katy 🖤✨

Hazel Callahan masterlist 🖤

hit the showers

we can’t be friends

love, lies, and first times

good for you

sertraline

Kit Tanthalos masterlist 💫

(you) on my arm

forbidden crown

Ruby Cruz masterlist 💋

never been (stage) kissed

behind the curtain

Hazel Callahan was eating you out.

For the first time.

Before you’d even started dating, she’d sworn up and down that she’d never had a girlfriend before, never even had a proper kiss aside from those middle-school rounds of spin the bottle in Stella-Rebecca’s basement—and even then, she could hardly admit that, technically, her first kiss had been Tim of all people.

But here she was—her head between your legs while you were sprawled out on her indigo sheets—using every technique she had picked up from poorly-written AO3 smut to lap at your clit with perfect precision.

At least… perfect in theory. She was hitting all the right spots, using the right pressure, doing everything right.

And it felt… fine.

But…

“Are you close?” she groaned, a little breathless.

You laughed.

Like the sick son of a bitch you are, you laughed.

Her head popped up in an instant, big blue eyes flashing with confusion and hurt.

“What?” she asked, voice small. “Am I doing something wrong?”

What the hell is wrong with you?

“No! No. God, no. I’m sorry,” you said quickly, brushing away the bangs that clung to her damp forehead.

“Then why did you laugh at me?”

“I didn’t mean to.” A rueful sigh left your lips. “I just… I’m on a lot of medication—”

“Oh yeah? Me too. I take Adderall during the school year, but my mom said I can take a break during the summer months because—”

“No, Hazel, uh…” you chuckled softly, fingers still threaded through her messy hair. “I mean… I take Sertraline. Like a lot of it.”

“Oh.”

“So… I can’t come. Like, physically.”

“Oh!” She sat up, seemingly deep in thought as she toyed with your folded legs. “Like… ever?”

“I mean, I can by myself, but even that takes awhile. I’ve never been able to with a partner.”

She nodded, slow and silent. Her eyes went cloudy—the way they always did when she was thinking—cerulean windows to the gears turning within her analytical mind.

Then—

“What if I wanted to be the one to make that happen?”

You laughed again—like a stupid bitch who hadn’t learned their lesson earlier.

But this time, she didn’t flinch. “I’m serious.”

“I mean…” another chuckle. “You’d have to be down there for like, hours, probably.”

“So?”

You blinked.

Oh.

Oh.

Her gaze dropped, shyly tracing shapes into the skin of your thigh.

“Can I…?” she murmured.

You thought for a moment—then realized there was nothing to think about. Hazel fucking Callahan—the hottest loser lesbian on this side of New Orleans—was offering herself up as your own personal fuck toy, batteries included and infinite life.

What did you have to lose?

“Go nuts,” you said, settling back.

Your legs went through a divorce—the second one Hazel had caused, if her mom were there to weigh in.

———

You were certain Hazel would have given up after an hour—maybe two. Previous partners always had, usually with an apologetic shrug and a “sorry, I tried.” But your girl stayed true to her word—four hours in, and her lips were still wrapped around your clit like a red silk ribbon on a Christmas gift.

That fact alone would’ve made you come.

…if you could, of course.

“How are you not bored?” you asked.

“Are you kidding?” she gazed up at you, grinning, mouth shining with your slick. “How could I be? My favorite thing ever is like, right in my face.”

You decided not to argue with that logic.

———

Another three hours had passed. Seven hours of lying still on your back, and as much as you tried to hide it, you had grown restless.

“Are you bored?” Hazel asked.

“No…” you lied.

She paused her ministrations, lifting her head. “You are bored.”

Jesus fucking Christ, was your acting so bad that even Hazel could read your body language? You made a mental note to send an apology to your middle-school drama teacher.

A handwritten apology.

On your mom’s good stationary.

“Fine,” you groaned, propping yourself up on your elbows. “But I’m not bored. Maybe just a little… understimulated. Mentally.”

“I get it, don’t worry.” Hazel gestured behind her to the 64-inch flat screen mounted on the wall. “Wanna put something on while I do this?”

“Is that okay?”

“Sure,” she said, grabbing the remote from her nightstand and passing it to you before settling back between your legs.

You flipped through her streaming platforms—god, she had so many—finally landing on Hulu, and it wasn’t long before Cindy Fee’s “Thank You for Being a Friend” filtered through the speakers.

She lifted her head again. “The Golden Girls?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna watch The Golden Girls while I eat you out?”

“Yeah? Is that a problem?”

“No,” she said with a shrug, scratching the back of her neck. “It just… seems like an odd fit for the moment?”

“Well, what would be a good fit then?”

Her forehead creased in thought.

“You know what? Good point,” she said, and resumed her work.

———

“Do you think I’m more of a Dorothy or a Blanche?” you asked at the top of the eleventh hour. “You’re definitely a Rose.”

Hazel huffed against your clit, and your body shivered—were you getting more sensitive?

“Okay, talk to me,” she groaned, bending backward to crack her back. “What could I do to help you… you know… get there?”

You muted the TV—right before Rose launched into one of her famous St. Olaf monologues—and hummed in thought.

“Hmmm… maybe I could use some encouragement?”

“Consider it done,” she said, whipping out her phone and typing fervently.

You craned your neck. “What are you—?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She hit send and grinned up at you. “I’ve got you.”

You didn’t have to stay curious for long. Minutes later, Stella-Rebecca, Isabel, Brittany, and the rest of the Rockbridge Falls cheer squad came bursting through the door—shaking their pom-poms and squealing like sirens.

“What the fuck?!” you shrieked, yanking at the blanket to cover yourself.

Hazel blinked innocently. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?!’ Hazel, our high school’s entire cheer squad is here, and my cunt is out!”

“Don’t worry, girl! Nothing we haven’t seen before!” Stella-Rebecca chirped, flashing teeth as bright as her voice. “You’d be surprised how often we do this.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Just last week, Annie hired us to stand outside Planned Parenthood with her and modify our cheers into protests,” Brittany said, shuddering. “We’d much rather be here.”

“But what about—?” you gestured to your bare lower half.

Isabel waved you off. “Please. Sylvie has us cheer on her solo sessions, like, every other day. This is nothing.”

“I swear, we’ve cheered for everything except sports at this point,” Brittany murmured.

You hesitated, glancing down at Hazel.

She shrugged. “You said some encouragement might help.”

Your eyes narrowed back at the cheerleaders. “And how do I know you won't tell anyone?”

“Have you never heard of cheerleader-patient confidentiality?” Stella-Rebecca gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

“But you said Sylvie—”

“Sylvie signed a release form,” Isabel cut in. “I think her exact words were, ‘I don’t care who knows that I rub my snatch. In fact, I want them to know.’”

You had to admit—your general discomfort was being outweighed by your relentless curiosity.

“Fine,” you huffed, laying back. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Stella-Rebecca beamed, squeezing herself to the front of a V-formation—cramped within the confines of Hazel’s bedroom.

“Five! Six!” she called out, clapping her pom-poms together as the others joined.

“Five. Six. Seven. Eight!

There she is! There’s our queen!

We heard she’s on sertraline!

O! R! G! To the A! S! M!

She just has to find her rhythm!”

“Not bad,” you said. “Maybe try a chant with my name?”

Brittany rolled her eyes. “Girl, you know nothing rhymes with your name.”

You sighed. “True.”

“We could try that other one?” Isabel suggested. “The one Josie likes?”

You blinked. God, they really did do this often.

“Let’s do it.” Stella-Rebecca nodded, resetting her stance. “Ready? Ok!”

“Senses blocked? We don’t care!

Hazel’s gonna get you there!

C! O! M! E!

Hazel’s gonna make you scream!

Gooooooo Hazel!!”

“I feel like that one was more for me than her,” Hazel piped up.

You shrugged, shifting your hips. “I don’t know. It’s kinda doing it for me.”

Hazel’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Shit, ok.” She settled back between your legs and made a little wind-up gesture at the cheerleaders. “From the top.”

———

Seventeen hours had come and gone, and the cheer squad had all but lost their voices. They’d collapsed in a heap on the floor, moaning more from exhaustion than you ever had from sex.

“Hazel,” Stella-Rebecca whined. “We do charge by the hour, you know.”

If Hazel felt even a fraction of their exhaustion, she didn’t show it. Her tongue stayed relentless, and she didn’t bother glancing their way as she waved them off.

A collective groan rose from the pile.

“Told you we should’ve unionized…” Brittany mumbled.

Meanwhile—though you didn't think it possible—the longer Hazel stayed at it, the more your blood actually began to flow. You weren’t close, not really, but you were closer than you’d ever been with a partner.

“Hazel…” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

And ironically, Hazel froze—only for a moment—before diving right back in. Her lips sealed around your clit, sucking with the wild determination of someone convinced you’d been snakebitten.

Your fingers tightened in her hair. “Fuck… just like that, please.”

Again, Hazel didn't bother lifting her head when she gestured frantically back at the cheerleaders—much to their misery.

“Okay ladies…” Stella-Rebecca relented, dragging herself and the team upright. “Ready? Ok.”

“We’ve gone into overtime,

So sorry if this doesn’t rhyme.

We know you’re on sertraline,

Until now we’ve had empathy!

But this is nothing like Sylvie,

‘Cause we’ve been here for hours, please!

T! I! R! E! D!

We’re tired! Tired!

T! I! R! E! D!

We’re tired! Tired!

Let us goooooooo home!”

“Yeah?” Hazel murmured, glancing up at you.

You nodded. “Getting there. Slowly but surely.”

“What can I do? What… what helps?”

You took in a breath, exhaled. “There is one thing.”

“What? What is it?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Her face fell. “Why not?”

“It’s like… this thing. Like a specific AO3 tag I’m into, and it's… really weird. But it always gets me off. Every time.”

“I swear I won’t tell anyone. Or judge.”

“No matter how weird?”

“Cross my heart, really.”

You sighed, then jabbed a finger toward the cheerleaders. “And you promised cheerleader-patient confidentiality!”

Stella-Rebecca raised her hands in surrender, then plugged her ears. The rest of the team followed suit.

You beckoned Hazel close and whispered in her ear.

Her eyes bulged. “That’s what gets you there?!”

“You promised you wouldn’t judge!”

“Yeah, but…” she blinked. “I just… wasn’t expecting that.”

“It’s fine,” you said—then paused, both of you suddenly unsure of what to say.

Finally, Hazel spoke. “Honestly? I’m kind of relieved. I was worried it was gonna be, like, pet play or some shit.”

You wrinkled your nose. “God no. I said AO3, not Tumblr.”

“Right,” she chuckled, giving your hips a squeeze. “I mean, if you want to pull that up and look at it while I do this, I don't mind.”

“Really?”

“If that’s what helps, sure.”

You whipped out your phone and pulled up a fic you were already familiar with.

“Take five, ladies,” Hazel said to the cheerleaders, then returned to her mouthwork.

“Jesus, you fucking bitch…” you nearly growled, eyes glued to your screen.

Hazel hummed against you. “Is that a good thing?”

Another groan. “Shut the fuck up.”

She didn’t take offense—she did exactly what she was told. Because maybe, just maybe, being mercilessly used as a human rose toy was her own weird little kink.

The deeper you got into your fic, the more sensitive you became—the better Hazel’s tongue felt, the more your hips shifted on their own. That familiar swelling gathered at your clit, your stomach tightening by the minute.

“Hazel…” you rasped. “I think…

And as much as she wanted to stop for reassurance, or adjust her rhythm, or change tactics altogether—she didn’t. She stayed steady, focused, just as she’d want you to do for her if the roles reversed.

“I think… holy fuck… I think…”

And then it happened.

It was no stronger than a deep breath through blocked sinuses—floating through your stomach and up to your head before tapering off.

“Ok,” you breathed, shutting your phone off. “I’m done.”

Her head lifted. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. Sertraline kinda… numbs the sensation too.”

“Oh.”

You blinked. “Are you disappointed?”

“No! God, no.” She shook her head, kissing along your thighs. “I’m just… really happy you let me do this for you.”

“Are we done?” Stella-Rebecca piped up, sprawled across the floor with the rest of the squad.

Hazel chuckled. “Dismissed. Thanks, you guys.”

“Perfect! Isabel will send your total via Venmo.” Stella-Rebecca’s perkiness returned as the team filed out. She lingered just long enough to drop a business card on the nightstand. “Tell your friends, ok? We also do birthday parties, weddings, baptisms, and funerals.”

“But not horse funerals!” Brittany called back on her way out.

“No horse funerals,” Stella-Rebecca shuddered. “Not again.”

And then they were gone.

“So,” you said, propping yourself up with a grin. “Eighteen hours. Good use of your time?”

Hazel leaned up, pressing a giddy forehead to yours. “I have to pee so fucking bad.”

You laughed. “I’m starving.”

“Want me to order you something?” She sat back on her heel, already taking out her phone and pulling up DoorDash.

“Absolutely,” you craned your neck to see her screen. “Are you gonna get anything?”