victim
Infect me with your loving, fill me with your poison Take me, ta-ta-take me, wanna be your victim ready for abduction Boy, you're an alien, your touch so foreign, it's supernatural, extraterrestrial.
Summary: “The story takes place in a Halloween-themed amusement park, packed with scares and a dark atmosphere. That's where Ethan Landry works as an actor, playing the iconic Ghostface — but only as part of the show, not as an actual killer. Morgana Draven, fascinated by everything surrounding the subject, finds in this place the perfect setting to feed her obsession.
It's from this unlikely encounter that the story truly begins.
The masked figure caught Morgana's attention in no ordinary way. When he ran to scare her, he didn't get the expected fright — instead, he received a look that seemed to strip him bare, completely indifferent to whoever was behind the mask.
Behind a powerful attraction… risking his livelihood because of her didn't seem so absurd after all.”
Warnings: that is a: non Ghostface!Ethan Landry X OC!Reader, and would like to let you guys know that it's 18+ fic, so MDNI in any circumstances. A little kidnapping scene, but not as graphic as i would like. Haunted House. Ethan being an “actor”. A little dark fic, but still light. English is not my first language, so I apologize for some mistakes in the text below.
word count: 9,6k
A/N: I’ve been writing this shitty smut for two weeks and still didn’t like it as much as I thought I would do, and I'm also sorry for not posting anything for that long (working a lot out here).
LIFE WITHOUT AN OBSESSION IS BLAND, FLAVORLESS, ALMOST MOTIONLESS. It feels like every day you search for something — anything — to fill the silent void that settles inside you. Without that consuming spark, everything becomes lukewarm, predictable, as if time passes but nothing really happens. It's like waking up, breathing, eating, sleeping, an automatic sequence where you're just a spectator of your own existence. There's no urgency, no knot in your stomach that makes you feel alive, no obsessive thought that wakes you at three in the morning with your heart racing.
The upside is that I have obsessions, and not just a few. Some were born from horror movies I watched as a kid, those scenes that should've scared me but instead lit something twisted inside me, something I couldn't name back then; others, from strange desires I learned to hide, because I know that if I talked about them, people might pull away. It's not that they're immoral or dangerous, but they're... different. Out of place. The kind that makes people furrow their brows and quickly change the subject, pretending they didn't hear.
One of them is the idea of being in a haunted house, where fear and pleasure blur together until you can't tell where one begins and the other ends. Anything with that dark, intense atmosphere, with danger lurking, as if someone could catch me in the act, awakens a desire that's hard to explain. It's adrenaline mixed with something more visceral, that feeling of being on the edge between control and chaos, between safety and the unknown. The idea of dark corridors, unexplained creaks, shadows moving at the corners of your vision. And especially: the possibility of not being alone in there.
I think only those who feel the same know what I'm talking about.
I snap out of this daydream when my phone vibrates on the table, cutting through the air like a crack. The sound yanks me from my trance, from that mental place where I was starting to lose myself again. The name that appears on the screen brings me back to reality in a flash:
"laura<3"
My friend, though not that close, is the type of person who always drags me to different places. She has this spontaneous, almost chaotic energy, always searching for something new, something no one else has had the guts to do. And somehow, I end up going along, even when I don't plan to go out, even when every cell in my body screams that I should stay home, wrapped in a blanket, watching something disturbing on TV.
laura<3: get out of your cave, batgirl! i've got something you're gonna wanna do.
I let out a weak laugh because all her approaches involved getting me out of the house at any cost. It was almost a personal mission of hers: making sure I didn't turn into a ghost inside my own apartment.
me: if i leave the house it's gonna rain. it's your fault if there's the biggest downpour in history.
laura<3: who says i care? let's go, bat girl!
me: my name is morgana, you clown.
laura<3: well, where we're going there'll be clowns, so…
me: lauraaaaaa tell me where this thing is
laura<3: i'll meet you in half an hour, little bat!
me: my life is screwed.
I sighed, dropping my phone on the table. The sound of rain starting outside confirmed my own prophecy. Of course it was going to rain. It always rains when I give in to Laura's ideas.
It's as if the universe has a cruel sense of humor, perfect timing to remind me that choices have consequences, even if they're just wet clothes and ruined hair.
Still, an uncomfortable curiosity began to grow in me, like an itch you can't ignore. "There'll be clowns," she said. It could be a metaphor, or maybe not. Knowing Laura, it would be something as insane as an abandoned circus or one of those roadside haunted houses, the kind of place that shows up in local news after someone disappears.
The kind of place normal people avoid.
The kind of place I should avoid, but that, for some twisted reason, attracts me like a moth to a flame.
And despite knowing I should say no, something inside me, maybe the part that lives hungry for adrenaline, started to smile. That small, crooked smile that appears when you know you're about to do something stupid, but can't help it... and don't want to help it.
It's the same feeling as when you're at the top of a roller coaster, in those last seconds before the drop, pure terror mixed with pure excitement.
I grabbed my coat, tied up my hair, and looked at myself in the mirror before leaving. My reflection stared back, dark eyes with that gleam that only appears when something truly interests me, that slightly feverish gleam of someone on the verge of discovering something new, or getting into something dangerous. The rain beat against the windows, insistent, almost like a warning. As if saying: "Don't go. Stay here. Nothing good happens out there on nights like this."
But if there's something I've learned about myself, it's that I never knew how to refuse a good omen disguised as danger. And this night, with Laura and her mysterious outings, had all the makings of being exactly that.
Half an hour later, I was in Laura's car, staring at the wet road while she drove with that irritating excitement of someone who knows exactly where they're going but refuses to tell.
"You're gonna freak out," she said, her eyes shining every time she looked at me through the rearview mirror. "I swear, Morgana. It's exactly your kind of thing."
"My kind of thing involves me being alone, in the dark, watching some disturbing movie. I don't know if that includes leaving the house on a stormy night."
"Oh, stop. You love this stuff. Admit it."
I rolled my eyes but didn't deny it. Because she was right, and we both knew it.
When we finally stopped, it took me a few seconds to process what I was seeing. The sign at the entrance was old, with peeling red letters that said: "BLACKMORE NIGHTMARE". Lights flickered irregularly around a massive mansion, all painted black, with broken windows and artificial smoke coming from somewhere on the roof. There was a line of people waiting in the rain, some laughing nervously, others clearly regretting having come.
"A haunted house?" I asked, trying to hide how much my heart was already racing.
"Not just any haunted house. This one's hardcore. Extreme haunt. The actors can touch you, separate you from the group, drag you to isolated rooms..." Laura smiled, mischievous. "It's pretty intense. Some people quit halfway through."
My stomach tightened. Not from fear, or not just from fear. It was that feeling I knew well, the one that made me feel alive in a way nothing else could.
"You're an idiot," I muttered, but I was already opening the car door.
The line moved fast. When it was our turn, an actor dressed as a decrepit clown — smeared makeup, torn clothes, smile too wide — leaned in my direction, so close I could smell paint and something metallic.
"You look... delicious," he whispered, his voice hoarse and drawn out. Then he laughed, a shrill laugh that echoed even as he walked away.
Laura nudged me, almost cackling. I, on the other hand, felt a shiver run up my spine, not from disgust, but from something more complicated. Something I wouldn't admit out loud.
We went in.
The initial corridor was tight, dark, with walls that seemed to pulse. There were sounds everywhere: whispers, footsteps, heavy breathing coming from places I couldn't identify. Every few feet, a door would suddenly open and someone would scream, or something would crash. Laura jumped and laughed; I just walked, tense, feeling every muscle in my body prepared to react.
We passed through several rooms: a kitchen with fake meat hanging, a bathroom where a "victim" screamed inside the shower, a hall of mirrors where distorted figures followed us. But it was when we entered what looked like an abandoned living room, with furniture covered by sheets and an old TV hissing static, that I saw it.
The mask.
That iconic white mask, with the mouth open in an eternal scream and empty, dark eyes. A Ghostface. Standing in the corner of the room, completely still, the black cape falling to the floor as he stared at us with his head slightly tilted to the side. He held that big knife, probably fake, but convincing enough under the dim light.
My heart immediately raced. It wasn't ordinary fear. It was recognition. It was the personification of one of my oldest obsessions, one of the first things that planted that twisted seed inside me when I was too young to understand what I was feeling.
Laura walked right past him, distracted by another actor who emerged screaming from behind a curtain. But I stopped. I couldn't help it. I stood there, staring at that motionless figure, waiting for it to move.
And then it moved.
Slowly. Deliberately. The head tilting to the side, like a curious dog, but in a way that was anything but innocent. He took a step in my direction. Then another. The movements were calculated, predatory, as if he had all the time in the world and knew exactly the effect he was having.
My breath caught in my throat.
He stopped right in front of me, so close I could see the details of the mask: the small cracks in the material betraying how often it was used, and the way the red light reflected off it, leaving half his face in shadows. The knife rose slowly, the fake blade sliding through the air until it touched lightly, so lightly, against the side of my neck.
I should've backed away. Should've laughed nervously and moved on, like everyone else did. But my body simply didn't obey. I stood frozen, feeling the cold plastic against my skin, feeling my pulse hammering so hard I was sure he could see it.
"You're not running," came the voice from behind the mask. Distorted, hoarse, theatrical. Exactly like in the movies. But there was something else underneath, something real. A genuine curiosity.
"You're not backing away..." I tried to speak, but my voice came out shaky, weak.
He tilted his head to the other side, still studying my reaction. The knife descended slowly down my neck, over my shoulder, stopping at my arm. It didn't hurt. It wasn't meant to hurt. It was just... contact. Pressure. The kind of thing that reminds you you're completely vulnerable.
"Laura?" I called out, turning my head slightly to look for my friend.
"She already left," Ghostface said, and this time there was something almost amused in his voice. "You fell behind. That happens a lot here. People get lost. Separated." He paused, then added, lower: "Some... disappear for a while."
My stomach twisted. Not from real fear—some rational part of my brain knew this was an attraction, that there were rules, safety, limits. But another part, the part that lived hungry for exactly this type of situation, didn't care about rationality.
He took a step back, pointing with the knife to a side door I hadn't noticed before. It was slightly ajar, showing only darkness on the other side.
"You have two options," he said, his voice maintaining that theatrical, threatening tone. "You can go out that way"—he pointed to the main door where Laura had gone—"and try to find your friend. Or..."—he pointed to the side door—"...you can come with me. See where it leads."
It was a choice. Technically. But we both knew it wasn't really a choice. Not for someone like me. Not when every fiber of my being was screaming to discover what was on the other side of that door.
"And if I go with you?" I asked, my voice finally returning, though still trembling.
He stood still for a moment, as if considering the answer. Then, slowly, he extended his free hand in my direction. An offering. An invitation.
"Then you discover..."— he tilted his head again, that eternal mask staring at me with those empty eyes —"...what you're really capable of."
My heart was beating so fast I thought it would explode. Every survival instinct screamed for me to get out of there, to look for Laura, to return to the real and safe world.
But I didn't do that.
I extended my hand. Slowly. Trembling from the thunder outside. Until my fingers touched his.
He squeezed my hand — firm, warm, real — and pulled me gently toward the side door.
And I went.
Because if there's something I've learned about myself, it's that I never knew how to resist an invitation to the unknown, especially when it comes dressed as all my favorite nightmares.
The door closed behind us with a soft click, cutting off the red light and leaving me completely blind, with only the sensation of his hand still holding mine, guiding me deeper into the darkness.
I feel my senses sharpen from the lack of light in the room, each sound becoming sharper, each movement gaining importance. The enveloping darkness transformed the space around us into unknown territory. He led me to a more isolated place with measured and cautious steps, maintaining a firm grip on my hand that conveyed both control and protection, guiding me through the complete darkness. Each step, each turn of the path was a blind discovery as I let myself be led.
"What's your name, my queen?" His voice sounded seductive and calculated, each word loaded with intention.
In the same instant, he grabbed my face with his fingers, gently pressing my chin upward and forcing me to look directly at his obscure silhouette, where only the outline of the ghostly mask stood out in the penumbra.
"Morgana Draven..."
My answer came out almost as a whisper, my voice betraying the nervousness mixed with excitement that ran through my entire body. He briefly felt along the wall to his left until he found the light switch, activating it with a dry click that restored illumination to the room and granted me clear vision again. The light revealed details that the darkness had hidden, but the mask continued guarding its secret.
"Your name sounds like music to my ears, Morgana."
I would have even rehearsed some sharp response, something witty to maintain my composure, but his fingers made a point of slowly passing over my parted lips, tracing their outline with an almost torturous delicacy. He captured my mouth for a few interminable seconds, pressing lightly before releasing, and then a low, amused laugh echoed from inside the mask, muffled but clearly satisfied.
"What am I doing? I'm going to lose my job this way..."
His voice carried a mixture of amusement and feigned concern, as if he were debating with himself about the consequences of that moment.
"I won't tell if you don't tell," I responded too quickly, perhaps even too desperately, between satisfied sighs provoked by the possessive way he grabbed the side of my face with one whole hand and pulled my hair with the other, tilting my head to the angle he wanted. "I promise."
"Promise, huh?"
His voice sounded low, almost hoarse, loaded with questioning and desire. I could feel his hot breath dangerously approaching my neck, warming my skin while maintaining a firm and dominating grip at the base of my hair, keeping me exactly where he wanted. He slid the fingers of his other hand along the contour of my face with provocative slowness, caressing my cheek, my jaw, until finally making me lift my gaze and stare directly into his eyes that shone intensely through the dark holes of the mask.
I murmured a trembling "uh-huh" amid the overwhelming adrenaline that his presence, his proximity, and his touch provided me. My heart beat so hard I was certain he could hear it.
"I'm going to turn off this light, take off the mask and kiss you... is that okay with you?" he whispered directly in my ear, his hoarse, low voice almost completely undoing me. The proximity, the heat of his breath against my skin, the weight of words loaded with promises, everything conspired to make me lose any remnant of control.
"What's taking you so long?"
My response came out bolder than I intended, but it was impossible to hide the urgency taking over me. The guy dressed as Ghostface let out a low, satisfied laugh at my impatience, then finally turned off the light with a decisive movement.
The darkness enveloped us again, even deeper this time, and I could hear the unmistakable sound of him removing the mask, the friction of plastic against skin, the sigh of relief at freeing his face, leaving only the electric anticipation filling the space between us.
I feel his lips find mine in the darkness with an urgency that steals my breath. The kiss is intense, hot, loaded with all that tension that had been building since the moment he took my hand. His hands slide down my waist, pulling me closer, and for a moment I let him believe he has total control of the situation.
But something inside me awakens.
Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's realizing how completely lost he is in that moment, vulnerable in a way the mask would never allow him to show. I decide it's my turn to command this game.
When he pulls away just enough to breathe, I take advantage of the movement and reverse our positions with a firm push of my hands against his chest. He lets out a surprised sound when his back meets the wall, and I can feel the immediate tension in his muscles, as if he were processing what just happened.
"I thought there were two of us in this game," I whisper against his lips, keeping my hands flat on his chest, feeling his racing heart beneath my palm. "Or do you prefer that I stay quiet while you decide everything?"
He tries to regain control, his hands rising to hold my waist again, but I intercept the movement, capturing his wrists and pressing them gently against the wall beside his head. The darkness gives me a courage I might not have in the light, allows me to be who I really want to be without fear of judgment in his eyes.
"Morgana..." his voice comes out hoarse, loaded with surprise and something else I identify as poorly disguised excitement.
"Quiet," I interrupt, approaching until my lips brush the curve of his neck, feeling him swallow hard. "Now I ask the questions."
I release one of his wrists only to slide my hand along the contour of his jaw, mapping a face I cannot see. I feel the defined line of his jaw, the curve of the lips that just kissed me with such intensity.
"Do you do this often? Take visitors to dark places here in the haunted house?" I ask, lightly biting his earlobe and feeling him shiver completely against me.
"No... never..." the answer comes out broken, and I realize I've completely disarmed him. The guy who moments ago seemed so confident and controlled can now barely form coherent sentences.
"Liar," I provoke, pressing my body against his and hearing him hold his breath. "I bet you're good at this. Too good, actually. That calculated voice, the touches just right... you knew exactly what you were doing."
I slide my free hand down his chest, descending slowly, exploring, testing limits. He tries to hold my hand again, but I apply more pressure on the wrist I still have pinned against the wall.
"Ah-ah," I gently reprimand, touching his lips with my index finger. "Don't you like it when the rules change? When you're not the one deciding the pace?"
"It's not that..." he breathes deeply, and I can feel the effort he's making to maintain some control of the situation. "It's that you're catching me off guard."
"Good," I whisper against his lips without kissing him, leaving only the promise in the air. "Because you caught me off guard too. Now we're even."
I finally kiss him again, but this time on my terms, at my pace. It's slower, deeper, more deliberate. I feel when he completely surrenders, when he stops trying to regain control and just allows himself to feel. His hands, now free because I choose to release them, tangle in my hair and slide down my back, but with a different reverence, as if he understood that this dance needs two to truly work.
"Who are you?" I whisper between kisses, genuinely curious now. "Really. Because you're not just another actor scaring people around... you're more than that."
He laughs softly, forehead resting against mine, breaths mixing in the darkness.
"If I tell you, I'll ruin all the magic," he responds, and there's a raw honesty in his voice that makes me want to know him even more.
"Then give me a clue," I insist, biting his lower lip lightly before releasing it. "A reason for me not to turn on this light right now and find out for myself."
I feel his hands rise to frame my face with a delicacy that contrasts with all the intensity of the last few minutes.
"The clue is that this here... you and me in this moment... is the most real thing I've felt in a long time," he admits, his voice loaded with a vulnerability the mask would definitely hide. "And I don't want it to end yet."
Something in my chest tightens with these words. It wasn't the answer I expected, it wasn't a game or a provocation. It was pure, raw truth, delivered in the darkness where lies are harder to sustain.
"Then it doesn't have to end," I respond, surprising myself with sincerity. "But you need to understand that if we continue, it's both of us deciding. No power games, no one bossing the other around. You in?"
"I'm in," he responds without hesitation, sealing the promise with another kiss, this one softer, almost tender.
And for the first time since we entered that dark room, I feel that maybe this is more than just a momentary attraction during my turn here. Maybe it's the beginning of something neither of us was expecting to find.
The pleasure in mystery was dangerous, like a gigantic force of attraction. And I wasn't going to let him slip through my fingers as if nothing had happened.
My hand slides along the wall beside us, feeling in the dark until finding the light switch. I hesitate for only a second, feeling his breath accelerate against my skin, as if he knew exactly what I was about to do and was simultaneously afraid and anxious for the revelation.
"Morgana, wait..." he begins, but there's no real resistance in his voice. It's more a last attempt to postpone the inevitable.
"No," I respond firmly, my fingers finally finding the cold plastic of the switch. "I need to see you. I need to know who's making me feel this way."
I press the button.
The fluorescent light bursts around us almost aggressively after so long in the dark, making me blink several times to adjust my vision. When I can finally focus, the air escapes from my lungs all at once.
He is... absolutely beautiful in a way that catches me completely off guard.
Dark hair slightly messy, probably because of the mask and my own fingers that tangled in it during the kisses. Intense eyes that stare at me with a mixture of vulnerability and desire that makes my stomach turn. Defined jaw, lips slightly swollen from our kisses, an expression that transitions between nervousness and something close to... relief?
But what really paralyzes me is the recognition.
He's not just any stranger. I know him.
"You..." my voice comes out in an incredulous whisper, my brain trying to process the information. "You work in the technical part, don't you?"
He runs his hand over his face, an embarrassed smile curving his lips as he looks away for a second before looking back at me.
"Guilty," he admits, his voice still hoarse but now without the security mask that the costume provided. "I'm Ethan. I manage the lighting systems and sound effects here. And yes, I've seen you pass by several times on the street before we opened Blackmore Nightmare..."
My heart races. Fragments of memory begin to reorganize in my mind: that guy always focused messing with control panels backstage, the way our eyes sometimes crossed quickly in the employee corridors before both of us looked away, as if there was something there but neither of us had the courage to explore.
"So you... you recognized me from the beginning?" I ask, still processing, my hands still resting on the wall on either side of him, keeping him there.
"I recognized your voice the second you spoke," he confesses, and there's a raw honesty in that which disarms me. "I was at my usual post when I saw you enter with a group. I didn't plan this, I swear. But when you passed near my corridor and our eyes met... I couldn't let it pass. I grabbed the nearest mask and... well, you know the rest."
I let out an incredulous laugh, shaking my head while trying to organize the whirlwind of emotions inside me. Relief that he's not a complete stranger. Surprise that it's precisely him. Renewed excitement because now I can see every detail of his expression.
"You're crazy," I murmur, but there's no real accusation in my voice. "You could have been fired for this."
"I know," he responds, raising a hesitant hand to touch my face, now with the light revealing every movement. "But it was completely worth it."
His fingers trace my cheek with a delicacy that contrasts with the intensity from before, and I realize the dynamic has completely changed. There's no longer the shield of darkness, no longer the fantasy to hide behind. It's just me and him, raw and exposed under the artificial light.
"Ethan," I test the name on my lips, and I see his eyes light up hearing it. "Do you have any idea how crazy you made me these last few minutes?"
He smiles, and it's a genuine smile, without the calculated malice from before, but still loaded with desire.
"I think I have a slight notion," he responds, pulling me closer by the waist. "Considering you literally pinned me against the wall and took total control of the situation."
"And you liked it," I observe, not as a question, but as a statement.
"Loved it," he admits without hesitation, making me blush in a way that the darkness had hidden until now. "You're incredible, Morgana. Much more than I imagined just seeing you on the street."
I bite my lower lip, considering my next words carefully.
"So what do we do now? Because I definitely don't want this to end here. But we also need to be realistic... you're still working, I should go back to my group..."
Ethan shakes his head, his thumbs drawing circles on my ribs through my clothes.
"My shift ends in an hour," he says, his voice loaded with hope. "And I know you came in with the last group of the night. Wait for me? We can... talk for real. No masks, no darkness. Just the two of us."
The proposal hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibilities.
"What if I say I don't just want to talk and that I don't care if you chase me with that mask?" I provoke, seeing his eyes darken again with that intensity that made me surrender in the darkness.
The question hangs between us loaded with dangerous promises. I see the exact moment something changes in his expression, when the provocation hits squarely and awakens something more primitive, more instinctive.
"Then we discover together how far this goes," he responds with a deep, hoarse voice, sealing the promise with a slow, deep kiss, completely different from the previous ones.
Now that we can see each other, each sensation multiplies. I observe his dark eyelashes when he closes his eyes, the way his jaw tenses when I deepen the kiss, the way his eyebrows furrow slightly in pure concentration. I study each micro-expression while he does the same with me, mapping each sigh, each tremor, each reaction on each other's faces. It's intimate in a way the darkness didn't allow, exposed and raw.
When we separate, I'm smiling in a way I can't control, a mixture of satisfaction and anticipation for what's to come.
"One hour," I agree, reluctantly moving away from him, feeling the immediate cold of lost contact. I watched him bend down to pick up the mask from the floor where he had dropped it in the rush to kiss me. "Don't make me wait longer than that, Ethan."
"I won't," he promises, holding the mask in his hands for a moment before starting to put it back on. But now it doesn't have the same impact as before, doesn't have the same threatening mystery now that I know exactly who's behind it, now that I know every feature of that face. "And Morgana? Thank you for turning on the light. For wanting to see me for real."
My heart squeezes uncomfortably in my chest with the raw sincerity of those words. There's something there, something bigger than just physical attraction. I open the door to the room, ready to leave and compose myself, but I look back one last time, unable to simply walk away.
"Ethan...?"
I inquire, totally bewitched by how that name sounds coming from my own throat, taking over every corner of my mind. The way the syllables form, how they roll off my tongue, how they fill the space between us.
Before I can regret it, I advance toward him again. I snatched the mask from his hands in a sudden movement, going completely against our agreement to wait for his shift to end, to do this the right way. I throw the mask aside again and grab his face with both hands, forcing him to look directly into my eyes.
I see his Adam's apple rise and fall so quickly that if someone saw without paying attention, they certainly wouldn't have noticed the nervous movement. But I noticed. I notice every detail of him. I can practically see his mind working frantically to formulate the right thing to say, to process my sudden change of plans, but I don't give him time.
"Can I kiss you again?" I ask against his lips, my breath mixing with his. "Can I do a little more? You don't know, but I have no shame in asking for permission..."
I get even closer, eliminating any space that still existed between our bodies, and he seems to release air he'd been holding for centuries, as if he could finally breathe again.
Suddenly Ethan, previously apparently in shock from seeing me return and going completely against our sensible plans, grabs me as if I were his lifeline in the midst of a shipwreck. He fits a feverish, urgent, desperate kiss in a way that makes me stumble. His desire overflows in every action, in every movement of the hands that run over my body, and I reciprocate everything in my own way, with the same overwhelming intensity.
Between increasingly uncontrolled kisses, Ethan guides me stumbling backward, our legs intertwining as we try not to trip. He opens a side door I hadn't even noticed before, pulling me into what appears to be a cabin used by employees to change clothes. It's small, cramped, with a metal locker and some hooks on the wall.
The sound of the lock turning echoes in the tiny space, and then there's no turning back. No more risk of interruption.
With a strength that surprises me, Ethan hoists my body completely off the ground, pressing me against the metal locker that creaks with the impact. The cold metal against my back contrasts violently with the heat of his body pressed against mine. Instinctively I open my legs, wrapping them around his waist, squeezing him like a constrictor snake that doesn't intend to release its prey.
"Holy shit, Morgana," he moans against my mouth, his hands firm under my thighs keeping me suspended without apparent effort.
His kisses begin to descend, tracing a trail of fire down my neck, my collarbone, until finally reaching my breasts over my clothes. He presses open kisses there, his hot breath passing through the fabric, and all I can do is pull the hair at the nape of his neck hard, making him moan low.
I pull his head back to be able to see the absolute mess he's become. Hair completely disheveled by my fingers, lips swollen and red, eyes darkened with desire, irregular breathing making his chest rise and fall rapidly.
"Like what you see?" he asks with a crooked smile, his voice coming out hoarse and drawn out.
"Asking that question is useless since you know the answer very well," I retort, sliding my hands along the collar of his shirt, tracing the line of his neck with my fingertips, rising to his face and outlining every angle, making him close his eyes and laugh softly.
"Did you steal my mask?" he questions when he opens his eyes again, looking briefly at the floor where the plastic piece was abandoned once more.
"I wanted to know what your cologne was," I admit without shame, inhaling deeply his smell that's already stuck to my skin, my clothes, everything.
"Then good thing I brought you here first, right?" he provokes, that mischievous smile returning to his lips.
"Really?" I challenge back, deliberately moving my fingers over his Adam's apple that rises and falls visibly with each difficult breath he tries to control.
He smiles in a way that completely disarms me and sustains me in a firmer embrace, adjusting my weight in his arms before tilting his head and kissing my exposed shoulder with unexpected tenderness.
It's at this moment that I feel the unmistakable pressure of his hard cock pressing against me through the layers of clothing, and then it's my turn to smile like a demon tempting his prey to sell their soul in exchange for pleasure.
"How cute!" I provoke with false innocence. "Want to fuck me for the first time in a place like this? Semi-public sex? What a dirty man you are..."
"Shut up and let me fuck you..." he practically growls, any attempt to maintain composure completely abandoned.
"Eth..." I begin, testing the nickname on my tongue.
"Don't call me that..." he interrupts, the phrase accompanied by a loud, desperate moan when I deliberately rub my hips against his, creating friction exactly where he needs it. "Fuck, Mo—"
"What do you say?" I interrupt, completely stopping my movements and watching him fall apart in front of me.
He looks at me with half-closed eyes, clearly torn between pride and the desperate need consuming him from the inside.
I nod in expectation, waiting for the right words. He leans in and captures my lips in a softer, almost reverent kiss that lasts a few precious seconds.
"Please," he finally pleads when he pulls away, his voice completely dazed, stripped of any pretense. "Please, Morgana... let me..."
"Oh, way better!" I smile satisfied when he practically melts at my touch, when I see the complete surrender in his eyes. "Much better now."
"Morgana, let..." he begs directly in my ear, his voice taking on a whiny, almost tearful tone that makes me shiver all over. "Please, I need..."
His smell is already completely ingrained in me, impregnated on my skin, in my hair, in every breath I take. When I finally nod in consent, I feel him lift me even higher against the locker door, repositioning my weight while his hands begin to explore with renewed urgency now that he has my explicit permission to continue.
And as he holds me there, suspended between the cold metal and the unbearable heat of his body, I realize we've definitely crossed a line from which there's no return. And I don't regret it one bit.
Ethan puts me on the floor again, but this time he crouches down, getting on his knees. I wrapped his face with my fingers and delivered a weak slap across his cheek, drawing a genuinely dirty smile from him.
His hands run over my waist with controlled urgency, his fingers tracing each curve before finding the hem of my pants. I feel the hot touch sliding over exposed skin as he pulls the fabric down with deliberate movements, his eyes never leaving mine, as if seeking silent confirmation with each revealed inch.
Between each pull of the fabric descending down my legs, he delivers slow, calculated kisses. He starts at my neck, lightly nibbling the pulse point that betrays how fast my heart is racing. He descends down my collarbone, his tongue tracing the prominent bone while his hands continue their work of undressing me.
"You're too beautiful," he murmurs against my skin, his voice muffled and loaded with reverence.
The kisses continue descending. He marks territory over my still-covered breasts, pressing his open mouth against the fabric until I'm practically arching in his hands. He passes over my belly, where his lips linger longer, depositing soft kisses and light bites that make me contract my muscles involuntarily.
Ethan lowers me carefully, putting my feet back on the floor just enough to finish completely removing the pants that are now wrapped around my ankles. He knelt once more in front of me in the process, and the sight of him in that position, looking up with those darkened eyes of desire, makes me completely lose my breath.
As soon as the piece of clothing is discarded to the side, he goes back up with kisses that now have no more barriers. He starts at my ankles, rising up my calves, lingering on the inner part of my thighs where the skin is most sensitive. Each touch of his lips leaves a trail of fire, making my whole body tremble with anticipation.
"Ethan..." his name escapes my lips like a plea, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as he continues his torturously slow exploration.
"Patience," he whispers against my skin, his hot breath making me shiver. "I want to taste every piece of you."
He finally reaches my mound, depositing a kiss there that makes me practically melt. His hands firmly hold my thighs, keeping me in place while he takes his time, alternating between soft kisses and light bites that leave me completely at his mercy.
"You're killing me," I manage to say between irregular breaths, pulling his hair harder, torn between wanting to pull him away from the delicious torture and keeping him there forever.
He laughs softly against my skin, the vibration making me moan.
"Good," he responds simply, before looking up and staring at me with an intensity that completely disarms me. "Because you've been killing me since the first second you walked into this damned haunted house tonight."
And then his mouth returns to work, determined to completely undo me.
The moment he took my bundle of nerves in his mouth, I knew it was my end. The sensation exploded through my entire body like lightning, making my legs weaken instantly. If it weren't for the firm support of his hands holding my thighs, I would have collapsed right there.
A delicious, hungry suck was what he did, sucking with perfect pressure that drew a moan too loud for where we were. My hand flew to cover my own mouth, but he interrupted the movement, releasing me just long enough to growl:
"Don't."
And then he returned with even more intensity, one suck after another, alternating between firm suction and slow licks that made me see stars. The worst, or best, was that he maintained eye contact the entire time. Those dark eyes fixed on mine, observing each reaction, each tremor, each time I bit my lip trying to control myself.
"Look at me," he commanded when my eyes started to close, lost in the overwhelming sensation. "I want you to see me while I devour you."
I forced my eyes to remain open, locked on his, and the intensity of that visual connection while his mouth worked masterfully left me completely exposed in a way that went far beyond the physical. It was too intimate, too vulnerable, and exactly why it was absolutely perfect.
My fingers buried in his hair with enough force to probably hurt, but he only moaned against me, clearly liking the pain. The vibration of the sound traveled through my entire body, drawing another uncontrolled moan.
"Ethan, fuck..." I managed to say between broken breaths, my hips moving involuntarily against his mouth, seeking more friction, more pressure, more everything.
He smiled at me, and I could feel the expression even without seeing it completely. Then he used one hand to firmly hold my hip in place, preventing me from moving.
"Stay still," he ordered with that hoarse voice that completely disarmed me. "Let me take care of you on my way."
And he did. With an almost religious dedication, he continued his work, alternating between hungry sucks and slow, deliberate licks, always maintaining that devastating eye contact that made me feel like I was being dismantled and rebuilt at the same time.
My breathing became increasingly irregular, my entire body trembling under his meticulous attention. I felt the pressure begin to build at the base of my spine, waves of pleasure intensifying with each expert movement of his tongue.
"Ethan, I'm gonna..." I tried to warn, but the words were lost in another moan when he increased the intensity, clearly understanding exactly what my body was saying even without me being able to finish the sentence.
He didn't stop, didn't slow the rhythm. If anything, he became even more determined, maintaining that gaze fixed on mine while taking me closer and closer to the precipice. One of his hands moved up my body until finding mine, intertwining our fingers in a surprisingly tender gesture that contrasted completely with the obscenity of what was happening.
"Come on," he whispered against me, his voice muffled but still audible. "I wanna feel you fall apart for me."
And that's exactly what happened. The orgasm hit me like a giant wave, dragging me down while my entire body convulsed. My head hit the metal locker behind me, my hand squeezed his desperately, and a long, loud moan escaped my lips without any control.
Ethan guided me through each wave, his mouth working more gently now but without stopping completely, prolonging the pleasure until it became almost too much to bear. Only when I started contracting from sensitivity did he finally stop, depositing soft kisses on the inner part of my thighs while I tried to remember how to breathe.
When he finally stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand while staring at me with an absolutely smug smile, all I could do was pull him into a desperate kiss, tasting myself on him and not caring one bit.
"You're unbelievable," I murmured against his lips when we separated, still trying to recover my breath and the ability to form coherent thoughts.
"You are," he responded, caressing my face with a tenderness that made me melt in a completely different way. "And we've barely started, Morgana."
The promise in those words made me shiver with anticipation again, my body already responding despite still recovering. I looked down, noticing the obvious bulge in his pants, and smiled.
"Then I think we better continue," I said, already reaching for his belt with determined fingers. "Because now it's my turn to make you fall apart."
His eyes widened slightly, a mixture of surprise and raw desire taking over his expression. I unbuttoned his belt with deliberately slow movements, maintaining eye contact in the same torturous way he had done with me moments ago.
"Morgana..." my name came from his lips like a prayer, loaded with need.
"Shh," I silenced, pressing a finger against his lips while my other hand worked on the button of his pants. "Now you stay quiet and let me take care of you my way. Remember?"
I used his own words against him, and I saw the exact moment it registered, when an incredulous smile formed on his face even amid the obvious desire consuming him.
"You're diabolical," he murmured, but there was no real complaint in his voice, only admiration.
"You didn’t saw anything yet," I promised, finally opening the zipper and releasing the pressure that was clearly bothering him.
But before I could go further, Ethan gently held my wrists, making me stop and look at him with confusion.
"Wait," he said, his breathing still irregular. "I want... I want you. All of you. Not just this."
My heart raced with the raw intensity of those words. It wasn't just physical desire, there was something more there, something deeper that made my chest tighten.
"Then have me," I responded simply, pressing myself against him and capturing his lips in a kiss that was both soft and loaded with promises. "Have me in every way you want."
He moaned against my mouth, his hands finally releasing my wrists to run over my body with renewed urgency. He pulled my shirt over my head in a quick motion, his eyes traveling over each inch of revealed skin as if memorizing.
"You're perfect," he murmured, his hands reverently tracing my waist, rising until he undid my bra with a skill that made my eyebrow raise. "Completely perfect."
"Experienced, are you?" I provoked, arching my back when his hands finally reached my breasts, his thumbs tracing circles on hardened nipples. "And you're mine," I retorted with the same possessive intensity, pulling him forcefully into another fierce, dominating kiss, biting his lower lip until I tasted the metallic taste of blood. "So stop stalling and fuck me already, Ethan. Fuck me until I forget my own name."
Something in him shattered completely with those words. The careful, measured control he'd been maintaining with so much effort splintered into a thousand pieces. His eyes darkened even more, if possible, taking on an almost predatory intensity.
In a matter of frantic seconds, he finished getting rid of his own clothes, kicking his pants and underwear to the corner of the cramped cabin. When he stood completely naked before me, I had to bite my lower lip hard in pure visual appreciation.
His body was absurdly perfect. Defined but not exaggerated muscles, a line of dark hair descending down his abdomen, and his hard, large cock demanding attention, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.
"Like what you see?" he threw my own words back at me with a mischievous, smug smile that made me want to both punch him and kiss him.
"Very much," I admitted without any shame or modesty, letting my eyes travel over each defined line of his body with obvious appreciation, slowly descending until focusing on his hard cock that clearly needed urgent attention. "But I'll like it much more when it's deep inside me, fucking me until I can't take it anymore."
Ethan growled low in his throat, a primitive, animal sound that reverberated in the cramped space and made me shiver all over. He lifted me again with impressive ease, as if I weighed nothing, pressing me forcefully against the metal locker that was getting progressively warmer from the radiating heat of our pressed bodies.
"Protection," he said suddenly, seeming to struggle internally with himself, his face contracted in conflict. "Fuck, I don't have... I wasn't expecting this to happen today..."
"Pill," I interrupted quickly, wrapping my legs firmly around his waist and using my heels to pull him even closer, eliminating any space. "I take it religiously, no failures. And I trust you, Ethan."
"Are you absolutely sure?" he asked again, his sweaty forehead resting against mine, heavy breaths mixing, giving me one last chance to back out, to change my mind.
In direct response, I guided one hand between our pressed bodies until I was holding his cock firmly, feeling it pulse hot and hard in my palm. I positioned it exactly where I needed, where my body begged for him, rubbing the tip against my already wet entrance.
"Absolutely sure," I sighed against his parted lips, maintaining intense eye contact. "Now fuck me, Ethan. Fuck me the way you've been dying to since you saw me. Please, I need to feel you."
And with a hoarse, deep, desperate moan that echoed loudly in the cramped space of the cabin, he finally filled me completely all at once in a single deep, accurate thrust that drew loud, simultaneous moans of pure ecstasy from us.
The sensation of being completely filled by him, of feeling each hard inch stretching and filling places that seemed made specifically for him, was absolutely overwhelming. My head fell back against the metal with a dull thud, my eyes rolling back briefly while my body adjusted to the delicious intrusion.
"Fuck, Morgana," Ethan moaned loudly against my neck, the muscles in his arms visibly trembling with the effort of staying still, of giving me time to adjust. "You're so tight... so hot... so perfect. Fuck, it's too perfect."
"Move," I ordered when I minimally recovered the ability to speak, my nails scratching his back and certainly leaving marks. "For God's sake, Ethan, move. Fuck me deep."
And he obeyed.
Ethan didn't need more encouragement. He began to move with deep, accurate thrusts that made me hit against the metal locker with each thrust, the sound echoing obscenely through the cramped space along with our uncontrolled moans.
"Like this?" he asked with a hoarse voice, increasing the rhythm, his fingers digging into my thighs with enough force to leave marks. "Is this how you want it?"
"Harder," I asked without shame, completely lost in the sensation of him filling me repeatedly. "Don't be afraid of hurting me, I can take it."
He growled, adjusting the angle and fucking me with an intensity that took all the air from my lungs. Each thrust hit exactly where I needed, building an overwhelming pressure that made me see stars.
"You're going to kill me," he moaned against my neck, biting the sensitive skin there. "So perfect... so mine..."
My nails scratched his back hard, certainly leaving red marks that would last for days. Sweat made our bodies slippery, facilitating the frantic movements while we chased mutual pleasure.
"Ethan, I'm close," I warned when I felt the pressure reach a critical point, my entire body trembling. "Very close..."
"Me too," he admitted, his voice coming out strangled. "Cum f’me, Morgana. I wanna feel you squeezing around me."
One of his hands descended between our bodies, finding my clitoris and applying perfect circular pressure that was all I needed to completely fall apart.
The orgasm hit me like a tsunami, much more intense than the first. My body convulsed violently, contracting around him while waves of pleasure dragged me down. I buried my face in his shoulder to muffle the scream that threatened to escape, biting the skin there without caring.
Feeling my contractions was enough to take him along. With a few final, erratic thrusts, Ethan moaned my name loudly, his entire body stiffening as he spilled completely inside me, pulse after pulse of heat that made me shiver again.
We stayed like that for long moments, just breathing heavily against each other, our racing hearts beating in sync. He continued holding me against the locker, as if his legs were also too weak to move.
"Oh shit," he finally said, letting out an incredulous laugh while depositing soft kisses along my neck. "That was..."
"Intense," I completed, still trying to make my brain work again. "Completely intense and... fuck, Ethan."
He pulled away enough to look into my eyes, and what I saw there made me melt in a completely different way. It wasn't just physical satisfaction. There was tenderness, vulnerability, something deeper that scared and attracted me at the same time.
"I wasn't kidding, you know," he said seriously, caressing my face with a delicacy that contrasted with the brutality of moments ago. "About you being mine. I don't want this to be just once, Morgana. I want more. I want everything."
My heart leaped in my chest. It should be scary, all this intensity happening so fast. But everything about him, from the first touch in the darkness, felt right in a way that defied logic.
"Then take me to dinner first," I responded with a smile, still half dazed. "Because technically you haven't even properly asked me out. You just dragged me into a cabin and fucked me against a locker."
He laughed, that genuine, free sound that made me want to hear it repeatedly.
"Fair enough," he agreed, carefully lowering me until my feet touched the floor again, though keeping his arms around me when my legs wavered. "How about tomorrow night? Real dinner, no masks, no haunted house. Just you and me."
"I accept," I responded without hesitation, stretching to kiss him softly. "But now we need to clean up and get out of here before someone realizes you disappeared from your post."
Reality hit both of us at the same time. We looked around the messy cabin, clothes scattered everywhere, the unmistakable smell of sex in the air.
"Shit," Ethan ran his hand through his completely messy hair. "My supervisor is going to kill me."
"Then we better be quick," I laughed, starting to gather my clothes and getting dressed as quickly as possible, though my legs were still shaky.
He did the same, and in a few minutes we were presentable again, though anyone who looked closely would notice the swollen lips, the marks on our necks, the messy hair.
Before unlocking the door, Ethan pulled me into one more long, deep kiss.
"Thank you," he whispered against my lips. "For turning on the light. For choosing me. For being you."
"Thank you," I responded sincerely, caressing his face. "For making me feel alive in a way I haven't felt in a long time."
He smiled, put the Ghostface mask back on to keep up appearances, and unlocked the door. He peeked into the corridor to make sure it was empty before motioning for me to leave first.
"Tomorrow at eight?" he asked, his voice muffled by the mask.
"At eight," I confirmed, already starting to walk away. "And Ethan? Don't be late."
"I won't," he promised, and even through the mask I could sense the smile in his voice.
I walked down the corridor back to where my group was probably still exploring the haunted house, trying not to smile like an idiot and failing miserably. My body still tingled, my mind still processing everything that had happened in the last few minutes.
When I finally found my friend near the exit, she immediately noticed my state.
"Where the hell were you?" my friend asked, her eyes narrowing when she noticed my messy hair and the visible mark on my neck that I'd forgotten to check. "Morgana... what did you do?"
"I met someone," I responded simply, unable to contain the huge smile that spread across my face.
"Here? In the haunted house?" she asked incredulously.
"It's a long story," I laughed, linking my arm with hers as we walked toward the exit. "But let me tell you: sometimes the best things happen when you least expect them. Especially in the dark."
She snorted, shaking her head but smiling too.
"You're crazy, you know that?"
"Maybe," I agreed, looking back one last time and finding the familiar silhouette of Ghostface watching from a distance. Even through the mask, I knew he was smiling. "But it was the craziest and greatest thing I've ever done in my pathetic little life."
And as we left the haunted house behind, I was already counting the hours until tomorrow night, until I could see him again without masks, without darkness, without barriers.
Just me and Ethan, discovering together exactly how far that unexpected and overwhelming connection could go.
Because something told me that night had been just the beginning of something much bigger. And for the first time in a long time, I was genuinely excited to discover what the future held.
And yes, he became my new obsession.
