#serial murder

Pairing: Ellie Alves x Male Reader

Summary: Y/N had no choice but to accept Joe Goldberg's hospitality. But will he become another version of him? Or change course before he crashes?

Warnings: Surprisingly None (Though I haven't proof-read this, so it will likely have some typos and gramatical errors.

This is it, my ticket to the celebrity life. I've done a lot of stupid things, just to get here. And, I've burned some bridges in the process, but I don't have any doubt that this is for the best. Maybe I'm being cheesy here, but I think Dad would've wanted this for me. For me to be independent. 

But, that's not the only thing I'm worrying about? 

Damn it, Y/N...... why do you always have to make things so difficult? 

Maybe you're not. Maybe I'm the problem, and I just can't admit it. I mean, I was the one who got involved with Henderson in the first place. And now look what happened to him. Look at what it did to Y/N, my own sister...... fuck, everything is just so so fucked up.

Whatever, I have to do this. I can't let anything stop me.

But maybe..... maybe I could make it up to him later.

Not in that way, of course, I may still have feelings for him, but I broke up with him for a reason. Gage taught me that there's nothing that can make me jump back onto an ex's bones that easily. 

And yet, it hurts to even think that in my head.

But no! I have to be cool. I'm going to be meeting an ex-star. Though, I'm definitely not gonna say 'ex-star' to his face. 

The car eventually pulls up to this very nice-looking hotel. The driver himself steps out to help me unload my cargo out of the back seat. Of course, I'm sure he's only doing it because of how young I look. I seem inexperienced and gullible to him. Can't blame him, I guess, but I'm gonna prove that I'm Queen Independent, moving forward.

The first thing I notice is people staring at me. They're wondering who I am, why I'm here. What did I do to get driven a chauffer. They already see me as someone famous, important, and fuck, does it feel good!

Then this guy standing next to the front door, wearing a suit, and bulky in an intimidating way, approaches me like a mechanic android.

"You are.... Ellie?" The man questions in a thicc Russian accent. Slightly intimidated by his presence alone, I silently nod in confirmation. Then he wags his finger. "Follow me."

He takes me through the lobby, down the hallway, and into the elevator. Once again, people are staring. Now I look like a celebrity being walked with by a bodyguard. One day, it's going to be like that every single day.

Once we eventually stop on the second floor, he turns me left and then brings me all the way to the far end of the hall in that direction. We stop at the last door on the left, where he pulls out a card and unlocks the door handle.

"Your room." The man states as he hands me the keycard. I take it and take a step inside. 

And all I can say is....... holy shit. 

"This..... this is my room?" I utter out loud, mentally slapping myself soon after. That should be pretty obvious since the tall scary man just explained that to me. "This is kind of.... expensive."

"Forty pay for all, don't worry about expenses. There is also credit card on table for food." The man calmly informs me. "No limits."

No limits? This guy is joking with me, right? 

The man closes the door, leaving me to a kind of privacy I honestly didn't think I would actually have. I check the table, and just like he said, an entire credit card that I actually use without limits.

This is good, almost too good to be true. Maybe because it is? Maybe it's....

No, relax, you're cool. You brought protection this time, Ellie. You know how to detect a drugged drink this time. We're all good. Plus, I'm not a spender. I can easily restrain myself from getting top-notch shit. 

I would rather eat expensive stuff with the food I actually earn, rather than being someone else's leech. 

Geez, Ellie.... you sound like Walter White. Be cool, let Forty know that you appreciate his hospitality. But, also remember your role as his assistant, remind him of who you are. That'll earn his respect easily.

Yeah, I got this. Nobody can stop Ellie Alves.

I check myself in the closet's mirror, making sure I look better and more professional when I finally meet Forty face to face. I do a quick change of anything I don't like. I need to look perfect for this. No mistakes. 

After which, I pull out my phone. Pictures from Chole seem to be blowing up on my foryou page. I forgot that I friended both her and Y/N. Speaking of, he's in most of these new pictures. They're from the party.

Look at them, so drunk, happy, and full of life. They aren't planning on a successful future, the amazing celebrity life. They just want to blend in the background like every other person. 

Gosh, this is the guy I thought I were gonna nail down for the rest of my life? I'm so stupid. I should've thought more realistic. I was gonna scare him off, sooner or later. Maybe it's good that I was the one who broke things off. 

Then again, I shouldn't have fucked him in the first place.

Gosh, I'm so stupid. 

No, damn it! Stop! Get out of the internet, Ellie! This is the new you, and you need to stop missing him. 

I need to stick with the program. I need to focus on what I want. And what I want to is to finally stop living invisible in a town full of people who get to live like they're divine beings. I would literally kill to be divine, and that's not an understatement. 

Finally breaking me out of this cycle is the sound of someone knocking at the door. Expectedly, I open it to find the scary Russian guy on the other side.

"Forty is here. He is ready to see you." He nods towards the room right across form me. 

 I step out, right behind him as he then knocks on the door.

I hear the feint voice of Forty behind said door. Though, it's extremely muffled. Possibly another reason by people rent rooms here....

"Could you get that?"

There's some kind of muffled argument that follows. But, it's hard to make out which voice is who's. After a minute or two of more knocking, the doorknob finally turns. And to my slight surprise, Joe is the one that ends up being the one that answers.

But, that makes sense, right? I mean, he is Forty's coworker best friend after all. He could've easily fired him for the whole "Will and Y/N Bettelheim." BS and he didn't. Should've known that he would be involved in writing this.

Joe blinks at me, multiple times. Like he's trying to clean something from his eyes with his lashes. "What are you doing here?"

Good to see you too, dick.

"What's all the noise about?" I ask out loud as I quickly step into the hotel room, though I do my best to be 'cool' about it. 

"What is she doing her?" Joe questions Forty angrily as he closes the door shut. "This is not a safe environment for her."

"Relax, Grandpa." 

Just to address the elephant in the room, Joe looks insanely pissed at Forty. Every time he looks in his general direction, his eyes widen as if threatening to pop out of their sockets at any moment. Meanwhile, my rich ticket is acting completely nonchalant. And possibly, is even amused by Goldberg's short-tempered behavior.

Did something happen between them? Should I ask for context? No, no, probably better to stick to the business at hand. Whatever beef these middle-aged dudes are having right now is not my problem. 

"She's fine." Forty assures him while chuckling. He puts a hand on his shoulder which Joe instantly pushes away. "She's across the hall in, um...."

He snaps his fingers, having already forgotten. I apparently have to finish the sentence for him.

"Suite 216."

That is..... not very comforting. But, at least his bodyguard knows how to keep track of things it seems. 

"Yeah, and Dimitri knows that she can come and go as she pleases." Forty then finishes with a small nod. I set the bag down, pull out my laptop, and set it down on the bar, ready to start this thing. He is already looking over my shoulder.

 "Yes, but..... what is she doing here?" Joe re-phrases the question as he gestures around the expensive room itself. 

I share a look with Forty Does he really not know? Did my guy just set this whole thing up on the spot? I feel like everyone involved in the project should know what's going on beforehand, especially if the two know each other.

"He hired me as your guys' writing assistant." I answer. Joe's eyes then do this little twitch, and he stares at both of us for an uncomfortably long amount of time without really saying anything. Well, it looks like he's saying something, but it's not out loud.

"I thought of everything. This is gonna be fun." Forty brags to Joe with an excited chuckle. However, his first instinct is, unsurprisingly, grabbing the massive book that the hotel came with. "Alright, now, uh, who wants room service?"

I lean in shut the book closed.

"Are we eating, or are we working?" I question him, wanting to focus on the important stuff first. Forty shrugs his shoulders as if slightly hurt.

"Por que no los dos?" 

He opens it back up. 

Oh my gosh. This guy is going to be a handful, isn't me? I mean, I guess it's better than dating the serial date-rapist, but I was still hoping for at least some kind of control for him. And what the hell's going on with Joe? He's ambling around the room as if looking for a murder weapon?

Every minute, I have this sudden urge to ask him about Y/N. Part of me is still worried about him, despite how much he keeps trying to push us into a romantic narrative, no matter how many street signs I give him. 

But, this is work, and I need to be professional, since someone is clearly focusing more on the pleasure than the business. 

I mean, geez, what the heck even is this script? Y/N could've easily come up with something better. Heck, I could have! Joe isn't even helping, he just mindlessly agrees to whatever Forty puts out, or makes only the slightest correction here and there. It's so painfully obvious that his mind is elsewhere. While Forty's is at his ding-dong. 

"How's the dialogue trim going?" 

"Already got a page off."

"Good. Okay, if we cut some fat from the bottom of act two, the flow will be much smoother." Joe claims as he paces around the room. He seems really focused on the pacing more than anything else related to the storytelling. It's like a secret agenda. 

"Dope."

Forty opens a tablet and straight up doses his glass bottle with pills. Even Joe is staring at that the same way that I probably am right now.

"I'm sorry, what are you drinking?" Joe questions him. 

"Kombexy. It's kombucha and dexedrine." Forty casually explains as if that's a 'cool' thing he does. I really hope that I don't have a diet like that some day. "Oh, it's my secret weapon for staying focused."

Okay, try not to laugh.

"I'm diagnosed ADHD."

"Of course you are." I comment with a slow nod. That sadly makes a lot of sense. As long as he keeps those pills in his own drink, I'll be happy. 

"BOOM!" Forty eventually swipes the laptop and shows it off in his best friend's face. "With Ellie's edits, we are at a hundred-eighteen pages. Same length as The Hurt Locker. Fin."

Joe looks incredibly relieved to hear that. I had a slight hunch that 'fin' was his only goal. 

"I hit every moment. Check it, comrade." Forty hands the laptop to him. Joe's face is completely blank, but I know exactly what he's thinking. Not an exaggeration. "Who's the man, Joe? I'm the man! I'm the man! I'm the man!"

He hops towards me with his hand raised as if he wants a high five. But should I really give it to him? 

"You look like somebody just pissed all over your rainbow." Forty notices with a point. His smile now upside down. I don't know if that's some weird attempt at calling me queer, but whatever. He turns to Joe.  "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing's wrong with me." I correct him, eventually shrugging. "I just don't think you're done."

Then the confidence breaks. Forty squints at me, happy. "Say more."

"First off, the script is predicable."

"Okay, well, I was staying true to the source material." 

"And the female perspective is sorely lacking."

"Oh! Okay, okay, okay, okay!" Forty starts laughing in a fake way. The fact that he is immediately this defensive tells me right away why he hasn't gotten back into the film industry since that one indie film he made. "What do you mean, lacking?"

"I mean, it isn't real."

"Beck was real!" Forty claims while raising his voice. "She humps a pillow multiple times!"

Oh, for fuck's sake.

Forty tilts his head at me. "Okay, okay. What would you suggest, Sofia Coppola?" 

He is not going to like it, but I'm going to tell this entitled douchebag how it is.

"I think you should start over. Figure out who Beck really is and why you're the one to tell her story." I tell him in the most blunt but constructive way possible. 

"That...... seems a bit drastic." Joe replies with a hand on Forty's shoulder.  Yup, totally trying to skip out of here early. "Let's not, uh.... look, let's do a quick Beck pass, huh?"

"It's going to need more than a quick pass." I state out loud with a chuckle. 

But Forty dies a little inside. I can see it in his eyes. He walks over and grabs his jacket from the couch, as if he's about to leave. 

"Forty, where are you going?" Joe asks him, confused. Forty looks over yonder. I can't see how he looks right now through the back of his head. But, I reckon it's still the same face as before.

"I gotta get outta here."

Now, at first, I thought I was getting hit with whatever he was drinking. But, this is actually real. Forty literally opens the window, and jumps out of it. I hear a loud bang after.

Joe curses out loud, just as shocked. Both of us rush over to the ledge. At first, I though this guy just killed himself over a first draft. But then, I see that he landed on a dumpster on the first story. He crawls himself out and exits the alley, a loophole to his own 'caged in' rule. 

This guy does not handle criticism very well.

"Okay, go back to your room, order all the food you want, and go to bed." Joe tells me like he's my father. He then crawls over the ledge, beginning to attempt the same crazy stunt that Forty just did. 

"I can't tell if you're a worse producer or babysitter." I can't help but say out loud. 

"Just don't leave." Joe says with a stern look on his face. Then he hops off into the dumpster, I assume, to follow Forty. Not sure why though. He's probably going to be back after he's finished going through.... whatever that was. 

I'm not exactly sure what to say to Dimitri, but he's been ordered to let me leave. So, I just nod at him and go into my room. I mean, what am I supposed to say? 

Hey, big man. Crazy story, but your boss just threw himself out the window and ran away. I'm sure it had nothing to do with me, honest. 

I flop myself onto the bed. The first thing I do, scroll through social media. Chole is on a roll right now. More pictures of her and Y/N. They seem to be very platonic, but one can easily tell the 'benefits' part behind those picture.

Like in this one, where the two have their shoulders around each other while someone else is taking the picture. I'm pretty sure Chole's missing hand in this shot is on Y/N's ass. I mean, that's all she wanted right. 

And to think, that he was inside me once.

Fuck! No! I'm doing it again. Just throw the phone onto the bed and forget the doomscrolling for tonight. Things are different and I need to stop acting like I'm jealous. Because I'm not. Everything is okay. 

I grab my phone again, but only to check the time. At least five hours helping Joe and Forty with writing, and another or two has passed in this bed. How time flies when you're feeling sorry for yourself. 

THUD!

What the hell?

That came from just outside. 

A few more noises like that emit from the hallway. Not exactly easy to ignore. 

Knock!

Knock!

Knock! 

Now, someone's at my door. 

I stand up, walk over, and put my eye on the little see-through hole. 

I can't believe it.......

I open the door, and there he is. His gorgeous face, his sexy Y/H/C hair, and his cute ass. 

"Hey, Ellie." Y/N greets me, sounding tired. A few sweat glands roll down his forehead, as if he's been through an entire workout. I can't even imagine what he's been through. I have to make sure that my eyes are working properly.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Edmund Kemper committed a series of murders in California between 1972 and 1973. His victims included hitchhikers he picked up along highways and, later, members of his own family.

Beth, age 16, has to produce an instructional video for her video editing class. She chose the topic “Cooking an Omelette,” but with the narrative style of a serial killer. 

Here’s one version of the script. The video turned out slightly differently due to production issues, but it's close.

--

and to sadness he was drawn like rot and decay. he would sow his legacy amongst the bones of the dead and become witness to the new world. a world void of all fear and hurt and hatred. and all they would ever do is 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘦.