#how is there at least one of these per serial for him. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aayakashii · 3 months ago

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After a long time, I offer you the sequel to this fic here 🤲

Warnings: *BANGING POTS AND PANS* KUUYA IS A SUBMISSIVE PATHETIC LOSER YANDERE IF YOU DON'T LIKE MALE SUBS YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE THIS!!!! Also: NSFW and yandere themes from Kuuya and the reader; reader is gender neutral and AFAB; 9k words 💀

Kuuya is a @devotion-disorder OC and they gave me permission to write more abt their sad and wet cat <3 I hope you like it!!! The art below is theirs as well!

♡ cannibalism as a metaphor for love ♡

The clock ticked a little bit past 6PM. You frowned as you watched the last rays of sun fade away in the sky, thinking about your house – how you could be wearing your comfortable pajamas, making some greasy popcorn while you watched a bad horror movie.

Instead, all that you had was that non-ergonomic chair, a coffee that had already gone cold and bitter and the glaring blue light of your computer burning your retinas.

You were working overtime.

It’s not a new concept for you per se, not in a black corporation such as the one you worked for. It’s just that on that specific day, it felt like everyone had left the building but you. Every cubicle was empty and the room was incredibly dim – it was anxiety inducing. You turned on as many lights as you could and put some background music to feel less isolated, but the setting simply didn’t help. You were locked in that little dystopian bubble all on your own and no amount of piled up work could make you concentrate properly when it felt like you were in purgatory.

Outside, a loud thunder made the window panes vibrate and you sighed.

“Fuck this” you murmured, getting up. You’d at least make some more coffee. Would you feel even more anxious? Yes. But you needed something to distract yourself with and brewing a new, actually sweetened pot of coffee would have to do.

You briskly walked towards the break room, trying to avoid thinking about the oppressing darkness that surrounded you, staring at your feet. However, you soon slowed down – the door to the office kitchen was closed, and you could see the light was on from the crack under the door.

Common sense would allow you to come to the conclusion that probably someone else was in the building with you, after all.

But in that moment, all that blared in your mind were the sirens of dread. Your mind went from thinking that a serial killer was hiding in the pantry to imagining a deadly monster coming to whisk you away before you ever thought about some other colleague being in the building with you.

You crossed your fingers hoping it was just the (possibly hot) monster from another dimension coming to kidnap you and slowly opened the door, ready to run if needed.

Instead, you were met with the curved back and the mop of messy lilac hair of someone you knew oh too well.

“Kuuya?” you called, quietly.

“AH!” he flinched, crinkling the plastic cup he had in his hand and spinning around to look at you. The water he was pouring in his cup splashed on his button up shirt and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

You raised your hands up, like you would do to a feral animal to show you mean no harm.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to spook you. I didn’t know there was someone else here. I thought I was alone.” you said, entering the room and feeling a little bit relieved to see another sign of life in that somber building.

Even if it was from your cute and creepy little stalker.

Kuuya hurriedly grabbed a napkin and began dabbing at his shirt, nodding silently and avoiding your eyes.

You sighed loudly as you began rummaging the kitchen’s cabinets for all the supplies you needed.

As much as you allowed yourself to indulge in your sick fantasies when it came to him, most of the time Kuuya just frustrated you. You wondered if he would ever try to talk to you. Hell, would he ever even look at you in your eyes for more than a second? It was maddening.

You knew he was far from innocent, no matter how reserved he acted around you. Didn't he literally follow you to your home just to jerk off in the bushes by your window? Where is all that courage when you're right next to him?

You wouldn't mind actually taking the initiative, but most of the time you honestly felt like you were crazy. Maybe you were so horny for that sad wet cat that you were hallucinating.

Maybe he never went to your house and it was just the wishful thinking of your deeply, deeply perverted mind.

Maybe he actually wanted to run away from you whenever you were around, but you were just too insane so you kept imagining him fisting his cock just because you breathed near him.

Although they do say that insane people never think they're insane.

God! If only he gave you A DIRECT SIGN! A green light! Something that would let you know you can take charge!

No matter how adorable his bashfulness was, he still made you feel like you were kicking a baby animal whenever you addressed him directly. And honestly, that didn't really help his case.

“Are you… okay?” his quiet voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you noticed how you were crouching and staring at a dead empty cabinet for way longer than necessary. You closed the door and got up quickly, clearing your throat.

“We’re out of coffee.” you said, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “I'm gonna order something to eat. Is there anything you want?”

Kuuya was one step away from being malnourished, you noticed. You wouldn't mind putting some food inside that scrawny body.

“Um… No, it’s not necessary… I don’t really have… um… money…”

You waved your hand dismissively as you scrolled through a delivery app.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m paying.”

Kuuya shook his head frantically while waving his hands.

“N-no, I can’t accept that!”

You side-eyed him and he visibly flinched under your glare.

“Even if you don’t tell me what you want to eat, I’m gonna order something for us. We are quite literally stranded here, I’m not going to let you go hungry.” you shrugged.

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. God, he was so cute. Why did he act like you would straight up kill him if he said something wrong, though? Were you that intimidating? Well, not intimidating enough to keep him from masturbating right by your bedroom and stealing your stuff, apparently.

“Also” you continued “It’s going to rain soon, apparently. I don't want to make some delivery guy go out in the rain to deliver us food once we’re actually hungry, so I'll just do it now.”

Kuuya opened and closed his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but nothing would come out. He looked like a little fish, you thought, as you waited for him to say something. When he didn’t after a whole minute, you just shrugged.

“Is chicken sandwich and fries okay with you?”

He nodded, hesitant yet still licking his lips unconsciously at the thought of some good actual food. You figured he was probably very hungry. In fact, you could picture it very clearly: Kuuya getting home and just eating the least nutritious instant noodles in the world, day after day. No wonder he looked so tired all the time. He was probably running low on fuel for way too long.

“Okay. So I’m gonna order those, and also some coffee and cookies. If I'm gonna stay here and be tortured by all the work I gotta do, I wanna at least have something tasty to console me.” you mumbled, more to yourself than anyone else.

And as you placed the order, you ended up missing the little lovestruck smile that quickly appeared on Kuuya’s face.

You had gone back to your cubicle while you waited for your order. Knowing you weren't completely alone calmed your nerves and you managed to work properly for the time it took for your food to arrive.

Once you had all the bags in your hands, you walked back to the kitchen and the door was open just like you had left it. Kuuya was still there, sitting at the table, nursing a tepid cup of water.

“You didn't go back to your work station ?” you said, putting the multiple bags of food on the table, earning a startled yelp from him again. You raised an eyebrow and huffed out a laugh. “You're more skittish than I am.”

He pursed his lips into a thin line, avoiding your eyes.

“S-sorry…”

You shook your head.

“There's no reason to apologize. Here, the food arrived. Let's eat?”

He nodded, hurriedly getting up to help you set up plates and cups down, wobbling a little bit like he had to consciously think about how to walk properly.

You looked at him through the corner of your eye while he washed a few dishes.

Kuuya always seemed like he was in distress. His shoulders looked tense like a violin string and there was always a little crease on his forehead. His eyebrows were almost always scrunched and raised up, giving him that kicked puppy look to his face that you found so endearing. It made you want to hold him in your arms and massage those little shoulders until they were soft under your fingers, and kiss those worry lines until he relaxed, even if just for a little while.

You clenched and unclenched your fingers, quickly busying yourself with putting the now clean plates on the table, otherwise you'd jump at him as soon as he looked at you with those pink doe eyes that you so deeply wished you could stare at for hours on end.

If only he wasn't so easily frightened.

Soon enough, everything was set on the table, ready for you to eat.

“Alright” you sat down and motioned vaguely towards the food “Dig in! Don’t be shy.”

Kuuya slowly sat down, eyeing the sandwiches like he had never seen food before in his life. Still, he kept his hands to himself and fidgeted on his chair.

“Is something wrong?”

“I- I feel like I should be paying for this. I promise I'll repay you once I get my next paycheck.” he mumbled, looking extremely embarrassed.

You tutted, shaking your head.

“Nonsense. You don't have to pay for anything. Now eat. It'll make me glad if you eat properly. That's how you can pay me back.”

He pouted for a moment, considering your words, then hesitantly grabbed the sandwich, giving it a nibble. His face lit up at the taste of the sandwich and his inhibitions then seemed to go down a little. He took a bigger bite, chewing happily. His chin was slightly smeared with sauce and you smiled.

So fucking cute.

As you ate, you noticed how he kept on shaking and nodding his head in order to move the long lilac bang that covered his right eye away from his mouth. After a few more moments just watching him struggle, you got up from your seat.

“Here, let me help you.” You reached inside your pockets and showed him a hair clip you always kept at hand. You reached out for his bangs, hovering your hand over his hair as if to ask for permission to put the clip on him.

He unceremoniously slapped his hands over his bangs and right eye, hard.

“N-no!” He yelled, sounding terrified.

You jumped, surprised at his uncharacteristic reaction, and raised your arms again, the second time that day.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, I won't touch it. You can put it on your hair if you'd like it, then. No pressure” you said, still offering the hair clip.

He slowly moved his hands away from his eye, shaking as he grabbed the clip from your palm.

“O-okay…thank you and… sorry…” he mumbled, gripping the clip tightly inside his fist.

“It's no problem. Just… please pin it in a way that will keep your hair from touching your food” you grimaced “That's not really hygienic.”

He clumsily pinned his hair to his scalp, the bangs still completely covering his right eye, but somehow precariously pinned right over his ear. You gave him a nod of approval.

“I guess that's good enough.”

You two continued eating, a painfully awkward silence looming in the atmosphere, as the heavy rain that had threatened to fall all night finally pattered against the windows.

You figured you wouldn't try to break that silence, despite how uncomfortable it was. It was time for him to try and communicate with you too, and if he didnt, well. You wouldn't spread yourself thin just to receive a few nods and indiscernible mumbles, no matter how adorable he was whenever he was flustered.

Kuuya politely thanked you for the food as he finished eating, right at the same time as you. He pushed his chair, the grating sound against the floor making the both of you flinch. He straightened himself up, as much as his hunched back would allow him to, and cleared his throat.

“I, uh. I have to go to the bathroom. I'll- I'll clean everything up, so you can leave it there. I'll be right- I'll be right back.” He stuttered, eyes flitting everywhere around the corners of the kitchen, except to you. He was tightly grabbing his elbow with his other hand, until he visibly relaxed when you nodded at his words, like he needed your permission, and scrambled out of the room.

You waited a minute or two after he left, before getting up and quickly walking towards the men's bathroom as well.

Yeah, right. Sure. Bathroom.

You might not have known Kuuya that well yet, but you knew one little thing: he was a terrible liar.

You opened the door to the bathroom as quietly as you could, hoping it wouldn't creak and possibly rat you out. When you managed to close it behind you without a sound, you exhaled a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

Stepping slowly and carefully, you walked towards the bathroom stalls and stood still for a second.

Yeah. There it was.

Your mouth quirked up into a pleased smile when you heard the sound of heavy breathing coming from a stall to your left. Gasps and choked out little moans reached your ears and went straight into your core.

Kuuya was jerking off in that bathroom stall.

You licked your lips and kept moving slowly, much like a predator trying not to be seen. You slotted yourself into the stall right beside him and crouched on top of the toilet, effectively hiding your feet from him in case he looked down.

But from the sounds coming out of his stall, he was already way too cumbrained to notice anything around him.

You could hear the sounds of his hand rubbing his cock mercilessly as he groaned, probably a little louder than he should if he was trying to be subtle.

Your breathing became heavy.

You found yourself imagining his hand grabbing his shaft tightly, rubbing his thumb against the angry pink tip of his dick, smearing the beads of precum all over his length. His other hand would be lifting his shirt to pinch and pull at his nipple, eliciting those cute little gasps you kept hearing from where you were standing.

Begrudgingly, you undid your pants’ zipper and shoved your hand into your already leaking cunt.

His moans got louder, the lewd, wet sounds of him fucking his own hand going faster and you thought of how his cock would be twitching, balls heavy with cum tightening as a warning sign that he was about to come undone.

Your fingers circled your clit, eyes closed and mouth agape with a silent moan at how fucking hot he sounded and how filthy you felt for getting off to him without his consent – but it's not like he didn't do the same to you before.

A loud, shaky moan came out of him as he apparently came all over his own hand. You thought of how he would ride his own high, squeezing every last drop of his load out of his cock until the overstimulation would be too much and he'd halt his movements.

You heard him pant heavily, stopping your movements so he wouldn't hear the wet sounds of your pussy. You were so far away from your own high, but listening to his little mewls was more than worth the frustration.

Until he opened his mouth again to moan your name.

“I love you… I love you I love you I love you, fuckfuckfuck I love you so so much.. a-ah fuuuuck…” the sounds of him furiously jerking off reached your ears again and your eyes fluttered shut as you tried to control your breathing.

He kept moaning and whining your name over and over again, probably leaning against the stall's wall as everything began to shake in the same rhythm of his hips.

You bit your knuckle hard, trying to avoid making any sounds while you rubbed yourself, chasing your orgasm to the glorious sound of your pathetic stalker fucking himself silly in your workplace's bathroom.

His whiny, slutty voice sounded like honey, viscous and sweet – something that you would swallow eagerly, leaving your tongue heavy with his syrupy, nauseating taste.

You bit your knuckle harder as you felt the frustration of chasing a release that would not come, because you desperately wanted to taste him; to glide your tongue over his skin and memorize the salty flavor of his sweat and the musky scent of his body. Anything else would not work for you anymore.

You could eat him whole, truly. You needed your hands and your stomach and your pussy to be full of him. Urgently.

You stopped toying with your clit, allowing the anger of not even having a sad, unsatisfying orgasm wash over your body.

Kuuya seemed to finish much quicker this time, your name in his lips loud as he came a second time.

You looked down and bit your lip, pulling your own hair in frustration – you could see a few drops of his cum drip onto the bathroom floor, pitifully wasted.

Closing your eyes, you forced yourself to breathe deeply and closed your eyes.

First, you needed to get out of there without him noticing so he wouldn't have a mental breakdown and run away. And then, only after that, you could think of the next steps of your plan.

You allowed yourself to rest your head against the wall, waiting for him to clean himself up and leave.

It was so weird, this desperate attraction you had for Kuuya and how afraid you were of messing everything up. You had your previous crushes before, sure. But nothing was ever as strong as the desire you had to cradle that stupid man in your arms and keep him with you, safe.

You knew things were different once you found out he was obsessed with you and it still didn't extinguish that little fire inside of your core.

Usually, you'd lose interest in people as soon as they began expressing interest in you as well – you knew it was wrong and you had brought it up during therapy sessions, but it never really bothered you.

Until Kuuya.

When you confirmed your suspicions (that he was insanely obsessed and even went as far as stalking you) you felt a strange excitement bubble in your stomach – like you had achieved something.

It made you shiver in anticipation for those little moments in which your eyes would meet his and he'd blush furiously, or when you'd purposely brush your hand against his only to watch how he twitched and rubbed his thighs together.

You were addicted to him. You wanted him even more after finding out about his feelings, and that was new to you. That was something you weren't willing to let go.

And with that, came the fear that Kuuya might be just like you. What if he was an emotionally constipated mess like yourself? What if he lost all interest as soon as you gave him an opening? Just because he was different for you, didn't mean you'd be special to him, in the off case he had the same bad habits.

That was why you were so cautious, so slow in your movements. You didn't want him to run. You didn't want to lose the feeling of being reciprocated. You'd protect it the same way you'd protect a tiny flame against the whip of a merciless wind.

But after hearing him moan your name like a needy whore, you didn't think you could hold it in anymore.

Kuuya had already left for a good 5 minutes while you were lost in your thoughts.

You quickly cleaned yourself and walked towards the sinks to wash your hands. You looked at yourself in the mirror of the men's bathroom. Sweat stuck to your forehead and your face looked flush. You were out of breath and your heart beat fast and loud inside your ribcage.

You turned on the sink, splashing cold water against your face and, after you dried up, you stared at your reflection again.

Well. So Kuuya had loudly moaned your name as he fucked his own fist. And you had masturbated to the sounds of his gasps and mumbles of your name.

No matter how paranoid you were – you were very much sure you weren't fucking hallucinating any of that.

“Walk me home?” you went to his desk after you finished the last of the details in your reports, fully intent on taking him with you to your home.

‘It’s now or never’, you thought to yourself.

“S-sorry?” he sputtered.

“Walk me home?" you repeated "The rain stopped, but it's kinda late. I don't want to walk alone. It's too dark.”

He seemed to consider your request for way too long. Anxiety began bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and, for a moment, you thought it'd be better to just pretend you never asked anything, until he answered you.

“Okay… I can go with you.” he murmured, getting up and grabbing his shoulder bag.

You let out a breath of relief you didn't know you were holding, and smiled.

“Thank you, Kuuya!”

You didn't miss how he bit his lips and shivered at your words.

The walk home was uneventful, as you expected. Kuuya walked by your side and insisted on staying on the road's side of the sidewalk. You praised him for being a gentleman and he became a blushing and stuttering mess, but besides that, he was quiet.

You arrived at your door and Kuuya hovered right beside you, watching you fumble with your keys.

You weren't very good at hiding your anxiety after all.

Once the door opened, you stepped inside and held it for him.

“Come inside for a moment.” you murmured after clearing your throat.

You watched his throat bob up and down when he swallowed hard. He probably had many questions and, honestly, you couldn't blame him. You had no reason to invite him to your house.

At least not obvious reasons, that is.

He did as you told after a few seconds of hesitation, although he had confusion written all over his face.

“Why… why did you invite me in?” he finally asked while he watched you shrug off your coat and kick off your boots. You motioned for him to take off his shoes as well and leave them beside yours.

“Just something I gotta do.” you answered, observing him clumsily undo the knots on his shoes.

He cocked his head to the side, looking up at you.

“What?”

Once he was finished putting his shoes right beside yours, you beckoned him with your finger, and began walking deeper inside your house and towards your room, hoping he would follow.

He did, dumb shock plastered on his face, but still compliant.

You opened the door and motioned for him to enter. As soon as he was inside, you slammed the door behind you and locked it.

Kuuya's eyes were wide as he quickly turned to look at you. He seemed terrified, the poor thing, but this time you wouldn't back down. You couldn't.

“Shhh, it's okay. No need to be so scared” you shushed him as he opened his mouth, walking slowly towards him. You placed your hand on his chest and pushed him towards your bed.

When he plopped unceremoniously on the mattress, you looked at his pants.

He was already hard.

You smirked.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” you asked in a murmur while you leaned towards his trembling figure, wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks with your thumb and holding your weight over him with your other arm.

“N-no…?”

You cocked your head, actually surprised at his answer.

“Really? Are you really that clueless?” you traced his jaw with your finger, and he squirmed underneath you, rubbing his thighs together to get any friction on the bulge inside his pants.

“I…” he cleared his throat “I don't understand.”

“Well, I, for one, am not clueless you know.” your fingers traced the length of his neck, and you smiled when a few goosebumps pricked his skin.

He gulped.

“I know you jerked off to me earlier today.” you said flatly, with a sickening sweet voice while your finger now teased and rubbed his pebbled nipples through his shirt.

He gasped and you didn't know if it was from surprise or pleasure.

“I also know you followed me some weeks ago and jerked off in that bush outside my window.” you pointed to the window hidden behind your blinds and he followed your gaze, eyes watery and cheeks a bright red.

“And I know you steal my stuff and my trash so you can keep it.” he was still looking at your window when you palmed his bulge through his pants. He arched his back, moaning loudly, and you grinned maniacally at his reaction.

Pretty slut.

“Do you… D-do you think I'm disgusting?” he asked, shamelessly grinding his hips against your palm.

“Yeah, I do. I think you're disgusting and a creep.” he moaned at your words, but his eyes closed tightly, and a few more tears ran down his cheeks. He had a pained expression on his pretty face, like you had hurt his fragile feelings.

Apparently Kuuya knew how to tug on your heartstrings.

You moved your hand away from his pants, fully aware of the damp spot that had formed on the fabric.

“But so am I.” you completed and he opened his eyes wide, looking at you like you had just grown a second head.

“Seeing you so desperate and needy…” you shook your head in defeat “It does things to me, you know.”

“I-it does?” he asked, all doe eyed, blushing and hopeful. You sighed at the sight, trying to burn it forever into your brain.

“Mhm. Yeah. It makes me wanna eat you whole.”

Kuuya shuddered as you placed your hand back on his chest, gliding it towards his throat. You held his neck firmly for a second before you gently cupped his warm and reddened cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes like a cat.

“Will you let me, Kuuya?” you whispered.

“W-what?” He opened his still teary eyes, gazing at you expectantly.

“Will you let me eat you?”

A beat of silence went by and you almost felt the ugly head of shame peek into your mind, but then he nodded, a single tear falling onto your thumb.

“Y-yes.”

Like a thin thread snapping, you kneeled onto the ground and pulled his waist towards you, letting his legs hang limply on your sides. Your fingers trembled as you undid his belt buckle and you looked at him.

Kuuya was propping himself onto one of his elbows, his other hand covering his mouth as he watched you hastily take off his pants and boxers. His hard cock sprung free, leaking pathetically, and your mouth watered at the sight.

You were starving.

It was time to eat.

Kuuya felt like he was dreaming. Or maybe he died and his very own heaven (if he would even be allowed there) was having you suck his painfully hard cock.

He forced his eyes to stay open so he could watch you. The way your tongue swirled on his head and pressed mercilessly on his slit – you had barely put his cock inside your mouth and he already felt like he was melting.

He knew he was sounding pathetic. He whined and squirmed against your hands while you kept his thighs open. It was so good, it was feeling so good he was losing control of his body.

When you started bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks to suck him harshly, he thought he would die. It had to be wrong, to feel this good. It was criminal.

Kuuya moaned like a whore and, deep inside, in the still conscious part of his mind, he wondered if you liked it. He hoped you did, he hoped his pathetic high pitched groans made you soak your panties because he couldn't control them.

Not when you were sucking him so good.

He bucked his hips against your mouth, the sound of your gag snapping him out of his daze for a moment so he could mumble a “sorry”, but then you moaned.

You moaned and the vibrations of your throat went through his cock and he lost it, completely. He held your head firmly, thrusting frantically into your mouth as he repeated “'m sorry! 'm sorry! 'm sorry!” until the words lost all meaning to him. With a stutter, his hips bucked again and he spilled inside your mouth, his slurred words elongating into a pornographic moan.

You opened your mouth wide, relaxing your throat as soon as his cum began spurting, eagerly swallowing the salty taste of him while he rode his orgasm until he couldn't take the stimulation of your soft mouth anymore.

As you dabbed the drops of cum that had spilled from your mouth, he suddenly wondered, in the back of his mind, if you already had any practice doing this kind of stuff. He panted, face warm and red, dick twitching while he looked at you wiping your mouth and licking your fingers. And he felt jealous at the thought.

He wanted to be the only one. He couldn't handle the thought of you touching anyone else like that. He hated it. Hated it. He had to be the only one you'd touch like that. God, he wished he could go back in time to prevent you from touching anyone else, just so you'd always be his alone.

A few angry tears pricked in the corner of his eyes and he tackled you to the ground, surprising you with a hug.

“K-kuuya?!” you squeaked, the air leaving your lungs went he laid all his weight on you.

Kuuya began rubbing his cheek against yours, sharing the sweat that stuck to his forehead with your face, making you grimace.

“W-what's wrong?” You asked in a murmur, after reciprocating his hug.

He whined wordlessly and began untangling himself from you, holding himself up by his trembling arms.

And, for a long moment, he just stared at you.

You thought he looked beautiful.

He wasn't exactly the most handsome man in the world, but to you, he looked angelic.

His lilac hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. His lips were a pretty red, as if he had bitten them too hard, and his eyes were half-lidded and clouded with lust and sheer adoration. It sent tingles down your spine. You wondered if anyone has ever looked at you like that, but you already knew that no one has ever held you in such high regard. It made your heart race and your core burn.

You could sear the image of him under your eyelids and you would never tire of it.

He was gorgeous.

You tucked a strand of damp hair behind his ear and then cupped his cheek. Your thumb rubbed his skin gently and his eyes fluttered shut. He began leaning against your touch again, before he stopped himself and opened his eyes. You looked at him, puzzled, when he averted his gaze.

“U-um…” he began, after clearing his throat. You kept quiet, allowing for him to continue.

“C-can I… um. Can I eat you too?” He mumbled, closing his eyes tightly. You felt your face tingle at his words and his adorable embarrassment.

“Yes” you murmured and he opened his eyes wide “Yes, please.”

Kuuya quickly sat up on his knees, and looked around, apparently finally realizing you two were laying on the ground.

“Do you… want to move to the bed?” he asked bashfully, and you chuckled.

“Yes, it'd be more comfortable.”

He got up, holding out his hand to help you up as well. He didn't really have enough strength to pull you up, so you just held his hand tightly, not wanting to reject his help, as you gracelessly lifted yourself from the ground.

As soon as you were standing, you began pushing the waistband of your pants down, but Kuuya's hands quickly stopped you, holding you tightly. You widened your eyes as you looked at him.

“I… want to do that.” he said, bashfully.

Wow. Who would have thought he'd be so brazen for once.

You smiled, nodding, and laid on your bed, making yourself comfortable.

You observed how Kuuya was already rock hard again and he had yet to touch you properly. He was insatiable for you and it made your pussy clench around nothing.

He was going to be the death of you.

Kuuya, in a sudden development, decided that it didn't matter what happened in the past. What happened, happened. All he needed to do was make you forget about it all.

He needed to be good. He needed to fuck you so good that you'd forget anyone you might have hooked up with in the past. He needed to make you addicted to his tongue, his fingers and his cock so you'd always go back to him for more.

Granted, he didn't know how he was going to do that since he was a literal virgin, but he hoped his enthusiasm would convince you to give him more chances, until he had mapped every little crevice of your body and all the little buttons that made you squirm.

Kuuya licked his lips, slowly pulling the hem of your pants down while he kneeled on your bed. The sight of your soaked panties made him gasp loud, and he had to grip the base of his cock tightly, hissing as he threw his head back. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down while he swallowed hard, concentrating on not allowing himself to cum.

He couldn't allow himself to cum untouched just by looking at your wet cunt. At least not in front of you. Not right there. He would, however, be filing this image inside the safest corners of his brain to become prime masturbation material later on, that's for sure.

He leaned in, warm and shaky breath hitting the damp spot on your panties. His tongue lolled out unconsciously and he licked a long stripe over the fabric of your underwear.

He was so sure he had died. That's the only possible answer for all the things happening right at that moment. Not only did you suck him, now he was tasting your pussy?

Oh god. He was tasting your pussy.

It was like something broke inside of him, allowing all of his obsession to spill over as soon as he pressed his tongue against you. He moaned loudly, ripping your underwear away only to grip it tightly in his hand as he, at last, dived into you.

He was going to keep it to himself as a prize.

Kuuya slurped and sucked and licked your wetness like a starved man. He wasn't focusing on the task at hand; instead, he was just getting drunk on your juices and your musk, moaning like someone who had just eaten the most delicious sweet. Oh he was so cute, all pussydrunk like that.

You hummed, gently holding a fistful of his hair as you grinded lightly against his eager tongue. You… probably weren't going to cum if he didn't suck you with a little bit more intent, but you figured you'd just let him enjoy himself for a bit more.

Just looking at his eyes rolling and hearing the sinful whimpers and grunts he was letting out was already doing something to you.

Soon enough, however, Kuuya seemed to discover that one little bundle of nerves. He gave it a few kitten licks before curling his lips against it to suck, and it was finally your turn to roll your eyes.

Your hand gripped his hair tighter and your back arched while he rolled his tongue against your clit; eyes wide when he realized he must have done something right.

One of his hands tentatively rubbed against your entrance and you cooed.

“Yes Kuuya, that's a good boy… Put one of your fingers inside me, baby”

He gasped against your pussy, the praise clearly making him lose his focus. A mean part of your brain thought about stuffing him with a butt plug just so you could make him wag a little tail whenever you praised him, but that would have to be an adventure for a later time.

He began pumping two fingers inside you, mouth going slack in awe once he heard the shlick of your wet cunt, and drool pooling at the side of his mouth.

He was so clueless and so, so cute. You couldn't help but think about actually making a mess of him.

“Kuuya” you said, not as a moan, but as a call. He stopped his motions for a second and looked at you – doe eyed, mouth and chin still glistening with your cum.

You licked your lips at the sight.

“I'll sit up a bit. I want you to lay down on the bed.” You said, as you shifted your position and rested your back against the headrest, making him crawl towards you to keep his head between your legs.

You watched as he slowly rested his body against the bed, a little yelp coming out of his lips when his hardened length pressed against the mattress.

“Good boy.” You praised him as you ran your knuckles on the sticky skin of his cheek and he whined.

“Now I want you to hump the bed while you eat me out.” you said, flatly.

Kuuya's eyes widened like saucers.

“W-what?”

“You're hard, aren't you?” You ran your hand through his head, caressing his hair gently “I want you to fuck the bed while you eat me out. I want to watch you move your hips like a pretty slut. Can you do that for me?”

He blinked, staying silent as you kept threading your fingers through his hair. The furious blush that spread through his face and neck was anything but unnoticeable.

“I can give you a pillow, if you'd rather hump it instead of the bed” you added, figuring he was probably already addicted to humping his own pillow like a dog in heat, so it wouldn't hurt to make him comfortable while he obeyed you.

“Y-yes… I would like a pillow then.” He whispered.

You mouthed an okay and gave him your favorite pillow – the one you usually hugged while sleeping. You wondered if he knew that. And by the way his eyes lit up when he saw the pillow, you figured he probably did.

“Take off your shirt? Please?” you asked him, after he positioned the pillow where he wanted it to be.

Kuuya pouted at your request, and as you were about to tell him he didn't need to do it if it made him uncomfortable, his trembling hands moved to unbutton his shirt slowly. You reached out to him, pausing his hands. He looked at you, sad puppy eyes glistening with tears.

“Do you want to take off your shirt? You don't have to if you don't want to.” you reassured him.

He sniffled, looking away.

“I-I don't mind.” he mumbled and you knew he was probably hiding his discomfort to please you and would never tell you the truth.

Kuuya seemed thirsty for your approval in every little thing, to the detriment of himself. It made a little monster inside of you roar with the desperate need to keep him tucked away, safe with you, just like a dragon who hoards gold in a faraway cave.

Your thumb caressed his still trembling hands.

“Then just leave these buttons undone. You don't have to take it off.”

“But-”

“Kuuya.” You said his name firmly, making him flinch despite the gentle touch of your hand against his. You noticed how his cock twitched at that as well. “It's okay. Now please be a good boy.”

You went back to your position against the headrest and opened your legs, pussy still dripping and throbbing with the lack of attention. He gulped, licking his lips and nodded furiously.

It was hard, coordinating his movements. All Kuuya had known his whole life was to jerk off or hump his pillow, but now he had to suck you, lick you, pump his fingers inside you AND hump your precious pillow. Not that he was complaining. He loved it. It was Heaven.

But he felt a bit self conscious about his abilities, or lack thereof.

Just like he was self conscious when you asked him to strip. He hated his body – he was so scrawny and weak-looking, he felt disgusting. What if you hated him? What if you wanted something else in a partner? He couldn't risk having you uninterested in him! Not when he got what he so desperately wanted!

Showing you his body would have to wait until he was either convinced you truly wanted him, or until he got you locked up in his apartment. The last option was the most tempting to him – having you shackled to his barred window would be a guarantee that you wouldn't run away after all.

But for now, all he could do was his best – all while suffocating you with his affections until you drowned in them.

The squelching sounds of your pussy as he pumped his fingers inside you were driving him insane.

Kuuya humped your pillow like a dumb dog in heat – his hips almost bounced against the bed with how hard and deep he was thrusting. He couldn't wait until he was balls deep inside your cunt, the leaky tip of his cock kissing your cervix until he filled you whole.

He felt dizzy. He half registered how loud his moans were; all he could think was about your cum all over his face and how he fucked your pillow, mean and fast.

“C-curl your fingers up, baby” you whined, pulling his hair, and this finally got his attention.

He acquiesced, because he was good. He was so good for you and he was going to learn everything you liked because no one else would ever touch your body ever again.

Only him.

And he had to learn it all to keep you satisfied and happy, so you'd praise him and fuck the brains out of him as a reward. It was the perfect exchange! You'd be his and he'd be yours and nothing could ever keep his grubby hands away from you now.

He would do whatever you asked.

He felt a spongy texture against the pad of his fingers, and when you mewled, legs spasming around him, he knew he had found gold, somehow.

He halted the movement of his hips to focus on swirling his tongue against your clit and fingering your cunt at an insane speed. He would for sure be extremely sore the next day, but he only cared about your loud moans and how your thighs were squishing his head so tight and so good.

When you finally came, he groaned at the feeling of your cunt squeezing his fingers inside you, pulling them deeper inside with a vice grip, and the taste of your cum wetting his whole face. He reached his own peak at the thought of how HE was the one who made you curl your toes and soak your bed sheets like that.

And another proof that he was made for you was added into his mind.

But it was too fucking much. For the first time in his life, Kuuya felt drunk. He needed more or he would die. He needed more more more more.

Maybe more than you could even give.

He didn't let you breathe at all.

As soon as your eyes fluttered open again, coming down from your high, he began crawling on top of you, panting like a feral dog. You watched as a sticky thread of his cum momentarily connected his dick to your now wet pillow and despite all that, he was still fucking hard. How was that even possible was beyond you, but you didn't have time to linger on those thoughts when he hovered over you.

“I wanna cum in you” he moaned, still moving his hips, humping your mound. His eyes were glazed over, like he wasn't all there with you, and his pupils were blown wide.

“I wanna cum in you” he repeated, panting, a little bit of drool spilling from the corner of his mouth “I need to cum in-inside you. I need to fill you up, please. Let me breed you? Please? I wanna be inside you and hnng- pump you full of my cum, please? Let me cum inside, please? Please please please let me breed you, please” he slurred nonstop, almost incoherently, while he frantically moved his hips like he couldn't control them.

He was so drunk with you that he was desperate and talking like he had never done before.

It was pathetic.

And so fucking hot.

“Shhh baby, it's okay” you cooed, petting his head to calm him down while your other hand squeezed his hip to try and still his movements “You can fuck me, it's okay. I'm not going anywhere.”

He whined, nodding his head and sniffling as a few tears ran down his cheeks, seemingly coming back to his senses a little bit.

“It's okay, love” you pulled his head towards you, cradling him on your chest. You kept on petting him, while your other hand softly scratched his back in order to calm him down.

Once his breathing was a little less erratic, you let him raise his chest again.

“You okay?” you murmured.

He nodded, rubbing his eyes. Then he looked down at his cock and back at you. You chuckled. He really was insatiable.

You threw your arms around his neck, eyes half-lidded.

“Then go on and fill me up” you murmured against his ear, enjoying the shiver that went down his spine.

You didn't need to ask twice.

Kuuya was so nervous.

He was about to be inside his love! He was about to fill them up with his cum, but the thought itself was already throwing him to the edge. He would have to do his best to not cum once he felt your gummy walls squeeze his cock.

Easier said than done.

Kuuya threw his head back again, a guttural moan erupting from his chest as soon as he got the head past your entrance. He heaved loudly, focusing so hard on not spilling himself so soon, whimpering whenever your walls clenched around him.

“Y-you okay?” you asked breathlessly and all he could do was nod with a pained expression on his face.

“It's okay, take it slow” you added, gently rubbing his thighs.

You were an angel, truly. Only you would have so much patience with someone as pathetic as him. He had to fuck you good! He had to show you that you could depend on him! This way you would keep pampering him like he so desperately needed.

Through pure determination, Kuuya pushed himself further, moaning pornographically with every inch that went inside you. Once you had taken him down his hilt, he exhaled, shakily.

“T-there you go…” you groaned “Filling me up so much, my good boy.”

Kuuya whimpered. He was torn between asking you not to say those things so he wouldn't cum, and lapping up your praise like a parched man.

He began moving, slowly thrusting in and out of your wet cunt, and he felt like he was melting all over again. He was going to be just a puddle, with how good it felt. You clenched tightly around his length like you were trying to milk him dry and he realized that he was probably going to be addicted to this from then on – there was no going back.

His nails dug into the plush of your hips as he began pounding into you, fast and erratic, the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass and the wet noise of his cock being drenched in your juices were so dirty and he loved it. He couldn't help the “Ah! Ah! Ah!” he kept letting out to the rhythm of his thrusts.

You were just so good, so made for him, so his.

With a sudden movement, Kuuya hooked his arms under your legs and pushed you. He always saw that position in those porn videos, and he always wanted to do it to you. The mating press. He wanted to push himself inside you as far as he could and then fill you up with his jizz. Ah, just thinking about it made his cock twitch inside of you.

He wondered if you could feel his fast and loud heartbeat in your pussy, since his cock was so damn hard. It would be almost painful if it wasn't for your glorious wetness sucking him in so good and taking care of him.

You grabbed one of Kuuya's hand and brought it to your clit, urging him to draw little circles on it to bring you over that edge. He rubbed it quick and merciless, looking down at how your pussy was swallowing his cock, so wet that a ring of white had formed around its base as he fucked you, and how your clit also twitched under his fingers.

Not long after, you felt your abdomen tighten and your walls clench around him as you reached your orgasm, arching your back while you desperately pushed his hand away from your clit to avoid overstimulation.

Watching you cum so hard because of his very own ministrations made Kuuya cross over that edge right away as well. With a high pitched moan, he spurted his load inside you – so much cum that it spilled down to your bed and Kuuya mindlessly tried to push it back into you while he rode his high.

His chest was heaving and his eyes were glazed over, the look of pure adoration still visible in his pink orbs as he looked at you, sweaty and thoroughly fucked (by him! Not by a toy! Much less another man! Not ever again.)

He wanted more. He needed more. He felt like he could cum over and over again inside you and fuck you silly for hours on end.

But as he opened his dry mouth to say these words, a sudden tiredness took over his body and his eyelids got impossibly heavy.

Kuuya fell down into your arms, unconsciously snuggling your figure, his softening dick still inside you as he cuddled your body and placed kisses on your sticky skin. It wasn't long until his breathing became steady and sleep took over his body.

You decided you'd let 5 or 10 minutes pass before you'd wake him up in order to drink some water, eat some protein bars and join you in the shower so you two could clean up.

But damn it, was he adorable while sleeping. He had a little pout on his bottom lip, but besides that, his face finally looked relaxed. The first time you've seen him like that in all those months you two have been coworkers.

Pride swelled in your chest as you thought about how you're the first one to ever see him like that.

The scared wet cat finally in your arms, ready for you to coddle, kiss, fuck, take care of and protect from any harm.

You unconsciously tightened your hold on him, feeling a wave of possessiveness so vile that it made you dizzy for a second.

It was a bit too much, what you seemed to feel for him. But you weren't willing to analyze that at that moment. He was right there in your arms, clutching you like you were his lifeline – and that was more than enough for you.

At least your anxiety and paranoia had been completely quelled. If he was so desperate to fuck you after you confessed you were a bit creepy for him as well, then maybe it was okay for you to be more upfront with your desires, just like he was.

Even though he truly would never guess he was being so obvious.

It was so cute, how he thought you really didn't know about anything he ever did. Not the stalking, nor the stealing. And not even the little thoughtful things he could straight up tell you because you'd genuinely appreciate them.

However, regardless of him telling you or not, you just knew everything. Your poor little baby wasn't very subtle, after all.

Therefore, you very much knew Kuuya had stayed behind with you at work just because he knew you'd be there. He thought he was elusive, but you could pick up his intentions from miles and miles away. As soon as you first saw him idling alone in that kitchen, it all clicked perfectly in your head.

Kuuya was so silly and so dumb, sometimes. But it was okay because that made him so, so cute that you could eat him up.

Over and over and over again.

#kuuya posting #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere oc #devotion disorder

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mostlysignssomeportents · 14 days ago

Text

Shifting $677m from the banks to the people, every year, forever

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

"Switching costs" are one of the great underappreciated evils in our world: the more it costs you to change from one product or service to another, the worse the vendor, provider, or service you're using today can treat you without risking your business.

Businesses set out to keep switching costs as high as possible. Literally. Mark Zuckerberg's capos send him memos chortling about how Facebook's new photos feature will punish anyone who leaves for a rival service with the loss of all their family photos – meaning Zuck can torment those users for profit and they'll still stick around so long as the abuse is less bad than the loss of all their cherished memories:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

It's often hard to quantify switching costs. We can tell when they're high, say, if your landlord ties your internet service to your lease (splitting the profits with a shitty ISP that overcharges and underdelivers), the switching cost of getting a new internet provider is the cost of moving house. We can tell when they're low, too: you can switch from one podcatcher program to another just by exporting your list of subscriptions from the old one and importing it into the new one:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

But sometimes, economists can get a rough idea of the dollar value of high switching costs. For example, a group of economists working for the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau calculated that the hassle of changing banks is costing Americans at least $677m per year (see page 526):

https://files.consumerfinance.gov/f/documents/cfpb_personal-financial-data-rights-final-rule_2024-10.pdf

The CFPB economists used a very conservative methodology, so the number is likely higher, but let's stick with that figure for now. The switching costs of changing banks – determining which bank has the best deal for you, then transfering over your account histories, cards, payees, and automated bill payments – are costing everyday Americans more than half a billion dollars, every year.

Now, the CFPB wasn't gathering this data just to make you mad. They wanted to do something about all this money – to find a way to lower switching costs, and, in so doing, transfer all that money from bank shareholders and executives to the American public.

And that's just what they did. A newly finalized Personal Financial Data Rights rule will allow you to authorize third parties – other banks, comparison shopping sites, brokers, anyone who offers you a better deal, or help you find one – to request your account data from your bank. Your bank will be required to provide that data.

I loved this rule when they first proposed it:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/10/getting-things-done/#deliverism

And I like the final rule even better. They've really nailed this one, even down to the fine-grained details where interop wonks like me get very deep into the weeds. For example, a thorny problem with interop rules like this one is "who gets to decide how the interoperability works?" Where will the data-formats come from? How will we know they're fit for purpose?

This is a super-hard problem. If we put the monopolies whose power we're trying to undermine in charge of this, they can easily cheat by delivering data in uselessly obfuscated formats. For example, when I used California's privacy law to force Mailchimp to provide list of all the mailing lists I've been signed up for without my permission, they sent me thousands of folders containing more than 5,900 spreadsheets listing their internal serial numbers for the lists I'm on, with no way to find out what these lists are called or how to get off of them:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/22/degoogled/#kafka-as-a-service

So if we're not going to let the companies decide on data formats, who should be in charge of this? One possibility is to require the use of a standard, but again, which standard? We can ask a standards body to make a new standard, which they're often very good at, but not when the stakes are high like this. Standards bodies are very weak institutions that large companies are very good at capturing:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/30/weak-institutions/

Here's how the CFPB solved this: they listed out the characteristics of a good standards body, listed out the data types that the standard would have to encompass, and then told banks that so long as they used a standard from a good standards body that covered all the data-types, they'd be in the clear.

Once the rule is in effect, you'll be able to go to a comparison shopping site and authorize it to go to your bank for your transaction history, and then tell you which bank – out of all the banks in America – will pay you the most for your deposits and charge you the least for your debts. Then, after you open a new account, you can authorize the new bank to go back to your old bank and get all your data: payees, scheduled payments, payment history, all of it. Switching banks will be as easy as switching mobile phone carriers – just a few clicks and a few minutes' work to get your old number working on a phone with a new provider.

This will save Americans at least $677 million, every year. Which is to say, it will cost the banks at least $670 million every year.

Naturally, America's largest banks are suing to block the rule:

https://www.americanbanker.com/news/cfpbs-open-banking-rule-faces-suit-from-bank-policy-institute

Of course, the banks claim that they're only suing to protect you, and the $677m annual transfer from their investors to the public has nothing to do with it. The banks claim to be worried about bank-fraud, which is a real thing that we should be worried about. They say that an interoperability rule could make it easier for scammers to get at your data and even transfer your account to a sleazy fly-by-night operation without your consent. This is also true!

It is obviously true that a bad interop rule would be bad. But it doesn't follow that every interop rule is bad, or that it's impossible to make a good one. The CFPB has made a very good one.

For starters, you can't just authorize anyone to get your data. Eligible third parties have to meet stringent criteria and vetting. These third parties are only allowed to ask for the narrowest slice of your data needed to perform the task you've set for them. They aren't allowed to use that data for anything else, and as soon as they've finished, they must delete your data. You can also revoke their access to your data at any time, for any reason, with one click – none of this "call a customer service rep and wait on hold" nonsense.

What's more, if your bank has any doubts about a request for your data, they are empowered to (temporarily) refuse to provide it, until they confirm with you that everything is on the up-and-up.

I wrote about the lawsuit this week for @[email protected]'s Deeplinks blog:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/10/no-matter-what-bank-says-its-your-money-your-data-and-your-choice

In that article, I point out the tedious, obvious ruses of securitywashing and privacywashing, where a company insists that its most abusive, exploitative, invasive conduct can't be challenged because that would expose their customers to security and privacy risks. This is such bullshit.

It's bullshit when printer companies say they can't let you use third party ink – for your own good:

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2024/01/hp-ceo-blocking-third-party-ink-from-printers-fights-viruses/

It's bullshit when car companies say they can't let you use third party mechanics – for your own good:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

It's bullshit when Apple says they can't let you use third party app stores – for your own good:

https://www.eff.org/document/letter-bruce-schneier-senate-judiciary-regarding-app-store-security

It's bullshit when Facebook says you can't independently monitor the paid disinformation in your feed – for your own good:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#quis-custodiet-ipsos-zuck

And it's bullshit when the banks say you can't change to a bank that charges you less, and pays you more – for your own good.

CFPB boss Rohit Chopra is part of a cohort of Biden enforcers who've hit upon a devastatingly effective tactic for fighting corporate power: they read the law and found out what they're allowed to do, and then did it:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/23/getting-stuff-done/#praxis

The CFPB was created in 2010 with the passage of the Consumer Financial Protection Act, which specifically empowers the CFPB to make this kind of data-sharing rule. Back when the CFPA was in Congress, the banks howled about this rule, whining that they were being forced to share their data with their competitors.

But your account data isn't your bank's data. It's your data. And the CFPB is gonna let you have it, and they're gonna save you and your fellow Americans at least $677m/year – forever.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/01/bankshot/#personal-financial-data-rights

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reiding-writing · 7 months ago

Note

HI LOVE UR WORK ESPECIALLY COLD READER IVE BEEN BINGING THEM AND I NEED MOREE

Soo speaking of i think prompt 15 could be a really cute cold reader prompt for something and I WOULD LOVE IT

HOMETOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˌhəʊmˈtaʊn/

15. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

WARNINGS: fem!reader, mentions of spencer’s bullying, made up childhood bully (sorry spence <3), swearing as per, typical cold!reader antics

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff?? || 3.0k || event masterlist!!

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

a/n: great minds think alike huh? the fact that both these requests specified for it to be cold!reader as well is insane to me 😭😭

There’s that saying that the worst people in school always end up going into jobs that provide for others; The idea that petty school bullies take up careers in hospitality or community service despite all of their obvious social flaws.

Honestly, Spencer always found the idea ridiculous. They had just as much of a chance as going into a hospitality job as they did a 9-5 office job.

Their attitude didn’t have any causational impact on their future career whatsoever, people just focused on the people that did end up in those fields and then generalised it to the larger population with no reasonable backing.

But he’d be lying if that wasn’t the first thing that ran through his head when he walked into station 14 of the LVMPD and ran right into somebody from his middle school.

Somebody who fit that god awful false idea to a T.

“We’ll get you set up asap, Robinson, DeGaris, show the agents to 22B will you?”

Spencer knew the second he turned around. Some people’s faces never really mature through puberty. The bone structure doesn’t change and they just end up looking like a taller version of their child self.

“Would you look at that? Looks like we’ve made it to the big leagues,” Officer DeGaris nudges his partner with a raise of his eyebrows, and Robinson shakes his head with a short laugh in response.

“More like we’re doing such a bad job they had to call in the big leagues,” Robinson pushes DeGaris’ head away with the palm of his hand before clasping his fists together at his waist. “Welcome to Las Vegas, land of casinos, neon signs, and… serial killers apparently— Uh I’m Caleb, this is Will, chances are you’ll see a lot of us over the next however long you’re here,”

“Pleasure,” Hotch holds out his hand to shake the two officers’, who promptly move to shake hands with the rest of the team afterwards.

By the time the two reach you and Spencer stood at the back of the group he feels like he might throw up his heart from how fast it was beating, and he swerves the shakes with all the awkwardness of his usual evasions as he excuses himself to walk ahead of the team.

It was stupid really. It had been almost two decades since what had happened, yet even just being in his proximity was making Spencer sweat like he was a final girl in a horror movie.

“Excuse us,” Your words hold no social grace as you slide past the two officers to follow after Spencer. He wasn’t the best with meeting new people, but he never left the conversation before it could even start. “Reid-”

Although mildly confused, the two officers don’t seem all that disheartened as the two of you disappear into the meeting room, their attention turning back to the rest of your team.

“Well,” Caleb claps his hands together with a politely awkward smile. “We’ll let you guys get settled in, if you need anything at all come and find one of us and we’ll do our best to get it for you,” He gestures between himself and Will stood next to him, gazing half-blankly into the open shutters of the window into the room with furrowed eyebrows at yourself and Spencer like he’s trying to put puzzle pieces together in his mind.

“Thank you officer, we will,” Hotch gives the two a small nod before gesturing the team into the room and leaving the two policemen outside.

—

At least the station had a coffee machine. Spencer’s one saving grace in the fact that he was not only working on a case in his own home city but also in the same town he grew up in, a town with some very familiar faces.

The scent of the caffeinated beverage was enough to bring him back to his right mind a little as it hit the ceramic mug with a burst of steam, and Spencer watched the liquid flow aimlessly as he waited for his drink to be made.

Coffee solved all his problems.

“Hey,”

Most of the time.

With a slow breath and his eyes shut to compose himself, Spencer turned around slowly to greet the voice, hit lips pressed into a straight line as his eyes opened once more, greeted with an all too familiar sight.

“I thought I recognised you Spencer, or sorry, it’s Agent Reid now right?” Will raised an eyebrow slightly, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

There was no real malice behind his tone, no sarcasm or taunting, no twitch in his facial expression that could make Spencer think he was trying to get under his skin. But he did. And it made Spencer feel like a 9 year old all over again.

“It’s uh, Doctor Reid actually,”

Will gives a short laugh and a nod, like Spencer’s title was something he’d expected. “Right, right, of course, so you’re not an FBI Agent then?”

“I am,” Spencer answers shortly, hands wringing together behind his back as he leans against the kitchenette counter. “But the title of Doctor outranks the title of Agent,”

He could see that familiar glint in Will’s eye as he explained the reasoning behind his official title, like he was looking at some puny know-it-all rather than a person of his own age.

“Very impressive,” Will gives him a slow, almost animated nod, and Spencer has never been more grateful for the shrill beeping of an automated coffee machine as he tears his eyes from Will to pick up his mug, cradling it between his to hands.

“Well, it was uh, good— to see you again Billy I’m glad you got where you wanted to go in life—“

“I don’t go by that name anymore,” Will crossed his arms over his chest with a shake of his head, his expression cordial despite the way his fists clenched like the mae had caused physical discomfort to him. “I go by Will now.”

“Right, Will, I should get back to my team now,”

“I’m sure they can wait a few minutes, we should catch up, for old time’s sake,”

—

“Where is Reid?” You exhale exasperatedly, biting your tongue to keep yourself in check as you turn towards Morgan and Emily with a show of your hands.

“Maybe the coffee machine was broken,” Emily shrugs nonchalantly as she sorts through the scene photos, occasionally passing one over the table towards you to hang up on the board.

“As if I needed any more reasons to hate those pieces of shit,” You groan exaggeratedly, dragging your hand down your face.

“Calm down lover, being away from the pretty boy for an extra few minutes won’t kill you,” Morgan rolls his eyes at your attitude with a short laugh, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Oh shut your mouth,” You scoff as you walk down the length of the table, pushing the heel of your hand against Morgan’s temple as you pass him as an extra form of chastisation which he promptly laughs at you for as you leave the room in search of Spencer.

“Oh to be young and in love,” Morgan laughs to himself as he clasps his hands together, leaning his head backwards over the chair to look at Emily with a knowing look.

“$50 on less than a year,” Emily doesn’t even look up at her proposition, and Morgan laughs with a shake of his head.

“Oh no no, they’re playing the long game, it’ll be at least another two,”

“Deal,” Emily holds her right hand out in Morgan’s direction, and he grasps it in his own with a firm shake.

“Deal.”

—

Spencer is still standing by the coffee machine, a steaming mug in his hands. It does not take eight minutes to make a single cup of coffee.

Well it wouldn’t if he wasn’t stood talking to one of the local police officers.

More like the officer was talking at him.

And if the way he was fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve was any indication, he was not enjoying the conversation.

If it weren’t for the harsh fluorescent lighting, the furrow of his eyebrows would be imperceptible from where you were standing, but the way he rolls his ankles and shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet would be noticeable from a mile away even in pitch black darkness.

Time to go and save Spencer Reid from his own social ineptitude. Again.

He doesn’t acknowledge you as you approach despite you clearly being in his eye line, his sole focus on the man in front of him even as you near close enough to be able to hear their conversation.

“…were quite the character weren’t you Pick?”

Spencer purses his lips together uncomfortably at the nickname, and you take the break in the conversation as an invitation to get between the two.

You clear your throat with crossed arms, eyes flickering between the two of them as they turn their attention away from each other and towards you instead.

“You’re needed back in the meeting room,”

Spencer nods at you a little too eagerly, clearly ready to rid himself of his new companion. “Right, good bye Bil- Will, sorry,” He doesn’t make eye contact with the officer as he all but power walks past you to head towards the meeting room, and your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as your glance wanders from Spencer to the almost smug expression on the officer’s face.

“Is something funny?” Your question is enough to bring Will’s eyes away from watching Spencer scurry off with his tail between his legs and towards you with horribly feigned innocence.

The look in your eyes is less than savoury, and it’s enough that small glimpse of condescension simmers in his irises to break through his pleasant facade.

You don’t stick around to have to speak to him any further, and with a final look over you leave him by the coffee machine to rejoin the team in the meeting room.

—

“You can’t avoid him forever you know,”

Your voice stirs Spencer out of his focus, and he straightens himself up in his chair as he looks at you, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

You hadn’t really said anything since you re-entered the meeting room, not even bothering to defend yourself against Morgan’s musings about how much you were complaining about Spencer not being present to help you with the profiles, yet less than a minute after Morgan and Emily left, your conversational battery had suddenly returned.

“I— What do you mean?”

“Officer DeGaris,”

Spencer looks at you like you’ve read his diary without his permission.

He forgets just how observant you are sometimes, how easy it seems to be for you to distinguish between Spencer’s general dislike for small talk and meeting new people and when his discomfort is specifically aimed.

You look through the meeting room’s glass window with roaming eyes, Spencer presumes it’s to find the Officer in question. “He acts like a glorified man-child so I can’t blame you for resenting him,”

“Did he say something to you?” He sounds almost afraid at the idea that Will might’ve said something distasteful to you, his face scrunching up in concern, but you dispel the thought with a quick shake of your head.

“No, he didn’t say anything to me,” Spencer can physically see the moment that your eyes catch on Will across the station in the way that your micro expressions change, the way your arms cross tighter over your chest and your nostrils flare. “He was more than distasteful to you though,”

You sigh in mild frustration. “You’d think that people would mature once they reach adulthood, but there’s always a few that cling to their childhood relevancy like their life depends on it. Pathetic really,”

he doesn’t know whether he should even be entitled to being surprised that you knew Will was character from his childhood. It doesn’t stop him. “I never said I knew him when I was a child,”

“He called you Pick, and you called him Billy,” You deadpan like it’s obvious. “You’re not exactly hiding it,”

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” You can see the genuine befuddlement in Spencer’s expression as you relay the cluing details into his past, like he seemingly can’t comprehend that you were actually paying attention and storing Spencer’s divulgence into his childhood in your memories.

“Believe it or not Reid, I do actually listen,” You sound almost offended at how surprised Spencer seems, and he back tracks immediately with a surrendering wave of his hands.

“That’s not— I didn’t mean to insinuate that, I just meant—” Spencer sighs exasperatedly at his failure to string together a coherent sentence. “I only mentioned it offhandedly is all, it’s not something people usually dwell on,”

“It’s not difficult to listen when someone confides in you Reid, it’s basic human compassion,” You move away from the window with a start, stopping just shy of the door right as it opens.

“Can we help you?” The small amount of empathy in your tone vanishes immediately as you meet Will’s eyes, your head cocked in obvious impatience despite the fact that he hasn’t even spoken a word to you yet.

And although mildly deterred by your expression, he follows through nonetheless. “I need to speak to— Agent Reid, it’s something about the case.”

You’d wager it’s definitely not about the case.

“Doctor Reid is busy, if you have something important go and find SSA Hotchner,”

Spencer can’t see your expression as you stand with your back to him, but if he had to make a guess based off of the way that Will’s face falters he’d say you were probably glaring at him. That signature glare that you never hesitated to utilise when deemed a necessary reaction.

He’s half glad he can’t see your face, because it means that you can’t see his, and the way his cheeks redden against his will at not only your intervention between him having to have another conversation with one of the nightmares of his childhood, but also how casual you were in correcting his use of Spencer’s official title.

“I can’t find SSA Hotchner,” He responds like he’s got you beat, but you barely so much as acknowledge it at all.

“Email him then, your chief supervisor has the details.” You take a small step forward to motivate him to step backwards out of the doorway, and you uncross your arms only to grasp the edge of the door. “Now if you’d please excuse us, we do our best work without distractions.”

You don’t give him time to reply before you close on him, but there’s just enough time for Spencer to see the astonishment dawn on Will’s face at your dismissal before he’s shut out completely.

Your frustration is still present on your face as you turn to walk back over to the whiteboard, and Spencer presses his lips together in an awkwardly endearing fashion before muttering out a soft “thank you,” in your direction.

“I don’t tolerate bullies Reid, it’s nothing to be thankful for,” You shake your head to dismiss him, a much lighter—much friendlier— dismissal than you’d awarded Will.

”You didn’t have to do that though,” Spencer sighs softly, playing with the sleeves of his sweater. “Let me buy you a coffee at least? There’s a cafe a few minutes away from here that I used to go to when I was younger, and I think I need the break,”

You can’t really blame his sudden want for fresh air, and you’d rather not slave away on the profile without him to filter your thoughts through, so you don’t really have much option but to join him.

“It’s not one of those ridiculously expensive coffee places is it?” You raise your eyebrow at him warningly and Spencer shakes his head with a soft laugh, one your happy to hear as a sign that Will hadn’t knocked him off his game too much.

“No no, last time I was here it was $3.49 a cup, perfectly normal,” He brushes a strand of hair from his eye with a small smile. “So you’ll join me?”

You let out a small exhale and a shrug of your shoulders, and Spencer knows that you’re feigning more begrudgement than you’re feeling. “I guess I could do with a break,”

Spencer’s smile seems to get just that little bit brighter at your response.

“But I’m buying my own coffee.”

“Okay—” Spencer gives you a small nod, joined by a laugh, and you wait until he’s got his back to you before letting a small smile invade your mouth at the sight.

#✎𓂃climacteric。#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #mgg

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roachspeaks · 2 years ago

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Slashers and Jealousy

Just drabbles for how the slashers deal with Jealousy :)

REQUESTS OPEN BTW

Warnings: some sexual themes/descriptions, maybe swearing, descriptions of killing people, people with bad intentions, Slight smut in Bo’s and Brahms’s, swearing, sexuality coded(mentions of female friends), side character OC’s (That may be included in One shots in the future),

Michael Myers(I wasn’t sure which version this suited best so you can decide)

It’s a commonly known fact that Michael doesn’t feel things. At least not like other people. He has his own set of emotions and expressions that are completely unique to him. He can be hard to understand sometimes but the closest thing to jealousy is when he sees you giving others the attentiveness you give him. It’s not like he cares. He doesn’t, not like how you care for him. He certainly doesn’t care that your showing a complete stranger the types of care you show him.(patching up their scratches and bruises, giving them a cold drink for the Haddonfield heat). The stranger had apparently claimed that he was passing through town and had gotten into an accident on one of the hiking trails. Michael knew that was a lie. The timing didn’t match up. Michael went on the trails every morning and he didn’t see the stranger or even a wreckage of any kind. Another thing the man left out. Michael didn’t miss how the man held on to your wrist whilst you cleaned his scratches with an alcohol pad. You brushed it off, focusing on the task at hand. You had had enough practice fixing up injuries from Michael. Of course he wasn’t in the room with you two, he was watching from the window outside. Michael could read people easily. He was amazing at it actually. And watching the stranger inside your home he could only read bad intentions. Michael didn’t know how the conversation went but he assumed you offered the stranger the night in your guest room. Michael entered the house silently through the back door. Then silently up the stairs of your home, he wasn’t surprised to see the stranger standing in your doorway while you slept. Michael didn’t hesitate for a moment to come up behind him and slit his throat. Blood spurting all over your floor as he gasped for breath that he didn’t deserve. You had gotten used to waking up when Michael would get home. So you immediately woke to the sounds of dying a just few feet from you. Let’s just say the both of you slept in the guest room that night. He didn’t ‘cuddle’ you per say. He would never, he’s a stone cold serial killer. But he did let you cuddle into him. Because you needed it of course. Not because he was worried about you. But he held you just a little closer than night. Let your hands wander just a little more than he would usually tolerate.

Vincent Sinclair

Let’s be honest. He’s an extremely insecure person, that fuels his jealous thoughts. Often he will be jealous of his brother. You and Bo spend almost as much time together as you and Vincent. You lived with them and Lester. Vincent didn’t get jealous of Lester though, or even strangers. He just knew that Bo was seen as a very attractive individual. That’s how most of the female tourists ended up sculptures in the museum. He handles his Jealousy with sadness and self resent rather than anger or aggression. He feels incompetent with himself and unworthy of the attention you give him. This particular time you and Bo had been working on a truck in the garage. You were both sweaty and covered in oil, in tank tops and sweatpants. The truck was on the lift and had been raised too a level that even Bo couldn’t reach the top. He had accidentally left a wrench on the hood. It wasn’t a big deal. But when Vincent saw Bo holding you up by your waist, his hands happening to be underneath your white tank top. He was heartbroken. Somewhere in his mind he knew that logically you were his partner and you wouldn’t ever leave him for Bo, but in the moment it was easy to forget. Vincent left abruptly, and you noticed. As soon as you were on the ground Bo’s hands returned to his sides. He knew what Vincent was thinking, and you did too. He nodded toward the door Vincent had left though and you swiftly went to follow the long haired man. When you found him he was in his workshop. Scribbling on a piece of paper. You slowly leaned over his shoulder and what you saw shocked you. A drawing of you and him, scribbled out and ripping. Vincent’s breath was jagged and frustrated. “Oh Vince” you whispered into his neck, as your arms came to wrap around him. He froze as if being caught. “I love you. Not Bo. You, Vincent Sinclair” that sentence, plus a lot more physical contact the next day reassured him immensely. He still struggles with insecurity, but you always know how to make it better.

Bo Sinclair

Unlike his twin, Bo’s jealousy is angry and possessive. He’s used to being left behind, he doesn’t want that scenario to happen with you. Let’s be honest Bo is the type to jealous fuck. Aggressively slamming into you over and over. Making you cum over and over again. Reminding you that only he can make you feel that good. Bo uses sex as a coping mechanism. Something he knows he’s the best at so he can hide behind it. It gives him a sense of security. Now though you wouldn’t let that slide. Your legs were already wrapped around his waist as he lathered your jaw in sloppy kisses. Pushing your back up against the wall of the storage closet in the auto shop. A customer was getting just a little too bold with their eyes and Bo hated it. He said he needed to talk to you ‘in the back’. There wasn’t a ‘back’ in the shop. There was a tiny storage closet around the corner, and that’s where he took you. The customer could definitely hear the two of you. You weren’t loud often but Bo just got a rise out of you. His kisses moved down to your neck and collar bone. He growled and moaned against your skin, sending harsh vibrations up your spine. You nearly got lost in the moment, he felt so good against you. But then you remembered that you had been thinking about this for a while. The fact that whenever a customer would interact with you in a way that could seem flirtatious in the shop, it would almost always lead to spontaneous sex with Bo. At first you thought it was a kinky thing but over the course of a while, after taking the time to examine him in these moments. You discovered it wasn’t a kink or turn on, it was a coping mechanism. He always got so fixated and rough in the moment. You didn’t mind the roughness, if anything it was a preference for you, but when he did this it was like he was tranced. Like he had something to prove to you. You swore that the next time he did this that you would confront him on it. Knowing Bo if you asked any other time he would deny that it ever happened. You moved your hands from his neck to his shoulders, pushing him off of you and unwrapping your legs from his torso. He was too caught up, taking this is a change of positions. He continued smashing his lips into yours, practically shoving his tongue with down your throat. “Bo! Mmm… stop it!” He kissed you hard and sloppy between your words. But at the word stop he slowly stepped back, still holding your waist with both hands. “What?” His face was neutral with a pinch of concern. Jealousy still ever present behind his eyes. “What’s up with you? Every time a customer gets a little flirty you freak and drag me back to the storage closet” my fingertips trace the bone of his jawline and move to cup his face in your hands. “I don’t know what what you mean sugar” he smirks and rolls his eyes. You don’t play along though. Instead staring into his eyes with an eyebrow raised. He tries to say that it’s seriously nothing but eventually he cracks. “I don’t-…I don’t like watching people eye you up right in front of me…” he avoids your eyes as if he has anything to be ashamed about. “Bo…it’s ok to get jealous. I get jealous all the time. But we can’t just fuck it out whenever, we still have customers.” I run my thumb along his bottom lip in an attempt to make it more intimate. Being as that is when Bo learns the best. He pays the most attention to you when your being physical. He nods and rests his head on your shoulder. The fabric of his blue coveralls brushing across your arms(that were exposed as you were in a tank top, because you were supposed to be doing car mechanics). You thought that was that but suddenly you heard him chuckling. “You get jealous all the time eh?”.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas’s jealousy(much like Vincent’s) stems a lot from insecurity, being told all his life by people like Hoyt that he was ugly and that no one could ever really love him. But alternatively when he gets jealous he hates the fact he’s feeling that way at all. He treats it like he’s disrespecting your trust in him by resenting someone else for getting your attention. Most of the time you stay at the house with Luda Mae and there isn’t many occasions where Tommy would get Jealous, however this time you, him, Luda and strangely enough Hoyt, were going grocery shopping in town. He was already getting strange looks from everyone in the store from his appearance. Normally he wouldn’t even have come along, but Luda was getting older and needed more help carrying things. No one knew why Hoyt had come along. He wasn’t going to help, if anything he made it more of a chore than it had to be. Luda had sent you to go grab a bag of sugar, causing you to need to separate from the group. Thomas watched you walk away, worrying. To which he had every right to worry. You couldn’t find the sugar. You had been to this grocery store what felt like hundreds of times and yet you couldn’t find it. You saw a person who worked there though and proceeded to innocently ask him where to find the sugar. He lead you to the shelf. The bags that Luda wanted were big, and heavy. The man took the liberty of offering you help(he clearly wasn’t aware that you could carry it yourself. You lived on a farm for gods sake). You just let him carry the bag. He followed you back to your group, cracking a few jokes that warranted laughs out of you. You clearly didn’t pick up that he was flirting. Hoyt smirked at this, noticing an opportunity to torment Tommy. He elbowed him lightly and laughed smugly. When you got within 10 feet of Tommy you picked up your pace and ran up to him. The worker seemed shocked that these were your people. An old fashioned looking woman, a sheriff carrying a gun obviously on his belt, and Thomas. To strangers Thomas was hard to describe. He was obviously a big man, and the mask situation wasn’t helpful for new interactions either. “Oh right. Thank you!” You smiled brightly at the worker, who’s expression was wary and still surprised. You went to grab the large bag from him and hauled it into the cart. As the four of you went to walk away he called out after you again. “Um here! My phone number.” He slid a small piece of folded paper into your hand before running off. You looked at your hand oddly, that was weird. You didn’t miss how as you walked alongside him, Thomas’s eyes lingered on your hand that slid into your pocket. He was distracted as he walked, bumping into Luda once or twice. Luda being Luda, done with getting her heels stepped on by a man that towered over her, decided to solve the problem. “Tommy, why don’t you and them go get me some butter.” She pointed down the aisle where the butter was. As you followed Thomas you turned your head to see Luda looking at you with a look that said ‘talk to him about it’. So that’s what you did. He had his hands placed on the plastic boarder between the walkway and the shelf. Sometimes you forgot just how big his hands were. You slid one hand overtop of his and intertwined your fingers. “Im not keeping his phone number Tommy.” To prove your point you used your free hand to pull the paper out of your pocket and with help from your teeth you shredded it in half. Both dropping one piece and spitting the other one on the floor of the grocery store. You looked at him from the side of your eye and saw him smiling through the hole in his mask. You grabbed a stick of butter and ran back to Luda and Hoyt, Tommy’s hand still in yours. Hoyt almost said something but before he could he got the back of Luda’s hand to the back of his head.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is a tough one. Again not many situations when he would get ‘jealous’ per say. Possessive and protective as fuck? Definitely. The idea of you leaving the house scares him, and yet when grocery boy comes around he gets moody. It’s a lose lose situation. You know better than to let Malcom in the mansion, Brahms would lose his shit. But he is the only other companionship you have other than Brahms and your family over a phone. Some days in the mornings you’ll sit on the porch and have a conversation with him over coffee. This has led to many temper tantrums from Brahms. But you always make it up to him. He’s not mature, like at all. We all collectively know that. He’s an eight year old in a 40 year olds body with the horniness of a virgin teenager. You swear he likes to fight you on everything after Malcom’s been around the house. This time he wanted to fight you on bedtime. He had already avoided you all day, only interacting with you to eat. He was touch deprived(more than usual). So, when you went in for his bedtime kiss, even the slight touch made his resolve crumble. His hands grasped your hips roughly, pulling you to straddle him. “Oh, now you wanna talk to me?” Your hands were resting on his chest as to keep yourself upright. “Im not complaining, but your a jealous guy yknow that.” It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. An incredible accurate one at that. You could see he wanted something, the look in his eyes told you everything. Beautiful forest green eyes clouded with want. “All you gotta do is ask Brahmsy” you lean in to his face, not quite touching him. Just to tease him a little. “Please…” he rasped. His actual voice evident and gruff. “Kiss me…” he leans in just a little leaving barely an inch between you. You could feel his breath on your face, thankful that he had been brushing his teeth. You couldn’t help smashing your lips into his. It was aggressive and needy. He clearly missed you even though it had only been a day, and quite frankly he had probably been watching you through the walls all day. His hands groped at your sides and your chest. All whilst you continued to kiss him. Needy and clingy, two key words when describing Brahms. That night he cuddled into you extra tight. With no intention of letting you up the next morning.

Billy Loomis

Billy doesn’t get jealous unless he’s already having a shitty day. He’s pretty calm and collected. When he does get jealous he starts fights, with everybody. You, Stu, random strangers, teachers, everybody. He’s pretty unstable as is in the terms of emotions. Especially in relationships. His mom made it real hard to trust that someone won’t leave him. In this instance he was jealous of your friend Connor. Connor was generally nerdy, spent all his time in the science labs at school. That’s how you met him actually, a science project. He was the exact opposite of Billy. Frankly you were more of a ‘smart nerdy’ type yourself. It was ridiculous how it all started anyways, you had a study session already planned with Connor. You made sure to tell Billy that a week in advance, knowing he doesn’t like surprises. But apparently he forgot all about it and made plans with Stu and his new temporary girlfriend. Obviously you told him you couldn’t go because you already had plans that you told him about. He got frustrated and jealous as expected. Connor showed up at your house at the worst moment then possible. If we’re gonna be honest Connor never liked Billy much either. Billy was extremely popular and kind of an asshole to the smarter kids at school. Not to say he wasn’t smart, he’s just quiet and friends with Stu so people assume his grades aren’t great. You and Billy had been yelling at each other when Connor opened your door. What happened next was all a blur, memorable events include Connor and Billy getting into each other faces, Connor pushing Billy, and Billy knocking Connor on his ass with a punch to his jaw, Billy had a reputation of overdoing it. Evident in this situation because Billy proceeded to get on top of Connor and continue to punch him. By the time he stopped Connors whole face was bleeding and bruised and Stu and his girlfriend had come into the house. The only reason he stopped was because Stu pulled him off. Sure they killed people but not as Billy and Stu, so he wrapped his arms around him and dragged him off of Connor. You had to call him an ambulance but you knew about Ghost face. “Both of you go. I’ll call an ambulance.” Stu understood why you wanted them gone, so he left. Dragging Billy out behind him. The next few days were lonely. Billy didn’t come back to your house, you assumed he was staying at Stu’s. But around a week after the incident you received an anonymous call. When you picked up you heard the voice of Ghost face over the line. “What’s your favourite scary movie?” If Billy planned on killing you it was a little too late, so you played along. You told him your favourite. The voice over the phone laughed and said something along the lines of ‘So I do know a thing or two, huh?’ The voice then told you to go outside into your backyard. You did as it instructed and stepped out of your back door to see a large sheet draped on the wall of your house, with a projection on it of the title screen of your favourite horror movie. In the centre of it all stood ghost face. Your ghost face. You walked up to him and once in touching vicinity you flipped the chin of his mask up over his mouth and kissed him. No matter how irrational and irresponsible he was sometimes, you missed him. When you pulled away he fully took the mask off, tossing it on the grass somewhere. “Forgive me?”

Alright have whatever this is. I would’ve done more characters but im having some writers block. If you want a part two with someone I missed just comment or ask me. Requests are open sooo yea.

#slashers #headcannons #michael myers #halloween michael myers #vincent sinclair #x reader #x gender neutral reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #jealousy headcanons #slashers x reader

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3amfanfiction · 2 months ago

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Simon Finds a Toy

You had just moved to town when the serial killer who was passing through takes a shine to you. Simon/Reader, 3.5k

18+ cw: kidnapping, hobbling, spanking, animal death

March is practically over when everything goes wrong.

Running through an abandoned warehouse avoiding bodies was not how you saw your evening going.

When the first of you began disappearing into the dark, no one noticed. You didn't all know each other, it was one of those friend of a friend types of gatherings, with everyone separating into pre-formed cliques within the first hour.

It was a younger guy who had suggested exploring the old building a mile down the road—no surprise there. Per his words, he fancied himself an urban explorer. You hadn't seen him since the beginning, one of the first to go missing.

You weren't even supposed to be here tonight! You'd just moved into town and you were trying to make friends. When the pretty girl at the bakery invited you to hang out, you thought you were good. That maybe life wasn't so hard and setting down roots wasn't impossible.

Stupid—tempting the universe like that.

Whoever this guy was, he was massive. The kind of massive where if he barreled into you, you would be pancaked. You had watched him take a bear of a man (Jeremy? Jason? Maybe—all you can remember is he said he was a footballer) out half an hour ago—lifted, bent, and broken all in one smooth, brutal move.

It was as awe-inspiring as it was fear-inducing.

So you run.

You run and you hide until you're backed into a corner. He's found every other person and now it's your turn. You're bleeding and bruised, aching where you slammed into sharp corners and machinery in the dark.

This is it, the climax of your story, is anyone surprised that you run your mouth a little? You don't hold back as you tell him everything you think about him, every new fucked up thing this evening had presented, every grievance ever buried down under the veneer of civility.

Why is he just staring? You're caught, nowhere to go, and he's just … looking. He's got shark eyes—pools of inky black that suck you in. Drowning.

He decides to take you home with him.

This has to be a joke.

///

April brings cruelty in its change, where you're expected to learn the shape of the season.

Stop messing with these knots or you won't like the consequences.

How were you supposed to know this is what he meant? He said it exactly once; the first night in the truck when he hopped out after hours of driving just to find you with the rope halfway undone, eyes glaring at him from above your gag.

He grunted out his warning while retying it, calm as you please, as if it wasn't a bother to him one way or the other.

Looking back at it he was probably hoping you would ignore the warning, the psychopath.

The next morning he had to tighten them again after your long night spent fiddling but he didn't say anything—just adjusted the knots and walked back around to continue the drive. He hadn't stopped that day other than for gas and one bathroom break on the side of a cracked and potholed back road, where if there had been any traffic, they would've gotten quite the show.

He didn't even have the decency to take you into the trees.

You had gotten one hand completely out of the hog tie by the time you two reached your destination; this little tin-roofed shed with just enough room for him to pull all the way in and close the doors behind him was the only building you'd seen in hours.

He doesn't address your unbound hand—simply refastens it into the tie while ignoring how you had removed the cloth gag with your partial freedom. What follows is the culmination of days worth of you sitting in enforced silence, thinking up every creative thing you could call him. Unfortunately he ignores you cussing him out, and throws you over his shoulder to begin his trek through the woods.

He doesn't seem to mind you screaming your head off, at least other than making sure you don't do it directly in his ear. That got a sharp adjustment of your torso across his shoulder; your grunting wheeze in response not very demure.

Now you're here—staring at your hands. Or rather, your thumbs and where they were taped in little braces to stop you from moving them. Sweat and dirt making the skin itch beneath the bandages.

He told you you wouldn't like the consequences. He TOLD you. Did you think he was lying?

Well—kind of, yeah. What sort of monster breaks someone's thumbs?

Your stare turns into a glare, unseeing of anything around you until a heavy hand landing on your shoulder makes you jerk in surprise.

"Leave it, pet. No use thinking on it now," is grumbled down at you before he huffs in something resembling amusement as you lean sideways, trying to get out from underneath his grasp.

You've been waiting for the day when he loses his patience and murders you too, but it hasn't happened yet. Maybe he finds it entertaining when you act like a kicked dog around him.

Which is a funny thought considering he has a dog that damn near idolizes him.

He ignores him most of the time—takes care to feed and water him but that's the extent. No scratches behind the ear, no tummy rubs, no kisses between the ears. As if you needed another reason to hate this guy.

You watch him put together three plates, two in bowls and one on some kind of wooden board. You snort to yourself when you think of this guy enjoying a charcuterie board, ignoring him when he cocks an eyebrow back at you, waiting for an explanation that won't come.

At least you've gotten better at keeping your expression blank when he sets the two bowls on the floor, before taking his charcuterie board wanna-be into the dining room.

Asshole.

///

May saw flowers blooming and lessons learned.

You have use of your thumbs again. That's a win.

Puttering around this stupid cabin is driving you insane. You've learned a few things since you've been here—his name is Simon, he's military, he murders people in his free time, and his dog's name is Dog.

Fucking. Psychopath.

You're not allowed outside. Simon had told you this as he was unwrapping your thumbs for the last time, break yer ankles if ya even try f'r the door. So you don't. You make your displeasure known in other ways, pushing to see where the lines are, so you know where to press to cause the most damage.

He annoyingly stoic. Nothing you say seems to get a rise out of him and other than breaking an established rule—don't touch the rope, don't go outside, don't try and stab him with a kitchen knife—he leaves you to your own devices.

He's always around, hovering. He responds if you talk to him civilly, ignores you if you scream at him, and bends you over his knee if you start swinging.

The cup you threw at his head was ugly anyways.

You screamed yourself hoarse that first time he pulled you across his lap, other leg pinning yours down with a forearm pressed between your shoulder blades. You thrashed but could barely move, well and truly immobilized.

You began pleading as your pants were pulled down, begging him not to touch you, telling him you were sorry. He acted like he couldn't hear you.

The first slap was more shocking than anything. Your voice caught on a hiccup of air as his palm made contact, the fat around his strike rippling. You don't get a moment to process before he's smacked you three more times, alternating cheeks.

Eons later, after he's reached whatever preconceived end he had decided on, you're a limp, sobbing mess, your face pressed into the cushions, great gasping sobs rolling their way out of your chest.

He cleans your face before applying cooling balm to your skin and that was a greater gut punch than the spanking had been. He doesn't get to be both—he doesn't get to hit you over and over again and then hold the tissue while you blow your nose. You can't handle him being both.

You don't sit comfortably for days and a new rule is created—don't throw things inside the cabin.

///

You're allowed to eat at the table with him now, no more guarding your bowl from Dog who was surprisingly nimble. Simon and Dog have the same conversational aptitude so at least you can eat in peace.

That's another good thing he has going for him (are you going to go to hell for thinking of good qualities in a murderer?) he never stints on portion sizes.

You were quite pleased to realize you had stayed delightfully soft over the past couple of months. Locked in the cabin as you are, the only exercise you've gotten is for your tongue, which has been honed razor sharp by this point with the vitriol that never seems to cause as much damage as intended.

He was a decent cook too. Nothing insane, his meals were basic and limited by what he had stored in his kitchen and cellar, but you hadn't had a bad meal yet.

He left sometimes to restock. Or for other excursions. When it came time for him to leave you would be moved to the bedroom, regardless of how much you kicked and snarled, and a leg chain would be connected to a hook under the bed.

Those days were some of the worst. If he noticed the salt crusting the bed when he eventually returned he never said anything.

///

June saw the temperatures rise, tensions following suit.

You don't like to think about the start of summer.

You had a nervous breakdown one day when the heat was intense. Simon had gone to pick up food and he had left you unchained. You were standing in the living room, looking at the front door, free to walk through it whenever you wanted.

So why were you standing here?

Simon would be upset if you left the cabin. Its one of the rules, don't go outside, that you're supposed to follow. There are consequences if you don't follow the rules.

You ignore the tremble in your knees as your fingernails dig crescents into your palms, the door taunting you with its presence. You could do it; you should do it. Run. Get away, get to the police, have him thrown in jail.

You're going insane, you're losing your mind. Is any of this even real? Why are you still standing here?

In an attempt to get yourself out of the standstill you were in, you forced yourself to take a few trembling steps . . . towards the kitchen where you got yourself a glass of water, and ignored the door behind you that was taunting you by calling your name.

You taught Dog a few tricks instead.

Nothing crazy—sit, lay down, shake. Still, you were pretty proud. Something good came out of this.

You didn't make eye contact with Simon for a week once he was back.

///

July is sunburns and fingermarks left where you touch him.

All you see is Simon, he's all you talk to (that sometimes talks back), all you hear. Is it any surprise you said fuck it?

You remember reading something once that said humans required touch, if they didn't get it they'd go crazy. Heh. Maybe that's what happened to Simon, living up here in this cabin, hard to have anybody to touch.

So you bend first; you always bend first with Simon. Every day with him is a yielding in one way or another. You're not sure if you even know how to stand upright any longer.

It starts with a pat on the shoulder.

He had brought you back a puzzle book from his last murder spree. Some giant workbook with a dozen different types of puzzles. If you had any dignity left it would've been lost at how excited you got for that puzzle book.

So, you thanked him. You took the book, patted him on the shoulder, and then went to sit at the table to play with your new entertainment. Simple, simple, simple.

So explain how you ended up here.

Don't swallow, keep your throat open for me, don't you fucking swallow—fuck, fuck, fuck.

///

August was a sticky heat and you were careful not to dig too deep.

You had to butcher your first animal at the end of the summer months.

Simon was out on a short trip when the dog caught a fox. He came dragging it in just like his papa, proud of the innocent blood dripping from between his jaws, his own muzzle bleeding where sharp teeth and claws had sank in.

When you pried it from his teeth, you realized the fox was still breathing, little heart thrumming against your fingertips, vibrating at an almost continuous hum.

The dog's fangs had punctured its stomach. Organs and muscles ruptured and bleeding. Another mark in the 'just like papa' column. Not decent enough to kill cleanly. Have to play in it, enjoy it.

You knew what you needed to do but still you hesitated. Weren't you going to attempt to save it? It's what you would've done before. Before Simon, before this cabin, before the nightmares.

One hand held it firmly, keeping it from attacking out of fear or pain while you softly dragged the other through the damp fur of its back, attempting any sort of comfort.

You could see yourself in it; living your life with your own sharp little teeth as protection until something bigger came along. Something that saw you and decided you would taste best in its maw, your blood coating its throat.

It drug you as a prize back to its home, uncaring of the blood you leaked on the floor, the bile you spit at its feet. You wondered if it would hurt less, to be the dog.

You did the fox a favor when you sliced its neck. No more pain.

///

September saw the leaves changing and witnessed your further plummet into Simon's orbit.

He had been home for weeks. Continuously. No little camping trips, no missions, nothing. He was beyond pissed but it was his own damn fault for getting stabbed in the leg.

You had cackled when he came limping in, blood oozing through the fabric he'd tied tightly around the wound. Looks like his latest quarry had sharper teeth than he realized. Good for them.

Stitching him up was repugnant—he laughed in your face when you gagged at the blood that coated you up to your forearms and were thankful to wrap him up and be done with it so you could bathe. The blood left a stubborn stain under your fingernails for days.

After weeks of him following you around—touching you constantly, sticking his fingers in your mouth or in your cunt whenever he liked, eating the food you made for yourself—you were fit to burst.

Go find your next plaything, just get him out of my hair!

///

October saw the trees shedding their leaves, their bare branches showing through. It saw you without a mask of your own.

You were allowed outside when Simon was home. It had been such a subtle decline, you thinking of escaping, that you didn't notice it's absence until now, when you were watching the cold sun create shadows on the ground with no desire to wander father than the front porch.

You were allowed outside, you were no longer chained up when he left, you could leave. You could pack a bag, pick a direction, and walk. For however long you needed to.

But.

It was getting colder at night. You'd be out there for days if not weeks before you found a road to follow if you were lucky. Plus you had no idea which direction to go. What if you ended up deeper in the mountains?

What if you continued to lie to make yourself feel better?

///

November saw the winds begin to howl with your feral side howling along, music in the dark.

Simon was gone—getting the last of his energy out before you were snowed into the cabin with the winter storms that were starting up. The eerie howling having long become a background echo in your ears.

Dog had been acting strange all day. Staring out the windows, growling at the door, barking when the trees brushed the roof. You'd let him out to check several times but he always came back inside after circling the cabin.

Strange.

The sun had almost set when you saw movement outside the window, a dark mass moving between the trees, too deep in the dusk to make out.

Dog hadn't come back yet from his last perimeter check, leaving you alone inside the cabin. You watched out the window for several long moments, only hearing the wind moving through the trees.

A loud bang on the opposite side of the cabin had you looking away from the window with a start; when you looked back after a few short seconds, the shape was gone—faded back into the trees.

Your heart pounded in your chest, mouth drying up and palms becoming damp. You ducked out of sight of the window and creeped into the kitchen, pulling one of Simon's knives out of the knife block.

One benefit to living with a serial killer, his knives were always in pristine condition. You know if you needed to stab someone, this knife would be slicing through them like butter.

Pressing into a corner, your mind spun in rabid circles. Who was that outside? How did they find the cabin? Were they there to hurt you? Dog never came back in. What if they murdered him and left his body to rot in the leaves? Dog was a good boy, he didn't deserve that.

You gripped the knife tightly, steadying your nerves. You weren't going to be the victim again. You'd been there, done that and you knew how it played out. When (if you told yourself, it might not happen, they might leave, there might not be anyone out there) they came through the door, you would defend yourself. If someone came through that door, it means they killed Dog and they will be coming for you.

You took a deep breath while wedged into the corner with the door firmly in sight, holding your knife in front of you, ready to attack. You would do it. If they thought you wouldn't, they're about to be too dead to relearn.

The door opens between one heartbeat and the next, the wind's grasping fingers catching, causing it to slam back against the wall, a dark hulking mass standing on the doorstep. You pounce, screaming like a wild thing, knife flashing through the air. They snatch your wrist and wrench it behind your back, kicking the knife away.

Thought we were past this, pet.

Oh. It's just Simon.

The following let down had your body shaking like you'd spent all night out in the cold. Tremors wracked you from head to toe as you tried not to think about how readily you'd been to commit murder.

The last few moments replayed in your head as you breathed in a controlled manner, attempting to regain control of your body. It's only Simon, it's only Simon you repeat to yourself, self soothing, it's only Si—what?

Since when has the fact that it's Simon been comforting? Have you forgotten what he did to you?

No, of course not. You hadn't forgotten. You knew Simon wasn't the good guy of the story. You were simply happy for the devil you knew . . . right?

///

December saw the snow begin to fall, walls following suit.

Simon finished last minute preparations around the cabin, within ears reach all day, every day. You spent a lot of time trailing after him, watching him work. Helping occasionally when he'd hold out nails for you to pass him as needed, or holding a board steady as he cut.

You asked him questions—things you hadn't bothered wondering before, how long have you lived up here, do you have any family, what do you do for your job?

He answered truthfully, as far as you could tell. It made you offer pieces of yourself in return.

///

January saw the snow pack everything in, forced proximity tightening bonds.

You and Simon spent all day together, every day. He never ran out of stories to tell you about his past mission or murdering sprees. Listening to him talk, you realized he really did get rid of the annoying ones first. A strange thought to have with no feelings attached—you didn't even notice their absence.

///

February was dark. February was cold. Hadn't it always been you and simon?

///

March saw the snow melting, the sun waking earlier each day. When Simon left to stretch his legs, March saw a second body following along behind him.

Story Repository || Main Repository

#simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #ghost simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #he collects you like a rock on the side of the road #fanfic #my work

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noisilyscreechingsong · 1 year ago

Text

Without the levels of ectoplasm Amity Park has, the rest of the world was filled with other, weaker forms of ‘ghosts’ called shades. Danny finds his purpose of protecting comes in all kinds of forms. This is useful when he finds a challenge in Gotham.

Warning: violence, murder, probably something else. Proceed with caution.

Danny has noticed when he left Amity Park and went to places that didn’t have ambient ectoplasm, he saw lots of shades. They were outlines of the people they once were, mere shadows of themselves. It wasn’t a soul per se. He was close to believing his parents when they said ghosts were just impressions of emotions in ectoplasm.

These shades couldn’t really hold a conversation with him, if they even noticed he was speaking to them. Some mumbled things under their breath, some moaned or screamed randomly, and others didn’t utter a sound. What he figured out over time was that they were actually attached to things or people. Not like a child is attached to their favorite toy, but physically couldn’t go far from whatever it was.

He’s seen shades attached to the places they died in, or perhaps a favorite object that was important to them, but the most interesting were the shades attached to people.

It was a small game of his to figure out who that person was to the shade. A child, a caretaker, a friend. He once saw a nurse who had some shades following her with smiles. It became less fun when he found his first serial killer. It was an older man carrying an oxygen tank behind him and surrounded by at least half a dozen young women shades. They wore expressions of sadness and anger and fear. He could recognize trauma when he sees it. Danny just stood frozen for a while, just watching this man pull out his oxygen to smoke a cigarette. He didn’t really know how to feel other than a cold fury that made his mind worryingly quiet.

“Whatchu lookin at, boy?” The old man snapped.

Danny just stared back into the dark and arrogant eyes. Then he looked up to the women who blinked back.

“You will have him soon. Then you can rest.”

They seem to understand, turning again to stare at the back of the man’s head with such expressions any other person seeing them would have screamed and run away as fast as they could. Danny did neither.

“Who you talking to?”

Danny stares back at the man who shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he answers coldly before turning and walking away.

That was the first of more than he cared to find. Some he approached. Some he just stared at knowingly, watching the killers squirm under his intense gaze. Some he had to restrain himself from killing to avenge the victims hovering over their shoulder. One or two he didn’t hold himself back. His first was a woman actually, with children and toddlers clinging to her back like they didn’t understand how else to process what she did to them other than by staying close.

Danny followed her home. She ran a daycare from it. He couldn’t let it happen again. She wasn’t as old as the man with the oxygen tank, she had several more years before she died naturally. He needed to end it then. And he did.

He didn’t say one word to her or answer any of her angry questions as he plunged his hand into her chest and squeezed. Her heart burst like a water balloon and he cringed at the feeling. She died quickly and he waited for her shade to form.

When it did, the children didn’t know what to do. They were innocents, they weren’t like the young women waiting for their killer to die so they could rip him to shreds viciously. They hovered and flicked around excitedly. And when her shade finally formed and predictably turned on the children, snapping and reaching out with clawed hands to quiet them permanently, Danny stepped in to protect, like he always did. He bit and tore until there was nothing left.

He had seen shades and ghosts ‘move on’ before. Where they finally felt like they didn’t have to stay and they just faded contently, going where Danny couldn’t follow. Seeing all of the children disappear with laughs and smiles was the most bittersweet experience he could remember.

He cried himself to sleep that night.

So after traveling for a while and stumbling upon a glum city with far too many shades, he was a little overwhelmed. Never before had he seen so many in one place, other than the Zone of course. He couldn’t just leave, he needed to help as many as he could. For the first time in a rough while, Danny settled into one place, Gotham.

Over a couple weeks he helped as many as he could while working at some fast food place during the day and a weird bar at night.

Things were busy but manageable until one evening he was kidnapped and held hostage along with a dozen other people in some mad man’s scheme. He wasn’t particularly invested, knowing the Bats were going to come save them, that is until he actually saw the man, or more specifically the number of shades surrounding the man. This was Joker. It had to be. He never had a face to the name until today, but the shades that he spoke to the gave half answers to exactly three questions before becoming disinterested about half the time brought up Joker. Even the ones that weren’t in the building, must have been killed by this man. He wasn’t just a serial killer, he was a mass murderer.

Danny knew what he had to do.

With the Joker’s goons distracted with his presentation, the clown laughing into a camera that was apparently live, it wasn’t hard to escape his bonds and then borrow a gun he ‘found’.

He took aim.

“Boss, behind you!” One of the men shouted from behind the camera.

Joker turns with a wide grin and Danny doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

Three shots ring out in the open space, the other hostages scream, and the goons shout urgently. Three holes are now in the Joker’s chest, the purple suit slowly staining an ugly brown. The Joker falls, allowing the camera (and everyone watching) to show the face of the teenage murderer.

Danny doesn’t even notice, his wide eyes on the body, gun pointed to the floor. He watches the beginnings of a shade form and he can feel more shades gather around with anticipation.

A window shatters before the goons can figure out what to do now that their employer is dead. They run as the Bats descend upon them, one freeing the hostages and another directing them outside where it’s safe.

The shade is almost formed and Danny catches himself from leaning in with the rest of the shades. They weren’t victims right now, they were hungry wolves prepared to bite and rip and tear apart.

“Hey, kid, I’m gonna need you to hand that over okay? You’re safe now, no one’s gonna hurt you,” Danny hears one of the vigilantes tell him, slowly moving closer.

Danny doesn’t pay the man any mind, not even twitching in his direction. The shade was formed. It was whole and disgusting and ugly. The rest of what made up the Joker started to laugh. Just that awful noise triggered the other shades into action, flying so fast at the grinning face the shade chokes and that ear-piercing laugh turned into a scream.

Danny feels the cold metal be removed from his loose grip at his side. That’s okay, he didn’t need it anymore. The monster was being slain right in front of him. He was glad he didn’t have to intervene like he had to with the children, Danny didn’t want to touch that thing.

“He’s in shock,” the vigilante says to someone else.

“Let Gordon take care of it. Zip tie his hands, he might be a danger to himself or others when he snaps out of it,” came a different voice, younger.

“Red,” the man hisses. “He’s a kid. He’s just scared.”

“Scared people do dumb things, N.”

Danny hears a sigh before his numb hands are gently tugged behind his back and he hears the shick of plastic tighten around his wrists. He doesn’t bother struggling as he’s more preoccupied watching the scene end as there is nothing left of the clown shade to tear apart anymore. The shades all around seem to settle and accept what just happened. Their murderer was gone. They were finally free.

One by one they started disappearing into the Aftermore until the effect was exponential. More and more until he couldn’t see any anymore, but he could feel shades fading throughout the whole city.

Danny doesn’t really remember what happened after that, too focused on the change in atmosphere all throughout Gotham. He could feel it, feel them.

Maybe he was in shock like the guy said. One minute he’s staring at the body of the man he killed on shaky knees and then the next time he blinks he’s in a chair in the police station, metal handcuffs keeping him to the table and an older gentleman with a grey mustache in the seat opposite him.

The man looks at him from over his glasses.

“You with me, kid?”

Danny nods.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Danny stares back.

“I shot the Joker,” he answers simply.

The man nods.

“Do you understand that he is dead?”

Danny blinks.

“I’d be concerned if he wasn’t.”

The man pauses and then shrugs a nod.

“That’s fair.” He looks at the teenager and sighs heavily. “My name is Commissioner Jim Gordon. I am in charge of this case and I need your statement of what happened. We already did this but I don’t think you were all there, so I’m going to read your Miranda rights again, okay?”

Danny nods and then listens to the man recite words that he says he understands. He tells Mr. Gordon what he knew and what happened (withholding the pieces of information that were ghostly) and then signs a piece of paper that reiterates what he just explained as well as a confession that he shot and killed the man known as Joker in the act of being a Good Samaritan as well as self defense.

All of this was just legality. Mr. Gordon assured him no one was actually going to prosecute him, not even the state to be honest, for the Joker’s murder. In the eyes of pretty much the rest of the city and the world, it was a public service.

It was unfortunate he couldn’t just go home after that. No, of course Mr. Gordon found out Danny didn’t have parents (that he knew of) and legally couldn’t just release him back to the abandoned hotel where he lives alone. Danny works, he has money for food and the laundry mat, he doesn’t really need anything else.

It would have been as simple as handing him over to one of the boy’s homes if, you know, Danny wasn’t the one to kill the most hated man in Gotham.

So Mr. Gordon calls someone and Danny sits tight, drinking a soda and eating some chips, both from the vending machine. He was just glad his handcuffs were off.

Danny has been at the station for hours by the time Mr. Gordon comes back with a well dressed man who was tall and big. Honestly the guy kinda reminds him of his dad. Danny represents a shiver.

“Son, this is Bruce Wayne. He’s taken in a couple other boys in their time of need. I think you’ll find you’ll fit in well with his many children,” the Commissioner explains with a tight smile.

Danny tilts his head, looking behind the man to the man and woman duo who hold hands while staring at the man lovingly. He parents probably from the rumors. Maybe he’ll try talking to them later.

“Wayne as in like The Bruce Wayne? Like Wayne Enterprises?”

The man smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes, that Bruce Wayne. Nice to meet you, Daniel.”

“It’s Danny. Just Danny.”

“My butler, Alfred, just made some cookies. If we’re lucky, there will still be some left over.”

Danny perks up. Sweet! Cookies!

“You have a butler? Wack. But cookies are a yes. Let’s go! Are we done, Mr. Gordon?”

Mr. Wayne seems to blink at his easy behavior, like he was surprised Danny was so okay after just killing a man. Mr. Gordon just smiles at him, but Danny can see the concern in his eyes.

“You can go, but remember you have mandatory therapy that Mr. Wayne will make sure you get to. It’s only for three months but more sessions will be added on if you don’t cooperate so keep that in mind,” the man warns.

Danny gives the man a two finger salute.

“Roger roger!” He turns to Mr. Wayne. “Can we go now?”

“Sure.”

Turns out Alfred the butler left aside two delicious chocolate chip cookies for him. He munches on them as he observes the others in the house, but mostly the shades attached to them and the feeling of death-touched from a few of them. The one the feeling was coming from the most is the first to hug him tightly and thank him for killing the Joker.

Oh.

“Was he the one that killed you?” Danny asks without thinking it through.

The arms tighten around him and there is a collective silence as the words register. Then lots and lots of questions and suspicious looks.

It was a very long night.

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carnivore-voyeur · 4 months ago

Text

A Lengthy List of Per Eriksson Facts for Future Reference

(Based on the Live he did on Instagram. I rewatched it and made a list so you don't have to)

He's a t-shirt collector and he (allegedly) has more t-shirts than Jutty Taylor.

He says he barely paid attention in school b/c he was too busy playing guitar.

His favorite tattoo is the one on his chest. It was his first tattoo.

The back tattoo took several sessions and 30+ hours. It was very painful.

His stomach tattoo hurt the most. It's his least favorite and he wants to get it removed.

He took out his lip piercing b/c it was uncomfortable to eat with. He kept biting it.

He likes playing realistic first person shooter games. He's a PC and Xbox gamer.

His favorite guitar is the Fender Stratocaster. It's the one he uses in Ghost.

He was invited to see Rite Here Rite Now in LA.

He saw Ghost for the first time in 2011 when he was in Katatonia.

He started out as a touring guitar tech and worked for Opeth, Meshuggah, Dark Funeral, Katatonia, and more.

He's been playing guitar for 35 years and he thinks he's a mediocre guitar player.

Per started out learning how to play drums b/c his older brother was a drummer.

He had his necklace custom made in 1999/2000. He rarely takes it off.

He says his Finnish is not good.

He doesn't speak Spanish very well either. He understands more than he can speak.

He's a Snoopy fan b/c his mom got him a Snoopy plushie when he was two. He still has it.

His favorite horror movie is The Shining. He prefers the movie to the book.

His favorite Katatonia song is Sweet Nurse.

He loves animals.

He does enjoy black metal.

He thinks his hair sucks.

His favorite horror game is Silent Hill II.

He had an apartment in Barcelona, but he no longer lives there.

He was in a band called Genocrush Ferox that he says was a technical death metal band.

His favorite food is tacos.

His favorite band is Macabre.

His favorite colors are black, red, and purple.

He's seen Metallica live many times. It was his favorite band when he was a kid.

He says the hardest part of touring is traveling and boredom.

He loves true crime and he studied serial killers. He doesn't support them, just interested in their psychology.

He'd love to play with King Diamond some day.

He prefers still water to bubbly water.

He's seen SOAD live a couple times.

Toto was one of the first bands he saw live.

He's played Dead by Daylight but it gave him motion sickness.

He gets nervous playing live.

He loves good drummers.

He plays guitar, bass, and drums. He likes to sing too but says he's not great at it.

He says he had a bad experience meeting one of his heroes.

He's seen Rammstein and loves them.

He loves the word dong because they use it in his favorite show, It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

He doesn't understand why he has fans.

He says he will never do anything with Bloodbath ever again.

He hates social media.

He absolutely loves his baphomet plushies.

He prefers dark evil horror than gore.

He likes it when people call him babygirl.

He doesn't like anime.

#per eriksson

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soapyghostie · 1 year ago

Note

I don't know how I missed Danny Johnson on your list?? As a DBD enjoyer, I'm obligated to at least have one request for him!

As per his lore, Danny seems to look up to and deeply admire other serial killers (including the fictional ones). He's also quite the adpet stalker. Let's see..

How about a scenario with Danny wherein he picks Reader as his next victim, but later finds out they happen to be a serial killer as well? Specifically, one that actually has been around even before Ghostface and is someone he actually looked to for inspiration! -☎️

YESSSS!!!! I’ve been waiting for someone to send me a request for him! I love Danny! He’s my favorite Ghostface. Hope you enjoy!

The Ghost Face/Danny Johnson

Danny was out getting information for an article on the Ghost Face’s latest kill when he saw you. You were lurking nearby the crime scene, observing what was unfolding right in front of you.

Danny could tell you were different from any of his past victims: your aura; your stature; your demeanor. All of it! Especially your eyes: he could see how cold, dark, and unsympathetic they were. To Danny, you gave off ‘don’t come near me or else’ vibes and it excited him. It made him want to do just the opposite: get as close as he possibly can to you. He was obsessed with finding out everything about you.

He follows you everywhere, staying in the shadows. You're at your favorite coffee shop? Danny is sitting in the back corner, drinking his latte while watching you drink your coffee. At work? Danny is observing you from across the street behind a bush.

He takes notes on your behavior, habits, hobbies, strengths, and weaknesses. He has noticed that you always carry around a knife in your left back pocket. Additionally, he has taken note that you’re reserved. You like to keep to yourself. Hold on… that’s all in his notes?! What? He’s so confused. It’s been a week. He should know everything about you by now. Danny even realized he doesn’t even know where you live.

One time while Danny was doing his usual coffee and stalk at your favorite cafe, he looked up from his newspaper to take a peek at you. What he saw sent shivers down his spine and not the good kind. Your soulless, black eyes were piercing deep into him. Do you know that he’s been watching you? Have you been making sure he doesn’t learn anything about you? What is going on? For once in his life, Danny felt frightened.

Danny didn’t feel any joy in stalking you anymore. He felt like he was becoming the prey instead of being the predator and he didn’t like the feeling of being the prey. He was the predator always and forever. He decided he was to end all of this. It was time for his last stalking session with you.

He followed you until you turned into an alley. Smiling wickedly, he turned into the alley. He has you… now??? Where did you go? He had you exactly where he wanted you, but how can this be…

Danny’s confusion then turned to dread when, all of a sudden, someone trapped his arms from behind, keeping him from grabbing his knife from his holster, and put a knife to his throat. Shit…

So you did know he was following you huh? Oh… You know he’s the Ghost Face, but how? You’re a slasher too?! OMG! You’re (S/N)?! The one and only! Yeah, Danny is fangirling now. You are the one who inspired his Ghost Face persona after all.

Long story short, Danny didn’t get his throat slit open. You and him even became friends and partners in crime. You guys combined your killing antics and now the police can’t identify who killed who. 😂 Geniuses!

#slashers #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dead by deadlight #horror #dbd killer #slasher #the ghostface #ghostface #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen #jed olsen x reader #danny jed olsen johnson #ghostface x reader #sophi ghostie writes #dbd ghostface

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whatlovelybones-if · 1 year ago

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hi! sorry if you've gotten this question before but im curious about the plot. will it all revolve around the detective investigating the main serial killings or will we be helping them investigate other things as well kind of like in hannibal?

a little bit of both. i’ll try to explain as much as i can without spoiling much:

the chapters will be a mixture of: the general backstory of the people MC will target + the whole process of how MC will lure or kidnap them before killing + the investigation which will take place. there will be times when the investigations will hit too close to him, but that’s where MC’s general charisma and intelligence comes in to divert or straight up thwart any progress made by the detective.

vivienne (bless her heart) will be one of the factors on how you even hear of some of the most outrageous confessions and plight of people since she’s connected to the psychiatric department. J and sebas will, at least at first, be the unsuspecting accomplices to your escapades and even when J does eventually find out (either by you or by themself), they’ll jump on the chance to help you. note that sebas’s role will be more of a secret card for now so 🫢

the only antagonistic characters, as per the MC, are the people who are investigating the more confusing disappearances. you can take the detective as the antagonist for the MC as it’s their posting in the town which will set the ball rolling. of course, it’s gonna be extra angsty if you’re romancing them and they find out that you were the killer all along, but you’ll still be able to manipulate them into accepting that you did it for the greater good of the world.

#asks #it is all up to the assumption that you don’t completely lose your sanity in the end and start killing innocent people #but we’ll check that off when we get there hehe #what lovely bones #bonnie nonnie #ro: j park #ro: t kaufmann #ro: vivienne malhotra #ro: sebastián navarro #interactive fiction

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sapphicrow · 4 months ago

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Re8 Characters as Crane Wives Songs!

Karl Heisenberg- Take Me To War

I think he would be this song because it’s very violent and argumentative, as he is. Also. The man literally is jam packed with the desire for a revolution and his design is heavily influenced by WWII elements. It’s a very simple connection, but suiting.

Donna Beneviento - Unraveling

I think this song reminds me of her not because I imagine her exactly as the serial romantic that the narrator of this tragic tale is, but because of the fact that she has dealt with a lot of loss in her life. Between the death of her family, then anyone she may have had in the village when Miranda ordered them to be massacred, as well as earlier her humanity. The idea of unraveling, or losing it per se, alludes to her characteristic mental illness. Shes off the rails, we love that for her, and so does this song. One of the main lyrics in the song is “But now my love is gone / and I am left unraveling” and I just feel that encompasses how she’s been abandoned to her dolls to wither out of sight. Also the song goes tailor, gardener, then carpenter and she is all of those things which I find to be a rather seemly match.

Salvatore Moreau - Nobody

Now, the artists themselves describe this as a queer tragedy, but I think I can yank it out of context a bit to fit the silly. Now, this song states over and over again how “nobody ever loved me like she tells me she does” and I feel that is a very manipulative statement. Moreau does not have much of a back story, but one of the original concepts for his character was that he was to have the woman he loved melded to his back in a somewhat perverse fashion where she would be forced to stay with him. This idea is encapsulated by the obsessive and toxic nature of the relationship this song portrays. If you really want to have a think about it, you could imagine it was the woman herself trying to justify Moreau’s actions to herself. However, I was thinking more along the route of how Miranda surely had to lead this poor fish on for him to be so devoted. I don’t mean romantically, but she most definitely was more involved to begin. Nobody ever loved him like she told him she does. That doesn’t mean she does, but it does illustrate how she taunted him with the idea of a mom, leading him to create this familial illusion in his twisted mind.

Alcina Dimitrescu- Tongues & Teeth

Now this one was a little tricky, I was torn between this one and The Wolf but I feel this one gives more of that cruel seductiveness we have come to associate with Lady Dimitrescu. This song is very blatant. “And when you come in quick to steal a kiss / my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear” I love to imagine our lady as a woman who relishes in her power, not one who is insecure in it. She will not shy away from her own strength, nor will she temper it for anybody. Tongues & Teeth tells it like it is- should you wish to be hers, you are going to get hurt. End of story. She’s going to hurt you. This is no accident, this is no fluke. She is violent in her very nature. But on the contrary to that, this is a warning. This gives you the courtesy to flee. I think she would want you to at least be willing to be broken by her in some capacity, which is why she would even say anything in the first place. Also. I think the song is a banger and I’d like to bang her.

Cassandra Dimitrescu- Show Your Fangs

Cassie is a huntress, a conclusion made among fans due to her final fight being fought within the Dimitrescu castle’s armory. She is strong and has a fierce playful energy to her, going as far as toying with Ethan with her lil “RAH!”s that admittedly did scare me a few times. I view this song as a sort of feminine war song. “I’m not your highness, a damsel left helpless by fright / I am a lioness, fierce as I walk through the night” Out of the three sisters, she is certainly the most combative. In addition to the obvious associations, I believe that the line stating that she is not your highness is a sort of jab at the title of countess. She wants nothing to do with that power. She is wild and bitey and feral. She is in no way a ‘proper’ lady. She refuses that idea outright and I mclove that for her.

Bela Dimitrescu- Steady, Steady

We all imagine Bela as the perfect, shining golden child of the Dimitrescus. She’s responsible, respectful, and just overall a polite little lady. But I think she’s more wild than that. The duality of this song orchestrates this view wonderfully. Sang in a slow, deep melody; “Steady, steady, you know when you’re ready.” This shows her prim side, I also like to imagine this as her mantra muttered between deep breaths as she goes to present her work to her mom. (She’s always well received, but she over thinks it a lot.)

And then the other side of this song goes in a more frantic, rambunctious tune; “I’m swimming in this dress like a child in her mothers clothes/ This ring around my fingers like a chain around my throat” and while I suppose the original intent was to allude to an unhappy marriage, I think we can point it towards the subtle resentment Bela holds towards her responsibilities and how she feels as though she’s not the right person for the job. Bela deals with a lot of impostor syndrome on this matter. I just think this song gives both sides of our dynamic blondie. (Alternatively for Bela, Hard Sell)

Daniela Dimitrescu- Icarus

Originally, Icarus was a tale of a young fool who got too close to the sun. It is also the tale of a boy who wanted Apollo BAD bad. Daniela feels very youthful and naive to me, she was locked up after all. I think that her mother acknowledged that she was desperate for outside interaction and that this was a threat to her, thus her seclusion in the library. However, in the end, her delusions of romance had her get just a bit too close to Ethan. “My love will fall with grace,” says the song. And so she did. She flew too close to the sun. Plus this song is super spunky and that gives Dani vibes.

Mother Miranda- Never Love An Anchor

Okay so. This song speaks of a shitty shitty relationship, one that’s maternal evidently. I believe this is symbolic of Mother Miranda’s connection with the lords. Heisenberg, who wound up in her control against his own will, shown respect solely for his success as a subject. Donna, demented and alone, was taken under her wing only for her to be defenseless when Ethan attacked. Alcina, mighty and beautiful, but weak and insecure in her own mind, left to yearn for her favor. Moreau, grotesque and ruined by Miranda’s hand, then allowed to spoil further as his desperate need for her love went unfed.

“Do you ever think of me and my two hands? And wonder why they never soothed your fevers? And wonder why they never tied your shoes? And wonder why they never held you gently? And wonder why they never had the chance to lose you?” On a separate note, I think this could be something Miranda thinks to herself as she fights for Eva. If her consciousness is trapped in the megamycete, it stands to reason that she is conscious in there. I wonder if Miranda ever worried if Eva could overhear the carnage she was causing for her. I wonder if she spoke to her, apologizing for not being a good enough mom. I wonder if the guilt would overwhelm her to the point she was crumpled on her lab’s floor, weeping against bare earth and mold, begging her to forgive her. Hm. Food for thought.

Bonus! Mirancina- The Moon Will Sing

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asterdisaster06 · 1 year ago

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Strawberry Pie

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

summary > The four times Simon helped you, and the one time you helped him.

word count > 2.5k

cw > Serial killer AU. Inaccurate police information + procedures for plot reasons. Allusion to murder + getting away with crimes, yeah, that’s the kind of help (:<

a/n > inspired by hannibal + “strawberry” by andrew montana

ao3

“How does it look?” A simple twirl following the words accompanying the small smile. Lips painted blood red with a new lipstick.

“Beautiful love, absolutely stunning,” Simon says with a slow blink, a cat-like behaviour to express his adoration for you.

“I found this sundress while out shopping. And I got my nails done while I was at it! I followed your recommendation,” You answer with a smile as soft as the blanket beneath your rosy fingertips.

“And the lipstick?” Simon asks, tilting his head.

“Something I found in college. It’s served me well all these years,” You send a grin filled with sharp teeth towards Simon. His sweet little vixen.

“Others would call you crazy,” Simon mentions, the teasing tone trailing off as he stares at you intently.

“But?”

“But, I admire your gumption, sweetheart,” Simon says, cupping your face gently in his hands; laying a tender kiss on the tip of your nose.

“You missed,” You remark with a twinkle in your eye.

“Oh did I now?” His voice softened from its usual gruff timbre.

Simon RIley leans in to kiss your forehead, and then one corner of your mouth to the other, and then finally landed home onto your lips. He didn’t seem to mind the transfer of dye nor the chastising you did because of it. It was messy, it was sweet, it was entirely and so wholefully the two of you with the only disturbance being the gentle breeze shifting the pastel curtains. The ones that Simon insisted on keeping open to let the precious sunlight in - he claims that the way it brushes against your skin is a look into heaven itself.

“Okay, okay, I really have to go this time. You’ve kept me trapped here like your little Rapunzel for far too long, Simon,” You urgently get out between fits of laughter and giggles alike.

“So satanic, the way you plan to simply leave the love of your life here to die alone,” Your boyfriend sighs, sagging back into the comfort of the mattress you both were now laying on. Of course, he was being dramatic. As per usual. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so humorous to see the giant of a man turn into a feeble ghost of the soldier he usually is. Price would be proud to see that his subordinate does in fact have some humanity left within himself.

“Don’t panic. You’ll live, I’m sure of it,” You reply, giving him a sympathetic kiss on the cheek, before getting up.

“Hey love?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“You missed,” Was all he could get out before you rolled your eyes and gave him exactly what he wanted - despite the fact that it made you a minute late.

. . .

“Welcome to our humble abode,” You smile, giving a sweet little twirl and a flourish of your arms. The team had to admit that it was a cosy little thing out in the sticks. The interior design was no doubt your doing, a cottagecore vibe, considering the fact that Simon was limited to plain walls being his entire experience. Plants here and there, sunlight streaming through the glass paned windows, and pots and pans hanging with their herb friends.

“Thank you for having us,” Price responds.

“What he said,” Came from the other two.

“Where’s your lover?” Soap asks teasingly.

“Oh, he’s out in the garden gathering a few last minute spices,” You say, a gentle expression taking over your features at the thought of your love doing so much for you. You see the group share a knowing look and a few chuckles were heard from behind you. A soft reminder is all they need to stop with their shenanigans while you’re cooking. Of course, Gaz offers a helping hand with chopping up various vegetables for the stew and Price had called dibs on doing the dishes. He claims it was the least he could do for the host. Soap on the other hand insists on being the taste tester. A gentle ring of a bell alerts you to Simon coming in from the outside, completely drenched.

“What happened to you? You look like a stray dog,” You laugh, leaning against the counter.

“In my defence, it started as a drop before it ended up pouring a minute later,” Simon grumbled,

“We’ve needed a good shower, wouldn’t you say? Good for the fertiliser,” You say, sending your lover a wink as you scoot over to allow him access to the sink.

A playful eye roll is what you earn in response as he says, “This is what I get for agreeing to hide out in the country.”

“Bite your tongue if you know what’s good for you,” You nudge him good-naturedly.

“You know I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, love,” He says, facial expression softening into pure adoration. He sends you this look even as he’s scrubbing his hands of the dirt and blood from the garden. The scent of decay quickly running down the drain, tainting the water black.

“I know. My saviour day in and day out, wouldn’t you say?”

Before Simon got the chance to answer, the timer - the one in the shape of a chicken because Simon just couldn’t say no when you held it up to him with those puppy dog eyes - went off.

“Your world famous strawberry pie? Again?” You click your tongue and shake your head with a sly smile.

“It’s world famous for a reason, love. And, we have guests that have yet to taste my creation,” Simon grins back at you.

“Whatever you say, Simon,” You huff out with a laugh.

Laughter filled the air as the dinner party continued later into the night before it all quieted down with the departure of the boys. A simple contentment washes over the two of you left on the couch, a fleece blanket encasing your figures. Something about it warmed your beating heart as you listened to the rhythm of Simon’s long after you drifted off into unconsciousness.

. . .

“Simon, you wouldn’t happen to be busy right now, would you?”

“Of course not, love. What do you need?” Simon answers over the phone.

“There was a roadkill accident, and my car isn’t in tip top shape anymore. Do you think you could come pick me up? I’m about two klicks down the road from our house,” You say, your phone tucked in between your ear and shoulder as you slide latex gloves over your hands.

“As you wish,” Simon’s voice rumbles in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You drag the corpse into the bushes and thank whoever was listening that the only evidence left was the blood pool. It would be quite a shame if any innocent had to feast their eyes on the remains of the carrion. Vultures would have to find another meal elsewhere - this one was yours. Right on time, Simon’s car reverberated down the gravel lane.

“I didn’t think you would become so reckless, angel,” Simon chuckles, hopping out of his truck to help you lift the body into the back of his car.

“I like the word hasty more. It sounds better, don’t you think?”

“Whatever you call it, just remember I’m always here to help clean up your messes.”

“And I you, darling,” You nudge Simon as he opens the car door for you.

“I should’ve seen it in your eyes when we first started seeing each other. You were trying to warn me,” Simon chuckles, humour lacing his words.

“I always wanted to be able to see you in the morning, Simon,” You begin solemnly. “I don’t wanna be alone, it’s quite boring, isn’t it?” You shrug.

“Oh, baby, let me finish. I’m keeping you, you menace. Until the day one of us kills the other,” Simon smiles, giving your hand a tight squeeze.

“That would be how it ends, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course, there’s no other way,” Simon says, a simple grin on his lips. A rare sight, but a common one with you. And just like the rain, it was washed away just as quickly.

. . .

“Shit, love, did you go after a military man?” SImon asks as he gently wipes away dirt and grime from your face. Your clothes were receiving the same treatment in the washer after you took a shower.

“I somehow doubt her boyfriend got into the military with that weak of a punch. He just got the jump on me. . . and had a pocket knife,” You explain, wincing when Simon brushed over your wounds.

“That would explain all these lacerations, now wouldn’t it?”

“Actually those were from the girl clawing me half to death. The guy did jack all if I’m being honest. Tried to run like a pussy too,” You laugh, your ribs protesting at the act.

“Sounds like you did her a favour, showing her the real colours of her boyfriend. A shame she isn’t alive to make a change,” He hums, confidently bandaging your arms and face like he had done a million times before. And like he would continue to do a thousand times over. As he does that you down a cheap whiskey from the bottle to ease the pain.

“Quite a shame. Almost as much as the fact that I have some cleaning up to do later. They were surprisingly bloody for how little it took to bring them down,” You sigh, raking your hands through your hair before realising your hands were still stained metallic red.

“You just take a shower and leave the rest to me,” Simon says with a quirk at the edge of his lips.

“What would I do without you?”

“Probably end up in jail.”

“That’s both true and insulting.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

. . .

“Simon? I think it’s time for a change.”

“What colour?”

“You know me so well. I was thinking something colourful this time around, really make the sight a seemly one before they meet their end,” You say, looking in the mirror and preemptively mourning for the identity that would be no longer.

Not if Simon had any say in it. He had a surprising knack for disguise; although, you suspect that a few missions would require a little bit of magic to make it work. Odd, though, considering it’s doubtful that anyone would be left to tell the tale of the infamous Simon “Ghost” Riley.

“You just get into the bathroom, I’ll be there soon with the dye,” Simon calls out from across the house.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not today,” Simon answers.

“Well, I love you very much for all that you do for me,” You say, expressing your thanks.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Simon chuckles, entering the bathroom with all that you could ever need for an identity change. “Although, have you ever considered wearing a mask? Speaking from personal experience, it does make a wonderful impression alongside shielding you from the public eye.”

You hum thoughtfully before responding with, “I have, although I’ve discovered the personal touch makes it all the more better. That, and, I think between the two of us, you pull it off way better than I ever could.”

“If you insist, love,” Simon laughs, the sound reverberating throughout you.

“It’s the truth, now which colour would suit me better?” You ask, alternating two dyes in your hand and in your favour.

“Tough question. I fear we might need a second opinion,” He teases.

“You know me too well, get the team on the phone,” You grin, practically bubbling over with excitement. Some may say you were too enthusiastic given the circumstances, but not Simon. He always supported you in your little hobby and dinner parties - much to your surprise. He was everything that you could’ve ever asked for, and more.

. . .

“Hey, love, are you busy right now?” Simon asks over the phone - a surprising event considering that he was never one for calls. They irked him, verbatim words that make you giggle at the absurdity of all.

“No, of course not, Simon. What do you need?” You ask, slightly busy with cooking dinner but Simon always came first. You did put him on speaker though to make it a little easier.

“Could you come down to the station? Some stories need to be set straight, if you know what I mean,” Simon almost growls out.

“I’ll be there in five,” You reply, dropping the pleasantries as a dark look overtakes you.

. . .

“What seems to be the problem, Officer?” You ask, acting the part of an innocent victim.

“Can I get you some water?” Fake pleasantries. Nothing upset you more.

“No thank you. I’d prefer to get this cleared up as soon as possible, sir,” You spit out, decisive and curt with your words.

“Of course. There appears to be significant evidence that forty-eight hours ago your significant other was put at the scene of a crime near the Lincoln bar. Likely as a perpetrator,” Is what the officer tells you, much to your chagrin. Despite the calm facade that you were putting forth, you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes. You know exactly what happened, exactly who was killed, and the reason behind it was all because of a jealous spat between Simon and a man who had the misfortune of hitting on you in front of the infamous Ghost. He just couldn’t control himself when it came to you.

“I find that highly unlikely,” You say brusquely.

“And why is that?”

“He was at the Lincoln bar, but both myself and three other people were with him the entire night. Here, I’ll write their numbers down,” You say, quickly uncapping the pen on the table.

“We’ve already checked the surveillance, but thank you for these witnesses. There is a gap of time between 9:31 PM and 9:39 PM that we are awfully curious about.”

“From what I remember, he went to the bathroom,” You answer genuinely.

They continued their line of questioning, asking if you had any connection to the victim, if you had seen anyone suspicious, along with other interrogations that all ended with the classic ‘if you think of anything else, notify us.’ You had high hopes that Simon would be released almost immediately and you were proven right when he walked right out of the building over to where you were on the curb.

“There’s my saviour,” Simon says, embracing you tightly.

“You haven’t forgotten our promise, right?” You ask with a smile.

“Of course not, love. I simply wanted to show my appreciation, as per usual,” Simon chuckles lightly.

“Be your alibi, and never ask why,” You say, interlocking your pinky with Simons.

“Never ask why,” Simon whispers back, promising it like a vow.

“The boys invited us out to dinner at Price’s, angel. You feeling up to it?” You ask.

“Always if it involves you,” Simon flirts.

You roll your eyes, replying with, “You menace.”

“You know you love me,” Simon laughs. And you did. So, very, much.

#ao3 #cod fic #cod mw2 #fanfic #mw2 141 #cod 141 #mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #simon ghost x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #domestic fluff #fluff #drabble

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