The Captain x Reader [Oneshots]

-A Lamb to the Slaughter-

Request by LadyHarknessPotter

"There has to be something." You mumbled to yourself as you paced the room that was your temporary office. You were obsessed with your work, addicted to it. When you'd gotten this case, a case of murder in this house, you were determined to find the killer.

"How is everything going?" Your new colleague, Ronny, asked with a cup of tea in hand and a file under his arm. He noticed your foot tapping on the ground as he placed the tea down on your desk.

"I'm fine. Thank you." You didn't like having a colleague on jobs like this, typically they made things a lot harder.

"We've got more pictures from the autopsy, as well as photos of the house before the incident." He opened the file and took out photos of the young victim, cuts and bruises covering her body suggesting that she fought to stay alive. You looked at the house photos a few days before she was murdered, a photo of the common room, everything in place.

"Where are these photos from? Why were they taken?" You asked, curious of the houses history.

"She took them for her school, the house is a place of historical interest and she volunteered to take photos for her humanities department." He told you, as you took the photos from his hand.

"I should've been notified if her school got in contact." You wondered, followed by silence. "Ronny, did her school get in contact?" You turned to him, his silence spoke volume. "Where did you get these photos?"

"What are you accusing me of here, L/N?" His voice had changed, it was dark and sinister, as he knew that he was found out.

"Answer the goddamn question." He didn't answer. "You saw her take photos in the building, an innocent girl, a lamb to the slaughter, thought she was an easy target to get a quick boost to fame in detective work so you brought her back to the building by stealing the photos, tried to shoot her but she fought back so you choked her to death and hid all the evidence. Is that what happened, Ronny?!" You asked furiously, all the dots connecting in your mind. He took out the same gun he used to shoot her and pointed it towards you.

"You're the Lamb to the slaughter here, L/N." Were the last words you heard before the shot was fired into your chest. You died in the house that day, but the voice recorder in your pocket wasn't found by Ronny.

You woke up in the same room, on the ground, a hole in your chest. You looked up and saw the people staring at you.

"Who are you?" You asked them, the few smiling faces looking down at you. They looked strange, like they were born 100 years before.

"We are those poor spirits who dwell on, compelled for reasons unknown." A man said, talking as if he were in the 1800's.

"Oh, Thomas, you say that every time." A woman rolled her eyes at the man.

"What do you mean?" You asked, standing up as if you were a baby standing for the first time. You brushed the dirt of your clothes when you saw the blood on your shirt. You gasped, the blood on your hands was warm.

"There's not really and easy way to say this..." A woman dressed in burgundy started, you backed up, walking through your own body on the floor. You screamed, terrified of what was happening to you. "You're dead."

"I'm getting out of here." You murmured to yourself, pushing passed the group of people.

"There's no point trying!" A caveman shouted as you walked out the open door. The people followed you out the house, watching as you tried to get out but couldn't.

You watched as Ronny drove away from the crime scene, blood on his fingertips. "Why didn't I realise it sooner?! He had no history! I didn't even check his background." You shouted to no one, angrily pacing the outside of the house.

"Steady on, Detective. I'm sure that he'll be caught immediately thanks to your recording device." A man in an army uniform praised you. You felt it in your pocket. You took it out and pressed the play button.

The words you'd said played back to you, the words he said and the shot.

"Was I at least correct?" You asked the ghosts who you assumed were there on the day of the murder.

"Yes. Scarily correct, actually." The woman in burgundy told you.

"Extraordinary. Down to the nail." The man who had a gunshot wound on him, Thomas, told you. You marvelled at the fact that you actually solved the impossible case.

You sat in the house in which you died, talking to the ghosts about death. You knew their names now, you all got along well.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy your time here, Detective. I think we'll get along quite nicely." The Captain said, patting you on the back. You smiled back to the man, a connection flourishing between the two of you.