more outwardly violent. Well, he was gripping your elbow hard enough to nearly crush it, but outwardly, he was very, very composed.
“Where’s my mom?!” you demanded, your voice trembling.
Danny pulled you down the stairs. You tried to slip your hand from your sleeve, but he’d anticipated it. Grabbing the fabric tighter and then your arm itself, yanking you closer to him. You hissed through clenched teeth from the pain, fighting as much as you could. Danny tried to grab you around the waist, lift you off the ground, taking the floor from under your feet. Resisting with one arm in a cast was incredibly hard — you kneeled him in the crotch, and taking advantage of the moment when he doubled over in pain, you reached for your pepper spray.
The same one he had given you. He even seemed amused by the sight.
You barely had time to aim before he knocked it from your hand. It rolled across the floor, under the dresser.
Fuck.
In the next moment, he did what he initially intended — threw you over his shoulder. Danny was always a strong man, a laborer. Tall, too. You tried to break free somehow, maybe fall enough to bite his ear or scratch his face, but you weren’t physically able. You groaned in helplessness and only kicked your legs and punched his back, making it harder for him to carry you through the garden door.
He grunted in pain as one of your fists hit the same spot several times, harder and harder, more panicked. He sighed, slowing his pace.
“Okay, you know what, maybe I just—”
He abruptly turned sideways just as you passed through the door. Your head hit the threshold, and, well. Shit went dark.
⚡︎
You were awakened by an electric, buzzing sound.
You blinked, dazzled by the light directly in front of you. You felt nothing at first, but gradually a throbbing pain started to pulse in your head, along with the sensation that someone was holding your head still, preventing it from moving. There was another kind of pain, in a different place...
In your hand, just like when you fell down the stairs.
A pain-filled groan escaped your lips. Why were you going through this again? Had you dreamed of this moment so vividly that you even recreated the sharp sensation of breaking bones? You tried to move your hand, but it wouldn’t budge. Not because it was in a cast. Because it wasn’t. It was free, yet immobilized by something else, chained to something.
You wanted to look down, away from the source of the light burning your eyes. It was a bulb hanging from a low, rounded stone ceiling. You couldn’t move your head either, though you tried. Someone was holding it.
“Calm down,” a voice behind you commanded. A familiar voice. A steady voice. “Or I’ll accidentally cut off your ear.”
“What—” you murmured, still drowsy.
Then your eyes widened despite the pain. Danny released your head. It dropped forward, as you didn’t have the strength to hold it up yourself. You groaned again and started looking around, ignoring the pain.
You were somewhere…whatever the fuck this place was. A low ceiling and stone walls, something like a bunker or a tunnel, but in front of you was…a church altar? You couldn’t make sense of your surroundings. Maybe you’d understand your situation.
In front of you stood a table, and on the other side, a chair that Danny slowly approached. He leaned casually on it with one hand, blowing on an electric razor to get the hairs off its blade.
Your hair.
You looked around, which made no sense since you couldn’t see the top of your own head. But you knew you were completely bald, you could feel the cold on your skin. You wanted to be sure and touch it, but your hands were bound with straps. Leather straps, fastening you to the chair. Another wave of pain in your hand, now free of the cast.
The chair.
You were sitting on a chair.
You weren’t wearing your own clothes, just a hospital gown and your underwear. You were in your underwear. What a gentleman. Your feet were bound too, and the only things you could move were your head and your fingers. Escape was impossible.
You shifted your terrified gaze to Danny, swallowing hard.
“Danny,” you croaked. “Danny, why?”
“Why in general, or why you?” he asked gently, sitting down on the chair opposite you. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward you with a smile. “How about this. You tell me why in general, and I’ll tell you why you.”
You swallowed, holding his gaze. There was madness in his calm, maybe it had always been there. You were…damp and cold, so you guessed you were underground. There were only two of you; you had been kidnapped from your home. Was it possible anyone was looking for you? You hadn’t told anyone, but…you had asked Spencer for a meeting in 15 minutes. Had he come to your house? Had he guessed what might have happened?
Danny kept staring at you, waiting for an answer. Escape was impossible. Talking was recommended. Always, in cases of kidnapping. Buying time, getting inside the killer’s head, manipulating him. You sighed. It always seemed easier in podcasts; you had no idea what to say.
“Youre Robert Taylor’s son. The Devil of Bristol,” you began.
“I’ve always liked that nickname. Commands respect.”
You swallowed. Where had your Danny gone? The one who gave you pepper spray and always asked if you needed a ride? You shook your head from side to side, lips pressed tight. “Danny, please…”
“Keep talking.”
For a moment, you closed your eyes, extinguishing the burning fear inside you, reducing it to a flicker, though it took some time. But Danny was patient. Good.
“You’re his son, and you witnessed his execution. With your own eyes, along with your mother. Neither of you ever believed he was a murderer — actually, many people didn’t. He had fans. Women. You… changed your last name and…moved away…and then…” you trailed off.
What happened next chronologically? His move to Fairview? No, something had to come in between. For some reason, he eventually came to town. He was running from something.
“When you grew up…you killed Rebecca Young. Your father’s victim—”
“A dirty liar,” he corrected you.
“She ran from him. You believed he was innocent, and she was lying. That’s why you killed her, and then…”
You frowned, and Danny tilted his head with fascination.
“I delivered the justice that I, and my family, deserved. Then I lived in Fairview under a new identity, leading a quiet life for thirty years without murderous urges. Besides, is the need for justice a murderous urge, or a fundamental human right?” he pondered. He snorted. “That’s not irony or dark humor. I’m serious.”
So why did he start killing again? You didn’t ask aloud. Your eyes did.
“There was no fucking candle in this monster’s pumpkin head. I don’t even know how an idiot like him could have murdered so many women, because, damn it, his methods were worse than offering someone to see kittens out the back of a white van labeled ‘definitely not a suspicious van, not a serial killer’s,’” Danny said in a strangely modulated voice.
You just stared at him.
“Don’t you recognize your own words?” he asked. “About my dad? In your stupid little podcast?”
Your mouth fell open. Fuck, he was right. Those were your words, your exact quote.
“You know, there was one good thing that came out of him,” he continued. “It opened my eyes to how many people don’t know the real story. How my father was framed, and that junkie lied about him. If they could hear your false version on your podcast, why shouldn’t I have the right to record mine? Here, in his tomb. To ask for Rebecca’s own opinion. She wasn’t nearly as brave sitting in that chair as she was in court when she accused him. She admitted to lying, and hearing that live was…” Danny shook his head, almost with a touched gleam in his eyes.
Bile rose in your throat. This wasn’t your Danny. This was Robert Taylor Jr. He had been all along.
“You didn’t ask her,” you said, your voice bitter. “Because she was already dead. You killed her. You asked women who weren’t even born when your father was killed.”
“But they thought the same thing. When they sat here, they didn’t want to admit to lying. They clung to their hypocrisy, only confessing the truth later. That’s right, I gave false testimony about your family, about your father,” Robert again put on a female voice. He nodded at you. “Will you repeat that?”
Your head shook automatically from side to side. “That’s not fucking true.”
You flinched as something hit the table. Not his fist. He wasn’t aggressive. From Keasy’s interrogation recording, you knew things were sometimes different. A voice recorder fell on the table between you. A familiar-looking voice recorder.
“Yes, I stole it from you, I admit it. But I did it for a higher purpose. For justice.”
You felt like vomiting. You thought you had lost that recorder months ago. You accepted it and bought a new one, while the old one was still being used for…
Robert looked at the watch on his wrist and started recording.
“6:18, interrogation of…”
“You’ll kill me, so what then? The police already know who you are. I told them,” you said simultaneously, desperately. You probably had to start threatening him. Unfortunately, Robert didn’t look even slightly scared.
He just rolled his eyes, placing the recorder on the table in front of you.
“No, I won’t. You were going to tell them, but I beat you to it. Your mom will come home, notice you’re gone. Maybe she’ll worry, but you’ve gotten her used to you wandering around at night. The police will only find you when you admit you lied about my father on your podcast.”
So when I’m dead, you thought. You started breathing heavily through your mouth, trying to focus. You couldn’t admit he was right, or he’d fry you. As if reading your mind, Robert stood up from his seat and circled your chair, fastening something around your head. You didn’t see your reflection, but it was metal and cold against your shaved skin. You struggled once more, and a wave of tearing pain washed over your arm.
“Calm down, I’m not turning it on yet,” he murmured soothingly behind you, adjusting the leather strap around your wrist. “This is just to prepare you.”
“You’re really going to do this to my mom?”
“Do you admit that what you said about Robert Taylor on your podcast was blasphemy, slander, and untrue, and that he was wrongly accused?”
You closed your eyes. You remembered the pepper spray that fell from your hand and rolled under the dresser. The BAU would surely find it and recognize it as a struggle attempt. Then they’d only have to find you. Where were you? Robert called it his father’s tomb, and it probably was, the altar before you likely concealed his body or ashes. Would they figure it out?
Maybe. But it would take time before they did. You had to give them that time.
“I do not admit it,” you said.
Robert was behind you, where the mechanism to activate the chair had to be. Surely his hand rested on the right switch, ready with pride and satisfaction to press it at the right moment. He repeated his question patiently.
You patiently repeated yourself. “I do not admit it.”
You lost count of how many times each of you repeated it before you both started shouting. You were glad he was yelling at you, and you yelled even louder so that anyone above ground could hear you. The room didn’t seem soundproof, made of stone, not any sound-absorbing foam or material.
He hissed behind you, showing the first sign of impatience. He circled the table again, as if thinking that if he slapped his hands on it and leaned toward you, he could pressure you more, force you to speak. “Do you admit…”
“I admit your father was an idiot who didn’t have a single fucking candle in his pumpkin head!” you interrupted with a scream, carefully choosing your words, pulling from your own quote that probably haunted him like a mantra since he learned it by heart.
Robert froze motionless, his eyes seemingly empty. You heard a voice above you, above the surface, and tried to tilt your head up with hope, but you were immobilized. He also looked at the ceiling, his hands clenched into fists.
“You know what, this fucking makes no sense.”
He circled the chair, and you instinctively struggled again, ignoring pain everywhere. If only those straps would give way…Your heart was in your throat because you guessed where this was heading. Your body convulsed, but not because electricity was shooting through you — because you wanted to escape, maybe knock the chair over, do anything to get out…
“Danny, please—”
Did you hear footsteps? You definitely heard The Executioner’s heavy breathing behind you, panicked. He was scared. Scared just like you, but for a different reason. The footsteps grew louder, and you heard one last, final sound — the pressing of the switch.
Then, a moment of blissful silence settled from every side, filling your ears and mind before the first wave of electricity pierced your body through and through.
⚡︎
The streets of Fairview were completely empty that day.
Lately, people had been going out alone less and less, but for the past few days The Executioner had been where he belonged — behind bars — and with no specific danger lurking for the townsfolk, Elle slowly made her way down the sidewalk without spotting a single soul.
That didn’t mean they were all shut away in their homes. That particular morning, everyone had gathered in one specific place, dressed in black. In a town where everyone knew everyone, funerals were big events. They reflected the weight of the life that had come to an end.
Well, the street being completely empty wasn’t entirely true.
A few dozen meters ahead of Elle, a boy was gliding along the sidewalk on his bike. At some point, he got off, grabbing the handlebars and inspecting the rear tire — the air had gone out of it so much that riding was impossible. He had probably run over some glass. At least, that’s what he was most likely going to think.
The boy was forced to walk his bike the rest of the way home. He turned into a narrow alley, the shortcut he always took. Elle did the same, a few dozen meters behind him, ready to cut him off from an entirely different side.
Everyone was at the funeral. The boy had no reason to expect that a woman would suddenly appear in front of him. Let alone one pointing a gun straight at his chest.
The bike hit the ground with a loud clatter.
“Hi, Conrad,” Elle greeted him. “Do you know who I am?”
The boy raised both hands in the air and looked around, hoping to spot someone—anyone—who might help him. He saw no one, and his terrified gaze settled back on Elle.
She didn’t feel the slightest trace of remorse for the fear on his face. She lifted one eyebrow slightly and adjusted her grip.
The arrest of the Executioner had left Charlie facing only the charge of rape and murder of sixteen-year-old Maggie Baker. He had fully confessed to the crimes. Elle was the one who had interrogated him, and the one who knew there was something off in his statement. That he was trying to protect someone. Someone he cared about so much he was willing to go to prison for them.
And someone who would have gotten away with the crime completely.
If it hadn’t been for her and her crazy idea.
“N-no,” the boy finally stammered, his knees trembling as if he wanted to run, but knowing he would be shot the moment he tried.
“Good,” Elle replied. “But I know who you are. And what you did. I’m just missing a few pieces of this whole puzzle, and I’m counting on you to give them to me. Otherwise…” She gave a meaningful glance at her gun.
Conrad’s jaw tightened, his face almost translucent.
“I’m not joking,” she added. “I’ve got a gun, everyone’s at the funeral, and I can disappear without being seen. Besides, you wouldn’t be the first rapist I’ve shot, though you’d definitely be the youngest. So? Are we talking?”
After a brief pause, Conrad gave a stiff nod.
Elle cleared her throat. “Let’s start then. Why did you kill Maggie Baker?”
“I didn’t want to,” he blurted out immediately, shaking his head. “Really, I didn’t. I just… I got into that party, even though they didn’t want me there because I was younger. And she didn’t pay any attention to me at all, and when I saw that they were taking something, I… I put it in her glass and…later after I…she started choking, I don’t know why, I didn’t do that.”
Elle was silent for a moment. What he’d just added had to be some form of rape drug, which had slowed her breathing dramatically. And Maggie had asthma. She must have suffered an attack, and without access to her inhaler, nearly unconscious, she had suffocated.
That was the missing puzzle piece.
“You called Charlie. Big brother, always ready to help you out, even when you’ve just raped a girl. How did you know about The Executioner’s former hideout in the woods?”
The police had determined that the first murders were committed there, before Robert Taylor Jr. decided to move them to his father’s tomb.
“I—I stumbled on it once. When I was riding my bike. But I didn’t know h-he was there—”
“You thought it would be the perfect place to dump the body. Charlie drove you there, with Maggie’s corpse. You went inside, and there it was—the electric chair. Whose idea was it, hmm? To stage the whole thing as the work of a serial killer?”
Conrad’s chest rose. “Charlie’s.”
“Ah, the caring big brother, and so clever too. Even willing to go to prison for both of you.”
“C-can I go now?” he asked.
Elle let out a short, derisive laugh. She reached into her pocket without lowering her gun and tossed something toward the boy, landing right next to his bike. He glanced down, confused. It was a pair of handcuffs.
“Go on. Put them on yourself. You’re going to see your brother.”
Conrad didn’t move, his expression tightening slightly. “I’ll deny it—”
Elle reached into her pocket again. This time pulling out a voice recorder. It was switched on, capturing their entire conversation.
Watching Conrad cuff himself, Elle glanced at her watch. This had gone much faster than she’d originally planned. She might even make it to Keasy Turner’s funeral after dropping this idiot off at the station.
The BAU had stayed in Fairview for a few extra days, something far from their usual practice. This time, however, they’d deemed it necessary. The girl who had helped them crack the entire case was still in the hospital after they had rescued her at the very last moment, just as the first wave of electric shocks tore through her body. The ordeal had caused several severe burns and robbed her of her memory for a time, but she was expected to recover—at least physically. And they wanted to wait until she woke up.
To thank her.
EPILOGUE
10 months later…
The sound of the doorbell rang.
You moved toward the door, but before opening it, you stopped in front of the tall mirror in the hallway of your new apartment. Rented, still filled with boxes from your move…even though a week had already passed. You glanced briefly at your reflection, nodded slightly, and finally went to the door. Instead of the usual two locks, you had agreed with the landlord to install three additional ones. Each time you opened them, it felt a bit like a safe-cracking scene from a heist movie.
You knew who to expect, yet you peeked through the peephole before opening the door to a smile — a smile that naturally spread across your lips, though you couldn’t hide feeling a little nervous about the meeting. Spencer was nervous too, because when he didn’t know your eye was watching him from the other side, he straightened his tie. Beneath it, a gray-blue shirt and a beige blazer; as usual, glasses on his face. Although his hair was slightly longer than the last time you saw each other.
“Hi,” he started, swallowing nervously. Somehow, you exchanged glances. His fell on your hair, yours on the small, charming bouquet of violets in his hands. But then Spencer snapped out of it, shaking his head, pulling himself out of his reverie. “Hi, wow, sorry, it’s just—”
“I know. When I told you I got a new wig, you probably didn’t expect this.”
Spencer looked embarrassed in an apologetic way.
Although when you were in the electric chair ten months ago, you only felt one shock—it caused localized burns on your scalp. To take care of them, you consistently kept your hair as short as possible and only recently allowed it to grow out fully. But as you know, that was a long process.
Anyway, you bought a wig that imitated your old hair, but you didn’t like wearing it. You felt uncomfortable pretending to be your old self when you no longer felt like her, but you also felt bad with your head shaved against your will. So you bought a wig in a deep navy color.
“You look beautiful,” he said. You looked at his face; his eyes widened slightly. He cleared his throat. “I mean, that color really suits you.”
You smiled, and for a moment, you both stood in silence before you realized you were literally holding him at the doorstep. “Oh, sorry. Come in, please.”
Spencer nodded, but before he took a step, his eyes dropped to the flowers, which he probably just remembered. He held them out to you uncertainly. “I know they look a little tired, but I literally took the subway with them and it was really, really crowded, and…I hate public transport.”
You took the flowers from him thoughtfully and smiled wider. It was a kind gesture that made warmth flood your body. Although, it was a bit unexpected. Since the BAU narrowly escaped Robert Taylor’s hands, your relationship with Spencer had simultaneously taken a step back and a few forward. You had basically avoided the problematic issue of your kiss and had become friends. Really good friends, because the state you had been in over the last few months—mainly mentally—didn’t make you feel ready for anything more.
Not once during your friendship had he given you flowers before. Well, maybe because until recently you lived in different states and mostly talked on the phone, but still. It was something groundbreaking.
“They match my hair,” you noticed, letting him into the apartment. “And they’re really pretty.”
Spencer was in your new apartment for the first time. As you both went deeper inside, it must have immediately caught his attention. Boxes. Everywhere.
“I know, nothing is unpacked. I know, it’s been a month. But I just can’t force myself to fully settle here,” you explained. “It… doesn’t really feel like home. But nothing does anymore, so I guess I don’t really have a good excuse for not unpacking. Oh, and I only have one chair.”
For a moment, he looked at you silently, a trace of concern flashing in his eyes. You felt stupid for what you said—he had just arrived, and you were already complaining and pouring out your sadness. After everything that happened in Fairview, your mom didn’t want to live there any longer. She put the house up for sale, which strained your relationship a bit. For a while, you tried living together somewhere else, but you needed a complete change. That’s why you moved to Virginia. Well, that wasn’t the only reason. The other was the studies you decided to start.
“Don’t worry about it,” he assured you gently, nodding slightly in understanding. I don’t mind sitting on boxes. Even the floor is fine if I’m being honest. I came here to see you. The rest doesn’t really matter.”
You turned the bouquet of violets in your hands. “I missed you, you know.”
A slight movement of his head, a narrow smile like a simple line. “Yeah. I missed you too.”
“Should I put them in a vase? Want something to drink? If so, just a heads up—you’ll have to find yourself a glass in one of these boxes, I have no idea which one—”
Spencer had dropped by for a chat, which—unsurprisingly—stretched on. Not that you minded. Warm orange light filled your kitchen as you washed the dishes from the meal you’d eaten together at a table with chairs made of cardboard boxes, as if that were the most natural thing in the world. You were glad to have talked with him. This particular way of talking, balanced between casualness and trust, between comfort and honesty.
“Your plans haven’t changed? Criminology?” he asked, referring to your studies and the upcoming semester.
You handed him a clean plate so he could put it in the cupboard beside his head. On the counter in front of him sat a cut-off water bottle, serving as a makeshift vase for the violets. You’d have to get a prettier one. Who knows. Maybe you could expect them more often from now on.
“That’s right. You know, I think it’s something that will always be with me. But I’m not sure what I’ll do once I finish. Maybe I’ll keep going with the podcast.” You paused for a moment, drying your wet hands with a cloth. Spencer stood right beside you, his back to the cabinets you were facing. You shrugged. “Maybe I’ll try my luck in law enforcement. But I could never do what you guys do. I mean, I don’t think I’m built for fieldwork. Being in danger. Collecting information, working behind a desk…that’s probably more my speed.”
You weren’t even sure if you were speaking honestly. Just a year ago you’d been ready to break into places or visit abandoned buildings in the evening, and now you had five locks on your door and sometimes pressed your ear against the wall to your neighbors, wondering if they might be serial killers. Not to mention that nearly every day you googled the name of one specific prison to check if a certain inmate had somehow, against all odds, managed to get out. You were full of fear and, it seemed, permanently stripped of trust.
Spencer cleared his throat gently. “If you ever do want to try your hand at the FBI Academy, you’ve got my recommendation.”
You nudged him with your elbow. “Nepotism,” you muttered.
He shrugged with a faint smirk. “Maybe.”
You turned toward him to hand over the last clean glass to be put away in the cupboard. Spencer’s hand closed lightly around it—so lightly that you didn’t let go either, your eyes lifting to meet his. For a moment, his gaze simply held yours, thoughtful and unblinking, before he leaned in to kiss you. Carefully and slowly, in a way that felt unlike him.
“I really missed you,” he said quietly as he drew back just a little. “And I’m so glad you’re here now.”
“And I’m glad you’re here,” you replied, and you meant it. Maybe you weren’t entirely glad that you were here. Your new apartment still felt strange, the neighborhood still unfamiliar, and everything still so frightening. But that he was there with you in that moment, you were truly glad for that. “Put the glass in the cupboard.”
Spencer let go of your gaze, dropping it to the glass you both still held.
