With All My Heart (Chase X Serial Killer!Reader)

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Suggested by: SkyDragonQueen17.

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Night after night, wandering the lonely streets.  You didn't mind that.  You didn't mind that at all.  It was peaceful to you.  It calmed your stormy mind by having something, in reality, to grasp onto, to understand.  The night was cold and lonely.  You were colder and lonelier.  That wasn't an understatement, no.  You physically couldn't be with anyone, or they might... tell on you.  Why?

You killed people for sport.

It was fun, seeing the terror in their eyes just before the light vanished.  It was almost as if you were seeing their pathetic souls rising from their body, watching as their body went limp and they ceased to exist, to function.

It was perfect.

And that's what you were doing now.  Strangling the life out of a poor woman.  You didn't know her name.  It was nothing personal.  You had never seen her before in your life.  She was just an unlucky soul that happened to cross your path on a wrong day at the wrong time.

"Sorry, love.  Nothing personal," you chuckled as her pale grey eyes rolled up in her head and her hands stopped clawing at your latex gloves.  You sighed in content, getting up.  Having gotten your fill of the adrenaline coursing through your system, you slipped off the gloves and stuffed them in your pocket to dispose of properly when you got home.

That was your first kill in a week.  It had been so hard to find people wandering alone these days.  Maybe it was because they were starting to notice all the missing and dead bodies.  Maybe they had just gotten smarter.  But you knew that soon, you were going to run out of victims.

That was when you heard the sobbing.  It was coming from the back alley of a cheap bar and was loud and wailing.  The man- at least, you were pretty sure it was a man- didn't think anyone was there.

Oh, how wrong he was.

You snuck your way in the shadows and stepped out when you were close.

"Hey. You doing okay?" you asked the man, feigning a concerned voice.  He looked up from his hands, and you saw that his eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks and face covered with tears.  He quickly wiped the snot from his nose with a black and green sweatshirt he was wearing.  Behind him, a grey and red baseball cap laying beside him, upturned so the round part was on the ground.

"I-I, uh... yeah. I'm fine," he sniffled, his voice thick with tears.

"Really?  Because it sure doesn't look like it," you chuckled. "Do you need a ride home?" Your car was parked a few streets down, and you were willing to help... bring him back to your place.

"I don't have a place to live," he muttered quietly.

"What?  Really?" you asked.

"Yeah, I... I, uh... my wife. Stacy.  She didn't want me around anymore, so she kicked me out of the place a few days ago.  I was staying at a motel until I ran out of money," he told you.  You sat down beside him, not to act anymore, but you were legitimately curious about this man's story.

"Tell me more," you insisted.

As the man told you what was almost his entire life story, without any hesitation, you might add, you started to feel something for this man, something you didn't realize you could feel in the first place.  A little bit of pity and a little bit of... love.

It was a strange feeling that, since you were a deranged serial killer, weren't exactly used to.  How were you supposed to react in times like this?  And of course, the whole scenario changes when the man is crying.  So what now?  Kill him and be done with it?  No!  You couldn't do that.  You knew your heart would never forgive you for that.

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