Chapter Text
The generator in front of you croaks and rumbles disconcertingly as your fingers work the wires. You burn a finger and yank it back, cursing under your breath. Feng Ming and Dwight are dead, Meg was taken by the Entity before you could unhook her, and you barely survived being chased down by the killer, who you would assume is camping the hatch right about now. You didn’t get the chance to get a good look at them, but whoever they are, they’re really out to get the whole group.
Sparks fly as the generator screeches in displeasure, and you know you're screwed. Immediately, a heavy weight pushes up against your back, crushing you mercilessly into the generator. A raspy laugh itches against the shell of your ear, one you'd never fail to recognize.
"Ghostface," you barely manage through squeezed lungs.
"That's me!" His voice is giddier than usual, which isn't a good sign; he's up to something. He takes some weight off of you to slip a pair of fingers down to your outer right thigh, tip-toeing them under your skirt and across your skin until they rest just shy of the growing heat between your legs. His left hand reaches across your stomach to grip firmly at your waist. "Didja miss me?"
"Hell no."
He throws his head back in another laugh, and you roll your eyes. "Sure you didn't, babe."
You fake an exaggerated retch. "Don't call me that. It's gross."
"Mmm…" He tucks his chin over your shoulder, which wedges off the lower half of his mask just enough for you to feel his breath against your cheek. "Then waddia want me to call you? Princess? Bunny? Sugar? Baby?"
You don't answer him. Instead, you bite down on your tongue, trying your very hardest not to pay attention to the fingers that have been slowly tracing along the lower hem of your underwear.
"C'monnn," he hisses. "None of them? How about pumpkin? Hm? Peach? Love?" He says the last one with an emphasizing tap to your inner thigh, but still you keep your mouth shut. "Really? Not even 'love'? Heard the chicks were really into that one."
"Yeah, well, not every 'chick' melts over the bare minimum, Ghostface, especially not from you," you snark.
His fingers dig painfully into the meat of your thigh, and you almost squeal. You can feel his growing erection press against your ass as he pushes his weight back onto you, presumably to appear more threatening. It takes everything in you not to grind back into him.
"You'd better hold your tongue," he warns. "Do you want me to fuck you or not?"
Your face burns red and hot. You hadn't expected him to be so straightforward. "Not if you're going to be so mean about it," you mutter.
His chest rumbles against your back. "You're really pushing it." He lowers his voice. "I kinda like that."
You grunt as he lifts you by the waist, pushing your torso further up so your ass hangs over the edge of the generator. You hear the rustling of fabric and the clinking of metal as he stands to unbuckle his belt, and you take the chance to wiggle off your panties.
The rustling stops, and a pair of hands grasp and knead your hips. Something warm slips between your inner thighs, just inches away from your pussy, and you almost fucking lose it.
The Ghostface lowers his face next to yours and pulls your hair behind your ear. "Say my name," he orders in a deep rasp.
You feel yourself throb, and you hope to whatever god may be listening that he didn't feel it. You bite your lip and shake your head adamantly.
He snaps his hips forward, sliding along your thighs, agonizingly far from where you want him to be. "Say it."
"Just get it over with," you gasp.
He pauses his movements. He falls into silence, and you look back at him in confusion. He's watching you, unmoving, as if deciding what he's going to do next. You squirm a little out of discomfort, but stop yourself immediately when you remember he can see.
Finally, he moves. He withdraws his hands from you, and you feel him slide his cock out from between your legs. Both his hands drop down to his crotch, and he tucks himself back in before pulling the zipper up.
You gape at him, confused.
"The hatch is over there," he says flatly, gesturing behind him with a pointed thumb. "Saw it on my way here. C'mon."
You frown before pushing yourself up. He turns away from you, immediately making for the hatch. You quickly pull your panties up and jog to his side, trying to catch his eye.
"Hey," you call. "What's going on?"
He continues walking, ignoring you. He has to make his way around a pallet, and you take the chance to hop over it, forcing yourself in front of him.
"I know you can hear me."
He stops and stands there, watching you. His expression is unreadable from under his mask; it's times like these that you wish you could see his face.
"You weren't feeling it, so I stopped," he says flatly.
You furrow your brows. "What?"
He shrugs. "I can take a hint."
You chew the inside of your cheek. This isn't how you'd expected it to go.
'Play hard to get!' she said. 'It'll make him go crazy for you!' she said.
Dammit, Kate.
"N-no, I, uhm…" You nibble at your lip and twist the hem of your shirt as a flush of embarrassment creeps onto your cheeks. "I do. Want it, I mean. I just…"
He tilts his head inquisitively, beckoning you to continue.
You swallow and break eye contact. It'll be easier to say if you don't look at him. "I thought… that if I pushed you away, I could…" Dammit, Kate, dammit "...I could get you to. Want me more." You keep your eyes on the ground. You don't dare to watch his reaction; your pride can't handle it.
He's quiet for a few moments. Suddenly, he barks out a laugh, and you nearly jump out of your skin.
"Really?" he asks, all giddy-like.
You give a hesitant nod.
He laughs again, clutching his stomach. He laughs and he laughs and he laughs, and you look back up to watch him in bewilderment.
Has he gone mad? Did I make him go the wrong kind of crazy?
He finally quiets down, dragging a finger under the eye of his mask as if wiping away a tear. He grabs onto both of your shoulders and leans in so his face is a mere inch away from yours, and you can almost see his eyes.
"You don't have to play hard-to-get to 'make me go crazy for you,' bunny; just being around you's enough."
You push him away, wide-eyed. "You were watching us?"
He chuckles. "Oh, baby. I'm always watching you." He takes your hand and slides it up to his neck. You can faintly feel his pulse under your thumb. "Just the sight of you gets me all worked up."
You blush furiously, and something finds itself bubbling in your chest: bravery, desire, and a word you dare not think. "Can I kiss you?" comes tumbling out your mouth before you can react, followed by immediate regret. Eye contact feels too intimate all of a sudden, and you snap your head to the side. "I mean, unless you don't want to! Y'know, what with your mask and all that…! Ha ha… S-sorry, I shouldn't have brought it… up…"
When you look back at him, your jaw falls slack, and your sentence fades away into a whisper. While you weren’t watching, he had pushed his hood back and removed his mask, revealing his face. The Scream now dangles by his side, supported by a pair of hooked fingers.
He looks different from what you had imagined, yet he also looks exactly the same. His dark brown hair is cut short-ish and plastered to his forehead from dried sweat and his tight-fitting hood. He has traces of eyeshadow around a pair of almost-black eyes that rest beneath thick, straight brows; that, or he hasn't slept in a decade. His nose is slightly crooked, likely from a nasty scrabble, and his cupid-bow lips alternate between pursed and relaxed. A dark stubble peppers his jaw and his cheeks. He sits right on the fence between average and attractive, perfect for an undercover serial killer – amicable yet inconspicuous.
“Well?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the side nervously. You notice he has nice, thick eyelashes, too.
You don’t know what to say. Instead, you gape at him dumbly.
He nods to himself. “Oookay… Guess I shouldn’t have, uh, done that,” he says, bringing his mask back up.
“No!” you blurt, grabbing onto his wrist to stop him. You must have come on too strong, because it’s his turn to give you that wide-eyed stare, paired with raised eyebrows and shock-still lips. You never thought he could be so… expressive.
“No,” you repeat, quieter and hopefully more sane-sounding this time. You lower his mask back down to his chest, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time. “I like being able to see you. Really.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m glad I could live up to your standards, buttercup.”
“Buttercup?” you giggle.
“It’s… in the works.”
You laugh again, but only to reassure him that you’re not annoyed. You raise your hands towards him, but stop halfway. “...Can I?” you ask, doe-eyed. He swallows and nods. Slowly, you bring both hands up, sliding them across his stubbled cheeks to cup his face. He feels… warm. Real. You feel silly for forgetting that he's actually human – that there's a real man behind that mask.
He sighs with a smile that he bites back. His mask is abandoned with a light thud before he places his hands over yours. He turns his head, kissing your palm while watching you from behind half-lidded eyes.
You swear your heart skips a beat. “Can I–”
“You don’t have to keep asking, pumpkin,” he interrupts. “Just do.”
And you do just that. Without warning, you pull his face towards you and crash your lips together, a bit harsher than intended. He grunts in surprise, but soon he begins to return the kiss, snaking his hands down to your waist and the nape of your neck to pull you in closer. He sucks and nibbles at your lower lip before swiping his tongue across, and you’re more than willing to let him in. From then on, it’s a heaty exchange of tongue and teeth, like that of two animals. It’s his warmth, his taste, his heavy breaths, his savory moans, his hands that grip roughly at your neck and your waist and the fat of your hips and oh, do you adore him when he’s rough.
When the two of you pull away to breathe, you take the chance to appreciate the way his cheeks and lips are now a flushed apple-red, and how his hair is all ruffled from having raked your fingers through them.
“Shit,” you breathe. “If I knew you’d let me have this, I would’ve asked sooner.”
He gives a shit-eating grin, and you almost regret having said anything. “Oh, sweetheart, you can have me for the rest of eternity.”
“Then let me have you now,” you coo. You slide a hand down and hook your fingers into his belt, tugging it harshly so he stumbles forward and his breath hitches deliciously. “Won’t you, Danny?”
The rough surface of the dirty mattress squeaks noisily as you move back and forth, courtesy to the hungry man behind you. The Ghostface's hands are planted firmly on your waist, pulling you towards him with every thrust of his hips as he ruts into you at a desperate pace. You can feel every part of him: every flex of his muscles, every squeeze of his hands, every hot breath against the back of your neck, every drag of his cock along your walls. It's overwhelming – he's overwhelming, but you just can't get enough of him.
"Danny," you gasp. You dig your fingers into the mattress and arch your back, burying your face in your arms. "Please–!"
He lets out a noise that can only be described as guttural, and you feel him twitch inside you. "F-fuck– Tell me what you want, tell me and I'll say it, do it, whatever– I'll make all your wishes come true, baby, just say the word–"
"I wanna see you– Oh, fuck, I wanna see your face," you beg.
You feel him slide out of you and for a brief moment, you suffer his agonizing absence. But not a moment later, he flips you over onto your back and a tiny squeal escapes your lungs, and he's pushing into you already, his hands planted on either side of your torso to steady himself. Your hands scramble to grab at the edges of the mattress as he begins to fuck you in earnest once more, his thighs slapping obscenely against yours in a frenzied rhythm. You hook your legs around his waist and force him deeper into you, and he falls forward onto his elbows and drops his head in a sinfully erotic moan.
"God, you're so tight, so good, so good for me," he gasps, sliding his hands forward so his elbows are resting on both sides of your head. He leans down to kiss you deeply, and you bring your hands up and rake your fingers over his naked back up through his hair, and he gives a grateful moan that nearly sends you over the edge. You clench tightly around him just to hear him whine, just to hear him whimper, just to hear him moan your name over and over.
"You're so beautiful," you gasp. "So beautiful, and you're mine, mine, mine"
Something shifts in his eyes, and you swear his pupils double in size. His lips are suddenly encapsulating yours – heady and desperate. Skin slides across skin as he rocks into you at a hungry pace, and between nips and kisses, you swear you can hear him muttering under his breath: "Yours, yours, yours."
The coil in your lower abdomen tightens more and more until you find yourself clawing at his back and crying out his name. He drops his head down in a groan and keeps the pace up, but to your dismay, he sneaks a hand down and guides it straight to your clit. Only seconds later, you're throwing your head back in a bawdy moan as you come around his cock, shaking from head to toe from the sheer impact of your orgasm. He hisses and gasps in response as his rhythm falters and his thrusts grow ragged before he, too, comes undone.
A strangled moan escapes his lips as he shivers before finally collapsing on top of you. You have to push his shoulder before he grunts and falls off to the side, holding your hips tightly so you roll over with him.
He slides his arms up to your chest, pulling you into him. He shakes, comes down from his high. Breathes in your hair. Kisses your forehead. You comb your fingers through his hair. Slide a thumb across his lower lip.
(The bell tolls. Loud. Encompassing.)
He holds your cheek in his palm, tells you how good you did, confesses to how much you mean to him. He kisses you. “I think I love you” comes out in a whisper.
(The world around you cracks and screams, threatening to shatter, threatening to break, threatening to swallow you whole.)
He pushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Wipes a tear from your cheek. And in that moment, you feel peace, happiness, and a word you dare not say.