#ghostface geto

"Did you just call me a whore?" You ask, intending to be outraged but you can feel how wet you are without even touching yourself. It's addicting, the way he's speaking to you. You'd never tell them, but this is like something straight out of your fantasies. "What do you want from me?"

"Hm." Suguru pauses on the other end of the line, you can hear a tapping noise, and then he huffs out a vague laugh. "What's your favourite scary movie?"

"You can't be serious." You pout, knowing he can't see you but Satoru definitely can. You let your knees steady you as you kneel on the bed carefully propping yourself onto the mattress pointed towards Satoru. "Is that all? Some dumb question? Halloween."

"Well that's awfully rude," Suguru sounds pouty, and it makes you laugh, heat crawling across your skin. "After everything we're going to do for you tonight, that's how you thank us?"

This is boring, you thought they were actually going to do something. But this? Banter on the phone whilst Satoru just stares, bo-ring. So, with a kiss goodbye to the receiver, you hang up. You smile at the phone before you're knocked onto your back, Satoru pinning your arms above your head whilst you gasp in shock at the sudden movement. How the hell did he move so fast?

"He warned you." It's the first words you've heard from the taller man all night, and a shiver hits you, wetness pooling between your thighs where it definitely shouldn't. "You wanna get hurt, sweetheart?"

You stare at the mask, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded as you bite your lip. There's nothing there, no emotions, but just the way Satoru has you pinned, forearm thick and strong as he holds both wrists in one hand, you whimper.

Satoru is silent, but he brings that prop knife closer to your chest, tracing the seams of your nightgown, tilting his head as he follows the knife, lowering his body down your stomach and you inhale as you feel his breath through his mask hit your navel. The prop knife is getting closer to your thighs, and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it before you're wrenched out of your comfortable, playful flirty mood.

It's cold, the tip of the knife swirls around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh and you can feel the cool metal against hot skin. Suddenly, this shit got a whole lot more serious, and you feel tears in your eyes as you beg Satoru to touch you, letting a whimper slip as the knife grazes up your panties, the smallest amount of pressure before it's tossed aside, clattering against your bedroom floor and the silence is filled with Satoru's deep groan as he mumbles something about honey.

Your hips shudder forward involuntarily, and you gasp as you feel gloved fingertips brush against your clothed pussy, the fabric sticking uncomfortably, before it's being slid to the side as Satoru finally gives you what you want.

His fingers are so long, slipping inside a little too easily as he coos at you, mask still on and taunting you with wide lifeless black sockets, hallowed scream mocking you for being so ridiculously turned on. The wet sounds coming from your cunt have you blushing, eyes laser focused on the fingers that are sliding in and out of you languidly. You almost forget about Suguru, that is until you hear your mobile ringing again.

You're too lost in what Satoru's doing to answer at first, and you cry out as Satoru stops his movements, fingers stationary in wet walls as you try and fail to move your hips. He looks pointedly to the phone, and you huff as you reach a shaky hand towards it, now that Satoru has released them with a warning squeeze. You pick up the phone on the third ring, and almost sob out in relief when you hear Suguru's voice again.

"One last chance." Suguru warns, and it sounds like traffic in the background. "Hang up again, Satoru leaves you wet and alone in bed like the whore you are. Understood?"

"Mmm-hm." You nod, letting out a breathy moan as Satoru starts moving again, those slender fingers reaching that spot so quickly it has you arching. "Fuck, Satoru."

"He's good, isn't he?" You can hear Suguru smirking through the damn phone, but the way Satoru has you stuffed already just with a couple of fingers has your head spinning, warm heat spreading through your core with no mercy. "Tell him. Let me hear you beg him, darling."

"Suguru," You keen, thighs trying to close as your head falls back, the peak you've been climbing for less than five minutes getting dangerously close despite only a bit of fingering. "Please, need you here. M'sorry. I'll do whatever you want."

Satoru scoffs and you look at him puzzled before he places his other hand on your lower tummy, pressing firmly as he ramps up his speed. Your eyes are wide and he wrenches a near scream of Sugurus’ name out of you as you gush on his forearm, dampening the dark fabric of his costume. He groans along with you as Suguru laughs on the phone, and you hear him mutter something as he pulls his mask off. Oh.

“Gotta taste,” Satoru groans, electric blue eyes blown wide and white hair at all angles; he looks feral. He shoves your thighs either side of you and moans like a whore as he takes in the sheen of your pussy, your cum already making it slick and easy. “Bet you taste so good.”

Satoru looks at you with pure lust written on his flushed face, lips plump and wet from where he's been biting it as he fingered you. With another curse, he's buried snowy white hair between your thighs, making out with your pussy like he's starved.

“Satoru,” You beg, ears still trying to readjust after your orgasm, white staticky noise overlapping with your own sobs. "Fuck, fuck. Please. Suguru."

Satoru moans into your cunt at the mention of your mutual friend, hips rutting into the bedsheets as he swirls his tongue around you, thrusting it in and out of your tight walls, slurping at the remnants of your previous orgasm. Your hands find their way to his hair as you hold on for dear life, the wet sounds of Satoru eating the only sounds in the room, save for Suguru's grunting on the other end of the line, schlick schlick schlick noises coming through from you imagine is Suguru fisting his cock as he listens to Satoru eat you out.

It's addicting, and your back arches as he sucks on your clit, moaning as he feels how you're practically dripping onto his face, a wet sheen on his chin as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, face red and hips moving as he humps the bed.

"You know, we're really helping you out here." Suguru's voice floats over the phone, albeit a little more strained than before. "Tell me, how often do you stuff your fingers inside your tight pussy wishing it was one of us instead?"

You gape at the phone, frowning as Satoru laughs into you, placing apologetic bites into the inside of your thighs. How the hell does he know that? You even turn your phone onto airplane mode.

"We heard you, princess." Satoru confesses, rolling his tongue around your folds, collecting the sweetness with a groan. "Sorry. So loud when you think no one's listening."

"What? When?" You demand, kicking the side of his head with your foot as he laughs into you again. "Stop it. Suguru, what are you talking about?"

"Play along, Satoru." Suguru scolds, and Satoru immediately gives you a sheepish look, pressing a sweet kiss to your clit before kneeling up and tugging at his own leaking dick. "We didn't kill that guy just for you to fumble at the very end."

What?

"What the fuck?" You whisper, voice tight. "Suguru-"

"What's the matter?" Suguru asks, a mocking in his voice that you're not unfamiliar to. "You liked that knife when Satoru ran it over your thighs, didn't you?"

You shiver at the memory, the way the cold metal had shocked you, and you can feel your core burning again. Satoru lets out a pinched moan above you, precome dripping onto your stomach as he grins.

"That guy, the one you brought here the other day?" Satoru laughs, eyes bright as he keeps his hadn't moving swiftly, his voice all breathy as he moans his words out. "Fuck, princess, the way you moaned for him whilst you thought of us. Couldn't have him living with the fact he got to touch you."

You choke on a moan as Satoru slaps your pussy roughly, your wetness glistening on his hand as he rubs away the sharp sting, his tongue peaking out of his lips. You can't even think of whatever that guys name was, not when Satoru Gojo is above you, dishevelled and leaking.

"K-killed?" You whimper, hips tilting down to meet his fingers, grunting when he slips two inside, tiny remnants of blood on them that you didn't notice before. "Oh, god, fuck,"

"Mmhmm." Suguru says on the line, except that it sounds a little echoey this time. "He barely remembered your name. Disgraceful."

You're about to roll your eyes and pout but then Satoru's long fingers hit that gummy spot and you're sobbing out a mixture of their names, begging for something other than what you've got. Greedy. So wrapped up in your own pleasure you don't hear your door creak open, or feel the bed dip before Suguru's pierced tongue is licking at your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you moan, wicked grin as he looks at Satoru in between wet kisses.

"Satoru," Suguru purrs, deft hands wandering down to your tits, pinching and rolling pert nipples as you squirm. He looks so good like this, blood freckles on his face, purple eyes with messy mascara covering the bottoms of his eyelids. Satisfied grin plastered across his face as he watches Satoru finger you languidly, sloshing wet noises from how turned you are. "You've gotten all messy."

Satoru grins as he looks down at his soaked clothes, before sticking his tongue out at his partner.

"We knew she'd be messy." Satoru says simply, curling his fingers up and pounding you, continuing his conversation like he barely noticed you were there. "Tastes so fucking sweet, too. Like candy."

Suguru hums, making out with the side of your mouth as he watches Satoru, his tongue creating a spit-slicked mess of your lips. You moan at the way he uses you like a toy as he watches his friend finger you, both of the groaning as your stomach visibly tenses as you get closer and closer.

"Yeah? Tastes good, did you hear that sweetheart?" Suguru coos, holding your jaw and forcing you to look at Satoru. "Well. I guess I'll have to see for myself, won't I?"

"Suguru." It's a pitiful whimper, and your thighs are already twitching from Satoru's antics. "Suguru, please."

You don't even know how you got yourself into this situation, and the potential murder of your ex hook-up is nothing to be ignored, but fuck you if these two men fighting over who gets to eat your cunt out isn't the most insanely hot thing you've ever seen.

Satoru looks so flushed, red hot face as his tongue flats out against your pussy, dragging along the length of it and sucking on your slick, moaning like a bitch in heat as he brushes past Suguru's tongue, who's more focused on suckling your pretty little clit. Satoru is a messy eating, slurping and spitting and moaning as he tastes you, his dick out and leaking against the bed sheets, thrusting onto the cotton as you sob and writhe and moan.

Suguru nibbles and kisses and sucks like he's a professional, hot stiff muscle invading your every thought as you try to escape from the constant stimulation but they've got you caged between the two of them. Satoru is still in his black robes, soaking fabric with blood splatters in his hair, but his dick is hanging free and it makes your mouth water, which Suguru notices with hungry amethyst eyes, kissing your thigh before his nails dig into the fat of your ass.

"You need to be filled more, is that it?" Suguru groans, reaching into his pants to pull his hard dick out, and your breath catches as you notice his piercing, well, piercings. Four sets of glinting steel jewelry leading up his perfect and thick shaft, all the way to the top of his soft mushroom tip, beaded with precum and angry red. "Think she can open wide enough, Satoru?"

You moan in response, already working on positioning yourself above his waist, mouth drooling at the sight of him. You've always wondered about those piercings, apparently it makes everything more sensitive. Time to test it out.

"Satoru, let's give this a-" Suguru cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as you swirl your tongue around the metal of his piercings, placing opened mouthed kisses up and down them, leaving strings of drool attached before you finally reach his tip. You give it a couple of kitten licks, moaning at the salty taste before going as far as your throat allows, hand on his shaft and stroking jerkily as you try to fit it down you. Suguru keens, hips shuffling forward as he throws his head back. "God, fuck. Made for us, baby girl."

"Mmhmm," You agree, mouth stuffed to the brim. Satoru has moved from your pussy to mouth at Suguru's jaw, pressing hungry bites to it as he groans at the same time his partner does. You moan at the sight, cheeks pink and eyes hooded as the noise makes you choke a little, Suguru cursing and gripping your hair.

You start a rhythm alternating between bobbing your head up and down, pulling back and sucking gently, and spitting on it so your hand something to slick up the jerking. Suguru's a lot more reserved than Satoru, just watching you with hooded eyes and a keen look, whereas his partner is whining like he's the one being touched. You want to feel what those piercings are like inside you, and you tell them as much.

"Oh? Such a whore," Suguru hums appraisingly, before he's shuffled down and slapping the tip of his dick on your pussy, pulling it back with strings of your cum attached. "Can't believe you let someone else use your pussy, sweetheart. Tell me, is it still tight?"

"Suguru," You breathe, gasping as Satoru frames you from behind, groping at your tits and pulling gently on the nubs, rubbing them just to hear your squeaks. "Satoru!"

"Yeah," Satoru groans, rutting against your ass, both of you holding your breath as he catches slightly on the rim. "Fuck baby, please let me put it in?"

You vehemently shake your head, giggling a bit at his whines of protest, before you grind back against him and moan at how hard he is. You're almost about to cave, before Suguru pushes in abruptly.

"Oh, fuck." Suguru pants. You're so tight, gummy wet walls stretching and struggling to accommodate his size, the cool metal of his piercings a stark contrast to the rest of both of you. Just the thought of them inside you has you getting wetter, walls tightening as Suguru hisses, squeezing your hips. "Tight. Satoru, get the camera."

You're in too much of a daze to register what he's saying, mouth agape as you let yourself get fucked mercilessly by your supposedly platonic best friend. His tip bumps up against your g-spot and you're close to screaming, opting to sob instead, scraping your nails down his back. You already know you look a state, your own cum dripping down your thighs, a mess of tears and drool down your face as well as some blood from Satoru's face mingled in with it all.

You hear a snap, then you're suddenly gasping as the room tilts, Suguru rearranging you both so that you can ride him, his piercings catching on your pussy every thrust, your hands gripping his chest. Plap plap plap filling the room as you're riding Suguru like your life depends on it, which it might, considering he suddenly has the neglected knife off the floor at your throat, cold metal making you whine as it presses ever so slightly, your cunt fluttering at the sensation.

Suguru's feet are planted on the mattress as he fucks up into you, swearing and cursing as you feel his thrusts get more erratic.

"Ngh. You ready, Satoru?" Suguru pants out, letting the knife fall beside you as he hauls himself into a semi-sitting position, mouthing at your tits. "Perfect. Not gonna last, beautiful."

"Oh, fuck," You sob as you cream around him, milky white leaking out of you and forming around the base of his cock. He swears, and then you feel hot heat as he empties inside you. "God, oh god fuck me."

Suguru chuckles into your shoulder as he kisses it, soothing fingers massaging at the tender skin from where Satoru was gripping you earlier. You can feel your thighs burning as you slow down, only for Satoru to whine.

"Su-gu-ru." Satoru whines, and you look back. And what a picture. He's rocking on his heels, thrusting up into his own hand so he can fuck his own fist at the sight of you two. His cock is angry, red and swollen and leaking so much you wouldn't be surprised if he'd already came and simply kept going. "You promised."

"Hm?" Suguru asks in a daze, looking into your eyes with a possessiveness that has you shivering. "Go on, Satoru. Fuck her then."

Satoru groans out a thank you, and you gasp as you're pushed forwards, straight into Suguru's chest and cushioned by his arms. Your walls clench, and you bite your lip as you feel Satoru push in, Suguru's come seeping out in globs of glossy white around Satoru. Suguru is thick, but Satoru is long. Fuck, you can feel him in your chest.

"Fuck." You sob, trembling as Suguru shushes you.

"Be good for Satoru, baby. I know you can take it, such a perfect little whore for us." Suguru soothes you, wiping at the tears that fall down your cheeks. He looks to the side for something and your eyes slip closed, your body rocking as Satoru fucks you in doggy. He's so deep, almost hitting your cervix as he drives into you like an animal.

He's so whiny, mouth running a mile a minute about how perfect you are, perfect and tight little pussy, tighter than Suguru. It's so much, too perfect, that peak building so rapidly that you can't help but squeal as you feel yourself gush, mouth opening and Suguru murmurs something to Satoru, and then you feel your hair getting tugged backwards as Satoru moans his own release out, loudly.

There's a snap again, a flash as your head is yanked back, drool and mascara and fluids dripping down your chin and chest. Suguru had just taken a trophy shot, and your walls give a weak little attempt at a flutter, making Satoru practically sob into your shoulder.

He presses a dozen or so kisses to your skin, whispering sweet little thank yous over and over as he pets your hair, gently rocking his hips into you as a comfort for everything they'd just put you through. There's come dribbling down your thighs as he pulls out, and he hooks a thumb into your hole, whistling as he watches evidence of him and Suguru pulse out onto the sheets.

"Sweetheart?" Satoru asks cheekily, slapping your ass as you grumble at him, swatting behind you as Suguru laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to your forehead.

"W'ht?" You slur out, getting comfy on Suguru's strong chest, taking in the smell of his minty shampoo. Satoru is to the other side of you, drawing abstract patterns on your back. It's bliss, considering the circumstances.

"What's your favourite scary movie?"

Choso, the head of the writing department aka the one who sells your news articles to the top journalist companies in the city, pops his head through the crack in the door. He has his black hair in his spiked ponytails and his glasses perched on his nose. He wears his work ID on a lanyard around his neck, right against his black jumper that goes so well with his jeans and boots. 

He always dresses so casually for work whereas you dress always like you’re about to be photographed, as he’s told you. Today, you wore a pencil skirt paired with a red blouse that makes your eye color pop and black pumps. Autumn has always been your favorite time of year for flash. 

“Hey,” Choso greets, giving you a smile. “Another late night?” You nod, motioning to your Starbucks cup filled to the brim with iced coffee with two shots of espresso and oatmilk creamer. 

“You know how it is. I’ve gotta get this big story somehow if I wanna get that promotion.” You shrug and smile despite the sheer exhaustion you feel. You can even feel the bags under your eyes that you’ve covered with as much concealer as you can. You’ve been up five this morning; a daily routine for you for over a month now. 

Choso slides his body through the door and leans against the wall, shutting the door behind him. “So I guess dinner and drinks with me and the crew is off the table then.” You gape at him through your glasses, watching him smirk. “You? Agreeing to drinks and socialization? Is it snowing?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he chuckles. He rolls his eyes at you but blushes, knowing that he is the wallflower in this company. He once told you that he can’t believe that you’ve been friends for over two years since he started with the company. You’re the total opposite, always up for nights out with the team or office holiday parties, but lately, you’ve been strictly committed to your work. “Thanks for the invite but another time. This story requires all my time right now.” 

You motion an arm towards your desk riddled with articles and your laptop opened on a video of a recent interview with a college girl who claimed she saw Ghostface escape from her dorm after murdering one of her classmates. Ghostface. The name of the newest sensation in your small town. A name that has got your townsfolk so twisted up that they’re locking doors and windows for the first time in centuries. 

Your town used to be the safest in the nation. Everybody knows each other. Neighbors bring over pies and goodies for cookouts. Kids play with other kids down the block until midnight without being bothered. Citizens were rather careless, feeling comfortable in the illusion of safety that living in a small town brought…until the murders began a month ago. And they just kept coming. 

Your station has been covering these stories ever since, staying up to date on the latest news on murders and possible leads. But when the town’s newest serial killer is running around wearing a ghost mask and has never been seen before, it’s hard to snag anybody in handcuffs. 

Choso grimaces at your laptop before turning to you. “Between you and me, your boss is a dick for even hangin’ that over your head. Why do you even put up with that?” 

You sigh, taking off your glasses for the first time all day. “It’s not that I put up with anything, Cho, but if I wanna get paid more, I have to put in the work.” 

You’ve been working at this station for five years now, putting your all into your career, but since your boss told you about the latest promotion opportunity, you know that this is your chance to prove yourself as more than a news girl and a pretty face on a screen. You want to be taken seriously as a journalist and a reporter. You want to write a bestselling book on the juiciest stories in your town. And you know that Ghostface is your ticket to all of that. 

“So what?” Choso scoffs as if reading your mind. “You’re gonna try to solve this Ghostface case? I thought you didn’t believe in him.” 

You smirk at him, slurping on your coffee, the caffeine hitting you dead in the face. “I don’t. While I think there’s totally a serial killer on the loose, I don’t think he’s prancing around in a ghost mask.” You pause, laughing incredulously. “That’s fucking ridiculous! I bet you that it’s some idiot kid who made up a rumor and everybody started running with it.” 

Choso looks slightly put-off by your statement as if Ghostface may come jumping out any minute. “Okay, so let me rephrase my question: you’re gonna try to figure out who the real killer is?” 

You give him a secretive look as you put your glasses back on, staring at him over the rim. “Precisely,” you whisper, winking. “Or at least point people in that direction. I’ll be the first one to do it too.” And then write a banging book about it.

Choso just chuckles, obviously not believing you. You can’t blame him; you have very big ambitions and have always shot for the stars. Hence why your boss has been mentioning this promotion so much lately. He knows that you’re working hard for it, jumping right into the churn-n-burn mentality. It could be a trap, but you can only try. 

“Well, call me when you get that gold metal,” Choso jokes, rapping his knuckles on the desk. “I’m gonna head out. You’ll be okay here by yourself?” You roll your eyes, waving him out the door. “Choso, I’m a grown woman. I can fully protect myself.” 

You have pepper spray and a knife in your Coach tote bag. You are more than ready for that dumb ol’ Ghostface. But Choso still gives you a weary look. “Just don’t stay here late, okay? People are fuckin’ crazy nowadays.” 

To soothe his concerns, you tease him, batting your lashes. “Aww, you care about me,” you coo. He adverts his gaze and blushes, but the moment passes when your phone flashes with a name that makes your heart pound. “Oh, that’s my boyfriend calling. See you on Monday?” 

You think you see Choso look slightly disappointed but he just nods and bids you farewell before leaving you alone. You answer the phone immediately, glad to see Suguru’s name flash on your screen after not hearing from him all day. “Hey, babe!” you greet, all work forgotten now.  

“Hey, baby,” he says, his smooth voice giving you shivers. “You comin’ home tonight? It’s kinda late.” You sip your coffee, staring out at the sky as it quickly turns a dark blue, the thin pink line in the horizon disappearing. “Nah, I’ve got a story to write. Don’t worry; I’ll be home before morning.” 

Suguru, your precious, protective boyfriend, makes a small noise of worry. You brace yourself for an incoming lecture. “Baby,” he sighs. “You’ve been clockin’ in long hours for weeks now. I’m sure your boss will be fine with you doin’ work at home.” 

You can feel that stubborn streak coming out as you stare at your laptop and the time. 7:12 PM. “Yeah, but I won’t,” you protest, huffing. “I need to get this promotion, Suguru. It’s important to me.” 

“I know, baby, but…” He pauses, sighing defeatedly. You feel an immediate pang of guilt for making him worry, but you also want him to understand this commitment you’ve made. You know you’re about to hit something big. You can almost taste it. 

“I’m just worried,” he finally says. “And with this killer runnin’ around…at least let me come and sit with you.” You tut, your stomach flipping at your boyfriend’s adorableness. “Always the protective boyfriend.” 

“Damn right,” he huffs. “Someone needs to watch out for your stubborn ass.” You smile, feeling his support even through the phone. Even after six years and living together for two, Suguru has never wavered in his treatment of you. He has always supported your career even with his busy job as a male nurse. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been worrying you, but I promise I’ll be okay,” you softly say. “And when I get home, we can pop in some scary movies and I can make it all up to you~” You hope he doesn’t miss the way your voice turns sweet and seductive the way he likes. He doesn’t, but he never does. “Scary movies?” he chuckles. “You don’t watch those…and neither do I. I’m too busy watchin’ you.” 

You bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together in an effort to not leak onto your seat. Despite your busy schedule, sex with your man hasn’t been waning, thank God. “Fuck, can’t you come home now?” he groans, need in his tone. You bite the tip of your pen as heat floods you, your body craving his. “I will soon. Just keep my spot warm.” 

“‘Course, baby,” he replies in that deep voice that makes your pussy do somersaults. “Nobody gets my lap but you. Just hurry home, okay?” A stupid, goofy smile stretches across your face. How lucky you are to have such a perfect boyfriend. And soon, an even more perfect career. 

“I love you, Sugu,” you coo into the phone. 

“I love you too, baby. You’re gonna get that promotion, I promise.” Oh, you know it. After another goodbye, you hang up and get right back to researching every kill since last month and every possible Ghostface sighting you can find. Some are flunks and pranks, others seem legit. There has to be some pattern here, other than the fact that the killer uses a knife. 

You try to flex your brain muscles while running on caffeine, tap-tap-tapping away at your keyboard and reopening Microsoft Word. There has to be something here! 

Ring-ring-ring!

You huff in frustration, looking down at your phone to see an unknown caller ID. You smirk and pick it up, picturing your boyfriend on the other end. “Damn, are you that horny for me, babe?” you giggle. “You’re callin’ me from unknown numbers now?” 

“No, but your voice might make me,” the stranger on the other end replies. “Nice to meet you too, Y/N.” 

You pause, your blood running cold and your heartbeat scattering. This doesn’t sound like Suguru at all–this voice is too raspy, almost gravelly like he smokes a pack of cigarettes a day. “Uh…sorry, who is this?” you tentatively ask. “Suguru, is this you?” 

The stranger chuckles, making your stomach turn. “Maybe it is. Why? Scared to talk to strangers?” He laughs again, the sound giving you the willies. You flick your eyes to the window. Is someone playing a trick on you? “Suguru, as hot as this roleplay thing is, I can’t afford to get wet about it,” you firmly say but your voice wavers a bit. “I’m working.” 

“On what?” the stranger rudely chuckles. “Catching your Ghostface killer? Oh, that’s right: you don’t believe in me.” Suddenly, your body grows cold and you lower your pen. “Who the fuck is this?” you angrily hiss. “Choso, if this is you, this isn’t funny!” 

“It’s neither your boyfriend or your simpin’ ass friend,” the stranger growls. “I heard you don’t believe in me yet you’re tryin’ so hard to catch me for this pathetic job promotion.” He disappointedly clucks his tongue, making your anger simmer. “Well, if you’re so desperate for that big break, news girl, you’ll meet me at the local police station. Then you’ll get your story.” 

Your brain slowly processes his words, accessing each possible scenario. This could damn well be some kid who somehow got your personal number and is prank-calling you…or it could be a trap. “Is this a trick?” you snap. “How do I know you’re the real Ghostface?” 

But even as you try to call the stranger’s bluff, you stand up from your desk, prepared to move if you need to. The stranger just sighs, sounding tired of your games. “If you don’t believe then don’t come,” he replies boredly. “Maybe your boo would like to meet me instead.” 

That anger turns into fear when you realize who he means. Your Suguru. “What?!” you shriek, slamming your hand on the desk. “Don’t you fucking dare!” And then the line cuts, leaving you shaking and panicking. Quickly, you dial Suguru’s number, doing your best to keep calm. He doesn’t answer, but shoots you a text telling you that he’s on the other line with his mom. 

You can feel the fear rising up inside of you, making you tremble like a leaf. This could all be a stupid prank, but even so, you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. What if this person really is Ghostface? What if he shows up at Suguru’s job, or worse, your home? If he found your personal number, he’ll have no trouble getting your address. 

Feeling tears prick your eyes, you snatch your glasses off and roughly blink them away. There’s only one thing to do. After the lights are all shut off and there is only the janitor working overnight to clean, you head for your car and drive to the police station. You don’t even tell Suguru that you left work; you have no idea what time you’ll be home anyway. 

‘If you come home at all,’ a snide voice in your head hisses at you. You will it away from behind your steering wheel, doing breathing exercises to try and calm yourself as you drive down the woodsy trail leading to your local police station. You could always turn around and drive home, but you don’t. The innate need to quench your curiosity and snag the killer for your story fuels you. 

The police station is dark when you pull up to it, your headlights cut off in the back area of the parking lot farthest away from the door. You’ll probably lose your job if you’re caught, but you need this story. You cut off your car and take your keys, pepper spray, and knife with you, sliding them in the pocket of your trench. You also take a flashlight–something that is essential for recording news stories at night. 

When you tip toe up to the station, you do your best to crouch in front of the security hut to hide from the person inside of it…only to find it completely empty. That’s strange. Usually, an officer would be here watching over the station. Quickly, you hurry to the front door and jiggle it to check for the lock…only to find it unlocked. “Wow,” you scoff. Are these officers really dumb enough to think that no one will break into a police station in a small town? 

Slowly, you turn the doorknob and walk in, keeping your movements slow and quiet as you flick on your flashlight. You grip it in one hand and your knife in the other, swallowing down your fear. The station is dark, all the offices’ windows shaded with blinds. Nothing stirs in the room, not even a mouse. 

“Hello?” you call, slowly walking through the empty station. Silence ensues. You walk around the long stretch of the front desk to one of the narrow hallways of higher-ups’ offices. “If you’re in here, you’d better show yourself now, creep,” you growl, shining the light from the flashlight in front of you. With every step you take, you feel like you’re walking towards your death. You shouldn’t be here. You should just turn around and– 

THUMP!

You jump and turn, shining your flashlight in the direction of the stretch of dark hallway behind you. You see nothing…and no one. Your heart is hammering, your skin wet with sweat and staining your clothes. The anticipation is too much, so you jump into the nearest open room and shut the door, locking it behind you. You don’t know if Ghostface or anyone else is occupying it but you figure it’s better than being in such an open space. 

Quickly, you flick on the lamp beside you, finding yourself in an office. It is as unorganized as you would think the office of a stressed-out police detective would be: coffee stains on the wooden surface of the desk, unopened mail sitting by the door, an ash tray not emptied, etc. On his desk, in addition to his plaque showing his name and title–“Higurama Hitoshi: Police Detective”–, is a manila folder and photos haphazardly stern about the wooden surface. 

Tentatively, you walk up to the photos, realizing that they are all in black and white. Most are from crime scenes; in every photo, you see bloody footprints in carpets and snapshots of closeups of marks on bodies; yellow police tape marking off the crime scenes and where they happened; a Ghostface mask left on the tiled floor of a crime scene. 

You recognize it immediately: it’s from Suguru’s hospital. Where one of the doctors (the one that seemed to take a liking to you) was brutally murdered three weeks ago. 

You lower your flashlight before shuffling through the photos with one hand, searching through them. Underneath all of the gory ones that make your stomach churn is one that makes you stop short. It is of a long-haired man in front of Suguru’s hospital, carrying a trashbag and something else in his left hand. When you pick up the photo to inspect it closely, you nearly drop it out of shock. 

There, coming out of the hospital in the dead of night after hours, carrying a Ghostface mask and a black trash bag, is your boyfriend. “Oh, my God,” you whisper. 

THUNK! 

You abruptly turn to the sound, find it coming from behind the desk outside the window overlooking the woods. The culprit is not a bird or Ghostface, but a man hanging limply from a noose wrapped around his neck, bloodied and lifeless. You would think he was a rag doll if it wasn’t for the gash in his neck or the tag on his shirt that reads ‘Security Guard’. 

Again, this time in a frightened shriek, you say, “Oh, my God!” and turn to the door to run…only to see someone standing there. Your boyfriend in black attire–black jeans, boots, and a shirt that hugs his muscular upper torso. His black hair cascades down his shoulders in a river, accentuating his ear piercings and arms roped in tattoos. “Suguru!” you gasp, placing a hand on your heart. “W-What are you doing here?” 

You find yourself backing up into the desk–an unconscious decision made on your body’s part, as if your boyfriend is the danger lurking. You can’t understand why you feel like this or why you’re not happy to see him. Something is wrong, including the smile he gives you. It feels forced; rehearsed. “Hey, baby,” he greets, coming farther into the room. “So you really did come. I should’ve known–you’re pretty stubborn.” 

He shuts the door with a click, making you flinch. “So you saw the photos,” he sighs, looking towards the desk. He slumps his shoulders, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s all the better to get you your story, right?” His violet eyes sparkle at you, filled with malevolence. 

“W-What?” you stammer, your heart plummeting. “Why are you talking like this? What is this?” 

Suguru is happy to explain, keeping a distance from you but still making you feel trapped. “What this is, my pretty news girl, is the part in your story where you discover the killer. You’ve been workin’ hard to be your own detective and you’ve finally come to the truth.” He flashes you a white-toothed grin that makes a cold chill run through you. “How’s it feel, baby?” 

Suddenly, all of the pieces fit together to form a horrible picture. You stare up at your boyfriend towering over you, aghast. Half of your brain is fighting against the truth while the other is slowly processing it. “It’s you?” you whisper, tears springing into your eyes. “You’ve been killing all of these people?” 

Geto tuts as if he’s disappointed in you. “Oh, not just me, pretty baby. Don’t you know there’s always a secret second killer in movies like these?” 

Suddenly, the closet behind Detective Higurama’s desk opens and there stands Choso in a black tee and sweats, his fingernails painted black and his wrists adorned in spiked bracelets. This time, his hair is down, creating a mullet around his head. “Choso!” you shout, immediately throwing yourself at him. He doesn’t even hold you. “You have to help me! G-Geto…he’s the…” You pause, noticing the way he’s looking at you: cool and far away. “Choso?” you whisper, your stomach churning. 

Slowly, Choso slips something out of his pocket: a small rectangular device that he clicks and puts up to his mouth. “Sorry, Y/N,” he croons into the device. “There was no other way to tell you.” His voice sounds exactly like the one you were talking to earlier. Ghostface’s voice. 

There is always a point in a horror movie where everything starts to make sense to the protagonist and that is what is happening now. Your head is spinning; you feel like you’re going to pass out. You back away from Choso, frightened. “No, no, no,” you utter, running your hands through your hair. “Y-You’re Ghostface? Both of you?!” 

You look between the two men you thought you knew so well, one blocking the door while the other moves to stand between you and the window. “And the plan worked perfectly,” Geto says, flashing you a deranged smile. “I was investigated for this, y’know.” 

He slowly walks over to the desk, ignoring you shimmying away, and wraps his knuckles on his photo. “That night, I came home real late, way past my normal hours. The cops started parkin’ their cars outside our place. You were so wrapped up in this fuckin’ story that you barely paid attention.” He says this with so much venom that you flinch. You couldn’t have really been that neglectful, could you? 

He chuckles dryly, shaking his head at Detective Higurama’s plaque. “‘Course, they couldn’t find nothin’ on me. I told ‘em that I found the mask in the office and tossed it out–they believed it. That was the day one of those sack-a-shit doctors was killed…the one pervin’ on you.” 

Yes, you remember him: Dr. Fushiguro who always gave you compliments and sly winks whenever you’d visit Suguru with lunch. “You killed him?” you gasp. The two killers smirk, proud of their work. “And many others,” Choso adds. “Anyone who would get the town talkin’. We ain’t picky.” Anger courses through you, sharp and white-hot. “So what now?” you bark, switching between glaring at your boyfriend and your work buddy. “You’re gonna pin this all on me? Like I’m the killer?” 

Choso actually laughs at this, giving you a revoltingly pretty smile. “That would be quite a plot twist, but no. We’re gonna give ya what you want, news girl: your big break.” He smirks at you, mockingly. “You caught the killers but at a cost.” 

They begin to inch towards you, making you feel like prey being hunted by her predators. “What cost?” you ask, afraid to know the answer. 

Suguru answers for you, his eyes cold and unloving. “Your morality,” he growls. “Your dignity. Your own job. Your relationships.” There is a hurt piece there, but you can’t bring yourself to apologize for anything. Not when your boyfriend is a fucking serial killer! 

Slowly, you slip your hand down your side to your pocket where your switchblade is. “You’re gonna get caught,” you snap. “You both will go to prison for this.” Geto cocks his head at you, looking absolutely empty inside. “And if we do, we’ll make sure you’ve learned your lesson ‘bout snoopin’ around where you ain’t wanted.” 

Slowly, he slips a hand into his pocket and retrieves a Ghostface mask. You watch in horror as he slips it onto his head, directs his head at Choso, and nods. But you’re ready. Quickly, you rip your switchblade out and turn to your coworker. He is also wearing a Ghostface mask now, this one coated in crimson stains. “Stay back!” you scream, pointing the blade at him. Choso looks disappointed, his hands out as if to calm a wild beast. “C’mon, Y/N. Don’t make this hard on yourself.” 

You shriek when you feel one arm wrapped around you from behind, tightening against your throat. His other hand wrestles the knife out of your hand, using it against you by pointing it at your cheek. “As smart as you are, babe, you’re actin’ like a dumb bitch,” Geto growls. “Why come here without a gun if you knew Ghostface would be here?” 

As he glides the blade down your cheek, you open your mouth and sink your teeth deep into his arm. He swears as he releases you and you use that chance to try to escape, but Choso yanks you into his arms, holding you tight. You try to fight, but you’re stopped when a long blade presses against your throat. “I don’t wanna do this,” Choso whispers, “so don’t make me.” 

You close your eyes, letting the tears slip down your cheeks. You can’t believe this is happening. But your situation only gets worse when you hear a sudden click and open your eyes to see Geto holding a burner iPhone, a warm wash of light from the camera lens directed at you. “Smile, cutie pie, you’re on camera,” he sneers behind his mask. “You’ve got quite the audience so far. Lotta people watch the news late at night.” 

He turns the phone towards you where you see his browser open on your local news’ website, livestreaming a video. A video of you. And as Suguru said, you do have an audience…about fifty people so far. Your eyes grow wide like a deer in headlights, making Suguru toss his head back and laugh in his mask. 

RRRRRRIP goes your blouse, the beautiful satin tearing at the seams as Choso tears it open with one hand, popping each button off and making them fly everywhere. Your breasts are exposed now, so soft and bouncy in your lace bra. “No, don’t do this!” you shout. You barely have time to react before Geto points his own knife at you, letting the camera capture your look of fright. 

“If you wanna live, you’re gonna do everything we say,” he growls at you. “C’mon, you’ve been on camera before. You know how to flaunt that frame, baby.” You simmer with anger, hating that he’s referring to the sex tapes you have recorded with him before. This isn’t your boyfriend at all–he’s sexy and loving. The man standing here is anything but. 

“Put her on the desk,” he growls at Choso. Your coworker listens, shoving all of Detective Higurama’s items off of his desk before grappling with you to put you on it. You whimper as he forces you onto your back, lying you down across the desk. “Choso,” you brokenly ask, “why are you doing this?” 

You try to see his eyes through the mask but you can’t. “Because it’s the only way I could get you to finally look at me,” he hisses, dragging his knife down your cleavage and across your tits in your lace bra. “You always saw me as the work bestie and nothin’ more. Well, that changes tonight.” 

You hear the grin in his voice and it makes you shudder. You try to think back to any time where Choso showed that he was attracted to you. Could it have been when he’d get you your exact favorite type of coffee each morning without you asking? Or wherever he’d invite you out after hours? Or how his attitude would change when he was with you? ‘You dumbass,’ you think. ‘How could you have missed it?’

Suguru cackles, coming over to record you, washing you in blinding light. “Quite the simp, ain’t he? He’s always had a thing for you, y’know. I wasn’t shocked when he said yes to my plan.” He slides his blade across your cheek and over your chin. “You stopped givin’ me attention,” he snarls. “You cared too much about a job that didn’t give a shit about you the way I do. Now you pay the price.” He turns to Choso who is hard as a rock, his cock pushing through his pants. “Grab her arms.” 

You try to fight back, to squirm, to push at Choso’s hands, but his hand shooting out to smack you across the face stops you short. It hurts. Sobbing to yourself, your body goes limp as he takes your tattered blouse off of you and wraps it tight around your wrists, tying them above your head. And Suguru gets it all on video. 

Then your ankles are next. After passing the phone to Choso, Suguru rips your nylon stockings off of you, grinning as you sob when the fabric tears and rips. He then wraps them tight around your ankles, restricting your movement entirely. 

“Ooooh, look at this body,” Choso croons, leaning down to trail his lips over your chest, stomach, and neck. “You’re a lucky bastard, G.” 

Your boyfriend smirks underneath his mask, taking one hand to roughly massage one of your tits. You fight against the sparks of sensitivity that explode in you from his touch. “Ain’t I?” he chuckles. “You should see what’s up under here. Go ‘head.” 

You try to keep your thighs clamped shut, but Choso forces them open with his hand sliding between them as his other hand yanks your pencil skirt up. He groans in arousal at the sight of your lace panties and your soft thighs cushioning your pussy. He slides his hand down one of your legs, making you flinch. 

“C’mon, darling,” Suguru whispers, aiming the phone at you. “We’ve got about ninety people in here now. Give the audience a little show, huh? Show ‘em your pretty face.” He squeezes your cheeks together as he grips your chin, forcing you to look into the harsh light. You whimper as Choso begins to rub you through your panties, his palm stroking your clit. 

“N-No,” you whimper but it’s all you can get out before Suguru is tilting his mask up to expose his lips and smashing them against yours. Unfortunately, his lips have always been your aphrodisiac and you can feel yourself growing aroused as his tongue forcefully swirls with yours, the metal ball of his piercing tickling your lips. 

“Shit, she’s wet!” Choso gasps, his fingers becoming slick with you. Suguru smirks against your lips, giving your bottom lip a tug with his teeth. “That’s the freaky bitch I know,” he whispers. “Y’look so pretty like this, baby.” He leans down to kiss you once more, slowly and sloppily the way you enjoy. You moan in protest as he grips the back of your neck, keeping you against him. “Open that mouth up,” he demands. 

When you don’t do it, he presses his knife against your throat, the ridges nearly slicing your skin. Your lips tremble as you open your mouth and he spits a gob of saliva onto your tongue. “Swallow.” You do so and he goes right back to kissing you down, bruising your lips with his in a possessive, rough kiss. “Fuck,” Choso groans. “I want some too. I’ve been dyin’ to kiss you for so long.” 

He lets Suguru record him as he tilts his mask up to show his lips and kisses you too, taking his sweet time getting to know your mouth and your taste. His kiss is less rough but still possessive and desperate, drinking in everything you are forced to give him. You feel a lone tear drip down your cheek as he swirls his tongue against yours. You don’t want this. You don’t want this! 

You think this can’t get any worse for you, but then Choso pulls out a blindfold and your heart sinks. “Relax, cutie pie,” he murmurs. “It ain’t nothin’ you ain’t used to. Geto told me all about the kinky shit you two do.”  

“Please don’t,” you whimper but he fully ignores you, sliding the blindfold over your eyes. It grows wet from your tears, darkening your view of everything and everyone. You can’t even see the knife that Suguru uses to cut the straps to your bra off, making you gasp as cool air slides over your nipples, making them hardened peaks. You moan as you feel him pull your panties aside just as another blade skates over your thighs. “Chill out, mama,” he chuckles. “I’d never hurt you…not lethal, anyways.” 

His thick fingers slide down your pussy lips, capturing your wetness. You sob to yourself, feeling betrayed by your own body. How can your pussy be wet over their kisses and touches? How can your body respond to this kind of treatment? “Taste yourself,” Suguru demands, sliding his digits slick with your wetness along your lips. 

You begrudgingly do so, licking your bottom lip, and sucking on his fingers. He groans, retracting them and using them to slide beneath your panties, finally touching you. Choso captures your slutty moans and whimpers on camera, his hard cock pressing and rubbing against your thigh as he grinds his hips against you. You try to grit your teeth to stop the moans, but Suguru knows you inside out. He knows exactly what your pussy enjoys. 

So when he begins to rub your clit in semi-circles, you nearly lose it. “Please!” you moan as Choso rubs your tits with one hand, stimulating you further. “Please what, baby?” your boyfriend asks, smirking. Be a good girl and tell me whatcha want.” You feel nothing short of humiliated and awful as need blooms inside you, making your body hot. “Taste me please,” you weakly beg. 

Suguru and Choso laugh at your weakness, humiliating you further. Since your ankles are tied, Suguru lifts your legs up to eat your pussy that way and God, is it mind-numbing. Your brain goes completely blank as he slides his pierced tongue over your hot, wet pussy and clit, sucking on your lips and nuzzling his clit with his nose. Your man has always been fabulous at eating pussy and you’re horrified to find that he hasn’t changed. 

You moan and writhe on the desk under the cellphone light, your most vulnerable and private moment recorded for the whole town as Ghostface goes down on you. “That’s it, take my tongue, mama,” Suguru softly growls, his rasped voice sending vibrations through your core. “Poor little girl is cryin’ for me.” He gives your pussy an open-mouthed kiss and pulls back to spit on it before slurping it all back up, making your toes curl and your eyes roll back behind your blindfold. 

Zzzzip. “Tilt your head back,” Choso demands. “You don’t get to receive and not give. I want your mouth. And no. Teeth.” His knife presses against your tender throat, so close that you can feel the ridges of it grazing your skin. “You won’t like what happens if you don’t listen.” 

Your lips wobble as you open your mouth, awaiting whatever he has in store for it. His thick cock slaps against your lips and chin before finally entering your mouth…and he doesn’t stop.

Choso’s cock sinks deeeeep down your throat, filling the tight tunnel with his thick, girthy shaft pierced at the tip with a silver ball. “Oh, fuck!” he groans. “Jesus, how do you not immediately blow your load down her throat?” 

“Practice,” Suguru chuckles against your clit. “My baby knows how to give some good head. Now everyone will know too.” That’s right. You’re still on camera, getting your pussy eaten by a serial killer and sucking the fat dick of another. 

You try to wiggle away, but Choso grabs your hair, forcing your mouth onto him. You gag around his cock as he brushes the back of your throat, drool spilling from your mouth. “Keep it there,” he grunts. “Take me deeper, slut. I know you know how to take dick like mine.” He smacks his hand against your cheek, each one giving you a sharp sting. “Look at that slutty ass face. If only you could see yourself.” 

“Oh, she will,” Geto cackles. “‘Cause it’ll be all over the internet. Isn’t that great, baby? You’ll be a star.” He gives your pussy a long lick before dipping his tongue inside of you, his nose sliding along your clit as he fucks you with his pierced tongue. ‘No!’ you lament in your head. ‘I don’t want this!’ But even as you think this, your pussy tightens around Geto’s skillful, wicked tongue fucking you dumb on the desk. Your body has betrayed you. 

Choso’s moans of pleasure don’t help your situation either–he sounds shockingly hot as he fucks your mouth off of its hinges, making your jaw ache and your throat stretch. His cock plunges in and out of you, pounding your mouth like it’s a fleshlight. Finally, you feel something tighten in your core like a knot as Suguru moans into your pussy, still sloppily eating you. “I’m gonna cum!” you moan around Choso’s cock. “Please, Sugu, make me cum!”

You can’t help yourself. Your body yearns for it. If you don’t cum, you feel as if you may die. 

“Nice beggin’, baby,” your boyfriend praises you. “Cum for me then. I give you permission, baby girl. Give it all to me.” He goes on licking, slurping, and sucking, forcing you to reach that peak. 

Your back nearly arches off of the desk as you cum, shivering and bucking your hips into Suguru’s face. Choso groans as he watches, your lips clamping around him as you cream all over the desk and your boyfriend’s tongue. “Still my good girl,” he sighs, pecking you on the clit. You twitch, overstimulated and sensitive. 

“F-Fuck, that almost made me bust,” Choso groans. He slides his cock out of your mouth, giving you a chance to breathe, and wetly smacks it across your face. “You’re so pretty, cutie pie. How are you this fuckin’ pretty?” He slides himself back in, still fucking your throat raw from the constant forced stimulation. 

There is a sudden ding and Suguru begins to laugh. “Oh, look, more views!” he announces. “We’re at about 5k now. Let’s give ‘em somethin’ to really thrill ‘em.” Five thousand viewers?! That’s not possible–there are only a couple hundred in your town…which means these are views from nonlocals. People all over the country are watching now. ‘Oh, fuck,’ you lament in your head. 

And now five thousand people are about to watch Choso aka Ghostface #2 pound your pussy against the desk. “Just let me take her pussy this time, G, c’mon,” he groans. “I’m so close to bustin’ a fat load down her throat.” And he is; you can feel his cock throbbing in your throat the more he fucks it, making spit drip down your tits and chin. 

“So you want it in her pussy instead?” Suguru chuckles. “Just be gentle with her. It’s my job to be rough with her.” Your boyfriend is usually very possessive over you. He would never let another man even look at you, let alone think about having another cock fuck and cum inside of you. How can he allow this? 

Choso slides his cock out of your mouth with a groan and suddenly, he vanishes, but Suguru takes his place. “Let’s get this shit off,” he growls, snatching the blindfold off. You blink a few times, letting your vision adjust, before you’re staring up into the handsome face of your boyfriend. Choso is busy recording your wet pussy for your audience so Suguru’s identity is still protected.

“Hi, baby,” he coos, smiling at you. “You ready to see how it feels to fuck a serial killer?” You don’t answer, unsure of how to. Suguru keeps his mask up to show his face to you as Choso passes him the phone. He directs the lens at you, filling the screen with your mascara-stained cheeks and saliva-slick lips. “Do me a favor and look at the camera. I want everybody to see you take Ghostface’s cock.” 

He then slides his mask back over his face and leans the phone against a chair sitting across from the desk, flipping it so the screen faces all three of you. You see yourself stretched out and tied up along the desk, your eyes full of terror. 

You begin to panic as Choso lifts your tied ankles up, placing your legs in the air. You feel his thick cock slap against your asscheeks, drenching himself in your wetness. “W-Wait a sec–ah!” you gasp, your protest cut off when you feel Choso’s thick cock sliding inside of you. At the same time, Suguru smacks his hard cock up against your lips, heavy and thick. “Let’s get this other hole filled now,” he grunts before pushing himself in your mouth. 

Both Ghostfaces moan in ecstasy while you’re resorted to groaning in absolute humiliation and unwanted, forced pleasure. You hate the way your pussy clenches around Choso’s cock as he begins to rock his hips, sliding his cock in and out you, the camera catching the way your sticky lips cling to his shaft. “Oh, God!” he wails to the ceiling, his head tilted back as he slowly pumps himself inside of you. “Oh, fuck, yes! Right there!” 

Suguru laughs as he listens to your coworker enjoy your pussy, causing the desk to begin to creak. “What a simp,” he chuckles behind his mask, groaning as he forces his dick down your throat. You gag, trying to pull away but his hand gripping the back of your neck stops you, forcing you to take him. “Does his cock feel good, baby? You like serial killer dick, don’t you?” 

“Mmmmph!” you moan around his cock, your lips clamped around him. Saliva drips from your mouth down your chin, causing your mouth to grow extra wet. It allows Suguru to fuck your throat as fast and rough as he pleases. He shivers at the sound of those wet gags and suction sounds escaping you, staring down at you through his mask. “Thaaat’s it,” he moans. “I love those sounds, mama. Keep ‘em up.” 

You have no idea if he means the wet gagging as his cock plunges deep down your throat or the screams you’re making around his dick as Choso fucks you harder and faster on the desk. You had no idea your coworker was so big—he practically stretches you as he pounds your pussy on the desk, bullying himself inside you with every thrust. “Just like that, cutie! Fuckin’ take me! Take that dick!” 

You have no choice in the matter, even the way your body grows hot and tingly as your pussy grips him, your G-spot unfortunately enjoying the stimulation its receiving. “You’re doin’ so well, baby,” Sugruu moans. “You’re such a good slut for us.”

He chuckles, glancing at the screen through his mask. You can tell he’s smiling. “How’s it feel to get your big break, huh? ‘Local newsreporter fucks Ghostface killers’.” He pauses, cackling in a way that makes your skin crawl and your heart pound. “What a headline!” 

Then he grips your throat as he continues to pump his cock in your throat. Unfortunately, you’ve always enjoyed this, even as fat tears drip down your face when he presses a knife to the side of your cheek. “God, she tightened up!” Choso grunts, fucking you harder, his fingers digging into your hips. “I’mma cum soon! C-Can’t hold on much longer!” 

“Give it to her then,” Suguru demands. “Cum deep inside her. Breed that little slut, C.”

Choso goes harder, faster, nailing your pussy again and again, causing an unwanted orgasm to bubble to the surface. His moans have grown high-pitched and loud, masking the sound of Sugru’s moans and the desk creaking beneath you. “I’m gonna cum, cutie,” he gasps. “Cum with me! I-I’m gonna…gonna…oh, fuck!” 

He lets out a groan that pierces through his mask and fills the office as the warm gush of cum explodes from his cock and surges inside of your pussy. Unfortunately, his orgasm and rough thrusts trigger your own end and you whine around Suguru’s cock as you gush around Choso, your walls instinctively clenching and flexing around him. It is unwanted and completely against your will but the explosive sparks you feel coarse through you are all the same. 

Suguru releases your throat and gently runs the knife down your cheek to your chin all the way down your breasts to your navel. “Oooh, that looked like a strong one,” he chuckles. “Zoom in on her pussy, C. Give the audience a look at that load.” 

Choso, softly panting, grabs the phone and zooms in on your soaked, dripping pussy. Hiding behind the phone, he pulls off his mask, allowing for him to wipe the sweat from his forehead and breath freely. “Thank you, pretty girl,” he murmurs, giving your pussy a kiss. “You were even better than I thought you’d be.” 

You twitch in response, wanting to kick at him, but your ankles are still tied. 

Suguru finally slides out of your mouth, allowing you to cough and breathe through your mouth now. “My turn now. Flip that ass around, baby.” You can’t do it yourself, so the two have to carry you off of the desk and flip you around so you can bend over across it. Suguru forces you into his favorite position: face down, ass up. 

Tap-tap-tap. Suguru taps his big, hard cock against your asscheeks, right as Choso holds the phone in front of you. “Look at the camera, baby,” Suguru directs. “Give everybody a good look at that pretty, slutty face.” Weakly, you look up at the screen to see the Ghostface killer mounting a disheveled, broken vessel of a woman who looks fucked out of her mind. Her hair is a mess, her mascara is running like clown makeup down her cheeks, her nylons are in tatters against her legs, and her skirt is hiked up to expose her ass and dripping pussy to the thousands of viewers watching her.

That woman is you. You almost can’t believe it. Before you can lament on it more, Suguru steals every thought in your head when his tip pries open the sticky, wet lips of your pussy. Your mouth falls slack into an O as he slides in deep, bottoming out inside of you after a few slow thrusts that make your eyelids flutter. 

Suguru grips your hips and yanks you back, his thighs pressed flush against the desk as he slides his cock in and out of you. “That’s my girl,” he grunts. “Take my dick. You know just how to do it, don’t you?” Choso smirks behind the phone, his cock hardening between his thighs at the sight. “Fuck her harder, G. I wanna see her get knocked up.” 

Some of your mind seems to come back when Choso utters those words. “W-What?!” you shriek. You look back at Suguru who laughs, smiling behind his mask. “That’s right, mama: I’m about to make you a real mama now. You’re gonna carry our little baby.” 

Your mind spins as he begins to speed up his thrusts, slipping into a rhythm that makes you gasp and moan as he rearranges your insides. You had talked to Suguru about having kids before, but only when you were married! You can only slump down onto the desk, your cheek pressed against the wood, as your hole is taken without any say from you. 

Suguru’s thrusts grow harder and rougher, his breaths coming out in groans and grunts as he bullies his dick inside of you over and over again. Soon, the desk starts to move and your tits jiggle crazily against it with the force of his fucking. “Su-Su…W-Wait!” you wail. “Ha, oh, God…s-slow down! Oh, fuck, please! I-I can’t…oh, shit!” Your words are a jumbled mess, barely audible. 

“Nah,” he huffs. He yanks you back so your ass is pressed flush against him, causing his cock to sink in deeeep. “Don’t run from it, baby,” he grunts as you squirm around his cock, only making it better for him. “You can’t escape this. This is what you wanted, after all. Be grateful.” 

You practically scream as he ruts into you, fucking you in a way your boyfriend never did. This is rough. This is possessive. This is about showing you what happens when you fuck around and find out.  “This is your big break, cutie pie!” Choso chuckles from behind the phone. “Enjoy it. We’re makin’ you famous now.” 

As he zooms in on your face, Suguru begins to fuck you even harder, faster, using your ass as leverage to pull you into his cock over and over again. Your eyes begin to roll back behind your head, your eyelids fluttering weakly, making you look as if you’re high as a kite from the cock plunging deep inside of you. 

Suguru leans in over you, tilting his mask up slightly so he can suck on your earlobe. “Tell me you love me,” he grunts. “Say it to me now.” He paws at your tits, rubbing them in time with his thrusts. 

As your third orgasm rises, you grow desperate, your body making you act completely against your pride and will. “I-I love you!” you sob, tears prickling your eyes. “I love you so fuckin’ much!” They drip down your cheeks in salty streams to which Suguru licks up for you. “I love you too, baby,” he whispers. “You have no idea how much.” 

He eases up on the roughness of his fucking but keeps his strokes fast and deep, knocking the air out of you. “This isn’t the end for us,” he pants in your ear. “Even if I go to prison, when I get out, I’m gonna come back for you. We’ll be a family.” 

You can only whimper in response as you feel your next orgasm coming, about to hit you like a tidal wave for the audience behind the phone screen. “Beg me to cum,” Suguru demands. “Say ‘Please, Mr. Ghostface, let me cum for you’.” 

You are completely in his control now, so you do it, abandoning all self control and self will. “I’m gonna cum!” you scream, drool pooling from your mouth and onto the desk below. “Please let me cum on your cock, Mr. Ghostface!” 

That is all Suguru needs to hear to begin fucking you roughly again, taking you on a very bumpy ride as he chases his orgasm. “Do it for me, baby! Scream for us!” he bellows, his moans growing louder and intense, mixing with yours. 

When your third orgasm of the night hits, it’s one that is intense and hard, hitting you dead like a truck. Your body pulses and throbs as you cream all over Suguru’s cock. In response, he digs his fingers into your ass and cums too, groaning as he fills you with all of his creamy spunk. It combines with Choso’s load and drips down your thighs, sliding all the way to the floor. 

Suguru picks your head up from the desk and catches your drool with his tongue, giving you a sloppy kiss on the mouth. “That’s my girl,” he whispers. 

Choso smiles as he passes Suguru the phone, letting him end the livestream. “5k views. Not bad.” He stares down at you, gently stroking your backside that Suguru covers in droplets of spunk from his cock as he spears his tip all over your cheeks. “She definitely has the makings of a great actress. Such a pretty final girl.” 

You just lie there against the desk, your knees weak and buckling against your weight. You slump against the desk, breathing hard, coated in sweat, cum, and humiliation. Your eyes flutter closed as exhaustion hits you, making your brain foggy and your muscles tired. These two psychopaths have fucked you into oblivion. 

Suguru gently scoops you into his arms and tenderly strokes your forehead as he sits in Detective Higurama’s chair, holding you close. He gently kisses you as your head lulls against him. “Nighty night, baby,” he murmurs against your lips. “When you wake up, everything will be alright. You’ll see.” 

You can’t even speak–exhaustion grips you, making you sink deeper and deeper into darkness. And then you pass out. When you awaken, you’re somewhere unfamiliar…or are you? 

You are in the dark so you can’t make out your surroundings too well, but you can tell that you’re sitting on a soft mattress and the curtains are drawn. You blindly reach around for a lamp and find it, flicking it on. When a golden light drenches the room, you realize that you’re in your bedroom. You recognize it by the robin’s egg-blue walls and hardwood floors. 

You are also in your work clothes from earlier except for your pumps and stockings. You take a moment to recuperate, your head throbbing. How did you get here? Did Suguru and Choso take you home? Remembering the serial killers that used you up just moments before, you look around in a panic but you don’t see them. Where could they be? How can you be here? What happened to the photo and the livestream? 

Before your mind can travel even farther, the aroma of frying eggs and cooking batter fill your nose. Slowly, you rise out of bed and pad across the floor to the hall. You hear the sound of soft R&B playing from the kitchen as you walk downstairs, putting one foot after the other. When you make it to the last stair, you find a man standing in your kitchen at the stove shirtless in sweats. The black ink on his back flexes with his muscles as he flips a pancake over in a pan, his hair pinned up into a perfect bun.

“Suguru?” you weakly ask. 

He turns to see you standing behind him and smiles that bright smile that your boyfriend always has. “Hey, baby!” he greets. “Mornin’! You finally woke up.” He places a plate full of miniature pancakes on the counter before walking over to you in his polo socks and slides. 

You blink, confused. “W-What happened?” you stammer. “Where’s Choso?” Suguru raises his pierced eyebrow at you. “Choso?” he parrots, confused. “Your work buddy? He went out last night according to his IG. I’m shocked you didn’t go.” 

His words slowly process in your sluggish brain still foggy from sleep. That can’t be true…can it? Choso was there in Detective Higurama’s office with you and Suguru. Your boyfriend watches you, silently freaked out, as you look around your apartment in utter confusion. 

“How did I get here?” you ask. 

“Oh, that,” he sighs and you mentally prepare yourself for the horrible truth “You stopped answering your phone so I came to get you at work.” He takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles. “You were passed out at your desk, exhausted. I drove you home. Choso came back to the office and drove your car here this morning while you slept.” 

You stare at him blankly, slowly feeling like you’re going insane. “Huh?” you whisper to yourself, confused. That can’t be right! You swore that last night happened and ended with you filled with serial killer spunk live in front of thousands of people! 

Suguru lays a hand on your shoulder, a crease appearing between his pinched brows. “Hey, you alright?” he worriedly asks. “You look so pale. I knew you shouldn’t have worked late.” 

You don’t say anything as you try to rake your brain for something–anything–that will prove that you’re not fucking crazy. Anything that will root these “memories” you have in reality.

But instead, you give in to your boyfriend’s words and chalk it up to just that: working late. And your exhaustion and the strain caused you to have a horrible, awful dream. “I just…had a bad dream,” you decide, your mouth dry and stomach churning. “Just a nightmare.” 

Yes, just a nightmare. You hope you sound convincing enough to not only Suguru but to yourself. Your beautiful man smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead as he holds you close, smelling of pancake batter and your favorite body wash, fresh and earthy. “Well, you can tell me all about it over coffee,” he coos. “Now sit down and relax; food’s almost ready.” 

He leads you over to the kitchen island to sit while he walks back into the kitchen. You skip the coffee and pour yourself some orange juice instead to soothe your parched throat. You look around the kitchen and your apartment, breathing in and out. Inhaling and exhaling. All is well. All is okay. Your career is safe. 

“Oh, and, baby?” Suguru calls. He stands at the stove again, pouring some batter into the buttery pan. 

“Yeah?” you ask with a small smile. 

“For the record, we didn’t livestream that video to the news. All those views were bots.” He gives you a smirk that sends shivers down your spine and makes your smile fall straight off of your face. 

He turns to you, eyes cold and that wicked smirk still on his face. “But if you keep actin’ up, that video may just make you a real star, news girl. Now how’s that for a story?” 

THE END? 

Halloween night should’ve been spent drowning in cheap vodka and strobe lights, sandwiched between sweaty bodies in ridiculous costumes. At least, that’s what everyone else you knew was doing.

But you? No.

Tonight was your night. The perfect storm—literally—to stay in. You had your snacks lined up, horror classics queued, and the kind of lazy comfort only a blanket pile could provide. While the wind shrieked outside and rain smeared down your windows in relentless streaks, you burrowed deeper into your cocoon, letting the flickering TV bathe your living room in soft light.

By the third movie, you were drifting in and out, your stomach full and eyelids heavy. The screen blurred as your consciousness slipped—until the thunder hit.

A crack like the sky splitting in half jolted you upright. Your heart tripped in your chest. Then came the second blow: the power went out. The hum of the refrigerator died, the fan sputtered silent, the glow of the TV vanished. Darkness wrapped around you, thick and suffocating.

“Fucking perfect,” you muttered.

Reaching blindly, you patted around for your phone. Your fingers skimmed the cushion, the floor, the table—nothing. Panic was beginning to nudge at your ribs when, mercifully, the screen lit up on its own.

An incoming call.

Relief surged, only to stall when you saw the number. Unknown.

Probably a misdial. You silenced it.

The storm pressed on, wind rattling the panes. The silence in the apartment was oppressive now, every creak magnified. Just as you pushed yourself up to head for the kitchen, the phone buzzed again. Same number.

Your frown deepened. You answered, putting it on speaker so you could use the flashlight.

“Hello?”

Static silence. Then—breathing.

Slow. Measured. Close enough you swore you could feel it on your ear.

A chill licked down your spine. Squinting, you pulled the phone closer. Same number. Same absence of a name.

“Who is this?”

No reply. Just that steady inhale… exhale… like he wanted you to hear it.

Annoyance fought with unease. You hung up, the screen flashing back to black.

“Fucking idiot,” you muttered.

Snacks in hand, you plopped back on the couch and tried to distract yourself with TikTok, the familiar scroll a balm. You barely got through two videos before the buzzing started again.

Same number.

Irritation won this time. You swiped to answer. “Listen, asshole, this isn’t a fucking game. Either say something or quit calling my phone.”

The breathing didn’t stop.

You opened your mouth to curse again when the voice cut in, low and deliberate.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You froze. The words slid through the speaker smooth and deep, like velvet over gravel. A voice too rich, too careful to belong to some bored teenager playing pranks.

“…Wait. What?”

A chuckle followed—low, warm, curling around your nerves. The kind of laugh that settled heavy in your chest, that made something you didn’t want to name stir in your belly.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asked again, slower this time, savoring every syllable. You could hear the smirk dripping through.

Your pulse spiked. You hated that it wasn’t just fear making your body heat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You scoffed, trying to force steel into your voice. “What, you think I’m supposed to play Sidney Prescott? Try again. I’m not falling for this bullshit.”

“Mm.” A hum, thoughtful, like he was cataloging you. “Confident. I like that.”

Your throat went dry. “Listen—”

“Don’t hang up.”

The command came soft but sharp, like the edge of a knife kissing skin. You went still. He chuckled again, clearly hearing it.

“That’s better. So, what’s the answer, sweetheart? You’ve got one. Everyone does.”

Your mouth opened before you could stop it. “…The Shining.”

“Ahh.” His approval slid down your spine like warm hands. “A classic. A good choice.”

It should’ve ended there—you should’ve hung up, blocked the number, laughed it off later with your friends. But you didn’t. Something about his voice clung to you, dark and magnetic.

“You didn’t call me just to ask that,” you muttered, already moving toward the kitchen again though you didn’t know why.

“No,” he agreed easily. “I called because I wanted to hear you. And because I like watching you squirm.”

Your steps faltered. “…What?”

Another chuckle, lazy and low. “Cute shirt, by the way. I almost thought you’d dress up for me.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, you turned toward the darkened windows, the storm outside a sheet of black. Your pulse thundered in your ears.

He couldn’t see you. He couldn’t.

“Mm,” he hummed like he’d heard the thought. “I love that look. All wide eyes, lip caught between your teeth. You’re making this fun for me, baby.”

The phone slipped a little in your sweaty hand. “If this is one of my friends, it’s not funny—”

“Oh no.” His voice sharpened, dropping lower. “No friends. Just me. And you.”

Thunder boomed, rattling the apartment. The call hummed in your hand, his breathing steady on the other end.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were terrified—or turned on.

You sat there, clutching the phone a little tighter than you’d admit. His breathing stayed steady, like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew you weren’t gonna hang up again.

Your mouth felt dry, but you pushed past it anyway. “If this is one of my friends, it’s not funny.”

“Oh no, sweetheart.” The way he said it—drawn out, deliberate—sent something sharp crawling down your spine. “No friends. Just me. And you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to cover the little tremor in your voice. “Yea, okay. Sure. Some random dude I don’t know just… calls me up on Halloween night to chat about movies. That’s real normal.”

He chuckled, low and dark, like he knew something you didn’t. “Who said I was random?”

That made you freeze. “Excuse me?”

“You’re even cuter when you get defensive.” His tone dipped lower, warmer, wrapping around your chest in a way that had no business making your thighs press together. “That pouty little frown? Baby, I could see it from here.”

Your heart tripped in your chest. From here?

Slowly, your gaze flicked to the window. The rain pounded harder against the glass, streaking the reflection into blurry shadows. The storm outside had swallowed the neighborhood whole.

“He can’t see you,” you whispered to yourself, a pathetic attempt at reassurance.

But then he hummed, smug. “Mm, don’t lie. You’re chewing your lip right now. Wondering if I’m outside. Or closer.”

You shot up from the couch, your pulse hammering so hard it almost drowned him out. “Alright—who the fuck are you? Seriously.”

Another laugh, softer this time. Almost affectionate. “That’s the best part, princess. You don’t need to know. Not yet.”

You paced the living room, glancing at the door, the dark hallway, the kitchen. Every shadow looked suspicious now. Every creak made your skin crawl.

“Look—” your voice shook despite yourself. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not gonna work.”

“Mm.” He sounded like he was smiling. “That’s what makes it fun. You’re so stubborn. So sure you’re safe.” His pause stretched, deliberate. “But tell me, sweetheart… if you’re really not scared, why are your hands shaking?”

You looked down, and sure enough—the phone trembled in your grip.

Your stomach dropped.

Your nails tapped nervously against your phone case. “Okay… either you’re some genius hacker with access to my Ring camera, or you’re just pulling random shit out of your ass hoping I get spooked.”

He hummed like he was considering it. “Mmm, maybe. Or maybe I just know you better than you think. You twitch your nose when you’re irritated—like right now. And when you lie? You chew your bottom lip raw.”

You froze mid-motion. Your teeth were worrying at your lip, and you hadn’t even noticed until he said it.

The silence stretched, heavy, like he was letting it sink in.

“Cute little habit,” he added, smooth and lazy, like he was leaning back somewhere, enjoying himself.

“Okay… okay, no,” you whispered more to yourself than him, shaking your head. “This has to be someone I know. Who the hell put you up to this? Was it Maki? Or—shit—was it Gojo? He’d totally think this was funny.”

He chuckled low in your ear, dark and quiet. “You think your friends are clever enough to pull this off? That they could slip right into your home, stand close enough to count the goosebumps on your skin?”

You sucked in a breath and glanced wildly around the room, blanket clutched tighter around your shoulders. No footsteps. No shadow moving. Just the hum of rain and your own shaky heartbeat.

“This is insane,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “It’s a fucking prank. That’s all.”

“Mmh,” he hummed again, like he didn’t believe you. “If that helps you sleep tonight, sweetheart… keep telling yourself that.”

The call went dead.

You stared at the glowing screen, your own reflection looking back at you, pale and wide-eyed. A part of you wanted to block the number, toss the phone across the room, something. Another part—God help you—waited for it to ring again.

The call ended, leaving your living room swallowed in a heavy silence. Even the rain outside felt quieter now, as if the storm was holding its breath with you. You put the phone down on the coffee table, but your fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Get a grip,” you muttered, running a hand down your face. “It’s just some loser. Probably spoofing a number. That’s all.”

A soft thunk echoed from somewhere down the hallway.

You froze.

It wasn’t thunder. It wasn’t the house settling. It was closer—like a door brushing shut.

Slowly, you reached for your phone again, thumb hovering over the screen. Before you could do anything, it lit up on its own. Same number.

Heart hammering against your ribs, you answered, pressing it to your ear. “Listen—”

“Nice place you’ve got.” His voice was low, steady. “Cozy. Smells like vanilla.”

Your blood ran cold.

“I—” you started, but he cut you off.

“Little dish by the door with your keys in it,” he continued, tone almost conversational. “Couple of take-out menus. Blue lighter. You quit smoking last year, but you keep it there anyway.”

Your eyes darted toward the front door. The dish sat exactly as he’d described, a small blue lighter nestled next to your keys.

“I… I didn’t tell you that,” you whispered.

He chuckled softly, like you’d just made his night. “No, you didn’t.”

Another sound—a slow drag of something across the wood floor—slipped from the hallway, just beyond the edge of the living room light.

You shot to your feet, backing toward the kitchen. “If this is some kind of sick joke—”

“I told you,” he interrupted, voice silkier now. “It’s not a joke. You wanted a scary movie tonight, didn’t you? I’m just giving you one.”

Your stomach flipped, fear and a strange, unwanted thrill mixing in a way you couldn’t untangle.

“Who are you?” you demanded, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles ached.

He let the question hang for a heartbeat before answering, low and deliberate:

“Why don’t you come find out?”

The line went dead again.

Your pulse thrummed so loud it drowned the storm. The call ended, but you couldn’t stop staring at the phone, waiting for the screen to light up again.

Don’t answer next time, your brain scolded. Block the number. Call someone else. Call the police.

But you didn’t.

Because the second the phone buzzed in your hand again—same number, glowing like a dare—you answered.

“…hello?”

A pause. Then that voice, velvet and unhurried. “You sound nervous.”

“I’m not.” Your voice cracked, betraying you.

He hummed like he didn’t believe you. “You should check your back door.”

Your stomach sank. Slowly, you turned your head toward the kitchen. The back door loomed in shadow, the storm lashing against its frame. You hadn’t touched it since earlier today. Had you locked it?

“I’m not playing this game,” you snapped, forcing yourself to move. Each step felt heavier, like your body didn’t want to cooperate. You flicked the flashlight across the kitchen. The door was closed, the lock slid firmly into place. Relief hit you in a shaky exhale.

“See? Locked,” you said into the phone.

Silence stretched for a beat. Then:

“…are you sure?”

The words curled in your ear, taunting.

You rattled the handle to prove it. Still locked. You almost laughed—almost—but then a soft knock tapped from the other side.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

You stumbled back, clutching the phone. “Who the fuck are you?!”

Another chuckle, deep and smug. “You already know.”

“No, I don’t!”

“Oh, but you do.” His tone shifted, coaxing, darkly amused. “You’ve been thinking about me since the first call. Trying to place my voice. Don’t lie.”

Your throat went dry because—god help you—he wasn’t wrong. You had been combing through memories, wondering why his cadence felt familiar. But that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t.

“You’re sick,” you hissed, though it lacked bite.

“You’re curious.”

The line went dead again.

The silence after the line cut was worse than his voice. You stood there, shaking, phone limp in your hand. The rain hammered the windows, thunder rattled the walls—but it was the quiet inside your house that crawled beneath your skin.

You should’ve called someone. You should’ve done something. Instead, you just stood there like prey, waiting.

The phone buzzed again.

Your thumb hovered, trembling, before you answered. “…what do you want?”

A low chuckle hummed in your ear. “I want you to relax.”

Your chest tightened. “You’re scaring the shit out of me.”

“Am I?” The voice softened, warm in a way that made your stomach flip. “You’re still answering. Still listening. If you were really scared, you’d hang up.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. He was right. God, why were you still answering?

The silence stretched again, broken only by his breathing—steady, measured, like he was standing right behind you.

“I can see you,” he murmured.

You spun, flashlight cutting across the living room. Nothing. Just the couch, the pile of blankets, the snacks you left half-eaten. “No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can. Black shorts, oversized shirt. Hair a little messy from your nap.”

Your stomach dropped. Your free hand smoothed over your clothes, like you could erase the proof. “…you’re lying.”

“Mm. Am I?”

Your eyes darted to the windows. Maybe he was outside. Maybe he was watching from the storm-soaked shadows. That had to be it. But then—

“Cute socks,” he added, tone dripping with amusement.

Your head snapped down. Lightning flashed through the window, and for a split second you caught sight of them—your stupid pink socks with the little cartoon ghosts on them. You hadn’t even realized they were peeking out.

Ice spread through your veins.

The phone slipped in your sweaty grip. “Where are you?”

He didn’t answer. Just let out a slow exhale, like he was savoring the fear bleeding into your voice.

The call ended again.

The call ended with a soft click.

The quiet after felt suffocating.

You stayed perfectly still, eyes locked on the dark window across the room. Rain streamed down the glass in silver ribbons. Your reflection stared back at you — wide-eyed, phone clutched tight to your chest.

Another flash of lightning split the sky.

And for a heartbeat, you weren’t alone.

A shape flickered into the reflection behind you — tall, broad-shouldered, masked. Just a smear of black and white before the dark swallowed it up again.

You spun so fast your phone almost slipped from your fingers. The room was empty. No one was there.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. “Stop it…” you whispered to yourself. “You’re seeing things.”

The phone rang again.

This time, your thumb didn’t hesitate. “Where are you?” you demanded, voice cracking.

A chuckle slid through the speaker, low and smooth. “Closer than you think.”

Your flashlight trembled in your hand as you swept it across the room again, every shadow now a threat.

“You like scary movies…” the voice purred. “But you never asked if you were the final girl.”

“Who are you?” you snapped, though it came out more like a plea.

He didn’t answer right away. You could hear movement now — faint, wet sounds like boots on your porch, like fingers sliding along glass. The sound of the storm blurred with it until you couldn’t tell what was real.

Another flash of lightning.

At the edge of the window, just barely, a pale mask hovered in the darkness. The mouth tilted in a permanent scream.

Your breath hitched.

Blink — gone.

“Peekaboo,” the voice whispered in your ear, so close it made your hair rise — but the phone was still pressed to your head.

The line went dead.

You backed away from the window, phone still clutched like it could save you. Every sound seemed amplified — the storm battering the roof, the groan of the house shifting, your own shallow breaths.

The phone buzzed again. A text this time.

“Cute pajamas.”

Your stomach dropped.

You looked down at yourself — oversized shirt, soft shorts. Nothing you’d be embarrassed about on your own, but the fact that he could see you made your skin crawl.

“Where the fuck are you?” you hissed into the dark, spinning in place like you could catch him watching.

Another message popped up.

“Don’t look so scared. I like it better when you smile.”

Your thumb hovered over the block button, over calling 911, but something froze you in place. It wasn’t just the fear — it was the way his words crawled under your skin, too smooth, too deliberate. Like he knew you, like he was enjoying watching you unravel.

The phone rang again.

Against all reason, you answered.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you lied, voice trembling.

The low chuckle that answered nearly buckled your knees. “Then prove it. Go to the window.”

You froze. “No.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he coaxed, almost playful now. “What’s the worst that could happen? It’s just a little peek.”

The way he said sweetheart made your chest tighten. Familiar, but you shoved the thought down.

Lightning cracked again, filling the living room with blinding white. For the briefest moment, outside the window, a figure stood still as a shadow, hooded, masked. The scream-mask tilted just enough to let you know it was looking right at you.

You screamed, dropping your phone. By the time you scrambled to grab it again, the line had gone silent.

Just the storm, roaring on.

You didn’t remember moving, but suddenly you were pressed against the front door, phone clutched tight against your chest, heartbeat pounding so loud it drowned out the rain. You forced yourself to breathe, to think. He couldn’t get in. Every window was locked. Every door was shut.

At least, you thought they were.

A creak split through the silence.

Your head whipped toward the hallway — the one leading straight to your bedroom.

You shook your head furiously. “No. No, no, no—” you whispered, as if saying it enough times would undo what you’d heard.

The phone lit up again. He was calling.

Hand trembling, you swiped to answer. “If you’re in my house, I swear to god—”

“Swearing to god won’t help you, sweetheart,” the voice drawled, smooth as velvet, cruel as a blade. “But begging me might.”

Your stomach flipped. He was in the house.

You bolted for the kitchen, grabbing the first thing your hand landed on — a knife, flimsy compared to the one you knew he carried, but it made you feel like you weren’t completely helpless.

Your voice shook as you snapped, “You think this is funny? Playing dress up, sneaking around—”

“You’re shaking,” he interrupted. “I can hear it in your voice. You want me to stop?”

You faltered, lips parting but no sound coming out.

“Didn’t think so,” he murmured.

The call went dead.

And then—

“Boo.”

A whisper hot against your ear.

You barely had time to scream before a gloved hand clamped over your mouth, pulling you back against a hard chest. The knife tumbled from your hand, skidding uselessly across the tile.

The ghostface mask hovered just at the edge of your vision as his breath tickled your skin. “Told you I was close.”

You froze. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to fight, to twist away, to do something, but the iron grip on your mouth and waist made your efforts useless. He was so much stronger—his body pressed to yours, caging you in like you were nothing but prey.

Your muffled cry bled against the leather of his glove.

“Shhh,” he cooed, the ghostface mask tilted down toward you. “Wouldn’t want the neighbors thinking something’s wrong, would we?”

Your eyes darted toward the window. The rain was still hammering down in relentless sheets, drowning out any chance of your screams carrying past the walls.

“Good girl,” he purred when you stilled, though your chest heaved under his arm. His voice was clearer now, no longer distorted by the phone. Smooth. Rich. Almost familiar. But your brain scrambled to place it and failed.

The cold press of his knife’s flat edge dragged up your thigh, lifting the hem of your sleep shorts like it was nothing. Not cutting. Not yet. Just teasing. “You look better trembling. Fits you.”

Your muffled whimper made him chuckle.

He leaned down, the plastic mask brushing your temple. “Thought I was just a voice on the phone, didn’t you? Poor thing. You thought you were safe.”

With a sudden jerk, he spun you around, pinning your back against the kitchen counter. One gloved hand on your throat, not choking but holding, keeping you still. The other let the blade ghost along your hip.

Up close, the mask was even more grotesque—the hollow eyes reflecting only your fear.

“Look at you,” he murmured, head tilting. “Trying to decide if you should run, fight, or just give in.” His thumb pressed under your chin, forcing your eyes back up to the blank black holes of the mask. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll decide for you.”

You froze against the counter, pulse hammering so loud it drowned out the storm outside. His gloved hand held your throat in place, not enough to choke, but enough to remind you that your body belonged to him in this moment.

The flat of his knife skimmed your hip, dragging deliberately slow. “Relax,” he whispered, his voice rich, smooth, far too calm for the chaos in your head. “If I wanted to gut you, sweetheart, you’d already be bleeding.”

A sharp whimper escaped you, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

“Ohhh,” he drawled, mask tilting as though he could see straight through you. “Not fear, then? Or not just fear.” His thumb pressed just under your jaw, keeping your chin lifted, your gaze trapped by those soulless black eye sockets. “I can feel it… the way you’re shaking isn’t only from terror.”

Your breath stuttered, heat crawling up your neck despite every instinct screaming at you to run.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his lips close enough behind the mask that you swore you felt the faint warmth of his breath. “You’re not sure if you want me to stop or—” his knife dipped between your thighs, grazing the hem of your shorts, “—if you want me to go further.”

The hand at your throat tightened just a little, forcing a gasp past your lips. His chuckle was low, dark, indulgent.

“See? That’s better. Your body’s honest, even if your mouth isn’t.”

He leaned closer, the grotesque mask brushing your cheek. “Tell me, sweetheart—should I scare you out of your mind tonight… or fuck you until you forget your own name?”

The knife shifted, cold steel slipping under the hem of your shirt now, dragging upward in a slow glide that made goosebumps erupt across your skin. He wasn’t cutting, not even close—but the possibility that he could at any second had your chest heaving.

“Every inch of you is trembling,” he said, voice low and taunting, almost tender in the way it curled around your ear. “But you’re not begging me to stop. You’re waiting.”

You bit your lip, willing yourself not to make a sound. Not to confirm what he was already peeling out of you.

His gloved thumb smoothed along the side of your throat, deceptively gentle. “So stubborn. You want to act like this isn’t getting you wet—” the knife tapped lightly against the top button of your shorts, “—but I’ll bet if I slide my fingers down, I’d find you dripping for me.”

Your thighs clenched tighter, your body betraying you in the exact way he described.

The mask tilted again, studying you like you were nothing more than prey on display. His chuckle came dark and sharp. “God, you’re eating this up. Do you know how easy it would be to ruin you right here in your kitchen?”

His hand pressed firmer at your throat, not enough to choke, just enough to feel your pulse flutter frantically beneath his glove. “The fun part is watching you squirm… wondering if I’m going to kiss you, carve you, or fuck you against this counter.”

He bent closer, the mask nearly brushing your lips now, the eye sockets nothing but black pits reflecting your own wide-eyed stare. “Tell me, sweetheart…” His voice dropped, smooth and commanding. “Which one are you hoping for?”

You tried to steady your breathing, but the silence in the kitchen made every shaky exhale sound like a confession. His mask loomed inches away, those black hollows swallowing up every thought in your head.

“Not answering?” he purred, mock disappointment dripping from his words. “Then maybe you’re hoping for all three.”

The knife trailed a lazy path up your stomach, tapping against your sternum like a metronome for your racing heart. His chuckle came again—low, amused, cruel. “Thump, thump, thump. Can feel it right through the blade. You’re practically screaming your secrets at me.”

You swallowed hard, heat prickling across your skin despite the icy edge of the knife.

“You’re wondering if I’ll hurt you,” he continued, voice dropping to a rasp meant only for you. “But the bigger secret is that you want me to. You want to know what it feels like to be at my mercy. To give up every last piece of control.”

His free hand tapped lightly at your chin, urging your head back, forcing you to look at the mask no matter how desperately you wanted to look away. “I could keep you guessing all night,” he murmured, the words brushing against your ear like a phantom touch. “Make you doubt every shadow, every sound, until you’re begging for me to step out and claim you.”

The knife dropped suddenly, the handle clattering against the counter beside your hip. His gloved fingers pinched your chin instead, firm enough to sting. “But the game’s sweeter when you don’t know if I’ll ever give you that mercy.”

He leaned in closer, so near the carved mouth of the mask almost grazed yours. “Do you like my game, sweetheart? Or are you already too scared to play?”

The knife clattered fully onto the counter, leaving a ringing echo in the kitchen. His gloved hand still held your chin, thumb pressing against the hinge of your jaw. For the first time you felt his breath — hot and damp through the slits of the mask — slide across your cheek.

“I’ve been patient,” he rasped, voice dropping low enough to vibrate against your throat. “You’ve been so good. Sitting there. Shaking. Pretending you don’t want it.”

His grip shifted, glove dragging down the column of your throat until his palm was flat at the base of it, not choking you but letting you feel the weight of his control. The other hand slid down the front of your trench coat, tugging at the belt lazily until it came loose. He didn’t open it all the way yet, just enough for the edge of his glove to brush the bare skin of your thigh beneath.

“Do you know what happens,” he murmured, mask tilting closer until it nearly pressed against your temple, “when the girl answers the phone and doesn’t hang up?” A slow drag of his fingers up the inside of your thigh, almost tender, almost cruel. “She gets exactly what she was hoping for.”

The sound of your breath caught in your throat. His gloved thumb stroked the pulse point under your jaw as if measuring your heartbeat. “You can tell me to stop,” he whispered. “You can push me away. Or…” The mask tipped back a little so you could see the shadow of his mouth through the mesh — a curve of lips that was more smirk than smile. “…you can finally play the game properly.”

With one swift movement he pressed you back against the counter, his thigh sliding between yours to pin you there. Not rough yet, but heavy enough that you knew you wouldn’t easily slip away. The knife still lay on the counter beside you — close enough to glance at, far enough that his body blocked it from your reach.

“You were waiting for your favorite scary movie,” he whispered, gloved fingers teasing the hem of your coat again, inching it higher. “Congratulations, sweetheart. You’re in it now.”

His thigh pressed firmer between yours, forcing them apart just a little more. Enough to make you aware of the deliberate grind, the way his weight pinned you without really pinning you — as if daring you to push back, to make a choice.

“I like the way you tremble,” he drawled, his voice pitched low, intoxicatingly smooth, almost… familiar. The kind of familiar that made your stomach flip, like déjà vu laced with danger. “It’s cute when you can’t decide if you’re scared… or excited.”

Your lips parted to protest, but the sound died when his gloved fingers brushed just under your jaw again, tracing the slope of your throat down to your collarbone. A light touch, teasing, cruel in its restraint.

“God,” he whispered, leaning in close enough that you could see the faint shadow of a jawline behind the mesh of the mask, “you look like you want me to ruin you.”

The words sent a pulse of heat straight to your core, betraying you. You hated it — hated how the dark thrill thrummed through you even as your mind screamed that this was insane. But the voice — his voice — was too smooth, too precise.

You tried to steady yourself. “Who are you?” you demanded, though it came out breathier than you intended.

He chuckled — a soft, knowing sound that made your skin prickle. “Don’t tell me you haven’t guessed yet,” he murmured, thumb grazing the corner of your lip. “C’mon, sweetheart. You know me.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. I do?

The mask tilted, the mouth opening hovering just above your cheek. He lingered there, teasing the edge of intimacy without giving it — the hot whisper of his breath, the ghost of lips that could press against you at any second.

“You’ve heard me like this before,” he added, husky and unhurried, dragging the syllables out like velvet. “Late at night. In your ear. When you’re begging for more.”

The implication slammed into you like a fist to the gut. Your stomach twisted, your breath catching in your throat.

No. No, it couldn’t be—

But god, that voice. That inflection. That low, patient tone curling into something darker, something rougher.

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching at your sides, torn between tearing the mask off and leaving it there — because part of you wanted to see, but the other part wanted to believe.

And he knew it.

That’s why he didn’t rush. Instead, he leaned in and pressed the cold, firm plane of the Ghostface mask against your cheek in a mockery of a kiss, gloved hand splaying against your hip now, tugging you closer into the line of his body.

“Say my name,” he whispered. “If you’re so sure.”

You pressed your back harder against the counter, trembling, trying to convince yourself this was all a stranger, a prank, a Halloween nightmare. Yet every brush of his glove along your skin — the curl of his fingers teasing the inside of your thigh, the weight of his thigh pressing just enough to leave you breathless — betrayed that instinct.

“You’re holding back,” he murmured, voice low, silk over steel. “You know me. You know exactly how I touch you.”

You wanted to scream, wanted to push him away, but your body betrayed you with a sharp intake of breath, your hips inching involuntarily toward him.

“Stop pretending you’re innocent,” he whispered, thumb ghosting across your pulse point at your throat. “I hear it in your breathing. Every quick inhale, every shiver… You want this.”

Your head shook, but the tremor ran through your body anyway. You didn’t know if it was fear, lust, or the cruel overlap of both.

“You think you’re imagining it,” he said, voice curling into a dark chuckle. “But you’re not. I’ve been here before. You know how I am. You know what I do. And God, I love watching you squirm like this.”

The gloved hand at your hip shifted, tracing upward slowly, lightly grazing the fabric of your shorts. You shivered, heat crawling through you, pulse pounding against his palm.

“You want me to reveal myself, don’t you?” he whispered in your ear, cold mask pressing against your temple. “But you’re scared. Good girl.”

You swallowed hard, lips parting, words caught somewhere between panic and desire. “I… I don’t know—”

“Exactly,” he breathed, letting the words linger against your skin. “Don’t know if I’m a monster… or the only one who can make you feel like this.”

He leaned closer, the mask brushing against your jaw, fingers pressing at the small of your back to keep you flush with him. The knife lay forgotten on the counter, a silent reminder of danger.

“Should I call your name?” he murmured, the question teasing and heavy. “Or should I let you guess… while I explore a little more?”

The hand at your hip lingered, then slid lower, slow enough for you to register every inch of gloved leather as it traced over the waistband of your shorts. Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts.

“Still trembling,” he murmured, the sound husky, amused. “But not pulling away.”

You couldn’t. Whether it was fear or the dark pull of something else, your body wouldn’t listen. His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, dragging the fabric upward just enough to expose a sliver of your stomach. The chill of the room made the skin pebble — and then his knuckles grazed lightly over it, deliberate, teasing.

Your lips parted on a shaky exhale.

“There it is,” he whispered, voice dropping lower, almost reverent. “That little sound. God, you have no idea what it does to me.”

The mask pressed against your cheek as he leaned closer, breathing you in. His other hand, the one not pinning your hip, traveled up slowly — from your side, to your ribs, just beneath the swell of your breast. Not a full touch, but enough to set your nerves on fire, enough to leave you arching before you realized it.

“Sensitive here, too, aren’t you?” he teased, gloved thumb brushing the underside, so faint it could almost be imagined. “I remember.”

Your heart lurched. That word — remember. He wasn’t just some stranger. He was someone who knew.

“Wh-who are you?” you managed, voice shaky, almost pleading.

His chuckle was low, dark, curling into your ear like smoke. “The one who makes you this wet,” he said simply, his hand slipping lower, pressing lightly against the heat at the front of your shorts, the barrier thin enough to betray you.

You gasped, thighs clamping instinctively, but he was already there, fingers pressing just enough to remind you that you couldn’t hide it.

“Mm,” he hummed, satisfied. “Thought so.”

His hand pressed firmer against you, rolling the heel of his palm into the spot that had you jerking with a strangled whimper.

“There she is,” he breathed, the mask tilting so close you felt his voice vibrate against your skin. “All that attitude on the phone, but this—” his fingers dragged along your clothed slit, slow, savoring, “—this is the truth, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitched, the denial dying in your throat as he circled the spot again, a little harder this time, sending sparks down your spine. He chuckled when your hips lifted into the touch, betraying you.

“You’re soaking,” he whispered, voice velvet and cruel all at once. “And I’ve barely even started.”

The gloved fingers slipped under your waistband before you could think to stop him, the cool leather gliding over heated skin. The first press of his fingers against your bare cunt had your knees buckling, a soft cry spilling out before you could catch it.

“Fuck—” you gasped, grabbing his wrist, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he slowed down, dragging one thick finger along your slit, parting you, dipping just enough at your entrance to make your thighs tremble.

“Such a pretty sound,” he cooed, almost mocking, pressing the mask against the side of your throat. “And you’re trying so hard not to give me more of them.”

Your grip on his wrist faltered when he slipped a finger inside, thick and unyielding, curling slow as if he had all the time in the world. He swallowed your gasp with another chuckle, his other hand pinning you harder against the wall.

“Already clenching,” he murmured. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? Someone catching you, cornering you, making you—” he thrust his finger deeper, curling again, “—lose every last bit of control.”

The words, the touch, the weight of him caging you in — it was all too much, your body betraying you with every slick sound his finger coaxed out of you.

“Answer me,” he demanded softly, his thumb pressing against your clit in the same instant, sharp and precise.

“Yes—!” The confession tore out before you could stop it, your head knocking back against the wall.

That earned a groan from him, rough and hungry. “Good girl.”

Your knees nearly gave out when his thumb started circling, cruelly slow, the friction unbearable. He kept his body pressed to yours, a solid wall of heat and menace, his mask grazing your cheek like a taunt.

“Look at you,” he crooned, his voice muffled but rich, sinful. “Fighting so hard earlier, and now… you’re dripping around my hand.”

He eased his finger out, dragging it up your slit before pushing two inside without warning. The stretch had you gasping, clinging to his arm as he set a deliberate rhythm — not fast, but deep, filling you with each curl. Every drag of his fingers sent shocks through your core, yet he refused to speed up.

“Thought you didn’t scare easy,” he teased, pressing his thumb harder against your clit, rubbing slow circles that made your thighs quake. “But I bet you’re terrified of how much you like this.”

A frustrated whine broke from your throat, only making his chuckle darker. He pulled his hand free altogether, leaving you empty and aching. You barely had time to whimper before he shoved the wet fingers between your lips, the slick taste of yourself coating your tongue.

“Open,” he commanded, tilting the mask so you could see the gleam of his eyes through the hollow black. “Suck for me.”

Shame and desire tangled, but your mouth obeyed, lips closing around the leather, tongue swirling over his fingers. His breath hitched at the sight, his hips pressing forward against your thigh.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s it. My filthy little slut.”

When he pulled his fingers free, they trailed down your chin, glistening. He hooked a hand under your jaw, tilting your face up. “You’re gonna let me taste you properly now,” he murmured, dragging the mask lower just enough for his lips to brush the shell of your ear. “Every drop, sweetheart.”

He shoved you toward the couch before you could catch your breath. The storm outside rumbled again, lightning flashing across the room just as he pushed you back against the cushions and forced your legs open.

You gasped as he lowered himself between your thighs, the cool edge of his mask nudging against your inner thigh before his breath ghosted over your soaked cunt.

“Don’t close them,” he warned, spreading your knees wider with a rough grip. “If you do, I’ll stop.”

Then his tongue dragged up your slit, slow, deliberate, and you swore the world outside went silent for a beat. He sucked your clit into his mouth with a groan, alternating between slow laps and sharp, wet flicks that had your back arching off the couch.

Every time you got close, he’d ease up, dragging you back from the edge just to hear your desperate little cries.

“You taste like sin,” he rasped between licks, the mask tilted just enough to expose his mouth, glistening with you. “I could stay down here all night.”

When your hands flew to his hair, trying to grind against his face for more, he gripped your thighs tighter, pinning you down.

“No, no,” he mocked, dark amusement dripping from his tone. “You come when I say you come.”

Every calculated flick of his tongue had you trembling, thighs twitching against his hold. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging desperately as your hips rolled up into his mouth, chasing what felt so close—too close.

He hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. Your climax gathered like a storm inside you, tightening with every lap, every suck, until your body stiffened in that sweet, helpless way that screamed you were about to fall apart.

And then—he pulled back.

The sudden loss had you crying out, hips bucking uselessly into the empty air where his mouth had been. He let go of your thighs just enough to wipe his mouth with the back of his gloved hand, his voice dripping smug satisfaction.

“Almost, sweetheart,” he mocked, his tone low and intoxicating. “But not yet. You don’t get to finish until I decide.”

Your chest heaved as you propped yourself up on your elbows, glaring down at the hollow eyes of his mask. “You—” your voice cracked, needy, trembling, “you fucking tease.”

The chuckle that slipped from him was dark, pleased. He dragged a slow finger down your slit, gathering your slick before lifting it to watch it glisten in the dim light. Then he pressed it to your lips again, demanding you taste yourself once more.

You obeyed without thinking, sucking the finger clean, your gaze locked with the faint gleam of his eyes behind the mask.

“That’s better,” he rasped. “Good girl. I want you pliant, dripping, begging.” His hand slipped back between your thighs, spreading you open just enough to blow a warm breath over your swollen clit, making your whole body shiver. “Begging until you forget your own name.”

And then, cruelly, he stood.

Your stomach dropped as he stepped back, towering over you, mask tilted down in that eerie, unreadable way. He adjusted himself through the dark fabric of his robe, the outline of his cock straining as he took in the sight of you spread open and wanting.

“You’ll get what you want,” he promised, voice husky, dangerous. “But only when I’m ready to ruin you.”

The storm outside cracked again, casting his shadow across the room—Ghostface standing over you like a specter of hunger and control.

Your body quivered with frustration, every nerve ending raw and aching from his cruel retreat. You wanted to scream, to curse him out, but the only thing spilling from your lips was a pitiful whimper. He was winning—he knew it.

Ghostface tilted his head, watching you writhe on the couch like prey tangled in a hunter’s snare. Then, with deliberate slowness, he climbed back between your thighs, the leather of his gloves brushing against your sensitive skin as he spread you open again.

“You’ve been patient enough,” he murmured, voice husky. 

“Let me hear you break.”

This time when his mouth met your cunt, it wasn’t gentle teasing. It was ravenous. His tongue licked broad, hungry strokes over your clit, sucking it between his lips while his gloved fingers finally pressed inside you, curling deep until you cried out.

The combination was brutal, overwhelming, every ounce of denial now fueling the intensity of your release. Your hips bucked helplessly, thighs trembling around his head, as he pinned you down and devoured you like a man starved.

You couldn’t even form words—just strangled moans, gasps, and his name nearly slipping off your tongue before you remembered you didn’t know who was under the mask.

That thought alone made the orgasm hit harder.

It crashed through you in violent waves, your back arching off the couch as the pleasure tore out of you, raw and desperate. His tongue never relented, drawing it out, milking every drop until tears pricked your eyes from how intense it felt.

Finally, he pulled back, lips and chin slick with your arousal, breathing heavy through the mask. He wiped his mouth with his thumb, licking it clean in one slow, deliberate motion.

“See?” he rasped, voice like velvet and gravel. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

You shattered beneath him, the orgasm ripping through you like it had been waiting for hours, maybe days, clawing at the edges of your body until it finally broke free.

But even as you sobbed his name—or maybe it was just a raw, wordless cry—the mask never slipped. The black, expressionless shroud stayed locked in place, hovering above you, faceless and menacing while his tongue wrung every last shiver from your trembling body.

You tried to push him away when it got too much, but he grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the couch cushion, holding you down until he decided you were done. You came undone again in aftershocks, messy and overstimulated, whining into the darkness.

When he finally pulled back, the sight made your stomach flip: Ghostface, crouched between your thighs, chin and mask spattered with your slick, gloved hand dragging slow across his mouth as he licked you from his fingers.

“Delicious,” he rasped , voice low and distorted, impossible to read. 

And then—like it was nothing—he stood, towering over you, adjusting his gloves while you lay boneless and ruined on the couch. No comfort. No explanation. No face. Just that unblinking mask staring down at you while you tried to catch your breath, wondering if you’d just sold your soul to a monster.

The ache between your thighs only sharpened after he left you writhing through that first orgasm, the emptiness unbearable now. You barely had time to steady your breathing before he was on you again — mask looming, body pressing heavy against yours.

The outline of him was solid, unyielding. The weight of his cock pressing against your drenched entrance through his dark jeans had you gasping, arching up without meaning to.

“You’re so fucking needy,” the voice purred through the mask, distorted and cruel. “Already dripping for more. Should I even give it to you? Or just keep you begging like the little slut you are?”

Your hips betrayed you, grinding up shamelessly, desperate for friction. He laughed — low, sharp, like he knew exactly how far gone you were.

The zipper dragged down slowly, teeth of the metal catching your ear as it opened. He didn’t rush, letting you squirm, letting your impatience build until you were nearly sobbing.

The blunt, hot press of his cockhead at your soaked entrance finally hit, and you nearly lost it then, fingers clawing at his black hoodie, mask staring you down as though you were nothing but prey.

And then — he stopped. Just barely pushed inside, enough to stretch, to burn, to leave you hanging.

“Say it,” he demanded, his gloved hand wrapping tight around your throat. “Say you want Ghostface to fuck you.”

The mask never moved, never broke. Just that hollow black gaze staring down as he waited, keeping you teetering on the edge of madness.

Your lips parted, but no sound came at first. The pressure at your throat tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that every ounce of control belonged to him.

“Say it,” he repeated, voice gravel-dark and smooth through the mask’s filter. “Or I’ll leave you like this — stuffed full of nothing but my tip.”

The shallow push was maddening, his cockhead nudging deep enough to make your body clench around empty air. You moaned, broken and needy, still too proud to give him exactly what he wanted.

“Fuck you,” you spat instead, chest heaving.

The laugh that rolled from him was cruel, indulgent. “Oh, you will.” His hips shifted, sliding another inch in, then dragging back out slow enough to have your entire body chasing after him. Then he pulled away completely, leaving you throbbing, empty, ruined.

“Please,” you breathed, the word slipping past your pride before you could stop it.

A gloved thumb swept across your spit-wet lower lip, pressing until you opened wider for him. “Not good enough,” he whispered. “I want to hear it right.”

He dragged the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing, nudging against your swollen clit before pushing just enough inside again — just enough to feel, not enough to satisfy. He kept you hovering there, muscles clenching, thighs trembling, until you thought you might shatter apart without release.

“Say you want Ghostface to fuck you,” he demanded again, pressing another inch inside, pulling another gasp from your throat. “Beg for it.”

The mask never wavered, dark eyes behind it watching every twitch of your face, every betrayal of your body as it gave you away.

Your body trembled, every nerve wired tight, the need clawing at you so sharp it hurt. The sound of your own ragged breathing filled the room, mixing with his steady, dark drawl.

“You’re dripping for me,” he murmured, voice low and unrelenting. His cock dragged along your folds again, spreading slick across his length, smearing proof of how badly you wanted him. “Don’t think I don’t feel it. You wanted to fight, but this pussy?” He pushed, just an inch, just enough to make your back arch. “She already begged for me.”

You whimpered, nails digging into the fabric beneath you, head thrashing side to side as if you could escape the truth of it.

The mask tilted, his shadow swallowing your expression. “One last chance, sweetheart.” His hand slipped to your hip, holding you still, cock poised right at your entrance. “Say it—or I’ll keep you like this all night. Full, needy, and untouched.”

The words tore out of you before pride could stop them. “Please—fuck, please just fuck me already!”

His chuckle rumbled low in his chest, satisfaction dripping from it like poison. “There’s my girl.”

And then he gave in.

His hips snapped forward in one ruthless thrust, driving himself into you to the hilt. The stretch punched the breath from your lungs, a strangled cry ripping out as your walls clamped down hard around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound muffled through the mask, rough with restraint he could no longer keep. His cock throbbed inside you, thick and deep, seated fully where you’d ached for him.

You gasped, every inch of him too much and still not enough. “Oh my god—”

The mask hovered over you, black void and white grin staring down. “No god here, baby. Just Ghostface,” he rasped, pulling back only to slam into you again, harder this time, your body jolting with the force.

The denial shattered in that instant, every thrust brutal and relentless, like he was making up for every second he held back. The slick sound of him filling you over and over drowned out even the storm outside, the wet drag of your cunt clenching around him as your first orgasm hit sharp and fast.

Your cry echoed, raw and shameless, and still he didn’t let up.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice rough through the mask, gloved fingers digging into your hip to keep you from squirming away. “Come on my cock—show me how much you missed it.”

He pulled back just enough for you to catch a ragged breath, cock still deep inside, pressing and heavy. Your chest heaved, sweat beading along your temples, and your thighs trembled around him.

“You taste perfect,” he murmured through the mask, gloved hand tracing slow, deliberate lines along your hip. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

You whimpered, pressing up, desperate for more friction, more release—but he leaned back, tilting his head as if deciding whether you’d earned it. The cock buried in you twitched at the thought of teasing further, and he did exactly that, easing out just enough to leave you aching and empty.

“Think you’re ready for round two?” he asked, voice low, distorted, smooth. “Because I don’t just let girls like you finish. Not yet. Not until I’ve broken every ounce of control in your body first.”

The mask stayed fixed, dark and unreadable, but you could feel the predatory smirk behind it. Your body clenched again, desperate, needy, and he laughed softly at the sight. “Oh, you’re already trembling. That’s adorable.”

His hands didn’t rush; instead, they traced teasing circles around your thighs, hips, and stomach, letting you writhe and squirm without letting you get relief. Every little brush, every inch of pressure made you ache for him even more.

“Beg for me,” he demanded, leaning close, breath hot against your ear. “Beg me to fuck you again. Show me how much you need Ghostface.”

And even though you wanted him to end the teasing, your pride twisted with your arousal, making you cry out his title in whispers, a surrender that tasted like fire.

He leaned back in, hips snapping forward without warning, driving deep into you in one brutal thrust. Your cry echoed through the room, wet and desperate, and still he held the mask steady, unreadable, merciless.

“You feel so good,” he rasped through the modulator, gloved hands gripping your hips, forcing you flush against him. “So tight, so wet, so fucking eager. And you didn’t even know if I was real.”

The words sent shivers down your spine, a delicious shiver of fear and want. Every thrust was deliberate, punishing, leaving you gasping and trembling. He wasn’t rushing—you weren’t allowed relief just yet—but he kept the rhythm slow enough to drive you insane, hips rocking against him, begging for release without being granted it.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice like velvet and steel, pressing his forehead close to yours. “Dripping and needy and trembling for Ghostface. Does it feel good to be mine?”

You could only moan, voice breaking, body trembling against him. Every nerve screamed for friction, for fullness, for the raw pleasure you’d been denied, and he knew it. Every pullback, every calculated pause, every deliberate tease made you ache harder.

He slid a gloved hand down, fingers brushing over your clit, teasing circles that had you squirming, hips bucking into his palm. “Beg,” he commanded. “Tell me how much you want me to ruin you. Say it.”

“I—I need you,” you gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders, body arching desperately. “Please—fuck me, Ghostface, please—”

The response was immediate. He slammed forward, bottoming out, dragging a guttural growl from the modulator as your walls clenched around him. Your second orgasm crashed into you, violent and overstimulated, and he didn’t relent, keeping the pace slow and deliberate, fucking you through every quiver and moan.

“You’re mine,” he growled, gloved hands gripping your thighs to keep them open, cock buried deep, forcing your body to ride each thrust. “Mine, and you’ll remember it.”

Even as your back arched, lips parted in helpless cries, the mask stayed on, faceless and terrifying—but God, the way he moved, the way he held you, the way he teased you first only to sink fully in now—it made the danger, the power, the raw need between you, all the more intoxicating.

He didn’t stop. Each deliberate thrust, each slow grind of his hips into yours drove you higher, pushing your body to the edge again and again. You were gasping, moaning, shaking beneath him, and still, he held the mask fixed, faceless, as if daring you to look behind it.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured through the modulator, low and intoxicating, fingers dragging teasing circles over your clit with every thrust. “Can’t get enough, can you? Such a little slut for me.”

Your walls clenched around him, trembling violently as another orgasm ripped through you, sudden and merciless. Your head fell back against the couch, lips parting in a strangled cry, chest heaving.

He pulled back, letting you collapse against him, hips still grazing yours, teasing, not letting the overstimulation end. “Not done,” he whispered, voice rough and commanding. “I want to see how much more you can take. How many times you’ll beg for Ghostface before you break completely.”

Every fiber of you ached, nerves screaming, but his touch, his weight, his teasing thrusts kept you suspended between agony and ecstasy. Another slow, precise grind, fingers digging just deep enough to make you shiver, and you nearly lost it again.

“Please—please,” you gasped, voice shaky, trembling with need. “I can’t—I’m going to—”

The mask tilted, gloved hands gripping your thighs, forcing them open as he snapped forward with sudden intensity. Your third orgasm hit like a tidal wave, full and consuming, and still, he didn’t relent, pushing into your quivering body, grinding out every shudder and cry.

“Mine,” he growled, pressing into you with finality, each word vibrating through the mask. “You’re mine, and I decide when it ends.”

Even as your body shook, hips bucking against him, sobs and moans spilling uncontrolled, the mask stayed. The anonymity, the danger, the power—it was all there, all-consuming. And yet… somewhere beneath the faceless predator, there was an intimacy only you could feel, a familiarity that left your heart hammering almost as much as your body.

The room fell silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the storm pounding against the windows. Your body still trembled from the relentless orgasms, hips quivering every time he brushed even lightly against you.

He leaned back slightly, cock still buried deep, and you felt the weight of him shift—something in the movement was deliberate, almost hesitant. The mask didn’t move, but the pressure of his hands eased, the intensity of his gaze palpable even through the faceless black.

“You’ve been… amazing,” he said softly, voice low, distorted through the modulator, but there was a warmth there now, a softness that had been absent in the teasing and domination. “But I think… it’s time you knew who you’ve been giving yourself to.”

Your heart skipped. Every nerve screamed, not from need this time, but from curiosity, a dangerous, thrilling fear.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up, pulling at the straps of the mask. Your eyes widened as the black shroud slipped upward, revealing the familiar features you hadn’t realized you’d memorized in your mind: the sharp, mischievous grin, the dark hair framing his face, the green eyes glinting with that same intoxicating charm.

“G-Geto?” Your voice cracked, disbelief tangled with relief and lingering arousal.

He chuckled, leaning closer, lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Yeah… it was me, all along.”

Your body, still sensitive and aching, shivered at the revelation. The faceless predator, the teasing, the dominance—it had all been him, your boyfriend, letting you play out a fantasy while keeping that delicious uncertainty alive.

“I… I didn’t know…” you murmured, fingers curling around his shoulders, eyes locked on his as your breathing slowly returned to normal.

“I know,” he said, voice gentle now, hands running along your sides. “But now you do. And I think you’ve earned another reward for being such a good little slut for me.”

And just like that, the faceless Ghostface was gone, replaced by the man you knew, trusted, and craved—still dominating, still intoxicating, but now fully, undeniably, yours.

Geto’s hand stayed at your hip, firm but no longer restraining. His other slid from your waist to your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip as he watched your dazed, trembling expression. That smile—the one you’d been both terrified of and drawn to all night—was now soft, curved with dark promise.

“You wanted Ghostface,” he murmured, dragging his thumb slowly down your neck, tracing the path his knife had teased earlier. “But you get me too. Both of us. Right here.”

Your breath hitched as he shifted his hips, the slow, deliberate grind of his cock inside you making your walls flutter all over again. He leaned down, forehead nearly touching yours. His voice was still low, teasing, the modulator gone but the predator’s cadence still in his tone.

“Tell me, sweetheart…” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Now that you know it’s me, do you still want to be scared?”

The way he said it sent a bolt of heat straight to your core. You nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes,” you whispered. “I want—”

He cut you off with a slow, deep thrust that made your voice break into a moan. “Good,” he said. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Geto withdrew almost completely, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance, circling your clit with the head in lazy, maddening strokes, just enough pressure to make you arch and whine but never enough to let you tip over.

“You’re going to take it,” he murmured, voice dipping darker, “slow, deep… and you’re going to look at me while you do.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he pressed forward again, this time bottoming out with one long, unhurried stroke. The mask lay discarded on the floor, but the energy in his eyes was still the same—predatory, knowing, in complete control.

He started to move, not fast but steady, each thrust rolling through you like a slow tide, a deliberate push and pull that made your body tremble with need. His thumb returned to your clit, circling lazily, keeping you on the knife’s edge just like before.

“Every time you squeeze around me like that…” he growled, dipping his head to bite gently at your neck, “…you tell me how bad you want it.”

You gasped, back arching, your hips rolling up into his in a rhythm you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. The mix of the fantasy and the reality—the mask gone but the dark roleplay still alive—was making you dizzy.

Geto smirked down at you, sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead. “I’m going to ruin you properly now,” he said, voice a promise and a threat. “No more phone calls. No more guessing. Just me. Just this.”

And with that, he rolled his hips faster, harder, the teasing gone but the psychological hold still there—his eyes locked on yours, daring you to look away, daring you to give in completely.

Geto’s hands roamed your body with deliberate intent, every touch igniting a fire that had been simmering since the first phone call. His eyes, no longer hidden, were full of possession and dark desire, a mirror of your own want.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he murmured, lips brushing over yours in a searing kiss. “Let me show you how much I’ve wanted this… all along.”

He slid fully into you in one powerful thrust, your walls clenching around him as a gasp tore from your throat. Every nerve, every ounce of tension built over the night, snapped and burned, spiraling into a wave of release that left you trembling.

“Geto—fuck!” you cried, nails digging into his shoulders as your orgasm tore through you, fierce and unstoppable.

He didn’t pull back, riding you through it, slow and steady at first, then with more intent, pushing you higher again and again. Another wave hit, then another, each one more intense than the last, until your body shook violently beneath him.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping with the final thrust, cock buried deep, voice thick with satisfaction. “Completely. Never forget it.”

The last tremors passed, and for the first time all night, you felt yourself fully collapse into him, chest pressed together, breath mingling, hearts racing in unison. The mask lay on the floor, forgotten—its role played, its thrill spent—but the memory lingered, a delicious reminder of how he’d teased, tempted, and claimed you.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, hands smoothing along your back. “Trick or treat?” he whispered, voice low and teasing.

You laughed breathlessly, shaking your head against his chest. “Best Halloween ever,” you murmured, and for once, the storm outside didn’t matter. You had everything you wanted right here, in his arms.

🔪 Ghostface Taglist 🔪 @jay4luvsya

🩸 scream if you want to join 🩸