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munson-blurbs · 1 year

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hii 🫶🏻 i've had this idea of the reader and eddie being at a halloween party and her drink getting spiked (roofied or wtv) and like eddie comes to the rescue and takes care of her - enemies to slight lovers pls!! have a good day/night :))

Hi! I changed it a bit so that her drink was spiked with extra booze, but I kept it enemies-to-lovers!

Warnings: underage drinking (everyone is over 18 but under 21), reader's drink gets spiked, drunkenness, brief mention of Eddie dealing, Billy Hargrove needs his own warning tbh, enemies-to-lovers, idiots in love

WC: 2.5k

Thank you so much to @corroded-hellfire @lofaewrites and @manda-panda-monium for their help! Y'all made this fic much stronger, and I am indebted to you.

A brief, incomplete list of activities you enjoy: grabbing coffee with a few friends, walks down by Lover’s Lake powered by whatever cassette you’ve jammed into your WalkMan, reading a good book and curling up in the sunlight streaming through your bedroom window.

A brief, incomplete list of activities you despise: Steve Harrington’s house parties.

The bass from the stereo has the entire downstairs shaking, and you wince as you pass by it and make your way to Nancy. She’s the reason why you’ve started coming to these stupid things, and although Steve isn’t as big of a tool as you’d previously thought, it doesn’t make other people more tolerable.

“You having a good time?” Nancy asks now, bouncing along with the music. Her eyes are hazy with booze; her half-filled cup of the jungle juice concoction is clearly far from her first of the evening.

You shrug, hitching your bag close to your shoulder as a beast of a man in a letterman jacket pushes his way through the crowd. “Not really.”

“Cool, awesome!” Nancy chirps, senses compromised by the constant flow of alcohol and the blasting music.

Steve has his arm around her waist, pressing chaste kisses to her neck. He looks up at you for just a second and frowns. “Where’s your drink?”

You jingle the car keys you’ve had clenched in your fist the whole night, ready to make a getaway as early as you can. “Designated driver. Unless you want José Cuervo behind the wheel tonight,” you raise your brows as you motion to your friend.

Steve shakes his head. “Nance is gonna stay here with me tonight,” he tells you, taking Nancy’s cup from her hand and placing it in yours. “She’s had enough, anyway. So, uh, go crazy.”

Go crazy. It’s tempting to dull the roar of the dozen or so conversations worming their way into your consciousness. And no doubt it’ll be easier to slap a fake smile on your face and even join one of them. But you still have to get home somehow, and the thought of asking either of your overbearing parents for a ride home from a party has your stomach in knots, especially considering you’d told them you were going to the library and sleeping at the Wheeler’s.

Instead of going crazy, you toss the couple a frustrated eye roll, but they’re both too enmeshed in their puppy love for each other to catch it. Home. You just need to get home, snug in your own bed, away from–

“Hey, Goody Two-Shoes!” Billy Hargrove flings his muscular arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him despite your clear lack of interest. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s bad etiquette to bring down the party vibe?”

“Get offa me,” you grumble, but his strength easily overpowers yours.

“What you need,” he continues, stifling a beer-scented belch, “is to fuckin’ loosen up.” He punctuates his statement by placing one beefy hand on each of your shoulders, shaking you back and forth. He stumbles a bit in his drunken state, and you seize the opportunity to step away from him.

The entire encounter makes the drink in your hand even more tempting, and you throw it back without another thought. Your throat burns with the sting of alcohol, and you wince reflexively. Jeez, if this is what Nancy’s been drinking all night, no wonder she’s wasted, you think, grateful that you only had half of the cup.

Eddie Munson arrives when the party is in full swing, lunch box of illicit substances gripped tight in his hands. He hates spending time with these jockstraps outside of school, but parties are a great way to make some extra cash, and rich douchebags like King Steve practically throw the money at him, too drunk and lazy to actually count it out.

He sees you out of the corner of his eye, swaying to the music alongside Billy Hargrove. You’re leaning into him, with his hand around your waist pulling you into him. You laugh loudly, though it doesn’t appear that Billy’s said anything.

What a weird pair, Eddie muses, comparing your usual type-A, pain-in-the-ass, teacher’s pet personality with Billy’s thoughtlessness and indifference. He watches as Billy nonchalantly refills your drink and grabs your backside.

When Billy notices Eddie, he props you against the counter and murmurs something before staggering over to buy something. “What do you have tonight, Munson?”

“The usual,” Eddie replies casually, placing the tin box on the kitchen table and flipping it open. “So, uh, looks like Goody-Two Shoes is having a good time.”

Billy chuckles, twirling a toothpick across his lips. It’s a menacing laugh, and Eddie doesn’t care for the sound of it. “Yeah, she needed a little help, but I took care of it.”

He really doesn’t like that. “What do you mean?”

“Slipped a little extra in her drink when she wasn’t looking,” Billy whispers, flashing Eddie a now-empty mini bottle of tequila. “Shit was pretty strong to begin with, but she’s definitely feeling it now.”

“You spiked her drink?” Eddie’s mouth goes dry, and he snaps the lunch box shut. When Billy just laughs again, Eddie shoves him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Billy holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, man, you can’t blame a guy for doing what he has to do to get laid. Especially when it’s someone as uptight as her.”

Rage pounds in Eddie’s ears, and he barely hears anything after that. He marches towards you, fists clenched. You weren’t his favorite person, and he wasn’t yours–not after what happened in health last year–but he’d be damned if he let you get taken advantage of.

“Hey,” he says softly, tapping your shoulder to grab your attention. “Let me get you home.”

You sloppily shake your head, jungle juice sloshing over the side of the cup. “‘M fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He’s insistent, tone much harsher than his usual carelessness. “You’re absolutely plastered, and I’m taking you home.” He extends his hand, and you reluctantly take it, letting him lead you to his van. Your feet are bricks beneath you, and you giggle involuntarily as you trip over them.

“Munson, what the fuck?” Billy calls out, charging over. His own stride isn’t much more graceful than yours; the Keg Stand Champion having reclaimed his title earlier in the evening. “Get your own girl.” He reaches for your bicep to tug you away, but Eddie’s faster, which only makes the jock’s eyes stonier. “Fucking freak!” he calls out, quickly downing another plastic cup of beer.

Your eyelids begin to close, and slurred words leave your lips. “Whas’ goin’ on? Why’s Billy shhh-so mad?”

Eddie ignores your question, not wanting to slow down and risk Billy catching up to you. Once he’s safely got you in the passenger seat, he starts the ignition and glances at where you’re leaning against the window. “Where to?”

“Home.”

“Right, and, uh…where might that be?”

You shrug, body heavier with sleep by the second. “Dunno.”

“Like an address, or a general direction…anything?” Eddie drums his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. He sighs and throws the van in reverse when you shake your head. “All right, looks like you’re staying at mine.”

He keeps his eyes on the road, stealing a peek at you every minute or so. You’re sleeping, soft snores punctuating the otherwise silent ride. He winces as he goes over a bump and puts his arm out to prevent you from falling against the dashboard.

Twenty minutes later—it would have been fifteen, but he drove slowly to prevent jostling you too much—he’s pulling up to his trailer. “Welcome to Casa Munson.” He opens his door with a dramatic grunt and shuffles around to your side. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” If any of the neighbors see him, they’ll assume the worst, but it’s either that or have you sleep in the van.

The last thing you remember is mumbling about needing a bed and Eddie leading you to his with an offhand comment about not knowing where the stains are from. When you wake the next morning, a jackhammer has replaced your brain and your throat is filled with bile.

“Ugh, fuck,” you groan, pulling your sheet up over your eyes to shield them from the sun. Except this isn’t the baby pink set your mom bought you from Wal-Mart. These sheets are white and smell like cigarettes, weed, and drugstore cologne. The realization that this isn’t your room has you jolting up in bed despite your body’s protests. “What the hell?”

“Good morning to you, too,” a voice grumbles from below. You look down to see Eddie Munson laying on the floor, a towel rolled below his head in a makeshift pillow. A throw blanket covers from his shoulders to just above his ankles, leaving his sweat sock-clad feet exposed. “There’s some water and pretzels next to you, and I can grab Advil if you need.”

You nod, squeezing your eyelids together at the pain the slight head movement causes. “Yes, please.” He returns with the medicine, and you eagerly swallow it with a gulp of water. A quick assessment assures you that your clothes are still on, but you still have to ask, “did we…”

“Nope. No way. Not even a little.” He takes a seat next to you, offering the pretzel canister. Though your stomach is churning, you need something to absorb the medicine, so you take a handful and carefully munch on them. “But you had quite the offer last night.”

“Wha—?”

“Hargrove spiked your drink to get you in bed,” he explains. His mop of curls is disheveled from tossing and turning, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “And, uh, not to sleep.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” you mutter. A fresh wave of nausea washes over you, and it’s not from the hangover. Your memories are muddled, but you can vaguely piece the night together: Nancy and Steve, the unfinished drink, Billy’s arm around you… “We left before he could do anything, right?”

Eddie nods, stealing the plastic water bottle from your grasp and taking a swig. He swishes it around his mouth before answering. “Got you outta there before he could even cop a feel.”

You grimace at his brazen response. “Well, um, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” You start to stand up, fumbling for your keys in your bag when you remember. “Fuck, my car’s still at Steve’s.”

“I can take you,” Eddie offers, grabbing the jeans he’d haphazardly flung over his desk chair.

“Nah, s’okay. I can walk.”

“Seriously?” He throws his hands in the air, utterly exasperated with you. “You’d rather walk three miles back to Harrington’s—hungover as shit…looking like that,” he gestures vaguely at your smeared makeup and bloodshot eyes, “than take a ride from me?”

You remain quiet, so he proceeds with his rant.

“Y’know, when you ditched me last year, I figured you weren’t, like, into me or whatever. But, Christ, what did I do to make you hate my guts?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “I ditched you?” The thunderous headache makes it difficult to wrack your brain for the memory, but you definitely would recall ditching Eddie Munson. “I never did that.”

“Last April,” he begins, tone clipped and direct, “the night we were supposed to finish our health project—”

“You ditched me.”

He shakes his head. “Uh, no. I invited you to see my band play and then we would finish the project after—which you agreed to—and then you never showed.”

“No, you told me, and I quote, ‘Corroded Coffin has a gig at The Hideout at 8, and we can put the poster together after we play.”

“Exactly!”

“Exactly what?” It hurts to roll your eyes, but you do it anyway just to emphasize the absurdity of the situation. “That wasn’t an invitation; that was just you telling me what time the show starts.”

“What time it starts,” he says slowly, as though explaining it to a child. “If I just wanted to meet up for the project, I would’ve told you what time it ends.” His eyes narrow. “Do you really think I spent all that time doing research with you just to flake when we got to do the creative part?”

The missing pieces shift into the puzzle. You’d been thrown off when Eddie had failed to show that night; you’d genuinely thought the two of you had forged some kind of friendship during your evenings at the Hawkins Library. But when midnight had rolled around, you’d given up altogether, gathered your notes, and made the poster alone.

“I…I didn’t know…” you muse, mouth drier than it was before you’d drank water. “I thought you forgot, or didn’t care…” You press a tooth into your bottom lip and gnaw at the chapped skin. “Trust me, I never would’ve ditched the guy I—”

You’d tried to cut yourself off before Eddie catches what you’d inadvertently implied, but it’s too late. “The guy you…” he gently goads. When you don’t answer, he sits on the bed next to you and knocks his knee against yours. “Would it help if I told you that you’re the girl I…” He tilts his head and peers at you through his deep brown eyes.

“Me?!” There’s no way he’s serious; you brace yourself for the ‘gotcha’ or some other punchline he’ll inevitably toss your way.

To your surprise, there is none. “What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’m a total sucker for a goody-two shoes.” He stands up again, crossing his arms over his chest and pacing back and forth in the tiny room. “So, since I’m the guy that you…and you’re the girl that I…can I interest you in some of the finest hangover food this town has to offer?”

“Can I brush my teeth first?” You grimace at the tang of last night’s tequila that sticks to your molars. “Unless you also happen to be into girls with wicked morning breath.”

He chuckles, a true and hearty laugh, and it’s one of the most beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard. “Spare toothbrush is in the top drawer,” he says, pointing towards the bathroom.

Once minty freshness has replaced stale booze, you wash the remnants of your makeup off of your face. You look a bit better; tired and hungover, but better.

Eddie’s dressed in ripped jeans and a faded concert tee, keys clenched in his palm. “Ready?” he asks, leaning against the bedroom doorway.

“Mhm.” You feel his hand ghost the small of your back as he leads you towards the front door, sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

“Hey, by the way?”

When you turn around, his lips are on yours. It’s soft and sweet, just a bit more than a peck, but you can tell it took every ounce of courage for him to do it. You both take a small step back, swapping shy grins.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

You take his empty hand and lace your fingers with his. “Does Corroded Coffin still play at the Hideout?”

“Every Tuesday at 8.”

“I’ll be there.”

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things

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babyjakes · 10 months

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〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | mutual masturbation

pairing | best friend!ransom drysdale x reader

warnings | very innocent!reader, bordering on little!reader. soft!ran <333 specifically soft for reader. ddlg undertones tbh (no use of the word daddy but ran is daddy af and also tells reader to "be a big girl" multiple times.) reader is having orgasm troubles/anxiety. mutual masturbation (clit rubbing, jerking off through pants.) subtle humiliation vibes (not verbalized.) praise and encouragement. delayed orgasm. he steps in and helps/finishes her off. he also comes in his pants lol. they come together! :D

word count | 886

it all starts when he overhears you on the phone with your friend, admitting you’ve never been able to make yourself come 😭

it somehow leads to him laying you out on your bed, tugging playfully at your jean shorts. “c’mon, baby. i promise, i wont make it weird. i just wanna help you”

and he’s your beeeest friend, your very best friend in the whole wide world, and you know he’s got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to this sort of thing, so you try to swallow down your humiliation and go along with it

he kneels attentively in front of you as you rest back against your pillows, shyly pulling off your bottoms. he chuckles sympathetically at your cute little pastel panties with your favorite cartoon characters on them. if it were any other girl, he'd probably make fun of them, but you've always been a sweet innocent baby in his eyes so he can't help but find it endearing 💕💕

"c'mon, cutie. don't be shy, it's just me" you try to remember that he's right; it's just your ran, your safe, wonderful ran, who you've known your whole life

you squeeze your knees together as you pull off your panties. ransom's surprisingly patient with you, "let me see, silly. can you show me how you've been doing it? i can't help unless i know what the problem is"

it takes a bit more coaxing before your knees finally fall to either side of you, revealing your perfect little petals which instantly have ran giving you the biggest heart eyes 🥺💖 "oh baby, you're so pretty down there. aww, are you a little wet, sweetheart? it's okay, don't be embarrassed" as you're squirming softly in front of him

your hands are so clumsy as you try to figure out where to even begin. he's right: you're wet (though you swear this isn't turning you on!!!) your fingers fumble around as you lamely begin poking and prodding at your leaky hole

ran raises an eyebrow at you, not sure whether or not you're playing dumb or just really this clueless. "that's it?" he asks in disbelief, clearly not impressed. you sigh, trying not to hide your face in your hands from embarrassment. "what about your clit?" noticing how you immediately grow more squirmy at his question, he calls your bluff- "come on, y/n. be a big girl and show me" 🥲🥲

you finally bring one hand up to begin rubbing carefully over your little button. you fail to hold in a soft gasp at the sudden rush of pleasure, earning a smile from the man sitting in front of you. "there you go. keep going, princess," he encourages you

as the warm, fuzzy feelings grow, you find the courage to spread yourself out a little with your other hand, giving you better access to your swelling bundle of nerves. ran's grin grows as he watches it growing and pulsating beneath your rubs

"shit, sweetheart. so fucking cute when you play with yourself like that," he curses softly, bringing one of his own hands down to begin palming himself through his pants. seeing him getting worked up by you only turns you on more. you don't even notice when your juices begin leaking down onto your bedsheets 🥲

you become more vocal, holding back fewer of your sweet little moans and whimpers. the noises you're making are clearly driving ran crazy, his pace over his impressive bulge quickening as his face flushes red. "fuck, just like that. keep rubbing that pretty little button for me, baby. look at you, you're fucking soaked"

your fingers grow faster over your throbbing clit, your breaths becoming more labored as you feel pressure beginning to build in your tummy. as soon as you recognize what's about to happen, a familiar sense of doubt hits you as your motions begin to falter. "r-ran," you choke out, big eyes looking up at him for help.

he's immediately leaning down with a worried look on his face, quickly recognizing the problem. "no, no baby, it's okay," he tries to cheer you on, "just keep going, you're almost there"

"can't do it," you frown as your poor clit twitches helplessly after being abandoned so abruptly

"yeah you can, come on. let me help," you can't even think to speak up or stop him before he's reaching down, using his own fingers to resume the stimulation. for whatever reason, you lay back and take it. "spread yourself open for me, sweetheart. just like you did before, there," he hums in approval as your hands fumble to do as he instructed. he keeps his pace steady over your hardened nub, watching as you quickly near the edge once more

"now come on, baby. be a big girl and come for me," with him towering over you, one hand gripping himself shamelessly through his pants while the other works your burning button just right, he's able to coax an orgasm out of you with just a simple command

"there it is, that's my girl," he's beaming proudly as you're finally given your release. the sight of you losing control under his simple touch and order is too much for him to handle; he comes right there in his jeans with a loud groan 😌

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quin-ns · 1 year

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Fake Blood (Ethan Landry x Reader)

Word count: 5.6K

Summary: spoiler: the blood isn’t fake. alone in your apartment after your friends had been attacked, you ask ethan to stop by. he does in an unexpected way and you get more than you bargained for

Tags: (18+), friends to lovers, minor violence, knife tw, flirting, making out, virgin!ethan, virgin!reader, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, the ghostface robe stays on during sex, denial ab ethan being a murderer :) (if bad why hot?)

A/N: just watched scream 6 for the first time only a few days ago and couldn’t get this psycho out of my brain (tiktok edits didn’t help lol). timeline might be a little wonky but tbh it’s not relevant. also this follows the theory that ethan did the big apartment attack. I really wasn’t expecting this to be this long but it’s worth it yall I promise

cross-posted to ao3 • scream masterlist • main masterlist

As much as you liked Mindy, if you knew becoming friends with her would lead to you being integrated into her friend group of past and present serial killer victims, you might’ve thought about asking someone else to partner up with you for a presentation in your film studies class.

When you’d asked her, it was mostly to avoid having to accept an offer from a guy named Jason, who had always stared at you during that class and brought up the ‘Stab’ movies whenever he could (this was before you knew your friends knew him, but you still got a weird vibe from the guy).

She’d been excited to hang out with you after you two gave your presentation, and that’s how you wound up spending most days with her and her tight knit group of friends.

You were probably closest with Mindy, but you liked her brother too. For a guy named Chad, he was actually pretty chill. You got along with Tara as well, who was in a bit of a rebellious phase after being attacked and nearly killed, which you only learned about once they trusted you enough. Her older sister Sam was mostly cool too, but a bit overprotective. There was a gloomy aspect to her, but you supposed it made sense given that she was betrayed by her murderous boyfriend and now the internet peddled theories that blamed her for a series of killings in their home town of Woodsboro.

They had a tight bond, and even though you grew close with each of them, you knew you’d be an outsider. Like Tara and Sam’s roommate Quinn, Mindy’s girlfriend Anika, and Chad’s roommate Ethan. You all had shared multiple conversations about their trust issues. It must’ve been hard to even start to trust people after all that.

Out of all of the other “newcomers” as Mindy once put it, you got along with Ethan the best. He was a little quiet and sorta dorky (which your friends would tease him about a little—all friendly, of course) but he was fun to talk to. You guys liked a lot of the same stuff, including horror movies, and it didn’t hurt that he was cute.

In your opinion, with his curly dark hair and eyes to compliment, the whole “shy guy” thing was part of the appeal.

You wondered if he’d ever make a move, or if he even knew you were curious about him in that way. You wouldn’t go so far to say it was a crush for your ego’s sake, but you wouldn’t send him running off with his tail between his legs like you did with most guys.

Like that guy Jason from film class, who, just before Halloween, was killed alongside his roommate by a masked killer.

“Didn’t he have a thing for you?” Mindy asked you as you were all gathered around the TV, finding out the news together.

You were sitting crammed in a chair next to Ethan since the others had all taken up the couch space. He didn’t seem to mind, but it did unfortunately make it easy for them all to look your way and stare. You didn’t like the attention.

You were in shock at the news, especially when the anchor revealed Jason had also killed your film professor. Ethan pointed that out, saying if the guy was crazy enough to do that he might’ve even gone after you.

“Maybe the killer who killed him did you a favor,” Quinn suggested in response to Ethan.

The thought terrified you. You looked around the group. “Do you guys think he really would’ve hurt me? He seemed weird, not psycho.”

“We talked not that long ago, nothing seemed off,” Tara revealed with a grim look. “He asked if you and Sam were gonna come to the party.”

You hadn’t planned on going—what the hell would’ve happened if you had?

You exchanged a look with Sam, who seemed to have the wheels in her head turning.

You zoned back into the news as the reporter explained the mask found was a ghostface mask—like from the Stab movies. And of course, the actual Woodsboro killings.

“Pack a bag,” Sam told her sister, springing up to move around the apartment building.

Sam and Tara argued, which was a little weird to witness. You tried to sink back into the chair, while Ethan looked at you like he wanted to say something.

Hopefully it wasn’t “get out of the chair” because you didn’t think you could move.

The night ended with you going back to your little apartment alone. Your roommate was out of town and so your anxiety was on high alert.

A lot had happened that night apparently, including Sam and Tara getting attacked in a convenience store and them being questioned by the cops.

As much as you cared about them, you feared what would happen if you were with them.

That’s why the next night when you were invited over, you had been hesitant. A government paper was the perfect excuse, but you had FaceTimed with them so you all could keep an eye on each other.

You sat at your little desk, your laptop opened to work on your paper, and your phone propped up on your cup so you could talk to them hands free.

Apparently everyone was together at the apartment except Ethan, who told you he was studying in the library when you texted to ask him. You responded that you were working on a paper and that if he wanted to come over to keep you company, he could.

You’d spent some time alone with him, but not a lot when you really thought about it. It was always in the group—who were all murder suspects, according to Mindy’s movie rules.

You knew you weren’t the killer, and you had absolutely no motive. The others were still suspicious of you so that hurt a little (maybe that was another reason why you were keeping to yourself), but you did your best to understand that they weren’t just suspicious of you.

Everyone was a suspect, and no one was safe.

You felt even less safe when Mindy said she’d call you back. You didn’t know why she had to hang up so urgently, but you had a feeling it had to do with the emotional conversation Tara and Sam had been having in the background. You couldn’t make out most of it clear so you avoided mentioning it.

You sighed and checked your chat with Ethan. He hasn’t responded to your text. You were getting nervous now that you weren’t video chatting with your other friends anymore and the thought of being home alone didn’t bring you much ease.

You thought about just going over to the Carpenter’s (and Quinn’s) apartment, not wanting to bother Ethan further. Maybe he was ignoring you on purpose.

However, it was a far walk there. You didn’t feel safe making it alone at night—especially with a killer on the loose, likely targeting your friends. If you had a car, maybe, but you were a broke college student who could barely afford a place to live.

You sucked it up and double texted Ethan, this time asking if he could come over and that you were worried.

When he didn’t respond right away, you gave it a few minutes.

A little while longer passed and since you now couldn’t focus on your paper, you tried to call Mindy back. Then Tara. Then Chad. Then Sam. Then Quinn. Then Anika.

Not a single one of them answered.

You took a deep breath. Then, you went to double check that your door was locked.

You tried to call Ethan, but his phone went immediately to voicemail. It must’ve been dead or powered off.

That left no one else to call, and you felt more alone than ever.

You sat down at your desk and tried to focus.

You ended up going to your bedroom, putting on sleep clothes, and watching a comfort show under all your blankets instead, paper completely forgotten.

Your phone dinged from your bedside table and when you looked at it, you saw a message from Ethan. Only a few hours late, but he said he was on his way up.

That was sudden. You tried to not overthink being alone with Ethan too much.

A few moments later, there was a knock at your front door.

You climbed out of bed, not really caring that you were wearing sleep shorts and a baggy shirt. Your friends had seen you go to class in about the same when you had all night study sessions.

When you got to the door, you got a little nervous. But you knew it had to be Ethan, so you tried to push the anxiety aside and unlocked then opened the door.

You were met with shock and horror.

Towering over you in your doorway stood a figure in a black robe… and a ghostface mask.

You tried to slam the door, but the person caught it. You choked on a scream when they shoved their way in, holding a knife. There was a small stain of red on the metal blade and a darker, bigger mass on the robe.

Blood. Blood was red.

You scrambled back and tried to think of where to go. None of the doors in your apartment locked, not even the bathroom door.

Your heart and mind raced and suddenly you were spewing words.

“I don’t know what to say to make you not kill me, but I please don’t,” you rushed out.

The person—the killer—moved closer to you after shutting and locking your front door.

You ran, but there was really nowhere to go. The killer ran too. You tried to lure them to the bathroom and shove them in, but they dodged and had you almost within their grasp.

They didn’t slash the knife, though.

You ran for the front door, but the killer grabbed you by the arm. You were shoved back against your hallway wall and pinned. Your back slammed against the wall, but not hard. They held the knife to your throat—not too close, but it was still there and still kept you frozen.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

The words came out before you could stop them. You internally scolded yourself. That’s the kinda shit the girls who got murdered asked.

There was a laugh, and then a familiar voice.

“I’d never do that.”

By the time the killer reached for the mask and pulled it off, you still hadn’t processed your shock.

“Ethan?” you gawked up at him while he gave you a cheeky smile. He let the mask drop and the hand holding the knife fell to his side.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said through a smile, excited eyes scanning your face for realization.

“Is this… is this a fucking prank?” you questioned, finally comprehending. “Ethan, what the fuck!?” You shoved him back by his shoulder, admittedly a little pissed. “You’re covered in blood!”

He stayed standing in front of you.

“It’s fake, I promise. It was just a joke,” he reasoned, looking a little guilty. “Y’know, cause Halloween and… alright, maybe my timing isn’t great.”

You scoffed out a laugh at that. “It’s terrible timing. There really is someone after us.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Ethan apologized with a small, apologetic smile. You stared at him, still surprised. He looked so innocent for someone that could pull off, let alone come up with, such a messed up prank.

“Is this where you’ve been? Dressing up to mess with me while there really is a killer after us?” You questioned, raising your brows and crossing your arms.

“Y’know, if there really is a killer after us, we probably shouldn’t let each other die virgins,” Ethan stated in a flirtatious way he easily could’ve played off as a joke. Maybe it was entirely a joke, but you played along in a different direction.

You scoffed. “And you’re just assuming I’m a virgin?”

He shrugged, the long fabric of his costume rustling. “I see how you are with guys. They want you, you never want them.”

“So what, I’m a tease?” you guessed, used to hearing that but a little disappointed to think it would come from him.

“No,” he clarified quickly. “But they’re just never good enough for you and you know that. Like that jerk Jason.”

You cringed a little at the mention of him, and then felt bad about that. The guy had been murdered, after all.

“Don’t say that, he’s dead.”

“So what?” Ethan asked plainly, surprising you a little. “He was a killer too. He could’ve gone after you, you should be grateful to whoever did it.”

You furrowed your brows. He was starting to sound like someone else. “Grateful?”

“It’s okay, you’re allowed to be.” Ethan’s expression as he spoke was one of reassurance. “You could’ve been next, you never know. He was one of those guys who couldn’t take a hint that he was beneath you.”

You had no idea he thought that way about you—that there were men he deemed unworthy. It was enough to distract you from the shift in his demeanor.

“And what? You’re saying you’re one of the guys who’s good enough for me?” you couldn’t help but wonder. You never thought about your dating history (or lack of) like that.

“Hell no,” he said, surprising you yet again. You were expecting a ‘yes’ with the way he was coming onto you all of the sudden, but what he said carried even more of a self-depreciating brand of charm. “But I’m hoping maybe you’ll pity the loser who’s had a hopeless crush on you for a while now and give him a chance.”

“You’re not a loser,” you said before you registered the rest of his words. When you did, you were taken aback at the confession. “But you’re not usually this… bold, Ethan.”

You wanted to ask him if something was wrong, but there was a lot wrong these past few hours.

“What can I say? I’ve been feeling more confident recently.”

You hummed, understanding that in a way.

“Maybe it’s the whole ‘we could die any second’ thing,” you ventured a guess.

He smiled to himself, like you’d just referenced an inside joke you weren’t a part of.

“Could be,” he agreed. He laughed a little and looked down at himself, then met your eyes again. “Sorry about scaring you. It was in poor taste. We both like horror movies… I don’t know, it was stupid.”

You scoffed, but you weren’t really mad anymore.

“I like horror movies, I don’t want to be in one,” you told him, eyeing the knife he held loosely in his right hand. “Is the knife real?”

“What?” Ethan asked, feigning confusion. He lifted the knife and examined it. “This knife?”

“Yeah, that knife,” you parroted back his playful tone. “You said the blood is fake, but is the knife real?”

A devious look crossed Ethan’s face. He held it to your throat slowly, holding it horizontally. You didn’t flinch, much to his pleasure. He seemed almost impressed.

“Gotta be authentic, right?” he mused, eyes flicking to your parted lips as you breathed steadily. “Can I kiss you?”

When his curious eyes looked back at yours, you couldn’t help but notice he still held the knife. The rush of excitement you felt scared you more than the fear of him letting it slip forward.

“What’s the knife for?” you asked with a surge of confidence, taunting him a little. “If I say no?”

Ethan laughed at that. He pulled it back and let it drop to the floor. It clattered against the wood, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. But it wasn’t from fear—it was from anticipation. Maybe your curiosity was a little more than that after all.

“You’re safe with me,” he assured. “Promise.”

His words felt layered, but in a way you couldn’t define.

Perhaps it was his way of saying he’d protect you. Maybe it was strange, especially given his entrance, but you found yourself feeling exactly that with Ethan. Safe.

Nothing was going to hurt you, certainly not him.

“About that kiss…” you started, giving him the indication that he was looking for.

Ethan took the hint and ran with it, lips crashing into yours in the blink of an eye.

His lips were soft, but the kiss was needy and hungry. You tried to move your lips in sync with his, but he was much more dominant.

A joke that you’d never say flashed by about him practicing.

It was easy not to laugh when Ethan’s hand threaded into your hair and his tongue began to explore your mouth.

The leather glove felt strange. It made you pull back a little, which you almost couldn’t do with the way Ethan eagerly chased your swollen lips with his own.

You glanced over his costume again. It looked really legit—when did he have time to get it? Was he actually gonna wear this for Halloween? You swore you remembered him and Chad talking about some other costume he made out of cardboard for the frat party.

Before you could spiral down that path, Ethan pulled the leather gloves off quickly and cast them aside. It was like he could read your mind. Both hands went to your face, pulling you to meet him halfway in another searing kiss.

You didn’t know what was coming over you, but whatever it was was causing arousal to stir in your belly.

You figured out the answer to that pretty quickly.

It was want. You wanted Ethan.

“Is the other offer still on the table?” you uttered softly when you and Ethan had to part for air.

He grinned, unable to contain it.

“Thought there was no way in hell that would work,” Ethan admitted a little breathlessly. “Thought I never stood a chance with you, but I liked you anyway.”

Ethan had a boyish charm about him usually, but now that was combined with a streak of deviance that you finally now noticed.

You weren’t expecting to be as intrigued by it as you were.

“Give yourself a little more credit,” you told Ethan, raising your hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch a little. One hand rested on your shoulder and the other fell to hold your hip, tucking under your baggy shirt and rubbing your skin beneath. “You are pretty cute.”

Ethan’s smile only grew, but when you leaned in to kiss him again his lips met yours.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and guided the two of you to the ground with your back leaning against the wall. He was in front of you, on his knees, with you in his lap.

You ran a hand through his curly hair and you guided his lips back to yours. From what he’d revealed, Ethan hadn’t had a lot of experience with girls. It was a damn shame, because the boy was a great kisser.

His hand caressed your thigh as he trailed upward. You gave him a soft sound of encouragement when his fingers found their way to the waistband of your shorts.

“Is this okay?” Ethan asked, which made you want to grab him and kiss him again.

“Yeah.”

His hand slid into your shorts and your underwear.

One finger—you guessed middle—pushed inside of you. A small gasp escaped you at the intrusion and he watched your face.

Ethan was making sure the sound wasn’t of pain, which it wasn’t, and you appreciated that.

He withdrew the digit, then pushed in again. He repeated the motion a few more times before adding his index finger.

Ethan’s breathing grew heavy as he felt you squeeze around his fingers. He thrust and curled them inside you with rhythm. He managed to find one pretty quickly. That plus his thumb rubbing at your clit, you were falling apart in mere minutes.

Your brief orgasm rocked your whole body, leaving you clenching his fingers and quivering.

Ethan muttered things to you, but you could hardly hear over the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears.

Your head rested back against the wall as you caught your breath, still trembling from the aftershocks. Ethan withdrew his hand from between your legs and out of your shorts.

Your eyelids felt heavy, but in between slow blinks you saw him lift his fingers to his lips. You watched breathlessly as he placed them into his mouth and moaned at the taste of you.

No words would come out of your mouth, but he took rendering you speechless as a compliment.

“I’ve thought about that,” Ethan started, voice a little ragged. He was watching you, but his hand had moved off to the side. “What you’d look like… what you’d sound like… what you’d taste like.” The awe in his eyes as he spoke left you swooning.

“And?” you managed, sitting up a little straighter.

With the change in your angle, you could feel the bulge in his pants, even though the added layer of the costume he had yet to remove.

“You’re better than I ever imagined,” Ethan finished.

A scrape against the floor alarmed you. You looked to the sound and saw Ethan grabbing the knife off of the floor.

You watched as he brought it between your bodies. He first tucked it through the leg of your shorts, the cold metal sliding against your skin as it caught under your underwear as well. Then, he pointed the sharp side facing out. Finally, he sliced up through the fabric. You gasped a little as the cold air of the room hit your newly exposed skin. He did the same with the other leg, then pulled the tattered material away from your body.

You did the honors of pulling off your shirt. You didn’t have a bra underneath and you almost laughed at the way Ethan gawked at your fully naked body when you cast it aside.

“Your turn,” you told him. You were completely undressed, while he still wore the long, black disguise.

“Actually,” Ethan said a little eerily. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I was thinking I could leave it on?”

It was a question, there was room for you to say no. Maybe you should’ve, it was a little weird. But you weren’t really thinking about that. You were more focused on how badly you wanted Ethan to fuck you, and that clouded your brain.

“As long as you don’t put the mask back on,” you relented in a joking tone.

“You’re so fucking cool,” Ethan rushed out before slamming his lips into yours. The knife was cast aside again—you didn’t see it happen, but both of his hands were on your face.

You laughed a little against his lips, dazed and drunk on arousal. You didn’t really care about the logistics of it.

His hands moved down, but you were distracted by his lips dominating yours.

You heard the sound of his zipper being undone and he moved a little—you guessed shoving his pants down his thighs.

There was no time to look down because in a rush, Ethan was pinning you back against the wall with his body. One hand gripped your waist, holding you in place for him. The other was presumably guiding his cock to your entrance.

You gasped a little against his lips when he started to press forward while simultaneously pulling you down into his lap. The fabric of the costume draped over your thighs, blocking your view.

The stretch of his cock pushing into you was more intense than you could’ve predicted, but your whole body trembled with pleasure at the feel.

Finally, he either got too excited or lost his patience, and guided you down the rest of the way until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ethan cursed to himself, body straining to keep from moving. His head dropped to your shoulder, heavy breaths hitting your neck. He leaned against you, forcing you against the wall.

His cock twitched inside of you and his body tensed, trying to hold back.

You panted slightly, trying to get your breath back. You ran a hand up his back and you felt him shiver. Your hand moved up the back of his neck and into his mess of curls.

You always liked Ethan’s hair.

You gave a small, barely qualifiable tug, but it had an effect. His body jerked, causing him to move inside of you. You gasped a little, but the motion felt good.

He lifted his head to look at you. His face was a little flushed and the lust blown look in his eyes made you quiver.

“You can move,” you whispered out, not trusting your voice.

Ethan didn’t need to be told twice. He secured the arm around your waist a little tighter and he put the other hand on the wall, giving himself leverage.

The slow drag of him moving out of you made you gasp for breath. The thrust back in knocked the air out of your lungs.

He set a quick pace after that, hips slamming eagerly into yours as the pleasure and excitement overwhelmed him.

It felt good, really fucking good.

Neither of you knew exactly what you were doing, but you were sure you’d figured it out because your whole body tingled with pleasure.

You cried out his name, which only spurred him on.

In a jarring movement you could hardly track, Ethan dragged you from the wall to the floor. He put himself on top of you, never once withdrawing from inside of you.

He watched your face as he pounded into you. Ethan had more leverage this way, able to grip your hip in one hand while the other held the top half of him off of you by being planted on the floor near your head.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, which you couldn’t see because the bottom half of your body was covered by the black costume. You hardly paid any attention to that aspect. You didn’t care that he wore it, not when you were this caught up in pleasure.

(In hindsight, you should’ve).

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Ethan breathed out, hips starting the stutter with every thrust.

The knot in your belly started to tighten as he buried himself into you over and over.

You couldn’t speak, your breathing was so labored as you reached to cling to him.

His head dropped down to your shoulder as he allowed more of his body weight to fall onto you. You found yourself enjoying the feel of him truly being on top of you.

You hardly noticed the fake blood smearing onto your bare skin. When you did, you were too gone to care.

You bucked your hips, meeting his stuttering thrusts. He was getting close to his edge and so were you. You moaned beneath him as his forceful thrusts sparked pleasure through your entire body.

“I’m close,” you managed to moan out against his ear.

“Oh, fuck,” Ethan groaned out, cock pulsing inside of you at the thought. He lifted his head enough to be able to watch your face. “Come again for me, please,” he panted out, nearly falling over the edge at the mere anticipation.

The begging was hot, and your body was already ready to give him what he wanted.

You noticed his eyes flicking down your body, seeing the red stains on your skin. That was quickly forgotten by you when your whole body began to tense and quiver. You held onto him tight as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

You didn’t see his eyes linger.

Ethan couldn’t hold it together, not with the way your body tightened around him as your orgasm rocked you.

He collapsed on top of you, holding you against him as his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were clenched shut as he frantically shoved his hips against yours, burying himself deep. His cock twitched, his whole body shivering as he spilled himself inside of you with a moan.

The sound of him alone was enough to prolong your pleasure as you rode it out, but the extra movement and the feeling of him filling you was an added bonus.

He kissed you hard on the lips, effectively pulling the air from your lungs.

After a moment, he found the strength to roll off of you, only to then drag you to his side.

“I can die a happy man, now,” he joked morbidly.

You shoved him a little by the shoulder like you had before, but not enough to actually make him go anywhere.

“Don’t say shit like that,” you argued weakly.

He flashed you a brief grin. “I meant it as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes and did you best to laugh it off.

You lost track of how long it took you to move from the floor to your couch. The same thing happened between the time it took for you to get from the couch to your shower.

It was a tiny shower that couldn’t fit two people, so you rinsed off as quick as you could. You were tired, and your legs felt weak, and you knew you’d be sore in a way that would make it hard to keep calm tomorrow.

Whatever he had used for the blood, at least it washed off fast. You were able to finish up in a matter of minutes.

You threw on new pajamas and crawled into your bed, managing to tell Ethan to take however long he wanted and that he could stay over if he wanted.

You found yourself hoping he would.

You were nearly asleep when the shower shut off and Ethan finally joined you in bed. He was only in his boxers and a black t-shirt, which he must’ve been wearing under the costume robe.

A thought nagged at the back of your mind about the costume, wondering why he’d gone through all of that just to mess with you for a minute—albeit a terrifying minute. It didn’t seem like him, but then you remembered you’d only met him a few months ago.

You were so exhausted you fell asleep in his arms, not awake enough to care about all of the weird details. In fact, the only thing you could think about was how much you liked falling asleep with Ethan’s arms around you.

In the morning, you found out your friends had all been attacked.

You showed up with Ethan after the feed on your college’s chat app blew up with images of cops swarming and ambulances outside of Sam, Tara, and Quinn’s apartment.

Mindy seemed relieved to see you, but not so much when she realized Ethan was with you. Maybe she’d cleared you as a suspect in her head.

She yelled at him to stay back, accusing him of being the killer. Nobody was taking Quinn’s death well, but Mindy was especially heartbroken over Anika.

“Stay back!” Mindy yelled at Ethan, who did as she commanded.

Everyone turned on him then, even Chad. Everyone except you. They demanded his alibi.

“How do I know you’re not the killer, roomie,” Chad spit at him, amped up.

“I was with Y/N last night,” Ethan defended, holding his hands up in a small show of innocence, before you could say a word. “We were… preoccupied, alright?”

You wanted to elbow him for how he worded it, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he tried. It might’ve been on purpose, you weren’t sure.

He wasn’t close enough to do that, though, and now all eyes were on you.

“Yeah, he was with me,” you backed Ethan up.

You weren’t going to leave him hanging because it was the truth, but you knew what that implied, and so did your friends. They all shared subtle—but not unnoticeable—looks. Your face felt warm, while Ethan bit back a prideful smile.

“So you guys, um…”

“Chad, stop,” Tara scolded him before he could point out the obvious.

“Point is, we had nothing to do with this,” Ethan stated.

We?

They were suspicious of him, and now he was lumping the two of you together. There were always two killers in the movies—you began to doubt if the alibi would ease their anxiety or only spike it.

You thought back to when he had showed up to your apartment in that costume. He’d scared you, but you accepted it when he told you it was a joke that he mistakenly took too far.

It made you wonder. What if it was him?

If he wanted to hurt you, he easily could’ve. That didn’t seem to be his intention. What was? Seeing how much he could scare you? Get your heart rate up? Seeing if you wouldn’t believe him?

Or was it seeing if he could put the evidence right in front of you and have you ignore it because of a crush?

Fuck. Maybe it was some weird combination of all. Were you that gullible? Or were you overthinking it now?

Your brain struggled to come up with a conclusion.

You wanted to believe Ethan was innocent. You really, really did.

It was easier than believing you had slept with a killer. Or potentially worse, that you had feelings for one.

Ethan gave you a slight, assuring smile.

Your head told you one thing, but your heart told you another.

Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you kept your mouth shut and gave him one back.

#quin-ns writing #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #scream #scream 6 #ethan landry smut

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dykeomania · 9 months

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PLS write smut for Hazel from bottoms..I need her so bad I fear..maybe like subtop!hazel..is her having a strap too far..I need her..

this is not. a full fledged fic. but this is the first time in a sec that ive let myself be inspired by an ask. this is weirdly switcher and just pure gay-sexier than it is subby!hazel. lmk if you want things to get subbier, bc i can probably do that. but for rn i have.. this image.. and i want you to walk with me on this but also hold my hand because i'm #supershy,

(minors [including 17 year olds 🙏🏽] dni fr, under the cut: not that proofread. strap lol (r!r), foul language, breeding... language... (my bad) (hazel has a strap tho), subtop!hazel except i could've made this shit so much worse so i guess switch!hazel but like, switch!reader, idk everyone's just a whore. there's an "i love you" (or.. multiple, i guess). there's a mirror. there's a vibrator. purely stream of consciousness, i don't even think the position they're fucking in makes physical sense fr. i was bored and i was thinking, so i wrote a lot. this whole thing is not realistic btw. i have very little confidence that hazel's blowing anyone's back out, but. it's my first day out in a min so i'm rusty. all respect to the community. next time when i pull up, i'll offer something a little more tame and saccharine as opposed to [exaggerated p*rnstar moans!!!]. reblogs and whatnot appreciated.)

so, i have this .. picture.

of you putting a bullet vibe in the pocket of hazel's strap before she fucks you from behind for the first time.

she eventually finds the confidence to blow your back out, and tbh, you think it's gonna end with you seeing stars because you can already hear the fucking lottery machines going off in your head. she's fucking you so well, and hazel's problem is that you're letting her know.

at first she thinks she's going crazy. but those fucking mewls into the pillow over how deep she is, how she's making you feel so good, how you've missed her so much, are sending shocks through her clit that the vibe keeps amplifying, everytime her pelvis hits your ass.

if she thrusts hard enough, which god knows she does, it almost makes her buckle over.

you're left clenching the sheets, and gasping against the linen while she fucks you, taking you in a way that's so uncharacteristically perverse that you don't even have the brain capacity to ask yourself why you didn't ask her to take you like this, sooner. her thrusts are quick and shallow, her words breathy and a little sharp. with every jolt of your body forwards as she experimentally blows your back out, it's like you feel yourself becoming more and more removed from this fucking planet. you can't help but cry -- sob, even -- as she makes you into a mess of limbs, leaving you tugging at your tits in one split second, and gripping at the sheets the next.

something happens, though.

where her hips rut into yours in deep, hard thrusts, spaced out by what feels like eternities, you can hear her. she's moaning now, breath quickening and chest rippling everytime her crotch hits yours at a particular angle. she's mewling, and unless you're hallucinating from how fucked up you are, you can hear her --

"fuck... f--uuh--ck, fuck, fuckfuck..."

-- silently beginning to whimper.

the girl goes from bullying your cunt to burying her strap deep enough in it to make the apex of its curve nudge against your g-spot, in a way that leaves your mouth hanging wide open with nothing spilling out of it maybe other than drool, but...

it's the slick warmth of hazel's back pressed nearly flush against yours and the heat of her breath against your shoulder that makes your eyes flutter open, facing your reflection in the floor-length mirror stationed across from hazel's bed.

hazel's in it so deep, you can't even see the strap anymore. and by no exaggeration, it's like an earthquake pulses through her body everytime she nudges her hips into your ass, making your vision blurry. she's rutting into you. greedily grinding her strap into your cunt in the effort of chasing her own high.

it wasn't a secret that hazel was sensitive. more often than not, the poor girl writhed against your mouth whenever she let you put it on her ("let you" is a loose sentence -- she begs for it, sometimes). you don't even know why you're surprised that your girlfriend is getting this close over having a bullet vibe pressed against her clit, hardly protected by fabric. "b--babe--"

what sounds like a plea, amongst the feeling of hazel's thighs trembling against the back of yours, inspires something sinister inside you.

you wind your hips against her, pressing back against the strap and the toy. the sight of your ass rolling against hazel's pelvis, combined with how good it feels is gonna actually, like, make hazel fucking--

"don't cum."

she loses her breath, entirely, and her rhythm, apparently. she slows, as if that was her body's instinct to obey your orders, despite the string of breaths that tumbles out of her mouth. "n-- wha-- fuck, no, nonono--"

you wind your hips deeper into hers, extracting a moan from your own throat -- fuck, maybe your gut, since that's how deep you could feel her. you press your ass into her until you feel the buzz of the vibe against folds, the frequency of it changing and humming as you press it further into her clit. "y--es," you grit. "don't fucking cum yet, hazel."

the dull, rolling vibrations through the fabric of the strap draw hazel's eyes into the back of her head, and then closed. she's grunting now -- or all of the above -- and she tries her best to unchap her lips, fruitlessly dragging over them. the little breaths she takes through them only brings them back to being puffy, pink, and a gateway of noise that gives evidence to struggle.

"gonna let me count you down?" you puff out your sentence in one breath, and hazel can fucking hear the grin in your still-fucked-out tone and it makes her whine louder.

"yeah? gonna fuckin' let me count you down so you can cum in me, haze?"

cum.. in you. three words that you'd never even fucking uttered to her before this, and that she never fucking thought she would ever hear and.. it looks like she can't complain, because her eyes roll into the back of her head and hazel swears that she -- at least, briefly -- meets jesus christ, "oh my god--," hazel slurs, hips rolling impossibly deeper into yours, it's a miracle she hasn't swabbed your cervix yet -- "ohmygod, oh my god--"

"three..."

ohfuck. ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck,ohfuck. it's the soft chorus that she whispers to herself as she starts to fuck herself into you, again, opting for thrusts as a means of trying to regain control with no consideration for your demise. the vision of her blurs in the mirror, and you feel your fists grasping at her sheets again.

"fuck--" you croak. "t--two.."

she pulls you further into her, and at this point, hazel's okay with being written off as a lost cause, 'cause fuck, it's not like she has a choice. the strap brief is soaked and it's entirely your fault, and god, she throws her head back. a mess of words, a mess of sensations, hazel just blurts, "oh my g--od--i love you--"

you burst out laughing at the random proclamation, admist everything.

she forces her head down to watch you, jaw hung open. and at this point, she's just speaking. rambling and slurring and gasping, tears-in-eyes-in-awe-and-all, as she watches you throw your ass back against her.

"iloveyou so much, you're so f--ucking hot, whatthefuck?--"

there's something weirdly sweet about it. something that makes your cunt clench around the strap in a way that hollows you out shortly thereafter, and lets hazel hit that fucking spot just right. before you know it, you're wherever hazel is, cunt fully creaming around the silicon.

"i love you--" you dumbly spit out a giggle, a gasp causing a steam of spit to cascade off your bottom lip and onto hazel's navy sheets. "babe," you warn. "ohfuck, ohmyfuckinggod, you're gonna make me cu---"

"fuckingsayone," hazel, unbelievably pleads while she unbelievably spears her strap into your cunt. "oh my fucking god, say one, please, please, pleaseplease--"

she starts begging. unprompted. "it's s-so good, it's so, so good, feels so fucking good, wanna c--um in you--" and she probably repeats it. probably repeats that she wants to cum in you until she's blue in the face and,

"o-one--"

until you let her.

the noise that's ripped from hazel's throat is .. embarrassing. virginal, almost. fully reverberates off the walls, and she trembles. her clit convulses against the vibe, twitching with every short stream of her release and she folds. poor girl was holding your hips for something -- for reassurance, to get a grip, dear life, perhaps? as her hips languidly fuck and press into the surface of your ass., rocking your near limp-frame after you've pretty much creamed all over her strap.

hazel hangs over you for god knows how long, dark hair shaggy and some strands stuck to her forehead in wavy wisps. cheeks flushed, and lower lip bitten to hell. the bullet vibe fucking dies, thank god almighty, because god knows she was not in any shape to reach down and turn it off.

she stays like that for a while, until she you feel her again. this time, only gentler, and much more like herself. soft hands caressing the skin of your back, her breath warm and shaky as she peppers a splay of kisses across your skin.

as you come from the surface of your own high, you feel yourself hum. still full of her, and dizzy with it. despite it, you manage -- slurring, slightly.

"haze?"

there's a hum, somewhere.

"did that really feel that good?"

hazel distantly nods, brown locks brushing against your back.

"uh.." hazel frowns, letting out a weak laugh. "y-yeah, honestly."

the mental note gets filed away somewhere deep in the haze of your brain and you grin, when you press your ass one against her just for shits and giggles and hear her gasp, from the sensitivity of it alone.

"that's my girl."

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #lesbian #wlw #lgbt #bottoms 2023 #merry fuckin christmas #i am logging out see you in like 12-15-35 hours

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