Upon the Gaze (Ghostface X Reader 18+)

CHAPTER TWO - Beckoning

There he was, in all of his dismal glory, the Ghostface. My breath hitched, and I was paralyzed. Quietly he stepped closer, already only a mere couple feet away. His deep, raspy voice spoke. "what's your favorite scary movie?"
An insane mix of emotions rushed through me. I was faced to face with an intruder in my home, so of course there was fear, but also excitement. It was the Ghostface. Or at the very least, I hoped it was. I prayed it was the true Ghostface and not some copycat killer, but his voice was enough to know it was him. The recordings that had been captured through voicemails left in the homes of his victims had been replayed at viewers discretion on the news. His tone was bone chilling yet exciting.
Struggling to keep my thoughts in any one place, the only thing I could muster out of my mouth was, "...you're...him. Really him..?" He chuckled at my reaction, and said, "a fan of me?" Tilting his figure slightly, following his body language to my computer monitor where the artwork still was displayed. My cheeks heated up slightly. Never would I have thought the Ghostface killer would not only be in my home, but viewing my art of him. I wished I had at least finished it before such an encounter. Suddenly his gaze snapped to me again, and my body jolted involentarily. He took a few slow steps towards me until he was right upon me, towering over me. I could practically feel his breath on me, standing only a single foot away. My heart beat somehow managing to quicken even more, my eyes wide, and I could only assume were making contact with his, as all I could stare at was his white shreiking mask. "You're really quite a pretty thing, and it'd be a shame to kill you before you finished your lovely artwork of me." His words flowed from his hidden lips, and even yet with the words "kill" slipping from his mouth I felt the slightest hint of arousel. I'm truly insane, was a thought that entered my mind momentarily, as I breifly recogized my excitement for a masked killer being only inches away from me, speaking of my death, yet referring to me as a "pretty thing."
"Oh but the things I could still do to you." He said. He pulled a knife out of a hidden pocket, and leaned into me, making me immediately feel submissive. Without breaking eye contact with his masked face, I felt the coldness of the flat side of his blade sliding up against my naked thigh. I had forgotten, the only thing I was adorned with was an oversized sweater, just barely covering over my upper thigh, along with underwear and a lace bralette. It was truly too much, and my morbid mind thought, if I died tonight I could die happy. Truly to die to a killer who I admired every night for weeks now would be the perfect way to leave this world. My face began to redden as I felt the blade rise, but felt immediate need for it when it lifted off my thigh and was pulled away. As quickly as it was drawn back, it was rapidly pressed against my neck, just barely feathering over my skin. "..please" was my only responce to his actions. "Suddenly begging for your life?" He said in a low tone almost like a growl. Realizing he wouldn't possibly be onto the fact that I was actually into this, I tried to think of a way of expressing I wanted more. Slowly now he backed me into a wall. Unsure if he had meant it, or he was just pushing his dominence, his leg happened to shift in-between my own, and pressed slightly against where I was currently the most needy. A soft, quick moan escaped my lips accidently. He hummed in response, obviously catching onto that. He ever so slightly moved his knee in a circular motion, causing more subtle gasps to escape my mouth. Now feeling embrassed I averted my gaze, eyes half lidded. His blade shifted again, this time his hand came up, grabbing my face and forcing me to look again in his direction. His knee began it's work again, slightly faster this time. I couldn't help but reach up and hold onto his arm gripping my cheeks for support. Trying to hold back my moans, all I could simply do was breath heavily on his hand, still firmly holding my face. What a situation I found myself in. One that couldn't possibly be reality, right? There was no possibility for a killer to come and murder me in my own home, to then start making such advancements on me. It had to be some kind of manic episode, I was losing my mind, imaging it all.
Before I knew it however I was flung onto my bed. Could manifested illusions throw me? It felt all too real not to be. He loomed over me, and with his raspy voice, he demandingly said one word. "Strip." My eyes widened slightly, and I began feeling nervous. Not for the fact that there was a killer standing above me, but because the one I had admired for weeks was now asking me to remove my clothes and expose myself to him.
I nervously rose up a little off the bed. I stared slightly off from where he stood, unsure of what to do. I could barely mumble words out in protest when his voice, now slightly louder, demanded again, "I said strip! Now do it before my knife does it for you." He said the last part while gradually leaning into me, dauntingly. Shyly, and slightly shaky, my fingers found the edge of my oversized sweater and began lifting it over my head. Right as it left my body, I was immedialy pinned by Ghostface. He held my hands over my head firmly, and seemingly began looking me up and down, inspecting my body. Immediately I thought of my flaws. Not only the simple ones of never having been the most voluptuous women, but also the self inflicted scars. The ones people normally never saw as I bore them into places I knew would never be seen unless intimate with someone. My face softened, and for whatever reason I waited expectingly for rejection. That I was already too spent even for a killers taste. To my surprise, after what felt like an eternity, one of his gloved hands met the skin of my waist. It slid delicately across my body, stopping at the scar tissue and tracing it. "your work?" He questioned softly. "Was this inspired by me too?" He asked with a soft, almost disapproving laugh. "Those were inspired by the world.." I reply to his question. "The world can be cruel, can't it?" He said in a condecending tone, as he nodded his head and raised his hand to then slide down my face.
"Now as much as I'm yearning for a good slaughter, this exchange has been much too interesting to kill off so soon. I think I'll let you live...for the time being." He dragged out his words, and yet again I had a strange mix of emotions to the situation. What he was saying meant he was leaving, didn't it? But he also seemed to imply he would come back. He reached across my bed for a hankercheif I kept around to wipe off my art tablet. He folded it with one hand, still holding down my hands above my head. He seemed skillful with his hands, as he moved rather quickly with the cloth for having only on hand available. He lifted me slightly and began wrapping the hankercheif over my eyes. Even though I could no longer see him, I felt his presence directly over my face. In a harsh whisper he said, "don't move until you've heard me leave the room, or I'll be sure to punish you the next time we meet." With that he raised himself from my body, and I heard his footsteps move over to the door. They stopped just at the frame leading into the hall. "I'll be seeing you, sweetheart." Was all he said, followed by the softening footsteps leading away. When no more footsteps could be heard, I gradually lifted myself from the bed and removed the blindfold from my face. I sat on my bed for a moment in disbelief on what had just occurred. I rose off the bed, and wandered to the doorframe to peer down the hall. There was no sign of him now, as if he had vanished, just like a real ghost.