back from the dead! school was AWFUL the past few months 😔 but i have survived!! this is a super short ethan landry blurb that isn’t proofread, so i am sorry for any mistakes!!
the title is my life rn fr 🙏 ifykyk
enjoy!!! 🫶
There I sat again.
For the 100th time I sat in the same chair, in the same room, at the same time admiring him from afar.
Ethan looked perfect in everything he did. It almost drove me crazy. How could he sit there and do nothing, and I still think he’s perfect? It’s like he put a spell on me.
I pretended to listen to my friend’s story about some guy at work, but my eyes kept wandering over to him.
I couldn’t help it really. I looked at him like he was the greatest thing to ever live. The way his curls sat so perfectly, the way his smile was always perfect, the way his laugh echoed so beautifully throughout a room, all of it. It made me so nervous I felt sick half the time.
“Y/N?” My friend hummed, giving me the same smile she always does.
“Huh?” I perked up, my eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Clearing my throat, I managed a few words through my embarrassment, “Continue! I’m listening!” If listening suddenly meant staring at Ethan, then, yes, I was listening.
My friend furrowed her eyebrows before she continued on with her story. I really was trying to pay attention, but Ethan was making it so very difficult.
She was so tired of hearing me talk about him, as was I. But the way he looked at me was something that was so hard to let go of.
Ethan would continuously glance my way, or scan the room when he walks in, and, without fail, would look at me every single time. His brown eyes were suddenly piercing when he was looking at me, too. I could never read his expression either. Did he love me? Did he hate me? Questions I will never know the answer to.
When Ethan looked at me there was something different in his eyes. He looked at me differently compared to how he looked at Chad or Mindy. It’s never something I could explain well enough, either.
When Ethan and I lock eyes the entire world goes silent. One second feels like one minute, and my heart rate increases by a mile. I would be ok with just standing there and looking at each other for forever.
At least then I know he’s thinking about me.
Outside of our moments of eye contact, Ethan never spoke to me. He never texted, called, or talked in person. It was absolute silence from him. Now that. That drove me insane.
Maybe he’s too scared to talk to me, or maybe he thinks I’m a freak that’s always staring at him.
Either way, Ethan and I will continue to play this game of eye tag every single day. As much as I hate to admit it, I really do love it.
After reading what you would do for Scream 7 would ever do a GF Sam X Reader smut fic in the future?
Oh, I so would. The potential is ripe. If spyglass is gonna be too much of a bitch, I guess I will have to step up!
So!
Call to action!
A limited time offer. For my first Ghostface Sam peice, I am accepting reqs again. Send in a fic idea or prompt for it and the best one that sparks the most inspo, will get written when the mood strikes.
Bex would you be down to write a dom ethan and sub reader type dynamic smut? This isn’t a request just wondering if it’s something you’re into 😻
Anon of course this is something I am into. First time writing more dominant Ethan! I hope you like it Anon, I haven't posted a fic in over a fucking month! Everything has been so hetic and nuts, I've been working on this behind the scenes and I am hoping this gets me back into the swing of things! Let's go!
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Now Or Never.
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Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.5K. Ethan Landry X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Warnings: DUB CON! Stalking. Creepy And Delusional Behaviour From Ethan. Obsessive Ethan. Man Handling. Degradation. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Raw Sex. Implied Cream Pie. Hold The Moan. Don’t Get Caught.
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Ethan has never been the kind of guy to really go after what he wants. He is much more passive, go with the flow, he doesn’t want to upset the apple cart nor ruin the image that people have of him. He knows it isn’t the best practice, he wants to get out of that, he wants to start doing things for him, maybe he should have made the call to start standing up for himself before agreeing to help his family avenge his brothers' death via a complex murder plot. However, Ethan was committed now, and he wasn’t going to back out, more importantly he saw no way how to, and so he stays.
Assuming an identity in a new place and pretending to be someone he isn’t to infiltrate a group of people, pretend to be their friend just to be close enough to kill them was stressful. It felt like it was consuming his whole life, losing who he actually was in some regard, he needed a distraction, something to help give him purpose, ease his worries and the harsher edges of it all, or he’d go nuts.
You were his outlet.
Stalking just went along with what he did in service of the grand plan, you were not part of it, not involved, but you caught his eye in one of his classes. The first time, he was just going the same direction as you, he swears to God, he wasn’t being a creep, at first. That did not last long. He started to watch you, learn your schedule, get into your routine, and whenever he wasn’t having to continue his charade he was consumed getting lost in you.
He knows where you live, he knows your class times, the coffee shop you frequent, your order at said shop, he knows what soap you use, the part-time job you hold and that one of your biggest pet peeves is when the tag in an item of clothing itches against your skin.
He’s been watching you for an amount of time that he is sure if you knew would make you very fucking uncomfortable. You seemingly hadn’t caught on to what he was up to, which was good, it meant he could keep it up without worry, watching you living your life while you were totally oblivious. To be fair, how observant you are or are not, is not what he liked best about you, honestly what he liked is that you were the opposite to him in a lot of ways. No real responsibilities other than the ones you wanted to have, just living the way you want to, he felt some modicum of jealousy over that, he imagines what life could be like if he could get out of his current situation and have a more normal existence with you, it’s a good escape, but it’s just that, a fantasy, an unattainable one.
It is getting harder and harder to ignore the situation he is stuck in, the same way it is becoming impossible to ignore the clawing feeling of dread in his chest. He wanted to stop feeling so helpless, wanted a sense of control, to feel like he was living for himself, even in a tiny sense.
Time is running out, and he needs to correct this, or he might fuck up everything without some serious stress relief.
Ethan learned about the Halloween party you were going to attend, and he thought maybe that would be good, to go and cut loose a little while near you. That plan changed, morphed, got away from him once he was actually there and near you in the costume you chose.
He tried to keep distance, to just watch but between observing you having fun, the mounting pressure and the frankly bordering on painful erection in his jeans that would not stop throbbing finally a piece inside of him broke.
You had to know what you did to him. You had to know the effect you had on him, it was like you were aware you were being watched, doing this on purpose, it’s maddening. He could crush the red solo cup in his hand as he observes you dance with a friend, the way your hand rests on his arm, your head tips forward to press against his shoulder as you laugh, the sway of your hips, it should be him, why not him? He stews in his thoughts and the anger, the unfairness and the budding arousal threatening to boil over inside himself.
He’d brought his Ghostface costume along, had it in his bag for something he needed to do later, it was like he acted on autopilot. He sneaks off, he got into the costume, and then he waits for the right moment.
You are on your way to the bathroom, but not the main one people use, no these were your friends, and you knew about the lesser used one, he knew about it because of course, creep that Ethan was, he followed you there. When you are close enough he strikes, his hand over your mouth, his other arm loops around your middle, and he drags you the rest of the way to the bathroom. The door is already ajar, it’s no trouble to get you inside, a backwards swing of his foot to the wood makes the door close. The light is dim, there is a nightlight plugged into the wall outlet near the counter top by the mirror, so someone stumbling from the basement guest bedroom can find their way to the bathroom he assumes.
You are struggling against him, squirming, muffled sounds trying to get out from behind his hand, but he is struck by just this. He is touching you for the first time, holding you, he draws you closer, makes it so you are flush against him. He’s thought about this countless times, you are warm and softer than anticipated, he can fucking smell you and it is intoxicating. He is so caught up in this, taking in every detail and small movement, he presses his hips forward, grinds himself on you through the layers of jeans and black fabric as he smells your hair and then what you do next? Ethan never would have thought in a million years you’d respond like this, by your eyes closing and you grinding back, pressing your ass closer to him with a sound behind his hand that might sound like a moan if he let you express it fully.
You aren’t fighting him, not any longer, no you are rocking with him, trying to stimulate yourself in any way possible against him-
Oh.
You are better than he thought, he knew you were a slut, he’d seen you in your place, knew your porn search history and the collection of toys you owned, but to be down to fuck a masked stranger you hadn’t exchanged a single word with? You were a world-class whore, he was going to take advantage of this opportunity to the fullest.
He knows he doesn’t need to hold you so closely, his arm releases your mid-section, his hand slides down your body and between your legs and up the short skirt of the costume you wore, fingers press to your underwear. You are already wet enough he can feel it through the thin material and his gloves. Your hips buck, wanting to get closer, feel more of him, it feeds his ego and emboldens him, you want him, and he isn’t going to deny you.
He gets his glove off, he needs to feel you, skin on skin. His hand slides into your panties, his fingers dip as low as they can and feel the source of your extreme wetness, he presses, tease the hole carefully before his digits slide up through your folds, and he knows he finds what he needs when you gasp, head thrown back against his shoulder.
His hand works, fingers circle over your clit, and you inhale sharply through your nose, brows furrow, and he watches you in the mirror. The way the pleasure plays out on your face as he teases you, he enjoys how your body responds, the small tremors of your limbs, the twisting and squirming of your form, the way your clit throbs under his touch as he presses harder.
He needs to feel you inside. Fingers move, you whine, he dives inside, and he curls them, it causes the biggest reaction out of you yet. Your body pitching forward, hands on the counter and your walls clenching around his fingers. You are so soaked, soft, hot and so thoroughly alive. He can barely move them inside of you, but he does, he slips them in and out, presses to that same spot that got such a big reaction out of you, and he moans quietly, he swears he can feel you getting wetter.
In and out, flex and push, you writhe, and he wants to hear you, he pulls his hand away, but before he does, he has one finger over your lips, that classic symbol of “shhh” and you nod, eyes half lidded and lust filled. You let out quiet moans, his palm grinds against your clit as his fingers fuck in and out, he can’t take much more. The simple movement, the motion, how hard he is rocking against your ass, he wants to be buried in you, wants to fuck you.
So he does.
His hand moves, fingers pulled out, and your eyes had slipped closed again, at the loss of him they open, confused and when you see him pulling the robe up you get the hint. You make your own move, shaky hands lift off the counter and your fingers hook under your skirt, you tug down your underwear and you step one foot out, leaving them hooked around your other ankle. He has the robe up and his pants open finally, the relief of pressure on his straining erection has him letting out a small sigh. His hands are on you, he adjusts you, one knee on the counter and pushing you forward, your hands braced on the sink, and you adjust too, your hips tilt and soon with a hand on your back and the other on the base of his cock he is lining up.
It’s rushed and faster than he wants, but he just wants so much, it’s been so fucking long he can't stop it, can't help himself. He feels you, the heat coming off of you, the wetness on his tip, he lingers for only a moment before his hips move involuntarily, and then he is helpless. The first half inch pops in with no resistance, and you are perfect, you feel incredible it makes him let go of himself, hands lock on your hips, and he pushes further, slides deeper, and he watches you in the mirror. The way your mouth falls open, the exhalation, the way you tense in some regards and relax in others, but mostly he can’t focus on much else other than how your cunt feels around him as he settles in, finally to the base.
He soaks you in for a second, you are more impatient than he, you whine again, needier than before, and you move first, pull your hips forward before sliding them back, and it makes any semblance of control break. He takes over, the grip on your hips tightens, and he pulls out almost totally before driving back in, you have to bite your lip to hold the moan back enough to not be overheard. The party is on the main floor, you are in the basement, but you are sure that he could make you alert everyone up there.
This was insanely hot for you, a masked stranger pulling you away and touching you, groping you, fucking you without you seeing his face or uttering a single word? Unbearably hot, his fingers were good, but even two minutes in his dick puts his hands to shame. He is greedy. He touches more, he didn’t touch you enough before, his other glove comes off, and he touches your legs, your thigh, a firm squeeze of your ass, he feels up your sides and your chest. You lean closer into his touch, moving still with him, loving the pace he took as he fucked you, rough and quick, he pulls the top of your costume down, exposes your tits, palms them, and you moan louder than you probably should.
This is good, but it could be better still, your hand is between your legs, you stroke your clit as he fucks you, the stretch of him is delicious, you find yourself gasping, arching your back a bit more so he hits that spot inside just a bit harder, a touch better. You are so close to the mirror you are in danger of fogging it up, but you want to look at him, you’d been staring at his masked face this whole time, wondering who is under it.
You move back, press yourself closer to him and away from the mirror, and you get this urge. This urge that you don’t question or think about. Your back is to his chest, he is still preoccupied with fucking you and rolling your nipples between his fingers, perfectly distracted, huffing and letting out small sounds of pleasures, groans, you reach back behind him and the move is fast. You push the hood back, fingers grip, and you pull and twist, the mask comes off. He’s shocked.
He was so consumed with the feeling of getting to have you, with the mounting pleasure, he even had his eyes closed like an idiot, you got the drop on him. He stopped, held deep, and your eyes met in the mirror.
He’s hot. Hotter than you thought possible, dark sweat soaked curls and hard eyes, pretty pink lips are wet and parted, he’s strong and has had no issue throwing you around and holding you down. The low orange light playing off your body and his face is going to be burned in your mind forever.
You don’t want him to stop, you want to keep going. You maintain eye contact, you move again, pull him out slightly before bucking back, he inhales hard, and you do it again, and again, slip more out and take him harder on every movement, and he comes back to himself.
You like this, like him, you liked him as a stranger doing this, but you were still into this now made it even better. He takes over again, he fucks you harder while still meeting your eyes in the mirror. He wasn’t going to stop now until you came around him, and he filled you up.
Alright Bloodfest week two is in the bag! And who do we have but our limited screen time shitty film bro Ghostface Jason Carvey! I dunno why, but I really like him, he’s entering into the rotation. Buckle up guys, this is a pure hate fucking piece. Let’s go.
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Rating. Explicit. Length. 4K. Jason Carvey X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Jason Sucks. You Kinda Suck. Enemies To Fuck Buddies. Arguing. You And He Hate Each Other. Raw Sex. Vaginal Sex. Eating Out. Man Handling. Some Dominance.
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You don’t think there is a single human being on Earth you get along with less with than one Jason-Who-Gives-A-Fucking-Shit-What-His-Middle-Name-Is-Carvey. He fucking sucks. He always wants to play devil's advocate, he always seemed to think your opinions were less than and had always had some smart comment to make to whatever you attempted to add to class discussion, he was a typical, shitty, film bro asshole. You avoided him whenever possible. You reluctantly had to see him multiple times a week in film class, and bumped into him around campus far more often than you’d like.
Getting paired up by random number lottery to do a duo project was the worst possible thing that could happen, there is no one that you would have liked less than him to be partnered with. A heavy sigh and your head dropped to your desk, he immediately launched into complaints and the class laughed, yeah it was real fucking funny how you were going to be tied to him for the end of semester project.
This is your nightmare, you mused, this is Hell.
The idea was that you are supposed to take a movie trailer and edit it, so it looks like it fits into a different genre, a great project you would have normally jumped at were you put with anyone else. The first three days were spent arguing over which trailer from the list to go with, you took so long that all the other options were snapped up, and you were left with the last one, forced to take it, and Jason didn’t take any blame for the fact the slim pickings you were saddled with were his fault. He said, “We gotta make it look like a horror film-”
And you were so tired of his crap already that you conceded.
“Fine, whatever you fucking want, Jason.” You sighed, and he asked, clearly not buying that you would give in first, “Wait, really?”
“Really, let’s make it look like the dumbest, cheesiest, shlockiest 80s gore fest we can.” Even with your flat and less than impressed tone, you thought he would be all about it, but in typical Jason fashion he took offence. He started to say that you could make it look much better than that, and you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
The guy was always so busy, you had limited time to do this and as much as you didn’t want to work with him, you had to get this done, intent on getting a good grade. Turning in late would cut into your mark's considerably. After a pile of texts and no less than five voicemails, you finally get a curt, “I booked the editing room at 10 PM, see you there.”
You had plans, but you needed to get this project done, so you cancelled the evening's activities reluctantly and made your way over. You had already gotten ready to go out tonight when he messaged, gave you less than two hours notice. You’d had just enough time to finish your food since you were out at dinner and make it back, run in and get your shit before you had to depart for your meeting with your less than stellar partner. You make it there five minutes before ten pm, you find the room empty, of course he got the last slot, no one wants to be editing this late on a fucking Friday night. Everyone else with good sense had gotten everything else done before now.
You slump down in a chair, drop your bag and take out your flash drive with the work you’d put in thus far, you plug it into the computer and cue it up.
And then you ended up waiting for half an hour for Jason to stroll in, far too casually considering how late he was. He took the chair next to you in front of the computer, setting down a bag of fast food, a soda before he shrugged his bag off his one shoulder and set it on the ground in front of the desk. He hadn’t said hello, he hadn’t even looked at you, arms crossed as you observed him in pure disbelief.
He was getting his stuff set up, taking his video camera out of his bag, getting the cord to attach it to the computer you’d claimed, a notebook, a pencil, he was eating a few fries in between. Fuck, he is the actual worst, while he is still setting up you cut in and say finally, “Hello?”
He stops, a look over to you, expression showing he was totally fucking confused why you were greeting him in this way, or greeting him at all, he says, “Hey?”
You laugh, eyes rolling as you lean back in your chair, “Are you fucking serious?”
“What? What did I do now? I just got here!” He sighed, turning back to his bag, and you tell him, “That is exactly the problem, Jason! You tell me, not ask, TELL me to show up here, no regard for my Friday night plans, and I don’t fight you on it! I show up, early, and you stroll in a half hour late with fucking McDonald's and not so much as an apology for being late! You are unbelievable.”
He shakes his head as he sighs, “Jesus, you are sensitive-”
“Jason!” You bite out, upset at the very idea you are sensitive for being upset at this, and he scoffs, “Fine, fucking sorry for being a little late-” He said it mockingly, it could turn your stomach. You wanted to fight him further, the idea that he was “a little late” was pissing you off, him acting as if he was just a touch behind schedule, but you didn’t want to be here all night.
“Whatever, can we get started?” You asked, and he said, “Yeah, so long as you are done being a bitc-”
“Do not finish that sentence, Carvey.”
He looked over at you and upon seeing how serious your expression combined with your downright venomous tone, he bit his tongue with a muttering of the word, “Fine.”
Thank the Lord, he was dropping it. Maybe now you can get some actual work done-
“Why are you wearing that?” He was staring at you, brow creased in question. You looked down at yourself, heeled boots, short skirt, low cut top and made up, you’d planned to go to a party with friends and due to his fucking shitty timing you didn’t have the chance to change.
Your eyes draw back up and meet his as you inform him, “I was planning to go out tonight until someone texted me to come do the work I’ve been begging to do for weeks, and I figured I better jump at the chance cuz who knows when I’ll get it again.”
He smiled, that stupid self-satisfied smile, he had his soda in one hand and a few fries in the other as he tells you, “Yeah, sorry about that, I’m a very in demand kinda guy.”
“Yeah, I am so sure.” You sigh, and you lean forward, “Okay so here is what I have so far-” You click the space bar and let what you had gotten done solo play out.
He, of course, hated it.
Endless criticism with no real praise to be found, he was going on and on, spewing his usual bullshit, “This is a joke! Total amateur hour! Did you even follow the story board we drew up?”
“Yes, I fucking did! Look-” You hold up your sketchbook and go through the shot he was current critiquing and pointing out, “See?! These are all your stupid angles and notes, I fucking did it-”
“No way, if I handled it, it’d look much better-” You groan, a hand combing through your hair, dropping your sketchbook into your lap with your other hand, “You are impossible to work with Jason!”
“I’m not asking for much here! It isn’t difficult.” He insists, gesturing with his half empty soda, and you say with raised brows, “Taking a beloved rom com trailer and editing it to look like a horror film isn’t hard?”
He groans, and you swear he might just stamp his foot in indignation, “No! You just gotta do it with care! See the love interest is supposed to be the monster, the villain, he is a ravenous beast seeking to corrupt her, and you are not conveying that right!”
You don’t know why you ever agreed to this. You should have fought him harder on the genre.
“If it is so bad, why don’t you show me what you have so far?” You ask, and he says, “Gladly.”
He pulls up what he has so far, and it isn’t much of anything, it’s a few disjointed shots, some cobbled together audio and music, and you say, “You’ve hardly done anything, and you are criticizing me?!”
“My vision is clearer than yours is thus far-” He defends, and you cut in, “What vision? I can barely see anything!”
He takes a deep breath to calm himself and instead of pushing further he offers,“It’ll take me like thirty minutes to get it together, just give me what you have so far, and I’ll fix it.”
Your mouth gapes, jaw drops, “You want me to just let you do all of it? Trust you to do this solo? Fat fucking chance!”
“We are gonna be here all night then.” He says firmly, and you sigh out, “Fucking fine, I guess so.”
You both set to work in relative silence, you agreed to do the front end and him to finish it up, you and he steal glances at the others screens and more comments and barbs fly. You and he have this terrible habit of riling each other up, he just annoys you so much, it’s so hard to play nice and take the high road when he is like this.
“Really? You are using that as your transition-” You start, and he bites, “And what would you do? A fucking flash to black between shots bracketed by a sting of violin music?”
You make a sound of pure disgust, “You think so fucking highly of me.”
He spins in his wheelie office style chair and turns to look at you, he tells you, “Sweetheart, I don’t think of you in any way.”
You spin in your chair to face him better, arms crossing over your chest, “Thank God for that, otherwise I might vomit, I’d hate to ruin the carpet in here.”
Next you are up out of your chair, and you stretch your arms above your head, your eyes are closed, head back, so you miss the small detail of Jason’s eyebrows raising as the hem of your shirt does, enjoying the bit of skin you revealed with the action. Your arms come down and so does your gaze, his expression schools back into something more akin to hatred, and you say, “I’m going to the bathroom and gonna hit the vending machine.”
“Yeah whatever.” He shrugs and turns away, you make your move to walk out and tell him, “Be right back.”
He was less than subtle this time around when checking you out, blatantly staring at your ass through the glass window of the editing bay, you weren’t going to call him on it. Walking down the hallway it made you laugh with a shake of your head, you were musing, “Mmmhm, he totally neverrr thinks about me.”
You are still thinking about it while you are washing your hands, “Is this why Jason is such an asshole to me? Because he actually wants me? Shit, be more fucking cliche’.”
After leaving the bathroom and finding yourself in front of the vending machine, considering your options, maybe you were imagining things, maybe he wasn’t looking at you like that.
You put the money in and make your selection and watch the metal spiral spin and twist till the small bag of chips and the candy bar you selected fell. You fished them out and slid to the next one, keying in to get a can of something cold. Even if he was looking at you like that, who says you should do anything about it, maybe you could let ol’ Carvey suffer and stew.
Once you were back in the room you open the can, you stride to your chair and sit yourself down, you are mid-sip and putting the food on the desk with your other hand. The way you sat made your skirt rise up a tad, your legs cross, the can comes down and your opposite and free hand smoothed the material down over the curve of your thigh and that is when you notice it, he’s looking again.
Oh, he did want you. This was no wandering of a wild imagination, Jason actually was “taking in the sights”. You wanted to laugh until you realized something crucial. You’d swapped seats, you took the empty one without thinking, but this was his old chair, the crumpled McDonald's bag is what made it click. He was seated in yours now, meaning that he was editing your shit. You look over to the screen where his attention was fixed once more, and you see him doing some serious damage, you slam the can down and stand up, hand pushing on his shoulder as you exclaim, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
He half turns in the chair, the violent jerking of his body from the force of you putting your hands on him, his own hands up and away from the keyboard, he looked shocked you touched him in such a way, so sudden and violent, “What?!”
You point at the screen as you ask much too loudly, “Why are you in my chair and what the fuck are you doing?!”
“I didn’t know if you were actually coming back, thought I should help you out since you so clearly need it.” He spits, and you scoff, “My bag is still here Jason, like I’d leave my shit in the editing bay alone all night with you, it’s bad enough I have to be here.”
“Again, you could let me handle it and you could go. I want to go a more found footage angle than you do anyway-” You suck your teeth indignantly, “You actually like that found footage shit? And how are you gonna make this look like that? Tilt shift it in after effect and slap some fucking filters on it?”
He leaned in closer as he spoke to you in a harsh tone, “What did you say before? Accusations of me thinking highly of you? Why don’t you flip that mirror back around to look at yourself.”
He was still looking at you in that annoying way that told you he was checking you out, and so you say, “No, I don’t think I’ll do that, I think you are looking at me enough for the both of us.”
The word was almost coughed out, “What?”
And the word of the day is. You stare him down as you say, “I see you fucking staring at me, you son of a bitch. I’m not as stupid as you treat me.”
“Are you sure about that? Because right now it sounds like you are delusional and convinced I want to fuck you.” He laughs but there is no bite behind it, he is trying and failing to cover himself up, he is struggling to meet your gaze.
“I don’t think I am that delusional.” You state simply, and he questions, “Oh no?”
“No. In fact, I am sure you want to fuck me so badly that I could ride you right here, and you’d more than let me, I think you’d love it.”
You decide not to let him get any more chances to argue, you reach down, fingers slip up your skirt, thumbs hook in your underwear, and you drag them down, stepping one leg out you said, “Get your stupid jeans open, right now.”
His expression is confused, eyes are wide, but his hands scramble, belt open and undone, pants unzipped he is shuffling them down his thighs before sitting back down, now you take in the sights, and he isn’t a bad size, this could work. You certainly aren’t going to give him the satisfaction of complimenting him, he speaks up, half cocky smile, with a hand around the base of his shaft, “You like it?”
You swing one leg over and sit in his lap as you sigh, “It’s passable, I suppose it’ll have to do.”
He frowns at that, and you grind yourself against him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Fingers curl in the material of the college branded shirt he wore, and you rolled your hips, dragging yourself against him, causing the head of his dick to bump over your clit making both you, and he shared a sharp inhale. You already hated this simply because that one simple move felt far better than it should, it pissed you off. You tested it again, you repeated the action, and it was better than the first pass, another proved to increase the feeling and so it goes and that just serves to fuel the fire of both rage and lust inside of you.
“What the fuck-” You breathe out, head tipping back, hips rolling, and he ruts up into you, providing extra friction and asking, “What? What are you going on about now?”
“This-” You grind again and let a breathy moan slip out, and he then moves again, matching you move for move, and you grit out, “-it’s too fucking good, it shouldn’t feel this fucking good, and it’s-”
You moan louder, “-it’s pissing me the fuck off.”
It's honest and raw and vulnerable and, above all else, very fucking true. His hands are on you, one on your hip to help control pace and another on your back, under your shirt, fingers on bare skin as he ruts up into you as he stares up, meets your gaze as he says, “Take it out on me.”
Now it was your turn to use the word of the day, “What?”
He moves slower this time, more purposeful, it makes you choke back a moan, and he reiterates himself, “Take your anger out on me then.”
You think that is the first smart thing he has ever said.
Enough is enough, and you figure that you should take him up on his offer, you raise yourself up, hand comes down behind you, fingers lock onto him and position him just so, you angle your hips, and then you do the most natural thing possible at that moment, you sit down, sliding him deep inside in the process.
Your hands move, one remains on his shoulder and the other slides into his slightly too long black hair and threads, you pull as you soak in the feeling of him stretching your walls, a deep sigh leaves you, satisfied in some regard simply from being filled. You revel for a moment until he shifts below you, eyes flick down, and he is staring up at you still, brows pinched together as he insists, “Move already.”
You scoff and tug harder on his hair, force his head back as you tell him, “Shut up.”
“That hurts-” He groused, and you roll your eyes as you start to move, heeled boots on shitty carpet you start to ride him, asking in a breathy but ultimately teasing tone, as if the question was rhetorical, “Better?”
The shaky moan he let out, while incoherent, told you very much so yes.
You start to find your rhythm with riding him, enjoying yourself, angling your hips to grind your clit and that sweet spot inside to get what you wanted out of this sooner rather than later. As his eyes slip closed, and he lets you do what you wanted, allows you to take your anger out on him, you have the thought that like this? When he isn’t running his mouth and when he is letting you ride him as if it is the only thing he was ever good for, he’s actually pretty attractive. Even if he could stand for a haircut.
You wouldn’t tell him that though, again, why give him the satisfaction, especially when you are so concerned about your own pleasure.
Mean jabs and hurtful words left you now, just laboured breathing and moaning as you rode him, intent on seeing to your own end, and he was doing a lot to ensure it actually, moving with you, rocking up into you, seeing to your satisfaction and enjoyment in a way you’d almost call uncharacteristic of him. After two seconds of thought, though, it’s obvious he was getting just as much out of this.
The build of it isn’t quick per se, but it’s steady, one of those orgasms that builds in almost a steady arc, not really any valleys, just a consistent climb, up and up, until your pace becomes a bit uneven, thighs shaking, breath stuttering until it culminates and you cum. Your fingers are still in his hair, but there isn’t any serious tension there, no longer holding taut, grinding down onto him, shallow, fast thrusts of him in and out halfway as you ride out your bliss with a quiet and singular, “Yes.” on your tongue.
You squeeze all you can out of your orgasm before you slow to a stop. Your eyes open, and you huff out a, “Fuck, I needed that.”
And next? You get up. You stand, slip him out and swing your leg back over, getting off of him and breaking away.
You are reaching down, going to fix your underwear and slide it back up, and he asks, “Uh, what are you doing?”
Eyes flick to him, a confused look on his face and his dick still out, painfully hard and soaked from you, “Well we still have a project to finish, I was gonna get back to work and then hopefully go back to my dorm to crash.”
“What about me?” He asked, and you respond with a smile, a slight cock of your head, “What about you Jason?”
Your eyes drop, you are pulling your underwear back up when you feel it. His hand locked on your bicep and then him yanking on you, pulling you over to the desk, and then he pushes you down, hands finds your hips, and he moves you to his liking. One is on the back of your thigh and pushing your leg up, knee finds purchase on hardwood, and he is leaning down, his chest to your back, you feel his hair on the back of your neck, lips brush by your ear, “Yeah you are not gonna leave me with blue balls sorry.”
He is slipping back inside, and you arch back into him, a shared moan spills forth, “You took your anger out on me, so now I’m going to do the same.”
Second-best idea he’s had all night. Well you thought that until later on he was going down on you post fuck, making you cum on his tongue until you were almost sobbing, but that is something else entirely.
You ended up staying in the editing bay all night but by the end of it you had the project done and, reluctantly, a new fuck buddy. At least Jason Carvey turned out to be good for something.
