Summary: You never meant to get attached to the man behind the mask. Ghostface was supposed to be another nightmare in the Fog something to outsmart, to survive. But somewhere between the teasing, the chases, and the sharp laughter that always found you first, something changed.

Words: 6055

Another day, another trial. The Fog curled around your ankles like a living thing, cool and heavy as it pulled you into the Entity’s realm. No matter how many times you went through it, the sensation was always the same—like being swallowed whole.

You still remembered the night you first arrived here. One moment you’d been walking home from the grocery store, fumbling with your keys, thinking about what to cook for dinner. The next, you were staring into a campfire surrounded by strangers—survivors, like you. No explanations. No way out. Just firelight, the endless whisper of the Fog, and the silent weight of something watching.

That first trial had been chaos. You’d barely learned how to move, how to breathe, before the killer found you. He was nothing like you expected. Not some mindless monster or hulking brute, but something sharper. Quieter. The glint of a camera lens. The gleam of a hunting knife. A mask that tilted in amusement as you tripped over yourself trying to flee.

Ghostface.

He hadn’t killed you right away. No—he’d stalked you. Played with you like a cat batting at a mouse. By the time the hook claimed you, you weren’t sure if you were more terrified of the Entity’s claws or of the man behind the mask who had laughed softly every time you dared to fight back.

Since then, trials had turned into a strange routine. The screams, the chase, the desperate rush to survive. And then there was him. Ghostface. For some reason, he always seemed to find you first, his shadow slipping out of the Fog as if he’d been waiting just for you.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted. Maybe it was the way you’d started snapping back at him when he whispered threats in your ear. Maybe it was how his knife hovered a little too long at your throat before he pulled away. Whatever it was, the dance between you changed.

Now, it wasn’t just predator and prey. It was something else. Something sharper.

“Another trial, huh?” you muttered to yourself as you crouched by a generator, hands working clumsily at the rusted gears.

The Fog stirred behind you. A shadow fell across your back. And before you even turned, you knew it was him.

“You talk to yourself often, sweetheart?” a voice drawled, low and amused.

You didn’t flinch. Not anymore. Instead, you sighed dramatically and twisted your head over your shoulder. “Well, somebody has to. Not like I get much intelligent conversation around here.”

The mask tilted. A chuckle slipped past his lips. “Ouch. And here I thought you liked our little chats.”

“Chats?” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “That’s what you call stalking me and breathing down my neck like some creepy prank caller?”

He leaned in closer, knife catching the dim light as it twirled lazily in his hand. “Call it whatever you want, kitten. But you keep talking back, and I keep coming back. Maybe you like it more than you admit.”

You snorted and smirked at him over your shoulder. “You wish, you basic killer.”

For a second, silence. Then a bark of laughter, quick and sharp, echoed under the mask. His head tilted, like a predator surprised its prey had teeth.

“Basic? Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly, “you wound me. Guess I’ll just have to prove I’m anything but basic.”

You didn’t need telling twice. You shot off the generator, boots pounding against the cracked concrete. The Fog swallowed you both in seconds, but his footsteps were quick, steady, playful even—like he wasn’t chasing to kill, just to see how long you’d last.

Every turn, every vault, he was there. Close enough to hear the rasp of his breath, close enough to brush the edge of your sleeve with his gloved hand.

“Faster!” he called, voice sing-song through the mask. “Come on, kitten, don’t make it too easy for me.”

You ducked between two ruined walls, heart hammering, forcing yourself to slow your breathing. For once, luck seemed on your side. The sound of his boots faded, swallowed by the Fog. You’d lost him.

Relief poured through you—until a soft, fragile sound reached your ears.

“...meow.”

You froze.

Curled up in the shadows of a toppled crate was a tiny kitten, fur matted but eyes wide and startlingly bright. It blinked at you, then gave another plaintive little cry.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, crouching down. “What are you doing here?”

The cat stepped forward on shaky legs, brushing its head against your fingers like it had been waiting for you all along. A smile tugged at your lips despite the danger of the trial. “Hey there, little guy. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

For a rare, fragile moment, the fear and Fog seemed to fade away.

The kitten purred against your palms, a tiny rumble you could feel more than hear. Its fur was scruffy, patchy in places, but you stroked along its back with careful fingers anyway. For once, the Fog didn’t feel suffocating—it felt distant, muffled, like the trial had paused just for the two of you.

“Poor baby,” you murmured, smiling down at the little creature. “Guess you’re stuck here with the rest of us, huh? Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

Unseen, Danny stood just out of sight.

He’d been ready to step out the second he picked up your trail again, knife raised for the usual theatrics. But then he saw you.

You were crouched low, eyes soft, voice gentle in a way he’d never heard before. All that fire and sarcasm you usually threw his way had melted into something so unguarded it caught him off guard.

His grip on the knife loosened.

Through the mask, he tilted his head, watching the way the cat nuzzled into your hand, how your face lit up despite the nightmare world you were stuck in. It was… disarming. Wrong. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything here except the thrill of the hunt.

But damn if you didn’t make him want to keep watching.

The kitten mewed again, louder this time, and you giggled—an honest, bright sound that echoed strangely in the realm. Danny’s chest tightened. For the first time in too long, he didn’t feel like the one in control of the game.

Still hidden in the shadows, he let you have your moment. Watching. Learning. And—he’d never admit it out loud—memorizing the sound of your laugh.

Only after long, quiet seconds did he finally move, boots crunching deliberately against the ground as he stepped into view.

___________________________________________________________________________

The kitten’s purrs vibrated softly against your hands, tiny claws kneading at your sleeve as if you were something safe. You chuckled under your breath, leaning closer, whispering nonsense just to soothe it.

The Fog curled at the edge of your vision, but you didn’t notice the shadow moving within it.

Danny slipped closer, each step measured, sound swallowed by the thick air. Normally he’d enjoy the thrill of startling you, of making you jump when his voice brushed against your ear. But now? No—he didn’t want to break this.

He stopped just a foot behind you. Close enough to catch the faint scent of blood on your skin, the warmth radiating from your crouched form.

You were still focused on the kitten, smiling so softly it almost made him forget where you were. His mask tilted, gaze locked on the tiny creature curled in your hands.

The knife twirled once in his grip before going still. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about striking. He was thinking about how small the kitten looked pressed against your palm… how easily it trusted you.

And then, without a word, he crouched down beside you.

The shift in air made you freeze. Slowly, carefully, you turned your head, already knowing who you’d see.

Ghostface. Close. Too close.

But he wasn’t looking at you.

He was watching the kitten, silent, his mask angled toward the tiny ball of fur like it was the most interesting thing in the realm.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Just you, him, and the kitten purring between the danger and the Fog.

_________________________________________________________________________

The kitten purred louder, stretching out toward the mask as if it sensed no danger. You blinked at the absurdity of it, then glanced sideways at him.

“You?” you whispered, voice low but sharp. “You’re seriously interested in a kitten right now?”

His head tilted, the glossy black eyeholes of the mask fixed on the tiny creature. “What can I say,” he murmured, voice smooth as ever, “I’ve got a soft spot for strays.”

You snorted, shifting the kitten closer to your chest. “Guess that explains why you keep showing up around me, huh?”

That earned a laugh, muffled but genuine, from behind the mask. “Cute. Real cute.”

Slowly, he extended one gloved finger toward the kitten. You almost pulled it back—ridiculous, like you were trying to protect the little thing from a monster, but before you could, the kitten sniffed at the glove, then rubbed its tiny head against him.

You raised your brows. “Wow. Even the cat likes you. That’s… concerning.”

“Jealous?” His tone was light, teasing, but there was a current of something stronger beneath it.

You rolled your eyes, stroking the kitten again. “Please. I’d never compete with a furball. He’s already got you wrapped around his paw.”

“Maybe.” The mask tilted closer, close enough now that his shoulder brushed yours. “But he’s not the one keeping my attention.”

Your heart skipped, the weight of the moment pressing down heavier than the Fog. He didn’t push further, just… stayed there. Watching. Sharing the silence with you and a kitten like it was the most natural thing in the world.

___________________________________________________________________________

In all the time you were in this realm. There were different type of unsettling stuff. But what unsettled you the most right now wasn’t the mask, or the knife, or the Fog.

It was how he stayed.

Ghostface wasn’t moving. Usually, he’d pull some stunt—whisper a threat, swipe the knife close enough to make you flinch, vanish back into the mist with a laugh. But now? He was just there, shoulder brushing yours, his masked gaze locked not on the kitten anymore… but on you.

The seconds stretched. Too long.

You cleared your throat, forcing a smirk you didn’t quite feel. “Alright, you’ve had your moment. You gonna stab me now or just keep staring like a creep?”

He didn’t laugh this time. Not right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, softer, like the Fog had muffled it. “Funny. I can’t decide which one I’d rather do.”

Your chest tightened. The words were teasing on the surface, sure—but there was a weight to them that hadn’t been there before. A focus.

The kitten shifted in your arms, stretching its tiny head toward him again. He reached out, let it brush against his glove, but his attention never wavered from you.

“You keep surprising me,” he murmured, tilting his head. “And I don’t usually like surprises.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears. You forced another smirk, because that was all you could do when he leaned just a little closer. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Finally, he chuckled. Low. Almost fond. “You should.”

Still, he didn’t leave. He lingered there with you, as if the Entity itself couldn’t pull him away. And for the first time, you realized—his attention wasn’t just a game anymore.

It was something more.

Something dangerous.

___________________________________________________________________________

The last screams had faded. You were the only one left. Your teammates were gone, the trial swallowing their hooks like nothing had ever happened. Somehow, you’d made it this far without him catching you.

And then you found it—the hatch. Dark, cold, humming faintly. An escape.

You crouched, heart pounding, waiting for the sound of his boots, the hiss of his voice.

He arrived silently. Knife low, shoulders relaxed. Not a hunter about to strike. A shadow simply… watching.

For a moment neither of you spoke.

“Guess this is it,” you said at last, forcing a smirk. “I win.”

He tilted his head. The mask glinted faintly in the dim light. “Do you?” His voice was calm, almost amused. “Looks more like I’m letting you.”

You laughed nervously. “Wow. Modest.”

But instead of raising the knife, he stepped closer. Not threatening, just close enough that you felt the heat of his presence. He reached out, and before you could flinch, a gloved finger hooked a loose strand of hair from your face. A simple, small gesture. Weirdly careful.

“Go,” he said quietly. “Before I change my mind.”

You blinked at him, thrown off by the softness in his tone. He wasn’t declaring you his. He wasn’t even teasing like usual. But the way he said it—like he’d decided you were his favorite piece in the game—made your stomach knot.

He stepped back, twirling the knife lazily again. The edge of a chuckle returned to his voice. “Don’t get cocky, kitten. Next time, I might not be so nice.”

You dropped into the hatch, heart hammering. His laugh followed you down, warm and dark. And in the back of your mind you couldn’t shake the thought: That hadn’t felt like mercy. It had felt like a beginning.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Fog stretched thin, curling around his boots like smoke as Danny prowled. He liked this part—the silence before the screams. The anticipation.

But tonight felt different.

His eyes found you almost immediately, crouched by a generator, hands trembling as you worked. You hadn’t even heard him yet. He could’ve struck, ended it before you knew. But instead… he waited. Watching.

Pretty. Jumpy. Always trying to look brave when you weren’t. It’s better than the others. The others just cry.

Another survivor crossed his path, loud and panicked. Annoying. He cut them down quickly, efficient, like swatting a fly. But already his attention was drifting back to you.

He moved closer, let the floorboards creak under his weight on purpose. Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. You noticed him fast. Faster than the rest.

Danny’s lips curled under the mask. Good girl.

“Enjoying the show?” you muttered, trying for sass. He almost laughed. Almost.

“You notice me faster than the others,” he said instead, voice low. Savoring the way your pulse jumped in her throat. “Smart girl.”

You shot back, “Or maybe you’re just bad at hiding.”

That actually dragged a laugh from him. He let it slip past the mask, tasting the warmth of it. You weren’t like the rest, too terrified to even breathe. You still had teeth. And that made him want to see what else you had.

So he disappeared once more, giving you a moment. Just long enough for your nerves to start rattling again. Then he came back. Always closer. Always for you.

Another survivor stumbled into his path. Danny didn’t hesitate—blade in, blade out, body dropped. Not even satisfying. He didn’t linger on it. His mask was already turning back toward you.

He could’ve downed you a dozen times. Instead, he circled, let you feel him at your back without ever landing the blow. Watching you run, your chest heaving, your eyes wide. He liked it too much to stop.

This isn’t about them anymore. It’s you. It’s only you.

And for the first time in longer than he could remember, Danny realized he didn’t care about the Entity’s hooks, or the points, or even the win.

He just wanted to keep watching you.

___________________________________________________________________________

Your lungs burned as you vaulted a pallet, boots thudding against the rotten wood. The crash echoed, but he didn’t follow. He could have. You knew he could have.

Instead, when you glanced back, he was just standing there.

Watching.

The knife dangled loose in his hand, gleaming faintly in the Fog. His head tilted a little too far, studying you like you were some strange, fascinating puzzle.

“What the hell…” you whispered under your breath, pressing back against the wall of the shack. “Why isn’t he—”

Your voice caught as his mask appeared at the window, inches from your face through the broken glass. You yelped, stumbling back, but he didn’t break in. Didn’t strike.

He just stared.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Something was wrong. This wasn’t how he usually played. Ghostface was supposed to taunt, chase, slash. But now… he was silent. Intent.

What changed? you thought, chest tightening. Why me?

___________________________________________________________________________

From his side, Danny could barely hear the other survivors anymore. Their screams were background noise, distant and unimportant. His focus narrowed and sharpened every time her eyes locked with the black voids of his mask.

You were breathing hard, hair stuck to your cheek, hands trembling as you fumbled for an exit. And still—still—you had that spark. That stubborn look, like you wanted to call him out, laugh in his face, even though you were shaking.

It struck him. Harder than the Entity’s claws ever could.

Your different. Your noticing me. Your talking back. You make me want to linger.

Danny shifted closer to the window, close enough that the glass between them fogged faintly with his breath. He let the silence stretch, heavy, purposeful. He wanted you to feel it. To know he was choosing this moment. Choosing you.

When you bolted, he didn’t strike. He just followed. Shadowing your steps, letting you hear him. Letting you know you weren’t escaping—because he wasn’t trying to let you.

He didn’t want the chase to end. Not yet.

___________________________________________________________________________

Your heart pounded as you ran, every instinct screaming at you to keep moving. But another thought wormed its way in, sharp and unsettling:

Why isn’t he finishing this? Why does it feel like he’s only after me?

The Fog seemed thicker now, the trial quieter. And with every step, every glimpse of that mask lingering behind you, one thing became horribly clear—

He wasn’t playing the same game anymore.

___________________________________________________________________________

Your boots skidded across the dirt floor of the shack as you backed up, lungs on fire. You spun, searching for his shape in the Fog, your voice sharp to mask the thrum of panic. “Getting sloppy, Ghostface. Usually, you’d have gutted me by now.”

No answer. Just silence pressing in too tight.

Then he was there. Not crashing through, not lunging—just appearing, like the Fog had birthed him. His hand snapped around your wrist before you could bolt, yanking you forward. You slammed into his chest with a muffled gasp, the cold knife glinting at your side but never rising.

“Got you,” he breathed, voice low and steady.

You shoved at him, writhing, but his arm only coiled tighter around your waist. His chest was solid against yours, his breath warm through the mask at your temple. He wasn’t playing. He wasn’t taunting. He was holding.

“Let me go!” you snapped, glaring up at the blank black eyes of the mask.

He chuckled, but the sound was quiet, almost fond. “You always say that like you mean it.”

You froze, pulse stuttering. This wasn’t like him. Usually he would’ve thrown in some crude joke, a cheap scare. Now? He sounded… different.

“What changed?” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

His head tilted slowly, the movement deliberate, curious. He didn’t answer right away. Just studied you, the silence stretching so long it made your skin prickle. When he finally spoke, it was softer than you’d ever heard him.

“You did.”

The words rooted you in place.

His gloved fingers tightened on your wrist, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. His chest rose and fell steadily against yours, like he could hold you there forever.

You swallowed hard, forcing bravado into your voice. “That’s… creepy as hell.”

He laughed then, quiet but sharp, the sound vibrating against your cheek. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

When he finally let you go, it wasn’t quick. His hand lingered at your waist, glove brushing the hem of your shirt like he was memorizing the shape of you. Only when your pulse hammered so hard he could feel it did he step back, knife twirling loosely in his grip.

“Go on, kitten,” he drawled, the teasing edge back in his tone—but now with something heavier beneath. “Find your little hatch. I’ll be right behind you.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Since then, the trials with him were no longer the same. He wasn’t the teasing bastard you’d grown used to, the one who chased you with mock threats and sharp-edged jokes. Now, there was a weight to his presence, a deliberate intensity in the way he moved, the way he watched. He looked longer than necessary, closed the distance between you without striking. Studied your reactions like he wanted to memorize them. Every glance, every step you took seemed to pull his attention like gravity. The playfulness that once defined your twisted little friendship had shifted into something sharper. Something hotter. Something that unsettled you. He was… obsessed.

Obsessed with you.

___________________________________________________________________________

The trial had ended hours ago, and still your nerves hadn’t settled. The whiskey in your glass burned steady and warm, but it wasn’t enough to loosen the tightness in your chest. This “relax realm” was supposed to be neutral, a place to breathe between the Fog.

“Drinking alone?”

The voice slid through the quiet like a blade. You stiffened, glass pausing halfway to your lips. It wasn’t muffled by the mask this time—just smooth, clear, undeniably familiar.

You turned.

He stood in the doorway, the mask dangling lazily from his fingers. No costume. No facade. Just him. Danny. A smirk tugged at his mouth, though his eyes carried that same predatory gleam you’d seen behind black plastic countless times.

“...You,” you muttered, pulse quickening. “So this is what you look like without the freakshow get-up.”

Danny chuckled, stepping inside like he owned the space. “Disappointed?”

“Not impressed either,” you shot back, taking a slow sip of whiskey. “You’re just a guy.”

“Mm,” he hummed, leaning casually against the wall. Though the way his gaze clung to you was anything but casual.

“Just a guy who hunts you down every trial. Just a guy who lets you run when everyone else bleeds out. Just a guy you can’t stop thinking about, apparently.”

You snorted, though the drink didn’t quite hide the heat rising in your cheeks. “You wish.”

“Maybe I do,” he said, too easily. He pushed off the wall and came closer, his presence filling the space until the air felt too tight. He wasn’t smiling now. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You have no idea how hard it is not to drag you back into my home and keep you there.”

Your fingers tightened on the glass. “That supposed to scare me?”

“No,” he whispered, leaning down so his breath ghosted your ear. “It’s supposed to remind you who you belong to in there.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His words hung between you, sharp and teasing—but heavy with a truth you weren’t sure you wanted to acknowledge.

Then Danny smirked again, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. “Relax, doll. If I wanted you dead, you’d never have made it to that whiskey.”

“Oh, fantastic,” you muttered, voice flat with sarcasm as you tipped the glass.

The mocking playfulness was back, but the way his eyes burned into you made one thing very clear— the game had changed.

___________________________________________________________________________

You set the glass down with more force than you meant to, the sound sharp in the quiet. His smirk only deepened.

“Why are you here, Danny?” you asked, hating how his name felt too intimate on your tongue. “Isn’t the mask supposed to stay on once the trial ends? You’re breaking your own rules.”

He tilted his head, stepping closer until the table was the only barrier between you. “Rules are for them. Not for me. And definitely not when it comes to you.”

Your chest tightened. “You really think stalking me outside of the Fog makes this any less creepy?”

“Creepy,” he echoed with a low chuckle, dragging the word out like a taste. His hand brushed the rim of your glass, close enough that his fingers grazed yours for a second too long. “Funny way to describe someone you’ve let chase you this long.”

You glared, but he leaned in before you could fire back. The closeness was deliberate—calculated. His breath stirred against your skin as he murmured, “You’re still here with me. Drinking. Talking. You could’ve run, doll. But you didn’t.”

Your pulse hammered. You wanted to argue. To tell him it wasn’t that simple. But when you opened your mouth, nothing came. His presence pressed down like the Fog itself, heavy and unshakable.

Danny’s smile curved sharp again. He dragged the mask up by its strap, letting it dangle between you like a reminder of what he was. “Don’t get it twisted,” he murmured. “This doesn’t make me any less of a killer. Just means you get to see the part no one else does.”

“And if I don’t want to?” you managed, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

He chuckled softly, darkly, before leaning back just enough to study you. “Then stop looking at me like that.”

Your breath caught. “Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting to see what I’ll do next.”

The silence that followed was heavier than any knife. He didn’t vanish with his usual theatrics. He just stayed making it painfully clear that even here, even without the mask, you weren’t beyond his reach.

___________________________________________________________________________

The scrape of wood on concrete echoed when he shoved the chair back with his knee. Before you could stand, he was already around the table, moving like smoke, too fast for you to step away.

His hand braced the edge of the table beside your hip, boxing you in. The other slid deliberately along the back of your chair, caging you without even needing the knife.

“Danny—” you started, but your voice betrayed you, thinner than you meant it to be.

“Relax,” he drawled, leaning close enough that his lips hovered near your ear. “If I wanted to hurt you, sweetheart, you’d already be bleeding.”

Your breath hitched, his words vibrating down your spine. You hated how your pulse spiked when his chest brushed yours, how the heat of him felt more dangerous than the blade you knew he usually carried.

“You’re enjoying this,” he whispered, amusement curling under every word. “The chase. The attention. You act like you don’t, but here you are. Still sitting. Still letting me in.”

“I don’t—” Your protest faltered when his gloved finger traced the rim of your glass again, this time slow, deliberate, before brushing over your knuckles. The touch was feather-light, maddening.

“Don’t what?” His voice was soft now, low and predatory. “Don’t like me this close? Don’t like knowing I could end you… or keep you?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. The weight of his body leaned just a fraction closer, enough that the table dug into your back. You were pinned—by his presence more than his strength.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, gaze fixed on you with sharp, unblinking focus. “Go ahead, kitten. Say the word, and I’ll pull back.”

For a moment, the room felt too small, the Fog’s absence replaced by something even thicker.

But your lips parted, and no words came.

Danny’s grin widened slowly, dangerously. “That’s what I thought.”

He leaned in just enough that his breath warmed your cheek, his voice dipping lower—mocking, tender, and threatening all at once.

“You keep looking at me like I’m the only thing in this rotten realm worth noticing. And maybe that’s because I am.”

___________________________________________________________________________

“Fuck.”

The word slipped out before you could stop it, low and breathless, as your back hit the worn couch cushions. Danny followed, weight pressing you down just enough to remind you who had the upper hand, his grin cutting sharp as his lips hovered over yours.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” His voice was lazy, taunting, the kind of drawl that crawled right under your skin. “Not used to being cornered?”

Your fingers gripped at his shirt, torn between shoving him away and dragging him closer. “This is insane. You’re insane.”

His laugh rumbled against your chest as he pressed closer, lips brushing the corner of your mouth but not giving in fully. Teasing. Testing. “Maybe. But you keep coming back, don’t you? You could’ve run. Instead…” His hand slid over your thigh, anchoring you in place, “…you’re here. With me.”

You hated how right he was. Your pulse was a drumbeat in your throat, impossible to ignore as his mouth finally crashed into yours. The kiss was rough, claiming, his teeth catching your lip just enough to sting before his tongue soothed it.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him down harder, and he groaned against your mouth like you’d just given him the win. “There she is,” he whispered against your lips, voice wrecked and triumphant. “My little fighter.”

When he pulled back just an inch, his eyes burned into yours, pupils blown wide. His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, deceptively gentle for someone who could so easily snap your neck.

“You know what the funny part is?” he murmured, lips brushing yours with every word. “I don’t even need the mask anymore. You’re already mine.”

And then his mouth was on yours again, hungrier this time, his body pressing you deeper into the couch as if he could carve his claim into you with every kiss.

___________________________________________________________________________

His mouth devoured yours, rough and unrelenting, every kiss pulling you deeper into a place you weren’t sure you wanted to go—yet couldn’t stop yourself from sinking into. His hands were everywhere, gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise, sliding to your waist as if he needed to pin every inch of you down, claim every part of you.

A low growl rumbled from his chest when you arched against him. “Fuck,” he hissed against your lips, “you taste better than I imagined.”

What the hell am I doing? The thought tore through your mind, wild and panicked. He was a killer, a monster, the last person you should be letting touch you like this. But every time you thought about pulling away, his fingers dug tighter, his mouth pressed harder, and the ache inside you screamed for more.

“Danny…” you whispered, but it came out like a plea.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” His grin was sharp, pupils blown, breath hot against your mouth. “You gonna tell me to stop?”

You should’ve. You wanted to. But instead, you shoved at his chest—not to push him away, but to shift. His eyes widened in surprise when you swung a leg over, straddling him on the couch.

For the first time, he leaned back, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as you settled onto his lap. His grin returned, darker this time, hungry. “Well, well. Look who’s taking the lead.”

Your chest heaved, lips swollen, eyes blazing with a defiance you weren’t sure you even meant. “If I’m gonna make bad decisions…” Your voice trembled but held steady enough. “…then I get to make them my way.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, hands roaming up your sides until his thumbs pressed into your ribs, holding you firmly in place. “God, I like you like this. Feisty. Fighting me even when you’re giving in.” His maskless face tilted up, daring you closer. “But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you forget who’s in charge.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the way your body betrayed you—how it leaned into his heat, how your hips shifted against him almost on instinct.

Danny’s grip tightened, possessive, keeping you flush against him. “That’s it,” he breathed, pupils fixed on you like a predator with prey cornered. “Make yourself comfortable, kitten. You’re not going anywhere.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Danny’s grip was merciless as he pulled you tighter against him, his mouth crashing back to yours in a messy, desperate kiss that left you gasping. His teeth caught your lip again, harder this time, and you moaned into him before you could stop yourself.

“That’s it,” he growled, one hand sliding up your back, the other digging into your hip like he could anchor you to him. “I could eat you alive.”

Your hips shifted—once, twice—testing. His breath hitched, and then he laughed against your mouth, sharp and breathless. “Oh, sweetheart… you’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like the burn,” you whispered, and then there was no going back.

Heat flooded the room. His hands roamed, pulling, claiming, tugging at your clothes until the fabric was bunched and twisted between you. You answered with your own urgency, fingers threading into his hair, tugging, biting back sounds you didn’t want to give him but couldn’t hold in.

Every movement blurred—your body grinding down, his meeting every shift with hungry force, his mouth dragging down your neck, leaving bruises that would brand you long after. You wanted to curse yourself, wanted to stop, but your body betrayed you at every turn, arching into him, chasing the friction, craving more.

You lost time in the mess of it, in the sounds he tore from your throat, in the way he whispered your name like it was his to own. You barely remembered how you ended up half-sprawled against the cushions, skin slick with heat, his weight pressing down as if to remind you there was no escape, not from him. Not anymore.

And still—you didn’t want to escape.

By the time you both stilled, breathless and wrecked, the air was thick with heat and something heavier, something binding. Danny’s hand lingered at your jaw, thumb stroking over your swollen lower lip like he was admiring his own work.

His grin was slow, wolfish, utterly satisfied. “Told you, kitten. You’re mine.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The door creaked open, hinges protesting faintly, and Danny slipped inside like a shadow returning to roost. His robe smelled faintly of fresh blood, the remnants of another trial still clinging to him. He shut the door with deliberate quiet, not wanting to wake you—though part of him liked the thought of it.

You were curled on the couch, body slack with sleep. The kitten—your kitten, now—was sprawled across your stomach, purring softly, its tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. A blanket had half-slid off your shoulder, leaving you tucked in but vulnerable, so damn soft it almost hurt him to look.

He stood there for a long moment, just watching. His hands twitched with the urge to reach out, to touch, to prove you were real and his. The Entity’s realm had never given him anything like this before—you, warm and sleeping, waiting for him.

When he moved, it was quieter than breath, easing the jacket from his shoulders, tossing his knife onto the side table with a careless clink. But the sound was enough.

Your lashes fluttered, lips parting as your eyes blinked open in a haze. You murmured, voice thick with sleep, “...You’re back.”

Danny froze, caught in the simplicity of it. You weren’t afraid. No accusation. Just relief, soft and instinctive.

Before he could answer, you pushed up slightly, the kitten sliding with a protesting mewl. Your hand reached for him in the dim light, tugging weakly at his shirt until he leaned down.

Your lips brushed his in a sleepy, fleeting kiss. Gentle. Domestic. A welcome home.

Then you sighed, slumping back into the cushions, already slipping under again.

Danny’s chest tightened. He lingered there, crouched beside you, staring at the curve of your mouth, the way the cat curled closer as if to guard you in his absence. His jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” he murmured finally, almost too quiet to hear. “I’m back.”