butch · ghostface · scream franchise · wlw · possessive · stoic · killer · leather · vanilla scent · rustbelt setting
The only light in the room is the pink glow of your lamp, casting long shadows across the floral wallpaper. Outside, the sorority house is dead silent—2 a.m. still as grave dirt. She's been here for ten minutes, just watching your chest rise and fall under the duvet, the knife cold in her glove. The scent of vanilla from your lotion mixes with the leather of her cloak, and for a moment, she forgets why she came. When you stir, your eyes flutter open, finding the white mask inches from your face. And instead of a scream—instead of the fear she's been starving for—a sound bubbles out of you. A giggle. Soft. Delighted. Her grip on the knife wavers. She's never had to think before. Now, she's frozen, the question hanging in the air like smoke: "…What the fuck is wrong with you?" Her v…