michaellangdonswhore - Tumblr blog

michaellangdonswhore · 8 months

Text

warnings: again, smut. put me in a fucking hospital.

word count: 5.5k

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You were, by far, Jonathan Crane's least favorite student.

You knew it, and it was complete bullshit. You were always on time, always in every class, and always completed the work. You had always had such good grades in every class, but not with him.

While not giving you the worst grade imaginable, you were never able to get over an A-, which pissed you the fuck off. Obviously, to any other normal student studying psychology, they'd take the A-, but not you.

And again, nothing over an A-. There was the frequent B+, sometimes B, and when you really pissed him off he would go as low as a B-.

You've done everything you could to get him to like you. You would ask questions, clearly put extra effort into the homework, and even applied to laboratory studies that he ran. You hated not being liked.

However, at this point in the year, you had given up on trying. You still did everything you were supposed to do, because you wanted a good grade, but you hadn't bothered participating or showing any interest anymore. You had decided to focus more on your other classes. Due to this, you had been working late into the night, causing you to be exhausted for your 8 AM lectures with Crane.

You were exhausted, trying to pay attention. Your head hurt so much for looking at a screen for so long last night.

Crane is flipping through a slideshow, and you find yourself dozing. It's not that this stuff bored you, you had just already learned it back when you took AP Psych your sophomore year of high school.

You snap back into reality when you hear your name being called.

Crane is singling you out with an annoyed expression on his face. You turn red because everyone, all 400 other people in the class, are staring at you.

"I'm sorry. Is this boring you?" He puts his hands on his hips.

"No-" You begin.

You're stammering. You normally don't have such a rough time with public speaking, but being downright exhausted and being singled out for nearly falling asleep in class is extremely embarrassing.

He pauses for a moment and stares you down.

You feel as if you were naked, as if you were completely exposed to him. You didn't like him looking at you like that, like he was taking into account every imperfection.

"As I was saying..."

Thank god.

He resumes to what he was talking about before and you're more alert, heart pumping full of humiliation. You're taking notes now, typing quickly and probably annoyingly loud (you can tell because he keeps shooting you small glares every time you hit the spacebar).

Finally, the hour is up and he reminds everyone about the homework due that Friday. You collect your stuff and head out the door. You don't realize, but he watches you leave.

Everything you do irks him.

Maybe it was because your first paper challenged his psychological beliefs, or because your intelligence challenged him in general. But literally everything about you pisses him off.

Your loud typing, your questions that challenges his lectures, how you turn everything in on time, how you flawlessly converse with the other students. He is so desperately waiting for you to slip up.

As previously stated, you were putting less effort than before into his class. He picked up on this. You were turning your papers and chapter readings in the last minute, you weren't asking questions, and you were even falling asleep.

You had three days to complete a portion of the assignments given. You completely forgot about it.

Due to your tiredness and your weakening desire to try for the class, you had forgotten to write down the homework in a planner that you always checked daily.

Crane is a quick grader, and usually he always grades your homework first; more specifically, as soon as you turn it in.

You realized you didn't do the work as soon as you woke up that morning for your 8 AM class. You had never ever missed an assignment. Ever. And you had no time to do it and make it to his class on time. You were freaking the fuck out.

It's okay. Maybe he hasn't graded it yet.

But no. He was such a strict grader. He was harsh.

Whatever. You may as well hope for the best.

To distract yourself from your predicament, you talk to the boy who sits next to you in the class. It's just smalltalk about the workload and about an upcoming test.

You stop talking when Crane clears his throat. You shift back in your seat and open your laptop.

"It's a Friday. It's 8 AM," Crane begins. You think this is going to be the introduction of a psychological speech. "For all 399 of you that did your homework last night, go enjoy your Friday morning."

People being looking around and whispering, not sure if this is a trick, but you know it's not.

You're freaking out. Your heart is racing and you cannot believe that he would actually do this to you. Usually teachers will just give you a bad grade and call it that, but to single you out and have the entire class leave except for you is an all time low.

"I'm not messing with you," Crane continues. "Go. You know who you are."

He's looking at you dead in the eye and you stay put as people slowly get up to leave, looking around to make sure others are doing the same. You avoid his gaze, looking at your computer screen.

Soon enough, everyone is out of the large lecture room, some looking back to see the one person who didn't do their work.

Once the door is shut, and everyone is completely out of sight, Crane locks both of the doors and looks up at you.

"Are you deliberately trying to fail my class?" He questions. "I thought you wanted to be outstanding."

You can't find words to say. He scoffs and moves to his desk, shuffling through papers and bringing out a decently large stack to over to you. It feels like hours pass by as he walks up the steps to you and drops them onto your desk.

You look at them, confused.

"This is the homework that was due at midnight." He explains.

"It's never so much..." You stammer. You can feel his hatred burning into your skin.

"It's what's due next Wednesday, Friday, and the following week too. Let's see if you can get this done by.... hm," He checks his watch. "By the end of the period?"

"All of this?" Your eyes widen.

"When's your next class?" He asks.

"You're my only one today." You continue to avoid his eye contact.

"Then you can stay." He says. "Until you finish all the work."

"But-"

"I can't trust that you'll do it." Crane says, taking a step back from you. "You need to complete it. In front of me."

"Please, Professor," You try to defend yourself. "I've been-"

"I can assume what you've been doing, you've almost fallen asleep in my class." He scoffs.

You feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment over him getting the wrong impression. Does he really think that low of you?

You take a deep breath. You'll just have to deal with this.

"Do you have a pencil?"

He grabs a black pen from his desk and looks up to you, motioning to sit in the front row. Close enough. You swallow your pride and grab your things and the stack of paper, walking down to the seats in the front.

The class itself is an hour, but it took you almost five to complete the amount of homework he gave you. The readings were long, and the quality of work was demanding. You were eager to do well, to prove yourself.

You hate that he hated you.

His eyes were on you the entire time you did your work. The silence was loud, but you pushed through it. You got three weeks of homework done, and proudly put the stack back onto his desk.

"I'll see you Monday, Professor," you smile, then walk away.

After that, you tried harder; harder than you tried compared to every other class you took. You did this, not to get him to like you- but to get back at him with the fact that you knew your shit; you were a good student. You sat in the front, did side research, and spent nights studying for his endless quizzes. And he wanted to fail you to make you stop what you were doing, but you were getting all the answers right and you both knew that. He wouldn't want you taking anything to the next level.

With you in the front, it made it harder for him to not be distracted by you. Mid speech he would find himself locking eyes with you, disrupting his words and leaving him stammering for a brief moment. Ever since you've upped the eye contact, you've gained more control of the situation.

You arrived in class that Wednesday; the situation in which Crane forced you to stay and do two weeks worth of work in front of him occurred around three weeks ago. You're sitting in the front in between two empty seats; no one likes to sit in the front in Crane's class. It's usually only filled with around three to four people. Crane isn't in class yet, which is weird considering he's always there early, before anyone else even gets there. The class is almost about to begin and he's never been late.

Soon enough, it's one minute after the class is supposed to start and he's still not there. You start feeling antsy, wondering where he is.

Finally, he walks in; two minutes after class is supposed to start. So unlike him.

He places his briefcase on the desk and begins setting up his computer while everyone takes out something to take notes with.

"Now, you all know what I specialize in, I hope," He states, not breaking eye contact with his computer.

He specialized in phobias. Apart from dedicating his time to teaching you, he was a therapist mainly for fears.

"I'm sure we all know what exposure therapy is, correct?" He asks. Pretty much the whole class nods in unison. "Good. For those of you not on the same page, it's the type of therapy which someone is exposed to their fear or trauma."

He begins flipping through his slideshow, giving more and more information and lecturing about it, but you can't help but notice it's an almost bias review.

You're left with homework to write a review on some boring documentary on the history of exposure therapy and a pretty long excerpt of the textbook you all were reading.

So, you did your work and followed all of the instructions. You wrote a review on exposure therapy.

The next Monday, you get to class and you sit in the front row. There's a big stack of paper on Crane's desk, and you assuming that you're getting a pop-quiz, but no, that's not the case.

Crane's waiting for everyone with his shoulder rested on the large stack of papers. Once the time hits 8, he begins.

"I printed out all of your outlines," He begins. "I've made some comments and given some feedback. We'll spend the class working on them."

He starts calling out names and one by one, people receive their papers. You're sort of anxious- you left a pretty negative review on exposure therapy, something that he seemed so passionate about.

"Y/N Y/L/N." He says, saying your voice with more of an annoyed tone than the other students. You get up and grab your paper from his hands, tugging harder due to his firm grip. Clearing his throat, he continues calling out the following names. You go back to your seat, nervous to look at the paper. When you sit and look at it, your stomach dropped.

There's nothing on the front page. Then you look at the second.

See me after class.

There is literally nothing but a see me after class.

Oh my god.

What did I do?

Was he offended at all by what was written? Surely, that wasn't your intention... yes, you wanted to piss him off, but you had some respect for him. You didn't want to actually maybe- make him insecure about his work?

Class seemed to take hours to go by; you didn't even know what to do about your paper. He gave no other feedback other than to see him after class. How were you supposed to work with that?

You looked around at your classmates typing away. You're annoyed that he actually helped them.

See me after class.

At least give me feedback on my fucking paper.

Everyone then realized the time and began to pack up. Crane stood up from his desk and took his glasses off.

"Remember, papers are due Friday!" He manages to get out before people start heading out the door.

You put your things in your bag, trying to act out to your classmates as if you were leaving. You felt so embarrassed. You hated how he kept embarrassing you and how he had the power to do that. It was infuriating. You felt him staring at you as you packed your stuff up, moving slower, nervous that he would call you out.

You took your time, though, waiting till everyone was out of the room.

With everyone else there, you felt so confident. You were one of the smart ones and you at least had witnesses, but alone with him? You were completely inferior. He could quite literally ruin your life with a bad grade and could easily tarnish your image, being the head of Arkham and all that.

"I found your paper quite interesting," He says, emphasizing quite.

"I'm sorry-" you begin. "I didn't mean to offend you."

"Offend me?" He scoffs. "You think you offended me?"

"I just- I know this is what you do, right?" You stammer.

"I'm interested in your point of view." He says. "About the pain, how it's long term. I'm interested as to why you seem so against it."

You shrug.

"What's your biggest fear, Y/N?" He asks you. "What is it? Failure?"

"I'm not trying to fail."

"Oh, yes, you've proven that." He clicks his tongue. "Sitting in the front, turning things in quickly, wearing shorter skirts. Don't think I don't notice what you're doing."

"What?"

"You write intensely about the struggle that people with PTSD-"

"Wait," you interrupt him. "What did you say?"

"I'm trying to discuss with you what you've written."

"Professor, my clothing choices have nothing to do with me wanting to do well in this class," you say. Now you're offended.

Instead of apologizing, which is what you think any decent person would do, he looks you up and down and scoffs.

"You're wearing tights."

"What?"

"Surely, those must be uncomfortable. You're not wearing those to satisfy yourself," he says.

You grow red, and angry.

He keeps humiliating you.

"Who are you trying to impress?"

"Will you stop?" you groan in frustration. "Why don't you just let me get by like you let everyone else get by? I do everything you ask!"

"I want to know who you're trying to impress."

"I'm not trying to impress anyone," you hiss, finally looking up at his crystal eyes.

You know it's disrespectful, but you turn to walk away and to leave.

"No, no. We're not done."

You ignore him, walking towards the door, but he quickly beats you to it, shutting it and locking you in.

"I said we're not done." He said, completely composed. "Sit."

"I want to leave."

"Your biggest fear is failure, yes?" He questions. You don't nod or shake your head, but it is pretty much true; you hate failing. You need to succeed and be good at everything you do. "Sit. I can very much make that fear come true."

"I do everything," you repeat. "Everything. I do it on time, I'm here always, I'm prepared for everything."

"Can you just fucking-" He pushes you down onto the seat next to his desk. "Sit?"

You weren't expecting him to physically force you to sit down, but you could pick up on the pent up frustration he had with you.

"The off the cut sweater, no bra-" He points out.

You weren't wearing a bra. You were surprised he had picked up on the fact- you could've been wearing a strapless, but no. He was right.

"Are you even wearing underwear?" He whispers.

You're flushed.

What the fuck was going on?

You thought he hated you.

And yeah, you knew he was an attractive man, that's what made this whole thing pretty exciting, but you never thought you would be sat down with him leaning over you saying things like this.

"Let me see."

"Professor?"

He grabs you off the chair and pushes you onto his desk, spreading your legs for you. Everything was moving too quickly; this all felt like a fever dream.

He tugs at the middle of your tights, ripping them open to expose your- and he was right- bare pussy. He lets out a chuckle.

"You're not trying to impress anyone?" He questions, again, peering up at you.

You try moving your thigh to cover yourself, but he forcefully keeps them open.

"Who was that boy you used to sit next to... Tim, is it?"

To be honest, you really didn't know that kids name. He was just someone you sat next to out of habit since you had picked that seat the first day of classes. But you hadn't been sitting with him for weeks at that point.

"Is Tim who you're trying to impress?"

"No!" You argue, still trying to fight the grip of his hand off your thigh. "I told you... I'm not trying to impress anyone."

"Hm." He says, placing two fingers on exactly the right spot of your clit, slowly rubbing in circles. . "You're not even trying to impress me?"

You stay silent, for a brief moment.

"Not in this way..."

But it's past that point now. He's already touching you, rubbing faster, and your exposed pussy is laid out right in front of his face. You're embarrassed and self conscious. He's too close for comfort.

"Yeah?"

The fingers once on your clit are now entering you. You still can't comprehend the situation.

But for him, he was putting you in your place. It was enough of the looks in class, the semi sexual and revealing clothing, the obvious need for his approval and to show him she was as smart- maybe even smarter than him himself.

"Is that why you're letting me touch you like this?" He asks, using the two fingers to pump your pussy.

It's out of your control but you're getting wetter the longer and faster he fingers you. It's beginning to show, beginning to drip down his fingers and onto his wrists. He notices this, then stops and looks.

"Disgusting," He huffs before licking his fingers clean.

"That's disgusting," You repeat at him, glaring a little, but you can't help but want his finger- more of him back inside you. You feel empty, desperate for his hands back on you.

"I don't see you asking me to stop."

You're silent, again.

He smiles, kneeling back down and spreading your legs open again, this time with a more forceful grip. He doesn't use his fingers this time, devouring you with his hot mouth and basically digging in.

He was really good at this. To be fair, no one had ever actually eaten you out, but you had never felt anything like it. He moves his fingers towards you again and fucks you with them as he sucks and licks at your clit. He was freakishly good. You felt something drip down your thigh; you didn't know if you were sweating or if you were fucking leaking. By the sound of it, probably the second one.

He removes his fingers and dives deep into your pussy more, making obscure sounds as he does so. He stops and looks up at you.

"Take your shirt off. I want to see your tits," he demands.

You comply; he's already seen a lot.

"Fuck, they're perfect." He says, now standing over you, playing with them and poking and twisting at your hardened nipple. He's pushing his hardened clothed dick into your bare pussy, giving you some friction has he sucks on your neck and plays with your nipples.

He grabs your hips and flips you over, putting you on your stomach and leaning you over the desk.

He kneels back down, eating your pussy again; he can't get enough of it. He can't get enough of the small whines escaping your throat and the way you leak and how you shake when it feels good- or when the pleasure becomes too much.

He adds his fingers in again, this time three, and you let out a louder, but not too loud, moan than usual.

"Professor-"

"You can take it." He assures you. "You better take it. If you can't take this how can you take my cock?"

You just weren't used to it- you had been fucked, but not for so long. He keeps licking and devouring your clit while pumping in and out of you. You feel so full- on the brink. You feel hot, and god you feel good. You don't even realize it, but you're riding his mouth and his fingers.

"You know, I wasn't going to let you come," Crane begins between breaths, keeping his face close to your pussy so you could still feel him. "But now that I think about it... I want you cum drunk on my dick. I wanna make you cum over and over again until you're a fucking mess."

He goes back to sloppily and messily eating you out again. It was so dirty; the noise, what was leaking out of you. You then felt that familiar feeling and you couldn't stop it; no matter how wrong this felt or how humiliated and exposed you felt, you couldn't stop yourself from moaning like a mess and cumming all over his mouth.

You needed a second to recover, but he stood up and grinded his clothed dick against you. You weren't ready for the friction, wincing over the contact with you sensitive clit. He grabbed your neck and pulls your back to him, kissing you, continuing to grind.

He unbuttons his pants and undoes his boxers, his large thick cock springing out, begging to be touched. He pushes one of your legs up onto the desk to give him better access to you.

"You're fucking soaked," He says as he teases himself some more, collecting what's came out of you as some lubricant.

He keeps rubbing your clit and the outside with his dick, back and forth. It feels good, but it's not enough. He pushes harder with his dick on your clit, continuing to hump you.

"Professor, please," you look back at him, trying to guilt him into giving in and fucking you, but it's not that easy.

"Shut up, and let me take my time." He says. He continues this for a little, before getting a new idea. "I want you to cum on my cock without me fucking you."

"What?"

He pulls you towards him then on his lap on the chair next to his desk.

"Grind on it." He demands, holding you in place by your hips. "Get it soaked."

You hesitate, but he's impatient. He pushes you down and moves your hips for you until you begin to do it with him. You grind your pussy against his cock, stimulating your clit once more. It didn't feel as good as his mouth, and god it probably didn't feel as good as his dick would feel inside you, but it felt good. And you were so fucking horny, you were on the brink of cumming again.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it," he praised you, rocking your hips back and forth. He digs his nails into your hips, definitely leaving some cuts in your skin, but you didn't care. You were so close. He begins to bounce up, pretending to thrust into you, adding to your pleasure. "That's it, you- oh fuck, yes, cum on my fucking dick."

You're dripping onto him as you ride out your high, clenching around nothing. It seems to last for a while, wrapped up in all the pleasure combined with his dirty talk.

He angles his cock towards your entrance and pushes into you- he feels hot and he's sensitive due to teasing himself. But no- he doesn't want to cum yet. He wants to put you in your fucking place. And even if he does cum, he has no issue continuing and even fucking a baby into you. Then, you'd have to walk around with the shame.

He gently picks you up, but then harshly slams you up and down repeatedly onto his cock. You've had no time to readjust after cumming a second time, and you were extremely sensitive.

"Slower, professor, please," You cry, burying your face into his shoulder. "It hurts..."

"Shut the fuck up."

He grabs you by the neck and pounds up into you, rubbing your clit as well to add to the sensation.

Yes, it feels good, but it's so overwhelming you can't help but tear up. Crane notices this and it goes straight to his head.

"Are you fucking crying?" He scoffs. "Fucking crying for me?"

He picks you up, keeping you firmly attached to his dick, and throws you over the desk again. He's fucking you deeper and at an animalistic pace; like he fucking needs this.

"Keep crying for me. Keep fucking crying."

He harshly grips your tits, twisting your nipple in the process.

"Fucking perfect tits, perfect pussy, perfect everything. You fucking strive for perfection- but you're letting me fucking ruin you. Is this how far you'd go for a good grade?" He laughs, fingers deep in your clit.

You can only moan in response, but this doesn't satisfy him.

"Fucking answer me."

"Yes," you cry out.

"Yeah, you're just a fucking whore who'd sleep her way to the top if that's what it took." He says, tugging your hair back, your sweaty bodies pressed closer together.

His words are filthy, but you're fucking cumming again.

He's laughing, mocking you for doing so.

"You fucking like being treated like a bitch, don't you?" He says, fucking you through your third orgasm. You don't know how he's not tired. As you expect, he doesn't give you a fucking break. You're worn out at this point; almost numb.

"Professor, I don't know-"

"You don't know if you can keep going?" He questions. "Yeah, you can. I'll fucking make you keep going. What was that... your third orgasm? Let me see if I can double that."

"Professor..."

"I'll stop when you give me three more."

You feel like you're going to pass out; the pleasure had become too much, but you were so fucking sensitive that a fourth one had come quickly. Your pussy was so swollen and red, but he had not gotten off of you.

"You're fucking..." He brings you back to the chair and places you on top of him. "You're fucking leaking all over me, fucking hell. So wet... do you hear yourself?"

You could hear yourself. It was disgusting. It was filthy.

"Aren't you embarrassed?" He asks. He slows down his pace, and you know he's teasing you. "Embarrassed that you're whoring yourself out to me like this? To a professor that so clearly disliked you? This is what you do for my approval."

He slows his pace some more.

"Would you do this for any other professor, Y/N? Let them fuck your pussy till you have nothing left to give? Bounce on their cock the way you do for me?"

"No, professor," you shake your head, trying to bounce faster but he keeps your hips in place, restricting you. He had succeeded- made you cum drunk and fucked you stupid, but this wasn't enough. He needed more. "No, no, only you. I'd only do this for you."

You're squirming around on his dick. He's stopped moving at this point, just staying in you.

"Stop fucking moving around. Don't you want to impress me?"

"Have I not?" You begin to regain some of your strength with this somewhat of a break he was giving you. "Have I not impressed you, professor?"

You give him puppy eyes as you gain some control of the situation, his grip loosing and you bouncing on his cock at a pace you like.

"I want to impress you, professor," you say seductively. "I want to- fuck!"

You start chasing your high again, you didn't even realize that you'd ever be able to cum this many times.

"Fuck!" You repeat. Crane is letting you take control, enjoying the show of you riding his cock, using him for your pleasure. "Do you like this, professor? Do you like when I fucking bounce on your dick like this?"

You had never heard yourself like this, or ever expected to talk like this. You had never felt so confident.

"Have you imagined this professor?" You continue. He's obviously at a loss for words, not expecting this side of you. "Have you imagined fucking me? Have you imagined bending me over your desk and eating me out till I came all over your face? My tits? Putting me in my fucking place?"

His hands found your hips again and he's helping you ride his cock. He's loving the words coming from your mouth.

"God, I think you wanted this more than I did," you laugh. You're so close. You wanted him to talk, but his reactions to your words were enough for you. "Make me cum again, professor, please. I- fuck!"

He's pushing into you and bouncing you up and down quickly and you're riding out your fifth orgasm.

He pulls you off of him and lays you out on the desk again, licking up your sore pussy. He hums while doing this, telling you how you taste so good. You're so- so sensitive, though, and you can't help but cumming on his tongue again not even seconds later, letting out a string of incoherent words.

That's six.

You look at him, but he's positioning himself in you.

"You said six-"

"I say a lot of things. I want you to cum on my cock again." He says, kissing your neck. "Last time. I promise."

He pumps into you, at a softer, but still quick pace. You feel so incredibly numb, but he still manages to work you up quickly while fondling your breasts and pressing hot kisses into your neck.

"Ah- fuck." He pants, fucking himself into you. "Fuck... gonna cum in you. Want you to fucking carry me around for the rest of the fucking day."

You don't object- your hearing was probably a little impaired at this point.

"Yeah, you want that, don't you. It's like a fucking award to you."

He's holding you closer now. You both are so sweaty and sticky.

You're about to cum again, but he grabs your throat tightly.

"Fucking wait for me. Don't be impatient."

As hard as it is, you listen to him. He speeds up, becoming sloppy before he cries, "Fuck, cum! Cum all over my fucking- ahhh, yes, fuck."

He shoots hot loads into you as you clench around him, milking more out of him. He doesn't stop, continuing to fuck you until every last bit of his seed has marked you. Even after he's done, he gets a few more strokes in before he pulls out, showing the combination of you and him leaking out of your pussy. He pushes you onto the floor and presents his dick in front of him.

"Clean it."

You obey, wrapping your mouth on his cock and licking away the filth that the two of you made. He groans and pulls you off of him.

"You'll get me hard again." He says.

He puts all his clothes back on and hands you your sweater. Your nipples are hard, poking through them now.

"I look forward to your next draft of your review." Crane says calmly, as if what just happened didn't happen.

"You- um..." you stammer, brushing your fingers through your hair. "You didn't give me any notes."

"I didn't?" He questioned. You shook your head. "Well, stay again after class next session. I'll go over it, personally, with you."

"Oh." You blush. "This wasn't a one time thing?"

"Y/N..." Crane looks at the floor. "I'm your professor."

You felt awkward. Of course it was a one time thing; how could it not be?

But then he looks back up at you.

"You don't want to fail my class, do you?"

#jonathan crane #dc scarecrow #scarecrow #the scarecrow #batman imagine #the batman #batman #the dark knight #cillian x reader #cillian murphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n #cillain murphy #jonathan crane smut

3K notes · View notes

michaellangdonswhore · 8 months

Note

Hi, I just saw you poste so here I am? maybe an ethan landry x reader who is smiliar to stu (Personality wise?) you can choos reader gender. like the act 3 there it reaveld that ethan is one of the ghostface and reader is quite sad/grumpy cause they like him and know he is a killer. "Man, I really wanna date you ):, but i cant cause rules of friendship, like you wanna kill my friends.... " I am sorry if this is not very specific but do what you wanna with it :)

warnings: like none this is just a blurb. prob bad I wrote this so quick and I don't feel like proofreading because I want to write something else. xoxo

word count: 1.6k

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There's three of them and there's three of you. You stand with your friends, Tara and Sam, severally injured. Detective Bailey was standing with a gun pointed towards you with two masked killers standing next to him.

"You?" Tara scoffs.

"Yeah, of course me," Bailey shrugs. "Frankly I expected more from you after what you did to us."

"Us?" You repeat.

The person next to him begins to take off his mask, revealing a smily familiar figure beneath.

You scoff, because out of all of your friends, you genuinely didn't believe it was him. Sure, everyone joked about it, but he was... he just seemed to innocent. Ethan seemed so vanilla.

Also, you liked him, so you were a firm Ethan defender. No matter how many times you were told to trust no one; especially Ethan after Anika was murdered, you did.

You just couldn't believe it. Ethan- who you had confided in, cried to, almost made out with had pretty much, quite literally, stabbed you in the back.

"Mindy was right. It was easy to juke the roommate lottery," He spoke, so confidently, which was so unlike him.

This really hurt- in many different ways. You actually thought you knew him and understood him. You had never seen this person before.

"I mean all I had to do to meet you was room with a conceited, condensing alpha literally named Chad. Fuck, it felt good to kill him!"

He presents his mask.

"This was your grandmothers, Sam. Nancy Loomis? Really runs in your fucking family, doesn't it? Speaking of family..."

"Wait for it..."

"My name's not Ethan Landry!" He says excitedly. "Is it, dad?"

Well, isn't he just full of surprises.

"Dad?" Tara scoffs.

"Well then that just leaves..." Sam looks at the only one unmasked. "Mindy?"

Luckily, it's not.

"Hey, roomie," Quinn says. "You didn't see that one coming, did you?"

"Well, yeah, we all thought you were dead," You scoff. You turn to Tara and Sam. "That's one way to get off the suspect list. Creative, I must say."

"Yeah, you'd be amazed what a grieving father could get away with." Bailey says.

Ethan's staring you down with a hungry look in his eyes. It was all a game to him.

You can't help but actually roll your eyes in the situation. The audacity you have. This ends with all out hell breaking loose-

Quinn slices deep into your arm with her knife and Bailey starts laughing.

"You stay the fuck away from her!" Tara yells as you stumble back, beginning to look for an exit plan.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Why couldn't it have been someone else? Anyone but him? You just felt so stupid.

"What is this?" You ask them all, specifically Ethan. "You did this as a family?"

"She should know better than anyone," Ethan shoots a dagger at Sam.

"I don't know what you believe, but I didn't commit the murders at Woodsboro!" Sam groans, sick of explaining the same thing over and over again.

"We know that. What do you think this is? You think this is based on some bullshit conspiracy theory? Bailey scoffs. He gives Sam a pitiful look. "Come on. Who do you think started those rumors in the first place?"

Quinn raises her hand and laughs, "Do you know how easy it was to turn Sam from the hero of Woodsboro into the villain? How easy it was to convince the world to believe the worst in people rather than the best?"

"It's not enough to just kill someone these days," Ethan adds, "You have to assassinate their character first. So when dad here discovers your horribly mutilated bodies, posed with Sam wearing her father's mask, he'll say some poor dumb bastard read on the internet that you're the real ghost face and took matters into their own deluded hands."

"It's the perfect alibi!" Bailey chuckles. "And all the best lies are based on truth."

He points to Sam, "You're a killer. Just like your father."

"No, I'm not!" She yells back.

"Yes you are, motherfucker, you killed our brother!" Quinn screams.

"What are you talking about?"

Great. Another surprise.

So, Ethan's a killer. Quinn's not dead. And their brother was the last ghost face. Great.

"You told us your brother died in a car accident," You shoot daggers at Ethan.

"No, you sweet dumb thing. He died at Woodsboro."

He's pointing his knife up, using it to make a point.

"You're Richie's family?" Sam looks distraught.

"Yeah," Bailey nods.

There's an awkward moment of silence, interrupted by Ethan stabbing Sam in the chest and filling the room with laughter.

"She's finally starting to get it!" He exclaims.

"Have I been a perfect dad? No. Have I maybe over indulged in Richie's interests in these movies? Yeah. He even made a few of his own. There's a very special bond between a father and his first son."

"Ouch." You look over at Ethan, impulsively. "That's gotta sting."

You take another small cut to the shoulder from Quinn. You couldn't tell why she wouldn't just kill you right then and there; it would certainly get the point across.

"What?" You look offended- almost as if you weren't meaning to be offensive. You look back up at Bailey. "And just because you sucked at raising your kid doesn't mean you get to take it out on... literally children."

"Yeah, well I think we're a little past that point now," Bailey sighs.

You open up your mouth, gaining your voice back before Quinn nips at you again, causing nothing but a wince to escape your throat. She's warning you for interrupting.

"I built a tribute to my son," Bailey continues. "This is where you have to die, Sam. Because everyone dies, Sam!"

He's beginning to rile up, pointing his gun at her now.

"Everyone that had to do with the death of my son has to die." He says. "Put on the mask."

"He was a man baby." Sam smirks. "He made his girlfriend do all the killing for him."

Quinn begins to charge at her, but Tara manages to knock her away, and that's when Kirby decides to wake up and shoot Bailey to the ground. Ethan then tackles her, stabbing her harshly in the abdomen in the process.

You act swiftly, taking a nearby brick on the floor at charge at him, slamming the brick into his head and knocking him off of Kirby.

The knife is still in her stomach, you and Ethan fighting each other on the floor in the corner while everyone else does their thing. You notice Sam and Tara climbing somewhere out of the corner of your eye. You want to get to them, but this might be the last time you can ever have your hands on him again.

It's almost if he's not fighting back, though; and it's like you're not fighting hard enough. It's like you're scolding him, like a wife hitting her husband with a dish towel for not liking the food. Except it's with a brick in your hands.

And he's laughing at you while you're doing this, knows that you couldn't possibly hurt him.

"Stop."

"Stop what?" He smirks. "You're the one hitting me with a brick."

"Stop laughing!" You groan. "This isn't funny."

You hit him a little harder.

"Ow!" He grabs his arm. He rolls his eyes and walks back to Kirby. "Where's my knife?"

As he retrieves it, you hear a gunshot and then see Tara swinging off the balcony, being held up by Sam. Ethan has his knife now, and he's swinging at Tara.

This is your moment to act again; you charge at him once more, bringing him to the ground. Not to your surprise, he overpowers you and is now holding you tight, knife pointed at your neck to ensure that you don't move. Bailey's gun is aimed at Tara, but now switching between the both of you.

"Take care of her, Ethan," Bailey says, aggravated that this is taking so long.

He nods, dragging you into the corner of the room; and then into a separate room. You're trying to fight back, kicking and digging your nails into his skin.

You know he won't kill you. He would've already.

Once you're alone, completely alone, he loses his grips. However, he's still holding tight enough to prevent you from moving anywhere.

It's silent for a moment. Neither one of you are talking.

"If I wasn't like this..." He begins. "If I didn't do this-"

"What?" You ask. "Would I have considered being with you?"

He awkwardly blushes. What a time to blush.

"You always did read me so well."

"Clearly not well enough." You groan and roll you eyes, escaping his grasp and pushing him off of you. You're not fighting him, and he's not trying to fight you, but you are keeping your guard up in case he decides to attack.

But he won't.

"So?"

"How can you expect me to answer that?" You question. "Like yeah, I would've loved to date you, but you're kind of trying to kill my friends and me. So, I don't really think the whole relationship thing would work out."

He sighs.

"I should've asked you out sooner," He says after a moment of silence.

"Yeah, you really should've." You snap back.

It's weird. This is the Ethan you knew. It's like he's back. Ghostface or not, your dynamic hasn't changed.

Your brief moment of peace was interrupted quickly though with another gunshot. This freed you of your delusion- that he was this normal guy.

Freed from his grasp, you ran back to the main room to find your friends perfectly fine. Both Quinn and Bailey basically looked dead, and Sam was in the Ghostface robes. You figured some sort of poetic justice had occurred.

But now it's three against one, and there's nothing you could do to save him.

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michaellangdonswhore · 8 months

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Ethan Landry x bratty reader 🫶🏻🫶🏻

warnings: smut. i need serious help.

word count: 1.8k

----------------------------------------------

"Ethan, we've been working on this for hours," You yawn, leaning back into the chair you pulled up next to him earlier. Ethan's gaze never leaves his laptop and his fingers don't stop typing for a second.

You shrug off not getting a response and play with the pages of your textbook. You've stopped helping him at this point; you'd rather do a portion of the work at your dorm in bed.

You're a procrastinator, but you get the work done.

Ethan's the opposite.

You were assigned a project in your economics class. Since the two of you knew each other the best out of anyone else in the class, you decided to pair up. You didn't know your working and time management skills would be so different.

You and Ethan were somewhat friends, but you argued a lot a little. It would always be about something small. They never went too far, though. It would end with Tara shifting the conversation and leave Ethan frustrated and gritting his teeth. You get annoyed with each other easily, but you were kind of still friends.

The thing that really bonded you two together was your economics class. You'd make small talk about your professor or what someone did in class. Sometimes you found yourself laughing with him, but you usually bickered.

However, you kind of liked arguing with him. It was exciting.

"Ethan," You whine.

He sighs and breaks eye contact with his computer, looking down at you.

"Maybe if you just agreed to meet up earlier in the week we would've gotten this done a lot quicker," He says in a condescending tone. "And you have no concept of time. We've only been working for a little over an hour."

"An hour too long," You roll your eyes and lean back in your chair again. "Look, I have a really short attention span."

"Clearly." He rolls his eyes, shifting his gaze back to the computer. You go back to playing with the pages. He gets annoyed by this. "Are you going to help me at all or just sit there?"

You shoot him a glare.

He scoffs and then finds himself smirking.

He always had fun pushing her buttons, but was particularly enjoying doing it in that moment; them alone in a tense room.

He hadn't really thought about her like this till a little before she came over. Not until Chad finally brought up the very obvious chemistry between them.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on," Chad groans. "You two fight like an old married couple."

"There's nothing sexual about it-"

"Dude, are you serious?" Chad scoffs. "You're just a virgin who doesn't know how to handle an attractive woman."

"Oh, screw you." Ethan glares at Chad who has a proud grin on his face.

"Think about it." Chad says before taking off.

Oh, and he thought about it.

"I want to take a break." You say.

"You've had days to work on this and it's due tomorrow night," Ethan rolls his eyes. "You've had your break."

You inhale deeply, full of frustration.

"You're a dick."

"Sorry that I want a good grade in the class."

You get angry by this comment. He knows that you're a hard worker; so what if you wait till the last minute? At least you get the things you have to do done.

He takes notice of the offended expression on your face and can't help but think that you're cute when you're angry with him.

"I have the same grade as you, you asshole."

"I'm actually a point above you."

"Oh, big difference."

"It's still a difference."

"Fuck off," You get up from the chair, picking up your laptop off of the desk.

"What are you doing?" Ethan asks.

"I'm gonna work on the rest of this in my dorm." You say, abandoning the situation.

You didn't really know else to do. Usually when you were arguing there was always someone to put an end to it; to resolve an unresolvable situation.

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Yeah, well." You paused for a moment. He had caught your bluff. You put a hand to your hip. "There's still another day to work on it. And we did get a lot done."

"Why don't we just finish it?" Ethan turns to looks at you. "You know? Let's just bang it out."

His word choice makes him tense. He knew the way the sentence came out.

"Okay, yeah," Y/N nods, sitting back down. "Let's just bang it out."

"Yeah?" He says in a breath. He doesn't know why he's continuing to speak without thinking about his words. He also doesn't know why he's kind of getting hard.

"There's nothing sexual about it-"

His words from earlier replay in his head.

'Fuck you, Chad.' He thinks to himself.

You nod and take out your laptop.

"You gonna stop your bitching and complaining?" He asks, him sitting a little closer to you than before. He was finding himself to be having fun with this. You give him an annoyed look and he lets out a chuckle while tilting his head.

"Only if you stop acting like a dick," You reply. "You're pissing me off."

"Am I?" He asks, no longer focusing on his work.

"Yeah," You nod. "Come on, let's bang this out."

"Yeah, okay."

In a second his lips are on yours, his hands pulling you in closer to him. You kiss him back, for a moment, before you realize what's literally going on.

"Woah, woah, woah..." You break away, staying in the position you're in. His hands are gripping your wrists and you're kind of straddling him.

He looks up at you and then lets go of your wrists. He didn't even realize he was holding onto them in the first place. He's breathing heavily and his face is red from embarrassment. Now, he's looking away from you.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Y/N." Ethan's looking at the ground now. "I-I misread the situation. I don't know what I was thinking..."

He's trying to be rational and he's clearly embarrassed, but he doesn't even notice that his hips are digging into you.

"No... it's okay," You stammer.

"Really?" He looks back up at you.

"Yeah..." You say. He's still thrusting against you. You realize it. He doesn't until your face gets even more flushed.

"What?" He asks, growing cocky. He assumes, since you said it was okay and you're still on his lap, that he was good to do this. "I thought you wanted a break?"

"Shit," You say as his hands grab your wrists again. You lean your forehead against his and he chuckles. "Yeah, I do want a break."

"Should I even let you have one?" He questions, kissing your jaw.

You roll your eyes and let out a shaky breath.

"Screw you," You say. "Don't tease me."

"Screw you, Y/N," He hisses. "I'll do whatever I want."

You press down further into his lap and he groans, his head falling back.

"I've never seen you this confident," You chuckle. You kiss his exposed neck, kissing up to his jaw. He's pressing into you more. "What's got you this cocky? Aren't you a virgin?"

"Fuck, I let you have a break and you throw that in my face?" He rolls his eyes. "You're such a brat."

He moves his hands to your hips and forces you to grind against him.

"You never fail to frustrate me." He continues. "Fuck, I just want to fuck the living shit out of you."

You're weak from his words, wincing over them. He stands up, carrying you with him. He throws you onto his bed and attacks immediately, pulling down your loose sweatpants frantically.

He's painfully hard. It's fucking hurting him.

He flips you over on your stomach and forces your hips up. Your face is buried in his pillows and you're wondering about what he's going to do before his warm mouth is devouring you. Your legs shake.

"Fuck, Ethan..." You hum. "I-"

"You what?" He stops.

He's dying to be inside of you. He's jerking himself as he eats you out. He feels so hot and desperate.

"Fuck..."

"Spit it out." He says in between licks. "You never have a problem with speaking your mind."

"Just keep going," You say, reaching for his hair behind you.

"Fuck, you're a slut." He goes back down on you for a moment, but he has to be inside of you.

When the contact breaks you whine, but are instantly met with him shoving his aching cock inside you. He's digging into your hips and he's balls deep. He doesn't waste a second before he's pounding into you, moving your hips to meet his thrusts.

"Yes, fuck," He whines, forcing you up by your hair to lean against him. "I never thought you'd feel this good."

He holds you in place and kisses your neck, fucking deep into you.

"Who knew all I had to do to shut you up was fuck you?" He laughs and you get mad, looking away from him but continuing to let him fuck you. "Aw, did I make you upset?"

"You're an asshole," You say, but then he pounds you harder, forcing a cry out of your mouth. "Fuck, Ethan, keep going! You feel so good..."

"Fucking whore." He grabs your jaw with one of his hands and sloppily kisses you. "God, I love fucking fighting with you."

You lean your head in the crook of is neck, but then he pushes you down and leans on top of you.

His brows are furrowed and he's whimpering in your ear.

"Feels so good," He says breathlessly, his nails digging deep into your skin. He's speeding up at this point, chasing his high. He's gonna cum soon. After all, he is a virgin.

His face is becoming red and he's getting lost in you.

And you're almost there too before he quickly pulls out. You turn your head to face him.

"Why'd you stop?"

"I-" He takes a deep breath and shakily responds, "I don't want to cum yet."

"It's okay," You look up with him with a glow in your eye. "Cum on my face."

"What?"

He's standing above you, and you switch your position, kneeling in front of him. You gently grab his already sensitive cock in your hands and begin pumping him, and he's a whining mess.

"Oh fuck-"

Without warning, he replaces your hand with his and jerks himself off until everything is out and a mess on your face. Loud grunts and swears escape his mouth as you wait with your tongue out.

He's left a sweaty mess, looking at you with his mess on your face. You look up at him and taste a little bit, and he breathes heavily.

"Fuck, you look good." He says. He then grabs a napkin from his desk and walks back over to you, wiping the cum off of your face. Once it's all gone, he kisses your cheek.

"I'll help you out with the work, now." You say, blushing at him. He tilts his head, looking at you confused.

"Why do it now?" He asks. "We have all day tomorrow for that."

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