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spookbusters · 3 years ago

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OH MY GOD

Grim Grinning Ghosts || Timothy Klitz x Fem!Reader

Timothy Klitz x Fem!Reader

Word Count || 4,562

Summary || When Klitz gets confronted at a Halloween party, he tells a lie that spirals out of control. Perhaps this lie can convince him...maybe Halloween isn't so bad after all.

Author’s Note || someone tell me why I suddenly went so feral for this loser? actually, don't tell me. sometimes my brain just fixates on him for little moments and then we get filth like this. enjoy, y'all.

Warnings || smut (MDNI), handjob (male receiving), Klitz is a silly little loser, nothing else I can think of!

Timothy Klitz might not be afraid of ghosts. But he sure as hell is afraid of parties. High school parties, at that. He doesn't remember Halloween being nearly this terrifying when he was younger. Kids had always been mean, that was one thing he could depend on. As long as he wore some nerdy costume, he was sure that he'd face some sort of ridicule.

But high school added a whole new layer. He quickly discovered that when a freshman dresses up as Neo from the Matrix, the Seniors would not hesitate to throw cheese puffs at said scrawny freshman, in hopes that he'd be able to dodge them from a dozen different angles.

Sophomore year wasn't much better. Even though his mother had tailored Jedi robes that fit him perfectly, Klitz couldn't escape scattered comments from drunk upperclassmen that repeated the dreaded line, "I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating. And it gets everywhere!"

He almost gave up completely during Junior year. Klitz never did get his hat back that night; one of the seniors snatched it from off his head and it got passed around the whole night. That had been bad enough. Until he made a complete fool out of himself when he tripped over the comically large scarf, tumbling right into a table of refreshments. That old coat he wore that had once belonged to his grandfather still sat buried in the back of his closet, covered in nacho cheese stains he hadn't been able to get out.

Yet, here he is, a fully grown Senior, mere months away from becoming a Yale man and still he's pushing his luck in a Ghostbusters jumpsuit. Proton pack in hand and particle accelerator backpack firmly strapped to his back, Timothy Klitz dares to challenge the odds. He's lived through plenty of mortifying Halloweens before; what's one more?

Where he fits in, Klitz never has a clue. Matt had practically tethered himself to Danielle's side on the living room couch, making sure that every guy at the party knows that the girl in the slutty cheetah costume is his. Klitz would've normally stuck with Eli, awkwardly sipping on drinks with him while watching the action. But Eli scampered off...somewhere. Klitz isn't sure about that either. Knowing him though, he probably saw a pair of tits and went running in that direction.

Holding his red Solo cup awkwardly, he sniffs the drink he'd picked up in the kitchen on his way outside for some air. Beer. Cheap beer. He scrunches his nose up and turns the cup to its side, dumping the liquid down onto the grass below him. It was more useful like that.

Only a few people were outside with him. A handful of guys played ball on the grass while a couple girls sat on the lounge chairs by the pool. One of them looks up in his direction and doesn't even try to hide her nasty smile or obnoxious cackle at his costume. She turns to one of her friends seated beside her and begins to whisper something to her.

This was such a mistake, he thinks, I hate this fucking holiday. Before he has a chance to see or hear what the girls have to say about him, he swirls around in the grass, getting ready to flee for his life. If he finds Eli in time, maybe he can pull him away so they can go home. Klitz suddenly isn't in the mood for any ghosts or ghouls of Halloweens that have since passed to come back to haunt him.

That's when he spots you. Sitting on the steps, directly underneath the yellow light bulb that illuminates the back porch is you. You, practically glowing and sparkling right in front of him. There aren't enough words in English to describe how his heart began to pound at the sight of you. A fluffy tulle skirt spills over your knees and you seem to be covered in some sort of iridescent lace that makes your limbs sparkle. Then there's wings; wings that stick out from behind you and frame your angelic figure.

And then it hits him, you're an angel. You're an honest to god, real life angel right in front of him.

"Hey, beanpole, what the fuck are you staring at?"

Snapped back to reality, Klitz drops the cup in his hand and his head snaps toward the guy now walking towards him. He's dressed in a long, dark cloak and a hood pulled up over his head. But Klits can clearly see his expression, irritated and ready to raise his voice at a moment's notice.

This is it. Her boyfriend is the grim reaper and he's going to kill me.

Death gets closer and points at his chest, vaguely in the direction of where his heart is beating out of his chest under his ribcage. "Are you her boyfriend or something?"

Klitz, frozen in fear, is still able to realize the truth of the matter fairly easily. Death isn't your boyfriend. Death is just an asshole that thinks he can police what beanpoles like him get to do.

So Klitz puts on the strongest voice he can muster. "Yes. I-I-I am."

Death grins cruelly. "Let's see about that, shall we?"

Pounding heart sinking into the pit of his stomach, Klitz's face visibly falls too. The look of bewilderment that forms on him makes Death chuckle before turning to where you still sit on the porch, barely paying attention to how Klitz is now fighting for his life.

Death yells to you, "This beanpole over here says he's your boyfriend?" As accurate as the description is, it still stings more than Klitz would like it to.

Time seems to slow as he sees you stand for the first time, revealing all of your celestial beauty as you float across the lawn to where he lingers. Still, he waits for the same heinous cackle he heard from the girl by the pool to burst through them, shattering the illusion that you're an angel; his angel. He watches you contemplate, practically seeing how you're working the situation out in your head.

He's adorable. That's the first thought you have. Then there's the second: and pathetic. He looks like he's begging to be put out of his misery. He's a little nerd who bit off a little more than he could chew. You nearly giggle while studying his costume for a few seconds. The khaki jumpsuit hides very little of his lanky figure. He's a tall glass of nectar that you'd like to drink up with one sip. Even though you thought it would be cute, being an angel for the night, you felt like doing something terrible to this boy.

Klitz feels guilty for thinking it, but one thought runs through his head: Is this girl dumb? It wouldn't be the first time he came across a girl at his high school who was gorgeous but possessed the intellectual range of a rock. It doesn't matter though. Klitz is sure that even the dumbest girl alive would still reject him. No one would--

"Um, yeah? And what's the problem with that?" Cocking your head and furrowing your brow, your beautiful mouth had finally opened.

"Wait, so what you're saying is…is that this kid…" Death takes Klitz by the shoulder and shakes him. "This kid is your boyfriend?"

You simply nod this time. Maybe she used all of her brain power with that last sentence. Klitz internally smacks himself, putting a firm cork on the negs at your expense. Dude, this girl just saved your ass from probably being pummeled. Now's not the time.

Death looks confused, eyeing you up and down as if he was giving you a moment to get to the punchline too. But it doesn't come. You smile. And Klitz feels lighter than air.

"Okay...if you say so. Have fun with him." laughs through his nose with a look of disgust before walking off towards the rest of his friends.

"Thanks!" you chirp. Before Klitz has a chance to say a word edgewise, you take a hold of his sweaty palm. Your voice lowers as your gaze shifts to him, "How about we go inside? Find somewhere to talk."

Bringing him back through the screen door at the porch, you lead him past drunk party goers that are scattered throughout the home. Klitz is dumbfounded and so are the few people lining the upstairs hallway. He knows immediately how ridiculous he must look being dragged around by this little angel, an angel who is obviously way out of his league.

Over and over again, he tells himself, this is just a dream. He's not actually at the Halloween party. It's the night before the party and he's lying in bed. His subconscious is simply crafting a worst case scenario just for him to experience. When a loser like him tries to fit in, the universe humbles them. How you plan to deliver that humbling, he can't even begin to guess.

You wiggle doorknobs as you walk down the upstairs hall, staying calm until you get to one that opens for you. You scowl when you realize that it's a bathroom. A tiny bathroom. The light is unflatteringly dim and there's barely enough room for much else besides the bare necessities: a shower, toilet, and a countertop with only a little space that isn't reserved for the sink.

You curse whoever designed this floor plan before sighing, "This'll do."

Klitz feels like he's a million miles away from his being when he questions "What will do?" But you don't grace him with any sort of answer.

Hopping up on the counter, you spread your legs and pat the space on the counter between them. You don't say it but he can hear your honeyed tone reverberating through his skull: come here.

Following the directions of the little voice, Klitz shuffles towards you, eyes averted. He has no clue where to focus them. Certainly not at the dip between your legs that hides beneath the tulle skirt. Certainly not at your chest which is close to eye level for him. And certainly not your eyes. Because he's sure that the second he stares into those sparkling eyes, they'll turn into a demonic crimson fire that scorches him. Already he believes you'd have the power to reduce him to ash.

You'd smile sweetly once more before stepping over the dusty pile of his remains, kicking his proton pack aside with a sneer. He never stood a chance in the first place.

So he stares at a random freckle that he finds on your skin. He keeps it at the front of his mind as he asks slowly, "Why did you lie?"

"About what? The boyfriend thing?"

"Yes," Klitz lowers his voice to a whisper, "The stupid boyfriend thing."

Your giggle plays like a melody. "I thought it would be funny."

That makes Klitz's head shoot up, blood coursing through his veins. You weren't dumb at all. You were just mean. You were playing with him the entire time. Which was probably far worse than if you'd just rejected him outright. He would've found some other way to recover and stroke his ego. With this...there was something different begging to be stroked.

It flusters him and has him sputtering for the words to express his frustration, "Y-you-- you thought it would be funny? To just humiliate me? To lie about that?"

Raising a finger, you start harshly, "Listen to me, kid, I'm not the one who lied first so you can hop off of your high horse and--"

Klitz cuts you off, hating the nasally whine in his voice, "I'm not a kid."

"You sure are acting like one," you cross your arms and lean back. Kiltz's eyes move to your chest, deliberately on display as you glare at him like he's a child. You're almost stunned that you got a nerd like him wrangled into a bathroom and he wasn't on you immediately. It baffles you entirely. But it intrigues you. As much as you don't like arguing with him, it gives you more to work on. You like his sense of pride and the little bit of ego that keeps him from faltering too much. It’s better when there’s tension, you reason with yourself, he’s not one of those assholes just dying to get a feel.

Eyes raising to finally meet yours, he states nervously, "I'm not a kid. I'm a...I am a grown man."

You try your best to hold back another laugh, not wanting to set him off again. You've learned your lesson, he won't be so easy. "Then what do I call you, grown man?" you test out a little tease.

It's a taunt that he takes lightly, thank goodness. "Klitz," then he whispers shamefully, "with a K."

For some reason, that doesn't make you laugh. More than anything else, it feels like a sign. One from your fellow angels above that encourages you to keep going. How often do you get a sign so direct?

"Really? Well, okay, Klitz with a K,” you venture a little further, “What if I didn't want what I said to be a lie?"

This startles him. The lie and the counter maneuver was nothing in comparison to this revelation. "What?"

"Now don't you play dumb on me. A geek like you should be able to read between the lines at least a tiny bit."

You're one to talk about playing dumb, he thinks to himself. In your own way, you do make him burn up. Only these are the flames of embarrassment. Who were you to imply that he was playing any sort of game?

Still suspicious, he presses his luck. "Why wouldn't you want it to be a lie?"

"I will say...I do like a man in uniform." Hand grazing the front of his jumpsuit, sparks dance in his belly. You're so close to touching his skin that it drives him nuts. As your finger traces over one of the zipper pockets over his chest, he lets out a low, broken moan. He hardly even realizes that he made the sound until he catches your smile again, this time he thinks he sees it curl with malice.

Klitz panics. This is just another part of your game. You're still playing. "If you're just going to mess with me then I might as well go." He begins to back away. "Thanks for nothing."

Your offending hand floats down to rest on his hip. The little amount of pressure keeps him anchored in place in front of the counter. For a second he worries that the single touch will actually make him completely blow a gasket and collapse to the ground. It's all he thinks of. The small force it took to completely own him. If this is even half of what Matt feels when Danielle touches him, Klitz suddenly understands why he lets her keep him on a short leash. Klitz wouldn't ever want to stray from you either. He wants you on his shoulders all the time, the radiant angel from the back porch and the alluring devil that now sits before him.

He doesn't mean for it to happen, but he leans towards you. You seem to pull him in with some strange gravitational pull and suddenly...his face is closer to yours than it's ever been. So close that he can make out individual holographic glitter specks on your glossy lips. Maybe that's what made them so inviting in the first place. Your skirt rustles as you slide forward a little on the counter, pressing into his body more.

"Don't go." You plead gently, "I think you're really cute. And the proton pack...it's a nice touch."

He murmurs, "You know what a proton pack is?"

"Duh. Ghostbusters came out like what, twenty years ago? Of course I've seen it." Your half lidded eyes flicker to his lips.

He feels your thumb slowly run over his bottom lip. "Yeah, it's just that...most girls haven't--"

You cut him off and pull his bottom lip down, watching intently when it snaps back into place. "Don't finish that sentence."

"Okay..." he's hesitant to fully let go of his inhibitions as you lean in too. "But, wait, you're drunk..."

You pause. "I'm not drunk." Then spare a look in his eyes once more, "Are you?"

He blinks rapidly for a few seconds before remembering that he has to answer. "No..."

And then there you are once more, gaze flickering between his glazed over green eyes and his lips, parted slightly in a dopey expression. Like he can hardly believe he's survived this long. "Good." You conclude, before diving right into him.

No more words are left in his mouth anyways. Just saliva as he realizes that he'll probably savor the feeling of your lips on his for the rest of his life. Your mouth is almost sickly sweet with the taste of artificial strawberry but the stickiness of your gloss keeps him in place for a few seconds longer than he should.

Letting your hand entangle with the hair at the nape of his neck, he moans once more when you pull slightly; just enough to get him to open up and let your tongue weave its way in. You let him mewl and cry into your mouth as your hands roam. With your eyes closed, you feel around his chest for the zipper of the jumpsuit.

As soon as he feels the cool air of the bathroom hit his bare chest, Klitz struggles to pull away, taken aback by the boldness of your actions. He looks down at the pale, unblemished, and lanky chest that he's found fault in for practically his whole life. He'd expected to fill out a little more as he got older. Instead, he just got taller; he stretched out until he felt like a funhouse image of a pathetic, ugly boy.

But you look longingly at his smooth chest. Forget the smears of slightly tinted lip gloss that shines on his face from where you'd kissed him; you have new expanses of skin to admire.

Hand reaching out, your thumb rubs over one of his pink and pebbled nipples. He shivers like a decaying leaf in a fall breeze. You continue downwards and hook your hand around his waist. As you drink up his figure, you notice the soft pudge of his belly, rising and falling unsteadily with each jagged breath he takes. Just below that, you see something that makes your eyes go wide.

Under his stomach, you find the waistband of his stark white underwear. You're sure a guy like him probably bleaches the hell out of them; probably has the days monogrammed into the back so when he does the laundry every week, he knows if he's missing a pair. The assumption fills you with a renewed fondness when you notice the bulge beneath the waistband. And it's fucking huge.

Now you make an assumption that you are completely sure of: you're probably the first to touch him. Because he would be far cockier if he knew exactly what he was carrying in that dorky pair of underwear. And, god, you're glad that you're the first. You're glad that you've discovered him now when he's so new to this, so nervous that he's practically vibrating.

"Do you want me to touch you, sweet boy?" You coo gently.

The idea of someone else's hand on him...he has to stop himself from moaning again. His breath is heavy when he replies, "Do you want to touch me?"

And you answer like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like the prospect would be a privilege for you. "Oh, Klitzy, I would love to touch you."

He's not sure what he had in mind before, but this seems good enough. He's hardly thinking about anything important when you reach down into his underwear, pushing them down just enough so that they stay underneath his balls, keeping him vulnerable to you. There's no doubts or second guesses or protests. Not even when he looks down and sees the tip of his cock, almost shamefully swollen, red, and already leaking fluid.

Seeing him fully exposed like this only endears you to him even more. You've known this guy for less than an hour and you wish he was above you. You wish that he was kissing your neck and wildly rutting into you, hitting all of the right spots without even trying.

You wish that his large hands would grope at your chest, using your flesh to brace himself for release. You want him raw and wild and untrained, spilling inside of you within seconds and leaving cum dripping down your thighs. You want him to stain the white tulle so that you can smile every time you catch a glimpse of it hung up in your closet. You want to remember the slap of his skin against yours and feel the ache between your legs all over again looking at it. You want all of it and more until you're brought back to the sight of his cock, bobbing impatiently.

As much as you want him, you won't make him fuck you in a dingy bathroom at a Halloween party. A proper angel wouldn't do that to the poor boy. But a proper angel wouldn't let him stand there whimpering either. His elbows begin to wobble nervously with his hands planted on either side of your body on the countertop. He's so patient. Just waiting for you to decide whether you'll have him or not.

So you clench your thighs together and ignore the way you throb when your hand fully wraps around his cock. It's easily the fullest thing about him, so large and thick and lined with intense veins that you can only picture it splitting you open. No. That's not happening right now, you assure yourself and push the image from your head.

Klitz focuses on your hand. There's nothing else he really can focus on. Head tilted back and eyes fluttering closed, he takes in the softness of your hand and the way you're so delicate with him. He only winces when your thumb rubs over the slit of his sensitive tip. The simple movement sends little shockwaves through his body. They only multiply when you use his pre to wet his cock and begin to slowly, gradually jerk him off.

The coil that twists in his belly is so tight that he's sure it'll break with even the smallest bit of pressure. You'd done something irreparable to him. Maybe it's the hit from early that makes him especially dizzy. He doesn't dwell on it though. There's no way he could when you nip at his neck and your tongue drags over his pulse. He can't help but get lost in the scent of your hair as you mark him up and the faint, languid smack of your hand stroking his slick cock.

You hum softly by his ear before you open your mouth, "I want you to come when I tell you to, okay, baby?"

Your words are so soft, filled with a nauseating sappiness that makes him believe that your outfit isn't just a Halloween costume. You're really his guardian angel, here to give him a handjob to make up for all of his high school troubles. This was his reward for trying so hard year after year and persisting through the taunting and teasing: a pretty girl slowly stroking him and a climax threatening to send him completely over the edge.

He shakes his head desperately, hating that he has to wait but still willing to. He'd never been able to do this to himself anyways. Your hand was small enough that it rubbed over his length torturously; giving him little ebbs of pleasure but just falling short from bringing him completely to heaven.

"Good boy. Very good boy," you praise him. A beautiful array of whimpers and whines spill from his lips, marred and glittery from your kisses. You thought you had looked pretty when you'd done your makeup hours before, but the look of his took the cake. With his mouth hanging open and eyebrows furrowed and focused on trying not to meet his end too quickly, you think he looks gorgeous.

The thought strikes you then that he must be some sort of angel too to let you have him like this. He doesn't beg to be inside you, doesn't beg for you to let him finish, he does what he's told and he does it well, showing you how you've unraveled him entirely. It's a divine ability that you're liking more and more.

You give him some wiggle room and order softly, "Go ahead, make yourself finish." At the simple command he seems to curl around you, grasping at your ass now instead of the countertop. He holds onto you as his hips buck into your fisted hand. His thrusts are sloppy and have no sort of rhythm; just pure lust as he chases his mounting orgasm.

When he sobs and squeezes his eyes shut, that's how you know he's closer than ever, so close that his knuckles go white from how hard he clenches the fabric of your dress.

His teeth are gritted together when you murmur, "C'mon, baby, I know you can do it. I want you to cum now."

One, two, three more uneven pumps later and he bursts completely into your hand, depositing thick ribbons of spend that land on the fabric of your dress. You laugh breathily, getting exactly what you wanted from him. You already can't wait to shove the costume into the back of your closet and keep it as a token of this experience.

You tease, "Looks like an angel just earned its wings." He has no clue if you're talking about yourself or him. Either way, he's got no doubt it applies. You did a good deed and he feels over the moon. Maybe you'll both get into heaven now. At least he hopes you'll be there too. He's yet to sink his face into the bouncy clouds of your thighs, yet to hear your glorious sigh, and yet to taste the nectar of your fruits. God, he wanted all of it and more.

Until the gates to heaven close with a devastating slam. You slip his softening and spent cock right back into his underwear and zip the jumpsuit back up for him, leaving him utterly speechless at the nonchalance and swiftness of your form of aftercare.

Then, you hop off the counter and pat his chest one last time before giving him a chaste kiss on his cheek. There's no more lip gloss left for you to leave behind on him; he's almost upset about it. Almost.

Because right after you glide past him and waltz out the door, shutting it behind you, Klitz finally has a chance to look up at himself in the mirror. Flecks of sparkly glitter remain on him. He reaches up to tenderly feel the chapped skin of his lips. That's how he knows it was all real. He was touched by his guardian angel.

#meda?!#ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME???#Crossover episode #klitz smut #paul dano x reader

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spookbusters · 3 years ago

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Meda, incredible work, as per usual!!! 😌❤

Trick or Treat || Edward Nashton x Fem!Reader

Edward Nashton x GN!Reader

Word Count || 2,336

Summary || When Edward tells you that he never went trick or treating as a child, you take the chance to help him heal his inner child.

Author’s Note || happy riddler: year one release day!! today we celebrate with our favorite little serial killer and terrorist!! this fic kicks off my next week of Halloween content and I hope y'all are excited!! I can't wait for you all to see what's to come!! Also, I apologize in advance for my obvious love for the Halloween franchise in this fic, I love all of the movies even though almost all of them are actually so terrible <3

Warnings || spoilers for Halloween (1978) and Halloween II (1981), some heated kissing, Edward and his Tragic Past™, sliiiiight mask kink if you squint, nothing else I can think of!!

"Remember, Eddie, it's Halloween. Everyone's entitled to one good scare." You tease with a light tickle to Edward's side. He squirms away from you in response.

Edward proposes uncertainly, "Isn't Halloween supposed to be for kids?"

The grimace he throws at the packaged costume on the shelf before you makes you chuckle. "Do you not understand the reference?"

"The reference?" He spares one more look to the folded boiler suit and the mask. He doesn't see it through the plastic, but the paper label says there's a plastic knife inside to complete the ensemble. How people fantasize about being such a character, Edward doesn't know.

You say, "The quote? Everyone's entitled to one good scare."

Edward turns back to you. "That's a reference?"

Your expression is aghast, eyes wide and mouth already open and ready to protest, "You're telling me you haven't seen one of the most classic slasher films of all time?"

Edward rolls his eyes and mutters, "There's plenty of things that I haven't seen."

You guess that he's probably telling you the truth based on the directness of his words. But you can never be quite sure. Edward isn't always the most forthcoming with his life experiences. You figured it out the hard way when you brought up your parents during a date. It was only natural. Everybody has parents, right?

Apparently not. Of course the tall and adorable nerd from accounting you had begun dating just happened to be an orphan. And of course he was so nervous to mention it that you’d gushed all about your parents and your childhood dozens of times before he said something. You’d asked him what type of toys his parents had gotten him when he was little and he hesitantly muttered that he hadn’t had any of either in the first place. The conversation promptly sunk like a rock to the bottom of your stomach. How you hadn’t noticed his blank stare every time you talked about your childhood, you didn’t know.

His childhood often provided for some...interesting conversations. Especially over the holidays. The orphanage didn't have the money nor the desire to treat the children under their care to something other than the constant poverty and paucity that plagued their lives.

While you got to shop for a brand new Halloween costume every year, Edward had stayed in the repurposed Wayne manor, looking out over the city. With every year it passed, the building and the children were more and more neglected. Gotham was just as dangerous during Halloween; possibly even more so. But deep down inside he knew that the children outside had to be having fun in some way.

For some reason, life decided that children like Edward Nashton didn't need candies wrapped in colored cellophane and fun costumes. Halloween was something that he hadn't ever been able to properly revel in. Tricks weren't nearly as fun when there was never a promise of a treat. Life had already played a horror movie for Edward to live. To find joy in the holiday seemed to be a privilege to one and he tries not to hold it against you.

You whine, "Oh, c'mon, you can't just play along? At least for my sake?" Edward offers little more response aside from another eye roll at your theatrics. He doesn't expect any less coming from you.

Pretending to be someone else didn't seem all that appealing. Maybe pretending to not be Edward Nashton would help him feel a little more comforted, at least until the autumn chill crept in through the poorly insulated walls and made him wish that it was summer. It made him wish that the rot inside would take over and consume him entirely. It made him more conscious of the simple fact that no matter how hard he tried, he would always be Edward Nashton, the wishy washy forensic accountant who was practically invisible.

Well, invisible to everyone except you, for some reason. Why you insist upon sharing these traditions of yours with him, he'll never know. The rudimentary animatronics that jump out at him every time he steps on a button make him want to snort more than anything else. He would admit though that he quite liked some of the masks. Though he had no clue what movies they referenced, he gathered that they were villains. Only villains covered their faces like that and wore oversized cloaks or boiler suits. Only the villains kept in the dark; kept themselves masked and too afraid to confess to the world their sins.

As he stares into the dark voids of the eyeholes in the plastic mask in the package, he nudges you with his shoulder. "I'll play along," he starts quietly, "Tell me about this movie of yours."

Your eyes light up immediately. "Really? You don't care about spoilers?"

"I don't think so." he chuckles, "Besides, if I'm going to be wearing this thing for Halloween...I think I'll have to know what the guy does. "

As you continue to wander up and down the aisles of the Halloween store, Edward listens intently as you describe the tale of Michael Myers. A child who who murders his sister then spends fifteen years in a sanitarium, only to break out and finish the job with his secret sister and all of her teenage friends. Edward is sure that he's seen the events play out the same way in about a dozen different slasher movies before. He holds back the urge to scoff at all the cheesy tropes; a couple that has sex and is subsequently brutally murdered, a jammed doorknob, cut phone lines, and a helpless babysitter. However, there is one bit that Edward gets.

"So...this Michael Myers...why does he kill everyone?"

"He's out to get his family and Laurie is his sister. He's there to clean house."

"No, no, no, I get that. But why everyone else? Why her friends and everyone else at the hospital? Why does he even have to murder his family? What's his motive?"

That question is more important to him than anything. What's the point in anything if there isn't a why? There must be a reason for violence. A focus. Some sort of angle to make the ends justify the means.

You stop dead on your feet in the aisle and slowly turn on your heel, tilting your head when you finally face him. The move confuses him until you raise your hands conspiratorially.

"That's the thing, Eddie. He almost doesn't even have a motive. He doesn't understand right from wrong or good from bad. All he knows is evil. That's it. And that motivation is what keeps him going every single time he's put out of commission."

Edward raises an eyebrow and asks monotonously, "Evil keeps him from dying?"

"Exactly! Because at the end of the day...Michael always finds a way to come home."

Though he's sure an antagonist from a 70s horror film wasn't meant to be analyzed outside the simple parameters of shock value and blood just for the sake of blood, something about that idea intrigues Eddie. He is dormant. Lying in wait. Counting down the days until the next opportunity; the next Halloween. Now that thought--more than heavy breathing on the other end of a phone--sends a shiver down his spine.

But this Halloween...this one isn't home for thoughts of vengeance and appeasing the intrusive voices that tell him he should hate the world. This Halloween is just for you and him. And the home he will now always yearn to come back to is this; you and him on the couch of his apartment, candy wrappers scattered about.

Even during the best of times, Edward isn't a fan of sweets. As he'd gotten older, the craving for them had simply faded. But this is one of those nights where he's willing to indulge. The blended aftertaste of caramel, nougat, peanuts, and chocolate makes his throat ache with richness. He pats his protruding belly, feeling like a child who's been allowed to have their bucket of candy for dinner.

If this is what Halloween had been for you during your childhood, he understands why you enjoy it. There's a sort of control and escapism in constructing your own fear and soothing it with a nostalgic film and sugary treats by the warmth of a lit fireplace. He can almost forget the real pain that lingers just below the surface of his skin. At the very least, he can quiet it down just enough to where he can let himself feel normal. He's a normal man with a normal childhood and this is a normal Halloween. And there's you, his actually normal partner rested on his chest and spreading the lazy haze that overtakes his senses.

The polyester boiler suit feels smooth against his skin, nothing like what he guesses the real thing is like as he watches Michael Myers on the television screen in front of the couch. Right at that moment, Michael kills the truck driver whom he eventually takes the jumpsuit from. For some reason, he has to admire the resourcefulness.

You look up at his face, transfixed on the screen, and giggle. "Are you getting scared yet, Eddie?"

His attention broken from the movie, Edward spares a small glance at you before grabbing the iconic mask he had tucked between his thigh and the couch and taking off his glasses. With a little bit of an awkward struggle to stretch the rubber over his round face--which only makes you laugh more--Edward finally gets the iconic mask of Michael himself on. He looks to you once more. The stoically molded expression of the mask stares back almost blankly.

Voice deep and unsettlingly even, Edward asks you this time, "Are you getting scared yet?" To add to the drama of the whole act, he begins to breathe heavily. So heavy that you're sure the inside of that mask is quickly heating up. Probably making his skin flush and form a thin layer of sweat. And what begins as stone cold fear in your core slowly warms as you remember that your chubby cheeked and kind eyed Edward is underneath there. And no mask can completely kill the comfort you feel with him.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm actually into that." you cup the cheeks of the mask and press a small kiss to the lips. Behind the rubber, you can practically feel him scowl.

Edward says incredulously, "You're into this?" Based on his inflection alone, you know he's skeptical and a slight bit horrified. It's a skepticism that you plan to completely smother.

You give a little pout, peer through the dark eyeholes, and answer, "Well, actually there's one thing I'm not into about this." You reach for the edge of the mask at his neck and pull it back over his head. Lacing your fingers through his real hair, now slightly damp and disheveled, his face looks just as red as you imagined. His brows turned, he waits for some sort of explanation as you admire his soft features. Maybe his normal partner isn't quite as normal as he expected of them.

Brushing a bit of his hair off of his forehead, you assert, "If you're going to get into wearing these, you should really get one where I can see your eyes better. I like seeing them."

Eddie rarely believes in the world telling him the truth in such stark terms. Even the grandest gestures could always be a lie. But your fingertips stroking his bare cheek and your body pressed against his in a way that tells him that you need him...that can't be faked. You'd have to be completely insane to look at him with such reverence and mean none of it. And he decides that with the safety you surround him with as proof, you're being honest. You'd never trick him. Despite the half full bag of store-bought candies that now lays discarded on the floor and his full stomach, he concludes that you're his favorite treat during this conflicting season. You're saccharine and filling but you never make him feel sick and full of regret.

This time, he kisses you. Hungry and feral, he displays a confidence you don't see in him often when his hands run up the back of your thighs and pull him up onto his lap.

You feel his teeth graze your lips and your skin flutters. "B-but what about...the movie...don't you want to...finish it?" you manage to utter between every fervid kiss that Edward lays on you.

He pulls back just long enough to give you a fond look, similar to how you'd been observing him. There's something a little deeper to it though, something possessive in how his grip on you tightens. It makes your breath catch in a tight pocket of your throat.

He finally replies, "You already told me all about how it ends. The killer gets away. I don't think I need to hear it twice." Before you can let yourself get embarrassed for spoiling the entire movie for him earlier on in the day, Edward goes in for the kill, inflicting a ravenous kiss on your neck that succeeds in making you breath once more; puncturing the pocket your air supply had been trapped in and driving you just as wild as he needs you to be for him now. He engulfs you in his arms and makes you simply bleed with a want for more of him.

It doesn't unsettle Edward; being dressed like a serial killer, that is. There were worse creatures that he'd seen in Gotham. For now, though, he can pretend that tonight is forever. You are his haunted house; the keeper of his hopes and dreams and desires and all his brokenness. You are the window that he looks through and sees himself in. Only in this reflection, he's home and he doesn't need bloodshed to get there.

#gonna go hootin n hollerin in these tags #bc EDDIE IN A MICHAEL MASK????#TAKE ME NOW #brb gonna go scream #danonation #paul dano #dano!riddler

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