#his dark materials posters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

incognit0slut · 5 months

Text

DARK DESIRES

Last part of kinktober | main masterlist

ghostface!spencer x fem!reader; dubcon, knife play, sensory deprivation, dacryphilia, forced orgasm, rough sex

A twisted encounter with the masked killer roaming in your neighborhood had you questioning your morals because as it turned out, you were more attracted to him than you let on.

words: 6335

a/n: this fic might not be everyone's cup of tea. IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU, DO NOT ENGAGE. Anyway, thank you for the amount of love everyone has sent me through this short series. I appreciate it❤️

(find my ghostface reid edit here and here)

THE FIRST ENCOUNTER you had with the masked killer was at home. You were in your living room, absentmindedly flipping through the channels on the television until the news captured your attention. You watched with a mix of fascination and horror as the unfolding report detailed a series of gruesome murders, each committed by a mysterious figure concealed behind a chilling mask.

"The armed suspect remains at large as law enforcement intensifies efforts for apprehension," the newscaster's voice declared. "Victims have sustained multiple stab wounds, with survivors recounting a chilling detail of a mysterious call from an unknown number before each attack. Citizens are urgently requested to report any suspicious phone activity."

As you sat there engrossed, a sense of dread began to coil around you. The details of the gruesome murders had been haunting enough, but a chilling realization gripped you as the camera panned across the crime scenes. Your eyes widened as the news footage revealed a recognizable building. That was the local library a few blocks away from your house.

A shiver went down your spine, and a cold unease settled in the pit of your stomach, as you realized that one of the victims was the young teenage boy who volunteered at the town's library every weekend. It then dawned on you with chilling clarity—a serial killer was lurking in your neighborhood.

The second time you saw the masked killer, his face was plastered around town. Ghostface. That was what they called him. The once-anonymous menace had transformed into a chilling icon that echoed through hushed conversations and whispered warnings. His mask, a pale and expressionless countenance with hollow eyes, exuded an unsettling aura of anonymity. It was what you saw in every corner; materializing on posters, shop windows, and even billboards.

Beware of Ghostface!

It was ironic. For someone who was murdering people with his bare hands, your community was giving him too much attention. It wasn't until you saw a group of well-dressed people, who clearly weren't from around here, that you realized how serious this situation was.

When the FBI arrived, you knew it was no longer a local matter, but a national concern. There was reassurance in their presence, in the sense that the full force of specialized agents was now focused on apprehending the killer that haunted the streets. But despite their formidable presence, against all expectations, the masked killer continued to pursue more victims.

You couldn't help but wonder every time someone you knew was reported dead—were these people even doing their job right? What were they doing here when they couldn't arrest one person when they came in a full pack?

You never really noticed these agents, although you did sometimes see them lurking around shops and houses to ask questions. You didn't really give them much attention, until that one night when you walked back from work and saw a figure leaning casually against a sleek, black SUV adorned with government markings.

He was standing alone, arms crossed and eyes focused on you as you slowly stepped closer because the only way to your house was to pass this street. He was clad in the quintessential FBI vest over his dress shirt and tie, his sleeves rolled up along his forearms. His height commanded attention, casting a subtle shadow that seemed to stretch into the surrounding darkness.

A cascade of curly, unruly locks framed his face, falling in a chaotic dance that obscured much of his features. But even in the dark, you could tell he was handsome, and the messiness of his hair added a touch of his disheveled charm. Yet, it was his eyes that held you captive. Stark and penetrating. Instead of finding comfort in the presence of an authority, you felt an unsettling chill crawl down your spine as his stare lingered on you.

"You shouldn't walk alone at night with a killer on the loose," he stated abruptly, his voice cutting through the silence.

Caught off guard, you stammered in response, "I, uh, my house is right around the corner."

His eyes, still fixed on you, held an inscrutable intensity. You shuddered. Without thinking much, and fueled by a sudden surge of unease, you briskly left his side.

People say the third time's a charm, that the idea after two unsuccessful attempts or failures, the third attempt is more likely to be successful or fortunate. However, in your case, you didn't know what to make of it when you encountered the masked killer for the third time.

It started with a call.

At first, you didn't bother the unknown number flashing on your phone, especially when a killer was roaming around town with its known trademark of calling his victims before his attack. So you ignored it and continued to prepare your dinner. But then it rang again. Once. Twice. Three times. The fourth time it constantly rang, you realized, that whoever was on the other line wasn't going to stop until you answered.

"Hello?" you nervously greeted.

"Hello there. Took you long enough," the voice on the other line replied. It was soft, distinctly masculine, quite disoriented, yet it carried a mysterious familiarity that you couldn't put your finger on.

"Who is this?" you pressed.

"A person."

You scoffed, a mixture of frustration and disbelief coloring your response. "Charming." With an eye roll, you dismissed the call, attributing it to nothing more than a prank. "Goodbye."

"Wait—no! Don't hang up!" The urgency in the voice pleaded, catching your attention before you could close the connection.

Frowning, you hesitated, the nagging sense that you had heard this voice somewhere before lingering in your mind. "No, really, who is this?"

The voice, now veiled in a playful tone, responded with, "A secret admirer."

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across your face. "I doubt it," you said, leaning over the kitchen counter. "No one has ever had a crush on me."

"Well, I do."

"Tell me who you are then," you challenged.

"But it won't be a secret anymore."

You paused for a moment, the wheels of curiosity turning in your mind. "You really know me?"

"Of course, I do."

"Do I know you then?" you asked.

"Maybe," he answered, a playful ambiguity threading his response. "So, you got a boyfriend?"

"Why?" You laughed, the unexpected question breaking the tension. "You wanna ask me out on a date?"

"Maybe," he responded again, maintaining a hint of mystery. "So do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"That's a pity," he sighed, his tone taking on a flirtatious note. "You look too good in that shirt without a man appreciating it."

Your heart quickened at his words. Was he... you looked around your house, your eyes traveling across the many windows adorned in your personal space. A mixture of shock and discomfort settled in as you considered the possibility of being observed.

"W- What did you say?"

"You look too good in that white shirt," he repeated. "Doesn't leave much to the imagination."

You looked down at yourself. The shirt he mentioned was actually a tanktop you decided to wear for bed, but you weren't wearing anything else under it, so true to his words, this piece of clothing didn't leave much to the imagination. The hemline hung low on your chest, leaving a perfect view of your cleavage. The cold temperature of the room managed to make your body react, which was why your nipples were pressing hard against the material.

"Hello? Are you still here?" Sensing your silence, the voice on the other line held a sudden edge of urgency. "Wait—don't you hang up on me—"

You quickly ended the call. Feeling a sudden need for privacy, you hastily closed the curtains, shutting out the view from the windows as you clutched your phone in your hand. Your heart raced, and a wave of dread engulfed you. The unsettling possibility that someone might be targeting you, and not just anyone, but the masked killer, cast a chilling shadow over your thoughts.

The phone rang again. You hesitated, a part of you urging against answering, but somehow, almost involuntarily, you found yourself pressing the phone against your ear. The adrenaline of fear seemed to override your rational instincts, forcing you to engage with the source of the unease, even against your better judgment.

"I told you not to hang up on me," the man greeted you, but his voice lacked the soft, friendly tone it had before. Instead, it had morphed into something more sinister, a deep resonance that reverberated through the air.

"Wh-who is this?" you asked, your voice quivering with a blend of fear and frustration. "What do you want?"

"To volunteer. Let me appreciate how good you look tonight."

You were desperate now. The urgency in his voice propelled you into action. Your feet guided you to the front door, and you locked it securely before quickly running up the stairs. Panic seized you as you checked and secured all the windows, the sense of vulnerability amplifying with each lock turned.

A sudden sound of laughter filled your ear.

"What you're doing is useless," he taunted, the malicious glee in his voice sending shivers down your spine. Then, with a sinister tone that cut through the air, his next words had you stopping in your tracks.

"I'm already inside."

The air in the house thickened with dread as his words hung ominously. Panic set in, and the once-familiar surroundings now felt like a trap closing in around you. Every creak of the house, every flicker of shadow, became a sign of impending danger.

He was the one to end the call, and you looked down at your front door from the top of your stairs. You calculated how long it would take you to escape your own house as you slowly descended down. But then, the closet door by the front, the small room where you kept your coats and unused items, suddenly opened.

The creak of the door echoed through the silence, and your eyes fixated on the widening gap. Your escape route seemed to diminish and fear paralyzed you. The once-familiar confines of your home now held an intruder, and as you stared at the ominous opening, a figure emerged from the shadows.

Your eyes widened, because right in the flesh was none other than Ghostface, stepping out of your closet with a knife in his hand. The chilling reality gripped you, and time seemed to slow as the masked intruder stood before your eyes. The pale, ghostly visage stared back at you, obscured by the haunting mask that concealed any trace of humanity.

You moved on instinct. You turned on your heels and ran back up the stairs, even when you were aware there was no escape unless you jumped out of your window. But it was a better plan than running right into the arms of a killer, so you picked up your pace, sprinting as fast as you could down the hallway.

But he was fast, unnaturally so, and suddenly you felt a vice-like grip around your waist. His hand urged you with brutal force before slamming your back against the wall. The impact reverberated through your body, and a gasp caught in your throat as the cold surface of the wall pressed against you.

His presence loomed, the masked figure inches from your face. The hollow eyes of Ghostface bore into yours through the chilling mask, and the glint of the knife in his hand reflected the cruel intent that hung in the air.

Panic engulfed you as his other gloved hand circled around your throat. "Pl-Please.." you chocked, struggling against the force he pressed on your neck. "...don't—don’t kill me."

The air felt constricted, and the desperate plea escaped your lips in a struggled gasp. The gloved hand tightened its grip, the leather cool against your skin, as Ghostface's masked visage remained impassive.

"Kill you?" he asked, an eerie edge in his voice. "That's the last thing I want to do right now."

You desperately placed a hand on his wrist as you let your phone hit the ground.

"Don't move," he warned. But you kept on thrashing around, the primal instinct for survival overriding reason, and he tightened his grip on you. "If you keep struggling, I might have to gut you out like a damn fish."

That made you stop. Satisfied you were listening, he finally let go of your throat. The release brought a gasp of air, and you stumbled back, leaning against the wall.

"I'm not here to kill you," Ghostface declared, the chilling mask betraying no emotion. "But I do have something else in mind."

He responded by caressing your face and pinning you against the wall. The cold, gloved hand traced a chilling path across your skin, and you felt the sharp contrast between the mask and the vulnerability of your flesh. He tilted his head as he saw the fear in your eyes, tears welling at the corners.

"Aw, come on, don't look so scared," he murmured, a perverse tenderness in his voice that clashed with the situation. His sharp blade went to your throat, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine. He forced you to stare into the hollowness of the mask.

"Let me have my fun."

You felt the blade on your skin as he dragged the weapon along your body. He smiled when he noticed you tensing, trying to avoid the sharpness of the blade from grazing your skin. Through tear-filled eyes, you looked up, struggling to catch your breath. Fear still consumed you, a chilling grip on your senses, but alongside it, an unexpected emotion stirred. Curiosity.

As you gazed at the masked killer looming over you, a strange sense of intrigue took place. It was a baffling response, the surreal proximity to the infamous Ghostface left you grappling with a mix of terror and fascination. The sheer scale of his presence seemed to stretch into the shadows, and you couldn't help but wonder—was he actually this tall?

A sudden movement caught your attention as he took a step. He moved underneath the black cloak he wore, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he slipped a leg between yours. The confined space of the hallway seemed to shrink further as his presence pressed in on you.

And then there was silence. The air hung heavy with anticipation, and you sensed a deliberate slowness in his actions. It was as if he offered you a chance to resist, to push him away. But you didn't move. Instead, you held your breath, the rhythmic pulse of your heart echoing in the quiet.

"You've stopped struggling," he hummed to himself, trailing the knife over your shoulder. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

There wasn't time for you to reply as he hooked the blade under your top and ran it along the fabric, watching it snap under the sharp surface. The cool air hit your skin as you were suddenly exposed to him. Without warning, his other hand moved over your breasts, squeezing them roughly, earning a gasp from you. Your heart pounded with something akin to fear, or perhaps, it oddly felt like… excitement?

"Of course, you are," he muttered, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You could feel the cool touch of his gloved hand over your skin as he brushed his thumb over your sensitive bud. "Knew you were a fucking slut."

What was happening? It was wrong, morally twisted, yet you found a strange sense of anticipation as he continued to touch you. Your body was shaking, not just from fear, but from something else. While your rational side recoiled at what was happening, your body seemed to betray a darker truth.

You hated yourself. You loathed how easily you were giving in. You kept on reciting how wrong this was in your head, but when you felt the blade cut through the fabric of your shorts with ease, you didn't mind as much. Then your breath hitched when he quickly ripped your panties with his knife, and somehow you were now naked with his leg placed between your thighs.

"Would you look at that?" He taunted, his leathered hand moving over your curves. "You're dripping."

You let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up your thigh, stopping just before his fingers brushed over your heat. The touch was so faint it shouldn't have even had that much of an effect on you, but it did. It fucking did.

This was so unlike you, you weren't the kind of person to let someone you barely knew touch you. You even disliked the idea of a one-night stand. Yet here you were, legs wide open as you let a murderer touch you, and the messed up thing was, you wanted more.

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing your clit teasingly as if to test your reaction. You bit your bottom lip, stopping yourself from moaning aloud, your eyes fluttering closed as he played with your clit skillfully.

He was far too good at this, you found yourself thinking. Your body jerked as he increased his pace and you knew he had a goal in mind—to make you fall apart. The fast pace of his fingers had your brows furrowing as you chewed your bottom lip, desperate to keep quiet despite the way your hips bucked and rolled against his hand. He let out a chilling laughter.

"Stop acting like you don't want this," he said, increasing his pressure on your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, and you focused on that touch alone, the leather sliding over your wet skin. "Let me hear your pathetic voice."

You shook your head furiously.

"No?" He mocked. "You wanna bet how fast I can make you scream?"

His fingers moved from your clit, dragging down your slit and collecting your juices, briefly stroking you, earning a muffled cry out of you. Your chest began to heave, your hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over you casually. He laughed again.

"I'm going to make you scream so loud your neighbors will know how much of a slut you are."

And then he pressed the edge of the blade on your throat at the same time he plunged two fingers inside you. Your eyes rolled back as your mouth fell open and a loud squeal left your lips, the sound distorted by the vibrations surging through your body. He hummed in satisfaction at how fast it was to earn that moan from your lips, and surprisingly, he loved the sound you made.

It didn't take long for him to force more sounds out of your pretty mouth. You felt the coolness of the wall behind your back, the pads of your fingers brushing over the concrete in a pathetic attempt to get a hold of something, anything that could keep you steady while his fingers kept pumping in and out of your throbbing cunt with a wet, squelching sound.

Adrenaline surged through your veins, saturating every cell of your trembling body. The electrifying rush heightened your senses, amplifying the surreal nature of the pleasure. You wriggled your hips under the pressure of his body that was keeping you pinned against the wall, feeling so fucking embarrassed by the wetness dripping out of you.

"Fucking filthy, letting a murderer touch you." He then dragged his fingers out of you and started to rub your clit in tight, rapid circles. You practically cried out and quickly bit your lower lip to subside another embarrassing moan. "You know how many people I've killed with this hand? The same hand touching your sweet little pussy?"

Your thighs tightened around his hand, trying desperately to push him away. He responded by sinking three of his fingers inside you and groaned at the way you were clenching around him. "Look at you taking my fingers so well."

The leather slightly burned your skin, and somehow, it only heightened your pleasure. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit hard as he continued to curl his fingers. You gasped as your eyes fluttered open, looking up at him while his fingers pushed deeper into you, touching a spot you had never been aware of. The sensation brought an unusual feeling to your senses. You looked at him in confusion, your eyes widening.

"Pl- Please, stop," you begged out of fear of the unknown. The tickling in your abdomen was becoming almost unbearable, and you clasped your thighs together and involuntarily bent your knees a little in an attempt to make his fingers slip out of your wet cunt.

With a feral growl, he suddenly threw the knife on the floor before wrapping his hand around your throat, pinning your head against the wall.

"Take it," he hissed and tightened his grip, making you jolt forward. You helplessly part your legs and whimpered as his palm brushed over your clit with every thrust, his hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he held you in place. "Fucking take it."

The sensation was overwhelming to the point tears began to trickle down your face, and you tried to desperately blink them away as they hindered your vision.

"Oh, you're crying now?" He cooed, still rocking his fingers violently inside you. "Pathetic."

Before you knew it, your hips were bucking, distraught cries escaping you. Your body shuddered as if it were under his control, forcing out your orgasm like it was effortless as his fingers curled inside you, continuing to stimulate you even after you begged him to stop.

It wasn't long before he was bringing you back up again. His pace turned into a more intense speed that, to your surprise, the familiar contracting of your pulsing walls was followed by the splurge of weird liquid coming out of you. Your mouth fell open as you writhed against him, your sensitive cunt almost numb to the sensation as he pressed you for more.

You were so numb you could no longer feel his fingers buried deep inside your convulsing walls, squeezing around his digits as you shook in the tremors of your release. When you looked at him in shock, cheeks burning crimson and chest rising and falling heavily, a pretentious laugh left him. With a vulgar squelching sound, he slipped his fingers out of your pussy.

"Squirting like a pathetic slut,” he spat, his other hand still wrapped around your neck. "Told you I'd make you scream."

Your body turned pliant as you gave in and sank against the wall. You watched him lean down through your half-lidded eyes as you tried to ground yourself, his movements deliberate and swift, grabbing your wrecked shirt from the floor. You watched in confusion as he pressed the flimsy material together before firmly shoving it over your eyes.

Panic surged through you as the sudden darkness enveloped our vision. Although you couldn't see him, you heard him very well. His muffled breathing behind the mask, the soft rustle of fabric as he adjusted the material at the back of your head. Your other senses were heightened when you were robbed of your vision that you could even smell him.

The sharp scent of sweat and a faint hint of earthiness clung to him, as though remnants of the ground followed his presence. Yet, amidst the rawness, there was a surprising note of sweetness, as if a subtle cologne lingered beneath the surface.

God, he was so close. His chest was now pressed against yours, and then suddenly, almost forcefully, you felt warm hands grip your jaw. Your mouth fell open.

He took off his gloves.

Goosebumps rose on your skin when a sudden breeze of air brushed across your face and you gasped. You could barely think clearly, and you could barely even brace yourself when harsh lips captured your mouth desperately. You couldn't believe what was happening, because holy fuck—you were kissing Ghostface.

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way he kissed you. A deep shuddering groan rippled through him as he continued to assault your lips. You were too stunned at the way he pushed his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you in a way that had your body trembling at the sheer force of intensity traveling through your veins.

And when you finally felt his bare fingers grazing along your drenched core, going up and down your swollen folds, he captured the moan falling through your lips with a groan.

"So fucking filthy," he whispered against your lips as he continued to tease you. His voice, once muffled, was now very clear. The tones were distinct, carrying an inexplicable familiarity that tugged at the edges of your memory. But before you could even try to recall where you had heard it before, he surprised you by increasing the speed of his fingers.

"You want more of this, don't you?"

You shook your head, but your body was saying otherwise. Your hand gripped his arm as he started to play with your clit again, and your knees buckled pathetically. His other hand fell on your waist to steady you while he pressed a kiss on the hollow point of your throat, traveling further up the skin till his teeth nibbled on your ear lobe.

He then grabbed onto one of your legs and hiked it around his waist as he pushed his hips into you. You could feel the outline of his hard cock behind the cloak he was wearing and you let out a whimper when he started rolling his hips.

"Is this what you want?" He rasped out at the shell of your ear. You felt strong hands grip your wrists before he pushed them above your head, pining you against the wall. "You want me to fill you up with my cock?"

You shook your head again, attempting to anchor yourself. The struggle was evident in the tension of your muscles, each fiber resisting the pull toward surrender. You should push him. You should cry for help. Yet here you were questioning your sanity as you slowly, almost desperately, grind your hips along with his, yearning for more friction.

"Dirty, dirty slut," he muttered against your lips before kissing you once again, swallowing your whimpers as his hips snapped into you. "I bet you feel so tight around me."

Desire roared fire in your veins, and you whined. He leaned over and captured one of your nipples in his wet, warm mouth, and you moaned again before he let out a satisfied hum. You could practically feel the smirk curling on his lips as he taunted, "You react so well. I might have to keep you."

Goosebumps rose along your skin. Then in a swift and forceful motion, he yanked you, abruptly pushing you to the ground. The impact was sudden and jarring, leaving you landing on your knees.

As you tried to make sense of what was happening, a hand pushed against your back, and you toppled forward, landing on the ground face-first, finding yourself on your hands and knees. A sharp smack hit your bare ass from behind and you jolted in surprise.

"Spread them wide for me," He murmured, gaze skipping over your nakedness. He marveled at the sight before him, the way you shamelessly arched your back at his command. Yet when he noticed you hesitating, he dropped his voice in a lower, sinister tone.

"Don't make me use my knife."

You quickly did as you were told, your hands traveling behind you, spreading your sticky thighs in a languorous stretch, and you shuddered under the weight of his eyes. You whined at the feeling of the cold air hitting your exposed skin and a trickle of your arousal ran down your thigh, much to your utter embarrassment. "Look how pretty you are."

Heat blossomed in your chest. Then the sound of a belt being undone had you whimpering, and you moved instinctively, arching your back even further. One of his hands landed on your ass again with a sharp smack before he gripped a firm handful of it. You could hear more rustling and a slight soft thud behind you. The lack of vision made you overly sensitive and you found yourself waiting with bated breath for his every move.

With a sharp tug, he pulled you back by your hips before one of his hands landed on the back of your neck. You felt him push down hard and you obliged, lowering your face and upper body to the floor as his other hand remained holding your hips up in the air. And then you felt him—pulsing warm right at your entrance.

A pitiful groan escaped your lips as the tip of his cock swiped back and forth along your folds. He moaned out a deep, pleasure-filled noise that reverberated around the small space at the feel of your arousal coating him. And then suddenly, without warning, he abruptly plunged inside of you. He thrust straight into that spot deep inside that stung so good a sharp cry slipped out of you. It was painful, his sheer force of girth stretching you apart, though that cry quickly became a low moan of pleasure.

The man behind you showed no mercy, thrusting his hips into you with force and purpose, so hard you felt your body inching across the hardwood floor with each stroke. Your mouth fell open when one of his hands released your neck before you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, just at the base of your skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise of pleasure tore out of you and he repeated the gesture, the tug on your hair even rougher.

He held himself there as he used the grip on your hair to haul you backward to him. Your back was arched, his cock still buried deep inside of you as you fell back into his chest. For a few moments, it was almost uncomfortable, but then, surprisingly, you felt even more aroused than you already were.

You pushed your ass even higher, arching your body in search of more of that delicious sensation. It felt like electricity shocked your entire body, triggering intense waves of pleasure that repeatedly spread wildly from your core as you focused on the pleasure building between your legs, the burning sensation filling you to the brim.

It was maddening. Frustrating, even. Because you didn't even care anymore, you didn't even care if you exposed for him, you didn't even care if your knees ached from the hard friction of the floor because any shreds of sanity and pride had long since been destroyed. You wanted more. You needed more.

It was so twisted. You longed to be broken by him. You longed to be ruined by him.

You had never imagined being in this position, kneeling on the floor with a murderer thrusting himself into you, yet here you were, whimpering at the sensation of doing the forbidden. Your mind turned delirious he released the hold on your hair, his hand snaking around your front to grip your throat.

You continued to meet his savage thrusts with your hips, slamming into you as your wail turned into a ragged scream. The sensation, though pleasurable, became too intense to handle. You attempted to move away from him, stealing his breath as your inner walls clenched around his cock. His firm hand gripped your hips tighter, preventing you from pulling away as he held you in position, thrusting his cock into your throbbing pussy.

A helpless sound trickled from your throat as your body jerked, and he mercilessly fucked you through it. Everything was so intense your mind was struggling to comprehend what was happening as he pounded into you roughly. You tried to breathe through the incredible pleasure surging through your body but you were too overwhelmed. "T-Too much."

"T-Too much," he mocked. A sinister laugh sliced through the darkness, sending shivers down your spine. "Fucking. Take. It."

His words were punctuated with every snap of his hips. The insistent thrust made you thrash your head as your body convulsed, dragging it out and heightening it to a point where you could only wail. Your breath came in harsh pants; his breathing was as rough as he urged you on, and you gave yourself over to the wildfire consuming your body. You whimpered, head rolling back onto his shoulder.

"That's it, taking me so perfectly," his voice, now a sinister whisper, slithered into your ears. "Knew you were special the moment I saw you."

A gasp escaped you, the weight of his words settling with an unsettling realization. Amidst the darkness, you felt the contours of his laughter.

"Don't act so surprised. I'm your secret admirer, remember?" You felt his hand leave your hips before it trailed toward your front. You knew what he was about to do and you clenched him involuntarily, already anticipating what was to come.

"Fuck," He hissed. "You feel so tight around me. I really do have to keep you now."

The coil inside you was dangerously close to snapping and he growled as your cunt clenched around his cock.

"Oh, you liked that. You like the idea of me using you? Fuck you whenever I want?" He questioned, his fingers moving to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. You bit down on your lower lip, feeling the coil in your abdomen tightening at his sharp movements, your hands moving to his wrist as you tried to ground yourself.

You gasped when you felt him tightening the grip on your throat, the skin tingling as he repeated the motion. "Filthy little thing, aren't you?"

"I-I—" You spluttered, feeling your legs going numb. You squealed when you felt him pick up his pace on your clit, rubbing messy circles against it as your back slumped against him, mouth parting, your tongue slipping out between your lips.

It was too much. You felt like you were about to explode. Your mind went blank. Your body felt numb. There was nothing else you could do but to give into the force of pleasure consuming you as he fucked you roughly, his hips hitting you in harsh motions.

"You gonna cum now?" He grunted, pressing his mouth at the shell of your ear. You helplessly nodded, not able to make out any coherent words anymore. He groaned between thrusts, keeping a firm grip on your ass to keep you from squirming. "Go on then, cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are."

As if on command, your body spasmed involuntarily. It started with a prickling of your skin creeping up your body, over your breasts and face, inner walls tightening around his cock, and you came hard. You squirmed uncontrollably as all that pent-up pleasure welled up in your core. Your heart was pounding erratically against your heaving chest you could even hear the pounding in your ears.

Your mind was in a drunken haze as the pleasure continued to flow through your veins, his fingertips languidly brushed against your clit. But despite the desperate spasms of your pussy, he continued to penetrate your body. Every thrust hit more intensely than the last, wetness flooded from you as reality slipped away, and all you could do was burn, vocally urging him on as he moaned darkly behind you.

You were very far from sanity from everything consuming your body. You felt him everywhere. His grinding cock, the press of his fingers as they moved to toy with your clit, and his blunt nails cut around your throat. Your cunt continued to possessively grip his cock as you wailed breathlessly.

Heat traveled through you, body quivering and going boneless, the warm ripples of release dulling the sharp edges of your mind as he drove into you and finally chased his own high. The filthy feel of him emptying inside you, your shimmering release, and his hands decorating your skin with fingerprint bruises, was all you could focus on.

Until the distinct sound of sirens echoed in the background.

Your mind went hazy as you tried to anchor yourself and you heard him chuckle in amusement. "I guess you really woke your neighbors up," he said, letting go of his grip around your throat. You let out a breathless sigh when you felt him slipping out of you, surprisingly feeling empty.

He groaned as his eyes traveled down, watching the way his release dripped out from your convulsing pussy, traveling down the length of your thighs. “It’s a pity I have to cut this short.” Then you felt his lips near your ear. “Until next time."

"W- What?" Your head snapped up, disoriented in the darkness, as you tried to discern his voice. "You'll come back?"

"I'll be here when you least expect it." Then the unexpected happened. He surprised you with a gentle kiss on your shoulder, a stark contrast from everything that had taken place. The contradiction sent shudders through you as you felt his grip on your hips tightening. "Keep your doors unlocked for me."

A sudden emptiness enveloped you as he withdrew from your personal space. Your mind, still reeling from the inexplicable events, struggled to make sense of what happened. And now the realization that he wasn't behind you anymore prompted your hands to instinctively reach for the makeshift blindfold, swiftly slipping it off your face.

Blinking in the sudden light, your eyes adjusted to the surroundings. Your eyes caught his figure standing tall at the top of your staircase, back turned, a fleeting glimpse of brown curls disappearing beneath the mask he hastily put back on.

Abruptly, he turned to you, the hollow visage of Ghostface now fixed in your direction. The tilt of his head sent a shiver down your spine as he looked at you for another fleeting second, as if he was giving you a silent promise as the faint sound of sirens continued from the distance. You stared back at him, heart thrumming in your chest.

And then he was gone.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #ghostface imagine #ghostface smut

2K notes · View notes

kirjavas · 2 years

Text

it’s giving dauntless

#im truly sorry for this #THE SLICED TEXT???#the hdm poster actually slaps but i can’t unsee it #his dark materials #bbc his dark materials #s3 #alice’s rambles #hdm

19 notes · View notes

nvuy · 1 month

Text

so… about that drink you ordered — boothill

summary. boothill has a pity party at a bar and notices a familiar face that he wants to smash into two.

notes. sort of requested official unofficial sequel sort of to hijacked. you can read this stand alone. not saying you should, though. teehee. this is so uninspired. i just like this concept a lot. i also just like rivals to lovers. i’m also riding on the coattails of the “boothill is largely illiterate.” whether it’s actually canon or not who knows. let me be. he’s still not released LMAOOOO.

warnings. the usual banter, little bit of threatening, but nothing major.

Boothill was at a loss. The mission was a bust, there was no response from La Mancha, and the dreamscape was beginning to grind his gears. So many loud noises, the poster signs were following him around, and this so-called SoulGlad was not as good as it was advertised to be.

This bar sucked, too. The bartender had been giving him the stink eye for the better half of an hour now. It probably wasn’t appropriate to sick him right in the face for it, break his nose, and give him a beating.

The bartender wasn’t scrawny, though. Some big bulk of meat with tired eyes, scruff and mousy brown hair. His chest looked like it was about to pop the buttons of his vest. Dude looks absolutely repressed. Probably works minimum wage.

The bartender abandons a blue inky pen and his notebook that Boothill snoops in. Nothing interesting. Just pages of tabs and tabs of people he doesn’t know, nor care about.

There’s music from the stereos in the corners, though surprisingly, considering it’s not a club—that one is next door. It’s a conjoined building. The only thing seperating the bar and the VIP private rooms of the club is a wall and a locked door. Comforting—and Boothill would have lost his mind already.

It’s also dark. Granted, it’s two in the morning, but the low lights can’t be good for normal people. Not to mention the group of women in the corner that have been hoarding the few slot machines for about thirty minutes now.

Every so often, a chime will go off, and one of them will start busting into tears.

He’s here alone. Not for any particular reason. He’s waiting for a response from somebody, and what better way to pass the time than people watch and pretend he’s not nosy.

Also he feels super important sitting at the counter of the bar.

He almost jumps at a whisper in his ear.

A reddish drink in a ribbed coupe glass is gently dropped onto the counter space beside him. There’s a cucumber slice on the rim, and it also looks like it’s been dusted with sugar.

Boothill turns his nose up. Gross.

The bartender glances at the figure who slots into the seat next to the ranger. “Can I get you something else?”

“Hard whiskey.”

Huh. His eyes snapped to the right. Very familiar. Almost unnervingly so. Just in case, he scoots himself away by an inch, sitting closer to the edge of the barstool.

The bartender blinks, unsure as he pulls a tumbler from the rack. “For you?”

A finger prods the Ranger’s cheek. “For him.”

There’s a zap from the finger, like a small electric shock. Like static charged from the friction of the weird material of the barstools.

“Thanks, Gal.”

“No amount of flirting is gonna make me clear your tab,” Gallagher warned before sliding the whiskey over to the Ranger. Boothill had barely moved, now acutely aware of his own face plastered on a wanted poster behind the bartender’s head. “Try not showin’ up here frequently. Bad for my image if I keep serving crooks.” He points to the Ranger, and then to you. “Both of you.”

The bartender then is called over by a group of women who are giggling at a booth in the corner.

Boothill was sure he was going to lean forward and scrap with you over the counter. He could already feel the terse skin of your neck in his hands.

“You followin’ me?”

“You followed me first,” you say harshly.

The ranger let out a laugh before picking up his drink. “It was only a job. If you got offended, that’s your problem.” He then holds the glass close. “You g’nna do that thing again?”

“‘Thing?’” you repeated.

There was a smug grin on your face. You rested the chin in the palm of your hand.

Oh. He was so going to throw you over the counter and smash a bottle over your head. “Y’know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Don’t play stupid.”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Boop.”

Your finger pressed to his chest. You snickered when he stared down at the brief flashing of yellow beneath his joints.

Then, you flit your finger upwards and flick his nose.

He grabs your hand with the intent of pulling it from its socket.

“Now, that’s a dangerous game to play,” you remind him. “I’ve got you in my hands, remember?” Your free hand lets go of your glass, and there’s a small flash of yellow light on the pads of the gloves on your hands. A flicker is all it takes to showcase his entire makeup in your palm. You spin it slowly for good measure.

Then, the image disappears and you snatch your wrist from his hand.

“What do you want?” Boothill mutters. He’s absentmindedly staring into his drink while swishing it around. The ice cubes softly tap against the glass.

“Insight. You’re a Galaxy Ranger, right?” He can’t lie to you anyway. You pretty much know everything about him. Your main profession is definitely stalking and being a thorn in his side. Your fingers held his chin up softly. “Tell me about it.”

He blinks, dazed. “That’s it?”

“No.”

He removes your hand from his chin. He holds his glass protectively. “Then quit pullin’ my leg. Cut to the good bit.”

You sigh. “You’re no fun. Do you come to bars just to mope?” You pull a dramatic frown for good measure.

“Do you come to bars to piss everyone off?” he shoots back. Despite his tone, his fingers are gentle around the glass. Any more firm a hold, and the drink would shatter and spill all over the counter.

You grin.

You tap his nose again. “Just you.” Then, you shake your head. “I’m here ‘cause I got a bar crush.” You then point to a table behind Boothill’s head in the corner. “Blondie with the nice eyes and the rings.”

After a moment's hesitation, the ranger turns and follows your finger.

Sure enough, you’re not convincing him to spin around so you can shove your hand into his sockets. There is a blond man at a table dressed in green, winking at an opponent over a game of… poker? Is that poker? The game with the chips and stuff. And dice, too. They’re thrown over a board, and there’s a couple of people who have tuned in to watch the entire thing unfold.

“His name is Aventurine. Or, that’s a code name, I think. He’s Sigonian. Works for the IPC, incredibly insecure, has a gambling addiction, needs to eat lead…” You stopped short, counting on your fingers as Boothill turns back to you. “Isn’t he dreamy?”

Boothill narrows his eyes at you. “Do you know everything about everyone?”

You shrug. “Pretty much, yeah.” Then, you make a noise. “Eh, I’m lying. Lots of people are boring. I only know the basics ‘bout most of ‘em. It’s the higher ups I’m interested in. Case in point–” You gestured to the blond man again, now scanning over his cards. “–Mister Big Shot. And all his loser coworkers. I don’t like the IPC.”

Boothill quietly sips his drink.

At least you can both agree on something.

He wants to yawn. He doesn’t have the function to do that anymore.

You talk too much.

He cuts you off, and fiddles with a few buttons on his arm. “What can you tell me–” A small image of a woman projects into view from a small lens near his wrist. “–About her?”

You lean closer to the image. Pretty.

She has lovely purple hair and eyes to match. It’s an unassuming photo. She’s not even looking at the camera, not even close to it. She’s standing next to a little boy with sparkling eyes and a uniform that starkly resembles the hotel staff in the waking world of Penacony—oh, the bellboy. You forgot his name.

You hum. “What’s her name?”

“Acheron.” He spits it nastily, as if tasting vitriol on his tongue.

You lean back against the counter. “I’d have to dig deeper. Can’t say I’ve seen her around before.”

“Well, that’s disappointin’,” he huffs before the image shrinks and disappears back into the lens. “Thought you were better than that.”

Your brows knit together.

“Are you trying to rile me up?” It was working. Curse you and your hot-head. It would get you killed one day.

Boothill grins.

Then, he raises his glass to you. “Yep.”

You wanted to pull him apart right there, like a doll.

Instead, you whisper, “tell me about La Mancha.”

Boothill casually sips the whiskey. “What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll dig up whatever I can find about that Acheron girl.”

Boothill then lets out a small giggle. “I already know who she is.” He wasn’t lying either. You could tell by how he grinned. “I was testin’ ya.”

Oh, great. He’s figured you out again. Not that there’s much to decode beneath the layer of self-doubt and hostility.

You could feel your face burning.

He grabs your cheeks before you can turn away.

“You ain’t here ‘cause you got some ‘puppy crush,’” he accused playfully, squishing your skin like it’s clay. “You already told me ya know everything about blondie. Who’re you really here for?”

He’s not stupid.

He’s also twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.

God damnit.

Your fingers curled tightly around the rim of your glass. The cucumber slice has since fallen into the cosmopolitan, and it’s giving the entire drink a strange watery taste.

The bar carries on. There’s a hoot from the table with blondie, who’s now, since the last time you stared daggers into the side of his head, collected some more of his poor opponent’s chips.

You pull your face from his grip. “Nobody.”

“Not even me?” Boothill presses. “You seem to love followin’ me around. In and out the dreamscape.”

You grit your teeth.

“The bartender,” you mutter finally. “I’m here for the bartender.” Currently, Gallagher is half asleep on the other side of the counter, trying to negotiate with some drunkard over the pricing of a scotch.

You eye him warily for a moment.

“There it is.” He pats your head like a dog. “Knew you’d come ‘round, pumpkin.”

You’re trembling with rage. “Kiss my ass, you cyborg scum.” You were considering throwing a punch at his perfect face.

“Rude.” Boothill flicks your nose back and you grunt. “I’m tryin’ to be nice wit’ you. You followed me here.”

You wanted to leave now. He sucks when he knows he has the upper hand, even if he’s well aware you can make his arms tear his own head off.

But you’re not going to do that. You need him. You made that clear.

The sound of a slot machine goes off somewhere to the right. There's cheering from a bunch of women.

You turn back and stare at the wall of liquor behind the bar. Maybe you should just knock yourself out. Whether by downing an entire bottle of bourbon or smashing it over your head. It was a hard choice to make.

You watch him through your peripherals, noticing he’s pinched a napkin from the pile on the counter.

“Lookin’ very pretty tonight, by the way. Hard to keep my eyes off ya.” He was writing something down with the pen from before. “If you were anyone else, I woulda had to take ya home. ‘Specially after ya bought me a drink.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” Then, you pause. “Excuse me?”

Boothill folds the napkin into a square and holds it to your lips. “Open.”

“You are not–”

Too late. He’s pushed it to your teeth, and you instinctively clamp down on it.

Oh, this sucks. This sucks bad.

He knows it, too, from the way he’s grinning at you like a shark and snickering.

He presses his warm lips to your cheek. The scent of whiskey faintly wafts in the air.

You stupidly freeze, hands curled around his wrists when his cold hands tilt your head so the tip of his tongue can press to the corner of your lips. You could stop him. You could.

You didn’t.

You smell like strawberry, the same as that other night. You look just as good, too. Shame you haven’t put anything on your lips. He would’ve loved to be stained a nice pink again.

He slides his whiskey next to you.

Then, he finishes what’s left of your drink. Dickhead. “I’ll be ‘round if ya need me.” He taps your nose and stands up. “You know where to find me.”

With a tilt of his hat, he leaves.

You pull the napkin from your teeth. Are you serious?

Face burning with humiliation, you hastily unfold the tissue, fingers shaking around the glass of whiskey. It’s heavy on your tongue; disgusting, bitter, everything you’d use to describe that stupid cowboy and his abomination of a body.

Scrawled in blue ink is a line of numbers. It looked suspiciously like a phone number.

Below it in blocky letters are the words: Keep In touc H. ♡

There’s a crudely drawn horse with a hat in the corner.

#$. the macrocosmos #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #boothill x reader #boothill #hsr x you

642 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 months

Note

roan and eddie fic , eddie has a dream that he never met reader & he just feels so miserable cuz he cannot imagine life without her

🤍🤍🤍

“Daddy, wake up.”

Eddie groans. “Five more minutes.”

“No, wake up, we’ve got school!”

“I don’t go to school, little miss,” he protests, forcing his eyes open as he sits up.

His bedroom feels empty. After a few moments, he realised it isn’t his bedroom, or it is, but it’s the wrong one. “What?” he mumbles.

“Daddy,” Roan says again, climbing onto his high bed with a grunt. Her hair is wild, a dark cloud around her head. “We are so late.”

“Where’s Y/N?”

She frowns. “What?”

“Where’s mom, baby? Did she already leave?”

“Did you hit your head?” she asks, giggling, a nervousness threading through it.

“What?” he asks. But he’s looking around, and he’s thinking about it, and you’re not here. “Who am I talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Roan says, shrugging. She crawls across the blankets and plonks herself down in his lap. Eddie kisses her hair, and she’s perfect, but he can’t help feeling like something is very wrong.

“This is a weird dream,” Roan says.

Eddie wakes up hard. Disorientated by the sudden change in position, the lack of baby in his lap, he flinches and yanks on his own hair trying to sit. He can remember the dream for a few seconds, the knowing you weren’t there and the posters on his bedroom wall, but then looks around at the walls of his current bedroom and starts to forget. Dreams are so fleeting. The details slough off and leave behind a single feeling of loneliness.

“You okay?”

He rubs his eyes, fingertips pressed deep into soft material. “Think I just had a bad dream.”

“What happened?”

You’re croaking. He must’ve woken you shifting the mattress. The alarm clock blinks an upsetting 4:23AM, casting a weak red light onto your arm. Eddie grabs you without thinking about it beforehand, his fingers too tight on your elbow.

Your jaw goes soft as you lean down to kiss his hand. “Eddie?”

He feels like crying. Startled by his own emotion, he takes his hand back and climbs out of bed.

“Eddie, sweetheart,” you say. You sound upset, but Eddie can’t deal with crying in front of you again, it hasn’t even been two weeks since he cried over Roan getting her Student of the Week award. She looked so small on the stage.

Eddie attempts to flush the strange feeling away with two handfuls of cold water at the bathroom sink. He can hear you getting out of bed, your socked feet on the hallway floor, the creaky door as you slide into the bathroom. You wrap your arms around him from behind without saying anything, too in love to bother asking, your face pressed hard to his naked shoulder. “What’s going on?” you ask, “You’re being weird, baby.”

He tries to hug you backwards. “Sorry.”

“I think I’m gonna fall over, it’s so early.”

“Sorry,” he says again, turning and dragging you into his arms.

“Your hands are still wet, you freak.”

“Sorry.” He kisses your forehead, feels your arms and your back and remembers that you’re real.

“Stop saying sorry, since when do I care? You could go swimming in Lover’s Lake during peak hook up season and I’d still want a hug.”

“That’s disgusting,” he mumbles.

“Exactly, that’s how much I'm in love with you, Munson.”

“You know when you’re a Munson, you’ll have to think of something else to call me,” he says.

It’s the kind of quiet only night time holds, and it’s still so dark. The only light is the orange sunshine night light glowing in the hall to make sure Roan’s not too scared to use the bathroom at night, and it doesn’t do much, but Eddie can see your skin, your hair, the hill of your shoulder and the slope down to your elbow.

“You can start calling me Munson,” you say.

“Yeah? Taste of your own medicine?”

“When did you take your shirt off?”

“You were sleeping. You’re too warm to cuddle lately, but I still wanted to cuddle,” he mumbles.

“Cuddle…”

He yanks you up into his arms. Eddie’s not macho or anything but he can lift you into a hug for a good three seconds, just long enough to kiss you and tuck his nose into the space below your ear. “Stop making fun of me,” he says.

“I’m not… Well, I am, but it’s not ‘cos I don’t love you. Can we go back to bed now?”

“You want me to carry you?” he asks, and he means it, he’s gonna treat you like the princess you deserve to feel like from now on.

“No… last time we tried that we woke Ro and she was grumpy all day,” you say, taking his hand. “Come on, honey, I’m gonna give you a massage. You can’t have bad dreams after that.”

“What kind of massage?”

“Deep tissue shoulder massage. And I can throw in a couple of kisses, but only if you tell me about the dream.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want,” he says.

You beam at him, sleep in the corners of your eyes but no less beautiful for it.

961 notes · View notes

lands-of-fantasy · 1 year

Photo

His Dark Materials

Season 3

#his dark materials #lyra belacqua #lyra silvertongue #will parry #lord asriel #marisa coulter #mrs coulter #asriel belacqua #stelmaria #pantalaimon #ozymandias #his dark materials poster

21 notes · View notes

taintedcigs · 1 year

Text

✦ POLAROIDS | perv!eddie x reader ✦

part II is HERE!

wc: 2k+

pairing: perv!eddie munson x (kinda perv)!reader

warnings: 18+ !!smut, smut smut!!, MINORS DNI!! absolutely no minors!! male m*sturbation, or*l (male receiving), PERV!EDDIE, praising!! panty-stealing perv!eddie. slight dubcon, this is kinda dark so if this kind of stuff bothers u DO NOT READ!! i am not responsible for the media you decide to consume!!! JUST OVERALL FILTH MINORS DNI!!!

summary: eddie knows it's wrong to go through your drawers and steal your panties, but he can't help it, especially when he has a great idea on what exactly to do with them.

authors note: okay I CAVED IM SORRY BUT i cannot stop thinking about perv!eddie, and more specifically i cannot stop thinking about perv!eddie who's obsessed with stealing your panties... this is proofread but i only read it once so pls ignore any mistakes !! enjoy this filth that im ashamed to post for being down this bad for EDDIE!! ALSO YES THOSE ARE TAYLOR SWIFT'S 1989 POLAROIDS I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF WHENEVER I THINK ABOUT POLAROIDS 1989 COMES INTO MY MIND YES I HAVE ISSUES AND IM OBSESSED W TAYLOR SWIFT YES I EXIST!!!

eddie is a pervert.

or at least he feels like a pervert.

he's not proud of it, but he literally can't help himself when you're always around him.

it started out innocent, he would catch a glimpse of you in the hallways, enjoying the way your pretty giggles were infectious, making him smile immediately.

but then it turned into something else, almost like an infatuation, he was so addicted to being around you that he couldn't help it.

from little things to seeing your skirt flip up, to watching your tits bounce up and down with every curb eddie hit "accidentally", to the way he enjoyed you sitting on his lap while the two of you watched a movie, your ass shifting against his cock that made him hard immediately, to the way you made his mind fuzzy when you licked your ice cream, giggling as you swiped your finger, extending your finger so that eddie could also taste it.

it was as if you were teasing him, and it was driving him crazy, everything you did, eddie was obsessed with.

it was fine up until the point he started coming over to your house. it was as if something had taken over him, the first time he saw your room is when he lost it. it was filled with all of the posters of the bands he liked, you had shown it off to him like it was nothing, telling him that you liked listening to whatever he liked.

eddie knew then and there that he needed you in his life. forever.

when you left the room he couldn't help but go through your things, a huge smile plastered on his face as he saw the picture of the two of you, tucked to the side of your mirror.

then he started going through your drawers, he knew it was wrong, and he knew you could catch him at any minute, but it gave him this rush that he couldn't help but be excited about.

his eyes almost rolled into the back of his head when he saw your lingerie, the pink lacy set you had was enough to give him a heart attack.

and he couldn't help but take one, just one he promised himself, he knew it was a lie, he knew he would come back for more, but he stuffed it into the back of his jean pockets, knowing that he would be jerking off to them while thinking of you.

and when stealing your panties became a regular thing eddie knew he was fucked. he would sneak into your room when you were not around, stealing those cute little pink lacy panties you had a thousand of that you always wore with your tight little skirts.

he would jerk off with them, imagining your tight cunt as he fucked the material, finishing off inside as he released his warm load in the soft material. imagining how good it would be to see you wearing them, your cunt covered in his jizz, the thought of that alone would make him go feral.

and soon he would get so comfortable stealing them, cleaning them, and returning them that he would notice how careless you were with them.

he had stolen from you countless times before, and not once had you noticed, you kept going lingerie shopping with him because of how you always lost your panties, it was a win-win situation for him.

this caused him get a bit more comfortable, and soon enough, he was now in your room when you told him you'd be taking a quick shower, he was hurrying to go through your drawers, and he smirked at the sight of the cute little heart-shaped panties, remembering these panties from the day you wore that tight little black dress, showing off your curves and ass every time you bent over to pick up something eddie 'accidentally' dropped.

as he gets on your bed to engulf himself in your scent fully, polaroids on your bedside catch his eye, he slowly reaches for them, and his eyes bulge at the countless pictures of you in a bikini, they were all taken by nancy when you, nancy and robin went to that girl's spring break, leaving him behind.

his sadness at the time of you leaving is washed all away when he sees those pictures. each picture sends more blood rushing to his already aching cock, he curses and groans as he quickly unbuckles his belt, his cock stirs and hardens in his boxers.

and he's quick to release this tension as his angry hard cock springs free out of his boxers, plopping against his stomach.

he stretches the panties against the girth of his cock, and then wraps the panties around his pink tip, pre-cum beading out of his slit, while his other hand is holding the polaroids, examining every part of it.

the polaroid is enough to put a clear image in his mind, the first picture is you smiling, your tits are bursting out of your bikini and the only thing he can picture is how good they would look when you were stuffed with his cock, begging and crying for more beneath him, the way your breasts would bounce with every thrust is enough to cause a low groan out of him.

he's slow to stroke himself with the soft material, a part of him wants you to catch him doing this, a part of him wants you to see how crazy he is for you, he wants to see your shocked face as he fucks your precious panties, and a part of him wants you to help him out, he doesn't want this to be over so soon.

he goes over to the next picture, this time you're laying down on your stomach, your whole frame is in the picture and your ass is sticking out from your thong-like bikini, you face the camera as your gaze is dark, so filled with lust that he groans again, tugging at his cock harder with your panties as he imagines spanking your ass, leaving handprints all over your cheeks.

his fantasies intensify now as he imagines your soft hands over his rough calloused ones, giggling as you stroke him and kiss his angry pink tip. 'mmm, you're s'big, eds.' he imagines you giggling.

he gets to the next polaroid, and the sight alone is enough to make him spill his load all over the picture.

you are looking up innocently as you stick your tongue out, he has no idea why nancy would have this sexy photoshoot with you but he's not complaining as he forcefully tugs your panties along with his cock, his pumps getting intense.

'what d'you want me to do, eds?' he imagines you batting your eyelashes at him as you are standing between his shaking thighs,

'd'you need me to suck you off?' he imagines you asking with your doe eyes.

'yes, doll, need your pretty little lips wrapped around my cock.' he pictures your pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, taking all of him.

'f-f-fuck, just like that, pretty girl.' he groans, praising the imaginary you.

'y'like that eds, y'like me sucking you off?' he winces at your words, his hand began to fist his cock harder, beads of sweat dripping on his forehead from the way he imagined you, he needed to cum.

's'big eds, it's s'fuckin' big, hmmm' you purr, even in his fantasy, eddie is needy.

'need you so bad, princess.' his voice is strained from his groans, he's fucking himself so hard against your panties that the material is straining him, giving him a mix of pleasure and pain.

he imagines holding your hair in a tight grip, pushing your head further as you gag around his cock, all teary-eyed as you look up at him, the image of your saliva mixing with your salty tears causing a strained moan out of him.

'y'gonna cum for me eds? paint my throat with your cum?' the way he imagines you with your doe-eyes and your filthy words is too much for him, his knuckles are white as they abuse his poor aching cock.

'yes baby, need to fill your throat with my cum.' he whimpers now, he feels pathetic, so pathetic, fucking your panties as he's ready to cum all over your polaroid pictures, just so he could show them to you, tell you how fucking pretty you look covered in his jizz.

he imagines you hollowing out your cheeks, as you take all of him with your pretty little lips, his huge cock hitting the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him, and your hands stroking whatever's left of him, massaging his balls, and eddie's eyes roll in the back of his head.

just then, he hears the shower noise turn off, and he knows he doesn't have much time left.

'need your cum, eds. need to taste you.' the imagination is more than enough to get him closer, his grip on your panties is so tight that he can feel his cock ache, he needs to release himself, and he needs to do it now.

'gonna cum, baby, s'good, princess, doing s'good.' his thighs tremble, as eddie's hand sped up now, he bucked his hips forward in a rough movement as the image of you beneath his thighs taking him all was etched into his mind.

'f-f-fuck, gonna fill that sweet mouth of yours.' he groans, and he tugs on his cock faster and faster, his thumb swiping over the tip messily as he releases his warm load into the hem of your panties, animalistic groans leaving his lips.

'take it all, baby, shit.' he murmurs as his cock twitches in your panties, his sticky load covering all the soft material.

the sound of the bathroom door opening causes panic out of him before he can even ride out his climax he places the polaroids on the bedside and then he places the panties next to your clean clothes, getting dressed as he attempts to look nonchalant, sitting on your bed.

'sorry i took so long.' you giggle as you enter, and eddie just hums, his mind still hazy from what happened and the blood is rushing to his cock again as you stand in front of him with a tiny towel wrapped around your body.

your legs are shining and the towel is so tight that he can see the curve of your ass, and your breasts are so pushed together that eddie wants to curse himself for being this perverted about you.

he straightens himself, trying to appear as normal as you walk over to him.

'can you turn around, i'm gonna change.' you murmur, heat rising to your cheeks.

he awkwardly nods as he places himself in front of the mirror, a smirk appearing on his face as he watches you putting on the panties that was covered with his warm cum.

he expects you to have a shocked face, turn around and accuse him, or he expects you to believe that you got so aroused that you immediately soaked your panties, and he thinks he could help you with that.

but what he doesn't expect is to hear you whimper, and his head shots up at the sound, 'mhmm' you almost groan and the blood is quick to rush to eddie's cock again, he's hard as a rock.

'it's not warm enough.' you hum, as eddie turns to face you, his brows knit together in confusion.

'w-what?' he stutters almost, you shrug.

'next time i'd prefer if you actually came in me.' you say nonchalantly, and eddie's jaw almost opens at your words.

his mind is about to explode, he's stuttering, he wants to apologize, but at the same time he wants to know how you knew, he's speechless.

'i- i'm sorry.' he stutters as he attempts to get closer to you, a smirk forming on your face.

'how did you know?' he asks in a timid voice, he can't help but admit how much this excites him.

'oh, eds, who do you think put those polaroids in there?'

final author's note: OKAY IM SORRY ITS A BIT CHEESY BUT PLSPLPLS PLEASEE LMK IF YOU WANT A PT.2, my asks are open! request away <3 ily all hope yall enjoyed this filth omg mwah xo, em <3

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson imagine #perv!eddie munson smut #perv!eddie munson x reader

3K notes · View notes