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denwritesandcries · 27 days

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Hug me Tighter – Sam Carpenter

Pairing: sam carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You’re only trying to make your girlfriend take a nap with you, the fact that it’s in a hospital bed after one of the worst nights of your lives doesn't really matter.

Word count: 1,8k.

Content: post-scream VI, cursing, tooth-pudding fluff, mentions of violence, cuddling, pet names, long dialogues, REALLY soft gfs.

A/N: Damn, this might be the sweetest and cheesy thing I’ve ever written. Could also be an AU, since Anika is alive, or just Scream, if they could actually be happy.

English is not my first language.

You realized that you were waking up at a terribly slow pace, as if everything was suddenly in slow motion and even the smallest movement took hours to run and every second was longer than the previous one. Your body feels heavy and comfortably warm, resting on perhaps the best bed in which you've ever slept. You blinked slowly, failing to keep your eyes open, every movement of your eyelids almost making you fall into unconsciousness again.

Your body shudders with the feeling of a long yawn crossing you and you turn your head to bury your face back in the location and go to sleep again, only to be surprised when you come across hot skin instead of what your brain thought was a really soft pillow. It is only then that you register a movement against your back, light and constant, almost as smooth as your own sleepy state, climbing and descending your spine and enveloping you even more in this security bubble almost supernaturally.

Another weight lies between your neck and your head, right at the point of your wrist and there's another heavier resting on the top of your head, although you're sure of the mess your hair should be right now. Your hands grope and instinctively grab a handful of familiar fabric beneath you, feeling the texture of a sweater you knew very well.

“Sam,” your hoarse voice breaks the silence.

You were tempted to let the darkness and the inviting fog of sleep consume you again as you relaxed and held another yawn, but your resting place vibrated with a low laugh.

“‘M sorry, baby. Did I wake you?”

“Nah,” you denied with a satisfied sigh, sinking against her body.

The chin on your head pulled away and the hand on your back stopped and you immediately missed the contact, finally opening your eyes and lifting your head to protest.

“You're feeling better?”

Sam's question catches you off guard and you pause, staring into your girlfriend's soft brown eyes and raised eyebrow with confusion. Frowning, you finally decide to take a look at the place you are in and come across a messy white room with machines nearby. A hospital room.

The events of the last few hours come back to you in a quick, jumbled flash. The confrontation with the Ghostfaces, the deaths, the police, the ambulance... and the surgery, because of course in addition to all the terror and threats of the last few days you also ended up being stabbed.

Well, that explains why you feel so sluggish then. You're high on drugs. That is, if the IV prick in your arm is any indication.

The hand on the back of your neck moves up towards your face, fingers tracing the contour of your chin and jaw, thumb rubbing soft circles on your cheek, your body relaxes and you lean into her touch, sighing all too contentedly at the affection. The memory of waking up a lot more groggy before and convincing Sam to lay down too when you found her sitting next to the hospital bed holding your hand tightly slowly returning to your hazy mind. She was a little hesitant at first, but it wasn't that difficult to convince her to hold you with the excuse that it would only be for a few minutes. You bet it must have been a few hours already.

“Hm,” you murmured absently, stretching against her, “I’m definitely feeling much better now.”

“That's good,” your girlfriend huffed softly, “I can't feel my legs in this position anymore.”

That caught your attention.

“Am I too heavy?” You ask, lifting your head to examine her for any bruises from the previous fight, “I can move if it’s hurting you.”

“No,” She squeezes you tighter quickly, “I’m good here.”

Sam's own eyes were half-lidded, almost closing over the last few minutes you were asleep, but she refused to give in to the urge to doze off too. It would have been such a waste when she could just hug you and breathe properly for the first time since the last few hellish weeks you've all had.

The TV on the wall had long since been muted, with the image of some random animal documentary flickering in the background. Sam's head rested against the pillows and your body lay happily spread over hers – and she looked perfectly satisfied for someone who had complained and complained about your puppy dog eyes before.

Somewhere between convincing Sam to lie down and pretending to pay attention to the screen, you ended up falling asleep, one of your arms hanging lazily over the side of the bed. Sam realized this instantly, feeling your weight finally relax on her. It made her relax too. Not completely. Sam was never completely relaxed, no matter how tired she was, not anymore, especially not after a night like that. But she managed to feel good enough to enjoy the moment.

The environment was as welcoming as any hospital could be, but her embrace brought a sense of security that lulled you perfectly to sleep and the knowledge that everyone was okay and in the next room allowed Sam to let her guard down. Yet falling asleep and losing that, the feeling that nothing could happen as long as she held you tight and ran her fingers over your warm skin, seeing and hearing every sleepy sound and movement you made – from a tired sigh as you fit, to one of your hands founding the collar of her sweater and grabbing it, holding her close – it would be a waste.

“You sure?” You hesitate, searching her eyes for any hint of hidden discomfort.

Sam sighs, nodding: “You wouldn’t believe how comfortable I am right now.”

“Okay then,” you rest your ear on her chest, feeling her head nod and her heart bumping, still a little high. A yawn crosses your lips, “But let me know if you need me to move.”

She hums in response and you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the sound of machines running and your soft breaths in the same rhythm left you trying your hardest not to fall asleep again until you felt your girlfriend's chest vibrate beneath you again in a barely contained laugh.

“You’re cute when you’re tired.”

“Huh?” you muttered, lifting your drooping head and finally refocusing your vision on her.

“I should probably get up now, let you get some rest.” Sam said, reluctantly removing her arms from you so she could move away.

You shook your head, grabbing one of her hands and letting them fall to the side of the bed, swinging freely in the air.

“No, I’m good here.” You echoed, denying nonchalantly. You let your head find a place on her neck, making her lie back against the pillows.

Sam sighed against you slowly, much more out of satisfaction – and relief – than annoyance at your insistence, returning to the task of running her fingers down your back until you spoke again.

“Where’s Tara?” You ask, voice muffled by the face buried in her neck, “And the twins?”

“They're watching Anika.” She responds and you get alarmed, before Sam reassures you, “She's gonna be alright, she just needs to stay in the hospital for a while longer. And also a lot of rest. Like you, by the way.”

“I am resting.”

If Sam hadn't been fighting sleep for over an hour now, she would have a wide, stupid grin plastered on her face at the sound of your indignant mumble. Since that wasn't the case, she contented herself with a small smile.

“Whatever you say, amor.”

She surrenders, completely this time, without any more false attempts to leave. Sam felt as if you were the one rocking her and not the other way around, as if nothing else could touch her, even for a little while. There were no worries about horrible jobs, breakdowns in therapy, pressure with college exams and much less paranoia about the existence of cinematic serial killers. Nothing else could exist in your – literal – white room. Just the two of you in that small bed.

Each synchronized breath of your chest next to hers pressed her own ribs, the delicate breath sending delicious shivers down her spine and making her completely aware of how close your bodies were and shocking her at how it still didn't feel close enough.

“I love you,” she says. Rasped, you barely hear it. “I love you so freaking much that sometimes I just want to drown into your chest and curl up between your ribs, with your heart.” She takes a breath, then pauses, hesitantly: “...Is that too weird?”

“...Well,” you gasp, heart completely racing against your ears, “No weirder than what we already go through on a daily basis, I guess.”

Sam groaned at your response, feeling like a lovesick teenager in one of the movies Tara and Mindy love to make fun of. Rambling poetically about her passion.

But, screw it, that's exactly what she is, right? Sam thought. Let her have it. She deserves it.

(Her therapist would definitely pat her on the back for that thought.)

Unlike what Sam thought she should feel with the realization of that thought, her heart didn't skip a beat uncomfortably, her hands didn't get sweaty and cold with the doubt of how to deal with this. It kept pounding in that same slow, steady, familiar rhythm, with one of the most precious and loved people of her life completely aware of how she felt.

“I feel like drowning into your chest all the time too.”

Her favorite place in the world was anywhere you were together and it was physically impossible to be closer than that at the moment, although she wouldn't give up trying.

It was pure and simple happiness. Warmth and security that captured her stomach and left it churning with what felt like a million bubbles popping simultaneously.

When you first came to her life and Sam realized being falling for you, she thought her love would swallow her. That it would be something she would keep to herself until it exploded. You seemed to have made it your mission to prove her otherwise.

“I didn’t say ‘all the time’ tho.”

Here you were, together and fine.

“Oh, shut up.”

Your grip on Sam's hand tightened in very bad feigned irritation and when you rose quickly to give her a kiss, your girlfriend burst into laughter and your lips hit her strong jaw instead.

“That tickles, baby.”

“I was shooting for your lips, but you moved.” You simply shrugged, leaning into her again and this time she met you on the way, a stupid smile growing between you and breaking the kiss too soon. You lay back down and Sam took a long breath, leaving one last kiss on your forehead.

This time, when her head feels heavy and droops from sleep, Sam does nothing to stop it, letting the feeling finally consume her.

Nothing, not even in her most vivid fantasies, had ever been so perfect.

And if by chance Tara ends up sending Sam a photo of the two of you napping the next day when everyone is getting ready to go home and it becomes the new wallpaper on her phone, well… that's nobody's business.

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter imagine #scream x reader #sam carpenter x y/n #sam carpenter #scream 6 #scream vi #melissa barrera x reader #melissa barrera #sam carpenter x you #wlw #denwrites

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 30 days

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❝ You better lock your door and look at me a little more (we both know I'm worth waitin' for) ❞

warnings: r! is a prostitute, brothel mentioned, mentions of addiction, spanking, fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick/cock, terms like boypussy, pussy, boycunt, cunt are used)

masterlist;

authors note: you guys have @strayjester to thank for this because of the thirst we had for this fine-ass single dad...

*song on repeat: Billie Boss Nova by Billie Eilish *YN is described as being shorter than Vander in this fic.

He’s getting that itch under his skin again. Muscles aching and throat begging for the soothing burn of addictive smoke. Vander tosses a rag on his shoulder, scratching at his beard as he fixes his posture. His skin feels stretched thin, aching for a salve to fill the crevices and drought; his ears muffle the bar, and the song playing floats into his ears.

The playful percussions, the whispering tone of the singer, and the sighs of the adlibs remind him of the fairytales of fairies, sirens, and boys in masks in nothing but a see-through robe.

Vander straightens up, briefly glancing over at the doors of the bar. The underground doesn’t get sunlight, but like a dog, he knows when people are starting to head back home. The crowd in here was mostly gone, some were passed out in the booths and some intently eating sunflower seeds in their corner. He’d have to clean it up and make sure the tables weren’t sticky, and the floor needed a good sweep too.

Impatientness grows in him. Vander sighs, pouring himself a shot of something to reinvigorate him, and slams the glass down. It startles the man at the bar enough to have him reach for his coins, the rest get the same hint.

“You look like you need a nightcap," Spider mutters. Vander thinks it’s ridiculous for people to call the seamstress such an intimidating name when she vehemently despises the arachnids, but it stuck and she has no choice but to embrace it. She has the courtesy of bringing her bowl of opened sunflower seeds and an empty glass to him instead of just stumbling off.

But Vander knows it isn’t exactly out of the kindness of her heart.

It flatters him that she finds him attractive. Really, it does. She was a beautiful woman and a capable one too. But Vander is tired and truly, he doesn’t want his rendezvous to be chattered on about everywhere. His kids didn’t need to hear about any of it.

“Aye’, that I do. Thankfully, I own a bar,” she chuckles and reaches forward to swat at his shoulder. Vander just smiles, taking her dishes and placing them elsewhere so his back is turned to her. “It’s not good practice to drink your own stock,” Spider places her elbows on the table and Vander doesn’t need to spare a glance to know her breasts are on display too. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, and most likely won’t be the last.

The song ends with a soothing croon from the singer and Vander’s cock twitches in his pants as he spots the business card stuck between the frame of the mirror.

“Ya’ sober enough to make your way back safe?” Spider’s brows pinch and she mutters, gluing her gaze on Vander’s face as he pulls the rag down to wipe the table. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Vander nodded, bidding her a good night she simply replied with a wave. She was the last to leave through the front door and Vander manages to not groan in relief at the click he hears.

‘ Hurry! ‘ A voice tells him. It’s early in the morning now, the window is closing but he can’t possibly leave the bar in this state. He’ll be the one regretting it when he opens tonight. Vander imagines he must’ve looked a bit dumb as he stares at the state of the bar when Vi appears at the top of the stairs.

“What?” Vi tilts her head at him but gestures loosely to the tables and chairs. “I said I can clean it, you look...tired.”

He sighs, squeezing the back of his neck. “What’re you doing up so early, Vi?” she shrugs which is a non-answer but pushes through the doorway and meanders behind the bar. Her head pops out and she places the iron bucket of cleaning supplies. Vander walks to her, handing her the rag as he reaches for a broom.

“Vander, I can clean the place just fine,” she huffs. “All by yer’self? S’gonna take ya’ forever,” he’s jesting but she finds no humor in it. The girl crosses her arms as she glares up at him. A part of him wants nothing more than to dash out of here, to find that salve he desperately is aching for, but there was no way he could leave his daughter to clean up by herself just because he wanted to get his dick wet.

“Dude, just go,” Vi grabs the bucket and rag and marches to the tables. He frowns a bit, crossing his arms as he contemplates it.

“Ya’ couldn’t sleep?” Vi shakes her head. “Nope! Milo was snoring and Claggor kept moving in his sleep. Powder must be tired because she’s sleeping through it with no problem.” Vi’s always been a light sleeper. Most of the people in the underground were. But Vander just needs to ask; “Ya’ sure it wasn’t the nightmares?” Vi pauses in her wiping and Vander watches her face as she sends him a pouty expression.

“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t had one of those in forever anyway — just go rest, old man. I can wipe down tables and sweep floors by myself.”

“Are you sure — “

“Dude!”

The path he takes is always quiet. Hidden between tight alleyways and old wires hung too low — he rarely saw characters here other than the occasional cat or shady hooded figure but that was a normal sight anywhere.

The back of the building is less glamorous than the front but not out of neglect. It was purposefully made that way — fewer lights, fewer signs, and fewer girls spilling from the door. But he peeks up from the hood of his jacket and he sees the voyeuristicly lit windows. The shadows of bodies behind the thin curtains, the seductive glow and thrum of the others. The back door is not locked, it's just made to look that way so people feel dirtier pushing the heavy door open.

He hears a whistle and his cock honestly to god jumps at the sight of your naked shoulders. Your mask was askew, your hair messed up, and smears of lipstick on your lips, and your skin; Vander is envious of the cigarette holder you have in your grip.

When your lips wrap around it he feels the exhaustion melt away. Plumes of purple smoke pour out from your mouth; “Had a feeling you’d be comin’ over."

Vander laughs, moving to the door with his eyes still on you. “Yeah? Just knew, did ya’?”

You nod, placing your chin in your palm as he opens the door.

“Yeah. My ass has been wanting a good stretch the whole day, only gets that way when you’re comin’ over.”

' Coming over ', you make it sound like he’s a teenage boy sneaking through your window. Vander says nothing as he walks in and you grin at it. His silence was good — it meant he was going to give it to you just how you wanted. You finish the cigarette and slip the curtains close.

Vander liked his privacy after all.

The hallways are familiar, but he still thinks the wallpaper is a bit too busy and the creak in the floorboards should have been fixed. Saying it out loud feels a bit shameful. After all, how often would he have to come over to recognize these things?

He passes by a doorway guarded with beaded curtains and he ignores the moans of the woman who is being devoured by another. The doorway next to it has the sounds of leather rubbing against leather so he peeks as he passes by to see it shines under the low lights.

Reaching the stairs, Vander is greeted by Sevika lip-locked with another woman. He lowered his head, hoping she was too busy fingering her to notice. At the landing, there’s a wall of hooks, and on each of them held a mask of an animal. They differed in all sorts of sizes, and materials, each handcrafted by different artists. Customers wear them if they’d like but it was a must for employees.

The allure, the secrecy, the seductive notion of masked strangers sucking your cock, blah blah blah.

He grabs the wolf mask, slipping it on with ease, as he climbs the rest of the stairs. He misses Sevika staring at his back with squinted eyes.

“D’you know him?” she asks. The girl in the doe mask pants but eyes Vander’s frame through the wooden bars of the stairs. “Him? Oh, he’s a regular. Secretive, and never lets anyone else see his face other than the Fantastic Mr. Fox.”

That makes Sevika snort. “(Y/N)? He only comes here for him?” She can’t exactly blame the man. You were a talented little beast. Hands, mouth, feet, cunt, ass — every part of you was made with pleasure in mind. She enjoys having you in a headlock as she pounds into your asshole, enjoys your tongue inside of her and your filthy little words.

But just for you? This pleasure house had a gaggle of beasts for him to lay with. Hairy beasts with cocks just as big as their arms who enjoy plowing and being plowed. Demure little nymphs with a talent to make people beg for their cocks to be stepped on or to cry in pleasure. Tall beasts, short beasts, catering to every need and fetish a man could have.

“There’s a betting pool,” the Doe says. Sevika turns to face her as the masked man enters the hallway leading to your room. “About?” Sevika pulls her fingers out to pull away the negligee and kneads at her small breast. She shudders, arching her back into her but continues; “The Wolf and The Fox. That he’s smitten, maybe even a bit obsessed.” Sevika scoffs, rolling her eyes as she pinches Doe's perk nipple between her fingers,

"Poor bastard."

"I think it's — ah — cute," Doe retorts as she squeezes Sevika's biceps. "To you maybe, a smitten customer gets you more coin," Sevika grunts out, her tone light despite it.

"Falling in love with a whore is just stupid."

"You saying you don't love me, Daddy?" Doe pouts her lips. Sevika chuckles as she lowers her head to nibble on it. "I'll love you tonight, baby. Think that'll be enough?"

The door has the symbol of your mask, painted in gold. It's ajar, a sliver of light lighting the carpeted floors and Vander rolls his shoulders as he pushes the door open.

Your room is heavy with the smell of incense. There's thudding against the walls, moans of pleasure echoing despite it being muffled. Vander's shoes make no noise. The carpets on the floor provide more than just comfort. Discretion. This room and the others on this floor are all for high-paying customers.

He closes and locks the door behind him. He reaches for his mask but your voice stops him.

"Keep it on," you push yourself off the door frame, the beads clattering softly, and Vander tits his head at your sashay. Your mask was left on the bed, leaving your face bare, and Vander cocks a brow as he looks down at you.

"One of those nights?" His hands settle on your waist. The size of them, the roughness that's felt through the silk of your robe, it makes your grin stretch wider. "You got other ideas, Vander?" you muse. "Was hopin' to kiss ya'," he huffs.

The grip on your ass lurches you forward further into his broad chest. Vander's eyes are heavy, the shadows attempt to hide the desire but it's futile. He's kneading, hitching you up higher until you're barely on your toes.

Head tilting, he leans in. Your head floats away, hands still gripped onto his shirt as he chases and you don't give in.

"(Y/N)," his tone suggests a warning. But it's amusing. Here you are, in his arms. His strength keeps you in place and in the air; the mask is akin to a muzzle. Except he's fully capable of taking it off if he wishes.

The fact that you asked for him to keep it on is not lost to you. Your words alone held so much power over him. You place his neck between the gap of your thumb and pointer finger, barely there pressure keeping him still despite the yearning in his eyes.

"You're exhausted, big guy. Long day, yeah?" Vander nods at your words.

"Lay down on the bed. I'll make you feel good."

He hesitates for a moment. But your feet find the floor again and he begrudgingly parts. When he walks past you, you follow behind him. He pauses when you reach for the front of his pants, looking at you from over his shoulder.

"Take off your clothes for me, baby."

Your bed is shaped in a semi-circle. The curtain around it was drawn all the way back. There's a mountain of pillows and bolsters that welcome Vander's naked frame as he settles on it.

The trail of his clothes on the floor has your silk robes accompanying you as you stand at the end of the bed.

Vander tilts his head, widening his legs and stroking his hairy thighs. Leading your eyes to the thick dick that's already at full mast.

"Damn," you whistle. The bed dipped under the weight of your knee. "I know I'm good looking but you can't be that hard from just 5 seconds of laying your eyes on me."

He can't tear his gaze from you. From the marks on your face to the state of your hair; the bare skin that he loves to bruise and mark up — despite being told by you it's not exactly encouraged — Vander is convinced you're not real sometimes.

The arcane has been long gone now. Yet, here you are. Living, breathing, proof that its remnants linger in pumping hearts and honey-sweet skin. With just your voice, you make his knees buckle and his cock strain through the material of his pants.

Just the whisper of your name has his entire day derailed as he thinks and thinks and thinks of you.

Oh, (Y/N).

You're his undoing.

Gooseflesh spread at your touch and Vander groans as you settle yourself between his legs. That haunting touch makes its way to his crotch, ghosting along his aching rod, up his soft stomach, and towards his chest. It rests there and his heart threatens to escape his ribcage. The heat from your cunt has him sighing and settling his hands on the arch of your back. It makes you chuckle.

"Please, darlin'," he begs, "I been needing you so badly. All day."

There's no way you can deny him. Not when your cock jumps at the airy tone he has, that gravelly husk that comes with it. It peeks up, just as hard as his. He can feel it drag along his own and he tightens his grip on you.

"Yeah?" You nose at his neck, trailing your painted lips down. The hairs on his chest tickle your cheek when you place your face there, breathing against his perk nipples.

"Shit, yeah. Can't you feel me?" He grows a bit bolder in his next move. Urging your hips forward so he can feel your wet folds, forcing your stiff cock to rub up. The motion makes your eyes flutter close, sighing against his pebbling nub.

"For such a big man, you're such a teddy bear," you lift your hips, lining his thick head with your needy cunt. He laughs, his masked face tilting downwards as his blue-grey eyes all but glow in excitement.

"I've been told I am a bear," his words end a moan when you slip him inside. The bowl of condoms littered just about everywhere outside this room wasn’t there for decoration. They were there for the John’s and Jane’s who needed them.

But you know Vander. You’ve been the only thing he’s been hitting and you make sure the rest of your clients are always wrapped up.

Everything about him is thick so it’s no surprise you feel the twinge of discomfort as you accommodate to his size. It lingers briefly but once the mushroom tip of his dick is inside pleasure runs up your spine.

“Oh fuck yes,” you wrap your arms around his neck and press your chest together. He instantly embraces you, adjusting his grip to your ass again so he can help you straddle his legs.

“Fuck, baby. Your dick is so big,” and for once you’re not lying about it.

Vander’s a big boy. His thick arms, square jaw, the delicious shape of his nose; his wide chest and sturdy shoulders, and his soft but firm stomach. Fuck, everything about Vander makes your head fill warm.

His dick twitches inside you as you slide down. The snout of the wooden mask bumps into your forehead and you laugh as he leans in.

“S’fuckin’ needy,” he has no protests. You reach for the bottom of the mask and push it up, blinding him but rewarding him with your lips. His beard is soft. As you feel through it, you cup his jaw and he groans into the kiss.

More of him inches inside of you and halfway down, you’re pulling away to breathe. His fingers are going to leave handprints with how roughly he holds you; flesh spilling from the gaps of his greedy digits.

“Fuck, (Y/N).”

“Yeah, say my name, baby.”

Vander grunts when you fix the mask into place. When you lean back, he takes in the sight of the bump on your stomach.

“Perv.” His dick twitches again. So you laugh.

“Absolutely rotten.”

Your eyes slip close as you let gravity take over. Fuck, the way your hips buck up and twitch as he fills you up has his toes curling. You’re dripping wet, the thick and clear liquid travelling down his balls.

“You’re so fuckin’ hard,” he thumbs at your cock. When he uses his knuckles to stroke it, his mouth goes dry at the way it twitches and righteously stands tall.

“All ‘cus of you,” you purr. Vander groans, now idly touching the bump of his dick and you sigh as he presses down on it.

“Ooooh fuck, Vander.”

He rolls your hips, moving to ground his heels into the bed but you beat him to it. Your hands brace his knees and you lift up and up and up — his tip bumping into yours in the brief time it’s out of you — then slipping him all the way inside again.

Vander curses, his accent thickening as you throw his head back.

You chew on your bottom lips, savouring the explosion of pleasure behind your eyelids. As you look at his heaving chest, you cannot stop the sharp grin that crawls onto your face.

Placing one hand on his shoulder, you put your thighs to work. Vander is at your mercy. Panting and moaning behind the mask as he watches your work on his cock. Riding him, grinding down on him, using his thick dick for your pleasure.

Your other hand leads his own to a surprise.

Between your ass that he adores so much, he bucks up when he feels the base of a plug inside of your ass.

“Oh, you liked that,” you moan. All high and airy as you slow down into grinding, thighs burning. Vander is tugging onto the plug and your rim stretches as he teases it in and out.

“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he growls out.

“You’ll die happy, don’t — mngh — duh-don’t...Shit, Vander. Baby. Oh fuuuck.”

The exhaustion of the day has seeped out from him it seems. He’s leaning forward, caging you between his raised knees and firm front.

In one smooth movement, your back bounces on the bed and he’s on top of you. The acoustic of the wooden mask makes him sound like an animal as he growls above you, he huffs and pants like a proper wolf.

You share a long look, even as he rocks in and out of you and you feel your heavy eyelids threaten to squeeze shut. He braces onto his elbows, his weight on you making you whine and keen.

He takes the reigns and smiles when you reach to take his mask off. It thuds onto the carpet, mere inches away from your own mask.

“Hey, handsome.” You stroke over his cheekbones, gasping into his mouth as he kisses you. A particularly deep thrust makes you arch off the bed and it distracts you from his deft hands pulling out your plug.

“Your cunts got me all nice and wet,” he growls into your ear. “Perfect for fucking your ass then,” you whisper back.

“You always know what to say, don’t you?” He slips out and you whimper at the loss. You’re not empty for long. He taps his tip onto your winking hole and you chew on the insides of your cheeks in anticipation.

“C’mon, baby. Fuck me.”

“Yes, sir,” he purrs with a devillishly handsome smile.

He rights his posture, holding your ankles in one grip and folding your legs so your knees are nearly at your chest.

The stretch makes you toss your head to the side, cunt gaping as he fixates on the sight of your greedy holes.

Vander spits onto your hole and pushes in deeper. It makes you sing like a proper whore. Clutching onto the sheets while your chest heaves.

God, when he takes over like this — it makes you fantasize about how good it’d feel to wake up in his bed for once — but fantasies like that are dangerous. Vander is smarter than that, he’d know better than to bring a whore back home. Especially a whore like you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. It knocks the breath out of you. You cry out, tears pricking your eyes when he strokes your dick. Vander splits your thighs and he holds your face with so much care you feel your heart pound our of your chest.

“(Y/N),” when he moans your name you want nothing more than to keep him here with you forever.

When he fucks up into your ass, you inch forward with every strong thrust. So he holds you down, keeping you in place as he stretches out your ass. The friction on your dick makes you even wetter. But you still hiss in discomfort as your rim clenches around him. Vander pants above you, slowing to a stop.

“Lube, darlin’?”

You nod, gesturing to the nightstand. Vander kisses you, pulling out as he turns and grabs the strawberry-scented bottle. You lay out on the bed, breathing heavily as you recompose yourself.

Vander lubes his dick up, eyeing your cunt a little too hungrily for your liking. So you knock your knees together, staring at him pointedly when he blinks innocently at you. “No double dipping,” you warn. Vander scoffs, grinning loosely.

“I know that, boy.” “D’you?”

Your expression makes him snort. He parts your legs again, smearing some lube on your hole before he presses his heavy cock inside of you again.

“‘Course I do. Your cunt’s just so sexy, can’t help but stare.”

“Yeah? Should I call another client and make him fuck my pussy while you fuck my ass?” You’re goading him. He realizes that. But the flash of jealousy that comes across his face is not something he can control.

Vander doesn’t respond. Merely grunting as he fucks into you. You yelp at the strength he’s using, cursing as you’re dragged onto his dick. Helpless as he uses you.

“Yuh - You pissed?” he glares at you but shakes his head.

“No.”

“Yer' a shitty liar.” You moan out his name as he turns you over onto your stomach, barely having time to process his movements as he pulls you onto your knees. He’s bruising you with his grip and when he spanks your ass, you know it’ll be sore till the next day. Every spank makes you tighten up around him. He presses between your shoulder blades and you are keen as he reaches deeper than before.

“M’just joking, Vander,” you pant out. “It’s all yours, all of it — all of me.“

Vander vengeance is in his hips. An unrelenting force that turns your body into nothing but a conduit of pleasure. Your gummy walls are torn between pushing him out and keeping him in — it doesn't matter, in the end, the one with power over you was him. There's bliss in relinquishing control. It's a whisper of voices, serenading you to a high that even the strongest drugs could barely scratch.

Or maybe you were just an addict for sex — or just Vander.

No seasoned whore lets their guard down with a client. There's a degree of trust needed. It's surface level. The bond between you and Vander — there's something oddly binding about it. You've heard of the religions scattered around the world. Of monks who abstain from worldly pleasures, those who worship an entire militia of gods, and those who only believed in one Maker; they spoke with such certainty of their beliefs. The punishment and euphoria waiting for them at the end of the line.

Fucking Vander feels like religion. When he makes your body burn from the inside out with a lust only he can quench — you're doomed and there's no one to blame but yourself.

That's a lie, you bite down on the bedsheets as you feel his balls slap against your cunt and dick. There's someone to blame for putting Vander in your way, (Y/N).

"Shit, sweetheart. I'm close," Vander groans. You moan, forcing yourself to reach back so you can kiss him. Vander feels his heart hammering, reaching to pinch your cock between his fingers to distract himself from these bubbling emotions.

Loving you was a freedom he had long forgotten about. Hearing you moan out his name, digging your nails into his skin and kissing him so deeply. He aches for you — his veins burn when he even thinks he sees you in the crowd.

He loves you.

Vander murmurs something on your lips that you don't catch. But you're too far gone to acknowledge your senses. You're so close to unraveling. Teetering on that edge of bliss as Vander holds you like he wants your bodies to become moulded together like clay.

"Vander, Vander — "

He slips his fingers inside your cunt. You gasp, feeling yourself clench around him like a vice as you squirt onto his fingers and cum around his dick. Vander is close behind, growling out your name as he thrusts in balls deep and floods your ass with his thick ropes of cum.

The both of you ride off the orgasm. His hips still fucking in and out of you in shallow motions that have your breath hitching with every drag and poke. Vander slips his fingers out and brings it to your lips — you chuckle softly, letting them inside as you clean his talented digits.

"How much did you pay the madame?" You nuzzle into his neck, relying on him to hold you up. He kisses your shoulders, his beard tickling your skin as his hands roam your front.

"Long enough. You sick of me already, darling?"

Don't think that's possible, you thought with a loose grin. Vander groans into your mouth as you grab his chin and kiss him.

"Don't flatter yourself, baby."

Vander looks younger when he rests. Not like a boy again, just younger. The lines on his face were less prominent and the softness of his body was more inviting. You're tracing mindless shapes into his chest, chastising the city of Zaun for beginning its morning cycle. The noises from beyond the window are beginning to shift from the noisy nightlife of hookers calling for Johns and booming music from clubs to the food stalls opening and wagons being pulled along the worn-down roads.

You can hear the thudding of Vander's heart under your ear. It squeezes your own so you lift your head and gaze down at him, just taking him in from a new angle. The door clicks and Vander's brows pinch but he does not stir. He trusts you enough to rest. For you to keep vigil over him.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" his voice drawls like a thick caramel. A seductive purr with a certain husk that tingles your senses. The tall, lanky, man enters the room and he is shameless as he takes the both of you in.

"He paid for the whole night, not the day." Silco comments. "He gets a pass on good behavior. What do you need?" Vander's hand is carefully guided to hold one of the pillows and you carefully move to stand.

Silco takes in the sight of you. Moving forward, he grasps your chin in his hand and tilts your head back; "He's always been such a possessive man."

"Yeah? He marked you up like this too?" He regards you with a tepid glance. "Sir," you add smoothly. Giving him a half-hearted grin.

It works. Silco's eyes soften, just slightly but it's a crutch you're leaning on. He likes you more than he'd like to admit and you're beginning to feel guilty for all these emotions brewing inside of you for these two brothers-in-arms.

"Did you learn anything from tonight, (Y/N)?" Silco looks past you to Vander. Turning his voice into a whispering tone that feels more romantic than he probably intended it to.

You contemplate telling him. Pursing your lips for a second before you lean in and embrace Silco, pressing your lips up his jaw and whispering in his ear.

"He's friends with the Sheriff. Grayson. But he worries." "About?" Silco's hands wrap around your waist, shadowing Vander's marks with his own. "He worries about the fresh meat she has on her team. Piltover's steady now but one incident and he doubts he'll be able to keep the peace, no matter how hard Grayson tries. The children," you pause and he turns his head to look at you. You gulp thickly, then continue: "The eldest daughter, Vi, she's getting restless. Dangle bait and she'll bite."

Silco stares for a moment. You take him in, unable to stop the grin that crawls on your face as he presses a long kiss to your lips.

"Well done, (Y/N)." His praise had once been something akin to a drug to you, a high you desperately needed to keep your doubts at bay. A soothing coolness that'll keep this rage inside of you to a lukewarm temperature; the promise that Piltover will soon fall to its knees to Zaun had been your motivation to live for years now.

Yet, your chest tightens and your stomach twists as his words wash over you.

"Of course, sir."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #male!reader #ftm re #ftm reader #transmale reader #vander x reader #vander x yn #vander x male reader #arcane x reader #arcane x yn #arcane x male reader

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beebopurr · 4 months

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*gives Vi top surgery*

#my art #vi arcane #arcane fanart

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ardentbonkers · 4 months

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Caitvi featuring top surgery Vi I probably won't finish

#Arcane #caitvi #violyn #caitlyn kiramman #vi #fanart #art.png

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s0rinsleeps · 7 months

Note

Trans Vi in tac gear?

THANK YU FOR UR SUGGESTION

#can u tell I still barely know how to draw abs #I love tac gear but I suck at drawing it LOL #anyway #text #my art #vi #arcane #vi lol #vi arcane #caitvi #piltovers finest #caitlyn arcane #violyn #top surgery vi

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physiqueandfantasy · 1 year

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VI The Lovers (Trans)

Digital collage made by me Lovers! I’m done with all my Lovers cards! Yay! For this version, I used lots of blue and pink flowers and a trans symbol. There’s honestly not a lot of established trans symbology (yet). I like the trend of trans boys getting tattoos over their top surgery scars so I figured I would accentuate them on Adam with sparkles. And my Rafael is four-armed, three-eyed, and six-winged. I wanted to reference my multi-armed Magician and his message of mastering multiple skills. I’m so glad to be able to move on to the next cards. I hope you’ve enjoyed the scenic route that I have taken through The Lovers.

#trans #trans art #tarot #the lovers #my art #my collages #queer #gay

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lunarcrown · 2 years

Note

I looooove your tango n jimmy art I want to chew it like a dog w a bone, you just Get It to the ultimate degree jsbsjsbd. You don’t have to ofc but would do you think you’d ever draw tango w top surgery scars? He’s basically exactly what I (transmasc) am aiming for vis-a-vis gender and I’m v much considering buying some crop tops because of it

IM SOOOO GLAD you’ve been enjoying!!! AND YESSS GET URSELF SOME CROP TOPS!! Crops for everyone!!!!! And sure! I’ll draw that!

I decided that due to his history w tnt (and half and half success with it) he blew one of his own nipples off not long after his top surgery HAHA BUT he thinks it looks sick AF

#tangotekfanart #tangotek #ctangotek #mcyt #mcyt fanart #my art

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femmemortes · 4 months

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My top five most brutal SAW traps even though absolutely nobody asked for my fucking opinion:

5 — Pound of Flesh, SAW VI

I feel like this isn’t a trap that’s talked about often enough considering the actual shit you have to do to survive it. I mean come on. Cut off enough of your flesh to survive? And it’s not even like there’s a set amount anyway, it’s a competition between you and another person to see who can do the most. No guidance as to what specific body part to cut off either. You just have to take the knife and just start going crazy. It makes having the punishment for not doing it look not as bad but, then again, actually thinking about having screws drilled into the sides of your temples? Yeah, no thanks babes xxx

Simone was a total badass just hacking her arm straight off like that and living. Just sent it all the way and won, you love to see it.

4 — Silence Circle, SAW 3D

If someone asked me to do this trap I would actually just kill myself instead. Gun in my mouth, bang, gone. Same with all of these to be fair but the fucking idea of the key on a fishing hook in your stomach? And that just raking up your insides as you’re trying to take it out? Fuck that. Fuck. That. I think the only thing that would make me do this would be the other person pulling out the string because if I had to do that shit myself? I’d just scream as loud as I could to make the spikes impale me instantly. I am not doing that shit.

This one gets bumped down a bit because we don’t actually see the visual of the hook going up through her? Which makes it an easier watch than the others on this list, but I still think it deserved a place here because of the sheer insanity of the entire thing.

3 — Bone Marrow Trap, SAW X

Fuck. This. Trap.

Actually fuck it. In my opinion this was the most brutal trap in SAW X. Yes, I know some people make arguments for the brain surgery trap being pretty brutal and yes taking out your brain is just… Wow. And I’ll agree it is bad. But you don’t FEEL your brain.

THIS ON THE OTHER HAND?

CUTTING OFF YOUR LEG AT THE THIGH? WITH A GIGLI SAW NO LESS? The amount of blood loss, the fact if you want to live just have to take that fucking saw to your leg and just DO IT? And then once you’re done you have to take that stupid little fuckoff tube and stick it in your bone and get the bone marrow out, which is ALSO PAINFUL???

Also the part where she grabs the gigli saw in-front of her with her hands… Fuck, just fuck.

Valentina really didn’t deserve to die here, I won’t lie to you. She cut off her leg, was taking out the marrow. I believe had the tube thing for the vacuum to measure how much bone marrow or whatever the fuck had been shorter, she would’ve lived. Yes she started later but like, come the fuck on.

2 — Venus Fly Trap, SAW II

I’m going to start this with, this trap being the first trap of SAW II is an actually insane tone shift from what we had in the first movie. Like, the only trap I really consider brutal in SAW is the reverse bear trap, but we don’t even see that one go off since Amanda survives it.

So seeing this shit right out the gate is just… Oh my god. Wow. Just wow.

This trap has always given me reverse bear trap vibes in appearance, it’s probably the whole thing of, it’s on the head, closes, shuts whatever. I don’t know but it’s got a similar energy to it.

First of all, the whole nails in your face thing? Yeah, hate that. But what I’m most concerned about is the KEY BEHIND THE EYE.

FUCK.

THAT.

SHIT.

The visual of him cutting into his eyeball with the scalpel? And you actually just have to fucking go at it and just… ugh. I was pretty torn between either this trap or the Bone Marrow trap for this kinda reason. Cutting off a leg or cutting open your eye? And honestly the eye is just. Worse. Like just digging into your eye to get out a fucking key? Like all things given, at LEAST I can turn off my brain somewhat while cutting off my leg. Just back and forth with a saw. I don’t even have to look!

THIS? WHAT I’M CUTTING IS DOING THE LOOKING. I STRUGGLE TO PUT ON EYELINER, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO THIS?

1 — The Rack, SAW III

There is a reason why people think this trap is the worst one. There is a reason and it’s fucking obvious.

You’re on a mother-fucking crucifix looking ass thing, legs and arms out, and if this other guy doesn’t take a bullet for you, your limbs are going to be twisted.

YOUR ARMS, LEGS AND NECK are going to be ROTATED 360 DEGREES. ONE. BY. ONE.

Oh and the guy who’s taking the bullet for you? It’s Jeff by the way, stupid fucking Jeff. So you have no chance xxx

The visuals. I can’t watch this trap without looking away, I see the limbs start turning and my line of sight is directly away from the screen. No.

No.

The image of twisting flesh and the fucking shot where you see one of his legs start to move?

NO.

AND HIS HEAD. HIS FUCKING HEAD.

NO.

I DON’T NEED TO EXPLAIN WHY THIS IS NUMBER ONE. FUCKING LOOK AT IT.

Honourable mentions under the cut:

Honourable mentions go to The Angel Trap and Ten Pints of Sacrifice. I didn’t include the angel trap because I feel like, while yes getting your ribs ripped out is horrific, you don’t really suffer much while alive? Which to me, the more they suffer while alive or trying to complete their trap, the more brutal it is. Ten Pints of Sacrifice isn’t on here because I was doing 5, had I been doing like 10 you would’ve definitely seen this on here. Oh and also, Needle Pit isn’t on here because I’m entirely unfazed by it. I hate to do Mandy like this but I just personally don’t really wince at it at all.

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occultradio · 7 months

Text

Trace

They/Them

Alien

???yrs Younger than Vis, but probably older than Quill, the orphanage never knew their exact birthday. They try to hide their eyebags with makeup.

Solo Synth player. Does music for clubs and fetish fashion shows.

Eight eyes

One of Viscera's former bandmates

Can't breathe earth air without filters. Only takes the mask off at home.

Had a crush on Vis, never acted on it because of Tilly.

Doesn't talk much in public because of the mask.

Can read/transfer emotions with their hands, can speak with telepathy but doesn't use it much.

Intersex. Had top surgery but nothing else, has both a vulva and penis. Honestly doesn't really identify with earth genders at all.

Self-conscious of their mouth and doesn't like accidentally scaring people.

Gay for alien men but sleeps with human female groupies

Very clumsy, the trip over your own feet and choke on your own spit type.

Loves to wear jingly sounding jewelry

Secretly practices pole dancing in their apartment, it's just a hobby/workout not a job.

Sometimes smokes weed even though their lungs are shit

A drunk if given the opportunity

Has eaten a human before due to stalking.

Potentially a dream eater

Why should we try so hard Let's get numb 'Til we don't feel nothing Let's get numb 'Til we don't feel nothing There's comfort in the dark

Their boyfriend

#sims bio #simblr #ts4 #sims 4 #ts4mm #sims4 #ts4 alien #sims #oc: trace

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levmada · 1 year

Note

You have such a good perspective on canon!levi, how do you do it!! 🥰🤩 the cold weather has made me think fluffy thoughts... sooooo....

What are your thoughts on post-war levi needing some help with cutting his hair? He can manage, but it's probably harder to do, right? Does he even keep the undercut? Uh-oh, maybe the top grows out enough for a bun. Is this the first time he lets someone other than his mother cut it for him? Does it mean something to him, or does he just not like other people messing with it? If he needed help, he probably wouldn't ask, you'd just have to get in there and do it... and then it would just be a part of your routine together. I need to hear your thoughts!!

Also happy new year 😘😘

xoxo

happy new year!! idk how this post got so srs but here we are.... i promise... its fluffy towards the end...

//internalized ableism, mentioned suicidal ideation, some minor manga spoilers + hinted ch132 spoiler | wc: 1.0k

He didn’t get to cut his hair (I bet) for that month he was in the forest with Zeke. And then after the final battle, he’s in the hospital for some long months while his face heals (did you know that face wounds heal super well compared to other flesh wounds?), he gets multiple surgeries on his knee, and treated for the internal bleeding caused by the explosion (remember when he coughs up blood in the manga?), etc. The point is, he’s in the worst shape of his life.

And in all that time, his bangs grow to fall over his eyes all the time. They don’t like to stay pushed back over his forehead, either, and the prickly stubbled part of his undercut gains length. The longer tail in the back has creeped down his nape.

This is one more thing to constantly unsettle him. Routinely he’s always cut his hair every two weeks on the dot if he can, and he’s never let it get bad enough to grow out this much, not since he was a little kid.

He’s always cut his hair himself, too. At this point he’s firm in the belief that he’s the only one who can get it right, and on top of Levi’s stubborn independence and his newly realized weaknesses, means he’s defiant to letting even you (who has stuck to his side since he was admitted) trim it. You can count on one hand how many times he let you help with it in the past.

“I’ll cut it for you,” you offer out of the blue, for the hundredth time.

He, who’d been half-dozing in his hospital bed, grunts to show his distaste. The majority of the bandages are off his face, except for the white wrappings hugging one of his eyes. Unfortunately, Hange’s stitches had been removed, and restitched. Levi got extremely irate with the doctor who explained to him that the work done was shoddy, like whoever that’d done it seemed to be in a rush.

Either way, it still feels strange to talk with the cleft in his lips. “You’ve done enough for me.”

You stroke his uninjured hand. The other is still bandaged. Recently, he went through another small surgery to get them properly amputated to the second knuckle to prevent nerve damage and infection. (I’m so fucking sad.)

“The most I’ve done is just be here,” you say meaningfully. “Please let me help, ‘Vi.”

For the most part, Levi has been completely numb since the war ended. Maybe he’s still in shock, like the professionals say, but he has had the suspicion that he’s broken... That is until you beg him so genuinely. A familiar affection for you pulls in him. It reminds him. Not broken.

He blinks at you, and sighs deeply through his nose. “Only if… it’s not too much trouble.”

“Never. I already asked for the proper tools.”

He deadpans a little, affection growing. “Fine.”

Smiling, you give him a kiss.

Levi huffs. He’s stronger than he was since being admitted. With a few pillows fluffed up behind him, he sits up with relative ease. His socked feet brush the floor, where he stares down, deliberating.

“You shouldn’t—”

“If you get that fucking chair, forget it.” He raises his head and glares defiantly at you. “I’m not a shitty baby. I can fucking walk.”

You never said he was, never even implied it, but you understand why he’s lashing out. So you compromise by sitting down beside him, and sliding your arm around his waist. He hooks one of his over your shoulders, saying nothing as you together maneuver to stand. The bathroom is a few paces away, but to Levi it feels like miles as he heavily favors his good leg, causing him to hobble.

His cheeks burn in humiliation. Not because you’re helping him, but the fact that he needs help in the first place. He doesn’t even let the nurses do this.

In the same way, all the meaning of this favor to him isn’t in you cutting his hair. It touches him that you’d go out of your way (in his mind) yet again for him, as difficult as he knows he’s being. Has been.

He hates that his body’s this way now. Mangled beyond recognition of how it used to be, how it used to work. He’s left broken parts. Damaged. He’s permanently useless forever, he thinks. The resulting burden makes him think at his darkest moments that it would’ve been easier on himself and everyone else if he just died after killing Zeke. His duty was done. It would’ve taken long enough.

This occasional slew of dark thoughts have grown more common since he’s had time to do more or less nothing but think. When he remembers that everyone he fought beside, including and especially you, were thrilled that he was recovering, he feels a horrible stab of guilt. He should be grateful. The Titans are gone. He should be at peace, overjoyed. He doesn’t deserve to feel this much pain considering everyone else who lost their lives. Everyone close to him is dead. But, except you. Except you.

(I need to get back on topic.)

In the bathroom, he braces himself using the counter, his bad leg raised as you drag a regular chair inside.

“Same as always?”

“Yeah.”

He thought he’d feel even more pathetic that he can’t even do this with two less fingers and his eyesight, but he finds himself… relaxed for the first time in ages. More placated whenever your fingers card through his hair, occasionally scratching affectionately as you go about trimming, then buzzing his hair way down near the base of his skull and around his ears.

You’re slow and careful about it, and Levi finds himself holding onto that.

When his hair is fixed, the style as he always had it, he feels a shred better. Your eyes meet through the reflection.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

Later in the future, when Levi is out of the hospital (which he leaves on crutches), and enough time has passed to partway recover and re-establish a new routine in your lives, you still cut his hair the majority of the time. His eyesight messes with his field of view—it’s a task to land kisses to your lips, let alone cut his hair straight. So even though he’s ambidextrous, that doesn’t mean much.

Every two weeks, same as always, you stand behind him with a towel laid out for the stray hairs, and wordlessly set about doing it for him. He could grow it out, but he much rather prefers a few things staying the same as they’ve always been. Including his hair. Especially you.

#aot drabbles #levi ackerman drabble #levi x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman angst #aot spoilers #snk x reader #levi ackerman x you

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blackwolfstabs · 5 months

Note

If you're ever low on ideas and comfortable with it, I've had this idea which means a lot to me that I'd love see you put into your own words one day.

Basically, some time after Scream VI, Chad and Tara try to work themselves up to doing the deed (no outright smut or explicit stuff though pretty please, not the point here), and Tara totally freaks out when she can't bring herself to take off her clothes and show all her scars to another person. While I wouldn't expect Chad to really care about his, I'd always thought this would be an issue for Tara considering how much she wants to feel normal after everything that happened to her. As someone who still has visual reminders of a prior major surgery, I can speak from experience that feeling like you're less beautiful or desirable because of that is a really terrible thought. I can totally picture Tara feeling all the nervous butterflies about the sacred occasion of losing her virginity only to realize the scars from her snapped leg and all the stabby stabbies, everything she's trying to forget, are never going away. Feel free to experiment with how they'd react to and handle this situation, it was just a fleeting idea, but I think it could be something really sweet.

P.S.: You're like the only writer I know of that appreciates Chara and I just wanted to thank you for that because I adore them sooo much lol, they don't get enough love.

aww it's all my pleasure, dear anon. i hope i do your idea justice! 🫡

here you go:

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

IF YOU LOVE HER

Drawing stars around Tara's scars.

fandom: Scream pairing: Tara Carpenter × Chad Meeks-Martin characters: Tara Carpenter & Chad Meeks-Martin a/n: i love this idea sm and i actually got really into it so my apologies if i went too deep or made it too long. you've got good taste, my friend :)

───────────────────────────

“Are you sure?” Chad whispered, his forehead locked with Tara’s as they blinked into each other’s chocolate eyes.

Tara nodded, not breaking her eye-contact, even though she was trembling. She loved Chad, she did, and if anyone was going to take her virginity, she wanted it to be him. It’d be safe with him, for she was sure he loved her just the same. They had been through so much together. She couldn’t ask for a better partner. “Yeah,” she breathed, “I want to…”

In the privacy of his half-lit bedroom, he nodded and removed his shirt, letting her take the lead as she gently pushed him down onto his bed. She climbed on top of him, her legs straddling him to lean down and capture his lips.

Tara melted into her boyfriend quickly, pulled in by the serene essence of the night and his love. She felt his hand slide over the small of her back and move towards her hip, while she trailed her fingers down his right pec to his rib cage. Her fingertips curled into his ribs as his own slipped beneath the band of her pants.

They parted, but Chad kept his digits beneath the hem. He eased them a little farther to have the tips meet her underwear. She shuddered with a small gasp, instinctively dropping her pelvis as if to stop him from going any further. His face must’ve changed a little to show some concern, because she quickly looked away.

“I-I’m sorry…” She grew shy as she hesitated on where to look.

“Is that too far?” he quizzed, retreating his hand a little bit.

“No, it’s fine, I just…”

“Would you rather do it?” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear to catch a better glimpse of her face.

She took a deep breath, before gathering up the courage to look him in the eyes again. “No. I trust you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “Okay…” He turned his face to the side to kiss the arm she still had bordering his head. She then resumed her former position again, and he decided to take a different approach. “We’ll do this first.” He moved his hand away from her bottoms and eased her shirt up, until he met her bra-line.

Carpenter braced herself against the fresh air that corralled the newly exposed skin of her torso. She knew the build-up to giving her virginity away was supposed to be nerve-wracking and anxiety-inducing, but she knew that the intensity she felt growing in the pit of her stomach was of a different essence. However, she had to keep herself together. This was the hard part. After everything was off and out of the way, there was no going-back and hopefully, she would be immersed into a world of love and not rejection. That’s how sex went, right? It was captivating and a rather surreal experience? Guess she was going to find out. But she had to stay strong to get there, so she ducked her face into the crook of Chad’s neck to try and compose herself.

Her boyfriend breathed in her warm scent, leaning his head against hers as he wrapped his arm around the bare portion of her back with one arm and used the other to tug her pants down a little bit. He heard her give a small whimper, to which he kissed her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be scared of, Tara,” he assured her, “I got you.”

She felt his nose brush her ear lobe as he said this, his breath tickling her neck. As safe as she felt in his arms, she couldn’t manage to make any words and instead, just nudged his jawline in a nod. She was wearing high-waisted pants that were steadily pulled to a mid-rise and then a low-rise as Chad edged them further down her hips.

Her heart skipped a beat, jumping into a race that made her nearly start to panic. His other arm brushed her spine, forearm pressing through her bra to leave his fingers closing around her ribs. She shut her eyes tightly and pressed her lips to his neck, forcing herself to focus on softly suckling his skin to fight herself from changing her mind.

Below her, Meeks-Martin heard a shuddering breath that mimicked her figure. He knew she was anxious about this, especially with how protective her older sister was and how inhumanely her body had been handled before. That was why he let her be on top for her first time. Both of her Ghostface attacks—which had left her with trauma she still re-lived—ended with her pinned beneath her attacker. He was well aware of what having her take the submissive position might do. The hand that held her ribcage slid down the curve of her flank, finding new territory that hadn’t been explored from the coverage of her pants.

His girlfriend accidentally traded her lips for her teeth, biting down on his sternocleidomastoid muscle. It was a fearful kind of nip, so it wasn’t necessarily painful, but it had caused him to pull one hand away from her hips and caress the side of her head.

“Easy, babe… Just breathe. I won’t hurt you…”

She swallowed uneasily, wanting to say something to assure him but also defend herself at the same time. She didn’t know what to do. However, when his fingers found the scars hidden on her lower abdomen and his arm pressed into the ones littering her lower back, she couldn’t take it. Every hurtful thought she could hold against her self-worth felt like a knife stabbing through her survivor’s tattoos again to emphasize the damage they did. Tears filled her eyes, and she didn’t even think twice as she pulled away. “I can’t!”

Chad sat up when she got off of him, finding her tugging her clothing back to their proper wear and hearing her breath hitch as she bowed her head in shame.

Tara’s chest went extremely tight as she broke down, eyes burning and butterflies swarming her stomach at the anxiety that cursed her yet again. But this time was different. She hated doing this to Chad, because he didn’t deserve it. “I–I’m sorry, Chad…”

“For what?” He moved to sit beside her. “What is it?”

More tears fell, seeming to grow thicker the longer she stared at her legs, which were clenched together. She felt his hand rub small circles on her back, but that just made her grow even more tense. Her initial reply was replaced with a sob that had her whole body jolting.

“Hey, hey, hey…” His concern grew, once she broke down completely, a few whimpers coming through her sobs as she covered her face with one hand and hugged her torso with the other. He got down on the floor to kneel in front of her, reaching up to brush her hair back. “It’s okay, Tara, it’s alright—”

“I ca-han’t do it, Chad!” she cut him off, only able to compose herself enough to get the shortest explanation she could out. “I-hit’s so uh-hugly!”

He paused his combing. “What’s ugly?”

Carpenter cringed inward on herself, clutching the flank of her shirt so tight that her knuckles turned white. She pulled her knees up to hug them with her other arm, hiding her face in the small space between her thighs and torso. “M-my scars…” She spit it out around her accumulating congestion.

Chad’s eyes immediately fell to the arm that curled around her legs, how her hand reached to the side that he couldn’t see. It was the hand that had that long scar gifted from self-defense against Ghostface—her first attack. What a reminder… What a memory…

What a tragedy…

The exact one that had him view her like she was the strongest person in the world, even though she was the smallest of the family they’ve made. She was the strongest. She had survived being stabbed 7 times, a broken ankle, blood-loss, surgery, a 2nd attack, facing-off with her attacker, suffering heartbreak, and spent another period in the hospital, which she had grown to hate… But after every single fallout, she picked herself back up and kept moving forward.

Tara Carpenter was the living proof and definition of a survivor.

And Chad Meeks-Martin was in love with her.

She wasn’t second-best or his chosen one, due to their share of trauma. He started falling from the first day they met all those years ago, when they were too young and naive to understand what love was, what pain was, what trauma was, and all of the things that divided them. Tara’s home-life started to go downhill around the same time he was getting serious into football, so he wasn’t around her much anymore. Being a jock came with many things that kept him present in his future yet absent in his past. And sadly, Tara was one of those things—those precious things that he had unknowingly been driven away from. Liv came along, and they hit it off for a while, but when Tara was attacked, it all changed.

He didn’t care if she had scars. He didn’t care if she was too scared to let him in. He didn’t care if she pushed him away and screamed at him to leave. He’d wait on her forever. He didn’t see her scars, when he looked at her. He saw his angel—the one he swore he’d never see living, in-person, and in his reach. Yet, she was. And had she not endured it all, he might have never gotten that privilege.

As she continued to cry, Chad spoke to her softly and sincerely. “No, they’re not. Tara, there’s nothing ugly about you—”

However, she denied him. “Yes, they– Chad, I’m hideous…”

She was convinced. Her scars were curses, hidden beneath her clothes to fool anyone that might actually want her. Anyone who might desire her. But she wasn’t desirable. One look at the marks giving her stomach, back, and legs an abstract design and anyone with a decent taste would turn away. She was destroyed, wasted, used, and corrupted. How could she be beautiful? How could she move on when every time she changed clothes, or took a shower, or wore anything but high-waisted jeans or pants reminded her of how defenseless, weak, and exposed she was? How alone she was… and that loneliness created a masterpiece that only the artist could admire. It must be hidden from the rest of the world or else it would leave others feeling sick and appalled.

Because she wasn’t supposed to be a piece of art. She was supposed to be dead.

Who could ever love her intimately when she was literally a human pincushion?

Chad could. And he did.

“Tara,” his voice was a little stronger this time. He slipped his hand onto her thigh and encouraged her to lower her legs. “Tara…” Luckily, she did lower her legs, but both arms held herself tightly and she hesitated to look up. “Hey…”

Tara sniffled and wiped her nose, before raising her eyes enough to look at him. And of all things… he smiled at her.

“Stop, that isn’t true,” he told her. His eyes shimmered in the low lighting. “I’ve never met someone more beautiful than you. Your scars aren’t ugly. They don’t change who you are. I promise you, one day, you’re gonna look at every single one of those scars as a reminder of how strong you are.” Her soulful eyes just blinked at him, glossy as more tears slid down her cheeks. He wiped them away. “You’re so strong, babe.”

In that moment, she swallowed, staring at him as she recalled those traumatic memories. The phone calls, the teases, the taunts, the stabbing, the crawling, the begging, the screaming… Those things didn’t make her feel strong at all. They were demeaning and humiliating. “I don’t feel strong… I’m not fearless, like Sam. I’m not smart, like Mindy. I’m not reliable, like you…”

On the other hand, all her boyfriend could think about was her smile, her sharp-tongue, and her gorgeous eyes. The way she moved and how she handled everything that came her way. The way she loved him and how healing her existence was to him every day. She was the reason he fought, held on, and kept going. When he had sacrificed himself for her at the kill theater, taking a thousand stabs, while looking at her the whole time, telling her to “go”... he did that because he couldn’t live without her, and because he couldn’t live without her, he held on until he was found by paramedics and was united with her again. Everything she was saying about what she wasn’t couldn’t be more wrong. “You’re a survivor, Tara. You’re Tara Carpenter, and you’re not like other people. You’ve got a will that’s so strong, you’ve managed to look death in the eyes and win… multiple times. And those scars are proof of it.” She was unparalleled to anyone else in this world. “You are you. There’s 7 billion people in this world, and you’re the perfect one for me. What are the odds of that?”

Tara bit her lip. She wanted to believe him. Truly, she did. But she hated all that her body had become, especially when it had to be exposed in situations like these. They weren’t mental scars that time would heal, they were scars that would be there forever. She would never be able to escape what had happened to her, no matter how long she lived or how much she may try to cover them up.

“I love you, Tara.”

Her breath hitched as she sniffled. “I love you too, Chad…” Her next words were barely audible, when they came out. “Thank you…”

Chad just smiled at her. Even with her bloodshot eyes and runny nose, she was flawless. He reached out and took her left hand. His thumb brushed over the long scar tainting the top of it.

She didn’t dare look down, the soft touch making her lips quiver again as more tears threatened to fall.

But then he brought it up to his lips and trailed a line of gentle kisses along the length of the scar, covering the pain it caused her with loving stitches.

Tara watched him do this, then glanced up to his face when he lifted it and guided her hand to rest against his cheek. “Chad…”

“You are so beautiful,” he simply replied. And to his surprise, he received the smallest smile from her, even through her tears. Then, he dropped his eyes to where her right arm guarded her torso. He squeezed her hand a little, “Can I see them?”

She froze, her anxiety climbing again. Her brow twitched, fighting herself to stay where she was and not pull away from him again. He deserved this. He deserved this.

If he loved her…

He did love her. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind. So, she exhaled a shaky breath and nodded, slowly removing her right arm and retreating her left to uncover the sacred tattoos that made her a palette of a million colors, some not even of this world. She held her breath as she tugged the hem of her shirt up with one hand, then pulled her pants down with the other to expose her stomach.

There were two big scars, one just below her left rib cage and the other beneath her navel on the right side. Chad moved to be directly in front of her and was actually allowed to come closer when she opened her legs for him to kneel between them. His hands were soft as he placed them on her warm sides. He felt her shudder, telling him she was still hesitant about revealing her permanent demons. But instead of trying to talk her down again, he bowed his head and pressed his lips against the first scar. Just like he had done with her hand, he moved along its length, stitching up her hurt with his affection.

Tara stiffened at first, her muscles tensing at the feeling of this kind of attention, but then she let go of the breath she was holding back. His lips moved from the left side of her ribs to duck beneath her arm and give the scars he could reach on her back the same treatment. She let him do it. Her head stayed bowed, and she gripped the hem of her shirt, holding it steady against her frame to force herself into this uncomfortable position she knew she could trust. However, she couldn’t stop the tears that continued to fall or the whimpers that slipped out when his kiss would trigger another bad thought.

But her boyfriend never failed to calm her butterflies even if it was only for a moment. As he drew back, he slid his right hand around her back to rub it and continued to do so when he began to kiss the other mark on her lower belly. She breathed in, and he could feel her skin press into his lips.

She was starting to calm down. She was starting to trust him.

Then, he took his left hand and traced his fingers down her flank to meet the hem of her pants. He pulled one side off her hip.

Panic. Her heartbeat picked up, leading her to slightly squeeze her legs around him. “N-no, Chad—”

Chad blinked up at her. He didn’t move any further. “I won’t do much. Just wanna see…”

Tara hesitated. She felt her formerly injured leg twinge at the way she had it positioned. Then, she relaxed and helped him tug her pants off all the way. Bare against the air conditioning, it was only instinctive that she wanted to pull her legs up to her chest, however his hand eased up her ankle, along her calf, over her knee, and up her thigh. Her eyes never left his, but she dropped her shirt to rest her wrists over his shoulders, rubbing her fingertips against his thoracic vertebrae.

He ran his hand back down, caressing right at her ankle, where it had been snapped by a devil’s wish.

How that scream had ripped her throat… It was so painful… Tara swore it had been so guttural that, had she not passed out, she would’ve spit up blood on the way to the hospital.

Chad held it in his hand, rubbing it with gentle squeezes in between. And as he gazed at her, he saw her lips start to upturn. Then, her leg flinched, trying to pull away from his hold. He knew why, and it made him smile back at her, relieved that she was no longer anxious and fearful of being exposed to him. “Do you trust me?” he asked this as he glided his hand back up her leg to rest on her hip, bringing himself closer to her.

Carpenter nodded instantly, though her voice was still soft. “Yeah…” She blinked as he wiped stray tears from her cheeks.

Then they joined at the lips, taking a moment to melt into each other’s comfort. But it wasn’t too long, for the congestion that blocked Tara’s airways from crying cut it short.

Chad grazed his knuckles along Tara’s jawline, watching her eyes close at the touch. “I think you should get some rest for tonight, okay?”

Her eyelids parted and slowly raised.

“We can try again tomorrow.”

She nodded with a small sigh.

Tomorrow was another day…

Another day she’d survive.

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p.s. i'm sorry this took a while, anon.. i hope you're still around! ♡

- parker (BWS)

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