The Ghostface X Reader - Tumblr Posts
Ghostface x Reader
deceptive devices tw’s: danny johnson, strong language, panic attacks
Danny was getting bored. Day in and day out, night after night, he was tasked with picking off little worms that gave him the same reactions every time: scream, cry, plead, beg, die; cry, scream, beg, plead, die. And so the cycle would repeat.
“Come on,” He often finds himself complaining to the empty air at night, almost like a prayer to the Entity. “Give me something new. You’re a fan of chaos, aren’t you? Let’s stir some real shit up.”
Soon, his request would be acknowledged—but not without a little coaxing.
The Entity demanded to be fed, to be satiated—and when Danny may or may not have missed his quotas more than once, punishments be damned—he knew he had gotten his way when he woke in a place that was not his home. Smirking, Danny pushed his way through the fog, brushing aside the curious observation that he was not wearing his usual ghostly attire.
It was only when he came upon a campfire surrounded by familiar, undead faces that Danny realized what was being answered was not his fantasy, but actually his worst nightmare.
A girl’s head perks up at his presence before he can even hope to slink away without being noticed, having to force an unnatural smile as more eyes fell on him from the circle. Shit.
“Oh?” The same pigtailed girl raises her brows. “A new survivor?”
“Poor bastard,” An older man sighs with a shake of his head. Danny’s blood boils with indignation, fingers twitching as if they itched for a knife that he did not currently have. He could murder this entire camp within minutes—they were the unfortunate ones, not him. “What’s yer name, kid?”
Just to get a rise out of them, Danny tried to answer with a snide “Ghostface,” but found that his own body would not let him. He fought with the spell for a good few seconds before giving up with a scowl, crossing his arms much like a child throwing a tantrum. “It’s Danny.”
“Nice to meet you, Danny,” A woman with curly hair and glasses smiles warmly at him. He curls his lip in a half-assed attempt at a returned greeting. “My name is Claudette. Over there is Meg, and this is Bill…”
She takes a painfully long time to introduce the rest of the survivors around the fire, sans a few others who were currently in trials according to Claudette. When she finishes, Danny politely asks where he can sleep, claiming to have a whopping headache, and is pointed in the direction of their tent site. He thanks them with a wry smile before abruptly turning on his heel, his face dropping into a sour expression.
This was not what he meant when he said he wanted a change, at all.
“Two can play at that game,” Danny utters under his breath, making a break for it once he’s out of sight. The fog promptly swallows him, chews him up, and spits him right back out to where he started.
So he tries again. And again, and again until Danny inevitably has to accept that he is stuck un the survivor’s camp. “What’s to stop me from killing them?” He asks the fog.
There is no reply. Danny grumbles.
For starters, he didn’t have a weapon—he’d have to swipe one off of one of the meatsacks, if they even had any. Secondly, if they decided to gang up on him and fight back, he would be seriously outnumbered…
The cons outweighed the pros, and Danny unsatisfactorily had to settle for doing nothing—for now, at least.
Deciding on a tent at random—he didn’t care whose it was—Danny slipped inside, snooping around personal belongings until sleep weighed his bones down like an old friend wanting to catch up after decades of being away. And, begrudgingly, Danny allows his eyes to close for the first time in a long, long time.
———
Something cold and wet jostles Danny from his rest a few hours later, causing him to stir with a snort. He opens his eyes to a black nose sniffing at him, followed by a brown-eyed gaze and floppy ears that perked curiously in his direction. A dog?
Danny stretches a hand out to the creature, earning a flinch and it backing up a few inches. He tries to coax it. “Shh, there, there…” It growls lowly before barking at him once. Danny cringes. “Hush, you mangy mutt..”
It barks again, tail wagging. Ugh.
A voice calls out a name—the dog’s, he supposes—which causes the canine to turn. Moments later, a head pokes through the flaps of the tent and peers down at Danny. “Oh, you’re awake.”
“Against my will…” Danny bites out bitterly. You don’t laugh.
“Well, good. Then you can tell me what the hell you’re doing in my tent.”
“Just having a little shuteye,” Danny groans as he sits up, rubbing at his face. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s slept that long—it was almost as if he was cursed to remain active at all times in this place as a killer while the human survivors were afforded all the luxury of sleeping after trials. It irks him. “And I didn’t know this was your tent. How am I supposed to know whose is whose?”
You cross your arms, eyes narrowing harshly. “If you had bothered to listen to anything Claudette told you, you would have found your tent on the other side of camp.”
“Geez, aren’t you a ray of sunshine…” Danny stands after popping his back, finally taking in your appearance. You must have been in a trial during his arrival, because he doesn’t recognize you—and he would. Fiery eyes, a cross attitude… you were just his type. Danny chuckles to himself.
“Something funny?” You raise a brow. Danny’s back to playing pretend, waving his hands dismissively.
“Sorry, it’s nothing.” He then juts his chin at the dog that woke him up, the animal now sitting on its haunches and looking up at you with its tongue lolling out. “Who’s the pooch?”
Your eyes flitter to it, then back to Danny, your feet shuffling in a way that lets him know you’re uncomfortable with the idea of giving the information away. “This is Daisy,” You introduce after a minute. “She’s my dog.”
“You don’t say,” Danny hums as he bends down to pet her. Daisy’s ears pin back before his hand touches her head, and she lets out a warning growl that has him backing off quickly. “Charming, isn’t she?” Your eyes rake him up and down.
“She doesn’t trust strangers,” You say lowly. “Especially creepy ones. And I find that she’s usually on the right track.” Danny feigns being hurt.
“You don’t even know me, Sunshine,” He juts his lip in a pout.
“That’s exactly why I don’t trust you,” You spit vehemently, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You may have the others fooled, but I know what you are.” Danny stills at that. Could you actually know?
“Oh?” He breathes, losing his playfulness. “And what would that be?” You shudder.
“I—I don’t know,” You veer, eyes flashing with momentary uncertainty. Then you’re back to a steely expression. “But what I do know is that something about you is off, and I will be watching you very closely.” Danny smirks, hackles lowering. So you didn’t know.
He leans in close, relishing in the way you recoil. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” He purrs, tone light. You push him away in disgust, stepping back to give him space to exit.
“Get out.”
He happily obliges.
———
It’s a few days before Danny’s first trial as a survivor, giving him enough time to get a feel for his new teammates. Claudette, Kate, and Mikaela are all bleeding hearts who are quick to accept him without wasting a breath. Dwight and Meg are a bit more on the fence about him, but seem more willing to give him a chance than others. Then there’s you, Jake, and Bill, who are skeptical of his easygoing nature, casting looks in his direction anytime he passed by. Danny didn’t care—he welcomed the attention. Finally, there was Ace, who didn’t seem to care much about anything. He was just happy to have another player.
“Trust me, Danny-o,” Ace says while throwing an arm around his shoulders. It takes everything in Danny not to twist and break the appendage. “I’m like a good luck charm. Stick by me, and we’re sure to win.”
“Oh, sure,” Meg snorts, rolling her eyes from where she sits on a log across from them. “Like you bring us all to victory.”
“I help!” Ace counters, sitting up. “I’m at least better than slick over there who just creeps around with her dog.” You snort.
“And whose dog was it that saved you from nearly having your legs chopped off?”
Ace sputters, unable to come up with a retort. Danny’s gaze drops to Daisy.
“Does she come into trials with us?”
“She does,” You utter without looking up, focused on the piece of wood you’re sharpening. But Danny’s itching to get your eyes on him.
“Where did you find her?” He asks, strategically pinning you with a question. You falter, glancing down at Daisy who is asleep by your feet. Finding your resolve, you go back to gliding the stone against the stick in your hands, beating Danny at his own game.
“I didn’t. Like anything else in the fog—she came to me.”
“That reminds me of how I found my guitar!” Kate chirps, bringing the group’s attention on her. She continues her story about how when she was at her lowest point of despair, she was given her instrument, and blah blah blah blah. Danny wasn’t listening—he was solely honed in on you. Were you looking for Daisy when you found her? If so, how was it that you were given something that you cared about whereas he ended up stranded amongst a group of morons? It made no sense—and, honestly, it was a bit unfair. Frowning, Danny fails to realize you’ve met his stare. You cock a brow suspiciously.
“Something bothering you?”
“No,” Danny mutters, shrugging off Ace’s arm that was still on him and standing to his feet. “I’m going to bed,” He announces before stalking off without waiting for acknowledgement. He feels your eyes piercing his back as he leaves, no longer thrilled that he is your focal point in that moment.
On his way to his tent, Danny feels a somewhat-familiar breeze that whisks him away into a trial, the Entity promptly placing him in the streets of Haddonfield that Danny recognizes instantly. He rolls his eyes, the irritation he felt from earlier starting to take the form of a headache. He sees now why survivors needed sleep so much—they were so damn fragile.
“Let’s get this over with,” Danny sighs to himself, immediately setting out to find his old friend Myers.
He passes by generators, not bothering to fix them as Danny instead sweeps the area for any sign of Michael. He tries houses, trodden gardens, and the outskirts of the woods lining the neighborhood without finding so much as a bloody footprint. Growing increasingly frustrated, Danny follows his tracks back to where he saw one of the survivors—Meg, he thinks—slinking around in one of the homes.
If he couldn’t find Myers, he would just have to use bait.
Upon his silent arrival, Meg jerks abruptly once catching sight of him, causing the generator she’s working on to implode noisily. “Jesus!” She gasps, hand over her racing heart. Danny tries to hide a cocky smirk. “What are you doing just standing there?” Meg hisses, nervously scanning behind him. “The killer could see you!”
“Oh, I’m not too worried,” Danny says nonchalantly, leaning his weight against the wall. Meg narrows her eyes, mouth opening to bark something else at him when she tenses up. Strangely enough, Danny stiffens at the same time as her, an unfamiliar and unwelcoming sense of dread taking control of his senses. Meg inhales sharply, and Danny doesn’t have to turn around to know what she sees.
“Run!” She cries, scrambling to her feet as she high-tails it out of the room. Danny merely watches her go, a humorous chuckle escaping his lips.
“Never gets old, am I right?” He angles himself to face Michael, who just seems to stare at him. Danny forces down the terror that seems to rise in his throat, willing his heart to stop its incessant pounding. “Alright, now I know what you must be thinking. Why is he out of costume? Why is he talking to survivors? Well, I’m just as confused as you, bub.” Danny takes a step forward. “Now, will you please help me out of here so I can get back to what I do best?”
Michael, as per usual, is silent. But that isn’t what concerns Danny, no—it’s his body language.
Michael is poised as if he’s confused—which, admittedly, Danny would be at a loss too if he were in Myers’ position—and appears as though he doesn’t recognize him. His knife is half-raised, as if conflicted. He looks like he’s either ready to run away from or at Danny. Danny takes another step forward.
“Come on, bub. It’s me—don’t you recognize me?”
A pause, an uncertain shift, and then Michael’s knife is suddenly plunged into Danny’s shoulder.
Pain lights his every nerve on fire and Danny hollers out of shock and agony, staggering backwards as Michael pulls his knife back with a squelching sound. Blood spills onto his clothes, the floor, and down Michael’s arm, and Danny doesn’t find enjoyment in knowing that it’s his.
“Myers—“ He grunts, hand pressing into his wound. “What the—ngh—fuck? It’s me!”
But he isn’t listening. Michael moves forward threateningly, and Danny is appalled at how he flinches back. His heart is racing, his shoulder is throbbing, and he can’t stop hyperventilating. Panic sets in, blowing his pupils wide. Michael was going to kill him.
A flash of movement clouds Danny’s vision followed by a bright light that sends Michael reeling. Danny feels hands on him, helping him up, and before he knows it he’s being escorted out by someone.
They run, turning corners and vaulting platforms, until Danny asks to stop, his lungs begging for air. The hands let him go, allowing Danny to slide to the grass a bleeding mess, unable to catch his breath. He can’t focus on anything—his vision is all a blur. Everything starts to go dark when suddenly a weight is on his lap, grounding him momentarily. Finding the ability to raise his arm, Danny reaches out to first feel something soft, then a collar, then floppy ears.
“Just breathe,” A voice—your voice—finally registers in his ears, providing an overwhelming sense of calm that washes over him. “You’re okay.”
Danny wordlessly pets who he now realizes is Daisy, allowing her steady breathing to take charge in leading his own uneven breaths. He doesn’t even register that you’ve begun to stitch up his injury until he jumps at a particularly sharp prick.
“Sorry,” You mumble, not making eye contact. “Almost done.” You’re more careful this time, pulling the string taught before clipping it with your teeth. You move his clothes back into place, sitting yourself next to him after closing up your med kit and placing it to the side. You’re quiet, which Danny is grateful for while he searches to find his voice.
“Thanks, Sunshine,” He settles on, forcing a wobbly grin that you don’t return. He drops the act as he hisses out in pain.
“Why didn’t you run?” You ask bluntly. “You know they want to kill us, right?”
“Ngh… guess not,” Danny grimaces. “I thought having a little heart to heart would change his mind.” Your lips barely quirk up. Danny still counts it as finally being able to crack a smile out of you.
You sigh, standing to your feet after a moment. You offer a hand to help him up, Danny using his good arm to hoist himself to his feet. Daisy sits back, panting, carefree.
“Guess you’re not as threatening as I thought you were,” You murmur, more to yourself than to him. Danny still pretends to take offense.
“Not threatening?” He scoffs, leaning his head back. “Dollface, I could slice you into pieces with a toothpick if I wanted to.”
There’s a truth to his words that you don’t quite pick up on. Instead, you roll your eyes, motioning for him and Daisy to follow. “Yeah, yeah,” You dismiss him, throwing Danny for a loop when you take his hand in yours. “We can test that theory after we escape this killer, yeah?” You fix him with a look that is much softer than it ever has been, making Danny simultaneously freeze and melt at the same time. He can’t stop the smile that stretches across his face.
“Looking forward to it,” He banters. You squeeze his hand in retaliation.
Smile For Me
Warnings: Noncon, Somnophila
Word Count: 2.8K
A/N: I’ve really fallen for Ghostface and that seems unfair (Part 2 to Picture Perfect)
You’re easy prey. Nothing more than a simple deer, a lovely little rabbit that he gets to stalk and hunt. There’s something odd about you, something so sweet and incredibly cute that he wants to corrupt. You change your locks, you add a sensor light that must have made a pretty dent in your wallet. He can see how you move behind the blinds, your silhouette, the way you walk and how you hold something in your hands, and he runs the first few times, but after the third time, he decides to push his luck, linger close, hidden behind a shed in your backyard and minutes pass until he realizes that there are no sirens. You don’t call for help, your alarms are nothing more than for decoration, to ward off a lesser person. You trust that whatever was lurking outside, has fled. And he falls for you naivety more. He falls deeper in love with you, covering his mouth with a gloved hand, the faint bitter taste of copper still lingering as he bites down to avoid his laughter ringing throughout your backyard.
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