#screamxi

[bel1ewrites]

Booth Five (Sam Carpenter x Reader)

A/n: Here's another one, love you guys.

WC: Idfk

Warnings: smut, top!Sam, bossyish!reader, slightly public sex, thigh riding, more thigh riding, Sam in fancy work clothes

NUMEROUS visits to her favorite place after a long, hard day of work had forced Sam's ears to grow accustomed to the deafening thunder of sensual music that pumped through the hazy club.

Ever since the very first week of her new life in the the city, Sam had made sure to become somewhat of a regular at The Vanity. She made sure to commit each and every worker to memory, even went out of her way to tip a little extra every visit. It was just who she was. She loved to pay attention, and she loved to be aware.

She did not, however, love to be confused.

From her spot on a cracked leather couch, she sits with a drink in her hand, the top few buttons of her shirt undone, and she watches you move. The colored lights run over your body like waves on a shore, black lace the only thing stopping you from being fully exposed. It's euphoric, the way you move. It's familiar and free, icy hot. Sam takes a pull of her drink.

------

"You've got a private booking, honey," your boss calls as you fuss with your hair in the vanity mirror. She's a firecracker of a woman, short and curvy. The voice of a smoker mixed with the tone of a caretaker. "Booth five."

It hadn't taken you long to understand the inner workings of your place of employment. Annoyingly, nothing was ever straightforward, and booth five was not an exception to this rule.

You'd learned that an hour with one of the dancers in booth five had to cost more than your rent; which, albeit, didn't say much. It was the coldest spot in the whole club, nothing but dark red walls and a single black couch, and you couldn't really tell if it was the air vents or the dark aura that made you shiver when you passed it.

This is the first time anyone has requested for you to be in there.

"Um," your voice is steady as you turn around, smoothing a hand over non existent fabric out of nervous habit, "Is it cool if Amber takes this one?"

A beat passes.

"The patron requested for it to be you." If she notices the way your heart drops, she doesn't mention it. Only smiles crookedly and nods, effectively dismissing you from the comfort of being alone.

The beat of your heart doubles that of the music as you walk out of the room, a little unsure and a little irratic. Your heels feel too tall, your chest too tight.

Dancing was different. Dancing didn't bring forth any unwanted social interaction. Sure, there was the occasional creep, but they never really bothered you much when you could tune them out with thoughts of being beneath your covers with hot Chinese food and your cat curled up on your lap.

This was intimate. This was private and there was really no practical way of getting out of it.

You're sure you're going to pass out when you reach the outside of the booth, nothing but a thin curtain separating you from the unknown man waiting inside. Is he married? Is he demanding? Does he expect anything more than a lap dance from you?

A job is a job, you remind yourself, breathing deeply once, twice before stepping inside.

The air is charged. Static pulses around you. So its a woman. There's a woman a few feet in front of you.

She sits there, back against the couch and legs spread like she owns the place, shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. She's tall and dark and has the look of someone who's grown accustomed to getting what she wants one way or another. Her eyes drop down your figure, lingering at certain parts unabashedly. They run over every inch of you slowly, methodically. She wets her lips.

"Hello." She speaks. Her voice is fire and ice. It's raspy and smooth, dark and calculated and so insanely perfect that it makes your ears ring a little.

It's your turn to say something, anything, really. You really do try to greet her, even open your mouth for a second before promptly shutting it again.

"It's reasonable to expect a greeting after one says hello, is it not?" Her brow raises. It seems that all it takes for you to gain your composure is a little confrontation.

You close the still open door and take a step forward, trapping a palpable tension in the room along with the sound of muffled music.

"Sorry about that, I just wasn't expecting... this." Amusement flashes in her eyes. "You weren't expecting a woman?" She questions, patting the space beside her and signaling for you to sit.

There's room for her to scoot over and create a comfortable amount of space between your bodies, but that doesn't seem like something she wants.

Your body moves without your mind's consent, "no, I wasnt," you answer, taking your seat.

She hums, the scent of her cologne wafting over you like a drug. "Disappointed?" she asks, bottom lip puffed out in a teasing pout.

The couch is cold beneath you, but that doesn't stop the fire from rushing to your cheeks. Nervously, you run a hand through your hair and smile, trying not to let her undeniable smoothness get in the way of yours.

"Oh, hardly," you let out a raspy huff of laughter and you can't help the way your eyes flit to her mouth.

A smirk tugs at her lips, pout dropping entirely. "Well aren't you fiery."

"Why did you ask for me?" you pry, gaze hooded.

"Why wouldn't I?" She questions, tone serious and eyes on yours. The air feels thick around you.

She truly is a beautiful woman, silky black hair and dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes. The muscles in her arms pull at the fabric surrounding them. You suddenly feel underdressed.

"Amber normally takes this booth," you offer truthfully.

Amber was a favorite amongst the club. She was all dark smiles and sinful moves. You appreciated her for her wit and ability to seem completely calm at all times; a skill you wish you had.

Her hand drops to the bare flesh of your upper thigh. "I didn't ask for Amber, did I?"

Sam had interacted with the girl numerous times. She'd been working here since that first night and was undoubtedly beautiful, but she didn't feel drawn to Amber like she did you. Her body didn't light up when she saw her like it did with you. You were different.

"What's your name?" you pry.

The heat of her gaze along with that of her palm on your thigh sends jolts down your spine. You can see the muscles in her jaw move as she grits her teeth, swallowing hard.

"Sam."

"Why did you ask for me?" you ask again, eyes on her dark and blown pupils. Your own gaze is hooded, lashes low as you look up at her.

She smiles wolfishly, teeth flashing. "Can't a girl want to get to know someone?"

"Well," you look down at her mouth, "I guess when you put it that way."

The air around you seemed to grow thick, tension lacing through it. Her aura was intoxicating, the way it consumed you so quickly, made you want to give her everything.

She hums, tightening her grip on your thigh, "For such a pretty girl you sure do ask a lot of questions," the words fall from her lips, tone low and dripping with want.

"Yeah?" You smile.

"Yes." She shoots back.

"Really?"

She ignores you, looking at you so intensely you almost think you did something wrong.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly but you can't help it. When she kisses you it's softer than you expect it to be, like she's testing the waters. Her hand runs up your thighs, teases its way to your hip and squeezes the flesh there. It makes your head spin and your heart race, heat settling in your lower stomach.

Teeth graze your bottom lip as she pulls back a little. "Come here," The woman breathes into your mouth. She guides you onto her lap, smiling and leaning further into the couch. You have to arch forward to kiss her again, something that isn't an accident on her part.

Hands grip at your waist, your hips, your ass. She's deepening the kiss like it's pushing life into her and she can't get enough. it's a needy, panting scene as her lips and tongue slide over yours.

She kisses you like you've never been kissed, skill and need intertwining into a moment that makes you dizzy. She's all soft lips and rough teeth, nipping and sucking and soothing.

The musky scent of her cologne messes with your head and you can't stop your hips from moving, seeking pressure to tame the heat inside of you.

She trails her lips down to your neck, hand pulling at your hair to tilt your head back. "That's it, baby," Sam coos, teeth scraping under your jaw, "use my leg." She shifts the two of you before you can do anything, moving you to straddle her thigh. Her lips latch onto a sensitive spot on your neck as she pushes her leg up and into you.

"Fuck," you gasp out, gripping her shoulders and arching further into her. The position gives her mouth easy access to your chest.

The fabric of your lace bra is easy for her to move to the side, baring your hardened nipple to her.

"You're so pretty," She groans beneath you, pressing her tongue to the sensitive bud.

Pleasure shoots through you and you suppress a moan at the feeling of her skilled mouth against you. She's pulling at your hips, guiding their movements as you rock into her. It's hard to remember where you are, how any of your coworkers can walk in if they want to. All you can think about is how muscular her leg is through her pants as it presses into your clit in just the right way, how strong her hands are as they grasp at your body like it's her lifeline.

It's almost embarrassing, how worked up this stranger has you. She's touching you like she knows your body, and you can feel your wetness soaking through your fabric. Truth be told, you'd been wet since she first spoke, voice smokey and addicting.

She sucks your tit into her mouth, tongue lashing at your nipple and you have to push her away before you get loud. She protests as you send her back to leaning against the couch, but ultimately keeps quiet when you bury your head in her neck to muffle your moans.

"That's it, just like that pretty girl," She whispers in your ear while you grind against her, leg rubbing your clit just right each time. "You sound so pretty."

Needy whines and sighs escape your throat, lips pressed to her neck while she pushes her thigh harder into you. She hums at the feeling, sound deep and rasped.

You would be disappointed in yourself for being so close this fast, and over the clothes no less, but you can't feel anything other than the pressure in your lower stomach building and building.

"It's so good," you admit breathily into her neck, nails digging into her upper back through the button up. You can feel the firm muscles there, and you can't help but picture them rippling as she fucks you.

"What's so good?" she asks like she already knows the answer.

Her voice sends you spiraling further, the almost taunting tone laced in her words. "The way you touch me."

She laughs lowly, "Oh? You close?" Her head turns as she presses a kiss to your cheek, you pull your head out of her neck and look her in the eyes.

"Use your hand," you order, grabbing her right wrist and dragging it towards where you want it.

The look that washes over her almost pushes you over the edge, the way she listens to your command and presses her fingertips to your clit.

The texture of the fabric rubbing against you feels overwhelmingly good, tension building in your body. You watch her with your eyes half open and your lips parted, watch as she drinks you in with her eyes.

Everything about her is skilled, the way she moves her hand in hard circles and pushes into you. Her free hand wraps around your neck gently and pushes you back a bit so that she can see more of you, your free nipple and the blush spreading across your chest. The action combined with the slight pressure on your neck makes your eyes roll back, a curse falling from your lips.

"Faster. Fuck, Sam," you tilt your head back and move with her hand, "I'm so close."

She listens so good, movements speeding up just how you asked. It feels so good, the warmth spreading throughout your body and coiling in your stomach. You're panting needily, orgasm rushing towards you, its presence overbearing.

"So bossy," She teases.

A slew of words grace your lips, body falling forward to mask the volume of your moans in the crook of her neck. She moves with precision, never once slowing down or faltering.

"Come on, baby," She urges, "cum on my hand."

It only takes a few more movements before you're doing just that, body tensing up and shuddering above her. The orgasm hits you like a bullet train and drags itself out, lasting longer than any other you'd ever had.

The feeling of her arm around your back, fingers still moving on your clit to guide you through makes it last longer. Her voice is in your head, grounding you as she whispers.

Her hand is gone from your clit and her neck is sweaty from the combined body heat by the time you pull back, shaking slightly. The reality of the situation doesn't hit you, just lingers in the back of your mind as you look at her.

"Hi," you say, hair sticking to your forehead slightly.

"Hi," She smiles sweetly back. "Sorry about the hickeys, I got a little carried away."

Your nipple hurts a little from the intensity with which she sucked at it, and you know your neck is riddled with marks.

"It's okay," you smile back, "but you'll have to be the one to let my boss know where they came from."

Her smile turns sheepish, though you can tell she doesn't regret leaving them. "Only if I can see you again," her arms tighten around your waist, lips brushing yours.

"Deal."

[bel1ewrites]

Good Luck, Babe! (Sam Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: Long time no see......... Originally this was a Wanda Maximoff fanfic, but I needed Sam in a tank top again. ps. listen to Good Luck, Babe! by Chapell Roan if you want to understand this more or watch Stardew valley female farmer x Haley edits.

Description: You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

WC: 2.9k

Warnings: Bar bathroom sex, bottom!reader, top!Sam, farmer!Sam, internalized homophobia, brief kissing of men :(, angst, mentions of alcohol

IT was getting difficult to keep track of the number of shots you’d gone through, each one drowning out your regrets more than the last. The bar was stuffy. It was full of sweaty bodies and slurred words, Friday night drawing most people from town to wind down from a week full of work. It was always a risk coming here, you knew that.

She frequented this bar, sipped on whiskey and laughed lightly with the other farmers at the bartop. But you didn’t care. Besides, you weren’t there for her! You weren’t. You were there to find a new boy to distract yourself with, to spend the night next to. 

The martini you’d ordered sat untouched in front of you, taunting you quietly as if reading your thoughts. 

“Hey there pretty lady,” a voice called from behind you, raised slightly so that you could hear him over the chatter. 

You turned on your stool, eyes met with a man. They all looked the same to you: like, well, men. This one had glasses, which was a good thing you’d supposed. He was handsome enough. His hair was dark, near black, and slicked back with a thick layer of gel. The thought of running your hands through the sticky mess made your stomach churn. Not because you didn’t like man hair! You just didn’t like gel, which was a valid reason that had nothing to do with his gender.

Running a hand through your hair, you put on your best smile and lowered your eyelids -a trick as old as time-. “Hi,” you said sweetly, offering him your name. His eyes lit up, beer hanging comfortably in his hand. 

The background noise grew louder, hoots coming from a number of men somewhere behind you. A mixture of, “Took you long enough!”s and “Look who decided to show up!”s grabbing your attention. You brushed it off, stayed facing away from the ruckus and tried to focus on gel boy’s words. 

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said smoothly, eyes running down your figure. “I’m Har-”

“Alright boys enough!” a familiar voice shot out through the room, rasped syllables filling your ears and sending shivers up your spine. You didn’t turn around, wouldn’t. Your feet stayed planted as her laugh sparked your body to life. 

You thought long and hard. Thought about what to do, where to go. You should stay, there was no reason to leave. And anyways, the night was far from over. The clock behind -Harley? Hardy?- the man read half past nine. No, you would stay and have fun with Har-what’s-it and you would go home with him if he asked and you wouldn’t think about a certain farmer with black hair and impressively skilled forearms. Forearms that were sculpted from lifting and plowing and planting. Forearms that you wanted to watch move as her hands found their way-

“Um, hello?” Har-gel asked, scratching his neck with his free hand. His cheeks were tinged with a slight pink. He seemed like a sweet guy, one who would marry a sweet girl and have babies with her. A girl who wasn’t you. 

You grasped the collar of his shirt, pulled him down towards you with your back pressed against the bartop. “Can we makeout?” you asked, eyes flicking down to his parted lips. They were chapped a little. You looked away from them. 

He didn’t hesitate, just placed his beer on the surface behind you and boxed you in with his arms, hips pressing to yours as he moved closer between your legs. 

The kiss was fine. It tasted like beer and the stubble on his chin poked yours painfully. It was fine, his tongue was in your mouth and like, that was fine you guessed. He was respectful with it, hands not venturing from their spot behind you. You waited, kissed back, went to run a hand through his hair and thought better of it. You waited some more. 

After what seemed like an eon, he pulled back. His cheeks were bright red and his glasses were foggy, lips a little swollen as his breath rushed out from them. You didn’t feel much of anything besides indifference. There was a pit in your stomach, one that you ignored entirely. It was probably something everyone experienced when they kissed a man, one that was meant to be pushed aside. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Har-don asked, gazing down at you with a look that was definitely meant to be attractive, and probably would’ve been if not for the shots in your system. 

“Yeah!” you said, smile painfully forced, “Just let me go use the restroom really quick.” he backed up as you went to stand, digging through your purse and setting two twenties down next to your drink. 

Your legs carried you to the women's room, hands fussing with the tangles he’d made in your hair. The dress you wore was one of your favorites, one that screamed summer. It was the perfect length for going out, not too short but not too long. It flowed around you as you pushed the bathroom door open, sighing with relief when you realized you were alone. 

When you met your eyes in the mirror, you couldn’t help but look away. You were ashamed, you felt like a fraud. The pit in your stomach grew, so you washed your hands to distract yourself. The water was cold as it rushed out of the faucet, soothing your overheated body and disarrayed mind while you watched it hit your skin. You stood there with your hands under the water for longer than normal, not even glancing up when the door opened.

Briefly, the sounds of the bar flooded the bathroom, fading as the door swung shut. Subconsciously you reached out, pushed on the soap dispenser and watched the foam fall into your dripping hand. You just needed a minute before you went back to the sweet man with the glasses, a second to collect yourself. 

“Got a lot on your mind?” a woman asked from behind you. Well, not just a woman. The woman. 

The woman who you shared your secrets with, who held you when you cried and listened to you say things like, “it's just not the way I am, Sam,” after the two of you got done fucking. She was the woman who made you believe in love, who showed you how colorful the world could be. 

Her hair was pulled back, a few stray pieces falling messily around her face. It was still dark, but the summer sun had brightened it up a little bit. She was clad in her work clothes, tank top tucked into her jeans, boots laced perfectly. It was easy to tell what she’d been up to the past few months, her toned arms and tanned skin hinting at long days spent on the farm. You forced your eyes away from her figure in the mirror, looking back at your hands in the water. 

“Nope,” you sighed, turning the water off and drying your hands. “Just freshening up.”

She huffed out a laugh, crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t blame you,” she admitted. “I’d wash my hands after that little show too.”

You couldn’t help the heat that rushed to your cheeks, movement halting momentarily, hands frozen in brown paper towels. You hadn’t meant for her to see that, not consciously at least. You just needed to distract yourself, just needed a minute to focus on something other than her. 

“If you came in here to slut shame me, I’m not in the mood,” your voice was cold, eyes catching hers in the mirror. You still hadn’t turned to face her. You couldn’t

Her brows pinched together, lips parting to say something before shutting again. Her tongue darted out the wet them. She took a step closer. “I didn’t mean- well, I did, but I’m sorry.” 

You shrugged, “not like I care.” You shoved the paper towels into the trash can next to you and leaned into the mirror, running a finger under your lip to fix the smudges there. The reminder of the feeling of stubble against your chin made your stomach churn, but your face remained impassive. 

You can hear Sam groan from behind you, probably pinching the bridge of her nose between her pointer and thumb. “I hate when you say that.” 

“Say what?”

She took another step closer, the sound of her boots hitting the floor sending shocks to your system. “That you don’t care.”

You stayed quiet, looked at yourself in the mirror. You saw a girl, a fraud, a liar. You saw your future flash in front of you, an unhappy marriage, nothing more than some man’s wife. 

She was right behind you now, close enough that you could feel her presence like a promise. She put her hand on the counter, leaned forward until you could see her face in the peripheral. 

“Look at me.” she pleaded lowly, desperation in her tone. It was impossible to keep your eyes from meeting hers. She stood behind you, arms at her sides and gaze burning into you. Her body pressed into you as you leaned away from the mirror, her hands falling to your waist. “Tell me you want me to go,” she sighed, burying her face in your neck and inhaling. You couldn’t help but fall further into her. 

You said nothing, your own hands moving to grasp at hers and drag them up your body until she was hugging you from behind, breathing you in and squeezing. 

“Tell me to leave,” her voice was muffled in your neck, lips moving against your skin as she placed kisses there like last resorts. 

You shook your head, lashes fluttering as you gave into the feeling of her again. Her eyes met yours in the mirror, hands squeezing your flesh. You couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you when she bit you softly, teeth digging into your jugular. 

“Say you want this,” she spoke the sentence like a prayer.

You couldn’t manage the words.

“Tell me you want me,” She ordered, voice hard. Her breathing was heavy, you could feel her hands shake slightly from where they were pressed into you. “Say it or I’ll leave right now. I swear, I’ll leave and pretend you never existed.” The words were sharp and final. 

All you could manage was a nod, brows drawn together in want. She moved, taking her face out of your neck and towering over you, though your height differences weren’t drastic. Her hands skated down your pelvis, landing on your hips and squeezing, pulling you into her. 

“Use your words,” she pried, eyes dark and pupils blown. 

You couldn’t. Your mouth was glued shut, it was impossible to say anything to her, impossible to do anything other than shake your head and squeeze her hands on your hips. You were so lost in her that you forgot all about the bar, all about the bathroom, the unlocked door. There was nothing but her. Her hands, her hair, her face, her mouth. 

She moved her hand, pushing you forward with a grip on the back of your neck and folding you over the counter. Heat rushed through you, settling in the bottom of your stomach and making you close your eyes. The counter was fairly long, seemingly built for fucking on top of. 

“Don’t worry,” she reassured you, her hand trailing down your back, the other still on your hip. “I’ll get you to say it.” 

You let out a high pitched squeak, a mix between a whine and a sound of shock when she pulled the skirt of your dress up, pushing it past your lower back. 

Her fingers ran over your skin, nails digging in as she dragged her hand lower and lower, pushing into you and leaning forward to speak in your ear. You moaned quietly, hips moving against the pressure of her still hand, seeking relief. “Would you have let him bend you over this counter,” she asked, kissing your shoulder. “What would he say if he saw this? If he saw you all desperate and needy for me, whining and begging for me to fuck you,” she looked at you, face pink and lips parted, and hummed. 

When she started moving her hand you had to bite into your lip to keep quiet, so hard that you were afraid you’d bleed. Her fingertips pressed into your clit, moving in calculated circles just how you liked it. She’d always been so good at reading you, at figuring out just what made you tick, what made you need her. 

“Please,” you panted when she slowed her hand, watching as she smiled menacingly from behind you before pulling the last layer of fabric down your parted legs. When she put her fingers back they were met with slick heat, the sound of her groan only making your need worse.

“Say it,” she said, running her fingers through you, feeling the way you wanted her. Her breathing stuttered when you let out a needy sound, her fingers pressing tight circles right where she knew you wanted them. It was too slow, you needed more.

You suppressed a moan, covering your mouth with your hand. 

“You used to be so good for me,” she pouted, pulling your hand away from your mouth and holding it behind your back with her free one. “What happened?”

Without warning, she slid two fingers into you, pulling a deep moan from you, too loud for a public bathroom. Her fingers pushed down, finding the spot that only she knew before you could even comprehend it. She fucked you like she meant it, hard thrusts powered by months of pent up need. It was scary how fast she was able to build you up, how fast she got you panting and begging. 

“Fuck,” you whined, straining your neck to look back at her for the first time, as opposed to her reflection in the mirror. 

“Face forward,” she ordered, pounding into you harder, “look at how pretty you are, taking me like this. Tell me you want this, baby.” Her voice was dripping with need, the steady rhythm of her thrusts hauling you closer. 

“Harder,” you groaned, pushing back into her and leaning up on your free arm. The fabric of your dress rubbed against your skin where it lay, the sensation was so dirty. You were being fucked over a bathroom sink, watching yourself get more and more pathetic as your ex buried her fingers in you.

Her thrusts grew softer, slower, enragingly delicate. “Say you fucking want me.” Her words were a stark contrast against the way she fucked you, the way she drew it out.

“Please, please Sam. I need it.” your mouth dropped open, little sounds flowing from it as she sped up again, fucking you just how she knew you liked it. Your eyes were closing of their own accord, struggling to stay open and watch as her muscles moved while she fucked you against a bar sink. 

“Good girl,” she smiled, letting go of your hand to rub your clit again. You almost fell as the pressure inside of you skyrocketed, becoming almost unbearable. “Now tell me who you belong to.”

You couldn’t comprehend her words, too focused on the orgasm that was quickly approaching, preparing your body for the shock of it. “I’m so close, baby, I’m so close. Just like that.”

Your cunt was throbbing with need, finally reunited with the person who knew you the best. All those months of fucking yourself would never amount to the way Sam did. The way she commanded your entire being.

She stopped moving. All movement stopped. Her hands, her body, her mouth. You almost cried as her fingers stilled inside of you. The orgasm rushed away, dissolving into painful pleasure and disappointment.

“No, no. Why did you stop? Sam, why?”

“Tell me who you belong to.”

“Wha-” she started moving again, slowly rubbing a spot deep inside of you. You sucked in a breath. You were so turned on it hurt, wetness running down your thighs.

“Say it,” she stressed, fingers moving on your clit again, your orgasm sparked back to life, slowly building again. The longer you waited the faster she went, working you back up until you were on the edge, one move away from cumming. 

“I’ll stop again and walk out of this goddamn bathroom so fast,” she growled over your moans. It was so hard to focus, you needed her so bad you couldn't breathe. "Who do you belong to? Who else fucks you like this?"

“You,” you choked out through a whine. Her thrusts sped up. You pulled her in with no resistance, clenching around her fingers and dripping with need “You. I belong to you, I’m yours. No one fucks me like you do, no one touches me like you do. Please let me cum Sam, please.��

The world seemed to pause when she leaned into you, kissing your neck and fucking you like you earned it. She was giving you all of herself, showing you who you belonged to and who you needed. Your brain was foggy, no sound came out of you as you came, cheek pressed against the counter and hands clenching into fists. Your elbow had given out, leaving you arched into the bar sink.

"That's it," Sam cooed, slowing down to fuck you through the wave of your orgasm, "You're so pretty."

Shock after shock hit, each one leaving you shaking even as she rested unmoving inside of you. "You did so good."

Your whole body was on fire, throbbing and twitching as you worked through it, Sam whispering praise in your ear.

She kissed your cheek, a sound of protest leaving you when she pulled her fingers out of you. You stayed still, your body moving with the force of your breaths.

"I locked the door when I came in," Sam smiled, rubbing your back soothingly.

You would ask her later, when you regained your ability to speak, how she knew to lock it. You would ask why she followed you, why she cared after you left her like she meant nothing. But for that moment, all you could do was lay there and listen to her love you.

[bel1ewrites]

Light Weight (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: giggling

Description: Sam seems to have formed a bad habit.

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: drugs, consumption of drugs, high sex, top!Sam, bottom!reader, Tara can never catch a damn break

IT'S not like Sam had meant to make it a habit. In fact, she'd attempted the opposite, trying her very best to keep it to a minimum. A once in a blue moon type of thing. A rare, yet not unwelcome occasion. Something to look forward to after a stressful day of trying to appear put together. 

She hadn't expected those stressful days to be a common occurrence. 

"Sam," Tara calls from outside the bedroom door, voice laced with annoyance, "it fucking reeks and I have a guest over! Do that shit outside."

The clock in the corner ticks quietly, the bed creaks beneath Sam as she shifts, blunt held carefully in her fingers. She lays on her back, limbs sprawled and loose, smoke slowly escaping her lungs. 

"Fuck off Tara," She shoots back lazily, bringing the object of her relaxed state back up to her mouth. Each inhale makes her feel lighter, a little less coherent and a little less... herself.

"Dude, I'm sick of-"

"Just leave it alone, Tara," a different voice interjects, one that's very familiar and makes Sam smile around the blunt. It's muffled by the shut door. She moves to stand up, the fabric of her tank top crinkling a little, loose plaid boxers falling comfortably to her mid-thigh. 

It takes her a second to walk to the door, opening it to find Tara turning to leave, spotting you in the living room with your arms crossed over your chest and clad in a sweatshirt that seemed to be a number of sizes too big on you.

Her lips turn downward as she thinks about the possibility of you wearing someone else's clothes. She doesn't like that at all.

"Just go back in your room Sam," Tara sighs, grabbing her coat from the back of the couch, "we're gonna head out."

Her eyes still haven't left you, drooping lids lowering as her stare drops to your bare legs. 

"You leaving too?" She asks, head tilted and eyes still glued to your skin. She thinks she sees you shiver a little. Her fingers grip the blunt a little tighter.

"Not sure I wanna stay," you shrug, catching her gaze. 

A low laugh filters through her throat, "Why?" She lilts, "Mad I'm not sharing?"

Tara can't help but roll her eyes, watching as Sam stalks forward slowly, like she's trying not to scare you off.

She's aware that there's not much left in the tightly wrapped bundle, maybe enough for one or two more hits, but she's feeling generous when she stops about a foot away from you.

She smiles wider when your eyebrow quirks up in defiance, looking down at you and watching the light flush that falls over your face. Your eyes track the movement of her arm as she moves to hold it out to you, caught on the shift of her muscles.

She doesn't really think you'll take it. It's fun, messing with you, making you blush and squirm. 

Unexpectedly, you grab it, bringing it up and placing it between your lips where Sam's eyes linger, seemingly fascinated by the way they wrap around it. Your cheeks hollow a little when you inhale, and she has to suck in a deep breath when your eyes meet hers from under your lashes. She hums.

"Oh for fucks sake," Tara groans, breaking Sam's attention. "I'm leaving. You two have fun." 

You're too focused on the burn in your lungs to register the door opening and closing, but Sam is all too aware of the lack of company.

When you exhale, you can't stop the coughing that follows. It's a little amusing to Sam who simply steps closer to you and rubs slow circles on your back.

"Poor baby," She pouts, pulling the blunt from your hand and taking the last drag before walking to toss it in the sink.

You're still struggling a little when she gets back, face screwed up in disgust. 

"That was awful," you complain with a groan. 

Sam just rolls her eyes, wrapping her arms around your neck limply and scanning your face. "Was that your first time?"

The room is quiet, save for the sounds that filter in from the city outside. You nod, then blink a few times. The hit you took was big, and you'd even held it in your lungs for a few seconds.

She watches your pretty eyes grow heavy, lids falling half mass and straining to look up at her. 

Light weight.

She giggles a little at the thought. Then you giggle because she's giggling and everything's funny at the moment, but then she looks at your mouth and stops giggling, so you look at hers and do the same because her lips are so pretty and her solid body is suddenly really close, but not close enough at the same time and there's a clock ticking somewhere.  

"Whose hoodie is this?" Sam asks, tone low and husky. She's pressed against you, her arms around your neck and her eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips to your neck that's tilted to look up at her.

"Mmm..." you think, heavy arms wrapping around her waist like they belong there. "Chad gave it to me. I was cold."

Sam sighs. 

"I don't like it," She admits. Tugs at the hood.

"Okay." 

"Yeah."

"Yeah, okay."

"Mhm."

"Take it off then." 

"Yea- wait what?" 

Your focus is drifting, eyes skating around her face, her neck, her shoulders that tense. All she can do is try not to lose her mind. 

"Take it off," you smile dopily. Fingers moving over the fabric of her tank top, over her shoulders and settling on the warm skin of her triceps before dropping to your sides. 

She moves slowly, like the air is holding her down and it takes all of her effort to remove herself from you and grip the hem of the hoodie. 

The gray fabric bunches as she pulls it up one slow centimeter at a time, revealing the hem of your shorts, then the waistband. The skin right above it. The skin right above that. Your tensed stomach and more smooth skin and more skin and ribs and lace and Sam's heart should probably slow down. 

She watches your chest rise and fall, pushing against the fabric of your bra when she gets past it. "Lift your arms," she trembles, and you do it before the words even leave her mouth. It's agonizingly slow, but inexplicably fast. 

When it's finally, finally off, she drops it to the floor like it's a dirty rag, grabs you by the waist, and kisses you so hard you see stars.

It's hot and needy, the way your lips move over hers. She nips and tugs, squeezes the skin of your hips and pulls you closer. Every sound you make washes over her like cold rain and clogs up her mind until all she can think about is you. 

You pull back, light headed and desperate for air, and Sam seems to take that as an invitation to shift her attention to your neck. 

"Shit," you pant, "Sam-" She hums, teeth scraping your jugular. "What... jesus- what about Tara?"

"Shh."

Images of you flushed and lying beneath her flash behind her eyes. You're so pretty. You're so fucking pretty. You're still half clothed -which is more clothed than Sam would like- and the idea of you in a bra and too short shorts is even better in real life than in her fantasies. Lace and bare skin and messy hair and-

"Do you want this?" She asks desperately, forehead buried in the crook of your neck. "Because I really want this."

You don't answer. Well, not verbally. Instead, you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra, letting it slide down your arms and to the floor.

Sam forgets to breathe.

Then she spurs into action, backing the both of you up until the back of your legs hit the arm of the couch. She pushes you back onto it, smirking at the shocked little squeal that you let out before you catch yourself and lean back on your elbows.

Sam attempts to speak, but nothing comes out so she just gives up and trails her eyes down your body, pausing at your bare chest.

She's still barely breathing, mind fuzzy as she tracks your hands that move down your body, hooking on the fabric of your shorts. Then she's moving again, climbing on top of you and shifting you up the couch. Her red eyes find yours, looking for any trace of doubt. When she finds none she practically tears off the rest of your clothes, settling between your legs.

"I've thought about this before," She admits, folding her arms over your pelvis and resting her chin on top of them.

"Thought about what?" Your hands tangle in her hair. 

She shrugs. "Fucking you."

She feels your hips twitch up from beneath her, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"Yeah?" You shiver.

"Every time I see you." She moves her hands up your waist, runs her thumbs over your nipples. You're trembling a little. "I've thought about how you'd feel," you gasp when she squeezes your breasts in the palms of her hands, "what sounds you'd make, how good you would be for me."

Her mouth hovers right above where you need her the most, heavy breaths hitting you and shocking your system. 

“Ask me for it,” she orders, voice low and gravelly. 

The room is buzzing, it’s alive and full of need. Every sound is tuned out by your own mind running wild, filling with static as she tells you to beg her. You’ve only ever heard her say things like this in your mind, late at night with your hand between your legs and a pillow trapping your sounds. 

“Please,” you mumble, throat dry and voice crackly. You know what she’ll say next.

“Please what?” This time, when she speaks, her lower lip brushes against the top of your cunt.

You have to bite your lip for a second, refocus on the task at hand. “Please make me feel good,” you finally push out, words shy and unsure.

It happens in slow motion. The way she finally gives you what you want, mouth immediately pressing against you like she needs you more than oxygen. You struggle to process that, holy shit, Samantha Carpenter is actually totally fucking you right now. Her tongue is pressing just above your entrance, flat and strong and sure and Samantha Carpenter is fucking you like she’s imagined it before. 

You reach down with shaking hands, tangling your fingers in the roots of her dark hair and anchoring yourself to her. There’s no use in trying to stop the needy little moans and gasps that have her grasping at your thighs and humming into you. 

When she wraps her lips around your clit and sucks, running her tongue underneath it, you arch into her and make a noise you never knew you could make. “Just like that,” you pant out in between curses and moans. “So good.”

She takes your encouragement and doubles her efforts, shifting around while remaining attached to her new favorite spot. Suddenly, you feel her mouth leave you, and when you look down to see what’s wrong she shoves two steady fingers inside of you.

Your head falls back against the couch, neck straining and mouth open with your brows pinched together. Everything is heightened with the weed coursing through your system, your senses are blending together and blurring and muting and you're not sure what to call what you’re feeling but you hope it never stops. 

She fucks you slow for a few minutes, soaking in the light of you. When she can't be patient anymore she gives up.

Sam watches you with hungry eyes. Her bicep flexes with each movement of her arm, her fingers hooking up and pressing to find the perfect spot. She never could’ve imagined this; the real thing. 

“You’re so pretty, baby,” she mutters, eyes soaking in the sight of you like it's the last time she’ll ever see it.

The praise only makes you hotter. It makes your muscles tense and your lower stomach fills with heat as she moves inside of you. It’s never felt like this before. It’s all consuming. 

You can’t tell where you end and she begins when she moves her free hand to rub tight circles on your clit. You feel as though you’re transcending, but your body is anchored by her touch. 

“Fuck,” you whine out. 

She hums in response. “So good for me.”

Pressure builds within you, a forest fire spreading throughout your entire being. At some point your lips form the word please and you begin chanting it like it’s the only thing you know. 

Please, please, please, please Sam, please, pl-

She pushes down on your clit and pulls up roughly inside of you, whispers a sweet, “Come on, let me see you,” and suddenly you’re thrown off of the edge. 

It’s a violent pleasure. The kind where you forget who you are momentarily, and all you know is that you feel good. The kind that is over too soon, no matter how long it lasts. The kind that has waves that push you, and pull you, and push, and pull, and stop. 

When you come down, your mind is still a little fuzzy. It feels like you’re imagining everything that just happened, but you’re not and Sam is right there and she’s somehow gotten the both of you into a position where you have your head in her lap and her fingers thread through your hair. 

You stay like that for a while. Neither of you talk, she just looks at you while you look at her. 

Then the door opens.

[bel1ewrites]

Hi! I was wondering how you would feel about a smut request about Jealous Sam using a remote controlled vibrator, like where it’s the reader’s birthday and Sam had a little “challenge” for her where the reader had to wear the vibrator and she’s really competitive so she accepted, sorry if this didn’t make any sense, and if it’s too vague I completely understand, thanks!

a/n: tysm for this request, it got me out of my little slump. Sorry about the delay of this post, I know I promised to get it out earlier but I ended up having to meet up with a friend.

Birthday Challenge (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

Description: It's impossible to say no to her.

WC: 2k

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, top!Sam, bottom!Reader, alcohol, Sam's lowkey an asshole in this

SAMANTHA had a tendency to get competitive. You’d figured this out fairly early in your relationship after a mini golf date that ended in her apologizing profusely for throwing your ball into the water after you’d won, swearing she didn’t know what had come over her. She took any opportunity to turn anything into a competition, no matter the stakes. 

With this in mind, you knew it shouldn’t have come as a shock when she proposed a challenge of sorts on the night of your twentieth birthday. 

“Oh come on,” your competitor huffs, holding the special little gift out to you like a prayer. “Don’t be a wimp.” Her tone has an edge to it, a teasing little lilt that tugs at your resolve. 

“I am not wearing that to dinner!” you persist, glaring at the purple lace and small black device in front of you. The vibrator is bullet shaped and no more than three inches long, smooth silicone coating the outside and creating a matte look. She’s standing like a guard in front of the bathroom door, preventing you from entering your bedroom to get ready for the night. 

The two of you have reservations at six and you can’t afford to be late, having scheduled them three months in advance. Deep down, you know what the outcome will be: either you’ll have to agree to play her little game or you’ll be forced to miss the dinner she’d promised to pay for. 

She dangles the material in the air, pinched between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes full of humor and a shit eating grin plastered across her face. You can feel the clock ticking, each second taking little bits of your willpower and destroying it bit by bit. With a loud groan and a stomp of your foot, you rip the gifts out of her hands and push past her, storming into your room and dropping your towel. 

She watches you with the eyes of a hawk, making sure you put the vibrator in its proper place and getting momentarily distracted by your naked and dripping figure. Exasperated, you step into the material and slide it up your legs, feeling the slight bump of the object nestled against your clit.

“Happy?” You sass as you grab your bra from the bed and clip it on. 

Sam’s pupils are dilated when you look up at her, shoulder leaning against the doorframe and eyes trailing up and down your body. “Very.” She wets her lips. 

—----

By the time you both make it to the restaurant and are seated in front of a perfect view, you’ve forgotten about the whole incident. There’s too much going on for you to think about it, the clinking of forks and the sunset falling over the horizon. Sam pulls your chair out for you as you sit, grabs your shoulders from behind and bends down to kiss the top of your head like a perfect gentleman. 

She’s wearing a new suit you haven’t seen before, dark red and expensive looking. Almost black waves fall down her back and over her shoulders in effortless union to frame her face perfectly. 

Your dress matches the color of her suit, material ending at mid thigh. She’d insisted on buying it for you a while ago; as soon as she saw you step out of the dressing room she was reaching into her back pocket and pulling out her wallet. It has a low neckline that exposes a healthy amount of cleavage, the thin straps keeping it from baring your chest to the world. It’s backless and somehow both form fitting and loose at the same time, expensive silk rubbing pleasantly against your skin. 

“This place is nice,” you smile, placing your elbows on the table and propping your head up on your hands. 

“It is.” Sam agrees, eyes falling to your lips and then lower. 

You’re about to tease her for looking so enraptured by your tits, but before you can the waitress appears out of thin air, pen and notepad in hand. She smiles warmly at you, then at Sam. “What can I get you both to drink?”

You expect Sam to answer first, but she doesn't, which results in a little gap of awkward silence until you decide to break it. “I’ll take a Manhattan and a water.”

She writes your request down. “And for you-”

“Whiskey,” Sam cuts in. “Neat.” Her jaw is tight, muscles shifting as she messes with the rings on her right hand. You have no idea why she’s glaring at the nice waitress and you feel a ping of sympathy for the woman who quickly walks away with her head down. 

“What was that about?” you question wearily. 

Sam scoffs. “She wants to fuck you.”

Eyebrows lifting in disbelief, you choke on your breath as she moves her hands under the table and stares at you. One of her eyebrows is raised as if she doesn’t trust that you’re unaware of the obvious one sided eye-fucking that went on between you and the waitress. 

Once again, said woman materializes out of thin air with your drinks and places them on napkins before you. She tucks the tray under her arm and unexpectedly rests her empty hand on your bare shoulder, making you jump slightly. Alarms go off in the back of your mind when you see Sam lean back in her chair with a smirk on her face, eyes dark and on yours.

“Would you like any appetizers, sweetheart?” The waitress asks, squeezing your shoulder lightly. Oh. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Sam mocks, voice low. “Do you want any appetizers?”

“Um… I-” you’re cut off by an unexpected vibration. It only lasts for a few seconds, but it has you jolting in surprise. A little gasp escapes your throat. 

“Are you okay?” the stranger with her hand on your shoulder questions with worry. 

“She’s fine. We’ll have the baked brie with all the shit on it,” Sam answers for you, dismissing the waitress with her tone of voice and taking a pull of her whiskey. 

The second her hand leaves your shoulder you shakily reach for your drink and chug it, the pleasant warmth taming your racing heart. Your face is almost as red as your dress when you place the empty glass back on the table and throw mental daggers at your cool and collected girlfriend. All she does in return is grin as the vibrations come back. 

“Cut it out,” you grit, hands gripping the sides of the table, legs crossing tightly. She’s got the bullet on a low setting, but it’s pressing into you perfectly and your eyes fight the urge to close. 

It gets stronger when Sam turns it up and tells you to look at her. “I think I’ll tell her about our little secret the next time she comes back,” she husks, sitting up and leaning forward to put one hand over your tight knuckles and keeping the other out of sight. “Let her know who you belong to, y’know? Or I could just make you cum in front of her.”

You fold your forearms over each other on the table and drop your forehead to them. Doing this in the middle of a restaurant feels dirty, it feels wrong. Nevertheless, you still find yourself humming quietly as your clit throbs, waves hitting you and making the muscles in your lower belly clench, a heat settling there and a buzz starting to fall over your mind. You aren’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or the pleasure. 

“Dirty girl,” Sam chides, clicking her tongue and turning off the vibrator after over a full minute of stimulation. Shame floods through you when you realize that you didn’t want it to stop and that you feel all empty and achy without it. Sluggishly, you lift your head up and put your hands in your lap as Sam flags down a waiter and orders you another Manhattan. 

“I’m starved,” the devil across from you groans. “Are you hungry, baby? God, where is that damn brie? Why don’t you read over the menu.” 

As if she’d summoned her, the waitress pops back up seconds later with the brie and Manhattan in hand. Apparently she learned her lesson the last time, because she barely says anything as she takes your orders, rushing away as soon as possible. Sam seems pleased by this. 

“Hey, question,” she begins, munching lightly on the appetizer. “Do you think you can cum quietly before she gets back?”

Scraping forks and clinking spoons and light chatter fill the space around you as you shake your head violently. “Samantha, no. Please let's just-” the vibrations begin again and your jaw drops slightly. “Just fuck me when we get home,” you whisper urgently, tone slowly turning to a whine. Wriggling against the chair and pleading with your eyes, you watch as she simply sits back and observes. 

“I don’t know about you, but I think we should do this more often,” she says conversationally, finishing her whiskey and upping the strength of the vibrations. “Wow! This thing has patterns too?”

Suddenly, the bullet begins pulsing in time with your clit. Each wave hits you in the perfect spot. It’s quick and precise and you’re dripping and panting and no one knows. You can’t help the uncontrollable moan that comes out of you, all quiet and needy and music to Sam’s ears. No one but her can see the flush of your cheeks and the way you shift forward slowly. No one but her knows she’s the one making you bite your lip and breathe heavy through your nose.

Hot. It’s too hot in here, you’re sweating and shaking uncontrollably. To anyone else it must seem like you’re having a stomachache; only you and your conniving girlfriend are aware of the pleasure coursing through you and its filthy, in all honesty. It’s filthy. 

Sam runs a hand through her hair and watches you and ultimately decides she’s discovered a new kink when she catches herself wishing the waitress would come back and see you all desperate for her and only her. She can see that you’re on the edge, reading you like an open book and knowing you need a push. 

“I wish you could see yourself right now,” she groans when you roll your hips slightly. “I don’t even know how to describe it. You’re all desperate and you’re biting your lip so hard I think it might bleed and I want nothing more than to just fuck you on this table in front of everyone.”

Her rambling is flooding through you, each word like a lightning strike in your stomach that makes you feel all warm and tight. You can tell she’s having a hard time not throwing caution to the wind and just bending you over the table by the tremor in her voice; it makes you put your head down and whine. 

Body taut with anticipation, you focus on the overwhelming feeling spiraling within your lower abdomen. “Sam,” you whine out before the pulsing vibrations running through you finally break the tight coil and you cum with the taste of her name fresh in your mouth. 

Sam watches you go tense and shudder through your orgasm, quickly turning the strength of the vibrations down to the lowest level and allowing you to ride it out. She bumps her leg against yours under the table to anchor you while waiting patiently for you to get through the aftershocks. 

Slowly, you pick your head up from the table and uncross your legs uncomfortably, startling when the silicone shifts against your overstimulated bundle of nerves. Sam’s looking at you with unadulterated adoration all over her face, she’s reaching her hand out over the table in a silent request for you to hold it and you do. 

Footsteps sound behind you, the waitress showing up just in time to witness the dark flush on your cheeks and your chest and your shoulders and the still slightly glazed over look in your eyes. Sam is beaming at her. She’s sitting there all smiley and nothing close to how she was earlier. It makes you roll your eyes. 

“Thanks!” She calls after the woman who says nothing and keeps her gaze on the floor the whole time she’s placing the food on your table, scurrying away ASAP like a scared child.

[bel1ewrites]

The Alcohol Helped (Tara Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: sorry about the drought.

Description: It's too hard to stay away.

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: sorority setting, mentions of drugs and alcohol (underage drinking), drunk Sam and Tara, idiot reader with top energy, I changed the ages of Sam (22) and Tara (19) to fit the narrative better

COLLEGE parties are never as fun as you think they’ll be. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system, possibly the absence of mind bending drugs that makes them seem kind of, well, lame. Being the designated driver always reminds you of the pure stupidity that flows through sweaty, half clothed twenty-somethings with a knack for getting themselves into trouble. 

“Oh president!” slurs your new assistant. Sam had secured her position after being one of the least insufferable people you’d ever known. Her first night in the house was spent drinking and watching all of the Pitch Perfect movies with you well into the early morning, and her second night was spent signing all of the new members up for random websites after acquiring their emails. 

“Hello, Samantha.” 

She giggles at the formality, drunkenly mocking the way you said her name and gripping your shoulders, looking into your eyes with serious intensity. “My sister loooves you.”

Tara. A new addition to the sorority. She didn’t even really have to rush due to her sister being your second in command. She was all doe-eyes and sickeningly sweet smiles, raven black hair and the kind of face that had recently begun to creep into your dreams. Truly the picture perfect active. 

“Does she?” you’re smirking a little, arms crossed and back pressed against the cool, probably germ infested wall. Vibrations run through you with each pump of the bass in some mind-numbing song. 

“Mhm,” she hums, a dopey look on her flushed face. She lifts her hand from your shoulder and boops you on the nose. “We were dancing with Chad, and Chad was all,” her voice deepens in an attempt to recreate his, “‘You’re soo beautiful Tara blah, blah, blah, we should blah, blah, blah’ but then Tara was all,” this time her pitch rises, “‘No, Chad. I’m totally… no you’re like my brother blah, blah, I’d never do that with you blah, blah, blah I wish Y/N would blah, blah, until I blah, blah, blah.”

“First of all, stop saying ‘blah, blah, blah’ before I punch you, and second of all, what did Tara-”

Speak of the devil, she’s stumbling towards you, drink sloshing around and spilling over the sides of her cup. Her cheeks are red, her eyes wide and sparkling. 

“Sam, come do another shot with me,” she’s begging, tugging on her sister’s arm. It’s a weak tug, fueled by her foggy mind. She hasn’t noticed you standing there, too preoccupied with her mission to get more alcohol in her system. 

“I don’t think you need another shot,” you cut in. Typically, you didn’t really care what the members of your sorority did in their spare time, so long as it didn’t interfere with their performance. Tara was nineteen. She was old enough to do as she pleased for the most part, and even if she technically wasn’t old enough to drink, she was still an adult who could make her own decisions. That being said, you couldn’t help but feel protective over her, brushing it off with some half-assed excuse about how she’s Sam’s sister. 

Round, brown eyes blink up at you as she processes your presence. 

“I mean,” she stutters, “let’s go uh… form meaningful connections?” 

“Nice one,” you’re running a hand through your hair, slightly damp with the perspiration that comes with a night full of standing and watching. 

“Well,” Sam starts with a little laugh, “I’m gonna go somewhere else.” Her figure retreats, blocked soon by the current of shifting bodies. 

Tara sways lightly on her feet. Midnight black strands of hair fall from her ponytail, framing her face with a flaw free air of carelessness. She’s wearing a cropped tank top and baggy jeans that make her look shorter than normal and sit perfectly on her hips, smudged eyeliner resulting in a strenuous difficulty for you to keep your hands in your pockets. 

“You know what we should do?” she’s grinning, eyes droopy. “We should dance.” Her hands reach for yours as you attempt to maneuver out of her range, aware of what a bad idea this is. 

You tell yourself you tried, but ultimately you fail to keep her off of you when she grabs your forearms and places them on her shoulders, backing up and effectively pulling you away from the comfort of your wall. With your arms resting casually over her shoulders, hands limp and unmoving, she sighs happily and clings to your torso. 

“You’re the perfect hug shape,” she mumbles, words muffled with her face against your ribbed tank. She’s breathing you in and humming.

“What does that mean?” Your voice is low and what the two of you are doing couldn’t possibly be defined as dancing. She’s hugging you tight, hands around your waist, and you’re holding her to you, one arm curved around the back of her neck and the other still hanging off her shoulder. There’s a comforting sway, the both of you rocking side to side soothingly. 

“I mean,” her hands are moving on your back, “You have such a sturdy body,” fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, “muscular and soft. Tall-” (“Everyone’s tall to you,” you interject.) “-and you smell so good all the time. It’s like some sort of sorcery. You’re like a hot, good smelling witch or something.” She’s fumbling over her words but you’re barely listening, focused intensely on the way her nails run over your bare back from under your shirt. 

Tara Carpenter has her hands under your shirt and it’s so hot where you stand but you’re shivering and pulling her closer. Tara Carpenter is scratching your back and you're stone cold sober but you can’t think through the fog in your mind.  

“I love this shirt on you,” she groans. She’s groaning and her hands are on your naked back and you’re holding her to you and all you can think about is her.  

“Yeah?” your voice shakes a little.

“Mm,” she nods against you. “It’s sexy.” 

It’s your turn to groan. It’s too much and you’re dangerously close to cracking under the sexual tension. 

“I’m gonna go get Sam.” you gently nudge her off of you. “I think you’re both in need of a glass of water and a bed. “

She’s frowning when you walk off. 

—-----

By the time you manage to drag Sam away from her game of beer pong and into the car, Tara still hasn’t spoken more than two words to you. She sits silently in the backseat and picks at her hands with intent whilst her sister insists on taking aux to listen to the Tangled soundtrack the whole way home. Every once in a while you glance in the rear view mirror and catch her eyes before she looks somewhere else again. 

As soon as the three of you clamber out of the vehicle and through the door, Sam heads for the leather couch in the common area and falls face first into it. You hang up your keys and watch Tara stumble slightly as she makes her way to her room. 

It’s silent, the sound of the heater kicking on fills the space around you along with your racing mind. Had you taken it too far with Tara? Did you make her uncomfortable? Maybe you should bring her some water and leave her an Advil for the morning. 

“Tara?” you call from outside her room, water and medicine in hand. She’s still awake, light on and soft music playing, muffled by the shut door. Beneath the light thrum of the melodies you can hear soft sniffles and little whimpers that make your heart drop in your chest. 

Tucking the pill bottle beneath your arm, you turn the knob and slowly crack open the barrier between you and her, still not peeking inside. “Tara?”

A pause. “What?” her voice is watery and you finally gain the courage to step inside. 

Her room is so impossibly her that it’s shocking. Soft white walls covered in bulletin boards, a few shirts scattered around the floor in a mess that seems intentional. It’s contrasting with the current state of her. Her eyes are puffy, cheeks still flushed from earlier, deeper now with the addition of tears. With the comforter pulled up over her neck all you can see is her face.

“Tara,” her lip quivers, face crumpling. “What’s wrong, baby?” Placing the things on her dresser, you rush to sit on her bed and rest a comforting hand on her forehead, moving the hair stuck there out of her face. She only cries harder.

“I’m sorry,” the bed shifts as she turns to lay on her side and face away from you.

“For what?” Confusion filters through you. If anything, it’s you who should apologize. 

“Making you uncomfortable with everything I said earlier,” she replies, body curled into a ball beneath her blankets. “It was really inappropriate of me.” 

Uncomfortable? The only thing that was uncomfortable was the metaphorical boner you got every time you were in her general vicinity, and that had nothing to do with anything she’d said. 

“Wait,” it clicks in your mind, “when we were dancing?”

She nods. 

“Tara, I wasn’t uncomfortable,” you rub circles on her upper back through the layers, “Hell, I was too comfortable.”

The gears in her mind turn weakly and she turns to look at you with wet eyes; asking, “What’s that mean?” with a sniffle.

“It means we were swaying and you were rubbing my back and calling me hot and I had to step away before I did anything irrational.” She’s on her back now, staring up at the ceiling fan silently. “Not because I don’t want to do… irrational things with you- it’s just that you’re Sam’s sister and I don’t want to complicate anyth-”

“-Sam’s the one who told me to go for it,” Tara informs you. Her tears are gone, their pathways dry on her face. “Said she’d had enough of our eye-fucking back before she’d even had her first shot.”

Agape. Your jaw is agape and you close it before opening it again like a fish out of water, struggling to find a response. Sam was the reason you’d tried to keep your distance; stuck to admiring from afar and aspiring to be close. Was the attraction that obvious?

“I only got the courage tonight because I’d caught you staring at me all week,” she finally smiles, “But the alcohol helped I guess.”

A noise of pure embarrassment emerges from your throat and you fall back against her mattress, crossing your forearms over your blushing face. Clearly you needed to work on your stealth abilities. 

The surface you lay on dips with movement. Tara’s warm hands wrap around your forearms as she struggles to pull them away. It’s truly laughable how little she moves them. She manages to uncover your eyes, her own sparkling with unknown emotions, a warm smile on her lips. You peer up at her with a hidden grin on your face. 

“So,” you start, “a hot, good smelling witch, huh?”

[bel1ewrites]

can we please get smut with jealous sam 🙏🏻 maybe from the setting of the party at the beginning of scream vi, sam comes to get both reader and tara back home and sees someone flirting with reader (reader shuts it down and doesn’t flirt back ofc) but sam is still a little pissed and feeling possessive? thank you so much if you do write this

a/n: Thank you so much for the request! Let me know if you like it; feedback is welcome :)

No One Else (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

Description: When Sam tracks down you and Tara at a frat party and finds you being hit on, she makes sure everyone knows who you belong to; including you.

WC: 3k

Warnings: possessive behavior, mentions of alcohol, violence (punching and tasing), gross men who can’t take a hint, sexual harassment, sickening fluff, smut, oral, fingering, top!Sam, bratty-ish!Reader, praise!kink, etc.

YOU'D grown quite fond of the corner you hid in, beer in your hand and dead phone in your pocket. The heat that encompassed the room full of sweaty bodies was momentarily tamed as you pressed your back to the cool wall. You wanted to go home. You wanted to curl up into bed with Sam and watch some brainless show as she rubbed your back and told you how much she loved you. Instead, you were busy hiding from some dweeb who kept following you around and staring at your tits. Which, needless to say, looked amazing in the top you wore.

You needed a game plan; some way to make it to Tara without that asshat seeing you. Sticking close to the wall, you took a swig of your beer and crept towards the living room. You couldn’t see any of your friends through the crowd of people, but you remembered MIndy and Anika saying they’d be on the couch. 

The people cleared momentarily, creating a window through which you could see Mindy. You took one last deep breath, tugging your skirt down as it shifted up your thighs, and went in. 

“Mindy!” you whisper-screamed while pushing against the wasted bodies. Your mumbled apologies to the people you bumped into went unheard as the bass pumped through the floor. You were so close, maybe five feet away when he saw you again. 

A clammy hand gripped your arm, making you jump slightly and roll your eyes. When you turned around, you saw the same dickhead who had been up your ass all night. He wore some half-assed costume that you couldn’t understand. Really? Just a speedo? What a douchebag. 

“Let go of my fucking arm,” you scolded, ripping it from his sweaty grasp. He smelled like a mix of dirt and mold. 

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that,” he slurred, reaching for your waist. You dodged his hands swiftly, the people standing by you shot you both side eyes as they tried to move around you. 

“Eat shit,” you responded, sticking up both of your middle fingers at him in case he didn’t get the memo. You then walked as quickly as you could through the sea of people, finally reaching Mindy. She was making out with Anika, which was to be expected. 

“Hey,” you sighed, plopping down next to them. You chugged the rest of your beer and held the empty can in your lap, prepared to throw it at the guy if he came back. 

Mindy pulled away from Anika, smiling and lovestruck. She turned to look at you, the smile quickly falling from her face as she took in your aura. 

“Missing Sam?” she teased. 

Just as you went to respond, the room went dark. Two hands wrapped over your eyes, hot breath fanning down your exposed neck. “Guess whooo,” an annoyingly familiar voice sang. 

You almost gagged as you shook him off of you, the smell of his armpits burning your nose. You could hear him giggling behind you. 

“Are you a waitress,” he said loudly, “be- because I’d like to give you my tip!” 

The room filled with whistles and cheers. Fucking college kids. 

You were about to say some less than kind words to him, but you noticed Tara heading up the stairs with some guy who looked equally as annoying as the one bothering you. Immediately, you, Mindy, and Anika Stood up to shut it down. You went to step forward, but the man grabbed you from where he stood behind the couch, fingers greedily digging into your waist. Mindy and Anika didn’t realize, too preoccupied with stopping a different weirdo. You were pulled back to the couch; knees buckling as you fell onto it. 

Mr. Speedo jumped over the couch, landing partially on top of you as you tried to sit up. Panic flooded through you as he dipped his head and breathed in your scent. 

“What the fuck! Get off of me you fucking pig,” you screamed at him. For some reason, he took that as some sort of a challenge. There was some sort of commotion happening around the two of you, distracting everyone from the obvious assault taking place on the couch. 

You managed to push him away, scrambling off of the couch and falling to the floor. His laugh reverberated through your mind. As he went to chase you, a figure appeared. Faster than lightning, it punched the guy right in the nose before tasing him in the side. He fell back, groaning in pain.

“Touch her again,” said the voice of your girlfriend, tone ominous and even, “see what fucking happens,” she punctuated her words with another tase, this one directed at his balls. 

Relief. All you could feel was relief as you lay on the floor, staring up at the love of your life. She turned away from the guy, kneeling next to you. Her hand fell to your head, checking for injuries like a worried mother. 

“Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him,” she gritted through her teeth, “I’ll kill him.” She turned to go back to his writhing figure, but your hand shot up and gripped her wrist. “Don’t. I just want to go home,” you said defeatedly, sitting up and shifting your grasp to lace your fingers with hers. Her grip was intense, cutting off your circulation as she attempted to mask her anger.

She said your name, voice low. Her eyes were dark, a thin ring of brown around thick black spheres. Ripping off her jacket with speed, she forced you into it as if you were incompetent, zipping it all the way up. Her arm wrapped around you, fingers grasping you tightly and pulling you up. 

Everyone was watching, phones recording the scene. The guy was still groaning as Sam calmly walked the both of you out of the dying party, the rest of your friends following in silence. 

—----------

No one spoke during the walk home. Tara fumed quietly behind you and Sam, who hadn't taken her hands off of you once. Your mind raced, replaying the scene of your girlfriend violently tasing a man in the balls for you. It was a conflicting feeling. On one hand, it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. On the other hand, it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen. The conflict was the fact that you wanted her to do it again. 

Sam unlocked the plethora of locks that sat outside of your shared apartment. It was muscle memory at that point, taking mere seconds to open the door. Everyone entered, scattering to avoid the ticking time bomb that was Samantha Carpenter. She closed and relocked the door. 

“Go wait in our room,” she said tensely, “I have to speak with my sister.”

And so you did, walking like a kicked puppy to your room, stripping out of your tight costume and throwing on one of Sam’s hoodies before climbing into bed. You turned your head and inhaled her scent that rested on the pillow. The sheets and comforter warmed you pleasantly, taking all of the negative thoughts out of your mind and lulling you into a peaceful state. 

At some point, you must've dozed off. Your eyelids fluttered open to the sound of your door closing and you watched in silence as Sam unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off. Her shirt followed suit, soon replaced by her favorite comfy t-shirt of yours. 

You pulled back the sheets, opening your arms as a sign for her to crawl into them. She smiled that soft, dopey smile that always made your mind melt before she flopped onto the mattress and rolled into your arms. 

You threw the blankets over the both of you, arms wrapping around your favorite person. You dipped a hand beneath her (your) shirt and scratched her back in the way you knew she loved. She hummed in content, throwing a leg over you and burrowing into your neck. 

For a while, all she did was breathe you in. She left little butterfly kisses on your neck and shoulder, holding you as tight as she could. 

“I’m…” she broke the peaceful silence, “I’m having trouble dealing with tonight,” she mumbled into your neck. You continued to rub her back, moving your head to look at her. She lifted her eyes to yours, a silent storm brewing behind them. 

“Talk to me about it,” you said, voice raspy with sleep, “what’s bothering you?”

Sam sighed deeply and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “For starters, I told you I didn’t want you or Tara at that party,” her voice shook, “I leave you for not even an hour and someone else is trying to touch you; trying to take you from me. Don’t even get me started with Tara,” her fists clenched beneath the sheets as she shook her head. “I can’t think about her right now. This is about you. This is me addressing the fact that you did exactly what I told you not to do-” 

“It wasn’t my-” you began, but she cut you off.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she said through her teeth, taking deep breaths to calm herself down and sitting up. “I don’t care who came up with the goddamn idea,” she wasn’t looking at you. “You left this apartment in that,” deep breath, “...outfit. That tight little top and skirt. It’s the middle of fucking fall in New York, y/n. You could’ve gotten sick. Everyone was looking at you, I saw it. He was looking at you and I think that if I could read minds, I would’ve really killed him. I would’ve done it in front of all of those people and that…” she paused, “that scares me.” 

You listened in silence, absorbing every single word. Deep down you knew she was right. You knew she would’ve done it and that should’ve scared you… but it didn't. It didn’t scare you at all. What it did was far worse than that. 

It happened quickly. You sat up and she looked over at you, worried that she’d scared you off. Her eyes were wild, scanning your face for any signs of fear. What she found there must’ve shocked her, she blinked in confusion. You crawled forward on the bed and climbed into her lap, thighs straddling her waist. Out of instinct, her hands fell to your ass. 

You looked into her eyes, lids half mast and bottom lip trapped between your teeth. She watched in silence as your eyes traced over her face. Her perfect nose, those dark almond eyes. The way her top lip dipped down and formed her cupid’s bow. 

Within seconds, your lips pressed into hers. It was slow and intentional, rocking like waves through an unruly sea. She tasted like everything good in the world; so uniquely Sam that it almost brought you to tears. You were starving for her, fingers lacing through the dark locks at the nape of her neck and pulling her closer to you. She ran her hands over your ass roughly, calluses rubbing against your bare skin as she slipped her hands beneath the hoodie. 

You broke away from her, forehead resting against hers, noses brushing. Her eyes were still on your lips, so you leaned forward and tried to capture hers. She leaned back, keeping her lips just out of reach. Her eyes were droopy, drunk on you. 

“I love you,” she whispered lowly, looking into your soul. She saw you for what you were. She saw all of you, the good and the ugly, and loved all of it. 

You lifted your arms above your head as Sam pulled the hoodie from your body. You were left in nothing but a single thin layer of lace covering the space between your thighs. She grabbed the small of your waist, flipping the both of you over and laying you on your back against the comforter. 

You spread your legs for her, letting her lay between them as she crashed her lips to yours. This time she was rougher, more demanding. Her teeth nipped at your lips with force, hands moving to grab at your tits. 

You tilted your head up, lips disconnecting from hers as you groaned at the feeling of her rough palms against your nipples. She left wet, open mouthed kisses on your neck, sucking occasionally and marking you. 

Her head lifted, eyes finding yours before pinching your nipples. She reveled in the moan you released, desperate and needy. 

“Every single cell in your body belongs to me,” she rasped, watching her fingers as they pinched tighter. You nodded in agreement, hips twitching up against her. 

She released the sensitive buds, sitting up on top of you and effectively pinning your hips to the mattress with her body weight. You shifted, propping yourself up on your forearms and watching as she ran her hands over your torso, nails scratching the skin there. 

Your chest heaved with each breath, taking everything she gave you and wanting more. You knew better than to ask for it, she knew what you needed. She knew you inside and out; every inch of your body committed to memory. 

“No one else gets to see you like this,” she informed you, watching as you nodded desperately. “Only you,” you groaned. 

A smile spread across her face and she moved to lay between your legs, chin resting on her forearms that crossed over your hip bones. “That’s right, baby,” she praised, “only me.”

The sight of her laying there made a fresh wave of arousal wash over you, looking up at you with possessive eyes and so close to where you needed her the most. As you lifted your hips up, she pressed them back into the mattress with force. 

“Sam, come on,” you whined, closing your eyes and throwing your head back in frustration, “please.”

She made no effort to move. “I’m still mad at you, y’know,” she sighed, moving her hand to trace circles on your skin. “Letting everyone see this perfect little body… letting them see what’s mine. Maybe you don’t deserve to be touched right now, hm?” she moved down, hands holding your thighs open at the crease where they met your legs. Her mouth hovered inches from your clothed cunt, breath hitting the wet lace and making you shudder. 

“I don’t deserve it,” you admitted shakily, “...but I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“You swear?” she smirked, placing a light kiss to your throbbing clit. “Mhm,” you nodded pathetically whilst trying to follow her mouth as she retracted. “Well,” Sam began, moving the material to the side, “if you swear…”

Her tongue flattened against the aching bud, roughly pushing against it before swirling around. You choked on a sob of relief, letting out a mantra of thank you’s as her lips wrapped around you, sucking with painful force. 

“Fuck- too much, too much,” you warned, reaching down and holding onto her head. When you tried to pull her up, she let out a low warning sound before tearing the soaked cloth from your body and throwing it behind her. 

She detached her mouth from you, lips glistening, and positioned her fingers at your entrance. “I thought this was what you wanted,” her eyebrows knitted together in mock confusion before she slammed into you without warning. You let out a loud moan that could surely be heard through the walls, clenching down on her fingers as your body attempted to adjust to the intrusion. 

She fucked you with vigor, the sounds of your wetness reverberating throughout the room, making you feel a little dirty. Fingers still drilling into you, she sat back on her calves, watching you fight through the pain and pleasure. 

“You’re so messy, baby,” she chided, “Making such a mess on my hand. Trying so hard to take everything I give you.”

Your moans were raw, eyes boring into hers and fighting to stay open. “Th- thank you, thank you I’ll- make it up- all up to you,” you mumbled through the haze. 

“I know you will, my pretty girl,” she smiled encouragingly as she sped up her movements, reaching her other hand down to rub circles on your clit. “Tell me what I want to hear,” she ordered. 

Your hands grasped the bed sheets impossibly tight, trying to focus on her words and holding back the tight coil that threatened to release. “I’m all yours,” you gasped out desperately, “only you- only you have m- fuck oh my fuck,” It was impossible to hold it in, but you managed to. 

“You gonna cum? Hm?” Sam said in a sinister voice. “Gonna make an even bigger mess all for me?” You nodded so fast that she almost worried you’d give yourself whiplash. 

Time was moving too slow. Her fingers curled against that spot only she knew, hitting it roughly over and over again. The tight circles she was making against your clit were perfect, not even you yourself could replicate them. All you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, desperate gasps leaving your mouth, waiting for that one word. 

“Cum,” the woman you worshiped murmured, eyes drinking in the sight below her. 

Your thighs closed tightly around her hands as it hit you, but she forced them back open in a show of strength, moving to pin them open with her thighs. She was fucking you through it, watching as you shuddered violently and strained your neck. Her favorite part was prolonging the orgasm, making sure that it hit you hard enough to render you incoherent; a babbling mess. 

She didn’t relent until you were begging her to stop, far too sensitive to take anymore. You lay limp against the sheets, head spinning and body numb. Sam climbed up the bed, laying down and pulling you into her. She maneuvered your body so that she could get the blankets back over the two of you as you twitched and let out little gasps. 

“Good job,” she whispered, lips pressing to your sweaty head. “You did so good, baby.”

You were fighting to stay awake, wanting desperately to make her feel good too, but it was too hard. Your eyes wouldn’t stay open, limbs heavier than a bag of bricks. “It's okay,” your girlfriend assured you, watching your lashes flutter against your flush cheeks, “go to sleep.”

Before you shifted to the world of the unconscious, you whispered a weak, “I love you,” letting out a content little sigh.

[bel1ewrites]

Hi, I have a request for melissa barrera x reader.

Melissa and reader have been together for five years. They've also starred in, 'In the heights. Keep breathing. Scream 5 and Scream 6' and Melissa is asked about how she feels working with her girlfriend. Reader is in an interview with Jasmin and Mason, while Melissa is with Jenna and Courteney. (Reader also likes to mess around with Jasmin on set and behind the cameras (in interviews) to make Melissa and Jenna laugh.)

a/n: sorry this one took me so long! Let me know if you like it <3

It's Easy With Her (Melissa Barrera x Reader)

Description: Melissa decides to trick you.

WC: 1k

Warnings: alcohol consumption, prob a 6/10 on the cringe scale.

THE formatting of this interview was odd, you thought to yourself as Jasmin and Mason took their seats on either side of you. There was a camera situated a few feet away, centered perfectly to capture all three of you at the table. The crew sat just out of frame, weird filming tech surrounding them, and a mic had been pinned to the collar of your freshly ironed suit. It wasn’t that you’d never done interviews like this before, but they would usually have someone there to ask questions. There wasn't, and everything here was… white?

“Alright, we’re all set! Rolling in three, two…” 

“Hi, I’m Jasmin Savoy Brown.”

“Hi, I’m y/n y/l/n.”

“I’m Mason Gooding, and today we’ll be playing a good old fashioned game of truth or drink here on Cut.”

Your blood ran cold as the words left his mouth. Truth or drink? Since when? You were under the impression that you’d be here for an hour or two, dodge a few odd questions, and be back in your hotel room with Melissa in no time; happy and sober. 

“We are?” you laughed nervously, hand reaching to scratch your neck. You eyed Jasmin, then Mason, then the camera. Then, for good measure, you eyed them all again. 

“No way…” Mason gawked before both he and Jasmin broke out in obnoxious laughter, making you cover your ears to escape the sound. “We told-” Jasmin began, attempting to catch her breath, “We told Melissa to tell you!”

“She told me it was just an interview!” you exclaimed, dropping your head to the table. The crew quickly asked if you were okay to continue, you answered with an unenthusiastic thumbs up before sitting back in your chair and composing yourself. 

Someone came on set, bringing a tray with shot glasses and some sort of clear liquid. They set a shot glass in front of all three of you, placing the liquor in the middle of the table and making sure it didn’t block your face.

“Well, since I’m in the middle of the table,” you smiled menacingly, “It wouldn't make sense for me to be asked first, would it?”

You grabbed one of the cards in front of you, directing your question towards Mason. “Mr. Gooding this one's for you. Fuck, mary, kill Courteney, me, and Melissa. And the card doesn’t say this, but describe how you would do each.”

He blinked, poured a shot, and then… paused. “I would kill you and dump your body in the Pacific,” he answered before downing the liquid with a grimace. 

Your jaw dropped as you basked in his audacity. Jasmin punched his shoulder from across the table, laughing and handing Mason a card to read for you. 

“Oh, I can’t ask this…” he bit his knuckle and looked at you with a glint in his eye. “But I will. My dear friend, describe Melissa’s favorite sex position.”

You paused, thinking about the repercussions of this answer. Sure, she’d be mad, but she’s the one who tricked you into this. 

“She goes through phases, but right now she’s on a real… oh I don’t know what it's called. It’s like, one person sits behind the other one and like rests their head on their shoulder and reaches around and-”

“Okay! Okay we get it, thank you!” Jasmin cut you off, hands covering her ears. “Thanks so much!”

“No problem,” you smiled, picking up a card for her. “Jasmin, light of my life, please tell us who’s the most annoying on set and why,” you directed her, batting your eyelashes innocently. 

“Oh this is easy,” she smiled, batting her eyelashes right back at you. “You and Melissa.”

“What?!?! Why us?!?!”

“Oh she’s so right.” 

“You guys never stop complimenting each other and you can’t spend more than five seconds apart,” she elaborated. “It’s absolutely disgusting.” 

“Suck my balls, Jasmin Savoy Brown. Suck my balls.”

—-----------

Melissa smiled as Courteney and Jenna bickered from across the table. She was sat in the same chair that you had previously occupied, and had just asked Jenna who would die first in an apocalypse. Of course, she said Courteney. 

“Let's talk about how fast you died in ‘X’, Jenna!”

“That’s different you witch!”

“Okay why don't we just agree that you’d both die immediately and move on,” suggested Melissa, handing a card to Jenna who took it begrudgingly.

“Fine, little miss perfect. Who do you think is the most fun on set and why?”

Courteney snorted, “I wonder who it’s gonna b-”

“Definitely my talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique girlfriend,” she smiled at you, currently sitting with the crew and drunk off your ass. You let out a loud cheer and a slurred, “That’s me by the way!”

“Never a dull moment with her, even after five years. She always finds a way to make a long day feel… less long for lack of better words. Her and Jasmin are always fucking with me, even when they don’t need to be on set for the day. She’s just overall the brightest light in my life and she’s been with me through thick and thin. I don’t know where I’d be without her-” (“I think I’m gonna throw up,” the other two women said in unison) “-she’s done so much and I can’t thank her enough. It’s just… easy with her”

The room had gone silent, except for Jenna’s occasional mock gag. Melissa looked back over at you, only to find you stumbling onto the set; arms wide as you pulled her into a hug.

[bel1ewrites]

could you write sam and reader getting into an argument because sam is so overprotective and tries to keep reader at home to keep her safe from ghostface but reader wants to go out, reader accidentally lets a “fuck you” towards sam slip during the argument and sam immediately puts her back in her place with smut please, i love the way you write sam so much

a/n: dropped everything I was doing to write this and all of a sudden its 2 AM??? Anyway, I love this.

A Slipping Mind (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

Description: Sam always knows what's best for you.

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: toxic relationship, very slight mentions of murder, possessive!Sam, smut, praise kink, fingering, slight dumbification, top!Sam, bottom!reader, etc.

“I DON'T know what you want from me, Samantha! Its like you won’t let me be my own fucking person,” you seethed, pressing your fingertips to your temple in an attempt to calm yourself down. The person you argued with remained quiet, face impassive as she closed the door to your apartment and stripped off her jacket.

“You’re not going.” She said, voice stern and even. “End of discussion-”

“-Like hell it is,” you interrupted. But even as you said this your voice shook, and you wondered when her emotions would boil over and result in another fist through the wall. Ultimately, there was no going back. “I bought a costume for this party. I canceled plans for this party. I got a goddamn tattoo for this party-”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you did or didn’t do for this frat party, y/n.” She sighed, interrupting you this time. “It's Halloween weekend. He could be anywhere, and here you are acting like a child while I’m trying to protect you.”

“I can protect myself.”

“Right. Because that went so well the last time.”

“Of course you’re gonna bring that up right now,” you nodded in exasperation and bit your knuckle, stomping into your shared bedroom and tearing off your shirt. “Real fucking mature, babe.”

Sam followed close behind you, watching as you grabbed your costume out of the closet. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want me to wait for you to get stabbed again?” She quipped before ripping the fabric from your hands and stepping close to you, forcing you to back up against the wall. Your chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, bra clad breasts brushing against her shirt with her proximity. “Or maybe you want me to say it to your grave after they find you dead in a fucking alley.”

“Fuck you.” you pushed out through gritted teeth as phantom pain from your last encounter with a murderer flooded through your lower stomach. The scarred skin puffed out in a jagged pale line.

The browns of her irises disappeared as her pupils dilated. She was looking down at you with a predatory glare; not unlike that of a caged lion. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Your head tilted up. "Go fuck yourself," you laughed humorlessly, pushing roughly against her chest and wincing as she shoved you back against the wall with little to no effort. 

Her tongue peaked out to wet her bottom lip, mouth morphing into a malicious smile. "Why would I do that when I could just fuck this attitude out of you?"

Her right hand wrapped around your throat to keep your head back against the wall and in place as she slammed her lips to yours harshly, her other hand dropping the costume. It was messy. Teeth and tongue and demanding lips all working together to force you into submission. 

At first you fought back, squirming in place with your body pinned between her and the wall. You kept your lips stagnant and wrapped your hands around her wrist in a pathetic attempt to remove her hand from your neck. All she did was reach behind your back with her free hand, unclasping your bra with ease and smirking against you as you momentarily forgot to fight against the lust building within you, lips moving like fire against hers. 

“There she is.” Her voice was unhinged as she murmured against you. Her thumb dug into your jugular, feeling the blood pump as your heart struggled to keep its pace.

You could feel yourself giving in, brain struggling to remember why you were fighting in the first place; body relaxing in her grasp and hands dropping to your sides. “You’re crazy.” You insisted as a last ditch effort to maintain some ounce of your dignity. 

“You fucking love it.” She countered, moving her lips off of yours and nipping at your jaw, pulling at your bra until it fell from your body. 

As soon as those four words left her mouth, you were a goner. She had you where she wanted you, reading your mind like it was a picture book. You did love it. You loved it so much you hated it. “I do,” you relented, voice pitching up when she bit your earlobe; mouth in the shape of a knowing smile. 

Using the grip she had on your neck, Sam pulled you back from the wall and turned the both of you around, guiding you expertly toward the bed. “You don’t wanna go to that party, baby.”

Your back hit the mattress with a light thud, brain all light and foggy. 

“You’d rather stay here, with me.” She assured. “Isn’t that right?”

You gasped when her lips fell to your neck and instantly located your weak spot. “Mhm…” came your hummed agreement. “With you.”

Her hands began to wander, skimming over the peaks of your breasts and tracing each rib with her lithe fingers. Her nails dug into your hips as she took her time devouring you. Her shirt rubbed up against your bare nipples with each shift and you thought you’d go crazy because of her. Your mind was slipping.

Teeth dug into your clavicle, a moan escaped you against your will. “Wait, Sam.” You panted weakly. “Wanna… wanna go t-”

“-Shhh, pretty girl. Don’t think.” She shifted down your body and breathed against your sternum. “Just lay here and be good like I know you can. Let me make you feel good.”

Her lips pressed against the valley between your breasts, trailing kisses along the underside of your tit and nipping lightly at the swell of your flesh. Shifting desperately, you brought your hands to the nape of her neck and pulled her mouth to your nipple needily. 

Warm lips encompassed one nipple, rolling the other between her skilled fingers. Your hips twitched up when she sucked, tongue rolling over the hardened bud and fingers tugging at the other simultaneously. Her unoccupied hand moved to pull at the button of your jeans with the sureness of an expert. When she got it undone, she detached her mouth from you and moved to the other side. 

As soon as she felt both nipples had fair treatment, she moved down your body and unzipped your jeans, pulling them off of you and finding you bare beneath them. The sight set her mind ablaze, dripping cunt throbbing and naked and waiting for her. 

Her hands gripped your thighs roughly and pushed them far apart. “You were made for me.” 

She kneeled between your legs and dragged her fingers through the soaked heat that rested between them. “I’d never let you go to that stupid fucking party; never let anyone see what’s mine.”

You pushed your hips toward her, watching as she sucked her fingers clean with a hum. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”

Her eyes stared into yours, soaking in the way your lashes fluttered and your mouth fell open as she pushed two fingers into you. Her jaw clenched and her other hand grabbed onto your hip for balance. 

Your back arched against the mattress, cunt sucking her fingers in and clenching tightly as if trying to prevent them from leaving. Your head was spinning and Sam was the only thing that kept you grounded. She tethered you to the earth with the hand on your hip and sent you spiraling off of it with each move of the other. Groans spilled from your throat like blood; the sound pooling around you and encouraging her fingers to move faster. 

Each and every cell in your body was devoted to the woman before you. She knew you like the back of her hand. She knew how to make you fold, how to make you laugh, how to make you cry, and how to make you cum like no one else ever had. In turn, you knew how to satisfy her need to possess you. 

Her bicep tensed with each thrust, fingers moving in a rhythm she’d mastered a long time ago. “You’re the only one who can fuck me like this.” You panted, forcing your eyes to stay open so you could watch her own you.

“Yeah?” her hand pounded into you with more force. “Talk to me. Tell me every little thought in that head of yours.”

Sam wasn’t there anymore. She didn’t have the calm and loving look on her face you’d grown accustomed to. No, this was a different person. Her eyes were wide and wandering, teeth bared and veins poking out from her hands and forearms as blood pumped through her body. 

“You’re so beautiful like this.” You told her. Her hand moved off of your hip and rubbed at your neglected clit, making it hard for you to focus on your words. “So fucking raw-”

“-I want you to say you love me when you cum.” She grunted out as soon as she felt your walls start to squeeze her tighter. Sweat dampened her forehead, hair sticking to it and making her look even more disheveled. 

The orgasm was building and building. Every muscle in your body was taught with the sheer force of its impending arrival. All of your senses were on fire. You could feel her everywhere, in your mind and under your skin, fingers pressing into you just right; puzzle pieces sliding into place. The smell of sex filtered through your nostrils, the sounds of her fucking you flowing through your ears. The thing that overwhelmed you the most was the way she was looking at you like you completed her. 

“Fuck- fuck,” you moaned as your hands grasped the sheets beneath you. 

“Come on, baby. Say it.”

“I love you, I love you-” you were cut off by the mind numbing sensation that overtook you. Your orgasm crashed over you at five hundred miles per hour, stripping your head of all thoughts. 

Sam watched as you arched off the bed, slowing her thrusts as you shuddered and tensed and shook like a leaf. 

“There you go,” she smiled down at you. “You’re doing so good. Ride it out.”

You were beneath her, neck strained and still moaning incoherently. For at least a minute you stayed that way. She’d pulled out of you and began massaging your shaking thighs while she waited patiently for you to come down. 

When you finally did, the first words she said were, “I bet you’re glad you didn’t go to that party.”

[bel1ewrites]

i have a request for sam :)

could you write one where sam is busy with something at her desk, working or idk but reader wants her attention and bothers her a few times, sam ends up pulling reader into her lap so she can finish her work and still give some attention but reader starts distracting her by feeling her up etc and sam ends up overstimulating reader as punishment? thank you sm!!

a/n: I loved this idea, thank you so much for the submission! Also sorry in advance for my avoidance of the word "panties" ...I hate it.

Risky Rewards (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

Description: After a long day, Sam decides to put you in your place.

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, overstimulation, forced orgasm, praise kink, oral, fingering, top!Sam, bottom!Reader

“I’M not going to hold your hand through this, Mr. Stewart. Figure it out and don't call me back until you have- oh for the love of God I don’t give a shit where it-”

Nothing good ever happened when you interrupted Sam while she was working. You knew this to be a proven fact. It almost always ended in you walking out of her office, head down and metaphorical tail between your legs. It wasn’t that she didn’t want you in there, in fact she enjoyed your company. Ever the handsy one, you’d take it too far and she’d scold you, turning you around and handing you something to keep you preoccupied as she screamed at grown men. Technically, you fell under the umbrella of insanity; doing the same thing time and time again, expecting different results. 

This time, she sounded even more pissed off through the door than usual. Her tone was tight, stress from the day seeping into her every move. You could picture her in her work clothes, back rigid and brows furrowed. You’d been lonely all day, and all you wanted to do was help her relax, no ulterior motive behind your actions. 

There was a silence that fell over you as she stopped speaking, which you took as an invitation of sorts. Quietly, you pushed open the door and slipped in. 

She hadn’t noticed you, a look of determination shining on her face as she held up the speaker of the landline she insisted on buying in the interest of looking more powerful. It worked, you had to admit. She was something out of a magazine, sitting at her desk and twirling a pen skillfully between her fingers whilst she bossed around people twice her age with a flawless finesse. 

When you began walking towards her, she spotted you and some of the tension drained from her body. The man was still on the phone with her, but she quickly slammed it face down, effectively hanging up on him mid sentence. 

“Hey, baby,” she grinned brightly, pushing back in her chair and gesturing for you behind her desk. The office was tidy, painted black and red and furnished to match. Pictures of the two of you sat just next to her desktop so that she could glance down at them throughout the day. 

You went over to her eagerly, standing with your back to the desk and smiling down at where she sat in a manspread. Her arms rested on those of the chair, highlighting the cuffs of her sleeves and the rings on her fingers. 

“Hi,” you whispered bashfully. She patted her lap, inviting you to sit with her.

“I have a few documents to go over, but it shouldn’t take long,” Sam explained as you situated yourself on her lap and wrapped your arms around her neck, “I promise we can do whatever you want to when I’m done, pretty girl.”

The nickname made you shudder and bury your head in her neck. She must’ve assumed you were just getting comfortable because she said nothing about it, simply pulling back up to the desk and continuing to work as you clung to her like a koala. 

—------

Everything was going fine. You’d dozed off on top of her, content to breathe her in and wait like a good girl. She got through all of her documents in blissful peace and only had five minutes of work left, at most. In all honesty, Sam was impressed that you hadn’t tried anything.  

 The phone rang, jolting you out of your sleep and pushing a disappointed sigh out of your girlfriend. Maybe ten minutes. 

“Carpenter speaking,” she gritted. “This better be good.”

Faintly, you could hear a man on the other side of the line. His voice was unusually high, nerves making it shake slightly. When you noticed Sam start to tense up you started massaging her neck in an attempt to calm her. 

It worked for the most part. Her head rolled back and she groaned at the painful pleasure as your fingers worked at the knots. The sight was heavenly, enough to bring a grown man to his knees. Your eyes devoured her hungrily. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she continued to speak, free hand rubbing your back as you worked. “Listen, man. I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all collectively tired-” you hit a particularly sensitive area and she groaned again, “-but you don’t see me fucking complaining about it, do you?” a pause. “That’s what I thought.” You hit a tight knot, watching her cover the microphone in her shoulder and turn to look at you, “Right there… mhm, like that. There you go.” Her head was limp on her neck, hand grabbing roughly at your hip and kneading it while the other brought the phone back to her ear.

You were growing desperate, trying your hardest not to shift and align your center with her clothed thigh. She looked so perfect in her work clothes, jaw clenched in either pleasure or anger and eyes running over your body. You wore her favorite top just to fuck with her. It was cut inexplicably low, exposing a little underboob with each shift. The sweatpants you had on were hers and you’d worn them because you knew how much she loved seeing you in her clothes. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. Who hired you? I bet it was Christine. Goddamn Christine... I’m hanging up now,” she rolled her eyes, hanging up on the poor man for a second time and turning her attention to you. 

With both hands free, she gripped your waist and adjusted her legs, situating your clothed cunt right against her thigh. She leaned back in her chair and watched your jaw go slack as you slowly grinded against her. Once she was comfortable with your pace, she crossed her fingers behind her head and watched as you put on a show for her.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you came in here for,” your angry girlfriend spat, listening to you whine and sigh. “You know, the worst part is,” you ducked your head against her shoulder, “I fucked you last night. Multiple times, if I remember correctly. So I’m gonna sit here, and you’re going to make yourself cum on my thigh without me having to move one fucking muscle, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah, okay,” you agreed hastily, picking up your pace. 

The barrier that the fabric created was a blessing and a curse. It was keeping you away from her muscled thigh, but it was also so delightfully rough that each time it rubbed against your clit you couldn’t help but moan a little louder. You needed more, but you knew she wouldn’t give it to you until you came so you rolled your hips as hard as you could and tightened the muscles in your lower belly more and more with each move. 

“Look at you, making a mess on my nice work pants. You must be so messy down there,” Sam breathed into your ear. She watched you ride her like it was the most amazing thing she’d ever set eyes on. 

You worked yourself up, slowly but surely, hips and abs aching from exhaustion. “So close,” Sam heard you mutter breathlessly, speeding up and grabbing onto her shoulders, shifting so more pressure pushed against your clit. It was dirty and messy, all speed and no rhythm but still your head lolled back as you came. It was a quick high, making you tense and shake and gasp loudly. 

Sam didn’t give you any time to process, quickly standing up and holding onto the small of your back as your legs wrapped around her waist out of instinct. You choked on a breath when your sensitive clit bumped against her stomach, each step she took was pure agony. 

She walked you out of her office, moving down the hall, up the stairs, and ending up in your bedroom. Her movements were quick and erratic, throwing you onto the bed and grabbing the waistband of your (her) sweats. They were off of you so fast that you questioned if they were ever even on in the first place, along with the white lace that had taken the brunt of your mess. 

“If you want me to stop, use the safeword because I’m not going to put up with your begging tonight,” she said in an almost animalistic tone as she threw the wet fabric behind her and watched you nod eagerly.

With no further words, she crawled onto the bed and in between your spread thighs, stopping when her chin hovered above your messy cunt and pressing her arms to your thighs to keep them open. “Take it like a good girl,” she demanded, dark eyes looking up at your flushed face and chest, “And take the top off, I wanna see all of you.”

You made to do as she said, grabbing the cropped hem, but your head fell back as she pushed her middle finger into you and curled it up against that spot she knew so well. “I said take it off,” she growled, thrusting the singular finger in and out of your dripping heat.

Somehow you managed to get the shirt off right before she added a second finger and licked a rough stripe along your still sensitive clit. It was too soon for you to cum again, but the way that she fucked you with strength and precision made your walls tighten around her with the threat of your next orgasm. 

“Wait Sam-” you urged her, “Sam slow down,” a short gasp, “I’m gonna cum- oh fuck- again.”

She kept going as if she hadn’t heard, picking up her pace and swirling her tongue through you like a starving animal. As soon as she pulled your clit into your mouth, you came with a deep moan that stemmed from your chest.

Usually, after you came, Sam would slow down her pace to help ease you through the waves of pleasure. Under normal circumstances, she’d take her mouth off of you and whisper sweet nothings as she’d watch you convulse beneath her and stroke your hair. This time was different. This time, she kept up her speed, having to work harder to push through your tightened walls. Her mouth remained pressed against you, dark eyes watching as you realized she wasn’t stopping. 

“Sam, Sam, Sam,” you chanted as you tried to push her away and close your legs. She wasn’t letting up, her insane strength keeping you on the bed as she wrestled your writhing body. “Sam I came I came I came- Sam,” you whined, clit aching and a dull thud running through your body as she continued to pound into you. Wet noises and pathetic sounds filled the room 

Your legs shook violently as she continued to fuck you, pulling another orgasm from your drained body. This time it hurt, your body was pushing itself to the limits. Your vision went black as your eyes rolled back in your head, feeling each push against your spasming cunt; each lick and twitch. 

She lifted her head up momentarily, fingers still pushing into you and pulling out your soul. “One more baby, one more I promise,” she assured you, watching tears stream down your face and straining to keep your legs apart. Sweat was forming at her scalp with the exertion. 

You shook your head violently and sobbed out. “I can’t, I can’t please I can’t,” you begged hoarsely, knowing she wouldn’t stop unless you said your safeword. 

“Yes you can,” she smiled, pressing a kiss to your shaking thigh. “You’re so good, baby. Taking it all. I know you have one more, it’s okay.”

Her lips went back to your abused clit, puffy and red and deliciously swollen. Through the pain, you could vaguely feel the pleasure building within you, letting out sobs and focusing on the way she fucked you like she knew you were hers. You pulsed limply around her fingers, walls tiring from the tension. When you looked down at her, eyes on you and lips on you and hands everywhere all at once, you came one last time.

The only way Sam knew you came was the look on your face as you fell completely limp, eyes closed and skin dewy with sweat. She kissed both of your thighs lovingly before climbing up and placing a kiss to your forehead. She then stripped herself of her work clothes, grabbing a towel to clean you with.

When it was done, she pulled your still twitching body to hers and threw the blankets over the both of you, watching your face as you slept.

[bel1ewrites]

Conflicted (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

a/n: It's definitely been a while. Just a reminder that my work is my own and copying it will result in less than pleasant experiences.

Description: It's difficult to come to terms with your girlfriend's favorite hobby.

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: mentions of murder, ghostface!Sam, reader gets dicked down, strap-on sex, degrading if you squint a little, praise, top!Sam, toxic relationship, possessiveness

RAMPANT thoughts swarm in your mind like moths to a flame. They’re incessant. They whisper and yell and repeat over and over, hundreds of broken records skipping, skipping, skipping. 

You stare at the ceiling. Blink up at the spinning fan. You lay on your back in your bed without your girlfriend and in a space deep, deep down, you know why she’s gone; why she’s been gone for hours. 

It’s become a routine of sorts. You wait for her, stay up until the early hours of the morning and linger like her loyal little dog. She’ll indubitably come back, clad in shadowy robes and a red speckled mask, cherry dark red knife flipping in her steady gloved hand. You’ll pretend to sleep and she’ll clean up the mess she’s made. 

The same mess she’s been making for months. 

Somewhere in the distance, a multitude of locks click slowly, surely. One click. Another click. 

Click. 

Click. 

Thud. 

The front door creaks as it opens, heavy boots hit the hardwood floor and the door shuts, followed by the sound of the locks turning back. It’s all done so slowly and so precisely that there’s no doubt in your mind as to who is behind the movements. You close your eyes and turn to face the wall. 

Sam walks to your bedroom, her footsteps getting closer and closer until they cease, as they always do, right at the foot of the bed.

In your mind, you can picture the way she looks down at you through the mask. The way her head tilts to the left slowly. She always moved so slow until she didn’t, like a lion pouncing on its prey, hidden quietly in the background. 

“There’s no need to pretend, baby,” her voice is a rasp blocked slightly by the layer between her mouth and you, “I know you’re awake.” She shuffles behind you, presumably kicking off her boots. 

All you can do is burrow deeper into the safety of your bed, pulling the blankets up to your chin. 

Silence pools around you, thick as blood. There’s a heavy weight in your chest, a dead body laying on top of you and draining away all of your resilience until all that’s left is her. All that’s left is her and the robes and the feeling of the bed dipping as she climbs on top of your still figure. 

“Turn.” 

You turn.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes open.

Laying on your back, tired eyes peering wearily into the black and droopy eyes of the masked woman above, you shy away. Squirming gets you nowhere, her thighs on either side of your waist preventing you from doing much of anything, her gloved hands pressing into the bed where they rest next to your head. It’s a dehumanizing, powerless position to be in but you can’t help but focus on how good she feels. 

“You’ll never leave me, hm?” she prompts, and even though her voice lifts in question, you know it's not one. 

“No,” your own voice shakes, body stilling beneath hers. There’s no use in fighting. That’s her favorite part. 

She lets out a satisfied hum, hands moving to pull the blanket beneath your clothed breasts before pushing into your shoulders to further pin you down. This must be the last thing many of her victims see, only in their minds she’s a faceless entity. A ghost. 

You know what you’ll see if she takes off the mask. You know that what rests beneath it are the eyes of the woman you fell in love with, glazed over with a power drunk, heavy lidded gaze. 

"Why do you think that is? Because I have a few theories," she's pushing harder into you. "Either you’re too scared to leave,” she pauses, sitting up all together so that most of her weight is on your pelvis, running her hands down your chest, detaching them from you until just her blackened fingertips press into your ribs. Waves of midnight pour from her body, flowing in grim beauty and outlining her where the moonlight hits them. “Or,” she’s taking off her gloves, carelessly throwing them behind her, “you love it, deep down. You love when I kill. You act all shy and pretend not to notice when other people eye you like starved dogs, even humor them on some occasions to avoid any conflict, but you know I’d kill them all for you and you love it.”

You deny it. Of course you deny it, head shaking and hands moving to grab hers, warm and soft and all yours. “I love you,” you insist. 

“I know, my pretty girl. You love me,” she laces your fingers together tight, “and you love it when I kill for you. It’s okay to admit. I love you and I love to kill for you.”

You close your eyes, swallow hard as you feel her weight shift and her hands release yours. In your chest between abundant red flesh and set rows of bone, between the weight of her and the pounding of your head, past skin cells and blue veins, your heart hammers and thuds sporadically.

She’s moving off of you and taking the blanket with her, leaving you exposed as cold air paints goosebumps on your skin. You never slept with pants on, usually opting for one of Sam’s big t-shirts and a pair of her boxers; tonight is no different. 

There’s no longer another presence on the bed. Even with your eyes shut you can sense her scanning your figure. “You look so good in my clothes,” there’s a rustle of cloth, “so good when you’re all mine.”

Thick, heavy tension weighs down the air around you when you look at her. The robes that once covered her are gone, spilling to the floor like dark ink. Her face is still obscured by that of a killer, white and red and melting, sunken black.

All you’re focused on is the ripple of her muscular torso, highlighted by silver moonlight filtering in through the windows, the waistband of her boxers cutting off the view where a cut V starts to form. 

“You know,” she crawls back onto the bed, settling between your thighs and resting her head on your lower belly, the cold of the plastic seeping through your shirt, “the whole time I was killing that spineless pig, all I could think about was coming home and fucking you. All I ever think about is you.”

Sick heat washes over you. 

Though the thought is scary, there’s no denying the shudder that runs deep within you. It’s quick, barely noticeable, yet the way she slides her hands beneath your shirt and grabs your waist tells you that she felt it. 

“Take off the mask,” you plead, thighs spreading wider to give her more room. 

“But I want to fuck you in it,” her voice is distorted in mock sadness, lips no-doubt pursed beneath it. All you can see is the sorry, frantic looking expression of a ghastly slasher. 

You huff in exasperation. “I like watching your face.”

Apparently you’ve stroked her ego adequately, because she grabs the white chin and most definitely rolls her eyes before she pulls the mask off. Her hair is mused as it falls in masses over her back and shoulders, feathery dark ends brushing against your covered stomach. Wild eyes, flushed cheeks, dark lips. She’s euphoric. She’s still riding the high of her kill and it shows. 

“Happy?” fingers slide up your torso when you nod, warm palms passing the curves and dips of your ribs, brushing against the swell of your breasts and the sensitive buds that rest in the middle, pushing up the fabric of the shirt and ultimately urging you to lift your arms in order to slide it over your head. Sam’s pupils are blown, partially from the dark room and mostly from the view of your bare upper half.

Much to your dismay, she withdrawals, taking the heat of her body as she goes.

For a moment, all she does is stand at the foot of the bed, an ever present bulge pressing against the fabric of her boxers and an overall disheveled look of hunger encompassing each and every part of her. Each crazed inhale only works to further accentuate the muscular structure of her entire body. What feels like years pass before she finally removes the barrier obscuring the part of her that you want to see the most.

The sheer flawlessness of her favorite strap never failed to shock you, all perfect length and thickness, intricate veins, a slight upward curve that must have been molded for you and you only. You hold your bottom lip between your teeth.

Her shoulders flex when she reaches for your ankles, grabbing them and pulling you roughly down the bed with little effort, situating you with your thighs spread and your ass at the edge of the mattress. A shocked gasp leaps from your throat, she has her eyes on your waist where the cinch of her boxers hugs it. 

Desperation fuels her movements, one rough tug and she has you completely bare beneath her. You’re soaked, have been for a while. When she steps closer, the height of the bed allows her hips to line up perfectly with yours. Admittedly, she’d chosen the frame for this very reason. 

“I fucking love this bed,” she groans as the base of her strap presses into your warm cunt, the top pinned against her lower abs. Your clit throbs with each shift of her hips, the head brushing it lightly when she pulls back a little and grinds forward. The feeling has you wrapping your thighs around her waist, her grabbing the crease where your legs meet your hips with a clenched jaw. 

When you buck up in search of more friction, she shoves you back down with so much force that you can see her biceps flex in the moonlit room, the veins weaving down her forearms and over her hands enough to make you feel like drooling. 

“Stay still,” she orders through her teeth. 

One of her hands releases you, gripping herself tight and watching her own movements as she drags the tip through you. Up, then down, then up halfway. And then, without warning, she snaps her hips forward and drives into you with force, skin flush against skin.

There’s a long period of time where she doesn’t move, just simply stares down at you with enraptured eyes and an open mouth, grasping your upper thighs while you pulse around her. She’s groaning slightly as you lay with your brows pinched together and your back arched, the shock of her pushing into you still coursing through your system, a moan dying in your throat. It’s excruciatingly good. It’s gut-wrenchingly pleasant. 

In the beginning, there was a time when you would’ve begged for her to move. Back when you’d only known her for a few short months, back before you really knew her. At this point, the task has become redundant; she does as she pleases when she pleases however she pleases, and this moment doesn’t seem like the time to test that. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp out, sotto and frantic, gripping your scalp when she presses a strong hand into your lower belly and feels the muscles go taut as she pulls out of you, thrusting back in with quick and precise movements. “Just like that.”

Every couple of thrusts is broken up by one slow one that has you struggling to breathe, the ridges of her brushing the most sensitive parts of you, pushing against them so perfectly that you tighten impossibly and pulse around her, your whole body alight. 

“That’s it,” Sam coos through a shaky breath, “look how good you’re taking it.” 

With great effort, you manage to prop yourself up on your trembling elbows so that you can watch the way she slides effortlessly in and out of you, her toned abs tense and flexing. It’s a sight you could never get sick of. 

Your whole body throbs with a need for more, a frustrated little wine sounding from your throat. 

Sam cocks her head mockingly, an air of dominance surrounding her like an invisible fortress. “What?” she questions, voice gravely and thrusts quickening. “Am I not fucking you good enough?” 

Her hand on your stomach shifts so that she can move her thumb down and press it into your swollen clit. She doesn’t move it, only deepens the pressure she applies. 

“You fuck me so good,” you force out. Your voice is high and strained, needy moans splitting up your words and sharp gasps making you slightly incoherent. 

Your mind gets fuzzy. The fear from earlier fading into sick pleasure as she fucks you. She’s breathing heavily, sweat making her hair stick to her forehead and you can’t process anything but the way she hits the perfect spot with each and every movement. 

Keeping her thumb still on your clit, grip tightening on your thigh, she switches up her tactics and opts for fucking you so hard you almost pass out at the first rough drive into you. The pain causes you to momentarily panic before it settles and makes every muscle in your body tighten in anticipation. 

Sounds of your own wetness reach your ears and you realize that you’ve been dripping onto the sheets for a while now. Sam’s hums and the vibrations of your own muffled moans reverberate through your head as you try to keep quiet. 

Sam makes a sound of disapproval, noticing your attempt to not disturb the neighbors. “Let me hear you, baby. I love how desperate you sound when I’m taking you like this.” 

You’d never been one to turn her down, and now was no different. Desperate sounds flood the apartment, the concern for your neighbors long gone as she lands a particularly hard thrust, her thumb beginning to move in quick circles. 

Tight pressure builds rapidly in your lower stomach, almost too much to take. It's intense and spiraling and you’re not sure how to release it without blacking out. 

“Come on,” Sam encourages, knowing the tells of your impending release, “just like that. Let go for me like a good girl.”

All it takes is her words of encouragement before you’re thrown violently into the waves of your orgasm. It's so intense that it almost hurts, your brain short circuits. Your neck strains as you throw your head back, eyes shut and rolling back, thighs shaking and tightening around her waist before giving out and dropping. 

In the background, you can hear her talking to you in a sweet voice, words jumbled by your paralyzed mind. It's grounding. It's perfect. It’s her.

[bel1ewrites]

Helloo, I was wondering if you’d write annoyed Sam x reader smut with hate sex? Like Sam and reader have a complicated relationship where they don’t like each other but still use each other to get off and stuff, sorry this stuff has just been jumping into my mind recently and I just can’t get it out

a/n: I love you for writing this request.

Ignored (Samantha Carpenter x Reader)

Description: All Sam ever wanted was your attention.

WC: 1k

Warnings: slight angst and not so slight FUCKING, smut, top!Sam, bratty!Reader, slight hate fucking, Tara is a deep sleeper apparently, strap-on sex

THERE were a lot of things that Sam hated in this world. A few months ago, she’d even taken it upon herself to sit down and write out a list of them all. A long, long list where your name sat pretty at the very top; above all else.

She hated how good you smelled all the time, hated how effortlessly perfect you looked 24/7. She couldn’t stand the way you’d show up to the apartment with no warning and make yourself at home, ignoring her completely and heading straight to Tara’s room. It was petty, sure, but she couldn’t find it within herself to care about that. 

Even now, after months upon months of knowing you, she can’t be around you for more than a few minutes at a time. Maybe it’s the way you act like she isn’t there. Maybe it’s the fact that you only seem to notice her when she’s fucking you.

“Look at me,” Sam orders as she pounds into you. She’s holding you up against the kitchen counter, your legs wrapped around her waist and your forearms holding you up from your leaned back position. Her fingers dig into the crease where your thighs meet your torso and it’s pure and raw and she’s so, so deep. 

“Just shut up and fuck me,” you’re panting, sweating. Your head is lolling back on your neck. Her strap is new. It’s clear and the perfect size. You’d first noticed it when she walked into the kitchen for a glass of water; the indent of it through her gray sweatpants was enough to have you pressed against her in no time, lips crashing to hers like breaking glass. 

Her movements slow, hand leaving your hip joint to lightly wrap around your neck and force your eyes to meet hers. Each movement she makes rubs against that spot that drives you wild and you can’t help but whine at her lack of speed. 

“Keep your eyes on me and I’ll fuck you until you lose your attitude.” She grits, and so you do. You look into her eyes and see the storm behind them, all dark and feral. Her hand trails down from your neck, grasping roughly at your breast as she picks up her pace and presses into you so hard that your arms almost give out. The veins in her hands are bulging and you can’t help but be amazed at how strong she is. 

It’s addicting to watch her destroy you. You watch the strap press into you, pulling out and pressing back in and pulling back out and making you crazy. The sight of your dripping cunt gripping her with fervor is so intoxicating that you have to look back up at her face, mouth open and eyes peeking up at her from under your lashes. Her own eyes are on her strap as she watches it disappear inside of you, her jaw clenched and her hand slipping down further to press at your lower belly. 

“Fuck, Sam,” you let out a guttural moan and every muscle in your body goes taut at the feeling of her pushing you closer to the edge in the way only she seems to know about; playing with your body like it’s her favorite toy. “Rub my clit.”

She smiles at you, tilting her head and pressing harder on your stomach. “Say please.” She sing songs and you’re shaking your head immediately, moaning as you feel your orgasm approaching. It’s right there, and if you were more fucked out you would reach for her and pull her lips to yours. All you do is tense up as she clicks her tongue in disappointment. “It’s not that hard, dumb girl.”

An internal battle rages in your mind. She’s not fucking you hard enough to make you cum without her touching your clit, which she knows. She knows exactly how you like it and she’s messing with you like it’s fun for her. It is fun for her. She’s infuriating and you can’t stand her, but she’s the only one who can make you feel like this; all you have to do is say please. 

“I can’t.”

She’s looking at you like you’re the last breath of air in the world. “You can.”

“Sam.” You’re hesitating for a minute, moaning and panting and your triceps burn from holding you and you think you might die if you don’t cum. “Please. Please- I need you. Please.”

She leaves as much of her hand as possible pressing on your belly, her thumb moving down to rub tight circles around your ignored clit. It takes four seconds and a mumbled, “Good girl,” for you to break. 

The orgasm slams into you, knocking your arms out from under you as your back hits the cold counter and makes you jolt. You’re clenching around her strap as if to pull it into you and keep it there forever, shuddering hard and straining your neck while you forget how to breathe. Sam is still moving slowly, holding up your thighs as they go limp, thumbs rubbing gentle circles at the smooth skin that rests there. 

When you return to earth she’s looking at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before.

She realizes you’re looking at her and goes stiff, pulling out of you as you wince and stepping away to pull her sweats back up. This was always your least favorite part; the regret. 

“I’m gonna go to sleep,” she backs toward the hallway awkwardly. 

Shame is filling the space where pleasure had just been. “Oh,” you mutter, “Okay.”

A silent beat of hesitation. “Yeah. Goodnight.” she turns, walking away.

You shut your eyes as tight as possible. “Wait-”

Immediately, she stops and turns back around. She’s disheveled and damp with sweat and her hair is falling out of its knot on the top of her head. She looks small, but she looks beautiful. 

“Can I sleep in your room?”

[bel1ewrites]

can you write a part 2 to “such a waste” ? with fluff please and smut if it fits

your writing is so good btw omg i immediately read all of your work

a/n: giggling and kicking my feet rn. Thank you so much!!!

Maybe (Such a Waste pt.2)

pt.1

Description: You and Sam try to find a compromise.

WC: 1k

Warnings: mentions of murder, slight angst, sickening fluff, (sorry in advance for any of my bald readers).

SAM was never much of a cuddler. She often grew too restless in her sleep, tossing and turning and ultimately annoying every partner she’d ever had. She could count them all on her fingers. They’d complain about her skin being too cold for them, often waking them in the middle of the night. They were always good at finding some new hidden flaw about her; something for her to add to the list of issues. However, the reason all of her relationships ended had little to do with her sleeping habits.

She watched as your brow twitched in your sleep, lips slightly parted as you breathed. You clung to her like a bear, leg hiked up over her and arms keeping her pulled to you. Even in a state of unconsciousness your grasp was impressive. While others complained about how much of an icebox she was, you were like a furnace. Her own personal heated blanket. 

She had no idea what time it was. Well, she knew it was early. The sun crept up steadily and casted shadows on the walls of your loft; illuminating you in an almost angelic glow. Your nose crinkled, cheek pressed firmly to her chest. It couldn’t have been any later than seven, she presumed as she looked down at your sleeping figure. 

Unfortunately, Sam had never had to pee as bad as she did at that moment. Slowly and carefully, she removed your arm from where it sat limply at her waist. Then, as stealthily as she could manage, she rolled out from under you and landed on the floor with a thud. Cursing and massaging her hip, she rushed towards the first door she saw, which happened to be a closet. 

“Goddamn loft,” she grumbled, finding another door. You watched in amusement -having woken up as soon as she moved your arm- as she stumbled through your home in search of a toilet. Your new ‘friend’ wore a form fitting tank top and a pair of boxers you’d found in the bottom of your underwear box. 

“I usually just piss in the singular plant,” you informed her with all the seriousness you could muster. Which, albeit, wasn’t much. Said plant seemed to stiffen at the idea. 

“You’re insanely funny,” she deadpanned; finally locating the right door and moving at an inhuman speed to get inside of it.

Curling back into your warm blankets, you called out a muffled, “Thank you! Toothbrushes are under the sink.”

—--------

Half an hour later, Sam emerged with a clean mouth, an empty bladder, and damp hair. She had opted to take a shower, dried sweat from the night before making her uncomfortably sticky, though she'd thrown the top and boxers back on. Your dozing figure formed a lump in the sheets where you lay, limbs sprawled wildly on the mattress. 

The bed shifted as she climbed back into it, propping herself up against the headboard and watching you with amusement threaded through her features. You rolled over and situated your head in her lap with your face buried in her thigh. When you shook your head suggestively, she took the hint and entangled her fingers in your sleep mussed hair. She smelled like you. You loved it.

“So you’re just always needy, hm?” she teased, nails gently scratching at your scalp. All you did was groan in reply, mind focused on how good she was at playing with your hair. The two of you stayed like that for a while, cold fingers on your head and warm thigh against your cheek. Both of you tried desperately to ignore the very large and very real elephant in the room. 

Sam looked around the space, taking in the few boxes and trash bags full of your life. The walls were some sort of off-white; eggshell or whatever the painters called it. They were completely bare, and she got the feeling that they wouldn’t stay that way. She wished that she could see the space full of life; full of you. She wanted to know what the walls would look like when you were done. How many posters would you hang up? Would there be any more piss plants? Would you keep the walls the same color, or paint them in a hue that encompassed who you were so perfectly that it would just make sense? 

“Sam?” you asked, confused as to why her hands had stilled. Your eyes peered up at her, face turning up so that you could rest the back of your head in her lap. She smiled down at you and traced your features with the pads of her fingers. 

“Sorry,” she smiled, “just got a little lost in my head.” 

“S’okay,” came your assurance, eyes falling closed and face relaxing once again. “We should talk about,” a slight pause, “...it soon.”

She hummed, movements never faltering. She knew what you were referring to; what “it” was. The bed felt stiff against her. On the outside she was eerily calm, smile never falling and chest moving steadily with each breath. The inside, however, was a different story. Somehow, you could tell how she felt.

“I’m not gonna turn you in or anything,” you tried to comfort her, eyes opening and gazing into hers. “I mean we did sort of have sex-” (“Sort of?” questioned the aforementioned sex partner.) “-Okay we definitely had sex- amazing sex actually- and I’d like to continue to,” a slight cringe twisted your lips, “have amazing… y’know.” Sam held back her laugh as you stumbled through your tangent. 

“Only thing is,” you continued, “It's generally frowned upon to sleep with a serial killer. Especially one your mother warned you about.” 

“This is true.”

“So… maybe you could take the killing down a few notches and come over here instead to let out whatever you need to,” you suggested to the killer in your bed. 

It was quiet for a minute, save for the sounds of the city that rushed outside. 

“Yeah,” Sam whispered, thoughts running through her head, “maybe.”

[bel1ewrites]

Hi!!! I love your writing I think it’s incredible. I was wondering if I could request a Melissa x reader where reader gets hurt on set or something and starts crying so Melissa comforts her and they are already dating but Melissa comforts reader and takes care of her injury and it’s just really fluffy. Thank you ❤️

a/n: Hope this is decent! Thank you so much for the support <3

The Whole Thing? (Melissa Barrera x Reader)

Description: You have an unlucky day, but Melissa cheers you up in the way only she can.

WC: 1.1k

Warnings: mentions of blood, public embarrassment at it's finest.

YOU prided yourself on the ability to perform all of your own stunts, often earning praise from directors for making their job easier. They’d have you take sparring lessons on occasion for the more intense shots which gave you a decent understanding of self-defense and a muscle mass to match. 

Though you enjoyed the challenge, the filming of Scream Seven was a nice break from the exhaustion of your normal roles that typically required you to work longer, more intense days. It still had its downsides, forcing you to sprint away from the ‘killer’ over and over again so that they could get the perfect take and painting you in fake blood that took forever to get out of your hair. However, it was still one of your favorite experiences as an actress. 

While the break from your usual gigs was nice, the best part of shooting for Scream was getting to spend more time with your girlfriend, Melissa, who happened to also play your girlfriend in the movie. The writers decided to spice things up and bring in your character to play the lead alongside Jenna and Mel in hopes of catering to their fans who were hungry for more sapphic content. Melissa immediately suggested that you get the role, setting up your audition and cheering you on from the sidelines. 

Unfortunately, being good at your job didn’t make you any less clumsy. 

All day you’d been tripping over everything on set and giving your co-stars small heart attacks, hands swiftly shooting out to steady you. Melissa took the brunt of it, sticking to you like glue ever since you’d run into your makeup artist and sent her spiraling; apologies spilling from her lips as if she’d flattened your dog on the sidewalk.

Even soldiers had to take bathroom breaks though, and Melissa was only human. 

She’d only been gone for two minutes at most, the extra large tea she'd chugged on her lunch break finally catching up with her. It all happened in slow motion. One minute you were on your feet, walking away from the set and towards the communal coffee table, and the next you weren’t. 

There was a loose floorboard that you were unlucky enough to stumble upon, foot catching on it and hands sticking out in an effort to save yourself. It was admittedly one of the most embarrassing moments of your life save for that one incident from the seventh grade. You let out a girly little shriek before hitting the floor with a not so girly thud. 

Melissa’s girlfriend senses tingled as she rinsed the soap from her hands, and she quickly scrambled out of the bathroom whilst simultaneously dripping water all over the floor. The sight she was met with made her heart drop. 

You stood surrounded by crew members with your head tilted up and the bridge of your nose pinched between your thumb and forefinger. The makeup artist from earlier looked horrified as she attempted to assess the damage and calculate just how much concealer she would need to cover it all. Rivulets of blood poured from your nose and your lip was split open on the right side.

Your girlfriend pushed the crew out of the way, pulling your hand away from your nose and grabbing the sides of your face, keeping it tilted up as she scanned the injuries. Caught up in the spur of the moment, she tore the signature Samantha Carpenter jacket from her body and held the fabric of it up to your nose in an attempt to keep you clean. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t her brightest idea. A collective gasp ran through the room and made her roll her eyes. 

“Oh, baby,” she sighed as she watched you try to keep your tears at bay, jaw clenched and fists closed, "You're having the worst day, aren't you?" her free hand tugged at a strand of your hair.

You nodded, lip quivering momentarily before the floodgates opened. 

“That’s a wrap for today folks!” The director announced uncomfortably, beginning to say something else that was quickly ignored by Melissa as she wrapped an arm around you and ushered you out the door. She led you to her trailer and sat you down on the couch, grabbing paper towels from the counter to replace the jacket that you held awkwardly against your face.

She took the jacket from your hands, sitting down while placing it on her lap and gently grasping your face again. “Let me see,” she whispered, wiping tears from your cheeks with the soft pads of her thumbs. 

Your bottom lip was swollen from where it had split on impact, bleeding slightly but looking as though it wouldn’t require stitches. She pulled your face to hers, kissing the cut as lightly as she possibly could and replacing the pain with pleasant little tingles. 

"I think the worst part about this whole situation is the fact that we can't have any hardcore make out sessions until this stops hurting," her lower lip popped out in a little pout and you went to do the same thing, but the tug on your injured flesh prevented it.

The bleeding from your nose was slowing down, reduced to occasional crimson drops that were wiped away by her as soon as they slid down your skin. It still hurt like a bitch, but your ego was more bruised than your body was. 

“One time I ate a prop apple on set in the middle of a scene,” Melissa admitted, seeming to read your mind. 

You let out a watery laugh. “Like… the whole thing?”

“Of course not, no,” she clarified, waving a hand at the assumption. “I did swallow some of it though…”

“How-”

“I thought it was just bland at first! It’s not my fault that they look so real,” her lips turned up in a contagious smile that made your heart pound in your chest. “There she is! Thank God for embarrassing stories; I thought I’d never see you blush ever again.”

The statement only made you blush a deeper pink, turning your face to escape the sudden love-struck expression that played across her features.

"Am I embarrassing you? Am I embarrassing my little honey nut cheerio snookums bubba boo?" She teased, making excessive kissy faces as she leaned in for your cheek

"Mel, cut it out you psycho," you giggled, trying to push her away when she climbed on top of you and attacked you with her lips.

She pushed you back against the couch and laid down on top of you, effectively stopping you from running away as she continued her attack.

"Sorry, baby. I can't hear you," she lied, lips skimming over your forehead, "the apple made me deaf."

You laughed so hard your stomach hurt, forgetting all about the fall.

[bel1ewrites]

Scream For Me

Description: You finally convince your girlfriend to see her new movie with you, but neither of you expect your reaction. 

WC: 3.2k

Warnings: smut, mentions of murder, knife play, top!Melissa, bottom!reader, fingering, oral, praise kink, slight degrading, toxic, orgasm denial, etc.

YOU thought this would be a good idea; a great one even. After spending the week practically begging for Mel to take you to see her new movie, she’d reluctantly agreed after you promised to let her pick next. She hated watching herself on the big screen, and you knew that. But there was something about seeing her perfect features and toned body amplified tenfold that hit like a drug. The way that they dressed her in almost exclusively tank tops that portrayed her muscular arms seemed almost intentional. It was insane to think about anyone not being attracted to her. 

The problem, you suppose, began shortly after the movie did. The first time she popped up on the screen, your palms turned sweaty and you suddenly became immersed in the popcorn the two of you were sharing. You couldn’t escape her; she was everywhere you looked. Her hand resting on your thigh, her body just inches away from yours. Even when you closed your eyes you could still hear the rasp of her voice blasting through the theater. 

“What’s wrong baby?” Mel asked, concern laced through her tone. She was looking at you with worry in her eyes, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over your thigh.

“Nothing!” you said a little too loudly. Adjusting your tone, you mumbled, “nothing… just scared of the gore and stuff.”

She didn’t seem convinced. You had no problem watching the first four screams with her; in fact you watched them with enthusiasm. She was hurt when she realized that you felt the need to lie to her, quickly retracting her hand and tensing up. Maybe her acting just wasn’t good enough for you. 

You noticed the look of hurt on her face. “Okay fine, it's not the gore. I…” you wished the seat would swallow you whole. 

“Ijustthinkyoulookreallyhotinthis,” you rushed out. 

It took a minute for her to process your strung together words. A conniving smirk began to slowly spread across her face. “Oh?”

“...yeah.”

Her hand returned to its home on your thigh, the smile never leaving her face. You felt ashamed and wished you hadn’t told her. For the rest of the movie, you could feel yourself gradually getting hotter. The sweatshirt you were wearing came off halfway through, leaving you in a t-shirt. 

You thought that you would immediately cum at the end when she slowly shoved her knife into the killer’s abdomen. She could feel the muscles in your thigh tense up as you closed your legs tightly. 

Somehow, you made it to the end credits before standing up on shaky legs and making a beeline for the exit. 

“Babe, wait up!” Melissa called, trying -and failing- to hold back her cackle. 

“Cut it out,” you mumbled to her as she caught up with you, out of breath and grinning ear to ear. 

“Aww, I’m sorry! You just look so cute when you’re all embarrassed,” she apologized as she wrapped a solid arm around your waist. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

—------

As soon as she closed the door, Mel had you pressed against the wall; hands falling to your hips. Her lips met yours urgently and you struggled to keep up with her. As she squeezed your hips in her hands, kneading the soft skin there, you let out a strangled sound from the back of your throat. 

“Do you know,” kiss, “what the best,” kiss, “thing about,” kiss, “being an actor is?” 

Her question was met with nothing but the sound of your lips moving against hers, soft sighs that made her crazy. She pulled away and looked you in the eyes as her thumbs moved in soft circles at your hips. 

“They let you keep the props,” she answered before leaving you standing breathless against the door of your apartment. Your eyes tracked her as she opened the closet and pulled out an object you couldn’t quite make out. 

“What is tha-'' you started before she cut you off. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” she smiled lovingly, making her way back over to you and returning her lips to yours. Her hands slipped under your t-shirt, making their way up to your ribs as she dragged her nails over them. 

Your own hands were less intentional, tugging erratically at her sweatshirt. If you could wish for anything in this moment, you thought, it would be for the damned thing to disintegrate into a million little pieces. The rational part of you knew that you would regret that if you needed something to keep you warm while Mel was gone on a job. 

  “Off,” you gritted out against her mouth. 

“You first,” she said cheekily, grabbing the hem of your shirt whilst you held up your arms. She slipped the fabric over your head and stepped back, admiring you from your head to the spot just above the button of your jeans. 

Your breath caught in your throat when she gracefully tugged off her own top, biceps and shoulders flexing with each movement. The lean muscle of her stomach rippled in the form of a six pack. You stepped toward her, hands landing just above her hips. You splayed out your fingers and squeezed. She laced her fingers together behind your neck and her eyes dipped down to your clavicle, continuing to travel farther downwards. 

You had made it a habit to workout regularly, lifting and eating an insane amount of protein. While your abs were certainly there, arms slowly getting more defined, you still couldn’t achieve the lean cut muscle that covered your girlfriend's body. Not that you were complaining; something about the way she could easily throw you around had you panting slightly. 

She walked you backwards, towards the leather sofa that sat in your living room. As she sat, she pulled you into her lap and leaned back. When your lips connected this time, it was frantic and messy. Teeth clashing and tongues tangling. 

You held her bottom lip between your teeth and tugged slightly; staring into her darkened eyes. As soon as you released her, she reached for the button of your jeans. Her quick and nimble fingers made quick work of it. You watched as she slowly dragged down your zipper, your hair falling like a curtain around your face. 

At the speed of light, you climbed off of her lap and tugged your pants down your legs. You were about to climb back on top of her, but she held up a hand. She sat back against the cushions, manspreading and shirtless, hair messy and lips swollen. 

“Those too,” she ordered, gesturing to your bra and underwear. Her gaze turned predatory, tracking your hands with her eyes. She followed your every movement. 

Never tearing your eyes from hers, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra. It slipped down your arms and fell to the floor with a soft thud. Her sharp intake of breath made you bite your own lip to contain a smile. You quickly tugged the lace down your legs and kicked it to the side, finally settling back on her lap. 

“So pretty,” she mumbled as she ran a hand through her hair. She remained relaxed against the cushions of the couch, one hand resting above her head and the other… Where was the other?

Oh. Oh. 

Looking down, you spotted her other hand holding a knife. She tapped your sternum with it slowly, watching as you turned pale at the sight and wondering why she’d never done this before.

“Mel?” your voice trembled.

“Hm?” 

She was looking you in the eye, lightly dragging the knife down your body and stopping just below your belly button. Then she dragged it back up.

Down. Up. Down. Up.

“What’s wrong?”

Further down. Further up. 

“You have a knife.”

Further up.

“I do.”

This time, on her way down, the tip of the knife bumps against your clit and you let out a shocked gasp. In the back of your mind, you know this is wrong. You know that it's completely deranged to let her fuck you with a weapon, but that rational part of you is silent as she runs the blade over your right nipple. 

You arch into her. The hand that was previously resting above her head moves to the small of your back and presses you further into her lap. Zaps of arousal follow the knife’s trail as she continues to run it along your body. She wouldn’t ever hurt you… right?

“So good for me, you know that? So obedient and well behaved.” she remarks, moving the knife into her non dominant hand and holding it against your throat. 

She can feel the way your pulse picks up, beating rampantly through the knife. Shame floods through you when you feel yourself start to drip onto the couch. You wish you could bury your face in her neck to hide the red that flushes across it, but you’re scared that if you move your neck she’ll cut you. 

“Oh you poor thing. I’m so sorry I left you needy. Don’t worry,” her dominant hand smooths down your body, running over your nipple, “I’ll take care of you.”

As soon as her fingertips make contact with your heat, you throw your head back; knife forgotten. The coil in your lower belly is already tightening and she’s barely even touched you yet.

Mel hums in disappointment and takes her fingers away from where you ache for them. Your head snaps back up, a whine escaping involuntarily. 

“Stay still baby. I don’t want you getting cut,” she rasps, pressing her knife further into your skin. “Or maybe I do.”

The sheer roughness of her actions makes you crazy. Her calloused hand hovering just out of reach, the sharpness of the blade at your throat. She’s completely ruined you for anyone else; you’re hers. 

“Please Mel- Please I’m sorry I’ll stay still I promise I’ll be good,” you beg desperately. Your eyes are locked on hers, and for a painful moment you think she’ll deny you. Except,  whatever she finds behind your gaze has her shoving two fingers inside of you before you can even process. 

Your mouth drops open and you fight every instinct to fall into her. You clench tightly around her fingers as she slowly pumps them in and out, immediately finding that familiar spot and pressing into it with force. 

She pauses there, fingertips pressed roughly against your g-spot, not moving an inch. Her eyes bore into yours as you struggle to keep them open. The look on your face burns into her memory, messy and unshielded. Quiet little moans rushing out of you with each labored breath. 

“God you’re perfect. So, so perfect and all mine. This tight little cunt is mine, this,” she drops the knife and wraps her hand around your throat, “pretty little neck.” 

Her fingers resume their movements inside of you, still too slow to be enough to satiate your burning hunger. “These pathetic little sounds you make when I don’t fuck,” thrust, “you,” thrust, “hard,” thrust, “enough.”

Tears burn behind your eyes as she increases her force, pounding into you with a hand wrapped around your throat and a glint in her eyes. She pulls your lips to hers with the hand around your throat, breathing in each sound you make. You try your hardest to keep up with the kiss, but you just can't. She’s fucking you too good, too hard for you to focus on anything but the way her fingers feel inside of you. 

When your mouth drops open against hers, she moves her lips to your throat and keeps your head tilted back by switching her grip to your hair. 

“Don’t cum yet,” she demands against your throat. Her thumb moves to rub circles around your clit as her fingers continue their movements. Your wetness drips further down her wrist with each sharp thrust. 

“Baby- I can't. I ca- I can’t Mel,” you force out as a tear falls from your eye. She bites into your neck, hard, and you choke on a sob. 

You can pinpoint the exact moment that you knew it was over for you. The feeling of each push against that spongy spot inside of you. The confident circles being rubbed around your clit, igniting your nerves and destroying you from the inside. Her tight grip in your hair and her teeth digging into your neck.

And lastly, the sudden way in which it all stops. No more movement within you, no hand in your hair, no teeth in your neck. Just the beat of your racing heart and the sounds of your sobs as you mourn your lost orgasm. 

Your girlfriend grabs you by the waist and quickly turns you on your back, the wet couch cold against your skin. Your vision is blurred with tears and you’re letting out choruses of no’s and please’s and why’s. 

Melissa watches as you writhe beneath her. Her shins rest on either side of your waist, her clothed ass pressed against your bare mound while she kneels on top of you. You’re too busy throwing a fit to realize her reaching for the knife on the floor next to the couch. Too busy feeling bad for yourself to see the predator admiring you like a fresh meal. 

You freeze when you feel cold metal press against your midriff. She laughs at the shock on your face. 

“Cat got your tongue?” she teases. She’s smiling down at you, breasts pushing against her bra and hair falling in soft waves around her face. When you stay silent she continues. 

“Do you know why I stopped?”

You shake your head and she applies more pressure to the knife against your skin.

“Try again.”

“I… I almost came,” you say shakily before rushing out, “but I wasn’t going to Mel, I swear I wasn’t! It just- you were just making me feel so good and I couldn’t- I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it. You were so good- you were everywhere. In my bones and my head and-”

She cuts you off with a finger to your lips. “Shh,” she soothes your tangled hair with her other hand, “it’s okay baby, I know. I know it felt so good. So good. But what did I say, hm? What did I tell you?”

When you try to answer through her finger, she pushes it into your mouth. Out of reflex, you close your lips around it and suck. 

“I said, ‘don’t cum yet’. I told you not to cum, and you ignored me completely,” she sighs with disappointment. “I know you tried for me, but you need to learn, okay? Can you let me teach you your lesson?”

You nod weakly, watching a smile spread across her lips. 

“Good,” she praises as she shifts down your body. She stays in a kneeling position between your knees and grabs your leg, resting it over her shoulder. The knife is still in the palm of her hand.

“Don’t cum until I tell you to,” she twirls the weapon in her hand and watches your eyes track the movement. 

“I could hurt you so easily right now, my fragile girl. Sink this right into your pretty little chest,” Mel punctuates her words with a spin of the knife. 

Unconsciously, your hips twitch upwards in search of relief. The fire between your thighs is unbearable.

“How about,” she starts, gripping the knife by its blade, “we make a deal.” The thrum of your pulse is almost audible, thigh twitching on her shoulder. “You wait to cum,” the handle moves closer to your cunt, “and I won’t push this blade into your stomach.”

Too busy processing the terror that runs through your body, you don’t realize she’s shoved the knife handle into you until your head shoots back and your eyes roll in their sockets. 

“Fuck- oh my god fuck. Shit-” you cut yourself off with a low moan when you see her lean down and place a kiss to your stomach. 

“Dirty girl,” she laughs, trailing her mouth lower and lower until-

“Mel oh my G- jesu-”

Her tongue flattens against your clit; pressing hard as she drags it along. You know you won’t last long at this rate. The handle fucks into you rigorously as she laps at you the way she knows you love. One of your hands finds its way to her hair, the other moving to your mouth to bite down on your knuckle. 

“Fuck just like that,” you moan out as she changes the angle of the knife.

Her eyes meet yours, mesmerized by the wild expression playing across your face. The way that she stares at you only pushes you further towards the edge. She notices your moans changing pitch, eyebrow arching as if to say, “I dare you.”

“Can I?”

Her movements slow. “Can you… what? Let me hear how good you can be for me. Use your words and beg.”

As you open your mouth to start, she picks her pace back up, lips wrapping around your throbbing bundle of nerves. 

“Please, Mel, baby please. Please just let me be your good girl, let me cum for you- I’m sorr- fuck oh f- I’m sorry that I didn’t listen,” she sucks painfully hard, “I am. I am, really. Never again. Never ever ever,” you’re mumbling the same word over and over, eyes closed and head shaking left and right. The effort that it takes to hold back is unlike anything you’ve ever known.

Mel watches as you beg, and she decides that if she has to wait any longer to watch you cum she’ll go crazy. 

“Do it,” she demands, never removing her mouth from your clit. Her free hand pushes down on your lower belly. 

A feeling you’ve never experienced before rushes over you, you focus on the way that the ridges of the handle brush against your walls. You clench around it so hard that Mel has trouble maintaining her strokes. You’re going to die like this, you think. You’re going to die being fucked by the handle of a knife, plump lips wrapped around your clit tight enough to suck your soul out. 

The orgasm hits like a freight train, legs tensing, then shaking. Your back arches so far off of the couch Mel is slightly concerned you’re going to pull something and she winces at the force you grip her hair with. Your neck strains and no sound comes out of your mouth. 

You don’t come down from your high for a few minutes, Mel helps you ride it out. She kisses the side of your thigh gently as she eases the handle in and out of you slowly; whispering sweet nothings. 

When you come to, the sound of her voice has you sighing with content. Limbs weak and legs shaking, you smile down at her with a lovesick look. 

“Welcome back,” she smiles.

Before you can reply, you remember that she just threatened to kill you if you came without permission. 

“Um… the knife-”

“Was fake,” she laughs. She pulls it out of you and stabs your leg with it.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK YOU JUST STABBED M- oh.”

Your leg is perfectly fine, she had pressed a button to make the blade retract. 

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, Melissa.”

[bel1ewrites]

Can you do yandere Sam? Will a girlfriend friend that's also ghostface

a/n: Sorry if this isn't what you meant! If I'm being honest, I had to google what yandere means. Let me know if you want a part 2, much love :)!!

Without Me? (GF!Samantha Carpenter x GF!Reader)

Description: It’s been months since you and Sam began wreaking havoc on NYC. What'll happen when she finds out that you killed without her?

WC: 900

Warnings: mentions of murder, possessive behaviors, toxic relationship, ghostface!Sam, ghostface!Reader

BLOOD rushed through your body as your heart pounded in your chest. The black robes you stood in were sporadically covered in sticky crimson liquid, causing the fabric to glisten wetly. She was going to kill you. She was going to yell and scream and stab and fight. 

As you stood before the sink in your shared bathroom, your hands shook violently under the rushing water. It turned red when you ran your black gloves beneath it. God, it was all red. All you could see was red and red and more red. 

The sound of your front door unlocking snapped you out of your panic. The sound of it opening and closing threw you back into it. 

“Honey,” Sam called from downstairs, “I’m home!”

Her footsteps moved through the house as she went through her usual after-work routine. Shoes off by the door, briefcase by the couch, keys on the counter. You could see her in your mind, removing her blazer and unbuttoning her shirt. The thought usually had you rushing downstairs to see it in real time, but not tonight. 

“Baby? You upstairs,” she asked, receiving no answer. She began walking up the stairs, each step sending you spiraling. Her movements were unsure, faltering slightly. The moment she reached the bedroom, her eyes located your mask on the floor. Red splatter marks painting the once white surface.

The bathroom door was closed, running water filling the gaps where silence should be. Slow footsteps got closer and closer until they stopped all together. Right in front of the door. 

Sam took a deep breath in through her nose and held it in her lungs. She continued to hold it as she knocked three steady times. 

“Sam, I messed up,” you admitted, sliding down to the floor and hugging your knees. For a long moment, she didn’t open the door. She stood outside quietly and flexed her knuckles; rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet and looked up at the ceiling. Your words swam through her brain. The water was still running, soaking through your gloves that sat in the sink and the sound of it was driving her crazy. You rested your forehead between your knees as she turned the doorknob. 

The sight of you sitting on the floor, head in your lap and arms wrapped tightly around yourself, made Sam momentarily forget about the circumstances. She walked over and kneeled in front of you, hand falling to sooth over your back through your robes. Her perfect girl was in distress, and she had to do something about it.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I’m here,” she cooed as she reached for your face. She pulled your head up and looked into your wild eyes. “I’m with you, no matter what. You and me forever, baby,” your girlfriend assured you, a peculiar glint in her eye. She paused. “But I’m not happy with you right now.”

Your lip quivered and you nodded. You knew why she was upset, you did something bad and she didn’t like it. She nodded with you, bottom lip poking out in a mock-pout. Tears brimmed in your eyes as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself.

“I’m gonna ask you some questions, and you’re gonna nod for yes and shake your head for no. Don’t speak, got it?” she tested you and you passed, nodding silently. A crazed smile spread across her perfect face. “Did you kill someone without me?” You nodded slowly. “Oh what am I going to do with you,” she sighed before asking her next question. “Did anyone see you?”

This time, when you nodded, her smile dropped and her nostrils flared. “Do I have to kill them?” 

A pause, followed by a slow nod and tears falling from your eyes. 

Sam stood abruptly, sighing with exhaustion. Her fingers began unbuttoning the rest of her shirt. She pulled it off, exposing the ripple of her abs and the definition in her biceps. The slacks that she wore hugged her hips in the perfect way as she began unbuttoning them as well. 

“What are y-” you began to question before she cut you off with a sharp look. 

“I said don’t fucking talk,” her nostrils flared with anger. “I’m going to deal with your mess. Take off the robes and give them to me or so help me God I’ll make you watch as I torture everyone who’s ever looked your way.”

You scrambled off of the floor and did as you were told, stripping until you stood in just your underwear and holding out the bundle of cloth. Sam’s eyes traveled up and down your body multiple times before she took the black heap out of your hands and put it on herself. You were going to tell her that they were dirty. You were gonna say there was blood all over them, but deep down you knew she didn’t care. Hell, it probably turned her on. 

“Good,” she praised you as if you were a dog sitting before a meal, “Now take off the rest of it and wait for me on the bed. I’ll be back to deal with you after I deal with the mess you made.”

[bel1ewrites]

Sneak peak for upcoming fic 🙏

"Go fuck yourself," you laughed humorlessly, pushing roughly against her hands and wincing as she shoved you back against the wall with little effort.

Her tongue peaked out to wet her bottom lip, mouth morphing into a malicious smile. "Why would I do that when I could just fuck this attitude out of you?"