Spencer Reid smut and slow burn!!! (Kinda like a mj spider man dynamic) they met in hs..reader YEARNS.. plot twist
18+
Do you know how to love? Your love for Spencer started with chess, you're a child prodigy, like Spencer, but not as nerdy. Being smart isn't easy. You have no female friends, so you resorted to watching Spencer play chess. You loved it in a way, watching his fingers move, watching him be smarter than all the kids so much older than you both. You loved him secretly, but he was so hard to make notice you, or so you thought.
You work with Spencer, approximately 5 years later. You're brilliant at emotions, understanding people, and fixing tough situations. He's brilliant at strategy, reading and understanding, well, everything. From the same school, close to the same age, you're both newbies. You wear your red button downs and black skirts and he wears his ties, both a little too serious.. different from high school, he always wore his sweaters and khakis, no fashion sense, still almost none. You are different, because now , you're hot and smart. Before ...just smart. You wore your nerdiest shirt with leggings and converse every single day.
Does he know i love him?
Hm..
He's Doctor Reid, you're Doctor yln
You often think about being Doctor Reid.
He never noticed, he never noticed you followed him to the same college, you always inserted yourself into his conversations, he loves you as a friend, you know, yes. But he doesn't notice.. you watched him play... because you love him.
You try not to talk over him so much, because you love to hear him talk, but you also love to talk. Maybe if this one time I can get his attention???
"Spence, do you wanna go out for dinner tonight, our case is over..they're all getting drinks and I know you don't usually go, so, how about it?"
"I'd love to Doctor, I'm glad you finally asked, we've been friends so long, we rarely ever go out..we know so much about each other already. But yet we never speak"
"Heh..I'll see you then *giggle*"
You decide on a nice Korean restaurant, right beside his apartment. You lived 10 minutes away. So, it was an easy drive.
"Hey! Fancy seeing you here"
"Heh..yes , it is huh" (you punch yourself for being so awkward)
"You look beautiful tonight, as always"
"Thank you, you look handsome spence, as always"
"Did you know I noticed that every dress you wear, you always spray a different purfume, always lavender, citrus or vanilla, today you went for a sexy wine scent"
Sexy?? He Thinks I'm sexy????!!
"You know, we spoke so much back in the day, and lately we don't much. We went to prom together. You may have thought I always saw you as a friend, I don't think I've ever been great at showing emotion, I noticed, everything you did, I noticed. I noticed your eyes wandering over me, I noticed your small touches, how could I not , I have a wonderful memory and awareness. You can't hide love"
Love?? Love?? What do I do?? What do I say??
"I never noticed if you noticed, I was nervously in love, you're so brilliant and handsome. I can't seem to get over you spence. I never could"
"I know your heart's beating fast, I know you're nervous, you know I'm nervous. Were profilers, and prodigys. Of course we know. How did you not know I loved you?"
"How could I? I'm such a dork, I never really thought I was attractive"
"You are attractive y/n. You always have been. How about i show you how much I love your body. How much i always have. How i want to touch you. I want to make you feel good, not just physically, psychologically. I want to touch your brain, your nerves. I want to make you understand."
"Take me home then lover boy."
☆☆☆
When you get to his house it's no time wasted. He kisses you roughly, like a man starved, waiting. He pushes you against the wall gently, not wanting to hurt you but just enough to turn you on. He places kisses down your neck to your breast, making your goosebumps ten times worse, shocking. He touches your waist in ways you never imagined before, and you sure did imagine. How did he know how to please you already, how is he so good??
"Baby, tell me what you've always wanted me to do"
"I want you to fuck me. Hard. Please"
"Oh, you're so cute, I'll make sure you know after this that I love you, always have."
He loves me?????
He does right by his promise, he pushes you onto the couch and pulls your skirt above your waist, too pretty to take off. Your pretty purple underwear catch his attention.
"Hmm. Victoria secret?"
"Maybe, wanna find out the secret?"
"Absolutely"
He then takes them off in a hurry. "You're somehow even prettier than I imagined, you know, you don't need to be so down on yourself, I'll show you."
Uh...oh...
He pulls his pants down and releases his hard dick, bigger and thicker than you imagined. "Oh spence. Didn't know that. Wow."
"I'm glad you like it love, is it everything you wanted and imagined"
"More."
"Oh yeah?"
He rubs it on your most sensitive, soaked part. You can't help but let out a little moan.
"You ready beautiful?"
"I've been ready, please spence"
He puts it in, slowly, but leaving enough time to feel the sharp pain.
"Fuckk...are you okay baby"
"Yeah, i'm good, keep going"
He's one of your first times obviously, so this is difficult,he's also your biggest.
It feels so good, so much better than you expected, his thrust are so calculated, like everything else he does, his words are like pillows into your heart, his touch is like velvet. You're sinking in. You feel warm inside. You can tell it's been a while for him too, the way he's moaning and having trouble lasting.
"You can cum Spence please, I'm about to cum"
"I'm so close baby, you feel so good. Cum for me."
You immediately cum for him, his words are the perfect trigger. He cums in you, filling you up perfectly.
Warnings/description : implied smut, gay awakening, coming out, friends to complicated? some use of y/n. Playing with feelings
You and Emily have been friends since elementary school, your parents were friends, you were there for her during her difficult high school trauma and she was there for yours, the only thing is.. you've had this aching feeling deep in your chest for years, the agony of feeling so alone that you barely want to get up. The worse feeling, you don't know if you're the only one Who feels this way. Is it normal? Why don't you love boys..you say to yourself. What's wrong with me? Then you realize you don't feel love for boys or men, you never did. You feel lust for Velma (scooby doo) you feel lust for megan fox, you feel lonely lonely lust for so many people, but never love and you never understand. When you joined the bau with Emily you thought it's possible that you'll never find love, Spencer always tells you that he understands, because he's been through the confusion of feeling love for the same sex but never feeling like himself. Coming out wasn't easy, Emily said she understands but she doesn't understand one thing.
You've always loved her.
You know its wrong, loving your best friend, hell, basically your sister. It's wrong and dirty and you feel perverted for the fantasy. You look at her lips, her breast, her beautiful smile, her eyes, you want to kiss her, to touch her in a way no man could, you crave her purfume, her bad ass purfume that smells like a night out..instead it's your nightmare. How can I get over her. How can I cope?
One night, new years specifically, you both get so drunk, and you accidentally let it slip...you said "I love you Emily"
"Y/n..I love you too, you're the best friend ever, hell, if I was gay (inner panic) I'd get you"
She knows. She knows I'm gay. She knows it's ganna hurt me. why?
"Oh. I'm sorry"
I can't take it anymore, she's playing with me, all those times she hugged me, touched me, saw me naked, I've watched her naked. Not even on purpose, we got dressed and I saw it. It made me feel so warm inside. So , drunk..I leaned in. I kissed her.
Her beautiful breast filled up her red dress, her beautiful dark hair, so curly, it smells so good like lavender.
"Y/n... you love me? You love love me. I'm not gay but you're beautiful, you're a stunning woman. I've always wanted to play with you. You can be whoever you want to be, especially with me."
She kisses me back..Really!? Me
She guides me to the bathroom slowly "I'd love for you to be my first womanly experience"
Description: Four months of arguments, irritation, and unresolved tension finally explode in a dark alley behind a bar after a case.
Gener: Smut (MDNI), enemies to lovers
Word count: 2,043
Warnings: Enemies to lovers, age-gap (25/38), heavy sexual tension, arguing/flirting, explicit sexual content, fingering, public sexual activity, dirty talk, praise/teasing, dominance, possessiveness, swearing (MDNI)
A/N: Finally an update, at 3:50 am 🫣 Finally have summer break at June 11th. And then I can update more 🤍
The fluorescent lights of the BAU jet hummed a familiar, monotonous tune, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in my chest. Across the aisle, Dr. Spencer Reid was already buried in a file, his long fingers tracing lines of text I couldn’t see. Four months. Four months of being the newest agent, of finding my footing with Luke’s steady guidance, Garcia’s infectious joy, and the solid camaraderie of Emily, JJ, Tara, Matt, and Rossi. I’d even been welcomed to girls’ nights. But Reid? Reid was a permanent, prickly splinter in my side.
The team’s jokes about us being “workplace enemies” weren’t jokes to me. They were my daily reality. If I suggested a geographic profile, he’d counter with a statistical anomaly from a decade prior. If I took a tactical approach, he’d critique the psychological precedent. Last week, when I successfully talked down a paranoid hostage-taker in Des Moines, his only comment was, “Statistically, that approach has a 62% failure rate. You got lucky.” Lucky. My knuckles were white where I gripped my own case file.
“Listen up,” Emily’s voice cut through the engine noise. “We’re touching down in five. This unsub in Burlington is escalating - three victims in two weeks, all left in public parks with a single, specific wildflower on their chest. Garcia’s running the floral symbolism back home. Rossi, Tara, you’ve got the morgue. Luke, Matt, hit the latest crime scene. Reid, Y/N,” she said, and I felt my stomach drop. “You two are on witness duty. The second victim’s roommate came forward. She’s at her sister’s place on Elm Street.”
A collective, subtle shift went through the team. JJ hid a smile behind her coffee cup.
“Together?” Reid and I said in unison, then glared at each other.
“Is there a problem?” Emily asked, her tone leaving no room for debate.
“It’s just-” Reid began, adjusting his tie. “Given the delicate nature of witness psychology, perhaps a singular, less… confrontational presence would yield more coherent data.”
“What he’s trying to say,” I snapped, “is that he doesn’t want to work with me. The feeling is mutual.”
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. “Save it for the unsub. You two are the only ones without a specific forensic or scene task. It’s final. Elm Street. Go.”
The car ride was a masterpiece of hostile silence. The interview with the witness, a skittish young woman named Chloe, was a tense ballet. Every question I asked, Reid would rephrase. Every observation he made, I’d counter with a practical consideration. We were circling each other like sharks, and poor Chloe looked more traumatized by us than by her roommate’s murder.
Back in the car afterward, it erupted. “You can’t just bombard a traumatized witness with rapid-fire logistical questions,” Reid argued, staring straight ahead at the rain-slicked road. “You need to build rapport through shared, calm understanding.”
“And you can’t spend forty minutes discussing the phylogenetic symbolism of Aquilegia canadensis with a grieving woman who just wants to know if her friend suffered!” I shot back. “We’re not all walking encyclopedias, Reid. Some of us operate on human instinct.”
“Instinct is statistically unreliable,” he muttered.
“Fuck you,” I breathed out, the words hot and sharp.
He finally turned his head, a flash of genuine irritation in his hazel eyes. “Really, Y/L/N? You’re acting childish.”
“Well, I’m thirteen years younger than you, Reid, so not surprising. Plus, you drive me insane all the time. So I would say, deal with it.” I crossed my arms, fuming, as he just rolled his eyes and drove us back to the local police station in stony silence.
Three days later, it was over. The unsub was in custody - a botanist. We were all running on caffeine and grit, too exhausted to fly back. Emily declared a mandatory decompression session at the only bar in town that wasn’t a total dive.
We were crammed around a sticky table, the buzz of conversation and relief palpable. Rossi was telling a story about a case in Sicily, the wine, the food… “And the cannoli,” he sighed wistfully. “They were sublime. Nothing like the stale, chocolate-dipped imposters you get here.”
“Oh, I love those,” I chimed in, leaning forward. “The ones from that little place in Georgetown? They’re amazing.”
“Actually,” Reid’s voice cut through the warm chatter like an ice pick. “The cannoli Rossi is referring to is a specific pastry from Palermo, characterized by its ricotta filling, candied fruit, and a fresh-rolled shell, never chocolate-dipped. The Georgetown version is, by definition, an ‘imposter,’ as Rossi just stated. It’s a completely different culinary tradition.”
The table went quiet. All eyes were on us.
“It’s a dessert, Reid,” I said, my voice low and tight. “Not a doctoral thesis.”
“Accuracy matters,” he insisted, his jaw set.
“What matters is you constantly, constantly needing to prove you’re the smartest person in the room! Even about fried dough!”
“I’m simply stating a fact! If you’d rather live in a world of pleasant inaccuracies-”
“Okay!” Luke’s voice boomed, cheerful but firm. He clapped a hand on Reid’s shoulder. “Spence, come help me carry the next round. I think we need a beer tower.” He gave Reid a significant look. After a tense second, Reid stood and followed him to the crowded bar.
“I need some air,” I muttered, pushing my chair back.
“You want company?” JJ asked softly.
“No. I just… need space.”
The back alley was a relief - dark, cold, and quiet, a world away from the noisy crowd out front. I leaned against the rough brick wall, the chill seeping through my blazer. I dragged my hands over my face, releasing a long, shuddering breath.
The door creaked open and snapped shut.
Of course. Of course.
Spencer stood there, silhouetted against the dim light from the bar’s high window.
“Of all the places you could show up,” I groaned, letting my head fall back against the wall.
“Well, sorry for wanting some air, princess,” he retorted, stepping fully into the gloom.
“I’m not a princess, so shut up.”
He took two deliberate steps closer. The space between us crackled. “Then stop acting like one. You challenge everything I say like it’s a personal insult. My work, my methods, my cannoli facts.”
“Because you treat me like I’m incompetent! Like my instincts, my experience, mean nothing next to your damn statistics!” I pushed off the wall, closing the distance myself now. “You look at me and you see a mistake Emily made in hiring.”
“That’s not-” he started, but I was on a roll.
“You’ve made it perfectly clear what you think of me from day one. I hate you.”
He was closer now, so close I could see the flecks of gold in his irritated eyes. The air left my lungs when he spoke, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “You just want to kiss me real bad, huh?”
My brain short-circuited. “What-”
His lips cut off my gasp.
It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision - all the pent-up frustration, anger, and fierce, unwanted attraction of the last four months exploding into a single, searing point of contact. For a second, I froze, utterly bewildered. Then, understanding crashed over me, and I melted. My hands flew to his shoulders, then into his hair, pulling him closer as I kissed him back with equal fervor.
A low groan vibrated from his throat into mine. He grabbed my hips, pinning me fully against the brick wall. The cold was a shocking contrast to the heat flooding my skin. His mouth was relentless, his tongue sweeping past my lips, and I met him stroke for stroke, my fingers clutching at the fabric of his blazer.
His hands were everywhere - skimming my ribs, cupping my face, tangling in my hair. Mine were just as greedy, mapping the surprising strength in his shoulders, sliding under his blazer to feel the warm skin of his back. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down my jaw, to my neck, sucking a mark that made my knees buckle.
“Spencer,” I gasped, the word a plea and a revelation.
He answered by fumbling with the button of my jeans, then the zipper. His cool hand slid down, past the waistband of my underwear, and his touch was suddenly, exquisitely deliberate. The pad of his thumb found my clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles.
A broken moan escaped me, and I crushed my mouth back to his to swallow the sound. He pulled back just enough to look down at me, a smug, devastating smirk playing on his kiss-swollen lips. “Even though I love hearing your moans, princess,” he whispered, his fingers moving faster, “you’ve got to keep it down a bit. You don’t want to get caught now, do you? I’ve just started.” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “And if I’m right, which I always am, I think you want to come, huh?”
I could only nod frantically, my forehead falling against his shoulder. “Please,” I managed to whimper.
“Please, what?” he teased, but his fingers were already sliding lower, dipping inside me, curling upward.
“Please.”
That was all the permission he needed. He added a second finger, pumping into me fast and hard, his thumb still working my clit in a dizzying counter-rhythm. Every curl of his fingers was a lightning strike, hitting a spot deep inside that made me see stars. I bit down on the fabric of his sweater to stifle my cries, my nails digging into the muscles of his arms. The coil in my abdomen tightened unbearably, pleasure winding me up to a breaking point.
I grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him into a deep, messy kiss. He groaned into my mouth, the sound raw and needy. It pushed me over the edge.
“I’m cumming, please, I’m cumming, Spencer,” I chanted against his lips, the words barely coherent.
“That’s it,” he growled, his pace never faltering. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
The world shattered into bright, silent fragments. My body convulsed around his hand, wave after wave of pure, mind-numbing pleasure tearing through me. He held me through it, his forehead pressed to mine, his breathing ragged, until the last tremor subsided and I was boneless against the wall, supported only by his body.
Slowly, carefully, he withdrew his hand. He brought his fingers to his mouth, never breaking eye contact, and sucked them clean. The obscene, deliberate gesture should have shocked me, but it only stoked the embers still glowing inside me.
He leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss that was suddenly softer, exploratory. A quiet laugh bubbled out of me, giddy and disbelieving. He smiled against my mouth, a real, unguarded smile I’d never seen before.
“Hmm,” he hummed, nuzzling my cheek. “So all it took was some finger fucking in a dark alley for you to not argue with me?”
I swatted his chest, but there was no force behind it. I was tracing the lines of his face, this new, astonishing landscape. “Don’t get used to it,” I murmured, pulling him down for another kiss. “I fully intend to argue about your methodology tomorrow. And your driving. And probably your tie.”
He laughed, a warm, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet alley. “I’d expect nothing less.” He kissed me again, slow and sweet, before sighing. “We should probably go back in before they send a search party.”
“Probably.” I didn’t move.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my cheek. “For the record,” he said softly, “I never thought you were a mistake. I thought you were… a variable I couldn’t calculate. It terrified me.”
I looked up at him, at this brilliant, complicated man who had just unraveled me against a brick wall. “Well, Dr. Reid,” I said, finally fixing my jeans with trembling hands. “Maybe some things aren’t meant to be calculated.”
He took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “A novel hypothesis,” he conceded, a new, playful light in his eyes. “One I’m very interested in testing further.” And together, we walked back toward the light, the argument forgotten, something entirely new and thrilling taking its place.
The world is an absolute cesspool of shit. If the idea of two fictional characters smooching makes you happy, you should absolutely write, draw, and consume all of it, proudly.
hiii watching CM and i was thinking: can you write something where hotch and reader get stuck in a elevator instead of reid and morgan? i love your work!!
stuck
STOP HOW HAVE I NOT WRITTEN THIS YET cw; fem bau!reader, mutual pining, forced proximity👀, slight angst?, aaron being down bad and reader being more avoidant :( they're in love <3
The elevator whirred to a sudden stop, the whole car shuddering beneath your feet and causing the two of you to freeze.
Your eyes immediately snapped to the glowing floor number, waiting for it to change. Urging it to change. Only it didn’t.
A cold knot twisted in your stomach.
"Oh no." The words left you in a breath as you jabbed the button for the seventh floor again and again. "No, no, no, no-"
The elevator seemed to lift for a second (maybe it was just wishful thinking on your part), before it jerked violently.
Before you could stumble, Aaron’s arm shot out instinctively across your chest, shielding you from slamming into the wall. His hand caught your shoulder, steady and warm against the panic already climbing your throat.
You met his eyes, your breath catching as neither of you moved, hanging onto each other's gaze and each other. Then, slowly, you pulled away.
"It's not supposed to do that," you said, a strained laugh slipping into your voice despite yourself. Disbelief bled into panic so quickly you could barely tell them apart. "Right? It's not supposed to do that."
You began frantically pushing the button again.
"Hey, here." Aaron grabbed your hand, making you realize at that moment how badly you were shaking. He pressed the alarm button, a sharp electronic buzzer piercing through the cramped elevator. "We’re okay. Someone’ll come get us."
You nodded before sliding down the wall onto the floor, knees pulled tightly to your chest. Might as well sit if you were going to be here a while. Oh my god. What if you were here a while?
"If Reid were here, he’d probably be rattling off statistics about elevator malfunctions."
"He and Morgan did make it out alive." There was some playfulness to your voice, recognizing his effort to lighten the mood. “Sadly, that doesn’t help."
"Sorry." Aaron offered a small smile before reaching into his pocket, pulling out his phone.
"Call Penelope. Maybe she can work her magic and crack into the building's electronic-communication-port-whatever-it's-called and get us moving."
His thumb moved across his phone, surely texting someone that the two of you were up here. "As resourceful as she is, unfortunately I don't think that's within her capabilities."
You sighed, resting your forehead on your knees a moment, before your head lifted again. "Is this a bad time to mention that I'm claustrophobic?"
Aaron’s expression shifted instantly, all teasing gone. "Hey." His voice softened, "look at me."
You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. "I am looking at you."
"No, not like that." He crouched down in front of you in the cramped little space, close enough that your knees almost brushed his. "Focus on me instead, okay?"
The elevator hummed faintly around you, stubbornly unmoving. Somewhere beyond the metal doors, distant voices echoed through the shaft. They were muffled and indistinct, but enough to reassure that help was coming.
But your breathing refused to steady. Only this time, your nerves weren't the culprit.
Aaron hesitated before reaching out carefully, his hand settling against your wrist like he was giving you the chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
"You’re okay," he said quietly.
Your gaze clung onto his, and once again he was too close - close enough that you noticed every tiny thing. The crease between his brows. The warmth of his hand. The way his gaze flicked down to your mouth for the briefest second before snapping back up again.
It had been like this ever since you’d kissed him on the forehead; the ongoing tension that didn't seem to go away. Something unspoken had settled between you after that night. One stupid, fleeting moment, and somehow it had changed everything.
And now you were trapped alone with him in a stalled elevator, nowhere to look except at each other.
Everything in you screamed to close the distance. To grab his shirt, pull him in, and stop pretending this thing between you two didn’t exist.
But another voice, just as loud, told you not to.
Because if you kissed him now, it wouldn’t just be a kiss.
It couldn’t be. Not when he was your boss. Not when it could endanger your jobs and impact the team. It could put everyone at risk - all of them could end up dealing with the consequences of something they had nothing to do with. And for what? One impulsive moment? One kiss you weren’t even sure was built to last forever?
He began, "if things were different-"
Your eyes shot to his, desperate. "Don’t say things you don’t mean."
You wanted the chance to see what this could become if circumstances were different. Wanted to know what it would feel like to stop fighting it for once. To let yourself lean in instead of pulling away. But you couldn’t, you couldn't think about it.
Because the second you let yourself imagine it - kissing Aaron, the possibility of something real between you, what it might feel like to actually have him - it would be harder to stop.
He opened his mouth to respond, something tight flashing across his face, but before he could say anything, the elevator came back to life.
You immediately jumped to your feet and out of his reach, adrenaline pumping through you. A nervous laugh escaped before you could stop it, covering for everything else threatening to surface, “that was close."
Because another few seconds of silence, you weren’t entirely sure you would’ve stopped yourself from doing something you’d regret.
"Yeah." Aaron exhaled as he got to his feet, turning towards the door. There was something strained in his voice when he spoke again. "Close."
I'm a subby boy, I want a goth mommy.. I'm too shy to text you but I've been falling in love with you, I know you from your personal life and on here 🥺 would you give me a chance?
You're just a free use slut, desperate for cock and attention. You love to goon and edge your needy pathetic holes as you imagine men being able to see your whore bimbo body on the internet. You love the thought of being found in public and all of your needy holes being taken advantage of.
Summary: Teasing your virgin boyfriend was all fun and games, until he’s too worked up to function. When the layers of clothing fall off, you’re in for a delightfully large surprise.
Content: 3.2k words, virgin!Spencer, kinda sub undertones, he’s hung af and really fucking whiny, fingering, hand jobs, raw p in v but reader is on the pill, multiple orgasms, Spencer cries because he needs it so bad, reader wears lip gloss, dacryphilia (lemme know if I missed anything)
a/n: Truly just 3.2k words of filth. I wrote this instead of the next chapter for my thesis and I have no regrets. Also, a lot of my italicized words got lost because formatting on the app truly is the bane of my existence, but I reached a personal milestone and wanted to celebrate! So yay, here's a fic as a thank you for supporting my blog and writings ❤️
BUD Chronicles
Sometimes dating Spencer Reid meant throwing subtlety out the goddamn window; the man wouldn’t know subtext if it hit him square on his beautiful, perfectly sculpted face. All your subtle attempts to seduce him have all been entirely unsuccessful, and you're beginning to wonder if he even wants you that way.
In your defense, you've been dating for over two months now and he still hasn't initiated anything beyond making out. It’s been making you antsy. Of course, his hesitation is nice. It comes from a place of respect after all, and there’s something endearing about his gentle touches, large hands ghosting over your body. You appreciate this easy, steady pace you've set for the relationship.
But after a particularly busy week for both of you, you've been left aching and needy for something more.
When you finally found a time that works for both of your schedules, you decided it would be time to make your move. Fuck waiting for him to initiate. You can do it yourself. You'd been subtle about it at first—a hand on his thigh, a few inches higher than where you'd normally place it, lips running over his jaw.
The man had simply laughed nervously, and returned with a kiss to your forehead.
Briefly, you wondered if it truly is because he's not into you that way. However, that thought flits right out of your pretty head when you see the unmistakable tent slowly forming in his pants.
So you’d upped your actions, nibbling at his earlobe in the middle of dessert, fingers trailing up his inner thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. Screw subtlety. (And hopefully, him too.) By the time you two sat in the back of the cab, he’s a squirming mess.
“S-stay the night?” he’d been so shy about it you debated teasing him a little more. Maybe if you weren’t so horny, you would have, but relief had simply flooded your veins. Finally. So you nod, teased him a little more in the back of the cab until he had to grab your wrists and hold them in place, because he swore he’d probably come in here just from one more brush of your palm. The lightest pressure and he’d be a goner, a pathetic mess, and you hadn’t even really done anything.
There had been no build up once you got into his apartment. Simply an exchange of quick, sloppy kisses, Spencer pushing you deeper into his house until the couch hits the back of your knees and both of you came tumbling down. He’s already rutting his hips against your thigh, his erection hot even through his slacks. Clumsy fingers strip off fabric and shoes, leaving them strewn haphazardly on his living room floor.
You had pushed him away then, grinning enticingly as you went to straddle his lap. You ground your hips in circular motions against his still clothed crotch, gasping as the obvious bulge gives you even more traction to rub on.
“No fair,” he whines, fingers leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips, “P-please stop teasing, you’ve been doing it all night.”
He’s so tightly wound it’s almost pathetic. He’s lucky you’ve some semblance of mercy left in your body, because you could probably come undone just from the friction that came by dry humping him. But you relent, sitting back on his thighs as you tug at his underpants.
“All right baby, since you asked so nicely.”
Thus exposing what’s going to be the small issue of the night.
Rather, the large issue.
His cock springs free and for a moment you just stare at it. Red, veiny, pulsing and huge. Larger than anyone you’ve been with, larger than even the toys that hide in that one drawer in your bedroom closet.
“W-what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You paled a little.”
A shaky laugh escapes your lips, “You didn’t tell me you were hung.”
His eyebrows scrunch, so ridiculously adorable you have to bite your lip to stifle another giggle.
“Hung?”
“Yeah, like, your dick is huge.”
Red blooms across his cheeks, “It’s - it’s certainly above average—”
“You know what the average length is?”
“I-in North America, yes.”
“I didn’t know you swung that way, baby.”
He groans, moving to hide his face into the crook of your neck, “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know, I know, I’m kidding.” You manage to shift and catch his head before he has a chance to press it to your neck. Your lips land on his, and he’s pushing his tongue inside your mouth sloppily. When you pull away for air, you add, “You’re just bigger than what I’m used to.”
“Is that bad?”
Is it? One hand wraps around the base of his cock, stroking up delicately, testing out the girth and the weight of him. He shudders, muscles tensing. His fingers dig into your hips. With a grin, you reply, “On the contrary, I think it’s exciting.”
You position yourself over him then, letting the blunt tip run up and down your slick folds. The friction makes you both shiver. Every single ridge and vein of his cock catches on your sensitive flesh, and you can’t help but start moving your hips up and down, rubbing your folds over the length of him.
“You’re - ah - so wet.” his tone is wretched with desire and awe.
“All for you baby.” You continue your ministrations, letting his length part your folds, the tip hitting your clit at certain angles. His cock is covered in your slick within moments and your poor boyfriend looks like he’s about to combust. You feel the twitch of his cock, the shift in the way he moves his hips—rocking up desperately against you—and you know he’s close. So you stop.
You’re rewarded by another whine.
“Please,” his grip is hurting you now, palms clutching handfuls of your ass. You don’t think he’s even aware of how tightly he’s doing it. “Please, I’m so—”
“Spence, do you really want to cum without even being inside me?” That shuts up his whining. “Mhm, didn’t think so.”
“Can I— please, just—”
“What?”
“Wanna touch you.”
Your lips tug into a smile. At your nod of assent, one of his hands let go of your ass to move to your pussy, the pads of his fingers quickly locating your clit.
“Fuck, Spence,” your head falls forward, forehead meeting his, “Faster, baby.”
He obeys, tilting his head forward to capture your lips. Your mouth opens to him, muffling your moans as you begin to move, shamelessly riding his hand. His finger finds your entrance, dipping shallowly, hesitantly, but you’re so wet that, with a quick thrust of your hips, the digit slips all the way in.
Spencer pulls away from the kiss to watch, the pupils of his eyes nearly eclipsing the ochre irises as your pussy swallows his finger greedily. Transfixed, he adds another finger and it’s your turn to squeeze and mark up his alabaster skin with crescent marks.
“Yes,” you groan, gasp, writhe in his lap as his fingers curl and find the sweet spot inside you, “Oh god, Spencer, yes!”
He’s entranced as he pumps his fingers in and you, mouth hanging open as your pussy parts and accepts his fingers so prettily. To reciprocate, your hands—plural, yes both hands—wrap around his cock, starting a slow, lazy pace. That throws his rhythm off, fingers stilling inside you.
“Keep going,” you urge him, hands slowing to a stop as well, “Spencer.”
He whines, hips bucking up into your palms, but something in your voice seems to set him straight. Fingers thrust in and out of you again, long and elegant and stretching you for what’s about to come. Satisfied, you pump your hands over his cock again, twisting them every time you motion up, and squeezing as you go down. It doesn’t take long for him to fall apart, his cock twitching before cum shoots from the tip. Because you’re straddling his lap, it makes a mess and lands on both of you—his stomach, your chest, some even on your hair.
You silence him with a kiss, still stroking him, as your hips move over his hand. His brain manages to work, curling inside your fluttering walls. The movements are messy, uncoordinated as you chase your orgasm and he struggles to catch up. A whine leaves your lips, soft and needy. Something about it must trigger the neurons in his beautiful brain, make him remember you have the perfect bundle of nerves being neglected and he has more free fingers.
With a slight shift, he presses his thumb to your clit.
“Fuck, baby, yes!” you cry out breathlessly, head falling forward on his shoulder.
“Good?” he asks, increasing pressure on that sensitive nub. Small, quick circles. You wonder when he became so dexterous.
You nod, thighs clenched and quivering as your climax nears, the pleasure in your stomach building and coiling into something white-hot and— “Oh, Spencer!”
His other arm wraps around your waist, crushing you to him as he helps you through your orgasm. In the steady comfort of his arms, the rocking of your hips slow to a stop. You feel his lips at your temple, not really kissing the spot, just resting there. Heavy breaths rifle strands of your hair.
“Oh god,” he sighs, fingers slipping out of you with a pop, “Angel, that was amazing.”
You straighten up, grinning, “We're not done yet.”
“No?”
Eyes dart down suggestively, and his gaze follows to his own lap. Still completely erect, his cock lays flat against you, heavy and pulsating. “No, I think I need to take care of you a little more.”
“Y-you don't have—”
But you've already lifted yourself to your knees, fighting through the quake in your thighs, in order to position the tip of him at your slick entrance. His hands return to your thighs, nails clamping down on your skin.
“But I'm not— condom—”
How cute, he can barely speak. You grin, press a chaste kiss to the dimple on his cheek. “I'm clean. And on the pill.”
“You sure it’s okay?”
It's more than okay, actually. You're too shades shy of being desperate for his cock to split you open, but you're not sure if he'd survive hearing that sentence so you say, “Of course it is baby. Unless… you want me to stop?” If he catches the hint of insecurity in your voice, he doesn't show it.
Instead, his head is shaking no, vigorously, lower lip jutting out in a pout.
You smile, and kiss it away, “Okay then. I'll go slow, okay?”
You'd meant it as an empty warning. Really, there's nothing more you want than to impale yourself down on him and ride him like there's no tomorrow. However, as you slowly lower yourself onto his cock, as the blunt tip breaches your entrance and spreads your walls, you realize that going slow is probably more of a necessity.
He's big. Almost uncomfortably so.
One sharp exhale from your lips and he's suddenly looking at you in concern, “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” you gasp, although the furrow in your brows suggest otherwise.
“You don't have to—"
“Hush, baby, I just need a moment.” You say, forcing yourself to relax and take more. The broadest part of his head pushes through, stretching you wider than you've ever been. Soft, keening sounds fill the air. It's hard to know which came from you, or from him.
You look up, and laugh when you realize Spencer's skin is dappled with large red splotches. He's staring at where the two of you are connected, his cock barely fitting inside you. With a deep breath, you roll your hips around, trying to get used to the feeling. He whines again, his torso falling back onto the cushion, “Oh my god,” he gasps, lower lips trembling, “Oh my god, please.”
“Need you to be patient for me, Spence.” you mutter, dropping down a little more. You place one hand on his thigh for balance, while the other wraps around the base of his cock, stroking him to give him some relief. The greedy bastard bucks up, involuntarily, and you hiss as another inch pushes into you before you're ready.
“Spence!”
“Sorry, I'm sorry! Just - oh god, oh god, please, oh did I hurt you?”
And then it happens. Something glimmers on his cheek as it catches the light. And then another. And again, this time on the other cheek. Your hand leaves his thigh to grasp his chin, tilt his head up.
Your boyfriend is crying. Splayed out on the couch, cushions embedded by the sharp joints of his elbows from where he's propped himself up. He's looking up at you with glimmering liquid gathered on the rims of his lashline. Dripping down his cheeks, only to be replaced by another bout.
“Baby,” You sigh, pouting as you lean down. Soft lips catch his tears, leaving sticky residue on his cheekbones from the remains of your lip gloss, “It's okay.”
Another sob. Large teardrops crawl down his chiseled face.
Knowing that it’s your fault makes a feeling of power surge through you. “You’re so pretty like this, Spence.”
“Angel, please—”
The sight of his tear streaked face does something to you, your walls relaxing and fluttering as you manage to accept another inch down. His reaction is instantaneous, nails sinking into your hips, head falling back. “No, no,” you say, hand coming to the back of his head, tilting his head forward again, “Look at me.”
Tear streaked and hazy eyed, he manages to keep his head steady in order to maintain eye contact. It’s a little sick, the way this turns you on, but it allows you to sheath his cock further in.
You lift yourself up, until only the tip remains notched inside you, and his cock gleams with the evidence of your arousal. With a smile, you sink down again, walls fluttering as you take him deeper, until you have about three fourths of his length buried inside you and he’s little more than a puddle.
A hiss escapes your lips, brows knitting from the stretch. It isn’t just that his length is impressive, it’s that he’s thick too, splitting your pussy open. But now he's buried more than halfway through, giving you enough room to lift yourself up, and sink down again.
You count that as a victory.
He groans, muscles tensing, and you know he's desperately trying not to buck up and meet your movements. With a small smile, you lean close, forehead resting on his. Large, honeyed eyes stare back up at you, still glassy with tears. You repeat the same motion of your hips, moaning as you feel every single ridge and vein of his cock straining inside your walls.
“Feel good?” you murmur, swiping a stray teardrop with your thumb.
“Mhmm,” he nods, breath hitching as your movements grow steady. The sting remains, but it's grown dull now that you’ve gotten more used to the size of him.
“Oh god, baby, why haven't we done this sooner?” you whine as you rock on top of him, enjoying the fullness of having him inside of you. The question is rhetorical, but he's in absolutely no state of mind to answer. His hands grip your hips tightly as he sniffles, unable to do anything else except enjoy the ride you're giving him.
Praises leave your lips, murmured in tones cloyingly sweet and half mocking.
“Crying over sex, you're so lucky I'm so into you.”
“You look so pretty with tears in your eyes baby."
“Never had pussy this tight, haven't you?”
That last one rips another sob from him, because you know this is his first, that you're making a mockery out of something significant for him. So you soothe with a kiss, and whispers of “I'm sorry, it's okay, you're doing so good, you feel so good.”
You punctuate it by moving faster, your pussy thoroughly comfortable and so wet that there's barely any struggle to bounce on his dick. However, you're still careful, still unable to take him all the way in. You figure it's something you both can work up to, something for the future. The thought makes you smile.
Besides he doesn't seem to mind, moaning beneath you as you ride him. He seems to have lost all ability to articulate himself, instead just staring at you with red, tear filled eyes and a slack jaw. It makes you giggle, the way he looks so utterly fucked out.
You clench around him, walls tightening sharply, sending sensations that make the two of you gasp.
“I-I'm so close.” He manages to say, his hands now helping you, guiding your body as you impale yourself over his cock again and again, “Please, I'm so—”
“I know, baby, I know, you can come.”
His eyes squeeze shut, and his voice is especially strained when he asks, “Inside?”
You tug his hair teasingly, and his kids flutter open again. With a grin, you confirm, “Inside.”
A few more thrusts and he's gone, crying out, squirming desperately beneath you as spurts of his cum paint your walls. You don't stop, riding him continuously as you chase your own release. Thick, creamy liquid drips from your pussy and down the base of his cock with every movement.
He sobs even more.
“Touch me,” You whisper, pleading, “Spence, please baby, I'm so close.”
His fingers are at your clit in an instant, rubbing hasty circles as your pace grows erratic and sloppy.
“Please,” He gasps, looking up at you with glassy, imploring eyes, “Please I wanna feel you come.”
Your body seems attuned to his desperate pleas, because as soon as those words leave his lips, your pussy clenches around him so tightly you both yelp in surprise. He doesn't stop his ministrations on your clit, helping you through your orgasm until you're panting. For the second time tonight, you collapse against him, face buried at the crook of his neck.
“My god.”
He laughs, breathless, “My god indeed.”
He shifts, moving slowly so he doesn't jostle your boneless frame too much. There's a hiss from you as he slowly pulls out. You find yourself clenching around nothing, feeling oddly empty after such an intense fullness.
Silence wraps around both of you, heady and languid. His fingers in your hair, scratching your scalp. Soft intimacy after a whirlwind of lust.
And then he breaks it, so achingly sweet it almost makes you cry, “I'm sorry that I hurt you.”
“Mhm?”
“Earlier,” He clarifies, lips finding your shoulder and staying there. His voice becomes muffled and sheepish, “When I thrust up.”
“I didn't think you'd remember that.” You tease, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at his curls.
“I've an eidetic memory, remember? I remember everything.” He laughs too. Relief makes his voice sound lighter. “I never want to hurt you.”
“You didn't,” You reassure him, “Well - okay, a little bit, but it's fine. I don't think you meant to.”
“Of course not,” He hums, lips traveling up your neck, “But I'll be more careful next time.”
“Next time huh?”
“Mhm,” Teeth on your jaw. Playful, teasing. “Next time.”
It sounds like a promise. You know he intends to keep it.
This was a request by @mggslover lol I forgot to add up top oh well
Imagine him being jealous and pinning you against the wall in a public bathroom because you were around another man who wants to fu*k you and you decided to flirt back..
He says "you're mine. Don't let it happen again. I'll rip your clothes off and fuck you in front of him. Do you want me to do that pretty girl?"
He sets you down on the sink counter gently, caressing your face.. Then he pulls up your skirt up and kisses your neck "do you want me to cum in you? Claim you? Make you mine forever? Put my baby in you? Yeah you do? Let's see how much huh" He slides in you, you're so wet, he won't last long, it's a good thing because anyone can walk in.
His moans fill the room as he buries himself in you, degrading you then praising you, "good girl" "bad slut" giving you no time to adjust or let it sink in. He cums deep inside you in a quick motion with a loud moan
When he slips out cum comes flooding out of you onto the counter , you don't even bother pulling your panties back up, you just let his warm cum drip down your legs , your friends have no idea that you've just been claimed as his forever.
Synopsis: The days after the video call are torture. You’ve barricaded yourself in your own home, deleted everything and tried to pretend it’s over.
It isn’t.
Tonight, he’s inside your home.
Word Count: 3513
Content Warning: Non-Con, Dub-con, Home Invasion, Breaking and Entering, Stalking, Chase Kink / Predator/Prey, Knife Play / Knife Kink, Obsession / Possessive Behavior, Fear Play, Psychological Horror, Rough Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Power Imbalance, Horror Elements, No Aftercare, Graphic Depictions of Violence (light, no major gore)
This is PART 2 of "Hello, Doll," a Ghostface (Scream) × Reader fic
18+ Only
READ PART 1
The next few days are a blur of paranoia.
You barely leave your home. Every creak of the old floorboards makes your stomach lurch. Every gust of wind rattling the windowpanes sends your heart slamming against your ribs. You tiptoe from room to room, triple-checking locks you already checked five minutes ago, jumping at the sight of your own damn shadow.
You deleted the Tumblr app the morning after the call, swiped left on every notification, cleared your history, and blocked the unknown number. You know it's not enough. The videos are still out there, somewhere, ready to be forwarded with one cruel tap. The thought alone makes your throat close up. You can’t go to the police. What would you even say?
So you stay inside. Curtains drawn. Lights on even during the day. You’ve moved your charging cable to the living room outlet because when you're in your bedroom, your skin crawls with the phantom sensation of being watched. You sleep on the couch with a blanket pulled over your head like a child hiding from monsters.
You try to go back to normal. Tonight, you scroll mindlessly through safe, boring feeds with cat videos, recipes you’ll never make, friends posting about their weekends. Anything to drown out the memory of his voice.
“That’s a good doll.”
You sit up abruptly, tossing the blanket aside to reveal an oversized hoodie and soft shorts. The living room is quiet, lit only by the glow of the TV screen.
Then you hear it.
A soft scrape outside, something brushing against the side of the wall. Your blood runs cold. Your head snaps toward the door, your ears straining.
Silence.
You’re off the couch in a flash, peering through the gap in the curtains. There's nothing, just darkness. It must have been a trick of the wind, or a stray cat.
You exhale shakily. “It’s nothing,” you whisper to yourself.
Click!
The lights go out.
Everything plunges into black.
A scream rips out of you before you can stop it, echoing off the walls. You scramble backward on the couch, knees pulled tight to your chest. Your heart hammers so loud it drowns out everything else.
No. No, no, no.
Ding!
You yelp at the sound, glancing at your phone. Your fingers shake as you snatch the device up from the couch. A new message lights the screen.
Your breath stops.
Your phone slips from your fingers, clattering onto the floor. He must have switched numbers or something because you're sure you blocked him.
You did...right?
You grab your phone and stand abruptly, your eyes adjusting to the dark as you glance around. You need to get out. Now.
Your bare feet pound against the floor as you make a run for the front door. You're almost there, your fingers brushing the cold metal of the doorknob, when it begins to rattle.
You freeze. Someone is trying to break in.
You stumble backward, a choked sob catching in your throat, and head for the kitchen instead. Your phone buzzes in your hand again.
"Fuck you," you whisper through gritted teeth, but your voice shakes. You duck into the kitchen, back pressed against the counter, eyes darting to the drawers. You grab a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove. It feels cold in your grip, though your palms are slick with sweat.
Ding!
The lock clicks. The door creaks open.
A whimper escapes you. You slide open a different drawer quietly, fishing out a chef's knife just in case. You tuchk that into your hoodie pocket while the skillet stays in hand.
Then you hear it: a soft thud from the living room, like a boot on wood. Your breath catches.
He's inside.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! A flurry of texts light up your screen like fireworks.
Panic explodes in your chest. Bursting from the kitchen, you sprint down the hallway toward the stairs, aiming for the bedroom upstairs. You could lock yourself inside, barricade the door, and call for help then.
The house is a maze in the dark, and there are unhurried footsteps behind you now. They don't rush.
They stalk.
"Where are you going, doll?" His distorted voice floats through the darkness.
That voice. It's like your worst nightmare come to life.
You scream, and scramble up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The footsteps follow but you don't dare look back.
A dark chuckle echoes in the air.
When you reach the top, you fumble for your bedroom door, shove it open, and throw yourself inside, slamming it shut behind you. As the lock clicks into place, you back away, looking around for something to brace the door with.
Thump!
He's right outside.
You hold the skillet up. The lock on your bedroom door jiggles. Then comes a scraping sound, like metal on the wood.
"No," you whisper. "No, no, no..."
There's a heavy thud, and the entire door shudders in its frame. The wood splinters around the lock. Another thud, louder this time, and the door bursts inward, hanging off its hinges.
You gasp.
Standing silhouetted in the doorway, is a tall figure in a black robe. A white mask covers his face. It's elongated and ghostly, with a wide, frozen scream of a mouth and huge, hollow black eyes that seem to swallow light.
G-Ghostface...?
He tilts his head and the mask catches the light seeping in through your window, turning his stare into something predatory.
"Miss me?" he asks, stepping into the room, not stopping until he is a few feet away from you.
You scream and lunge forward, swinging the cast-iron skillet with all your might. He sidesteps. As the skillet connects with the wall with a deafening clang, the force vibrates up your arm, making you stumble.
He grabs your wrist, gloved fingers tightening around your bones like a vise. Then he twists, and you cry out in pain. The skillet clatters to the floor just as he yanks you forward, slamming you against his chest.
One arm wraps around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides. Whoever is behind the Ghostface mask is solid, all muscle and heat, and his scent is rich and woodsy, making you dizzy when you breathe it in.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than hear. "Caught you," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear.
"Let go!" you struggle, kicking and thrashing against him. "Get off me!"
Your other hand moves to your side; to grab the knife you'd tucked into your pocket. Your palm wraps around the handle and quickly, you swing it at him, aiming for his thigh. He anticipates it. With an easy movement, he ducks, but at least he lets go of your arm.
You burst out of the bedroom quickly, sprinting down the dark hallway. But he's right behind you. You feel the whoosh of air as his hand grabs for your hoodie and misses by inches.
That was so close. So fucking close.
You knock over a lamp to slow him down, the ceramic base shattering on the hardwood floor with a crash as you make it to the staircase.
You're halfway down when you feel a tug on your hoodie. You trip, falling forward, and he uses your momentum to pull you back against him. You both tumble down the remaining stairs in a heap of limbs and grunts. Your head slams against the wall, stars exploding behind your eyes.
He's on top of you in an instant, pinning you to the floor. The knife is gone, skittered away somewhere in the darkness. He straddles your hips, his weight crushing you, making it hard to breathe. Then he leans back and pulls out a knife.
This one is bigger. He holds the gleaming blade near your throat, not quite touching but close enough.
"Shh, shh, shh," Ghostface whispers, and you go still, terrified.
Tears stream down your face. "No," you whimper.
"Yes," he insists, tracing the flat of the blade down your throat, over your collarbone, and between your breasts. The cold steel makes you shiver, your nipples pebbling into hard points under your hoodie. "You're so beautiful like this, doll, so scared and helpless."
His free hand slides up your sides, gloved fingers digging into the soft flesh just under your hoodie. You thrash once more, but it only grinds your hips back against him. He groans hungrily.
“There it is,” he murmurs. “Fight."
He leans down, his masked face inches from yours. You can smell his breath, minty and clean.
"Don't pretend you don't love this. I've read those stories you love. I know what you fantasize about."
"I don't..."
"Liar." He moves the knife lower, sliding it under the hem of your hoodie. "Your body is telling me a different story."
With a quick flick of his wrist, he slices through the fabric. The sound of it tearing is loud in the silence. He does it again and again, cutting the hoodie into ribbons until your upper body is exposed to the cool night air.
He tosses the scraps aside and stares at your bare breasts. "Perfect," he murmurs.
He sheathes the knife and cups one, thumb brushing over the nipple. You gasp at the contact, a jolt of unwanted pleasure shooting through you.
Your mind screams at you to fight, to push him away, but your traitorous body melts under his touch. His other hand trails down your stomach, to the waistband of your shorts. He hooks his fingers into it and tugs, the fabric sliding down your legs.
"Please," you whisper, a final, pathetic plea.
He chuckles. "Please what? Please stop?" He leans in. "Or please don't stop?"
He doesn't wait for an answer. He shifts, positioning himself between your legs. He raises a knee, presses it to your core, and grinds against your clit. The friction is exquisite, but you can't let him know that...you won't...you shouldn't. You try to squeeze your thighs shut, to push him away, but he's stronger, insistent.
He continues to assault your senses, and your body betrays you further. You can feel the wetness seeping from you, soaking your panties. He must feel it too, because he chuckles.
"Would you look at that?" he murmurs.
He grabs the hem of your panties and yanks. The fabric tears easily, and you're left completely bare, exposed to the cold air and his hungry gaze. He parts your folds with his fingers, and you whimper as the cool air hits your slick heat.
"Look at this pretty little cunt," he groans, sliding a finger into your wetness. You gasp, your back arching off the floor.
"Wait," you plead, but the word comes out weak and breathless.
He sinks the finger into you, then another. You're so wet and ready that they slide in easily. He curls them, finding a spot inside you that makes you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand.
"That's it," he encourages. "Take it."
He starts to pump his fingers in and out of you, the wet, squelching sounds filling the room. Gloved fingers find your clit, circling once, twice, and your hips jerk despite yourself. A broken moan slips out before you can swallow it. It's too much, but not enough. You're so close, teetering on the edge of a precipice.
"Please," you beg, but this time, you don't know what you're begging for. For him to stop? Or to let you fall?
He leans down, his masked face inches from yours. "What do you want, doll?"
You shake your head. You're too ashamed to say it.
"Tell me," he commands, his fingers stilling inside you.
"I... I want..." you can't get the words out.
"Say it," he growls.
He punctuates his words with another curl of his fingers inside you, stroking once again, that spongy spot. Your toes curl and your vision goes blurry, but you can hear him.
"Say you want me. Say this cunt was made for me!"
His words are filth, but the raw honesty in them sends a shudder through you. He’s right. A sick, twisted part of you, the part that read those fics and touched yourself in the dark, wants this. He pumps faster, deeper, the heel of his glove grinding against your clit with every thrust. Your mind is a mess, a battlefield of revulsion and want.
Then he pulls away. You whimper at the sudden emptiness, the loss of contact leaving you aching. You hear the rustle of fabric, the distinct metallic clink of a belt buckle being undone, the soft sound of a zipper lowering.
Oh god.
You try to scramble away, but he's on you in a second, flipping you onto your stomach. Your cheek presses into the cold hard wood. He grabs your hips, yanking them up until you're on your knees, with your ass in the air.
You're completely exposed now, face down, ass up, in the wreckage of your own home.
Before a man you do not know.
Ghostface's grip on your hips is firm, pulling you flush against him.
"I'm going to fuck you now, doll," he groans, spreading your cheeks, and brushing a thumb over your puckered hole. You gasp at the crude exploration. He chuckles, a dark, filthy sound that makes your pussy clench.
You can feel him now, his thick, bare, hot and heavy length. He grinds against your bare ass, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning. When he shifts, you feel the unmistakable press of his cockhead against your soaked entrance.
"Wait, I...," you gasp out.
He interrupts you not with words, but with action. With one brutal shove, Ghostface sinks into you.
It's too much, and too sudden. Your whole body seizes, a sharp, torn gasp ripping from your throat as he splits you open. The stretch burns into a deep, invasive ache that has your toes curling into the floorboards.
He's big, bigger than you've ever had.
He pushes deeper, sheathing himself in your slick heat with a guttural grunt, his balls slapping against your clit. The wet slap of skin on skin is loud, lewd, a soundtrack to your ruin.
He starts to move, and the burn of the stretch melts into something else, a familiar pleasure that makes you tremble. He sets a punishing pace, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in, the force of it sending you scraping against the floor with every thrust. Your hands scrabble for purchase on the wood, nails digging in, splinters pricking your skin.
"Goodamn." His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place as he drives into you harder.
You should hate him. You should hate this. But your body? It's a traitor. Heat blooms in your core, your walls fluttering around him, greedily trying to pull him back in every time he pulls out.
"I can't believe this," he chuckles breathlessly, one hand sliding up your back to wrap around your hair. He yanks your head back, forcing your spine into a painful arch. "You're so fucking wet for me, dripping all over my cock."
He's right. You can feel it, the slick mess you're making, the wet sounds of him fucking you filling the room. You bury your face in your arms, trying to muffle the sounds of your own pleasure, the whimpers and moans you can't hold back.
"Don't hide from me," he growls. He releases your hair only to smack your ass, the crack echoing through the darkness. You cry out at the sting, your pussy clenching around him. "I wanna hear you. I wanna hear every little sound you make."
He yanks you onto your back. Your body hits the floor with a dull thud, your legs splaying open.
He's on you in a second, his knees forcing yours further apart. The black robe pools around him, and you can finally see the raw reality of him in the sliver of moonlight: hard, muscled thighs, and his cock...Fuck, it's long, thick and veiny, glistening with your wetness.
He wraps a hand around the base, stroking it slowly. Then he pushes back in, a swift, slick slide that has you both gasping. He leans forward, the white mask hovering inches from your face.
Then he begins to move again.
This angle is different. Deeper. His pelvic bone grinds against your clit with every thrust and behind the burn is a terrifying, full-body ache of pleasure.
"Mmmff! Aaah...yes." You can barely hold back your moans now. They echo through your home, mixing with the sound of his grunts.
He grabs one of your legs, hoisting it over his shoulder. The new angle makes you see stars as his cock sends jolts of ecstasy through your entire body with every thrust.
"Please don't..." you beg, but it comes out a whiny moan. "Don't stop..."
"I'm never going to stop." Ghostface pants, moving his mask up halfway. You get a glimpse of his bare chin and parted lips as he leans down to bite the sensitive skin behind your knee.
You cry out, your hands fisting in the fabric of his robe.
He's everywhere.
The smell of him, the feel of him inside you, the sight of that white mask...it's all too overwhelming. He’s a storm, and you're a leaf caught in the wind. You feel your control slipping away.
"Fuck me," he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust that makes you cry out. "You feel even more amazing than I thought you would doll."
You're close. So close. The coil in your stomach is wound so tight you feel like you're going to snap. His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles over it. You're so wet and sensitive that the contact is almost painful, but it's the push you need.
"Cum for me," he commands.
And you do.
A scream rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clamping down on him. He keeps your leg slung over his shoulder, the other one he kicks wider with a nudge of his knee, holding you open, exposed, and helpless. You can feel him watching you, the black holes of the mask’s eyes boring into you as you come apart around his cock.
Ghostface doesn't stop. He rides you through your orgasm, thrusting into you until you're a boneless, whimpering mess. He lets out a string of curses, his hips stuttering. Then he pulls out, and you feel hot, ropes of his cum painting your stomach, your breasts, your face. It’s messy, degrading, and you’ve never felt so completely and utterly used.
Yet...
He slumps forward, catching himself on his hands so he doesn't crush you. For a moment, you both lie there, catching your breath in the quiet room. You can feel the sticky heat of his cum cooling on your skin, can feel the dull ache between your legs, the ghost of him still inside you.
Then he grabs the knife he dropped and runs the flat of the blade along your jawline.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this, how many nights I’ve watched you touch yourself to those filthy stories.” He presses the tip of the knife to your bottom lip. “Wishing it was my cock in your greedy little hands instead.”
You stay perfectly still, barely daring to breathe as the metal kisses your skin.
"We're just getting started, doll," he murmurs. "Don't you forget that."
With that, he stands, leaving you empty and trembling on the floor. You hear fabric shift, the rustle of his robe, the soft click of the knife folding away.
Then footsteps, retreating.
The front door opens and closes.
Silence.
You’re alone again.
But you know he’ll be back.
He'll always comes back.
꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷
A/N: This should have been posted soon but Tumblr wouldn't let me upload screenshots for some reason! Anyway, I'm glad a bunch of people liked Part 1!. Part 3 will be coming soon so follow if you don’t want miss it!
See you soon!
