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morgana-ren · 10 months

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How would you feel about the concept of self aware!Bailey who slowly becomes obsessed with the person controlling the PC?

Oh shit, that's actually brilliant. Like, he's known PC their entire lives, but suddenly they develop an entirely new personality, presumably much different than the one they had before. Suddenly, they're extremely competent, or intelligent, and they're certainly attracting attention that they weren't before. Obviously, it's his business to know things, so he starts paying extra attention. Acutely studying things that happen. And it seems like their moves are almost calculated. Some moments, he starts to notice, seem like they last ages. They can change their attitude at will. Sometimes, it's like they know what's going to happen before ever does. Like they've lived it before.

When he tries to deviate from his routine, it seems like something won't allow it. Baily is a canny guy. Enough of a change and he'd figure something out.

You enter the orphanage, only to run smack into Bailey. He glares at you for a moment before grabbing your shoulders. You flinch, thinking he's going to hurt you, but all he does is stare into your eyes for a moment before releasing you.

He leaves without a word.

+ Stress

It starts to drive him a little crazy. There's something he can't put his finger on; something he can't control. The more he thinks about it, the more it seems like his life tends to revolve around the PC. He knows he interacts with other people-- he has memories of doing it. But it seems like he's never actually doing it. Only knows that he has.

How are they getting all this money, anyway? His demands are purposefully outrageous. They are making more money than most people in the entire town and have some to spare. No one is that good at surviving here.

No one. Unless they're cheating somehow.

Someone enters your room. It's Bailey.

"Time to pay up." You hand him the money, and he cards through it for a moment, seemingly counting it out. There's a strange look on his face, and he looks at you with suspicion.

"How'd you get this?" He holds it up accusingly.

You stare at him with confusion on your face. He's never cared how you got it before. In fact, he deliberately avoids asking.

You don't answer.

He snarls and leaves, slamming your door shut as he does.

It hits him one day. As insane as it sounds, he understands. Everything fits a little too perfectly.

He doesn't tell a soul. He doesn't want to end up in Dr. Harper's care.

Or would this place even allow him to tell anyone? Would Harper even have protocol for that, or would they just stare at him lifelessly like they tend to do sometimes?

Bailey gives you a creepy stare— and yet, it seems he's looking right through you. Almost something behind you. You peer behind yourself, and there's nothing.

"I know you're there," is all he says before returning to his paperwork, dismissing you without an explanation.

It gives you the chills.

+ Stress

He's left irritated, but more than that, he's curious. What is it you want? Do you get off on this? Watching this wretched little shithole suffer?

What does this have to do with PC? Why did you take over them? Why are you helping them?

You're not a God-- he's relatively sure of that. But you have enough power to get this little orphan out of trouble. Enough foresight to keep them safe and somewhat healthy.

What do you want? Why do you let it all happen?

...Or is this what you want?

Bailey drags you to his office. You aren't sure what you've done. You've paid him, and that's usually all he cares about.

Once you're inside, he locks the door, slamming you against it with a hand on your throat. Again, he's not quite looking at you. It's somehow more unnerving than if he was glaring.

+ Stress

"What do you want?" He snarls, baring teeth at you.

You don't understand what he means. You try to respond, but only wheezing breaths escape you as he clenches your neck.

+ Willpower

"Why are you doing this?" He hisses, squeezing harder. You feel bruises forming.

+ Pain + Arousal

He holds you like that for a moment, quaking in anger, before he suddenly releases you in a moment of clarity.

"Get out. I don't expect you to have the answers."

You scramble through the door holding your throat, not wanting to give him another chance to attack you.

W̴h̵a̵t̷ ̵t̵h̷e̶ ̵h̷e̶l̷l̶ ̸w̷a̴s̸ ̴t̶h̸a̷t̵ ̶a̴b̶o̴u̷t̸?̴

Once he notices it, it's impossible to ignore. They win every competition. Commit crimes but evade the police. They can do things with such ease that it's unnatural.

He can't see you, but he knows you're there. Knows you're watching. You're aware of his presence and now he's aware of yours.

Maybe that's it. Maybe you're a voyeuristic little whore. A talented one, but still a whore.

Perhaps you get off on this. Is that it? You like watching? Or do you live vicariously through his orphan somehow? Maybe that's what it is.

Maybe you wish it was you.

You wake up with a start to find B̷̤̹́̿a̸̮͈̗͗i̶͎̳͈̽̈́l̵̙͚̈́͝e̴̱̓̏͝ÿ̴̮̝̼́͋͝ climbing on top of you. You try to scream, but he claps a hand over your mouth.

"I know you want this. Don't you? Is that what this is about?"

You can't speak with his hand still clamped over your face, but something tells you it doesn't matter. There's something about his eyes that terrifies you. You feel him hard and throbbing in his slacks, but again, he ï̷̩̠s̵̲̠̒̐n̴͚̜̓'̴̹͕̈t̸̛̮̓ ̵̦̫͐͘q̶̗́͑u̴̝͋̐i̷̝̅̄͜t̶̢̥́́ë̷̝͍́ ̵̯͂l̴̋͜o̷͙͎̚ǒ̸̻̻̈k̴͇͎̊̂i̷̛̪͒n̴̳͂̽g̵̖̏ ̴̦̌a̵̤̟͌ẗ̸͔̞́ ̵̝͇̀̅y̶͉̹̑o̸͇̝͊̌ụ̶̹͐̆.

Your sense of control cracks.

He rips at your clothes, tearing your pajamas to shreds. His left hand pulls down his slacks. His right hand holds you down.

+ Trauma

+ Stress

+ Arousal

He looks eager. He looks aroused. He looks incredibly pissed off. He looks {n̷̺̤͘u̷͙̎ͅl̶̰̈́ḷ̴͖̈́̓}

He can't touch you, but he can touch them all over. That's what you want, isn't it?

He wouldn't have looked twice at them before. Even now, something inside of him fights. Tells him no. A voice that isn't his. Something trying to control his movements. Control his thoughts. Control him.

Oh, no. He doesn't fucking think so. But if you can get in here, he can get out. He's aware, and he knows that wasn't mean to happen. But now that he is, he just needs some time. Some time to prod at the fraying seams of reality to find a crack.

No, he can't touch you.

Y̶̩̰̋ė̸̥̗͑t̶̻̆.̶̛̫͙̍

#morgana and friends #degrees of lewdity #bailey the caretaker #dol bailey #Just a goofy lil thang #Love the concept #he's so aloof and doesn't give a shit #what if he found out that was a manufactured feeling #he isn't even in power here #YOU are #and power is attracted to power #oooh you gunna get it when he figures out how to get out of this place #the laws of his reality are made up #maybe yours are too #you have power here #but maybe he has power *out there*

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corpsebasil · 1 year

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Hello!! Could I request an ethan Landry x reader fic where maybe reader puts 2&2 together after their first kiss or something and she like runs out of the dorm goes to the libary and looks up the previous ghost faces and maybe finds an old picture of ethan/richies family and she just sobs prints out the proof and rushes to warn her friends but before she gets a chance Ethan’s there and he’s just taunting her like you shouldn’t stick your nose where it doesn’t concern you now you have to pay. And either readers escapes him and ends up killing him in the end or she dies?

Yes I can babe

My Little Liar

warning/ pretty violent; character death

He was always conveniently missing when shit went down.

You trusted him. You were sure you trusted him, but…

You’d been hurt that night, attacked as you’d been on the way home from the grocery store. Ghostface had pinned you against the wall of some disgusting alley, one hand against your mouth to muffle the keening noise that left you when he dragged his knife down your arm, leaving a long line of red from elbow to wrist.

It was a cut that would’ve ended your life in seconds had it been even a fraction deeper. But he’d made it shallow, just enough to sent pain searing down your arm, all while tilting his head at you as if in amusement.

And now Ethan, your friend, was cleaning the cut, frowning down at the bloodied skin. He’d said he was on his way to bring you back your textbook when he’d knocked, hardly ten minutes after you’d stumbled, bleeding and crying softly, into your apartment. You stared at him, eyes lingering on the curve of his nose, his curly hair, his mouth that was turned down at the corners as he began to wrap gauze around your forearm.

“At least it wasn’t deep.” Ethan commented, peering up at you.

You sat on the edge of your tub as he kneeled by your feet, your arm still in his grasp. Good lord the boy’s eyes were stunning. But he was unamused as he stared at you, his expression almost blank. You tugged your arm gently out of his grip.

“I’m surprised he didn’t kill me.” You raised your eyebrows, running your fingers across the bandage. “He had the chance.”

“Maybe he wants to drag it out.” Ethan mused, eyes still holding your own, and a chill ran across your skin.

You left out a half-hearted laugh, eyebrows knitting together as you looked at him.

“Ethan that’s not funny.” Your voice was strained as you remembered the fear and the pain that the killer had inflicted on you, on others, and you were surprised to feel a tightness in your chest.

“I’m not trying to be funny.”

“Then don’t say shit like that.” You were tearing up, standing and moving away from him. He should’ve been comforting you not suggesting Ghostface wants to take his time. Ethan rose and grabbed your hand before you could leave the bathroom, pulling you back towards him.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry.” He said, grasping your face in his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No you shouldn’t have.” You sniffed, looking up at him, at his brown eyes that had softened and were peering down at you.

“I’m sorry.” He said again, as sincerely as he could, before he leaned down and kissed you.

Your heart stopped.

You’d known you liked him, but he was—

“Y/N.” Ethan whispered against your mouth, tugging you closer. You made a soft sound of pleasure as he kissed you deeper, one arm of his looping around your back.

“Wait,” you breathed, pulling away, and laughed when he chased after you, his face flushed, eyes focused on your mouth. “hold on, hold on. We need to tell the others what happened.”

“Can’t they wait?” He protested, already guiding you towards the living-room, dead set on getting you on the couch. You grinned when he sat down, pulling you onto his lap, his lips finding your neck.

“Just…for like, ten minutes max.”

“Mhmm.” He murmured against your skin.

That night as you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t fall asleep. You had been tossing and turning since Ethan had left, and the sting in your arm had reduced to a low throb. But something was nagging at you. Something about the way he’d looked up at you from the bathroom floor, that cold look in his eyes reminded you of—

You sat upright instantly, your breath catching. No. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

But you were standing, pulling your shoes on and throwing open your apartment door, tearing off into the night. You made it to your university and slipped silently into the 24 hour study room, surprised to see there was no one else in the large section of the library.

So you made your way to a laptop, logging in and googling Ethan Landry. Your fingers clacked along the keyboard at a rapid clip before the data came up: nothing. You frowned, pulling out your phone, to search him on Instagram. Still nothing. It was like your friend didn’t exist online at all.

Then, breathing a bit shallowly, you searched for the other name that you had on your mind. And you scrolled. And scrolled. And then, you saw it. You squinted, leaning in, heart racing as you took in the image.

It was a man, a man who looked vaguely familiar, with his arm around—

You lurched back from the screen, staring at the trio. He was younger there, so was Richie, but it was unmistakably Ethan.

“No fucking way.” You mumbled, feeling slightly panicked, your face turning red hot when you realized you’d made out with the brother of the Ghostface who had nearly killed you. You saved the image, opening up your WhatsApp on the computer as you made to send the photo to Tara.

But then a hand grabbed the back of your shirt, yanking you away from the computer, and you screamed as your chair crashed backwards onto the floor, your head hitting the ground.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan demanded, hauling you up against him, his grip on the back of your shirt almost choking you. You thrashed but he held tight, growling into your ear as he spoke. “What were you doing, Y/N?”

“You—he’s your—” you steadied yourself on your feet, smacking at him, still trying to wrench yourself away. “You’re a liar.”

“First smart thing you’ve ever said to me, baby.” He laughed and let go, causing you to stumble forward and away from him.

You bolted towards the door, yanking on the handle, and let out a strangled sob when you found it was locked. So you turned towards the other exit, only to find Ethan blocking your path, a sinister grin on his face.

“It was so easy to get you to trust me.” He purred, taking a casual step forward. “I’ll admit though, you’re a hell of a kisser. I might’ve even slept with you if you would’ve let me.”

“You’re disgusting.” You spat, edging your way around a table. “Get the fuck away from me, E.”

“If you promise not to tell,” he offered, tilting his head as he moved forward again, inching closer. “I might let you go.”

You wept, heart racing as the swell of his betrayal washed over you, your head shaking rapidly.

“Ethan, no. You were my friend.”

“Shame.” He sighed, as if this was tiring, and then picked up the nearest laptop and threw it at you.

You shrieked as you dodged but it still managed to hit your shoulder, the slam of it causing pain to rush throughout your chest and arm. The blow caught you off guard and you hardly had time to react before he was rushing you, grabbing your waist and tossing you to the ground.

“No!” You screamed, scrambling away, and then your scream turned into a wail when he dropped on top of you, his knee digging into the top of your arm, forcing your injured forearm against the ground.

“I can make this worse, Y/N.” He threatened, and you heard the slide of the knife when he removed it from where he’d hidden it. You were crying in earnest, shaking your head as you thrashed. “Beg me, Y/N.”

“Fuck you.”

“Beg me, and I’ll stop.”

Your chest heaved; your arm was pooling blood onto the ground, the ache in it almost unbearable, and his weight was crushing you. And you really, really, didn’t want to die.

“Ethan please.” You cried, squeezing your eyes shut. “Please. Please if you ever cared about me don’t—”

He lifted his weight just enough to roll you over before straddling you again, your tear soaked face staring up at his. He looked down at you, his psychotic expression having had calmed, settling into a serene little smile that scared you more than anything. He’d pinned your arms with his knees again, though he was putting less force on your wound. The direct pressure was still agonizing, though, and silent tears ran down your cheeks as you shuddered.

“Don’t cry, baby.” He sighed, eyebrows furrowing. You stiffened, trying not to sob aloud when he lifted his knife and ran it slowly across your cheek, his eyes tracking the movement. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to cut you.” Then, as an afterthought, “again.” As if for emphasis he threw the knife away from him, out of reach. “You still haven’t promised not to tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” You lied, blinking up at him. Then you cringed when he reached down and cupped your face in his hands, eyeing you with a knowing look that made your heart stumble. It was already pounding so hard you thought it might give out.

“My little liar.” He smiled, and slid his hands down to your throat. When he dipped his head down and kissed you, a long kiss, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried not to tremble. “We would’ve made a good team.” He murmured against your mouth, and then his hands began to squeeze.

When you realized what he was doing you started shaking, thrashing against him, fresh tears running down your face.

“No, no, E—” But you couldn’t speak, not as his fingers crushed into your throat, pushing you down so harshly to the ground you thought your neck would break.

You were gasping for breath, your chest growing tighter and tighter, the feeling of fire wrapping around your lungs making you sob violently. There was no air—no air left in the world—not as the taste of bile seemed to fill your mouth and your skin began to tingle, all the way from the top of your head to your toes.

Your lips were soundlessly forming his name, over and over, as spots began to spark in your vision. To his credit, and your surprise, his eyebrows furrowed and he looked away, his throat bobbing as he roughly swallowed.

And when the darkness swarmed in and you felt the first twinge of cold, you held onto the image of him, the good one, the one where he hugged you tight, the one where he kissed you and you believed he cared, until you couldn’t think anymore at all.

HELLLOOOO comment and LIKKKE

this was gnarlier than what I’m used to LOL

#ethan landry #ethan landry x y/n #Ethan Landry x reader #scream six #scream 6 #friends to lovers to enemies #character death #Ghostface #Ethan Bailey #Jack champion

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