You had two slick fingers rubbing against his walls, the digits gradually pumping in and out and effectively loosening his tight hole. “You’re going to bleed out if I do,” you warn, ignoring his sobbing protests as the pad of your index finger brush against a sensitive spot within him. Ghostface’s lean back arches off the bed, which has your free hand moving to weigh on his stomach to ensure he held still.

“Don’t be such a—mngh, oh God—stupid pussy. Fuck your cock into me, I know you want it,” Ghostface babbles mindlessly, his hips straining as they roll forward, trying to take your fingers in deeper.

To his disappointment and eventual anger, you pull them out and leave his wet hole pathetically gaping from the abrupt emptiness. Before his complaints burst from his chest, however, you align the head of your cock to his entrance and gently push it inside.

Ghostface’s thighs twitch, his legs automatically spreading wider as he squeezes around your tip. Though, to his surprise, that’s all he receives from you. His breathing grew ragged, puffs of air hitting his mask and causing the material to cling to his nose.

“What are you—?”

“Just the tip tonight,” You quickly hush, your palm soothing the tense muscles of his abdomen.

In complaint, he grumbled incoherently, beginning to slightly squirm in his place. This was basically the equivalent of you killing him. He wanted to feel your dumb, insufferable big dick inside of his tight, drooling hole; yet, you seemed to have no plans on giving what he wants. He whimpers shakily while he tilts his head to stare down at you, watching how you start to stroke yourself with only your leaky cockhead inside of him.

It’ll have to do. For now. Ghostface can only let out faint, pretty moans as he waits for you to cum inside of him.

You huff, your skin adorned with a thick sheen of sweat. Pleasure rolls down the length of your spine, the muscles of your thighs trembling with the effort to not buck up into his warming heat. He leans down, grinding his hips forward as he holds up the pointed end of the knife to the center of your throat. “You like your victim.” You deflect, and he clenches around you to punch out a sharp intake of breath from you. He isn’t doing greatly himself, the bursts of a peeking orgasm building in the pit of his belly setting his mind to a blur.

There’s an itch he’s unable to scratch—one that the head of your cock can only graze and prod. But it isn’t enough. You’re not touching him, disregarding the fact that he was the one who commanded you not to. He needed your hands on him, on his leaky, aching dick, and on his neck, even. “Haah, fuuuuuck, shut it.” He pants, his tip throbbing with slickness. The weapon is dangerously close to your sensitive skin, ready to delve into your sickly blood and drown within it.

And you knew he’d take horrifying amusement in seeing you wounded. Wounded with a brand-like marking, giving you a reminder that you’re his. Ghostface’s man, whether you want the title or not. You’ll be haunted with the glimpse of his dark, tainted robe and that long-lasting expression of screaming.

“That’s right...” he mumbles under his breath, burying his obscured face to the crook of your neck and shoulder. He doesn’t realize he’s already speaking his fantasies, his need for you. He rides you harder, his walls spasming as he’s hit by a familiar warning of a climax approaching. “You’re mine, oohhh shit, this s’all mine.”

Your mind is swimming, your hands balled into fists. Your cock pulses inside of him, a numbing tightness coiling in your gut. His speech is hushed, meant to keep it to himself, but your ears manage to pick up on the soft syllables. You can’t deny it, not with your mouth running dry, and certainly not with your cock nestled to the hilt. He feels you jab at his sweet spot, sending the bundle of nerves aflame. Ghostface whines, eyes squeezing shut while his pace stutters.

His brain runs static. His body shudders, legs quaking almost violently. It lasts relatively long, his subconscious setting the knife beside your head to avoid accidentally cutting your jaw. Ghostface wanted you. He needed you; and when you paint his hole white, he begins to think about how badly he needs you to feel the same way.