#˚:✧｡• chad meeks martin

[itsnotyouithink]

AFRAID

PAIRING: tara carpenter x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Tara Carpenter never asked to be assigned to the school’s most frustrating student-athlete: cocky, charming, and somehow worse at Film 101 than she is at shutting up. But a tutoring session full of eye-rolls, slow smiles, and suspiciously flirty jabs leaves them both more affected than they’re willing to admit. And when someone asks Tara what it’s like tutoring “the hottest girl on campus,” the answer might be written all over her face.

WARNINGS: ghostface mention, daddy issues.

| part one | part two | part three |

WORD COUNT: 3.0k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: nottt proofread

————————————

You were five minutes late and Tara Carpenter was already annoyed about it.

She sat in the far corner of the library, where the tables were cracked from overuse and the overhead light flickered every six seconds. Her laptop was open, angled perfectly, a black gel pen tucked behind her ear like a warning. Her hoodie sleeves were shoved up to her elbows, and her leg was bouncing beneath the table—nervously or irritably, you couldn't tell.

You dropped your duffle bag onto the floor with a familiar thud, slid into the chair across from her, and offered your usual weaponized smile.

"Miss me?"

Tara didn't even look up. Just clicked her pen once—loud, intentional. "You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago."

"You said three o'clock."

"I said two-thirty.”

You blinked. Grinned. Shrugged. "Tomato, tomahto."

That earned you the briefest glance—eyes flicking up, sharp and unimpressed, before returning to the stack of worksheets in front of her. She shoved one toward you, "Same scene. La La Land. Color symbolism. Try using more than three brain cells this time."

You leaned in, elbows on the table, the sleeves of your hoodie scrunched up past your forearms, still warm from practice. Your last name and your game-day number: 4, was on the back. A faint sheen of sweat clung to your skin, but you smelled like lemon body spray and stubbornness.

Your eyes flicked to the still: Mia in that yellow dress, mid-spin under a purple sky, streetlights glowing like low-hanging stars.

"You ever get tired of this movie?" you asked.

"No."

"You ever get tired of me?"

"Constantly."

"Liar."

She didn't answer. But the corner of her mouth twitched—barely. You caught it anyway and tilted your head, tapping the image with your finger. "Okay. Yellow. She's hopeful."

"Go on."

"But it's nervous hope. Like she's wearing it too brightly, trying not to spill it."

Tara looked up again. Slowly. Her gaze lingered a second longer this time, "And the purple?"

"Makes it feel fake. Dreamy. Like they're borrowing a world that isn't theirs." She blinked. You could see her fighting the urge to be impressed. She clicked her pen again, once, twice.

"Not terrible," she said eventually.

"Did you just compliment me?"

"No."

"You totally did. Should I tell the press?"

"If you do, I'm telling them about your 'sunset means mystery' theory from last week."

You groaned and slouched back in your chair, knees knocking hers under the table. She stiffened for half a second but didn't move. You noticed. You always noticed—sadly.

She wore sneakers today—her usual, scuffed at the toe—and black jeans that were fraying at the seams near the knees. Her fingers kept brushing the edge of her laptop touchpad, like she was trying to look busy. But her eyes kept flicking to yours. You tried to ignore the scar on the back of her hand: how did she get that?

"Do you always wear black?" you asked.

"Do you always ask irrelevant questions?"

"I just think you'd look good in yellow."

A pause. Her foot tapped against yours under the table.

Once.

Then again.

"If I wear yellow, will you actually pass this class?"

"If you wear yellow, I'll be too distracted to focus."

"Gross." She gagged, but she was smiling. Sort of. The kind of smile she pretended wasn't a smile. You sat up straighter, "You like me a little."

"I tolerate you."

"That's progress. Last week I thought you were planning out my murder." You rested your chin in your hand, watching her scribble something in the margin of your worksheet. Her handwriting was small, neat, and way too aggressive for a simple note. Her knuckles brushed yours when she handed it back. Neither of you moved away and she ignored your comment; she was planning your murder.

"Why are you always looking at me like that?" she asked suddenly.

You blinked. "Like what?"

"Like I'm.. I don't know, interesting."

You tilted your head, "Maybe you are."

She stared at you. No eye roll. No comeback. Just that look again. Half-curious. Half-defensive. And maybe—just maybe—a little bit soft.

You tapped your pen against the table and changed the subject before it got weird.

"So," you say, tilting your head like you're not about to ruin her day, "what's your favorite movie?"

It's casual, almost lazy, the way you say it. Like you're just trying to fill the space. But you're leaning forward now, arms crossed on the edge of the table, your hoodie sleeves pushed up past your elbows, eyes tracing her like you're trying to memorize her answer before she even gives it.

Tara stiffens. Not noticeably to someone else, but you've spent enough hours across from her—bickering, teasing, trying to make her smile—to notice the way her pen stops mid-circle. The way her breath catches ever so slightly.

"That's kind of a loaded question," she says, not looking at you. She adjusts the cuff of her hoodie, tugging at the edge like it suddenly doesn't fit right. The fabric covered the scar on her hand. Her shoulders inch up slightly, and for a second, you think she might not answer at all.

"What, like it's embarrassing?" you tease. "Is it Twilight? Just say it. This is a safe space."

"No," she says quickly. Too quickly. There's a tightness in her voice now. A weird, careful control she doesn't usually bother faking with you. She's looking at the table, at the edge of her notebook, at anywhere but your face.

"I just..." She shrugs. "Don't really have one."

You blink.

Pause.

Let it settle.

You snicker as if she's joking around with you, "You're literally tutoring me in film."

She lifts one shoulder, eyes locked on a pen she isn't using. "So?"

"So you definitely have a favorite." You chuckle but it's tense, like you asked the wrong question at the wrong time.

"I used to."

There it is. Something sharp and quiet slips between the words—just enough to make your chest go still. Tara presses the tip of her finger into the spiral of her notebook like she needs the grounding. Her nail is chipped. There's a faint red indentation around her wrist where a hair tie used to be.

You watch her. Careful.

You don't push, but your voice softens automatically. "You don't have to tell me," you say. "I wasn't trying to—"

"It's fine," she interrupts, like if she says it fast enough, it'll make it true.

But she still won't look at you.

And for once, you stop smiling.

"I was just trying to get to know you."

That catches her. She lifts her gaze slowly—eyes darker than usual, like a storm pulling in over still water.

"Why?”

Your knee brushes hers under the table. You don't even notice this time. "Because I want to," you say, like it's obvious. Like it hasn't been building since the first tutoring session when she rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might fall out of her head. You had always been the type of person to want to see every place on Earth, try every hobby or activity, and meet everyone you could ever interact with. This included your somewhat stoic, emotionally-closed off tutor — Tara Carpenter.

That quiets her.

For a moment, she just stares. And her whole face changes—like she's trying not to let it change. Her mouth opens. Then shuts again. Her hand tightens around the pen she's not using, knuckles pale, like holding something keeps her from falling apart.

"So, what is your favorite movie?" you say, biting gently on the end of your pen with a light-hearted laugh. Chuckle? Giggle? It wouldn't even qualify as a laugh more-so a breath of air.

Tara hesitates. You see it—how her eyes go a little guarded, how she tugs at the cuff of her hoodie again like she needs something to fidget with. Why is she panicking over a movie selection?

Then she lifts her chin, like she's daring you to make fun of her. "The Babadook."

You blink, "Wait, really?"

"Yes. Problem?"

"No. No problem. I just..." You grin slowly. "Didn't take you for a gay grief monster allegory kind of girl."

She stares flatly. "I literally study horror for fun."

"True. But The Babadook?" You nudge her boot with yours under the table. "Bit on the nose, isn't it?"

"It's thematically rich," she fires back. "Also, it's camp."

"So what I'm hearing is: you see yourself in the Babadook."

"I see myself in the mother," she snaps, then immediately pauses. "Okay, wait, don't make that weird."

"Already did. Sorry. It's permanent now." You grin, happy that you could lighten the atmosphere between you two.

Tara groans and drops her forehead into her hand. Her hair falls forward in a curtain and she mutters something into her palm that sounds suspiciously like "I hate you."

You lean closer, "If it helps, I'd let the Babadook haunt me if it meant spending more time with you."

She groans louder.

"Stop talking."

"Make me."

That earns you a flick of her pen to your forehead. Not hard. Just enough to make your heart stutter like a dumb middle schooler.

For a second, it's quiet.

And kind of warm.

She's still leaning on her hand, looking at you with that tired, half-annoyed, half-not expression she always has around you. You're still grinning, like you don't know how to do anything else when she's sitting across from you.

"You should probably go," she says finally, glancing at the time. "Don't you have practice again?"

"Yeah." You don't move.

She notices. But doesn't say anything.

You reach down, shove your duffle over your shoulder, and stand up slowly. "Same time tomorrow?" you ask.

Tara shrugs, playing with the edge of her notebook. "Unless you finally drop out."

"Tempting. But then I wouldn't get to see your pretty face three times a week."

She raises her eyebrows.

"Did you just call me pretty?"

You back away toward the exit, walking backwards, "Don't worry, I'll deny it later."

She doesn't smile.

But she does look down. And when you glance back one more time before rounding the corner, her hand is resting where your boot tapped hers under the table.

She doesn't move it for a while.

——————

Mindy cornered you before you could swipe into your dorm, your ID — complete with that hideous freshman-year photo — already halfway to the scanner. She slid in like a glitch in the matrix, knocking the card from your hand.

"Uhm, excuse you?"

"I need a favor," she said, like she wasn't already on thin ice from the last one.

The last time Mindy asked for a favor, you almost got suspended for vandalism — something about a carton of eggs and a tenured professor with a vendetta. But Mindy made chaos look fun. She was the rare person who didn't treat you like a walking headline or a stats sheet.

Your days were regimented like military drills: practice, press, game tape, lift, brand deal, repeat. You had nearly a million Instagram followers dissecting your highlight reels, but they didn't see the way your knees screamed by midnight. Or how the only place you felt even remotely like yourself anymore was on the court — and even that was starting to crack. The burnout was loud, but your ambition was louder. And somewhere deep down, the little-kid part of you still loved basketball like it was a painting you were trying to finish, obsessing over every stroke, every angle. You weren't just a player — you were a craftsman. You played like it meant something. Like it was personal.

Mindy got you out of that headspace, even if it meant dumb decisions and third-wheeling her dates with Anika. (Anika was a saint, by the way. The only person on campus who ever told you to rest without sounding like a trainer.)

"Absolutely not," you muttered, nudging Mindy aside to reach for your card. Her foot landed on it like she was stepping on a landmine. You stared up at her. "Mindy. Move."

"No." Her voice was stern. "I need a favor."

You sighed. "Is it illegal?"

"Egging is, like, diet crime."

"It was your professor."

"We wore masks."

"I almost got benched."

"Details," she waved off. "Anyway. I need you to come to my film festival next month."

You stood upright, suspicious. "Okay... but why me?"

"To support your talented friend," she tried with a winning smile.

You crossed your arms. "Mindy."

She exhaled like she'd just been caught sneaking cookies. "Fine. People like you. If I say you're gonna be there, more people will show up. I don't want it to tank. I've been working so hard."

Your expression softened despite yourself. "You know I'm not actually famous, right?"

"Tell that to your blue check," she grinned.

You rolled your eyes. "Fine. I'll go."

She whooped and did a half-assed happy dance in the hallway before lunging in for a dramatic hug. Just as you reached for your door again, she spun back around. "Wait—one more thing."

"You are allergic to goodbyes."

"I didn't know you and Tara were, like, a thing."

You snorted. "We're not. She's just tutoring me for Film 101."

"She's color-coding that ridiculous textbook for you, FYI."

You blinked. "She is?"

Mindy nodded. "You sure it's just tutoring?"

"I don't even think we're friends. She kinda hates me. She never laughs at my jokes. Or... anything."

"Classic Tara." Mindy shrugged. "She's sweet once you get past the barbed wire and emotionally repressed vibes."

"She called me a 'cinematic liability' last week," you muttered.

"And yet she's still helping you pass. Even if it is a paid gig."

You didn't say anything for a second. Just let yourself think of Tara — those sharp eyes, the bite in her voice, the way she never smiled but still always showed up, like clockwork. You weren't used to people sticking around without asking for something in return. Especially not people like her.

You finally said, "I just want her to be happy, you know? Even if she's a little... emotionally allergic."

Mindy raised an eyebrow. "You like her."

You scoffed. "I don't even like myself half the time."

"Bullshit." She kissed your cheek with a loud mwah. "You're just scared because she's not part of your world."

"She's too smart for me," you admitted with a shrug. "And she hates basketball. She said she would rather go through AP Calculus again than go to one of the games."

"She tolerates basketball," Mindy said. "But she might not hate you."

You opened your door finally, backpack slung low, exhaustion dripping from your shoulders. "I'll come to your festival. Send me the details."

"You're the best." Mindy saluted you like she was in a war film and skipped away.

You stood there a moment longer, hand still on the doorknob. Your body ached — a thousand micro-tears in muscle that kept you upright, moving, powerful. People loved you for your game, but didn't realize it came at a cost. That behind every dunk and buzzer-beater was another layer of obsession, sacrifice, and hours alone in the gym trying to get it just right.

But Tara... Tara saw something else. And for the first time in a long while, you wondered what it'd be like to be wanted not because you were good — but just because you were you.

⸻

One of the study spaces at Blackmore University was quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made everything sound louder. Vending machine humming. Laptop keys clicking. The occasional sneaker squeak down the hallway or honk of a truck from outside in the city.

Tara sat curled up on the far couch, hoodie up, highlighter cap between her teeth. Chad was busy at the gym, Mindy was hanging out with Anika, and there was no way in hell that she would willingly go hangout with her older-sister, Sam. Her laptop was open to the same document she'd been editing for an hour — a study guide she'd already emailed. Twice.

She was rewriting the example section. Again.

"You're really going all out for a girl who's going to forget everything the second she gets back on the court."

Tara didn't look up. She didn't need to.

Julia, a blonde freshman with a sketchbook full of half-finished screenplays and a reputation for being observant in the most inconvenient ways, dropped into the chair beside her.

"I'm serious," Julia went on, flipping a pen between her fingers. "You've rewritten that thing three times. Are you, like, secretly in love with her?"

Tara shut her laptop.

Slowly.

"Absolutely not."

Julia snorted. "Relax. I had a crush on her last semester too. First week of classes — she helped me carry a box and then told me my handwriting looked like a movie character's. I thought she was flirting."

"She probably was," Tara muttered.

"Yeah," Julia said, smiling. "That's the thing. She flirts without even noticing. Smiles like you're the only person on Earth and then forgets your name by Friday."

Tara didn't respond. Just started capping her highlighters, one by one, methodical.

"She's good at it, though," Julia added, more softly. "Charming. Stupidly nice. Kind of a golden retriever thing going on."

Tara set her pencil case down harder than necessary. "She's not charming. She's late. Loud. Doesn't take anything seriously. I'm pretty sure she doesn’t even know her left from her right."

Julia watched her.

"She shows up to study sessions without a pen," Tara went on, faster now. "Brings snacks like that makes up for not knowing what a jump cut is. Sits too close. Laughs too loud. Like she's trying to make me like her in the most desperate way possible.”

There was a beat.

"You sound like you hate her," Julia said.

Tara's jaw clenched. "I do hate her."

Julia raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

Tara grabbed her laptop, shoved it in her bag, and stood. "She's a distraction. That's it."

Julia tilted her head. "Right. So why do you keep making her study guides that match her team colors?"

Tara didn't answer.

She just walked out and Julia couldn’t help but laugh a little.

The door clicked shut behind her. The hallway was cold, dim, echoey. She didn't move. Just stood there, back against the wall, staring at nothing.

"She's a distraction," she whispered to herself again. “A horrible, obnoxious one.”

[jazzyoranges]

Introverted

Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: you’re not much of a talker. that said, your lack of words doesn’t get in the way of meeting your (girl)friend’s sister

Words: 1.4k

A/n: mostly told through the pov of Sam cause i was feeling extra freaky and wanted to do something super crazy and unseen before

Warnings: alcohol consumption, that literally might be it

Sam was trusting her gut. Her gut said you were good for Tara but her past experiences said you couldn’t be trusted. Luckily she listened to nobody but Tara when it came to you. After all, Sam did promise she’d let sister live her life without her constantly looming over her

So Sam trusted Tara instead. Of course, the older Carpenter sister was still weary of you when her sister wanted you to come over and hang out with the core four, as Chad liked to call them. The name was never officially adopted but nobody ever stopped the boy from calling them that

She’s heard of your name through stories her little sister has told her. Sam was already aware of how you didn’t like talking. You watched and listened, always aware of everything around you. Not to mention you’re scary as shit - Tara’s words not hers. Countless times have there been when a protective arm around Tara’s shoulder and a glare were enough for anyone to back off. Sam’s thought of getting a dog for its scary privileges but it seems her sister already had scary friend privileges

A knock on their door sends Tara running to open it with Sam not too far behind. You were early. Wanted to make a good first impression, Sam guessed

“Thank you for giving her a chance, Sam. this means a lot to me.” Tara gives her sister a quick hug before opening the door. Sam doesn’t expect you to bring a gift as well

You tower over Tara. Maybe it was because you were tall, maybe it’s because her sister was short as shit. There are two wine bottles of a brand Sam’s never even heard of in your hands and Tara gives you a hug while you reciprocate with one arm

“This is for you. Thank you for letting me into your home. Your hospitality is appreciated.” You give a small bow before handing her the bottle. It catches Sam off guard. She didn’t want to admit it but she was already impressed. Or her expectations bar was set at an all time low. Probably the latter

Tara led you to their living room before coming back to Sam

“That was good! She usually only says hello when she meets new people. I think she might’ve said more words to you than Mindy and Chad combined”

“Really not a talker then, huh?”

“Definitely not. Will you open the door for the other two?”

“Yeah I will. Go spend some time with her”

The twins arrive ten minutes late but in their defense they were getting pizza for the night. Mindy almost immediately whistles at the wine you brought and opens it up

Sam finds you and Tara, well, just Tara laughing about something. Her sister said you weren’t much of a talker - not even talking to the twins very much - yet it seemed you were in deep conversation with Tara. Sam’s sister senses were tingling and they were very rarely wrong

The night continues without much falter. Everyone drinks, board games and video games alike are played, and nothing seems to be different. Other than you of course. You were so quiet sometimes Sam forgot you were there in the first place. You had a way of disappearing but always coming back when Tara talked to you. Sam’s sister senses were really tingling

You’d whisper something in Tara’s ear and she’d smile like she’s holding in the biggest laugh ever. Hell, after a few hours (and probably the wine) Sam saw you giving her sister small smiles and tiny laughs of your own. She couldn’t lie, it was astonishingly cute how her usually chipper sister was so amazed by someone so opposite of her.

Even later into the night, your little conversations with Tara seem to stop. It was around the time the twins stopped forcing you to play games and they settled on a movie to watch. Sam watches her little sister as she tugs on your shirt and whispers something in your ear. You nod and before she knows it, you walk out to their balcony that looked over the busy streets

“Why’s she out there?” Sam asks Tara after you’ve left

“She needs to recharge her social battery. Give her some time, she’ll come back”

//-//

You haven’t come back inside their apartment for about an hour, Sam notices

Tara’s accidentally fallen asleep on the couch while Mindy and Chad seem to be binging the entire Marvel Cinematic Universe with a bowl of popcorn cradled in between them. Sam didn’t remember buying popcorn but then again she also believed the twins were somehow magical when it came to food. Popcorn was probably the least of her worries

So Sam took her chance to talk to you. Walking to the sliding door to their balcony, the older Carpenter makes sure to not make any sudden movements. You’re leaning against the metal railing so Sam decides to join you

“You feeling okay? You haven’t come in for a while.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

Silence passes. Sam hopes it isn’t awkward for you

“(Y/n), I’ve got a question.” Sam doesn’t get a verbal answer but she does get your attention and a nod to keep going

“How’d you meet Tara?”

“Someone was looking at her weird at a party. I scared him off. He was known for not being a good person.”

“You’re observant, huh? That’s a good trait to have.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want her to make a mistake.”

“Thanks for scaring him off.”

“Anyone would’ve done it.”

A few beats of silence pass before Sam talks again. She didn’t expect you to start the conversation, which was alright with her. It gave her more control

“Can I ask you another question?” Another nod from you.

“Tara said you didn’t like talking much. Be honest, am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No. You want to know more about me because you care about your sister.” You pause. “I’m also a little drunk.”

The older Carpenter lets herself laugh. Big sister like little sister, she guesses.

“I like your honesty.”

“There’s no point in wasting breath on a lie.”

“Well, I hope we’ll have more conversations in the future.” Sam gets up from where she’s leaning on the balcony, moving to the door

“Why’re you leaving? I assumed you wanted to ask me more things.”

“You’d be okay with that?”

“The conversations in our future will only be answered by me nodding my head or not. I’m still drinking, you may as well ask now.” Swirling around your wine, you take a long sip. For courage, you know?

“You’ve caught me off guard here. That was all I planned.”

“We can just talk.”

“About?”

“Anything. Maybe Tara. We have her in common.” Your eyes glance back to the younger Carpenter fast asleep on the couch while Chad and Mindy were laughing about god knows what. Sam follows your gaze

Looking at you as you stare at Tara, Sam recognizes that look. She’s seen it before but a little different. It’s how Sam looks at Tara. It was always adoration and protection with the older Carpenter, but for you there was something different. Somewhere in your blank eyes and your monotone voice, you loved Tara. Sam could see it almost clear as day.

“You’re right. We do have her in common, don’t we?”

//-//

“C’mon, it’s not responsible to drink and drive. And I thought you were the one always telling me to be safe”

“I’m not too drunk. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Hey, you’re welcome to stay” Sam buts into you and Tara’s conversation. “You can sleep with Tara or I could set up the couch for you?”

“I see. Only if you’re positive I can stay.” You look away before meeting Sam’s eyes. “I’d like to sleep in Tara’s room for tonight. We’ll… keep the door open.”

“No need.” Sam winks before going back to her own room for the night. Fuck that felt weird. She should go to sleep before she tried to be the cool sister again

//-//

“I hope I made a good first impression.”

“Are you kidding? That was great! You did great”

“Thank you. I want Sam to like me.”

“Where was this attitude with Mindy and Chad?”

“They’re knuckleheads. Your sister isn’t.”

Sam’s never been happier the walls of their apartment were like paper. Not much of a talker her ass.

[forbescaroline]

FAVORITE MOVIE SHIPS: Chad & Tara - Scream VI (2023)

[woodsboromassacre]

ghostface always doing something

[lukaskyle-moved]

Scream VI (2023) dir. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin & Tyler Gillett

[mrs-meeks-martin]

Don’t

pairing: best friend chad meeks martin x fem reader

song:

summary: Chad has a burning hot rage for your boyfriend, Ethan. He thinks he isn’t good enough for you, and one day his thoughts finally register in your mind.

NOT PROOFREAD I REPEAT NOT PROOFREAD!

best friend chad who will scowl whenever he hears Ethan’s name come out of your mouth, but not today.

best friend chad who comforts your crying body after you saw your boyfriend sending lewd texts to someone who wasn’t you.

“he’s a dick, y/n. don’t worry about him.” chad plays with your hair as you snuggle closer to him, the action seeming a bit too intimate given the situation that had just happened a couple of hours before.

“fucking asshole..” you’d sniffle, clinging onto his bicep like it’s your lifeline.

“i wanna give you better.” he’d mumble, and you almost don’t catch it.

“excuse me?”

“somebody gotta step up. your boyfriend was doing a shit job at taking care of you.” he’d shake his head, brows furrowing at the thought of him.

“how would you like to get some revenge?”

“like how, chad?”

“sex.”

and that’s how you found your legs wrapped around his neck with two of his fingers buried deep into your sopping wet folds. your moans are so loud that you swear they you’ve woken up his neighbors.

“and apparently, he’s done a horrible job at making you feel good. so fuckin loud f’me…” he’d chuckle darkly, curling his fingers inside of you and hitting that spongy spot that elicits an oh so sweet moan.

“chad, stop- i feel like i’m about to pee-”

all of the sudden, his fingers impossibly quicken inside of you, during everything that’s going on, he doesn’t even realize he’s hopelessly rutting against the bed, searching for any form of friction.

“chad!” you come so hard it momentarily blinds you. when you blink your vision back, still riding on your high, you see chad drenched in wetness, his shirt and chin dripping with clear liquid.

“w-was that me?” you say embarrassed as you point to his soaked shirt that he’s now taking off, revealing his chiseled body.

“yeah. don’t worry, it was hot as fuck.” he flashes his pearly whites, trying his best to hide that he’s completely pussydrunk already. he wasn’t even in you yet. he pulls down the waistband of his sweats and boxers at the same time, his cock springing free with a weighty bounce.

and god, was he big.

your eyes widen immediately, scanning up and down his shaft.

“how is that gonna-”

“fit? oh don’t worry, i’ll make it.” he responds, getting on top of you.

“chad it’s not… going in-” you bite your lip nervously, looking up at him.

“i told you to relax..” chad strokes your hair, trying once again.

“i’ve been relaxing for the past couple of minutes.” you pout, about to give up.

“i’m sorry.” he says randomly, giving you a peck on the cheek and you raise a brow.

“for wha- holy fuck!” he thrusts into you forcefully, burying himself inside of you.

“god, this pussy feels so good.” he… whines? did you just hear him whine?

“chad did you just- whine?” you ask, giggling a little. you’re shut up when he starts moving in you.

“f-fuck, pretty pussy just sucking me in, hmm? so f-fucking wet.” he shuts his eyes tightly to try and stop the feeling of him wanting to bust already.

“chad- oh god. right there!” you throw your head back, drool dribbling out of your lips as you’re fucked dumb.

chad’s head finds purchase in your neck to muffle his whimpers and whines as he thrusts into you.

“cumming! cumming!” you scream out, clenching on him like he’s your lifeline.

chad sees a creamy white ring form at his base and busts on the spot. “fuck, y/n…” he groans as he spills his thick, white seed into you.

best friend chad who pretends to know nothing about the photos that someone (he) sent your boyfriend of his cum leaking out of you!

[marrziy]

Assisto filmes de terror pelo conteúdo.

[chronic-hyperfixator]

[cece693]

Hi, are you open to requests? If so, can I request an Ethan Landry (Scream VI) story with a dominant male reader?

I wanted something with Ethan feeling hurt because his friends are accusing him when he could end up dying for being their friend and not feeling valued in the group and his boyfriend defending him in that scene where Chad was accusing him. Whether or not Ethan is actually Ghostface, I'll leave it up to you.

He's Not The Killer (Ethan Landry x Dom! Male Reader)

So I have a confession to make...I actually haven't seen any of the newest Scream films, so this fic might not be accurate to the plot, but I tried my best :)

The dorm room buzzed with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. The group was on edge, paranoia creeping in after every attack, every mysterious disappearance. But this time, it wasn’t just suspicion in the air—it was betrayal.

Chad paced back and forth, his gaze fixed on Ethan with a mixture of anger and suspicion. “How do we know you’re not the one behind all of this?” he snapped, the accusation hanging in the air like a death sentence. “You showed up late the night it happened. You were unaccounted for, and every time something goes down, you have an excuse.”

Ethan’s face paled, his lips parting in shock. “Chad, come on,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “You seriously think I’d hurt any of you? I’ve been through all this with you! Why would I—”

“Because it’s always the quiet ones,” Chad interrupted, his voice low and accusing. “It’s the ones nobody suspects until it’s too late. How do we know you’re not playing us? Huh?”

You pushed yourself off the wall, stepping forward to place yourself between Ethan and Chad. “That's enough. You’re just pointing fingers because you’re scared and you don’t know what to do. But throwing accusations around isn’t helping anyone. Ethan isn’t Ghostface.”

Chad took a step closer, glaring at you. "And what guarantees you that? Are you only defending him because you're sleeping with him? Or is it because you’re getting your dick sucked and can't think straight?"

The words hit you like a freight train, your blood boiling in an instant. The rest of the room fell into stunned silence, the air sucked right out of it. Without thinking, your fist flew out, colliding with Chad's jaw in a swift, brutal motion. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed off the walls, and Chad stumbled back, clutching his face with a pained grunt.

“You son of a bitch!” Chad roared, springing forward and tackling you to the ground. The two of you hit the floor hard, wrestling in a mess of tangled limbs and swinging fists. You felt a fist connect with your ribcage, sending a shock of pain up your spine, but you pushed through it, shoving Chad off you and launching yourself back at him. You landed a solid punch to his cheek, knocking his head to the side, but Chad was quick to retaliate, delivering a blow to your temple that left your vision swimming.

“Look at you, getting violent just because someone questioned your precious boyfriend,” he spat, wiping the blood from his split lip. “He’s got you wrapped around his little finger, and you don’t even see it.” The utter hatred found in Chad's voice caused you to deliver another punch to his jaw, when Ethan's voice cut through the haze.

"Stop it!" You felt his hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you back with a force that didn’t seem possible for him. “Enough! Both of you!” There was a tremor in his voice, and when you finally looked at him, his eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

The fight bled out of you as you stared at Ethan’s face, his expression raw and hurt. He tugged on your arm, guiding you away from Chad, who was cradling his jaw. Ethan pulled you towards the corner of the room, out of earshot from the others, his grip on your wrist surprisingly firm.

Once you were out of sight, he dropped his hand, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “What the hell was that?” he whispered, his voice strained. “You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to—”

“I wasn’t about to let him talk about you like that,” you cut in, your voice soft but firm. “He crossed a line, Ethan. I don’t care if everyone else is losing their heads and pointing fingers; I’m not going to stand by and let them treat you like you’re the killer.”

Ethan's eyes searched your face, as if trying to find some hint of doubt, some indication that you didn’t really mean what you were saying. “You…you really don’t think I’m Ghostface?” His voice cracked, as if he didn’t even believe it himself.

You reached out, cupping his face gently. “I know you,” you murmured. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me—or any of us. You’re not the killer, Ethan. I’m sure of it.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if savoring the reassurance. But deep inside, a darkness stirred—a quiet, insidious voice that he’d tried to ignore for so long. Because he was Ghostface.

Ethan’s mind raced with the realization that while you stood there defending him, fighting for him, he had already planned his next moves. The upcoming murders were inevitable—painful, brutal, but necessary. Yet, as you looked at him with nothing but trust and concern, the promise formed in his mind with the clarity of a vow: you would be the sole survivor. You would be spared, kept safe from the carnage he was about to unleash. He would make sure of it, no matter the cost.

The guilt briefly pricked at him, but it was drowned out by something darker—something possessive. He needed to keep you safe, even if it meant everyone else had to die for it. Ethan opened his eyes and gave you a small, broken smile. "Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I…I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You pulled him into a tight embrace, your fingers threading through his hair as you held him close. “You don’t have to worry about that,” you said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

In Ethan's mind, however, the words took on a different meaning. You’re not going anywhere, he repeated silently, the thought cold and final. Not while I'm around. As his arms wrapped around you, his expression softened into something genuine and loving—yet beneath it, the darkness lingered, hidden just out of view, waiting for the right moment to strike.

[girlofthesunxoxo]

kiss, kiss, kiss him | ethan landry

synopsis : a boy who doesn’t know how beautiful he is and a girl who is more than willing to tell him how beautiful he is to her. but beneath every soft-spoken word, he carries a truth he cannot speak: you’re the only thing keeping him human.

note : oh my gosh i haven’t posted in a while, i know i know !! but i think i made up for it with this because this might be one of my favorite works :P

includes : tinyyy bit of angst, fluff galore and a little kissy, obviously.

words : 2.5k

••••••••••••****•••••••••••

ethan landry would be the death of you.

you were definitely certain about that. or he would be your reason to live, but you didn’t really want to delve deeper into that part of yourself that was much too tender and terrifying to touch for too long.

but the reason you thought ethan would very well be the death of you was because he was sitting right beside you, reading from his econ textbook and he looked breathtaking. the kind of beautiful that made your heart ache with a wanting to care for him. to be his. for him to be yours.

like you couldn’t believe that was even possible.

the sunlight from the window draped his figure in a warm hue of golden yellow like a glowing halo. the golden light kissed and caressed the curve of his cheek and tangled in his hair while he bit his lip, trying to concentrate on the words that were starting to blur together.

you probably looked like an idiot with flushed cheeks and pupils slightly blown out when you should have been studying for the upcoming econ test but you could not care less about that when this beautiful being was right in front of you.

too enraptured by your admiration with the curly-headed boy, you didn’t notice the way he was taking small glances at you — each one leaving a blush blooming brighter across his cheeks.

the only thing you could think about was how kissing him would cure you of all problems you ever had. got a bad grade on a test ? a kiss would fix it. your car got a flat tire in the pouring rain ? one kiss and the world makes sense again.

in love with the boy in front of you whose smile could knock the breath out of you ? god, kiss kiss, kiss, him.

the feeling should have scared you, it was reckless and ridiculous. but in this moment, with his knee brushing yours and the sunlight catching in his lashes, it felt like the most comforting and logical thought you’ve ever had.

••••**••••

ethan was trying to read. really, he was.

but he felt as though the words on the page were in some foreign language — his brain kept stuttering, stalling, spinning in circles around you.

the way your leg brushed his, just barely, and didn’t move away. the way you looked at him like he was something precious, the way your lips parted like you were about to say something but thought against it.

it was maddening.

he told himself to focus. that if he looked at the textbook long enough, the heat in his cheeks would go down and the erratic beating of his heart would stop thundering in his ears.

but then you shifted a bit closer.

god, you’re close.

and all ethan could think of was that maybe if he kissed you, just once, everything would fall into place.

all the chaos in his mind would go quiet.

that maybe you would kiss him back like you meant it, and he wouldn’t have to wonder anymore.

his hand inched forward on the table without meaning to. just close enough to almost touch yours.

just do it, his thoughts whispered.

but he stayed still.

because if he kissed you — really kissed you, there’d be no going back.

and a big part of him, desperately, dangerously, didn’t want to go back.

••••**••••

too caught up in the curve of his jaw, the way the sunlight lit the tips of his curls, you didn’t notice the inner turmoil ethan was going through currently.

“are you even reading ?” ethan murmured, voice low and teasing but a hint of nervousness seeping through you almost missed.

you blinked, dragged out of your reverie. “hm ? oh yeah, totally ! supply and…demand, riveting stuff.”

he chuckled, closing his book halfway. “you’ve been staring at the same page for the past ten minutes.”

you looked down to your textbook, heat rising to your cheeks. “um well maybe i just really like page thirty-eight.”

ethan turned slightly towards you, one elbow propped on the table, chin resting on his hand. “or maybe,” he said softly, eyes meeting yours, “you were staring at something else.”

your breath caught in your throat. the world felt quiet for a moment — too quiet. the kind of stillness that you didn’t want to interrupt. but you did.

you swallowed. “maybe i was.”

his smile was small, almost shy. “you know i was staring too, right ?”

your heart stuttered. you hadn’t expected him to say it, not like that, not so softly, like the truth slipped out before he could even stop it.

but he didn’t take it back.

he was avoiding your eyes now, pretending to read his textbook, his fingers tapping lightly on the page.

restless.

anxious.

you watched the way his jaw tensed, like he was regretting speaking, like maybe the silence that stretched between you was worse than anything you could say.

you leaned in, slightly. voice just above a whisper, “yeah ?”

ethan gulped and gave the smallest of nods, still not looking up. “i mean — yeah, i-i guess. not in a weird way ! i just…” he released a short, nervous breath. “you were staring and i noticed. that’s all.”

you tilted your head, studying him. “that’s not all, though. is it ?”

his hand froze mid-fidget and finally he lifted his gaze to yours, his eyes were wide and uncertain.

“i don’t really know what i’m doing,” he said, so quietly it was barely a breath. “i just know that when you look at me like that, um my brain kind of… stops.”

“look at you like what ?”

“like i’m something… beautiful.”

you frowned at his words, disbelief sprouting in your chest like a nasty bruise, how could he not believe he was something beautiful.

the quiet grace in his voice, the tilt of his smile, the kindness stitched into every glance he gave you.

when the wind curled gently around him, as if it knew him by name. when even silence softened in his presence — the type of quiet that only wrapped itself around the rare, the tender, the good.

he moved through the world unaware of the way it bent to make room for him. as if beauty bloomed not in spite of him, but because of him.

incredulity laced your words, “what ?”

his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve, eyes trained on the framed photo of him with flowers in his hair beside your bed like it might offer him something easier than your gaze.

“i just don’t really… think of myself like that,” he said quietly. “beautiful, or whatever.”

you turned toward him, really looking. the soft pink still clinging to his cheeks, the way the fading light caught in his curls. the hesitation in his eyes, like every compliment caught him off guard.

“you know,” you start gently, “the light softens around you.”

he looked up, confused. “what ?”

“the light,” you repeated. “it just… slows down. like it wants to stay, like it knows you’re something worth warming.”

his lips parted, but no words came.

“you are beautiful, ethan. not just in the way you look — though trust me, that alone is unfair,” you chuckled softly. “but in the way you are, the way you listen, the way you…care more than you’ll admit, the way you look at someone like they’re the only thing in the room.”

he blinked at you, stunned into silence.

and then, in the soft quiet that followed, you added. “how could you not believe you’re something beautiful, when even the sun seems to lean closer just to touch you ?”

he let out a shaky breath, eyes glassy with something unspoken.

“you really mean that ?”

you slowly slid your hand over his, a quiet motion wrapped in intention, and felt the tremor run through him the moment your skin touched his. his breath hitched; sharp, soft, like he wasn’t expecting the warmth of you, like the whole world had narrowed to that single point of contact.

your fingers didn’t press, just rested there — a whisper of a promise, a gentle asking. and still, it felt like the loudest thing in the room.

his fingers shifted beneath yours, not pulling away — just moving closer, like they were learning the shape of being wanted.

you squeezed his hand. “i don’t say things i don’t mean.”

ethan still hadn’t looked away, like he was caught in the orbit of your words and didn’t quite know how to step free.

he breathed out a laugh, quiet and shaky. “you talk like the world is softer than it really is.”

you tilted your head, voice low. “no, i just talk like you make it softer.”

he stilled, breath catching between disbelief and wonder, as if no one had ever told him that before — that softness could come from him, that maybe the warmth you saw wasn’t imagined.

the wind stirred gently around you, as if the world itself had paused to listen.

his eyes fluttered shut for a second, like he needed to protect himself from the weight of that. or let it sink in without breaking him.

“no one’s ever said things like that to me before,” he murmured.

you smiled, achingly fond. “then they weren’t looking at you properly.”

he laughed but it cracked in the middle, like he didn’t know whether to smile or cry. “you’re kind of ruining me, you know that ?” his voice raw around the edges.

you leaned a little closer, voice like a secret. “good. let it ruin you, let it unravel everything that made you think you weren’t enough.”

“i could get used to you saying things like that.” he said, barely above a breath.

you reached up slowly, fingers brushing the curve of his jaw like a question and a promise all at once. “then stay close to me. i’ve got a thousand more, all for you.”

he looked down at your hands, his thumb caressing yours, over and over like it was grounding him. his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “you scare me.”

you didn’t flinch. “why ?”

“because i want this. you.” he gulped, throat bobbing. “and i’ve never wanted something that felt so…real.”

you brought your forehead gently to his, the two of you breathing the same breath. quiet and close like the universe had folded in around this one tiny pocket of time.

“i’m right here,” you whispered. “you don’t have to be afraid of something that’s already yours. always has been yours.”

his eyes fluttered shut.

a trembling exhale.

the air between you felt delicate — like spun glass would shatter if either of you breathed too deeply.

but when ethan opened his eyes, you saw it.

all of it.

the fear, yes. but also, the wonder.

the softness.

that slow, rising ache that had nowhere to go but toward you.

your forehead still rested against his, the space between you filled with nothing but the thudding of two hearts learning to beat at the same time.

“i’m going to kiss you now.” he said, barely audible.

it wasnt a question or a demand.

no, it was a promise.

one you had been waiting to hear for what felt like forever.

“please,” you whispered.

and he did. he finally did.

slowly and gently. as if your lips were something sacred, something he wanted to memorize and not just touch.

his hand cupped your jaw, tentatively at first — like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have this.

but the moment your plush lips met his, all that carefulness dissolved into certainty.

his thumb trembling slightly as it brushed the edge of your cheek, like he was solidifying the fact that you were real, here and his, if only for this moment.

you kissed him back with the kind of gentleness that said: i’ve wanted this for so long. i’ve waited. i’m not going anywhere.

and ethan melted into it — into you, with a quiet sound in the back of his throat like relief and wonder woven together.

your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to you, so much so that your bodies were practically molded into one. anchoring yourself to him as your lips moved together in a rhythm that felt instinctive, known.

you finally pulled back, breath mingling in the sacred space created between you. his eyes stayed close for a beat, as if he were still in the middle of a dream.

you smiled, forehead pressed to his. “told you, nothing to be afraid of.”

he opened his eyes, dazed and glowing, like they’d been lit with something only you could have sparked. they were glassy with awe, wide and unguarded — as if the kiss unraveled every wall he didn’t know he built.

and when he spoke, his voice quivered. “i think you’ve already ruined me.”

you kissed the corner of his mouth, lips brushing like a promise. “then we’ll be ruined together.”

he smiled — a small, disbelieving smile people wear when they realize they’re safe in someone else’s hands.

he let out a slow breath. “that…” his voice low, “felt like something i’m going to think about for the rest of my life.”

you beamed, soft and amazed. “it’s a good thing you won’t have to.”

he blinked at you, confused. “what do you mean ?”

you reached up, playing with a curl of his hair, your fingers lingering like they were memorizing him all over again. “i mean, im right here. you don’t have to just remember it, you get to live it.”

his face crumpled just slightly from the fragile joy that stings behind the eyes. “you make everything feel like poetry.”

you laughed, breath catching in your chest. “maybe. or maybe you’re just someone worth writing poems about.”

he leaned in again, just enough to press a kiss to your cheek — softly, but just as full.

when he pulled back to see your twinkling gaze upon him, he didn’t know what he did to deserve such a loving stare, all for him.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you…” he started. “i must’ve been amazing in all of my past lives.”

you giggled, “i’m sure you had me in all of your past lives as well.” your voice trembling with your next admission. “i’m glad we found each other again in this life.”

ethan blushed and nodded, agreeing with your sweet sentiment and pulled back into another kiss. but a nagging part in his brain was telling him he didn’t deserve this. you.

after all, he was the one killing all of your friends.

[itsnotyouithink]

AFRAID

SUMMARY: During practice, you find out Tara Carpenter is the girl from the new Stab 7 movie.. the real girl. The guilt hits hard — especially when the two of you end up locked in the gym that same night. She’s not just your tutor anymore; she’s a mystery you’re suddenly dying to understand.

PAIRING: tara carpenter x fem!reader

WARNINGS: ghostface mention, daddy issues.

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: are they getting too close too fast? it’s abt to heat up so idkk

part one | part two | part three | part four |

____________

Mindy had always been careful — just never neat. She could recite obscure film trivia without blinking, but somehow lost her pencils, notebooks, textbooks, novels, art supplies, even an entire school-issued camera kit in the weirdest, most impossible places. Anika once told her, "check yourself twice before leaving a room."

She never listened.

You were mid-drill, ball in hand, sweat still fresh on your skin, when she barreled onto the court waving her phone like it was on fire.

"Okay, just look into the camera and say: 'come to the Blackmore Cinema at 8 p.m. next Friday for the film festival,'" she rushed out, breathless.

You sighed, palmed the ball under your arm, and plastered on a practiced grin.

"Hi everyone," you chirped, way too rehearsed. "Come to the Blackmore Cinema at eight p.m. next Friday for an insane film festival. My team and I are pulling up, so you should too."

"Perfect!" she squealed, just as the unmistakable voice of your coach echoed across the court.

"I love you," Mindy added dramatically. "Come over for dinner tonight!"

You squinted at her.

"Dinner where? I've seen your dorm. It's like three feet wide and smells like broken dreams."

"What? No." She scoffed. "You think I'd voluntarily subject people to that trash bin? Hell no. It's at Tara's. We're doing like, a friend dinner or whatever."

You blinked at her like she'd just asked you to run suicides voluntarily.

"Hard pass. I'm not about to walk into my torturer's home."

"You are so dramatic," she groaned, already turning away. "Maybe join the theatre department instead of the basketball team."

You snorted and shoved her shoulder. Right on cue, Coach's voice sliced through the gym.

"Hey! Four! Baseline. Now!"

Your teammates groaned like you'd personally betrayed them. You grimaced. "Great. Thanks for getting me killed, Mindy."

She only grinned. "Always happy to help."

And with that, she trotted out of the gym — leaving her bag sitting dead center on the bleachers like a forgotten plotline. Practice was already bleeding into the evening, the gym clock ticking toward 5 p.m.

You jogged to the baseline, ignoring the muttered curses from your teammates. Eight laps. That was the punishment.

By lap four, your legs were already aching — and so was your ankle, screaming with each step like it had something to prove. You pushed it down. Again.

Sarah caught up to you by lap five, eyebrows raised and smug.

"So," she panted, "you still failing that easy-ass film class?"

You wiped the sweat from your brow with your jersey.

"First of all, it's not easy. Film is technical. And creative. Which are two things I severely lack. Second..." You winced. "Kinda. But I've got a tutor."

Sarah's laughter cracked across the track.

"You're doing so bad they had to assign you a tutor? Damn, I thought people were just joking when they said you couldn't analyze a movie to save your life. Why'd you even take the class?"

You don't answer right away.

The truth is heavier than your legs feel.

Your mom had pushed you into it — ever since you were a kid. Because your grandfather was some hotshot director back in the 60s or 70s, and your mom practically grew up on soundstages. She chased the acting dream once, but it didn't pan out. She settled for memories and nostalgia. And, apparently, forcing her daughter to take intro film classes at college.

"They said it would be easy," you muttered.

Sarah just laughed again, breezing past it. "Okay but who's the lucky tutor? Anyone I know?"

You hesitated. The pain in your ankle spiked — sharp and sudden — as your foot struck the floor wrong. But you didn't let it show. You couldn't. Your dad had made that very clear.

"Uh. Probably not. She's... kind of introverted?" you said. "I don't know. All I do know is that she hates me. Like, full-on loathes my existence."

Sarah raised a brow. "What's her name?"

"Tara Carpenter."

And just like that, Sarah's expression twisted — less surprise, more oh.

Her pace slowed for a step. You noticed.

"Okay... why'd you slow down?" you asked.

"Tara Carpenter is your tutor?" she asked, like she was double-checking the universe.

You blinked. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Oh," she said, breath catching, "you don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" You narrowed your eyes.

"Have you seen the newest Stab movie?"

You blinked again. "I don't watch movies."

Sarah gave you a look like you were an alien. "Well, they're based on Tara and her sister. She's from Woodsboro. You know... that Woodsboro. Her and her sister got attacked — brutally. One of her close friends went full Ghostface. It was all over the news."

You stopped mid-stride, almost slipping on the court. "What?"

"Yeah." She unscrewed her water bottle as the whistle blew for your final sprint. "It's insane. And, like, Tara's not introverted. Not even close. She just hates everyone. Drinks a lot. Parties a lot. And honestly? I get it. If the whole internet was calling my sister a psycho, I'd be drunk every weekend too."

She jogged ahead, leaving you behind — frozen. Breathless. Numb.

You'd only ever known her as your tutor and Mindy’s close friend from high school. The girl who rolled her eyes every time you got a director's name wrong. The one who always acted like being around you physically hurt her.

But now?

Now she had a backstory. A tragedy. Headlines attached to her name.

Wait, was Mindy a part of this too?

You'd never watched Stab. But you knew that mask. That voice.

What's your favorite scary movie?

You exhaled, long and shaky.

And for the first time since this whole tutoring thing started, you felt it — the guilt curling in your chest like smoke. Why would you ask her what her favorite movie was? Fuck. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!

You had no idea.

⸻

The gym was nearly silent now, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the soft creak of the old bleachers cooling in the evening air. The echoes of practice—whistles, laughter, the bounce of basketballs—had long since faded into memory.

You sat on the bottom row of the bleachers, ankle stretched out, sock peeled halfway down, your shoe abandoned beside you like it had given up too. The swelling had gotten worse. Angry and pink and tight.

But you weren't looking at it.

You were looking at her.

Not in person. On your phone.

Frozen images of Tara Carpenter lit up your screen, too-bright photos taken without consent, grainy screenshots from security cams and news segments. A clip sat paused where her name was captioned in bold, capital letters beneath her pale, exhausted face.

"Woodsboro Survivor Speaks Out."

"Final Girl: The Carpenter Legacy."

"Stab 7: The Real Story of Tara and Sam Carpenter."

You didn't even realize how deep you were in it until the door creaked open.

Your head snapped up.

She was already inside.

Tara stood a few feet from the entrance, hoodie on, bag strap slung over her shoulder. She paused just long enough to register the scene: empty court, one player still here, and her best friend's gym bag forgotten near the top bleacher.

Her gaze fell to you.

Then to your phone.

Back to you.

She didn't blink.

Your stomach dropped.

"I—" you started, fumbling to lock the screen and shove the phone face-down. "Sorry. I didn't think anyone would—"

"Be here?" she finished, voice flat.

She walked slowly toward Mindy's bag, each footstep somehow too loud in the quiet. She picked it up like it weighed more than it should, then turned around and leaned back against the bleacher railing, arms folded.

"I guess I should be used to it by now," she said. "People looking."

You stood up too quickly—your ankle shouted in protest. You hissed, nearly stumbling before catching yourself. Tara didn't move to help. But her eyes flicked down to your foot and then right back up.

"I wasn't trying to—"

"Sure you were." Her voice wasn't angry. Just exhausted.

You stood still, phone still in your hand. "I didn't mean to make it a thing."

She shrugged. "Too late."

The lights above flickered once. Faint, but noticeable. You glanced at them, then back at her. "Mindy leave her entire life here again?"

"We were supposed to have dinner tonight but she had a dinner date with someone named 'free sushi.' So, basically ditched us for her girlfriend — again."

You smiled, tentative. "Oh, right. Dinner. At your house."

Tara didn't return it.

The silence between you thickened.

"I wasn't reading it to... judge you," you said, softer now. "I didn't know. Not really."

Tara's jaw tightened. "That's the problem, isn't it? Everyone thinks they didn't know. But the moment they do, it's all they can see."

She turned toward the exit. And that's when it happened.

A mechanical click. Subtle. Sharp. Final.

You both froze.

Tara's head turned slowly. Her eyes locked onto the gym door. She took a step forward and tried the handle.

It didn't move.

She pulled again. Harder.

Nothing.

You felt your stomach sink. She loudly gulped in front of you, "Wait—what time is it?"

You checked. "6:10."

Tara stepped back, laughing—but not like she was amused. "Of course. They installed the auto-locks last week."

"I also... forgot to sign out."

She looked at you, something sharp in her gaze. "You didn't sign out?"

Innocently, you raised your hands up like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, "I didn't know I had to. I thought it was just a suggestion! That's a new thing, right?"

"It was in an email."

"I don't read those."

"Clearly."

She didn't say anything. Just stood there.

Still.

Too still.

You moved toward her. "Hey. It's okay. They'll do a sweep—Coach always checks before locking the building down for the night."

"Unless he left early."

You blinked. "He wouldn't."

She didn't answer.

Her breathing was shallow now, eyes fixed on the door like it was a trap. Like something on the other side was about to burst through it. You could see the tension running down her arms, her spine, her fingers flexing around the bag strap like she wanted something to hold onto.

You stepped closer, careful. "Tara."

She didn't look at you.

"I get it," you said. "I know this feels... familiar. And wrong. And like the lights are about to go out."

Still no answer.

"But they're not," you added. "You're here. You're safe. You're not seventeen in a hospital bed anymore."

That made her flinch.

You winced. "Shit. I shouldn't have—"

"No," she said suddenly, voice tight. "You're right. It's just a room. Just a gym. Just a locked door."

She exhaled slowly. Then again.

You shifted your weight and your ankle pulsed, making your whole leg throb. You grimaced, half-sitting on the bleacher beside you.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyes flicking to your foot again.

"Yeah," you lied. "Just overdid it."

She raised an eyebrow.

You grinned. "Fine. I fucked it up three games ago and have been pretending it's fine ever since."

Tara shook her head. "Idiot."

"I prefer 'dedicated.'"

"Self-destructive."

"Passionate."

"Reckless."

You shrugged. "Semantics."

Finally, a smile. Barely there. But it counted. You shifted your weight, and your ankle screamed beneath you. You managed not to wince. Barely.

"I could use a distraction," she murmured, like it hurt to admit it.

You perked up. "I happen to be an expert at those."

Her brow lifted. "Do you usually flirt your way through disaster scenarios?"

You smirked. "Only with emotionally complex horror girls."

A long pause.

Then, finally: "Fine. Distract me."

You bent down—carefully—and picked up the ball. "Let me teach you to shoot."

Tara laughed, dry. "Absolutely not."

"Too late." You bounced the ball toward her. She caught it—awkwardly, palms stiff like she didn't trust it.

"You're lucky I don't throw this at your face."

"You'd miss," you teased.

She shot you a look. "I hate you."

But her lips twitched.

You limped a little closer and stood behind her, hands gentle as you guided hers on the ball. "Okay. Spread your fingers a bit. Relax your elbows. No death grip."

"Stop whispering like this is a Ghost pottery scene."

You grinned. "I'm a woman of many talents."

She turned her head slightly. You were close enough to see the fine strands of hair falling loose from her clip. Close enough to see her eyes change when she realized how close you were. Your voice dropped. "Try bouncing it. Not slapping—just push."

She did. The ball bounced crooked but came back.

You smiled. "Look at you. Natural."

She rolled her eyes. "Liar."

You stepped in front of her. "Shoot now."

"It's gonna be humiliating."

"I'm ready to be humbled."

She squared up. Breathed in. Took the shot. It bounced once on the rim—then dropped in. Her jaw dropped.

You gasped like she just hit a half-court buzzer-beater. "Holy shit, Carpenter. You're a prodigy."

"No way—did that actually—"

"You. Are. Athletic royalty."

Tara covered her mouth with her hand, laughing into it. It was soft and breathy and real. And for a second, she looked like someone who hadn't grown up dodging knives and headlines.

You stepped toward her, heart still racing. "You want to try again?"

She nodded, breathless. "One more."

You handed her the ball. "This is how it starts, you know."

"What?"

"Every sports romcom. The cool jock and the snarky outsider, locked somewhere after hours..."

Tara laughed. "Is this the part where we slow dance with a boombox?"

"I forgot the boombox," you said. "But I can hum The Notebook score if you want.”

She tilted her head, smiling at you now, but in that different kind of way—warmer, quieter. "You're not what I thought."

You looked at her. "What did you think?"

"That you were just another athlete who couldn't name a single female director."

You mock-gasped. "I'll have you know I cry during Greta Gerwig movies."

"I bet you do."

A beat passed.

Then she stepped closer. Ball in her hands. Looking up at you like maybe—just maybe—this was the first time she felt safe in a long time. Her voice dropped. "Thank you. For this."

You smiled, heart pounding, ankle forgotten. "Anytime."

And then—

BANG.

The gym doors burst open.

"TARA?!" Sam Carpenter's voice cracked like a whip.

Tara jumped back. You both turned as she stormed inside, her eyes wild, scanning for blood or bodies. Coach followed right behind her, winded and visibly pissed. "We've been calling you for twenty minutes—security had to override the damn system—"

"I'm fine," Tara said quickly, wiping her hands on her jeans. "I swear, we just got stuck."

Coach turned to you. "You didn't sign out?"

Your heart jumped into your throat. "I forgot. I thought practice ran longer."

His eyes narrowed. "You better not have been doing drills alone."

"No, sir." You shook your head with a tense close-lipped smile.

Tara didn't look at you.

But she stepped a little in front of you. Subtle. Quiet.

Coach scanned the room. "I want both of you out of here. Now."

Sam still hadn't stopped hovering. "Why weren't you answering?"

"I left my phone in Mindy's room," Tara muttered. "We're fine, Sam. Calm down before you catch a stroke or something.”

Coach sighed, rubbing his face while turning towards you. "You're lucky I was still here."

Tara glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes found yours again. And this time, they were soft. Still a little scared. But soft.

She mouthed it more than she said it: "Thank you."

And then she left. But not before her sister thoroughly — and scarily — glared at you. All you could do in return, was gulp.

——————

You're flat on your back, one arm draped over your forehead, ankle still elevated on a bunch of useless Calculus textbooks and throbbing in sync with your heartbeat. The room's dim, lit only by your phone screen and a distant streetlamp flickering through the blinds.

You're not texting her.

You refuse to text her first.

Probably.

Wait, does she even have your number?

But then—

[9:41 PM – Unknown Number]

still thinking about the shot i made

tell the WNBA to start scouting me immediately

You sit up so fast your pillow slides to the floor. Your heart? Immediate cardiac tap dance.

[9:42 PM — You]

who is this?

is this the girl who missed the rim like 8 times in a row before finally scoring?

[9:42 PM — Tara Carpenter]

it was 7

i won't be slandered by someone with a busted ankle and an inflated ego

[9:42 PM — You]

i think you secretly loved it

you looked so proud

i haven't seen a smile like that since we team beat NYU

The bubble pops up immediately. Typing. Pausing. Typing again.

[9:43 PM — Tara]

yeah, well

it felt weird

good weird

like... maybe i'm allowed to be proud of something again

You don't breathe for a second. You read it twice, then three more times for no reason other than you need to be sure she meant that.

You settle back, fingers tight around your phone. She's not just flirting. She's letting you in.

[9:44 PM — You]

you are.

you should feel proud more often

i think it looks good on you

There's a pause after that. Your stomach coils, the silence somehow louder than the pain in your ankle.

[9:45 PM — Tara]

you're too nice

it's unsettling

aren't jocks supposed to be emotionally unavailable?

[9:45 PM — You]

oh i am

but you bring out my soft side

congratulations. you've unlocked a new level

You stare at the screen, waiting. Waiting for her to pull back. Make a joke. Pretend it didn't land.

She doesn't.

[9:46 PM — Tara]

careful

keep that up and i might start thinking you're into me or something

Your pulse stutters.

You grin, sharp and stunned.

[9:46 PM — You]

depends

would that be a bad thing?

No answer.

Just the typing bubble. And your heart, doing acrobatics.

Then finally:

[9:48 PM — Tara]

wow

someone's feeling bold tonight

okay, varsity

try not to let the attention go to your head

You drop your phone. Literally drop it onto your chest like you've been hit.

Varsity.

You blink. You swallow. You scream inside. You reread it like it's poetry, like it's prophecy, like it's not the thing that's going to live rent-free in your head for the next decade. A nickname feels different coming from her.

[9:51 PM — You]

"varsity" is wild

not denying it tho

kinda sounds hot when you say it

[9:51 PM — Tara]

i'm immediately regretting it

consider it revoked

[9:51 PM — You]

too late

putting it on my jersey next season

[9:52 PM — Tara]

please don't

i'll transfer schools

[9:52 PM — You]

that sounds like a long-winded way of saying you'd miss me

[9:52 PM — Tara]

shut up

how's your ankle?

You glance down at it. Purple. Angry. Still pretending you're fine. You've been ignoring your dad's insistent calls to you for the night, you're trying to choose peace tonight.

[9:53 PM — You]

loud

dramatic

demanding attention

basically me in bone form

[9:53 PM — Tara]

perfect

you can bond

i'll bring ice and coffee tomorrow

unless that's weird now

Your heart softens. You sit there for a second, staring at the message like it might vanish.

[9:53 PM — You]

not weird

kinda the best thing i've heard all night

[9:54 PM — Tara]

good

see you tomorrow, varsity

You bite your lip so hard it leaves a mark.

[9:54 PM — You]

sweet dreams, final girl

[9:54 PM — Tara]

oh, and next time don’t skip dinner at my apartment

Oh, fuck.

[jazzyoranges]

heyy i love how well written your works are, and i was wondering if there could be another tara carpenter x gp reader?? an enemies to lovers kinda thing, smut/fluff but it is totally up to you!! thankss❤️

All Mine

Tara Carpenter x gp!reader

Words: 2.8k

A/n: thank you!! also kind of a combination of this request and a prompt in this request

Warnings: reader has a penis, hate fuck? i think?, bottom!T, top!R, explicit sex, implication of breeding kink, teasing (lots of it), unprotected sex (your pullout game is weak), implication of alcohol consumption, no ghostface au

MINORS DNI!!

Tara hates three things in her life. You, hairless cats, and soggy bread. In that order too

She could handle hating hairless cats and soggy bread, but you? You were in Tara’s friend group. Tara hated you and to make matters worse, she was the only one that did

You were nerdy like Wes and Ethan, quick-witted and funny like Mindy and Amber, athletic like Chad, charismatic like Quinn, protective like Sam, and (allegedly) nice like Anika. You had nearly every one of her friends best traits, but Tara knew why she didn’t like you. You were really fucking annoying

Along with all of your positive traits, you were loud and obnoxiously social. Not that Tara was antisocial or anything, but god you were on a whole other level. It was mildly infuriating how you could go to a party you knew nobody at and somehow come out with more friends than you started with

All those people and you decided Tara was the one you’d annoy. A nudge to her shoulder made Tara look up from where she was putting her head down

“You look like shit” The brunette doesn’t respond and puts her head back down on the table

“Sam tase someone without your permission again?” Tara could practically hear the smirk in your voice

“Please for the love of god shut the fuck up. Your voice is the last thing I need to hear today”

“Woah, someone’s mad” You stick out your tongue in response at the glare Tara sends your way

“Suck my dick, (Y/n).”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Carpenter”

Tara abruptly leaves the lecture room. You think you really fucked up this time, but let out a breath of relief when you see that Tara didn’t grab her things. She was probably going to the bathroom to escape you. Which, who would ever want to escape you?

Apparently not Tara because she’s back in her seat just a few minutes before the lecture starts

“Aspirin?” You grab the bottle from a pocket in your bag, shaking it next to her

“You have Aspirin laying around?”

“Anika told me you were at a party, I figured it’s the least I could do”

“You’re trying to drug me, aren’t you?”

“If I was trying to drug you, I would’ve offered it to you at the end of class”

“Why weren’t you at the party?” Tara asks, taking the bottle from you hands and shaking out two tablets before downing them with some water

“Missed me?”

“Nope, just surprised you weren’t blackout drunk”

“Good to know you think highly of me. I was studying, thank you”

“You? Study?” Tara scoffs

“Don’t act like the idea is so out of this world”

“Right, because last time I remember you passing up a party was because your betta fish died and you forced all of us to have a funeral for him at the park”

“Trout’s death is not one to be made fun of!”

Before Tara can respond, the professor starts talking and the lesson begins. Unfortunately her head is still kind of throbbing with only mildly wanting to throw up. She had to accept she wasn’t going to get anything done until that Aspirin kicked in. Especially when she can feel you staring at her

The class goes as smoothly as it can and you notice Tara hasn’t made an effort to even try to take notes. The lesson eventually ends and when everyone gets up, the brunette begrudgingly does too

You bump your shoulders together and Tara glares at you with enough power you actually manage to feel fear for a split second until you realize it’s Tara. The girl was like two apples tall. Two and a half on a good day

The brunette doesn’t realize you were handing her a paper so you physically have to place it in her hand. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion

“What is this?”

“Notes, you need them”

“I’m not buying you Raising Canes if that’s what you want”

“Since I’m such a good friend, I’ll give it to you free of charge. Just make sure to bring it back with minimal damage”

“You’re not gonna make me Paypal you fifty bucks?” Tara doesn’t have any classes for the next few hours so you two made a point to walk to your next class. She didn’t know how it started, but you were okay to talk to when you weren’t being annoying

“In my defense, Trout recently died”

“We buried him in the fucking park, I don’t think that costs money”

“It was condolence money. I made everyone pay and I think it was pretty genius”

“I really do wonder how you still have friends”

//-//

Someone knocks on the door of you and Anika’s apartment. When you realize your roommate is probably listening to music that was too loud to be healthy, you get up from your very comfortable bed

You don’t remember ordering food and you’re pretty sure Anika didn’t invite Mindy over, so the person behind the door was probably just the nice old lady across the hall that made cookies for everyone

For better or for worse, you’re met with a Tara Carpenter that’s caught off guard when you open the door. Tara usually sees you in well put together outfits so you can only imagine her surprise when she sees you wearing boxers that outlined your cock and a hoodie that barely covered it up

“Eyes are up here- What brings you to the Mojo Dojo Casa House?”

“Can’t you just let me in?” Tara’s cheeks burn in embarrassment. Thank god you just glossed over… it

“It’s protocol you identify yourself and state why you’re here” You lean on the doorframe, actively blocking the entrance to your apartment. Tara knew this was a losing battle and hated how you looked hot while winning

“Anika and I have a project we need to work on”

“You didn’t identify yourself” you’re wearing that same dumbass smirk you have after telling a horrible joke

“Tara. Tara fucking Carpenter.”

“Unfortunately I don’t think we know any Tara Fucking Carpenters. Guess you can’t come in” you shrug

“God give me patience.” Tara rubs at her temples like you’re giving her a headache

“Isn’t it god give me strength?”

“If god gave me strength, you would be dead.”

“Point taken, but you still need a password”

“You didn’t say anything about a password!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know if you’re the real Tara or not. Say a fact about me only the real Tara would know”

The brunette pretends to think for a moment, even putting her hand on her chin and looking off into the distance for effect. When she notices you’re starting to get suspicious of her antics Tara pushes you though the door, successfully getting in without a password or confirmation

You stumble back almost like a cartoon character and you can hear Tara let out a small laugh. You can see the dimples on her cheeks whe she tries to cover it up with her hand

“Nika, your friend’s here!” You lead Tara to Anika’s room, making sure to knock loudly while Tara’s busy either checking you out or trying to blow you up with her mind. It’s unclear, but you have to lean towards the latter

“Isn’t Tara your friend too?” Your roommate opens the door, headphones around her neck

“No.”

“Yes.” Both of you say in unison. The look you give each other is almost comical with how Tara’s glaring while you’re smiling. Anika stares blankly between you two and it eventually starts to make more sense

“Stop eye fucking each other, we have work to do” Anika pulls Tara into her room. You shrug, heading off to probably yell at ten year olds on Fortnite or something

“We were not eye fucking” the shorter girl huffs, sitting on Anika’s bed

“I literally opened my door and thought you two were about to make out”

“I didn’t expect to get interrogated when I came here!” Tara flops onto her back, covering her eyes and trying (and failing) to stop the red that dusted her cheeks

“Whatever, I’ll get you to crack later”

“Kill yourself.”

//-//

Tara doesn’t understand what she’s feeling when she sees some random girl grind against you

It’s like that one scene in Euphoria when Maddy and Nate stare each other down at the school dance, except you were looking far more more bored. That is, until you see Tara glaring at both of you

Like a switch turned on, you’re suddenly more interested in the girl. You encourage her grinding with a hand kneading her hip, using your other hand to take a sip of your drink. And just like Maddy, she’s tempted to find Chad to do the same to you. She doesn’t.

Tara fucking hated you. But she also needed you now.

Making you jealous would take too long. In theory she had the time, but her hunger to taste you was making her do things she would’ve never thought of before. One of those things being grabbing your hand and leading you away from any girl that tried to even look at you.

The girl who was grinding on you calls her a bitch among other things, but Tara knows it’s worth it when she sees you smile at her like she’s your entire world. Because she was your entire world

She leads you into an empty guest bedroom of the house, locking the door before getting close enough to you she can smell the alcohol in your breath

“What’s all this about, Tar?” You grin. Tara doesn’t know if she wants to kiss or slap that smirk right off of your annoying face

“You know what this is fucking about.”

“Do I? I think you should spell it out for me.”

“You know, I’ve had it with your attitude.” Tara jabs a finger at your chest, the back of your knees hitting the end of the bed. In one motion you sit down and bring Tara down with you. You make her sit on your cock

“Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking hot when you’re mad?” You smile, finding the blush on Tara’s cheeks absolutely adorable

“Only you.”

“Good. How about we keep it that way, baby?”

“You’re so annoying.” The brunette cups your face with both of her hands, your lips fitting together like they were always meant to

“I know I am” You say in between kisses, your hands finding their way up Tara’s shirt, kneading the spot right under her boob. She forces your hand to stimulate her nipple, eliciting a moan from her mouth

“You’re so pretty, Tar. I can’t believe only I get to see you get all hot and bothered” You smile breathlessly

“Fuck. S-Stop talking like that or you’ll make me like you” Biting a hickey on Tara’s neck, you take of her shirt and her bra in a flurry of heat

“I bet you’ll like me even more when you’re bouncing on my cock” You force Tara to grind on the bulge in your pants, earning you a small whimper that makes you smile

“C’mon, all you have to do is admit you like me and I’ll fuck you better than anyone has” It should be considered torture how much you were teasing Tara. You were biting hickeys on her neck, playing with her nipples, all while a few layers of fabric were the only barriers between your dick and her pussy. Fuck you knew how to overstimulate a girl

Laying Tara on on the bed, you could really tease the brunette better in this position. You can feel the Tara’s wetness through her soaked panties, and you’re sure she can feel the pre-cum leak out of your cock. Your hands are on her hips as if you were thrusting, yet you deny her and your pleasure for the sake of being an ass

“Don’t you want me to ruin you for anyone else? I promise I’ll stretch you out so good no other guys’ cock can fill you up like me.”

“Fuck you. I hate you, you’re s-such a fucking asshole, you know that?” Tara reaches for anything she can hold onto, your arms being the nearest thing

“I can think ways you could ‘hate’ me even more” You smile when Tara reaches to take off her panties but you find her hands first. You intertwine your hands together and the action is so soft Tara almost forgets about the situation she’s in. Almost

“Whenever I masturbate I think of you, did you know that? God, sometimes I have these hookups and all I can think about is you cumming around my cock”

Tara thinks it’s embarrassing how she’s about to cum just by your sickeningly sweet voice and the constant friction between you two. Tara also thinks she’d rather die than miss an opportunity of a lifetime.

Sure you were a cocky pain in the ass, but you were her cocky pain in the ass.

“Fuck- I admit it! I think you’re the hottest fucking person in the world. I like you.” Tara looks straight into your eyes, and the smile reserved only for her makes another appearance

“That wasn’t so hard, was it Tar?”

“I still hate you.” You unbuckle your belt and unbutton and unzip your jeans with watchful eyes. You pull down your boxers just enough so that your cock springs out, making Tara’s mouth water. Fuck you were big

Pulling Tara’s panties to the side, she’s dripping wet when you swipe your finger across her slit

“Fuck- (Y-Y/n)” Tara sings when you lick up her juices with your tongue. She buries her hands in your hair, bringing you closer to her dripping cunt. You moan at her taste and the vibrations are almost enough to get Tara to cum. Almost

You rise to your knees, lining up your dripping cock with the shorter girls dripping pussy. You decide to be evil and rub your dick against her slit before easing your tip into her hole. It was infuriating how slow you were going and Tara remembers why she hated you in the first place

Tara’s whining and whimpering under you and you can’t remember a time where you’ve been happier than in this moment

Tara on the other hand, has never hated you more in her life than in this moment

The younger Carpenter decides to be bold when she grabs your shirt and forces you forward. You’re caught off guard and over half of your cock finds itself nestled tightly in her pussy as you catch yourself with your arms

“Y-You’re sneaky, aren’t ‘cha” With your face so close to hers, Tara realizes you’re as much of a victim to your teasing as she is. She can tell it’s taking everything inside of you not to fuck her raw until your dick is limp and Tara’s legs are sore

“You can go fast. I can handle it, baby” Tara cups your face with her hand, stroking your cheek with such softness like you aren’t literally lodged into her cunt like a dog in heat

With that confirmation, you give Tara a peck on the lips and buck your hips in such a way you hit that spongey spot inside of her

The sound of skin slapping is louder than the blasting music downstairs, but your grunting and Tara’s moaning combined are louder than both. Thank god the owner of the house was your friend because you don’t know if you could come out of that room if this is what Tara sounded like

“Fuck- I’m close” You say a little too breathlessly for your liking

“Don’t p-pull out.” The shorter girl uses your shirt as leverage to keep you inside of her. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion

“T-Too messy, don’t feel like cleaning up.” Tara answers between moans like she can read your mind

The familiar heat you’re so used to finally snaps. Wrapping her legs around yours, you cum with almost a guttural whine. Your orgasm is enough for Tara to have hers and you fuck her through it, making sure none of your cum drips out of her hole

You pull out and a few dribbles of your semen flow out of her cunt. You plug her pussy with your fingers and Tara is far too sensitive to handle it

“D-Don’t tell me you’re tired already?” Tara jokes, but all air in her lungs leave when you let out a laugh of your own

“I’ve got all night, love.”

Tara has to remember to make you buy her a morning after pill.

[pocfiction]

MINDY & CHAD MEEKS-MARTIN SCREAM VI (2023)

[loomiseater]

UHM... more subby ethan!! pwetty please 👉👈

What're you doing?

warnings: smut ofc!, subby eth, and public masturbation.

Criticism is appreciated! I would love to know how I can improve on my writing.

Ethan Landry x fem!reader

A/N: your wish is my command! ik it's short, i'm sorry, but i really hope you like it!

Navigation

Request page

Masterlist

Scream masterlist

Most recent fic

Written: December 26th, 2024- December 27th, 2024

Published: December 27th, 2024

Summary: you tease Ethan under the blanket.

wc: 762

Ethan and I were currently at Sam’s, Tara’s, Mindy’s, and Quinn’s shared apartment. It was movie night so we were all in the living room watching “FNAF”. Chad insisted we watch it. 

Me and Ethan shared a seat together, sitting on the recliner while everyone else was either on the L shaped couch, or on the floor with blankets. The room was filled with the loudness of the movie coming from the t.v. Everyone was focused on what was playing in front of them, so I took this as my chance. I slipped my hand under our shared blanket and started softly rubbing his inner thigh, Ethan didn’t think much of it so he just smiled softly. 

His features looked so pretty, the light from the t.v. making me able to see his eyes and his lips. His lips were always so soft and plump, I just wanna kiss him so bad right now in front of everyone. Ethan was still focused on the moving, I moved my hand to his crotch and that’s when he looked at me. His eyes widened with fear. 

“What’re you doing?!” He whispered. I looked at him and smiled innocently before I answered his question. “What’re you talking about?” Ethan rolled his eyes at my statement. He hated when I played dumb, especially to something so obvious. He brushed it off and put his focus back on the movie. 

I slipped my hand under his sweats and rubbed him through his boxers as I felt his abs flex. He covered up his moan with a cough as everyone looked over at him. “You okay?” Chad asked while placing some popcorn in his mouth. “I’m fine.” Ethan hurriedly said. I smirked at him while he gave me a warning look. I didn’t care though, I wanted to tease him just like he does to me all the time. 

I now slipped my hand under his boxers, I slowly stroked him up and down. His whole body jolted as played his moan off as a cough again. “Dude, seriously, are you okay?” Chad asked again, genuinely concerned for his friend. Tara then looked at me like she was trying to figure something out but she eventually went back to focusing on the movie. 

I started rubbing my thumb on his tip as I felt precum coming out. Ethan now placed his head in his hands so no one can see his face twist in pleasure. “How do you feel?” I whispered in his ear teasingly. He raised his head back up and looked at me with pleading eyes. I raised my eyebrow at him waiting for him to say something. “Please stop.” He whined. “Why should I stop?” I whispered as I squeezed his cock. Ethan’s body jolted again. 

“Because we’re in front of people!” He said. He looked at me like I was crazy but he teases me all the time in public. I ignored him and kept stroking him, his precum was flowing down his cock and onto my hand. He threw his head back on the couch still trying to hold in moans. This is most the hardest thing he’s ever been through. 

I slowed my pace as he brought his head back down. “When we get home..im gonna make you cum and beg all night.” My words filled with lust. I felt his dick twitch and that’s when I knew he was close. I quietly chuckled at him, poor boy was going through it right now. 

“When we get home I’ll let you cum in me all night.” I seductively said. That’s when Ethan lost it, he came all over my hand. “Shit!” He loudly said. “Dude, what the fuck.” Mindy said with her hands raised. The attention was on the both of us now. 

“I-I’m sorry! My hand started cramping.” Ethan stuttered. Tara just looked at me and smirk. 

An hour later movie night was over, everyone was saying their goodbyes and good nights. Ethan was in the kitchen talking to Chad as Tara walked over to me. “Seriously? Jerking off your boyfriend in front of everyone?” She laughed. I started laughing with her before I spoke up. 

“How the hell did you know?!” I asked with shock written all over my face. “Girl! I saw your hand moving under the blanket, and the way he was breathing? It was so obvious! I don’t know how nobody else noticed.” She explained. 

“I’m sorry.” I giggled as she just shook her head at me. 

“You freaky girl!” Tara teased as we both started laughing really hard.

[fratttymatty]

The Rewatch

(All characters are 18+)

Oliver Grant sat alone in his dimly lit bedroom, the glow of his laptop screen illuminating his chubby face. The room was a cluttered mess—empty soda cans, half-eaten bags of chips, and stacks of horror DVDs scattered everywhere. But none of that mattered right now.

Because tonight, he was watching Scream 5 for the 30th time.

His heart pounded as the film played, eyes glued to the screen as Chad Meeks-Martin—the Chad Meeks-Martin—jogged onto the screen, exuding effortless confidence. Oliver had memorized every line, every smirk, every muscle flex. Chad was everything Oliver wasn’t.

Tall. Athletic. Cocky. Dominant.

God, I wish I was him.

The thought had crossed Oliver’s mind a million times, but tonight, something felt different. He wasn’t just admiring Chad anymore—he was fixated. Obsessed. It was as if the movie had taken hold of him, burrowing into his brain.

As the final scene played out, Oliver felt off. His skin tingled. His breathing slowed. A cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

Then, the credits rolled.

And everything went black.

Oliver jolted awake, gasping for air. But something was wrong.

His bed felt too small. His arms—heavier. His chest—broader. His entire body—different.

His hands shot to his face. His once soft, round features were gone, replaced with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. His pasty white skin? Now a deep, smooth brown. He stumbled out of bed and nearly tripped over his own feet—his legs were longer. Stronger. Taller.

Heart racing, he turned toward the mirror hanging on his wall, and when he saw his reflection—

He froze.

Gone was Oliver Grant, the overweight, shy, nervous high schooler.

Staring back at him was Chad Meeks-Martin.

His body was massive. His shoulders broad and powerful, his arms thick with muscle. His stomach was rock-hard, sculpted with abs he never dreamed of having. His fingers ran up to his head, where his hair—once stringy and unkempt—was now a sharp, coiled buzzcut, perfectly lined up.

His lips curled into a smirk. Wait—what?

Why did he smirk? He never smirked.

But Chad did.

The Mindshift

Oliver stumbled back, gripping his temples as a wave of thoughts flooded his brain. His memories twisted, rearranging themselves, as if his entire personality was being rewritten.

His liberal ideals? Fading.

His insecurities? Erased.

His attraction to men? Rewired.

Flashes of new memories—Chad’s memories—forced their way in. No more lonely nights debating politics on Twitter. No more stuttering through conversations. No more feeling like a nobody.

Instead, he remembered lifting weights at the gym, feeling the burn of every rep.

He remembered laughing with his boys, girls fawning over him at every party.

He remembered grabbing his girl’s waist, hearing her giggle as she clung to him.

His breath hitched. No, no, no, this isn’t me!

But… wasn’t it?

The longer he stood there, the less he resisted. And the less he resisted… the better he felt.

His phone buzzed.

He grabbed it instinctively, his big, veiny hands now dwarfing the tiny device. The name on the screen made his lips twitch into an automatic grin.

Tara ❤️

Without thinking, he opened the text.

Tara: "Like, omgggg babe where r u?? We’re totes gonna be late to the party!!!"

His head pulsed. Tara… his Tara.

She wasn’t the sharp, independent Tara Carpenter from the movies anymore. No, his Tara was a total bimbo.

Blonde. Shallow. Obsessed with him.

And he loved it.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but instead of overanalyzing like Oliver would have, he just typed, "Chill, babe. Be there soon."

Short. Direct. Confident.

The way a real man talked.

He turned back to the mirror, flexing an impressive bicep.

Oliver was gone.

Chad Meeks-Martin was here to stay.

And damn…

He looked good.

The frat house was alive with music, flashing lights, and the smell of cheap beer. The bass from the speakers thumped in Chad’s chest as he stepped inside, towering over the crowd. Girls turned to stare, whispering to their friends, some biting their lips as he passed.

Damn, I love this.

Tara clung to his arm, her manicured nails digging into his bicep. She was drenched in pink—crop top barely covering her surgically enhanced chest, mini-skirt hugging her curves.

"Like, babe, this party is soooo wild," she squealed, flipping her platinum-blonde hair. "Totes better than last week."

Chad smirked, barely listening. "Yeah, yeah, babe." He leaned down, gripping her waist. "Go find your friends or whatever. Me and the boys gotta talk."

She pouted. "Ugh, fine! But you owe me a dance later, kay?" She kissed him—wet, aggressive, sloppy—before bouncing off toward the dance floor.

Chad wiped his mouth, shaking his head. Damn, she was dumb.

But that’s exactly how he liked them.

"Bro."

Chad turned, grinning as Ethan Landry clapped him on the shoulder. Ethan was his boy—sharp jawline, slicked-back hair, always rocking a smug smirk.

"Bro," Chad responded, handing Ethan a beer.

The two leaned against the wall, watching the sea of drunk college girls grind against random dudes.

"Another solid night," Ethan said, taking a swig. "These chicks are so easy, man."

Chad chuckled. "No effort at all, bro. You just tell them they look hot, flex a little, and boom—panties drop."

Ethan laughed, shaking his head. "Crazy how simple they are, right? Like, feminists act like women are all ‘independent’ now, but then a dude with muscles walks in and suddenly they forget how to think."

Chad snorted. "That’s why I don’t take ‘em seriously, man. They say they want ‘equality,’ but they don’t wanna date some broke-ass dude with a man bun. They want a man—someone who actually runs shit."

Ethan nodded. "Exactly! And that’s why these woke losers are gonna stay single. Like, I’m sorry, but if your girl has a career, that’s lowkey embarrassing. Imagine letting your woman work when you should be handling business."

Chad grinned. "Facts. A man provides. That’s the natural order of things."

Ethan raised his beer. "To tradition."

Chad clinked bottles with him. "To being real men."

[mrs-meeks-martin]

Ethan & Chad Relationship HCS!

FEM!READER

warnings: smut, inappropriate language, kinks, reader is implied to be short

red= smut

orange=mild smut

white= regular

summary: how the guys would act in a relationship with you!!

reblogging appreciated queens <33

CHAD MEEKS MARTIN

Would definitely be super open about making your relationship public. He wants everyone to know who you belong to.

Love language is DEFINITELY physical touch. Just being able to hold your hand or sling an arm around your shoulder will do it for him.

Has a pretty big size k!nk. He literally gets off on the fact that he practically towers over you, and that he could just toss you around like a rag doll if needed.

Soft dom usually, until he’s had a bad day at practice and needs to take some anger out on you. His switch flips fast, and he can go from talking you through it to pretty much full on degradation.

“Come on, you got ‘nother one in you, baby.”

“Such a pretty little cockslut, hmm?”

Definitely is your go-to beer pong duo. Every time, he knows he can count on you.

WILL make you be vocal about what you want. He’s petty. If you don’t say it, he’s not giving it to you.

“What do you want, baby? Use your words.”

“You said what? Sorry, couldn’t hear ya.”

He’s big, and he KNOWS it. He’ll try to seem humble about it, until you’re blabbering random nonsense around his cock.

“Mmh… ‘S too big, Chad…”

“You can take it. I know you can.”

Comes up with the most RANDOM pet names for you. He always says one to catch you off guard, and it has you laughing every time.

“Don’t worry, my little sweet slice of pumpkin pie. Chad is here to save the day!”

“Pumpkin pie? Are we deadass?”

Ethan Landry

WILL murder for you. If someone is bothering you, or even looks at you the wrong way, he’ll be sure they’re dealt with accordingly.

Uses his econ class as an excuse to sneak around with you.

Chad: “Where the hell were you? As soon as you disappeared, Ghostface just so happens to show up!”

“I was at econ!”

If econ means, “having sex with your lover” instead of economics, then yeah. He’d be at econ.

He’s a bit scared to go public, because let’s face it- he’s kind of a loser. Your loser, but still. He doesn’t know how people would think, so you shut him up.

“I don’t give a fuck about what other people think about us.”

And there was zero argument after that.

SUBMISSIVE ASF. Like will literally do anything to make you happy and pleasure you.

Chad knocked on your door while you guys were going at it once, and he’s never been able to shake the turn on of “getting caught in the act” since.

Helps you with homework. (More like does it for you) but anything for you, right?

Will take your mask kink into consideration. (If you have one, that is)

Love language is acts of service. Just being able to do something for you and make you happy just makes him happy.

LOVES cuddling. He just likes feeling your warmth, and he loves how both of you mold together like you guys were made for each other.

You did the “my husband” prank on him once, and he’s never been able to get it out of his head since.

Oblivious to how big he is. When you’re doing it for the first time, he feels a bit insecure.

“Is it good enough…?”

“Baby… More than enough.”

He couldn’t hide the cheesy grin that appeared on his face.

You defend him from the Ghostface rumors, oblivious to his actual identity. A part of him almost feels guilty for you going out of your way to disprove them. Almost.

A horrible praise kink. Literally, just praising him for getting a good grade will make him feel all sorts of things.

12 AM MOTIVATION GO BRRR

reblogging appreciated ^^