all the things he will and wonāt come clean about
fem!reader x shadow monster | technically a prequel to this
TW: smut, stalking, weird c*m, cnc, masturbation, some light mentions of cucking, jealousy, hurting others
Your shadow canāt wait to pour out his heart to you. Heās been watching you for so, so long, and heāll keep watching, waiting for the right moment to reveal himself to you. Oh, the things heāll tell you.
Like how for the past few weeks, heās been messing with you, purposefully not mirroring your movements. Every time you look back at him, he goes back to being a regular shadow, all to get just one more glance of you. He loves the way that cute surprised look on your face turns to frustration when you canāt catch him in the act.
And heāll finally tell you where he hid those cute lacy panties you bought. You know, the ones you thought you looked so nice in? He canāt wait to see the blush on your face when he hands them back to you, completely soaked in blackness. He doesnāt feel a hint of remorse over what he did to them.
He imagines leaning in and whispering the story in your ear, and how wet youāll get as he recounts it. About how he caught a glimpse of them underneath your skirt on a sunny day where his imprint traveled right beneath you. About how he couldnāt help himself. That when you fell asleep that night, he took them from the laundry basket and stood over your bed. It smelled so fucking good, you smelled so fucking good.
Heāll tell you how he breathed them in until the ache in his dick was unbearable. Until he couldnāt help but wrap it around his cock and jerk off into them. He fucked his hand so hard that night, wishing it was your dripping pussy he was pumping into instead. He did it right over your peaceful, sleeping face, part of him hoping youād wake up so he could give you a present. The thought of him waking you up to a facial, to his hot inky cum painting your face, gets him hard as he thinks about it.
āFuck, sheād look so good in black,ā he thinks to himself.
But there are things he wonāt dare to mention. Like how he stole something else, one of your favorite tops that went missing last year. He wonāt tell you how he climbed into your unmade bed while you were out and dragged himself through your sheets, clutching them, smelling them. He wonāt tell you about the heartbroken moans that cracked through him as he got drunk of your scent. āYou were right here,ā heād think to himself. āRight fucking here.ā
He wonāt tell you how he grinded face down into your mattress. How he used your top as a towel to keep his mess contained, hiding the fact he was there. How every desperate whimper was a prayer for you. āMine, mine,ā heād groan into your pillow as his pitch black cum soaked your blouse, the original color barely recognizable at this point.
He wonāt tell you about all the times heās watched you naked. The shower, changing, in bed touching yourself, you name it. Heās learned exactly what he needs to do to have you moaning and coming for him. But, heās too ashamed to tell you that he sometimes wants to be selfish and just burst out of his flat existence and use you like a little cocksleeve regardless of your fear. Heās constantly fighting the urge to fuck you dumb and senseless, until those terrified screams turned to desperate pleas for more inches of cock.
But the worst of all, the secret heāll take to his grave, is what heās done to all the boys youāve brought home. Heās hated them all. Hated the way those unappreciative bastards used you up, dimmed your light. Theyād get their rocks off and leave you high and dry, making you feel like you werenāt good enough.
He done so many things to make their lives hell. Thereās no explaining the slashed tires, keeping them from driving over to you. Or the crushed phone screens when you sent them a nude. No, no. Your perfect body should only belong to someone who knows you. Every night they made you cry, he hatched up some new form of payback for them.
Some nights too, heād pay them a personal visit, acting like some sleep paralysis demon haunting their waking nightmares. He had too much fun flickering the lights, rattling their beds, and chasing after them in dark hallways with loud footsteps. Heād lurk in the dark corners of their bedrooms, pretending to speak in tongues. It got so bad some of them had priests over to cleanse the house. He gets so giddy when he thinks back on those memories, but perhaps those things are better left unsaid.
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