starficss

[starficss]

phone call

-- ★ ghostface!ethan! x fem!reader

the phone rings, slicing through the stillness of your quiet evening. It’s late, and for a second, you hesitate before picking it up, the static hum of the unknown number staring back at you.

"hello?" you answer, voice laced with curiosity, leaning against the counter as the horror movie you’d been watching flickers on the tv in the background.

"what’s your favorite scary movie?" the voice on the other end is smooth, playful, yet edged with something darker.

you chuckle, thinking it’s a prank. "classic. but if we’re playing this game, i’d say halloween. nothing beats the original slasher."

"an excellent choice," the voice says. "but not everyone makes it to the sequel, do they?"

a chill runs down your spine at the sudden shift in tone. "who is this?" you ask, gripping the phone tighter, glancing toward the windows, the door.

"just someone who knows you like a good scare," he teases, and you can almost hear the smile in his voice. "what about tonight's movie? do you think you'd survive in that one?"

your eyes flicker back to the screen. a masked killer stalking his prey, the tension mounting. "this is ridiculous," you say, forcing a laugh. "look, if you’re trying to freak me out"

"oh, i’m not trying," he interrupts, his voice dropping into something colder. "i already know you’re scared. you keep looking over your shoulder, don’t you? wondering if i’m watching."

your heart skips. your hand moves to lock the front door, your pulse quickening as you peer out into the darkness.

"are you?" your voice wavers, a mix of defiance and fear.

"maybe."

silence stretches between you, and you swear you hear something, a faint creak, the sound of movement.

"let’s play a game," he says suddenly, breaking the quiet. "if you can answer my question, I’ll let you off the hook. if not... well, I think you know how this story ends."

your breath catches, your mind racing. "fine," you say, trying to sound braver than you feel. "what’s the question?"

"what door did you forget to lock?"

the words hit you like a punch, and you whip around, your eyes darting to the back door. it’s ajar, the breeze fluttering the curtain, and your stomach drops.

"wrong answer," he whispers, just as the line goes dead.

you spin, grabbing the closest thing for protection, a knife from the counter, but before you can move, he’s there. tall, masked, and dressed in black, the glint of a knife in his hand catching the dim light of the TV.

"you’re fast," he says, voice no longer filtered by the phone, sending a fresh wave of terror down your spine. "but not fast enough."

"ethan?" you breathe, your voice trembling as recognition washes over you, the realization slamming into your chest like a freight train.

he tilts his head, the ghostface mask eerily still as he chuckles softly. "so you’ve figured it out. clever."

"why...?"

he steps closer, his movements slow, deliberate, his knife tapping against his gloved fingers. "because it’s fun, y/n," he says, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "you should see the way you look right now, terrified but... intrigued. am i wrong?"

your knees threaten to give out as you grip the knife tighter, your mind screaming at you to run, but you’re frozen in place, his words sinking in, his presence suffocating.

"you’re sick," you spit, trying to muster some kind of defiance, though your voice betrays you.

he laughs, low and dangerous, and takes another step forward, until he’s mere inches away. "maybe. but admit it, you like the attention. and you like the danger."

your heart is pounding so hard you think it might burst, and when he leans in, his masked face just beside yours, his voice drops to a whisper.

"run, y/n," he says, pulling back slightly, his knife glinting in the flickering light. "because the game isn’t over yet."

and then he steps back, giving you the opening to flee, his figure looming like a shadow, waiting, watching, as if daring you to make your next move. your feet stay rooted to the floor despite every instinct screaming for you to move. the knife trembles in your hand, but his presence, his voice, there’s something intoxicating in the way he commands the space, how he watches you like a predator savoring the hunt.

“what’s wrong, y/n?” ethan teases, tilting his head again, the distorted reflection of your face glimmering on the edge of his blade. “you’re not running. didn’t i make the rules clear?”

your mouth is dry, but you manage to speak. “maybe i don’t want to run.”

that makes him pause. even through the mask, you can feel his intensity shift, the air crackling between you. “oh?” he says, dragging out the syllable, a dark amusement lacing his voice.

“maybe…” you say, swallowing hard, your gaze fixed on the way he grips the knife. “maybe i want to play a different game.”

his body tenses, and you swear you hear the faintest hitch in his breath. he steps closer, slow and deliberate, the weight of him bearing down on you. “careful, y/n,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, almost a growl. “i don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

you take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet the dark void of his mask. “you think you scare me?” you ask, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of the truth behind it. “you don’t, ethan.”

he freezes at the sound of his name on your lips, the hand holding the knife lowering slightly as if your words have momentarily disarmed him.

“how long were you going to keep this up?” you ask, taking a cautious step forward. “pretending it’s all about the thrill of the kill? because i don’t buy it.”

he laughs, a soft, disbelieving sound, and the mask tilts as he watches you. “you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

“maybe not,” you admit, your heart pounding as you dare another step closer. “but i know you’re not doing this just for fun. you could’ve killed me already. so why haven’t you?”

the tension in the room shifts, thickens, as he finally reaches up and pulls the mask off. his face is flushed, his curls sticking to his forehead, his dark eyes locked on you with a mixture of frustration and something deeper, something raw.

“you think this is about you?” he asks, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous.

“it’s always been about me,” you counter, emboldened by the fact that he hasn’t moved away.

for a moment, he says nothing, just studies you, the knife hanging loosely in his hand. “you’re insane,” he says finally, but there’s no malice in his tone—just exasperation and, maybe, admiration.

“takes one to know one,” you reply, your voice softer now as you close the remaining distance between you.

his breath hitches as you reach out, your fingers brushing against his free hand, the one not holding the blade. his skin is warm, trembling slightly under your touch.

“what are you doing?” he asks, his voice unsteady for the first time, the mask of control slipping.

“you wanted to play, ethan,” you say, your eyes locked on his. “so let’s play.”

his grip on the knife tightens, his jaw clenching as if he’s warring with himself. but then he drops it, the blade clattering to the floor, and his hands are on you, pulling you close with a desperation that steals your breath.

“you’re gonna regret this,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a warning, but the way his mouth crashes into yours tells you he’s long past caring.

“we’ll see,” you whisper back, surrendering to the chaos of him, the line between danger and desire blurring until it no longer matters which side you’re on.

his kiss is everything you expected, wild, hungry, and almost punishing, like he’s been holding back for far too long and has finally given in. his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. the warmth of his body against yours sends a shiver up your spine.

"you’re playing with fire," he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, his hands roam over your back, gripping, claiming, as though he can’t get enough.

"maybe i like the heat," you whisper, your fingers tangling in his curls, tugging just enough to make him groan softly.

his lips trail down your jaw, over the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. "you’re insane," he mutters again, his breath warm against your throat.

"you keep saying that like you don’t love it," you reply, tilting your head to give him better access, your pulse quickening as his lips move lower.

he chuckles darkly, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping you like he’s afraid you might slip away. "maybe i do," he admits, his voice raw with something you can’t quite place, desire, frustration, maybe both.

the knife lies forgotten on the floor, the tension between you shifting from danger to something even more intoxicating. every touch, every kiss feels like a challenge, a dare to see who will break first.

"you should hate me," he says suddenly, his voice softer now, his lips hovering just above yours.

"i probably should," you agree, your eyes locked on his. "but i don’t."

[starficss]

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꒰ requests: open masterlist ꒱

[starficss]

masterlist

⭑ my favs — ୨ৎ fluff — ✶ ghostface

ethan landry

⌇ series

⌇ one shots

✶ phone call