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Ending (For A Film) 2P!America x Reader Ch. 1

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Warning: Some cursing.




The movie is over.

But you have questions, as the credits roll, sitting among stale popcorn and flat drinks. The movie had plot twists, suspense, an excellent soundtrack and a happy ending, yet something is left unsatisfied. Did the characters live happy lives? You wonder, absentmindedly wiping at your sticky armrest. Did the main character find the peace she wanted? And, most importantly, did the bad guy ever come back?

Look, I say, two rows away, hand on your headrest. Look. Do you see it, between the actor's names, the scroll of the logos, the notes of the final song? It was there the whole time, in the in-between of caterers and cast members. The final cut, the movie after the movie, the answer to all of your questions is right there. Do you see it? Watch.

Just watch.




“Don't move, or I'll shoot.”

In the movie after the movie, a girl opens her eyes. She lies in bed, still, feeling the mouth of the pistol push into the skin of her temple.

“Now turn towards me, nice and slow.”

She does, in small, jerking motions, the gun catatonically attached to her skull, following her every move. She catches a glimpse of the window, framing the darkness like a picture. Something's at the bottom, something she can't identify.

“Keep going,” the voice says. It loves this; it's in love with the way she moves.

She wasn't even aware that she had stopped, but the increased pressure on her scalp tells her that she must have, must have lost herself looking out of the window. Everything is a surprise to her.

She continues, her cheek just leaving the pillow when a hand catches it. Her breath stops and she squeezes her eyes shut, ready for the worst. Slowly, painfully, the hand makes its way across her cheekbone and under her chin, tracing her skin before suddenly jerking her head up, taking her upper body with it and barely giving her time to stifle a scream.

“Open your eyes.”

She presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head. A small, useless act of rebellion. The gun suddenly has an overwhelming presence, pressing into the side of her skull.

“Open your eyes,” the voice says again, dangerously soft.

This time she obeys, cautiously peering out from under her eyelashes. The room is black as anything, completely overshadowed by the moonbeams that infiltrate the glass panes and paint the hardwood floor a slivered white. She's stalling for time now, staring out of the window again, purposefully avoiding looking the figure standing in front of her.

“Up,” the voice commands, the hand chucking her under the chin, and now she knows there's no getting out of it. She looks up and-

Of course she knows that voice, how could she not when it had infested her nightmares for months afterwards, haunted her for years...

“Al,” she breathes.

Al grins. “Babe,” he replies.

The gun leaves her scalp to be jerked towards the window. “Get up.”

As she lowers herself to the floor her eyes adjust to the darkness and she begins to take in the scene before her; Al, relaxed and comfortable with the gun shining in his hand, standing next a full duffel bag; the open window, now with a newly illuminated ladder rung peeking over the sill. Al gestures to it. “Get going.”

She takes each step carefully, avoiding the boards that are creaky and noting that he does the same (which to her shocked, logical mind is far scarier than the fact that he is in her house and has a gun) and swung her leg over the sill, careful not to catch her pajamas on the ladder.

She takes the distance one rung at a time, as is right, as we all do. He's smiling. She could feel it, an electric crackle in her brain. He's smiling down on her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Her feet tingle unpleasantly when they touch the grass, cold and wet. He swings out of the window with the gracefulness of a cat, half climbing, half leaping down. He lands next to her, silently, then uncurls his spine until he's at full height. He's so tall; he towers over her. Even here, in this open field, she feels cornered, trapped by his presence. She hates this feeling.

She hates him.

He readjusts the duffel bag on his shoulder, and she catches a glimpse of the sleeve of her favorite jacket when something taps her cheek bone.

It's the gun. She nearly screams.

He smiles again, wider this time. “Walk,” he orders.

She does, mechanically, and when she's far enough away the pistol relocates to her spine, steering her in the direction of the driveway.

The moon stares down at them as they cross the yard, the stars blinking next to it. The night was like a many-eyed monster, sliding down their shoulders and lighting the ground before them. She shivers, involuntarily. The whole sky feels insidious, as if the world wants to devour her whole.

They round the corner of the house. A white van, she thinks dully. How cliché.

He walks her to the passenger side and opens the door, bowing slightly. “M'lady,” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. Smiling at her. Mocking her.

Everything suddenly comes into focus. The van. The gun. The duffel bag.

This is a kidnapping.

She takes in a breath to scream and, faster than she thought was possible, he claps his hand over her mouth. The gun is jabbed into her throat, effectively cutting off her air supply, and she gasps, lips moving against his palm.

He leans in until his hot breath skims her ear and whispers, “Did you think it would be that easy, doll?” His grip tightens, and he lifts her off the ground with the one arm, as if she weighed nothing. She struggles, kicking, tears beginning to spring to her eyes as blackness creeps into the edges of her vision.

“Did you really think that I would be stupid enough to just let you end this like that? C'mon.” His grip tightens again, and now she's dying, hanging on to his wrist for dear life, “You know me better than that, babe.”

Suddenly he lets go, and she falls to her knees on the asphalt, hacking and coughing, trying desperately to squeeze air back into her lungs. He kneels down and grabs her by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. He studies her face for a moment, as if trying to read how the moonlight was reflected.

“Look,” he says, voice barely louder than a whisper, and gestures with his eyes up to the window directly above them. “Do you see that?”

She nods, desperate to have him let go, desperate enough to do anything. He smiles, seeing this and leans towards her again, so that their noses are almost touching. “That's your parent's room, right?”

She freezes mid-nod. He chuckles to himself, low and dark.

“So what I'm going to do, sweetheart, is I'm going to lock you in the van, and if you say a single word until then, I'll go back up the ladder and I'll blow your parent's brains out. Okay?”

She nods again, slowly this time.

“Okay.” He gets up, forcing her to stand next to him, hand never leaving her chin, and drags her to the door of the van. Then he lets go, walking over to side and leaning against the armrest of the passenger's side, grinning.

“Well?” he says.

She walks to the van slowly, deliberately, trying to show her surrender while not making any sudden movements. Heaving herself up onto the passenger side their shoulders brush and she flinches, making him laugh.

She's barely settled when he reaches behind her. She squeaks and tries to scramble away, but he catches her shoulder, shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips. No. So she tries to relax, leaning back in the seat while he buckles her seatbelt, reaching across her legs. As he takes his hand back he allows it to skim over her stomach, a finger managing to catch on a space between buttons and press itself into her skin. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. She hears the door close behind him and exhales, slowly letting her eyes open back up. She sees his shadow cross the windshield as he walks to the driver's side, a dark slap across the window. Everything she's ever hated, right there in front of her.

The driver's door opens and she flinches, turning her head away, waiting for the gun to be jabbed back into her. When nothing happens, she cautiously peeks over her shoulder, peering through her eyelashes to see him, leaning on the door, staring at her with this stupid little smile on his face. When he catches her looking he gives a happy sort of sigh and leaps into the front seat, starting the car. The radio is on, and as he back out he taps along to the beat with the hand on the steering wheel, his right one aiming the gun at her.

“Tonight, we escape,” he sings, then turns his head and grins at her. She looks away, focusing on the road ahead.

It's a while before they get off of the property, the field quickly giving way to a forest of pine, the driveway twisting through the trees until the gate comes into view. Al leans out the window and, with practiced care, plugs in the code. There's a beep, and as the gate opens he swings back in and grins at her again.

“It's your birthday, you know,” he says conversationally. “The code. Six digits. Got it on my first try.” He waggles the fingers on the wheel. “I knew it, of course. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I forgot your birthday?”

She says nothing, eyes furiously trained on the road. Al's kept the headlights off. He's being careful.

“You got siblings?” he asks, catching her off guard. She shakes her head no, quickly, maybe too quickly, because he chuckles, says, “Well, I'll find out soon enough,” and shifts the van up a gear.

They're on the road now, moving toward the highway but, she knows, not on it. He likes back roads. More privacy, he'd say, before flashing the shit-eating grin. Bastard.

This shock is dying down and now she's angry, really angry, hating him for threatening and her for giving in so easily. Stupid. The gun probably isn't even real. Even as she thinks this she hears herself say, “Al, what the hell?”

He brightens up immediately. “Damn, and here I was thinking I'd scared you mute. God, it's been a long time. What, three years, two months, seven days? Not that anyone's counting.”

“Al, she says again, and regrets it immediately when he groans.

“You sound so damn sexy when you say my name like that. All pissed off. You were always so cute when you were mad.” Suddenly he brakes the car and rolls his head back to look at her, the whites of his eye glowing dully in the moonlight. “Do it again.”

She shakes her head, trying to become as small as possible. He sighs, looks out towards the road and starts the car again, pressing his foot on the gas until the engine roars a complaint.

“I had you so well trained, too,” he says as they speed through the trees. “You were at my beck and call. Do you remember that, doll? You remember high school?”

She nods in a vain attempt to get him to stop talking, but he just grins. “I knew it. You remember how scared you were? So cute. I missed that.” He reaches out to touch her hair as she shrinks in her seat. “I missed you.”

She flinches away and he sneers, bitter, and withdraws his hand to put it back on the gun, still pointed at her, always pointed at her. Then he smiles. “It's okay. You know what? It's not even your fault. It's your dad's.” He bangs the wheel, angry. “Your fucking dad's. Locking me up like that. I should have blown his fucking brains out,” he says darkly, then sees her eyes widen and grins. “Don't worry, babe. Don't be so scared,” he coos. “I'm just kidding. Him knowing we're together is enough.” His grin widens. “I want him to suffer like I did.” He changes gears again, going even faster.

“Prison was so cold, babe. I missed you so much. And when I finally broke out, you were gone. Smart girl like you, off to college. Out of state or in?” He asks, then laughs. “Doesn't matter. So I had to wait for you to get out and come home for the summer. Only a couple of weeks, thank god. Then I just followed you around for a few days, making sure you were okay. Seeing when I could grab you. And you know the rest; white van, starry night, you looking stunning while you sleep, by the way. Every night I've watched, you've always looked beautiful.” He sees the discomfort on her face and grins. “Don't worry, I looked away when you were changing. Have to leave something, right? Have to leave something.”

He leans back in the seat, completely relaxed and at ease. “Y'know, babe, maybe this whole prison thing was a blessing in disguise. It made me realize how much I missed you.” He looks over at her. “And how unwilling I am to let you go.”

A chill runs down her spine and she shivers, despite the heat being on in the car. There's something about his conviction, his certainty, that frightens her to the core.

“Why me,” she whispers, peering out at him from behind her knees. “Why is it always me?”

Al stops the car and parks. For a moment everything is still and silent, save for the idling of the engine and bugs bumping up against the windshield. The inside of the car was pitch black, but she could still make out his silhouette in the faint moonlight. He was staring off into the distance, as if looking for something. Or at something, something she couldn't see.

“Babe,” he says, takes his hand off the gun and extends it towards her. She takes it, afraid of what would happen if she didn't, and he pulls her gently but firmly towards him, cupping the back of her neck so that she's trapped in that position. Fingers tangled in her hair, he closes the distance between them.

The kiss is sad in a way that she struggles to identify. Maybe it's the taste of her own tears, the small, pitiful noises she makes as she tries to pull away. Maybe it's the way he moves his lips against hers, so softly as to seem almost tender, even as his grip on the back of her neck tightens. When he finally breaks it off, leaving her gasping for breath, he looks at her like he's never seen anything so heartbreakingly beautiful.

And then he says her name.




In the movie before the movie, the audience learned that the protagonist’s boyfriend was in the first a bully, the third scene reformed, and in the final scene the villain all along. Even as the audience knows this, however, even as the climax declines with police sirens and a handcuffed antagonist, they know it's too late.

He's already in love with her.

First person to comment on what the story is based on gets a special prize!

Hello, hello, hello! It's Para, here with the first installment of my new Evil America series, a set of reader inserts focusing on Dark! and 2P!America. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and, as always, comment, comment, comment!

If you want another chapter, please tell me. Thank you!

© 2015 - 2024 aph-paraph
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Angelofdarkness555's avatar
Dude this was amazing! The ending gave me chills. Everything about this gave a chilling affect that has you wanting more