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toxicanonymity · 6 months ago

Text

EVERY INCH 4

SERIES MASTERLIST | SLASHERS MASTERLIST PAIRINGS: ghostface x f!reader; dark javi x f!reader LENGTH: ~6.6k words. The next one will be shorter.

SUMMARY: after what you did on the metro, you're ashamed and paranoid. javi crosses a line. ghostface does something he's never done before. so do you.

WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon, piv and various acts, somno, drugs, degradation, dirty talk, angst/shame, yearning, r-word in ref to past acts, breeding and "daddy" kinks, descriptions of (not actual) pregnancy. Restraints, blindfold. And idk, it gets weird. Anonymous ghostface. We enjoy surprises in this series, soo WRITER CHOOSES NOT TO WARN IN FULL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

A/N: Thank you for your patience and enthusiasm and omg all the love on the fics 🖤. Thank you negraarmadura (@theblackarmor) for your valuable input and inspiration. Also, @lunitawrites can shoulder some blame for the excessive breeding kink. Ty @saradika for the dividers.

🚨 FIC ART: banger collage by @aurorawritestoescape and action packed movie trailer by @carminepoison

Overnight, your fury and humiliation fades into gloom and confusion. Ghostface. You wake up itchy and dehydrated.

You never imagined things would go this far. You should kill him, right? Ghostface? Don’t you have to? Think about what he did to you. What he made you do. You should kill him, but you don't have the energy. And you're too angry at yourself to have much ire for anyone else.

Ghostface, a notoriously brutal killer, called you a serial rapist, and he wasn’t even really lying. How much of the metro disaster was planned? Did Ghostface orchestrate it, or did he simply seize the opportunity to watch, fascinated by your blind lust and rage?

You didn't want to know. As long as you weren't certain, you still had that little sliver hope that you didn't rape a stranger at gunpoint all on your own. But either way, you did hold the gun. Either way, you took the man’s dick out and degraded him as you forced yourself on him in the middle of a public train. Lost in the moment. Feeling like it was just you and him, Ghostface. Until it wasn’t.

The day after the metro, it feels like everybody knows what you did. Every time you close your eyes, images of crowds on train platforms blur through your mind. An infinite audience to your terrible crime.

You stay in bed, frozen, not wanting to face reality. Telling yourself it’s a dream. Sleeping off and on. Batting away uncomfortable thoughts–like when will you see Ghostface again? Is he going to call you? What will you do? You can’t get him off your mind.

Two mornings after the metro, you drag yourself out of bed, then out into the world. At the grocery store, you bump into your older pothead neighbor, and he asks if you're okay. Your heart races, thinking he must know. It takes you a moment to remember why he’s asking – your friend Marla was stabbed to death just days ago, and she wasn't the first.

In the checkout line, you space out until a man’s voice jars you from your trance. You apologize and put your items on the conveyor belt. When you’re just about to pay, you receive a text message from an unknown number, a fact which on its own makes your tummy tingle. When you read the text, your whole body turns hot:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

The words land straight between your legs. As the grocer hands you your bags, he asks if you’re okay. You shake yourself out of it and nod. The grocer wishes you good luck. At least, that’s what you think he says. Good luck not getting caught? Good luck not getting killed? Good luck with what? You decide you must have imagined it.

In the parking lot, before heading home, you sit in your car for a few minutes, spaced out, wondering if you'll ever be able to go out in public again without feeling like this. Like everyone knows something awful about you.

On the way home, you can't get your phone to charge. You’re fiddling with the cord when blue lights flash in your rearview mirror, making your stomach drop. The lights turn off only after you're parked on the grass shoulder of the two lane road.

Every second feels like a minute until a tall, blonde cop in aviators gets out of his car, stretches, and strides over like he has all the time in the world. You roll down the window. He plants two huge hands on the top of your car and ducks down to look at you. For a few seconds, he doesn't say anything, just leisurely chews his gum.

Then, he shifts his stance and asks, “How ya doin’, ma’am?” Deep voice, smooth as butter.

Out of nowhere, you feel on the verge of tears. Avoiding your reflection in his shades, you swallow the knot in your throat and answer, “fine.”

He stops chewing and asks,“Yeah? You sure?”

You suck your lips together and nod.

He looks from you to the groceries in your front seat and the mess of junk in the back, then asks, “Where ya headed?”

“Home.”

He bobs his head in understanding and glances down the road, chewing his gum again.

Your heart continues to race as you watch his face for a long moment of silence. Finally, he speaks. “Well, put your fuckin’ phone down for me.” He raises his eyebrows and tips his shades forward, forcing his sky blue eyes on you. “‘k, darlin’?”

Your lips part, and you forget to blink until he winks at you and flashes a smile. Then you nod and mumble, “Uh. Yeah, sorry.”

He fixes his aviators back. “Careful out there, ‘k?” After a nod and a casual tap on your roof, he walks off. You watch him in the rear view mirror.

Are his legs that long, or is it the monochrome outfit? He adjusts his belt before getting in his car. Your chest bubbles with interest, attraction, and you curse yourself under your breath.

At home, you try to distract yourself by watching a show, but it’s just not possible. After what he did—what you did–on the train, you’re terrified to know what’s next. What you might do next in this absurd state you find yourself in where he consumes your every thought. And it hits you, the sickest part of all—why you attacked who you thought was Ghostface. Not because Ghostface attacked you, not because he tried to kill you, but because he left you after getting you worked up. Ghostface walked away from you. He left you alone and alive in that alley, and it upset you.

You find yourself at the bizarre revelation that you and Ghostface are the only people in your world that feel real right now. You’re inextricably linked. He’s the only one who really knows you. He knows your darkness.

Are you the only one who really knows him, too?

Your phone dings with a text. It’s a political campaign, but you take the opportunity to re-read:

I’ll split your ass like a tangerine.

It gives you butterflies. It sounds like him. It has to be him. That’s the only thing that helps you relax.

(Some hours and a nap later. . .)

"What would you do if you had Ghostface cornered," Javi asks, sitting back and manspreading next to you on your sofa. He's nursing a Mike's Hard Lemonade from a case he brought and crammed into your fridge, pushing aside expired condiments and old takeout containers.

You should never have let Officer Javi in when he knocked on your door. “Heard ya had a rough day,” he had remarked. “Pulled over?” he raised his eyebrows. There was something about him that made you uneasy, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice, so you opened the door.

It was impossible to miss the way he sniffed the air after crossing the threshold. You imagined he was smelling the cum of Ghostface and amateur Ghostface, even two days and several showers later.

Pulling yourself back into the moment at hand – Javi’s question isn’t easy – what would you do if you had Ghostface cornered? What would a normal person do?

You ask, "if I had him cornered?"

"What, you wouldn't do anything?" Javi challenges you.

"I wouldn't get within ten feet of him," you claim.

Javi chuckles skeptically. "You wouldn't kill him?"

“No. . . .should I?”

"I think you have it in you,” Javi replies, then drops his voice. “Or you want it in you."

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t let it go. You challenge him, "What are you talking about?"

"You don't want to be a victim. You're determined not to be."

In a gesture that could pass for reassurance, Javi’s cold, broad hand rests just above your bare knee for a moment. Then he trails his fingers up your thigh, all the way to the hem of your shorts, close to where you’re now tingling.

His voice goes down in pitch and volume. "It's an attractive quality. . . Your lust for control." His face is dark with lust.

You take his hand off your thigh and place it on his own leg.

“See? ” he asks with a condescending twitch of his mustache in the corner of your eye.

"Pervert," you mutter.

"You wouldn't shoot Ghostface with my gun?" Javi glances down at himself. Eyes following his gaze, you do a double take at the shape in his tight pants.

Shame prickles your face, and you swallow as you admit, "Your gun was stolen."

"I know," Javi nods with just the hint of a smile. "It was turned in."

With an air of nonchalance, he takes the gun out of the back of his pants. He subtly rubs the side of the barrel against his hard cock as he pretends to inspect the firearm before setting it on the coffee table. "Now you can shoot him.”

He watches you look at the gun on your coffee table. The one that was buried in your cunt less than 48 hours ago. Javi continues, “But you won't shoot him, will you?"

"No," you agree.

"Don't want him to leave you alone."

"No," you argue, mouth getting dry. “That’s ridiculous.”

"Oh,” Javi seems to be acting. “Too scared to shoot a gun? We'll practice."

“No,” you shake your head, then ask, "How do I know he's the right one? The one who’s cornered?"

"Ah," A smile creeps across his face. "The real Ghostface, and not just some guy in a Stab costume? " He raises an eyebrow.

Over the next few seconds, your face goes ice cold.

"Shhh. It's okay,” Javi rests a hand on your back, then rubs it slowly. “I know, sweetheart.”

He knows what? Is he involved in this somehow? Your question spills out before you can stop it. “What are you getting at? What did you do?”

The large palm on your back slows to a halt between your shoulder blades. Javi pouts in contemplation, looking at the ceiling like he's racking his brain. Another twitch of his mustache. Before meeting your eyes again, he subtly shakes his head, "Nothing," then bends forward, picks up your drink, and hands it to you. He puts his hand on your back again, lazily caressing it with his knuckles this time.

Trying to calm yourself down, you take a sip. He nods encouragingly.

You ask, "Are you even a cop?"

"Yeah, I’m a cop," he laughs.

“Okay, pig. Who’s your supervisor?”

Javi’s eyebrows shoot up. “Ouch! ”

Another sip of your drink.

“Good girl,” he whispers as he watches you swallow. His eyes are right on your throat. The tingle simmers between your legs. Javi’s hand slides up your back to slowly rub the nape of your neck with his thumb and fingers while his hungry eyes scan you head to toe. How hard is he right now? You don’t allow yourself the glance.

“Listen sweetheart,” his tone shifts, “I can’t make this any easier on you.” His thumb gently glides over the peach fuzz on your neck.

“Make what easier?”

Javi’s only acknowledgement of your question is to breathe out a small laugh, then continue, “But I can make it harder.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s in your best interest if I keep you company tonight.”

With Javi’s crotch tugging at your peripheral vision, a mild arousal stirs in your gut, but you muster a look of disgust. “Or what?”

“Let’s not find out, ” he threatens.

You scowl and take another sip, catching a flash of satisfaction in his dark eyes. He continues to caress the back of your neck, then says, “Unless you want to find out.”

His thumb freezes right in the dip at the base of your skull. “Maybe I read you wrong. Maybe you do want to be a victim.” He taps his thumb twice and takes his hand away. His dark eyes scan your face as he reaches for the remote control.

Are you paranoid, or does he know something? You no longer trust yourself to see things as they are. You pray he’s just a creep, taking advantage of his assignment to protect you. If he were a worse looking creep, you might be more concerned.

Two hard lemonades later, you’re lying on your side on the couch, watching Rosemary’s Baby with Javi spooning you and lightly caressing your lower abdomen, right at the top of your shorts.

“Are you on birth control? ” he asks, which catches you off guard and makes your face and insides tingle.

“Yeah, gonna put that in your report?” you answer.

“Mm,” he sighs. “Bet you take it real well, too.”

A pool is forming in your panties.

“Same time every day? ” He doesn't wait for an answer before adding, “Even with all this going on? ”

No response from you.

With the softest flick of his thumb, he unbuttons your shorts.

“You really think i’m going to fuck you, don’t you?” you ask as his hand plunges into your panties. At least those are fresh. Or they were.

When Javi’s fingers reach your wetness, he groans softly. “I told you, sweetheart. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” Rubbing circles over your most sensitive place, he lightly grinds his hardening dick against your backside. The warm pressure of his arousal makes you throb.

This goes on for a minute, then he cruelly slides his hand out of your shorts. He smells his fingers. The crudeness makes you twitch and seethe. A moment later, he’s urgently tugging down your shorts. His forearm vein bulges as he wedges his hand between your legs again. Your knees open for him, you can’t help it. His cock is pressing so hard against your ass, throbbing for you. He’s rubbing you at a steady, desirous rhythm, and your body is helping your mind forget everything.

Need is rushing through your blood. The only thing you can see is a climax in sight. Your insides swell and throb for him. You think about his cock, you want his cock, but no, you’re not going to give a pig that honor. This will have to do.

He breathes heavier, and so do you. Your hips move with his rhythm. Every once in a while, his middle finger goes down and teases your hole as he gathers more slick to bring upward. Then one time, his finger stays at your entrance. He wriggles the tip of his middle digit into you, then plunges it in with a grunt, as far as he can get.

He pumps his finger and grinds his palm against your clit. Your hips begin to rock into his hand. He mutters, “mierda” (shit), to himself as he slides his ring finger in. His thick digits stay buried inside. His cock twitches, and he calms himself, slowing down. A moan slips out of your mouth when you’re on the edge, desperate for release.

“You want this, don’t you? ” he sides an arm under your neck and across your breasts to pull you tight against him. The swell of his cock sends a wave of pleasure upward, through your chest.

“No,” you choke out, but your hips roll into his hand.

“If you want to cum, all you have to do is ask.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between heavy breaths. You’re almost there. Then, you grab his hand and hold it still against your cunt as you send yourself over the edge, grinding against his palm, gasping vocally, spasming against his hand, pathetically trying to hold back your moans.

As it fades, you want more. Of course you want more. But you won’t give him the satisfaction.

You wriggle out of his embrace to sit up and kick your shorts off your ankles.

“I’m going to wash the cop off me,” you mutter in self-disgust.

Javi is bemused. “He doesn’t make you ask, huh? ”

Heat rises to your face. You stand up and don’t even look at him. “Fuck you, Javi,” you mutter.

“Does he even make you cum? ”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you lie.

Javi stands up, braces his thumbs on his lower back, and pushes his hips forward in a stretch. A spot of precum on his pants draws your eye as he steps forward, his engorged dick straining to get out.

After his stretch, he steps forward. His jaw clenches and his eyes are cold. He takes your jaw in his hand and looks from your lips to your eyes and back. “Everyone’s going to know who I’m talking about if you’re not careful.”

Your stomach drops, but you manage not to show it, you think. “Be gone when I’m out of the shower,” you warn as if you could do anything about it.

“Suit yourself,” he smiles slightly. “This time.” He adjusts himself with his dry hand.

You give him one last glare. Then, your eyes fall to his hand, where he’s inspecting his two wet fingers, glimmering in the low light of the movie credits. His mustache twitches, and he walks in the opposite direction of your front door. You don’t bother redirecting him. You’re just glad he’s leaving when he exits out the back.

In the shower, you start to feel woozy. Did you drink more than you realized, or did Javi slip you something? It could have been either. You end the shower sooner than you otherwise might, wrap yourself in a robe and lay on your bed. Aching to be filled, you think about retrieving a toy from your nightstand, but your sudden fatigue wins over. Not getting off to the thought of Ghostface is a victory, even if it’s on a technicality. Instead, you fall asleep, thinking about the only man you’ve thought about for weeks.

Your dreams are wild.

Ghostface is working at a grocery store, with his mask on. He has a black button down shirt under a long black apron with a name tag that says Daddy. He’s rolling up his sleeves as he walks toward customer service. It feels like he runs the place. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. You stand frozen as he approaches swiftly. He grabs you roughly by the elbow and marches you toward the produce section as if you shouldn’t even be there at the store.

He bends you over a crate of citrus fruit, and a fake thunderstorm booms from a nearby produce cooler as the vegetables get misted.

Standing behind you, holding you down on the fruit with one hand, he kicks your ankles to spread your feet open, exposing your cunt to the cool air. “You couldn't wait, could you?” He asks, hiking up your dress. You aren't wearing anything under it. “Couldn’t wait for Daddy to get home...”

There's a surge of need at the crux of your thighs, and you eagerly await his cock. Instead, what you feel is the cool, taut skin of a lime gliding against your dripping pussy.

He slides the fruit up and down your dripping seam and pauses to grind it against your clit. The man knows what he’s doing. You throb and twitch and sigh as the smooth skin of the lime warms up.

“That’s right, princess.” He wedges your legs further apart, so far apart the stretch burns. Then he resumes his work with the fruit.

One end of the lime teases your entrance, then he pushes it into you. Your body sucks it up with ease and spasms around it.

“Good girl.” His hand remains between your legs, hooking under your body to reach your clit. You whine as he rubs your sweet spot. The lime seems to thrust inside you with each rub of his hand against your front. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

He makes you cum on the lime, and with each of your spasms, your body sucks the fruit further into your channel.

As your orgasm fades, Ghostface zip ties your hands over your head, fixing them to the sale sign in the middle of the produce crate. He leaves you with your dress still pulled up, ass and cunt exposed, twitching with aftershocks.

“Please, wait,” You beg him to come back.

Another worker notices you and fails to hide his erection. The man’s face is pink and spellbound. He stands there and rubs himself through his pants. He looks around furtively as he does it, watching you. And you’re a vision — pathetically bent over the fruit, spread wide open, moaning and whining for your man to come back and fuck you raw.

A new sensation eclipses your awareness of the small audience. It begins to feel like the lime is growing in your womb, spreading your insides apart. You're increasingly aroused, feeling less and less control over your body as it swells with desire. You find yourself wishing for anyone to shove himself inside you—staff or customer. If only anyone with a cock would stop and use you. Please, you think to yourself. “Please,” you whimper out loud. You’re desperate to cum again, desperate to relieve all this pressure building in your belly.

An older man approaches, undoing his belt, and he looks you over as he runs his hand over the outline of his erection, deciding what to do with you. He gets close enough to spread your cheeks and examine your cunt. Your hole tremors at his touch, and you whimper. You can feel from the air that you are spread wide open. It feels like you’re going to split at the seam. After examining your parts, the man mutters, “oh,” before deciding against it and walking away.

Your whole torso feels like it could burst with the amount of tension swelling inside you. Your nipples are tight and sensitive, and you feel one of them bare against an orange under your chest. You look down to see your breasts, noticeably swollen, falling out of your dress.

The fruit beneath you begins to dig into your tummy and it hurts. It's too much, paired with the aching need between your legs. You cry out, and the other worker pages the general manager, Ghostface, over the intercom.

When Ghostface returns, he snips your zip ties then roughly flips you over so you're face-up on a big pile of fruit. He ties your hands over your head again, this time using a plastic produce bag.

“Well, look at my pumpkin,” he admires your body as he removes his gloves. Until you see the way his mask seems to stare at your middle, you don’t realize your midriff is exposed. Your dress has ridden up over your belly, which is rounder than before. It feels tight and distended, and you just feel so full. He places both hands on your belly, feeling your shape. When you look down, you hardly recognize yourself. Your nipples are leaking. The one still in your top is creating a wet spot. Your other breast has broken containment completely.

“What did you do to me,” you demand, with Ghostface massaging your belly tenderly.

He groans and reaches up with one hand. Suddenly he clamps his hand over your eyes. The next thing you feel is a mouth sucking at your exposed tit. It feels amazing, all the tension rushing out of your breast, along with the stimulation of his tongue. He breaks away with a moan.

“I knew you'd be delicious.”

So much pressure is built up inside you, you're dying to cum. He holds you by both your sides. You’re painfully spread open, inner thigh muscles aching. He puts himself between your legs. He grinds himself against you, and it makes your walls clench and convulse almost instantly with a groan that echoes.

He pulls his hips back and watches between your legs as you surrender to another orgasm. “Look at you, drizzled all over the fruit,” he marvels as he watches your fluttering hole. With each wave, you feel your belly and breasts swell a little more until you feel and look like you're in your third trimester.

“Please make it stop,” you beg. It feels so good, but you don’t want your body like this.

He rubs at your dripping cunt, his flattened fingers gliding soothingly between your puffy folds. Soon, you're grinding against his hand.

“Please,” you beg. “Take it out, take the lime out.”

“Might be too late, angel.”

“Please try.”

He relents and wedges three fingers together. The fingertips tease your dilated hole, then his three thick digits slide right in, the ease of it making him groan. The obscene squelching practically echoes as he fucks you with three fingers, and soon he adds a fourth. Your body accepts him, and welcomes the addition of his thumb. Soon his hand is reaching deep inside you, fist and forearm flexing as he searches for the lime.

“Daddy’s trying, baby.”

Your body hugs his hand. “Please,” you cry, tears running down your face, from pleasure and pressure more than pain.

“Let me see,” he muses to himself as he withdraws his hand and moves a finger down to your asshole. He teases the rim of it and you feel it open up for him like the rest of your body. Then he slides two dripping fingers in. With his fingers buried in your ass, you feel some relief. You breathe with the rhythm of his fingers, but when you see your belly heaving with each breath, you remember. “Please, please put me back to normal.”

Ghostface sighs. “Are you sure, princess?” His fingers slide out of your asshole.

“Yes,” you insist.

He crouches down, puts your legs over his shoulders, and positions himself with his mask right at your cunt. He rests his dry hand on your belly, and his wet hand grips his mask at the edges.

Just as he goes to take the mask off, the whole scene melts into a moving mosaic of fleeting thoughts.

Everything but the pleasure fades away.

Everything but the pleasure. . . and the feeling of being spread wide open. . . and your legs over someone’s strong shoulders. . .

Yes, there’s a head between your thighs, two strong hands holding you open, and a hungry mouth feasting on you with abandon. He’s grunting into your cunt with his tongue intruding into your deepest places, making your insides hum with need.

Did Javi never leave? It doesn’t exactly sound like Javi. Javi is far too measured to be so—ohh, God, that feels good. It feels so good, you barely notice that you’re blindfolded. Or that your wrists are tied above your head, securing you to the bed frame.

He licks up your cunt to suck at your clit, and he does it well. Fuck. A moan slips out, muffled by something damp and lacy. Your mouth is sore and gagged. Your heart races as he sucks, and your sensitive nub swells with pressure.

You’re still waking up, and your traitorous hips are grinding into his face. You’re close. His hands are on your thighs. You’re on the edge of climax, trying not to make any sound or sudden movements.

When his tongue slips down to your asshole, you flinch. You squirm, but the hands hold you still. His thumbs spread your cheeks, and he licks a wide circle around the rim, getting closer and closer until his tongue is teasing your hole.

Your nose twitches. You sniff the air, and breathe a shameful sigh of relief. It’s not Javi. It’s him. Thank God, it’s him. And it smells like he smoked in your room.

Ghostface pauses to mutter, “Good girl,” and the voice comes from between your legs, and from your right, as though he’s separated from the voice changer.

And separated from his mask. Wow. You never thought he’d— his warm mouth returns to your ass, and he thrusts his tongue into you. A pit in your gut deepens with each thrust of his tongue. Your eyelashes flutter against the folded bandana that covers your eyes.

You grunt and whine into the gag, then he begins to rub your clit while his tongue is buried in your ass. Before long, the tension snaps, and your vision goes from black to white. A muffled moan marks the start of your peak. His tongue slides out, and your body jerks with each spasm.

“Attagirl,” you hear from both directions.

As you finish coming, he lays a cheek on one thigh and a hand on the other, stroking your skin with his thumb.

“You were on a silver platter, princess. I had to take a bite.” Your nipples harden—you’re naked and your sweat is cooling. “You know how it is.” You don’t try to respond. “Had a feeling you wouldn’t mind,” he taunts. “And ohhh, Pumpkin. We’ve been having *fun*.”

Can’t exactly ask what he’s been up to with a mouth full of your own panties. But you wriggle and groan in disapproval. His face lifts off your thigh, and his hands are quick to hold you down and keep you still.

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledges your halfhearted effort, and you stop resisting. The fact that you both see through this charade puts you more at ease somehow.

When you feel his breath on your hip, it’s clear he’s not done, and you’re not mad about it. You’re in a daze—Ghostface is in your room, unmasked. Between your legs.

His teeth press into your skin, then his lips. He sucks hard, then harder, and the bruising suction makes you throb. You grunt into the panty gag. He releases your skin, then drags his lips to your mound.

He licks up your mound and presses wet, hungry, open-mouth kisses along your exposed torso, licking upward between each kiss, all the way to your breast where he pauses to suck and moan into it. You whine into the gag as your nipple hardens in his mouth and you gush and throb.

He drags his tongue up your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The closer his head gets to yours, the more clearly you can smell him - his unique blend of pheromones, his sweat, the way it mixes with the weed.

And then it slaps against you. His cock. Smooth, and warm, and hard against your hip, and your chest swarms with butterflies. You moan softly. His face is in the crook of your neck. He latches on for a suck and the dull pain makes your hips lift, seeking more of his cock. You feel an emptiness, a longing to be filled.

His bare face nuzzles at your jaw. He drags his lips up your chin, to your cheek, to your ear.

“Shhh,” he whispers, despite your silence.

His lips slowly drag toward your mouth, dragging along the gag. With his mouth on your cheek, your lips tingle with an urge. And then he gets there. His mouth lingers, open against yours, his breath, hot and humid, enveloping your lips. His teeth scrape the corner of your mouth. He bites down on the gag while one hand fiddles behind you to untie it. His cock, now on your mound, swells harder against you and Good God, you need him bad.

With a backward nod, he tugs at the panty gag, then lets it fall away with a vocal exhale, thrusting his stiff manhood against you. The loss of his lips on your face resembles heartache.

Barely above a whisper, you ask, “what are you doing?” and brace to hear his real voice.

Instead, his hand seizes your jaw, forcing your mouth wider open. And then he spits in your mouth. You taste it as it slides down your tongue, down your throat, and desire stirs in your gut.

He releases your jaw. “Daddy needs to hear ya, princess.” He mutters breathily, and it echoes from your right, “Daddy needs to hear you, princess.”

You pull your knees up. He braces a hand behind you against the wall and grinds his stiff manhood against your slick mound. “Fuck,” he whispers, with no digital echo. Then, in both voices, “You want this. . . Don’t you, pumpkin?” He grinds against you, harder. “You want Daddy’s big cock,” he confirms, and you can imagine him nodding.

“Yeah,” you admit in a whisper.

“Oh, yeah,” he replies. The slow, throbbing grind of his warm cock is devastating so close to where you need it.

“Please,” you ask.

“Please what?” he replies.

“Please,” your chest tingles, “Please, Daddy.”

“Uh-huh,” he thrusts against you nice and slow. So stiff and warm.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” you plead.

He pulls his hips back, letting his cock slide and drop to where his tip notches at your entrance. “Who’s gonna fuck you?”

“You are, Daddy.”

“Yeah, that’s my girl.” His tip pushes into your yearning cunt.

“Please, Daddy.”

“That’s right,” his tone sharpens as he abruptly shoves his length into you, pushing your slick walls apart. He shudders as he bottoms out. There’s a tingling burn in the stretch, but it quickly fades as your body gives way to the intrusion. And then, the overwhelming feeling is fullness and need for friction.

His hips pull back, and your legs wrap around him, begging him all the way back inside. He slams into you, and you grunt with the impact as his flesh fills yours again. “Good girl,” he praises. His cock — How did you ever mistake another man for him? He slams in again, making you whole.

As he fucks you, your thighs tremble, and you whimper, “Daddy,” drawing a groan from him.

He rails in, and slides almost all the way out. Each time, your cunt is pulling at him, begging him back in.

“Whose little slut are you? ” He asks, his thrusts becoming sharper.

“Yours, Daddy.”

A bead of sweat hits your sternum, then your forehead.

“That's my girl,” you hear in surround sound.

A salty drop falls into your mouth.

“Daddy’s little slut,” he breathes, “can really take a cock,” and the voice changer catches the last half.

He hovers his body lower, closer to yours. A thick steam condenses between you as he pounds you unforgivingly, even from the closer angle. Your chest, your whole torso, you’re all dewy with heat. And his skin, it’s so close, you want to feel it. You neeeed to feel it.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

Yearning to put your hand on his chest, you try to wriggle out of the rope and your wrists begin to burn. Your breasts jiggle and jut into the air with the effort. His chest grazes your tits, and you gasp with the pleasure that seizes your tummy.

You take a deep breath through your nose, drowning yourself in his masculine scent and the weed that hangs in the air.

He thrusts sharply and stays all the way in, grinding against you. His chest grazes yours again as he brings his mouth to your ear, and feeling his breath makes you weak. “Cum for Daddy,” he whispers, and his lips graze your temple with another thrust. He raises his volume, catching the modulator. “Cum on this cock, princess.”

“Mmm,” You bite your lip and whimper.

“One more for Daddy.” His thick, hard manhood drags heavily through your tight, wet channel, then he grinds again after bottoming out. His pubic bone is nudging your front just right.

“Mmgh,” you whimper, “Daddy,” and the pressure bursts. You whine, overtaken by your rhythmic release, hips lifting into him. His heavy breaths seem to echo to the beat of your climax.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, fucking you through it. “Ohhh,” he thrusts sharply and shudders as he begins to pulse. Your spasming cunt milks his cock. Your heels dig into his back.

He shoots a thick, hot rope deep into your cunt, and with a slow thrust, another one. Then his cock cruelly slides out. Your heart falls, and your legs reflexively tighten around him. You whine, “no,” with your desperate cunt grabbing at nothing.

But it's only a split second before his dripping wet cock shoves into your ass. It’s just in time to pulse again as his girth spreads you open and he claims another hole. “Yeah,” He bottoms out and your whole body heats up. In surround sound, you hear, “Hell yeah.”

He groans as he pulses, and over a few more beats and moans, the rest of his hot seed floods your guts. Each twitch of his shaft makes you shudder. You let yourself get lost in the warmth.

He breathes vocally as he finishes. Then his nose grazes yours ever so briefly, and you bite your lip. As he slides out of your ass, his breath is humid on your cheek and the corner of your mouth. When his face pulls away, your face feels cold.

He reaches toward the corner of your bed. Then you hear him rustling around as he puts his mask back on.

“Untie me,” you beg. He gets off the bed. More rustling. When he comes back, you feel his pj pants graze your bare skin and you’re offended.

He lightly braces a hand on your shoulder as he gets closer to where your hands are tied. The cool metal of his blade hits your palm and gives you a chill. The flat of the knife presses into your skin as he slices part of the rope and it loosens. You free your hands and bring them in front of you to caress the burn marks from your attempts to free yourself. He gets off your bed again.

“You had company tonight,” he remarks.

“Uninvited,” you clarify.

“Ohhhh. *Uninvited*,” he taunts with skepticism. The location of his voice has changed—he’s pacing.

“Jealous?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “Want him to bleed out anyway? ”

“Yeah,” you answer.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“He’s not a good guy,” you offer.

“Oh, princess. If he was a good guy, you wouldn’t let him in your pants. . .Wouldn't give it up that easy.”

“I didn’t–what–If you were here, why didn't you do anything?”

“Oh, I did a lot. Just not to him.”

“How long have you been here?”

He ignores the question. “Tell me, princess. Why would Prince Charming knock you out, and then just. . . leave?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “But I'm glad he left.”

“Cause he got what he wanted,” Ghostface answers his own question.

“He didn't even cum”

“Oh, that's not it, princess.”

“How would you know?”

“Think, Pumpkin.”

You’ve got nothing.

“There’s gotta be one brain cell left.” He sits down on the bed to put on his shoes.

“You're not gonna tell me?”

He stands up. You hear the woosh of his robe as he puts it on and walks away.

“Wait,” you protest. But he doesn't say a word. His footsteps recede, and you tug the blindfold down to see his robe trailing behind him toward the back door.

“Asshole,” you mutter to yourself.

When you go to the bathroom, cum is leaking out of both holes, which shouldn’t surprise you. After cleaning up, you get back in bed and keep the blindfold with you. It’s faded green, stiff with sweat. You sniff it. His sweat. Your chest feels light with forbidden affection.

Then you’re back to thinking about the question he left you with.

What did Javi want? You push through the shame and replay it all in your head. And then, you see the way he held his wet fingers so carefully as he left, not letting them get contaminated. And it makes your stomach drop. He might be trying to do his job, after all. It unsettles you and keeps you up.

You curl up under the covers, hugging a pillow. The bandana is wrapped around your hand, pressed against your nose and lips. The scent is comforting. You dart your tongue out for a taste, and find even more comfort in the salty tang. Then ,you take a wrinkled corner of it between your teeth. Your lips wrap around the cloth, and your body finally relaxes fully. You drift off suckling at his sweat.

Thank you for reading! PLEASE READ THIS NOTE

Thank you for being here and sticking with me. I value each one of you. I can't overstate how much your comments and reblogs really help and motivate me. Your asks, too. I love knowing what you enjoyed most.

As for what's next - no promises, no time estimates.

When people simply demand the next one (ignoring the notes at the end of the fic, on the masterlist, and in my pinned post) without saying anything about the one they just read, it does NOT make me write any faster or prioritize this story. It's actually pretty demoralizing. I work hard on these and if the only thing Im gonna hear after the next one is NEXT/MORE, what kind of incentive is that for me to do the next one? I'm glad you're excited but please try to show it in a different way by appreciaging/acknowledging what you just read. Please ❤️

#ghostface x reader #javier pena x reader #dark!javier peña #ghostface #ghostface ☠️#every inch ☠️#toxicanonymity ☠️#slasher fanfiction #slasher smut #ghost face #scream fanfic #dubcon cw #danny johnson x reader #ghostface fic #ghostface smut #mickey altieri smut #billy loomis smut #ethan landry smut #stu macher smut

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