Buzzfeed Unsolved/Ghost Files Imagines

Afraid of Me | Ricky Goldsworth (SMUT)

A/N: Okay guys, I'm not going to lie. This imagine is NOT for the weak at heart—it's honestly more for people who are a tad on the crazy side LOL. I will readily admit that you may totally think I'm a psychopath after reading this, and that's okay with me😂 But if you love/are a fan of Ricky, this one is for you. Also, as I edited this part, all I could think of was the song After Dark by Mr. Kitty. I highly recommend listening to the slowed version while reading :)

Pairing: Dark!Ryan Bergara/Ricky Goldsworth x Reader

WARNING: Mentions of blood/murder, foul language, and S M U T!!!

Summary: After returning home from what you presume to be a kill, Ricky tries to get you into bed with him. The blood on his hands and clothes makes you afraid, but your fear only fuels his fire ;)

   The knock at the door at four in the morning made my blood run cold. I had been awakened by an urge to use the bathroom around three and unfortunately failed miserably to fall back asleep once I had realized that my boyfriend, Ricky, wasn't in his apartment where we had crashed the night prior. I looked at the door from the sofa and took a deep breath inwards. Was it the cops? Was it Ricky? Was it Ricky with a body? Yes, I said a body.

   I know what you're going to say—any sane person would run away after finding out that their boyfriend of over a year was a murderer. But yet, here I was. It had only been a few days since he told me what he had done in his past, and I will admit that it took a while to process. Even now I can't help but feel like I'm Ted Bundy's girlfriend or something. After he told me, all I could think about whenever Ricky left home was, "Is he killing someone right now?" It's sick—I know. But when you love someone so hard—someone you would do anything for no matter what—it made it so insanely difficult to just walk away. Deep down, while half of me wanted to bolt out of his apartment the second I found out, the other half wanted me to stay to see if maybe, some way, I could fix him. I've been running everything he told me through my head countless times, each time asking myself a new question. Why was he doing all of this? Was he neglected? Abused? Rejected one too many times? Not that that makes it okay—it doesn't. But I wanted to see if I could show him sense—even if it meant putting my life on the line.

   I hesitantly stood up and made my way to Ricky's front door, cursing him for having a door without a peephole, thus leaving me unable to see who had knocked. It seemed almost like a rookie move if I was being honest—being a serial killer and NOT having a peephole on your door. I swallowed deeply as I unlocked the door, and slowly turned the nob, my heart beating louder and louder with each little turn. With one small peek from behind the door, there stood Ricky, glancing up at me from under his black baseball cap.

"Hey, darling," Ricky stated softly, sending a small smile my way. My eyes immediately took the chance to scan his body. My body suddenly felt as if someone had just administered an IV with gasoline into my veins—I was virtually frozen in place, yet I was burning on the inside when I saw it. The blood on his hands.

"R-Rick—" I began, but was swiftly cut off when Ricky rushed into the apartment and locked the door behind him.

"Ricky," I repeated as I watched him grab a container of bleach from under his sink and pour it over his hands along with laundry detergent in a manner so swiftly and skillfully that it undoubtedly felt as if this was something he knew how to do well. With that, he began to lather, ensuring to get his palms, between his fingers, and under his nails.

"What...What did you—"

"Could you get me a new change of clothes, sweetheart? I laid some out on the chair in my bedroom," He said, his face appearing heavily concentrated on his hands. I watched as he turned on the tap, causing the sink to turn a red tint.