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blackwolfstabs · 5 months ago

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SHADOW

Billy reflects on his only daughter and how blood can look so tragic yet so beautiful in the dark light of a serial killer's love.

fandom: Scream characters: Billy Loomis, Sam Carpenter, Christina Carpenter (mentioned), Mr. Carpenter (mentioned), & Tara Carpenter (mentioned) content: AU // She's Somebody's Daughter

a/n: shoutout to my billy, who inspired me to write this AU: @alphawolfstabs - love you lots billy! thank you for always supporting and inspiring me 🩶🩶🩶 inspired by Shadow | Austin Mahone

Being the bad boy with a difficult home life was one of the most misleading things in both observing and experiencing. It was easy. It was simple. At least, this was true for those observing. It was a problem that had logical causes and predictable solutions. However, from the boy experiencing it, things weren’t that clear. It wasn’t easy or simple. It was a game.

And if you looked closely, it was a game that the boy would come to know well. A painful, torturous game that was much easier to play on other people, especially when they don’t know who you are. It was all about questions, a quiz, one could say. Or a trivia…

Now, the questions weren’t complicated. They were actually very simple, but only when they were placed into the right hands. Only when they were asked to someone with a clear head. Emotions are a dangerous element to gamble with. They are what determines how the game will end. Those who have control over everything going on, inside and outside of themselves are very victorious. Lucky is the right word for it. But when you look through the lens of someone who’s preoccupied—whether it be by confusion, fear, anxiety, a loss of control—everything turns around. And those people do reckless things for unexplainable reasons that predict irreversible consequences.

The result? Take it from anyone who’s been burned with tragedy. It will always… always be at the cost of someone’s life. More times than not, it’s oneself. But then there are those rare cases when it’s someone else… someone you had no idea would even take any kind of blame for what you did. And you never know until it’s too late…

It was from a mirror. It was always from a mirror that Billy had the opportunity to have any sort of interaction, or connection, or bond, or whatever it was called with Sam. He never thought he’d ever have a daughter. He never thought he’d have a kid, period. Who would? He wasn’t that type. However, Christina was, and did she fall hard for him. It wasn’t a long relationship, but it escalated quickly. Ever since his mother left, Billy never thought twice about shit. Especially about shit like that. He was young, wild, and reckless. That’s all there was to it. But when he got that 2 AM phone call, and Christina was on the other line, it was the first time in years that he stopped to think for a second.

“I’m pregnant.”

They both knew he was the donor, but he was 17 and already had a plan. And it didn’t involve Christina or a daughter. So, he told her to give “it” up. Get rid of “it”. Then, he got himself killed before he found out she never did give anything away.

Now word had it that 13 years down the road, Christina began to resent their daughter, Samantha, and it was all because of him. It was controversial, of course, because honestly… How couldn’t it be?

Everything fell apart the night she found out that Billy Loomis was her father, her biological father. After 13 years of seeing Christina’s husband, her baby sister’s father, Mr. Carpenter, as her father—as her dad—it was no surprise that her world was turned upside down. It wasn’t her fault. Yet Christina would say it was, because she knew better than to go snooping where she wasn’t supposed to be.

That was the Loomis in her. And that was what made her who she was. It was what made her a survivor.

Samantha Carpenter would always be Samantha Carpenter. There was no telling her otherwise. It was written on her birth certificate and tattooed on every memory she ever had, before and after she found out the truth.

But through all those years, and even now, Billy had been watching. That was the one thing that he would thank death for… he got to be a part of his daughter’s life. Even when she didn’t like him, even when she couldn’t stand it, even when he teased her and critiqued her and forced her to face the bloodied card she’d been dealt—the one that was stained with the blood of a killer.

Even through everything, Sam was Billy’s daughter. She was his. And even though he was compatible with the majority opinion of him not being the type of guy…

He loved her.

He loved her a lot. No matter what his background was, Sam brought a light into the abyss of the afterlife. He never had the chance to be there for her like a father could’ve and should’ve been, but the idea always stayed in the back of his head. Because in the years before she knew about him and about herself, he was not a reflection…

He was a shadow.

He had seen her be a kid, a little girl ducking into the safety of another man that had no idea just how lucky he was to have someone like her call him “dad.” And while he’d never admit it, the reality of that hurt Billy over time.

He had watched her since the day she was born. Every time she walked into a room, he was there. Every time she turned out the light at night, he was there. Every mirror she glanced in or window she looked out of, he was there, even before her hallucinations began.

He had to say, it was strange to watch someone that was half of him live. It was strange in a way that started to restore the emotion in him but only to an extent. He wanted to be more to her than what he was, but he didn’t know how to be. That’s why he was so hard on her when things started to go south, especially when she was brought back to Woodsboro. When she went to New York, it was the same thing, however, he could feel that they were more than just estranged in the realities of living and dead. And so, he put a name on it: Team Loomis. His words were no less than a mentor’s, but regardless of that, he wanted to be better. Truly, he did. Because in everything she did, he saw someone with a thrill for survival that left him knowing it was bred from himself.

But he also saw everything he missed out on, everything that should’ve been him had life meant to be something else—had he meant to be someone else.

All the times Sam had called Mr. Carpenter “dad” or “daddy”. All the times she had run to him when she was scared or reached for him when she needed help. When she’d cry, and he’d held her. When she’d fallen, and he’d picked her up. When he'd make her smile and laugh, even on her bad days. As she'd gotten older, he’d tell her he was proud of her, and he’d still kiss her goodnight like it was the first night... even after so much time.

And then she found out the truth. And she accidentally told him straight to his face, even though she didn't know he was standing right behind her. That little girl and her daddy—that bond that had been built up on a fantasy sworn to be reality—was shattered. Just like that.

And she had watched him walk out that door that night, thinking for years-on-end afterwards that it was her fault. That she was the reason he left.

But the real reason was on the wall, a shadow that could only observe in silence like he’d done since the dawn of her time. At that moment, Billy never knew if it was too soon or too late to be there for her. He didn’t know how to comfort her. How could he?

Only his shadow knew how he felt about her. Only his shadow went where he dreamed of her and him.

He was only a shadow, until he wasn’t…

—

All of those thoughts hit Billy as he watched Sam lay nearly lifelessly on the cold, blood-splattered floor, her back to him and her breathing light and raspy. Her clothing was ripped and torn apart, blood smeared over her face and skin, bruises spotted her body, her hair was matted with sweat and stuck to her glistening complexion.

This was the same girl he'd watched grow up.

She didn’t deserve the burden life dealt her because of him and Christina, but she carried it anyway. She’d carry anything, if it meant keeping the ones she loved safe. What a tragedy... but also so very beautiful.

She was beautiful. She was powerful. She was dangerous. She was Billy Loomis’s daughter.

And Billy felt such a strong sense of paternal instinct, desire, and longing as he looked at her now.

That was his baby girl.

“Sam…” he said her name loud enough for her to hear, but gentle enough for her to feel comforted.

At first, Sam didn’t move, seeming too exhausted and beat to do anything else but lie so weakly on her side. But then she did.

Billy didn’t expect her to try and get up, but she did. He wanted to go to her, but he was frozen as watched her struggle, her arms shaking violently, while she pulled herself to her knees. A hoarse grunt that was part-whimper left her lips as she forced herself to her feet. Her face lifted ever so slightly towards him and…

She looked exhausted, like seeing him was the one thing she wanted more than anything—like she had felt trapped and alone, victorious yet defeated in this burning place. She nearly stumbled as she started towards him, finding her limp in the pain that was scourging through her.

It was slow, but it was strong in comparison to the desperate need her father knew she had to just fall and not get up. But she didn’t. She dragged herself to him with everything she had, until she got close enough for him to hold his arms out, and she collapsed into them. Billy dropped with her as she fell to the ground again, holding her close and pulling her into him. He felt her shudder and grab his guarding arm, like she was afraid he was going to disappear. His fingers combed through her hair, and he felt tears touch the forearm that was held against her cheek.

She moaned in pain, digging her nails into him.

That’s when he spoke to her. “Good job, Sam… you did so good.” He wished he could say all these things, all these words that she’d never heard from him—that she should’ve heard from him—but when he saw her bare torso convulse to have blood flood out of the gash in her side, that sealed his lips.

But she still held onto him…

Just like she had held onto Mr. Carpenter for years.

“It’s over…” Billy whispered, then bowed to place a tender kiss on her head. “Just rest now…”

When the paramedics rushed in, Samantha Carpenter was alone.

But Billy Loomis’s shadow never left.

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idkdudethisisntpermanent · 25 days ago

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Keep Your Eyes on Me - pt.ii

tara carpenter x female reader

part i | part ii

summary: Tara begins to question her own emotions, especially when the thought of losing Y/n's attention unexpectedly stirs something deeper.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: slight violence

————

"Is Y/n dying?" Mindy asks with genuine curiosity looking back at you and Tara. "What the fuck is wrong with her face?"

The five of you had just gotten off the subway and exited the station, but your mind was still stuck a few moments behind. Tara had wrapped her arm around yours and spoken the five words that made your heart skip a beat: Keep your eyes on me.

Since then, you hadn’t been able to function. Stiff as a board, your brain was in a daze, replaying those words over and over. Now, you were walking aimlessly, arm-in-arm with Tara, trailing behind Mindy, Chad, and Sam, who were a good distance ahead.

"I think it might have something to do with Tara," Chad chimes in, glancing back at you both.

That comment got Sam's attention and she finally turned to see what was happening. "Yikes she does look—hold on why would Tara be responsible for whatever is going on with Y/n's face?" She asks with a raised brow, looking at the twins genuinely confused.

"Look at her arm," Chad says, pointing at Tara. "It’s wrapped around Y/n’s."

"She's looking up at her like Y/n put the stars in the sky," Mindy laughs.

Sam squints her eyes still confused. "So? Tara's finally warming up to Y/n. I spoke to her a few weeks ago about how Y/n is good for her."

"Her arm is around Y/n's," Chad states again with more emphasis.

"I hold my friends by their arm all the time," Sam shrugs like it's no big deal.

"Oh honey... did you say friends?" Mindy says gently wrapping her arm around Sam's shoulders like she was trying to soften the blow. "You know Y/n has the hots for your sister right?"

Sam wasn't stupid. There was instances in the last six months where the thought had crossed her mind. The way you always glanced at Tara after one of Mindy’s outrageous jokes, just to see her reaction. The way you went silent every time Tara got too close. The way your cheeks flushed crimson whenever Tara did something particularly sweet or kind.

Sam sighs. Deep down, she knew. The way you were attentive to Tara wasn’t just friendly—it was something more.

When she’d encouraged Tara to give you a chance, it wasn’t about dating—it was about letting someone in, letting someone care for her. But now, watching you and Tara in this new light, the possibility of her little sister entering her first relationship suddenly felt real.

That’s what unnerved her. Not you, specifically. She liked you. And if anyone was going to date Tara, she was glad it would be you.

"Don’t worry, Sam," Chad says, trying to reassure her. "Y/n’s a total dork. She can’t even admit to herself that she likes Tara. She just genuinely cares about her, even if she only gets to do that as a friend."

"Dude," Mindy cuts in, laughing so hard she’s clutching her stomach, "you literally helped Y/n get into your sister’s pants!"

“You gave Y/n first class tickets to take your sister to Pound town!” she adds in between laughs.

Chad groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Why are you like this?"

Sam felt her blood run cold. She changed her mind—maybe she did have a problem with you.

————

Meanwhile, about twenty steps behind the group, the younger Carpenter sister was freaking out for a completely different reason.

Sure, she hadn’t expected to enjoy the feeling of her hand resting on your bicep this much. That was its own problem. But what was really throwing her off was the deafening silence. Why weren’t you saying anything?

She’d called your name a few times now, but you hadn’t so much as blinked in response. She considered taking her arm away. Maybe she’d overstepped. It had been a bold move—not just saying what she did but closing the space between you two like this.

It was a stark contrast from what's the usual between you two—her throwing violent insults your way, half the time just to see how you’d react.

Okay maybe it makes sense why you weren't responding. Still, was it too much to ask for a little reaction?

Fearing she’d made you uncomfortable, Tara began to pull her arm away.

"No! Wait—" you blurt out, snapping out of your daze at the loss of contact. The words hang in the air, and the realization of what you just said slaps you in the face. Your face flushes red. "I mean—wait, not no! You can keep your hands to yourself if you want!" you stammer, awkwardly backpedaling as you take a step closer to the road to create a distance between you two.

She just told you that you can keep your eyes on her and you told her she can keep her hands to herself.

In that moment, you’d honestly prefer to be hit by a car than embarrass yourself any further in front of Tara.

You brace yourself, expecting her to roll her eyes, to call you an imbecile, to tell you to get over yourself. Maybe she’d point out that she doesn’t need you to give her permission to keep her hands to herself—that she has full autonomy. Or worse, she’d say something cutting, like how she’d never touch you in a million years, even though she was the one who had grabbed your arm in the first place.

But instead, she laughs.

And it’s not a mean laugh. It’s soft, warm, and unexpectedly genuine, catching you completely off guard.

Not that you were complaining, but

What the fuck is she doing?

————

"What the fuck am I doing?" Tara mumbles to herself.

“That’s what I want to know,” Mindy fires back with a teasing smirk, leaning closer to Tara who was seated across her on the table.

Fortunately for you, soon after you heard the melodic sound of Tara’s laugh that made your brain short-circuit, the bar you were all heading to came into view giving you the perfect excuse not to dwell on it—or, more accurately, to avoid melting into a puddle of feelings. For the first time ever, Tara had laughed because of something you did, and the thought alone made your heart do a happy little somersault.

Upon entering the dive bar, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom while the rest of the group found a table to be seated at. Thankfully, the bathroom was empty, so you were able to think out loud.

“What even is my life right now?” you muttered to yourself as you leaned over the sink with a goofy smile. Catching your reflection in the mirror, your face was beet fucking red. Oh no. Did Tara notice how red you were? You groaned, covering your face with your hands.

How did things change so fast? How had it gone from her hating your guts, calling you Ghostface at every opportunity, and throwing insults your way—barely even sparing you a glance—to this?

Mindy had told you to stop chasing Tara, to ignore her, to let her come to you. You’d managed to stick to that advice for maybe an hour, and somehow, this was where it got you.

Not that you were complaining—oh, you definitely weren’t—but wow, this was a lot to handle. Your heart felt like it might burst from how warm and fluttery it was. Tara was kind of adorable… and terrifying. Mostly adorable. Okay, maybe all adorable.

"Fuck, this girl is going to be the death of me."

————

Outside, Mindy, Chad, and Tara stayed at the table while Sam headed to the bar to scope out the scene.

"Sooo… did I just see you holding Y/n’s arm?" Mindy asked, probing Tara for more answers.

Tara groaned dramatically before dropping her head onto the table with a quiet thud. "Yes," she mumbled, her voice muffled against the surface.

"What the hell happened in the two weeks we didn't hang?" Chad questions. "You couldn't stand her last time we hung out. And you're pulling the Carpenter rizz?"

"I don’t know!" Tara whined, her words still muffled by the table." Sam talked to me okay? And I guess I was being harsh to Y/n."

"Uh-huh, sure," Mindy replied, her grin widening. "But that still doesn’t explain why you were holding her arm. That’s a huge leap from ‘I hate Y/n, she’s totally Ghostface,’ to... this." Mindy explained, clearly enjoying the situation.

"Unless," Chad cut in, his grin matching Mindy’s as he wiggled his eyebrows, "there was always some hidden feelings under your 'supposed' hatred for her..."

Tara’s face shot up from the table, bright red as she glared at them. "There are no hidden feelings!"

Mindy gasped, clutching her chest like she’d uncovered a scandal. "Oh my God, there totally is! Admit it, Tara—you’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time!"

"Absolutely not!" Tara protested, her voice climbing an octave.

"You have," Chad teased, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper. "And you loved it."

Tara groaned again, hiding her face in her hands, as Mindy and Chad erupted into laughter.

"Shut up!" Tara muttered, but the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips betrayed her completely. She sighed, trying to compose herself. "I don't like her like that, okay? She was just ignoring me today, and... I guess it sucked not having her care about me like she usually does," she mumbled, hoping the explanation would get the twins off her back.

"Yeah, that makes sense," Mindy replied casually to Tara’s surprise. Well, that was easy.

But then Mindy smirked, leaning back in her chair. "So, it shouldn’t bother you that Y/n’s getting hit on at the bar right now, huh?"

Tara froze. "What?" she snapped, whipping her head around so fast it was a miracle she didn’t pull something. Her eyes darted frantically toward the bar. "Where is she?"

The brunette turned back around so Mindy could answer her, and that’s when she realized—she’d walked right into her trap.

Mindy burst into laughter, slapping the table. "Oh my God, you’re so obvious!"

Tara frowned and crossed her arms as Chad joined in on the laughter, both of them clearly enjoying how flustered she’d become.

————

You finally leave the bathroom once you feel like you can function like a normal human being again. It doesn’t take long to spot your friends at their table—sometimes, you swear you have a built-in Tara radar, always able to sense exactly where she is.

As you make your way over, your eyes are drawn to her, bathed in the soft red glow of the bar lights. She looks stunning, her features highlighted by the warm hue. She’s speaking animatedly to the twins, her hands flying up to cover her face in between bursts of conversation, a mix of shyness and excitement that makes her even more captivating.

Sometimes you wish you weren't the awkward human you were, and met Tara in better circumstances. A world where Ghostface didn't exist as well. Maybe then—maybe then you two could be something?

Your heart leapt at the thought. And you felt almost guilty for thinking the way you do. You never wanted it to seem like you only treated Tara with kindness because you had some sort of ulterior motive. It made you feel guilty. But it was getting difficult denying it any further. Maybe it was seeing her in this setting, so relaxed, so beautiful—maybe it was her touch and words earlier that sealed your fate.

But all you wanted right now was to slide into that booth beside her, feel her hand on your arm again, and be the person she could lean on.

You really liked Tara.

And you also really needed a drink.

————

"Okay, hold on—help me out here," Mindy says, holding her hands up. "If you do have some kind of interest in her, then why, and I say this with love, were you such a massive dick to her?"

Tara groans, letting her head drop back dramatically against the booth. "I wasn’t trying to be! It just... happened," she mumbles, rubbing her hands over her face, as if she could wipe away the embarrassment. "I don’t know, okay? She just gets under my skin. She’s so infuriatingly... nice. And smug. And—"

"Hot?" Chad offers with a teasing grin, earning a glare from Tara.

"I wasn’t going to say that!" Tara snaps defensively, though the red creeping up her neck betrays her.

Mindy snorts. "Oh, sure. That’s why you grabbed her arm like she was the last person on Earth. Real subtle Carpenter."

Tara exhales hard, crossing her arms and slouching down in her seat. "I didn’t plan that, okay? She was ignoring me. I didn’t like it. And I panicked."

Chad raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair with that smug big-brother energy. "Sooo, you panicked and held her arm? You panic-flirted?"

"I did not panic-flirt!" Tara protests, sitting up straighter, her voice pitching higher with frustration.

"You so panic-flirted," Mindy grins, leaning closer. "Face it, T. You’ve got it bad. I mean, you did just admit you didn’t like her ignoring you. That’s classic 'please-pay-attention-to-me' behavior."

Tara opens her mouth to argue, but freezes. She can’t deny that part—because it’s true. Too true. She didn’t like the way you’d suddenly stopped caring, stopped looking her way like you always did. It left her feeling... off-balance.

"Fine," she mutters, looking away as her fingers trace patterns on the table. "Maybe I didn’t hate it when she cared."

Chad and Mindy exchange a glance before turning back to her with matching smirks.

"Uh-huh," Mindy drawls. "And maybe you didn’t hate holding her arm."

Tara groans again, sinking lower into the booth like she could disappear into the cushions. "I really need you both to shut up right now."

"Why am I getting interrogated? And more importantly, where are the drinks? Sam? Y/n?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

————

You weave your way through the crowd, finally making it to the bar, where you flag down the bartender and order a drink—something strong to calm the storm brewing inside of you. Taking a seat, you take a deep breath, letting the hum of the bar settle around you.

"Another round," a familiar voice says beside you, and you turn your head to find Sam, casually gesturing for the bartender to line up several drinks. You blink, surprised.

"Sam?" you ask, brow furrowing. "What are you doing?"

Sam doesn’t look at you as she responds, eyes focused ahead, her tone completely serious. “Mourning.”

You stare at her, processing. “Mourning?” you repeat, confused. “Who… who died?”

Sam finally turns to you, expression deadpan. “My baby sister.”

You freeze, mouth opening slightly as your brain short-circuits. “Tara? Tara died?” you ask, voice rising in disbelief as you whip your head toward the booth where Tara is very clearly alive and animated, still talking to the twins.

Sam sighs dramatically, shaking her head. “Not literally. Spiritually. She’s about to get into her first relationship.”

Your face contorts into the human equivalent of the surprised Pikachu meme. “Her what now?”

Sam gives you a look, like you should already know. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re the relationship.”

You nearly choke on your drink, sputtering. “Me?!”

“Yes, you,” Sam replies matter-of-factly, grabbing one of the drinks the bartender sets down but not leaving just yet. She leans against the bar, eyeing you like she’s assessing your soul. “And don’t make that face. You’re the one she’s been all smiley and weird about lately.”

You blink at her, utterly lost. “Smile-y? Weird? What—Tara doesn’t even like me like that.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really,” you insist, though your voice wavers slightly.

Sam just smirks, sipping one of the drinks slowly. “You’re even worse at lying than you are at hiding how red your face is right now.”

Your hand flies to your cheek like you can stop the blush burning there. “It’s the bar lights!” you blurt defensively. “They’re red. They make everything red.”

"But I'm not lying I swear! She hates me remember? I'm supposedly Ghostface?" You ramble, trying to jog Sam's memory, because what in the world is she talking about. Tara likes you?

Sam chuckles under her breath, shaking her head. “You’re a mess.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, sinking further into yourself before glancing up at her. “But seriously… what do you mean me? I thought you were mourning because of some jerk she’s into—”

“Oh, I still think you’re a jerk,” Sam interrupts, though there’s a teasing glint in her eye now. “But you’re a tolerable one.”

You blink again, confused. “I’m… tolerable?”

“For now,” Sam confirms, narrowing her eyes at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re back in high school, being questioned by a teacher. “But listen to me, Y/n—I don’t care how flustered you get or how much you like her, I’m watching you. If you so much as make her frown, I’ll know. You’ll regret it.”

The seriousness of her tone makes you sit up a little straighter, but there’s still something soft in the way she says it—like, beneath the overprotective big-sister act, Sam really does care.

“I wouldn’t do that,” you say quietly, surprising even yourself with how genuine you sound. “I’d never hurt her. Ever.”

Sam studies you for a long moment, like she’s trying to read the truth straight from your eyes. Finally, she gives a small nod, satisfied. “Good. Because she deserves someone who looks at her like she’s the best thing to ever happen to them.”

Your heart stutters at her words, and you look down at your drink, trying not to smile too obviously. “I already do,” you admit softly, almost to yourself.

Sam pauses, her expression softening ever so slightly. “Yeah. That’s what worries me,” she mutters, more to herself than to you, but before you can ask what she means, she straightens up. “Now come on. I’m not carrying all these drinks by myself.”

You blink up at her, still a little dazed by the conversation, but you quickly grab a couple of glasses and stand up to follow Sam back toward the table.

But as you rose, the sudden sound of shattering glass and the murmur of rising voices pull your attention toward the commotion. A crowd begins to form in the center of the bar, the tension thickening with every heated word exchanged. It’s only when the circle shifts slightly that you spot her—Tara, her small frame squared off against a guy who looks a little too angry for the situation, and a girl glaring daggers at her.

You and Sam exchange a glance before rushing over, the protective instinct in both of you kicking in instantly.

“Look, I said I’d buy you another drink,” Tara says, her tone calm but laced with frustration.

“Yeah, well, maybe watch where you’re going next time dumbass,” the guy snaps, his voice dripping with condescension.

“Okay then maybe don’t stand in the middle of the fucking bar like a human traffic cone,” Tara bites back, her words sharper than you’ve ever heard from her.

The guy’s girlfriend steps in, practically seething. “Who do you think you are? Bumping into him like a slut and then acting like it’s his fault? God, you’re so full of yourself!”

Tara rolls her eyes. “Trust me, I do not want your man. This isn’t that deep.”

The guy snickers, leaning closer to Tara. “Yeah, right. With that attitude? You’d be lucky if anyone wanted you.”

You feel your chest tighten with anger, but you force yourself to take a deep breath. You step forward, hands up in a gesture of peace, trying your best not to escalate things.

“Hey, let’s all just calm down,” you say, your voice cracking slightly under the pressure. “I’ll get you a drink, okay? On me. No big deal.”

The guy turns to you, sizing you up before sneering. “Who the hell are you? Her little lapdog?”

That stings more than you’d care to admit, but before you can respond, he takes a step closer to Tara, clearly trying to intimidate her. Tara doesn’t back down, her glare unwavering, but his shoulder roughly “brushes” against hers in what’s definitely not an accident.

The nudge sends Tara stumbling backward, but thankfully, she lands against Sam, who steadies her instantly.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

Something snaps inside you, and before you can think it through, your fist is already flying. It connects with the guy’s jaw, sending him reeling back a step. The bar erupts in gasps and shouts as the guy recovers, glaring at you with fire in his eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he growls, lunging at you.

Chaos ensues. Tables scrape against the floor as people back away, forming a wide circle. You’re barely aware of Sam pulling Tara further back, her voice sharp as she tells her to stay put.

The guy swings at you, but you dodge, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I was trying to be nice!” you shout, your voice somehow still awkward despite the situation. “But nooo, you had to go and—”

His next punch grazes your shoulder, and you retaliate, landing another hit square in his side.

“Y/n!” Tara’s voice cuts through the noise, and for a split second, you falter, glancing in her direction.

That’s all the guy needs to get a cheap shot in, his fist connecting with your stomach. You stumble back, the wind knocked out of you, but you manage to stay on your feet steadying yourself by having your palm planted on a nearby table.

Unfortunately luck wasn't on your side, and the table had a broken bottle on it, the jagged glass slices into your palm. You wince, but thankfully, the chaos around you masks the pain, and no one notices it.

Suddenly, Chad steps in between you and the guy, his broad frame blocking any further blows. “Alright, enough,” he says, his voice firm, but not without a hint of warning. “You don’t want to take this any further bro. Trust me.”

Before the guy can respond, Sam steps in too, her hand flashing a taser from her waistband, her expression icy cold. “I suggest you walk away,” she says, her voice steady and threatening. “Unless you want to leave here with more than just a bruised ego.”

The guy hesitates, clearly debating whether to push his luck. But the bartender steps in then, a burly man who looks like he’s seen his fair share of bar fights. “Alright, that’s enough!” he barks. “You—out. Now.”

The guy glares at you one last time before grabbing his girlfriend’s arm and storming out, muttering curses under his breath.

As the crowd disperses and the bar settles back into its usual hum of activity, you turn to Tara, who’s staring at you with wide eyes.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

She nods, her gaze softening as she takes a step closer to you. “Are you?”

You wince, clutching your stomach. “I’ll live. But, uh, maybe next time, don’t antagonize the guy holding the drink?”

Tara scoffs but smiles faintly. “Maybe next time, don’t throw punches for me.”

Sam snorts, crossing her arms. “No, by all means, keep throwing punches. Just learn to dodge better.”

You laugh weakly, glancing between the two Carpenter sisters. “Noted. So… anyone else need a drink, or is it just me?”

Tara shakes her head, her smile growing, her face red. “It’s just you. But… thanks. For standing up for me.”

Your heart skips a beat at her words, and despite the ache in your hand, you can’t help but smile back. “Anytime.”

You catch Tara glancing at you, her expression softer then ever, and for a moment, she seems to be looking at you like she’s seeing something more than the awkward dork you think you are.

And in that instant, she can’t help but think you're even more amazing than she already knew. But before she can fully process it, Chad suddenly approaches, glancing at your hand, his face faltering in concern.

“Hey, are you good?” he asks, his eyes scanning your hand. “You look like you're in pain.”

You wince, still trying to play it off as no big deal. But Chad catches sight of the blood trickling from the glass cut on your palm, and his eyes widen. "Holy shit, dude, we need to take you to a hospital."

You shake your head quickly, your voice still a little shaky. “It’s just a scratch, really. I’ll be fine.”

But Tara, her brows furrowing in concern, steps forward, and glances at your hand and gasps. “That’s not just a scratch,” she insists, her voice filled with worry. “You’re bleeding bad. Get up—Mindy call an Uber.”

You open your mouth to protest again, "No hospital, I'm fine I just need a first aid kit." Sam steps in with a calm, no-nonsense tone. “On it, I'll ask the bartender.”

Tara, who’s been silently observing the whole time, takes charge. Her voice is soft but firm as she grabs the first-aid kit from Sam’s hands once she rejoins the group. “I’ll do it,” she says, her gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve done enough tonight. Let me take care of you.”

Mindy, who’s been watching the exchange with a smirk, suddenly chimes in, a teasing edge to her voice. “Look at you, Y/n. Who knew you had this much of a protective streak? Tara’s got you all worried, huh?”

You feel your face flush, but before you can respond, Tara shakes her head at Mindy’s comment, her worry deepening. “She’s hurt, Mindy. It’s not funny.” Her voice softens as she turns back to you, “You’re really gonna be okay, right? I— I don’t want you to be hurt.”

You can see how much she cares, and it makes your chest tighten with emotions. Tara’s usually so tough, so guarded, but right now she’s nothing but concerned.

You try to reassure her, even though the tenderness in her gaze makes it hard to keep your cool. “I’m fine, really. You don’t have to worry so much.”

But Tara doesn’t seem convinced, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I can’t help it,” she admits softly, her voice almost a whisper. "I care."

The weight of her words lingers in the air, and for a moment, everything feels a little clearer between you two. Tara doesn’t just care for your safety—she cares about you.

She gently guides you to an empty booth, pulling you away from the noise and chaos of the bar. It’s just the two of you now, in your own little corner of the world. You slide into one side of the booth while she settles on the other, a table separating you, but it somehow feels closer than ever.

The silence stretches between you both, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. You hold your hand out toward her, palm facing up, your fingers trembling slightly from the sting. Tara’s gaze softens when she sees the injury, and with a quiet sigh, she reaches for the first-aid kit.

Her movements are slow, deliberate, as she opens the kit, pulling out antiseptic and gauze. You watch her, your heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain. She carefully dabs the cotton swab in the antiseptic, then presses it gently to the cut. You wince, a sharp sting jolting through your palm.

“Sorry,” Tara murmurs, her voice low and soothing. She frowns, her brows knitting together in concentration as she takes more care, dabbing at the wound more carefully this time. “I’m trying to be gentle. You’re not a fan of this whole ‘injured’ thing, huh?”

You chuckle softly, still feeling the burn of the antiseptic. “Nope. Not my favorite thing," your voice coming out a little more awkward than you intended.

"I can't believe a dork like you got in a fight."

You let out a small laugh, trying to hide the fact that her words have made your heart race. “I’m not a dork,” you protest weakly.

Tara raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Really? Because I could’ve sworn you were about to pass out the second I touched your hand.”

You blush even harder. Tara’s smile is warm, genuine, and it makes the sting of the antiseptic a little easier to bear.

“It’s not the touch,” you mumble, “it’s just... you’re too close.”

She laughs softly, a sound that makes your heart flutter. “Yeah? Guess I’ll just have to keep getting closer, then.”

Her words, teasing as they are, send a warmth rushing through you. You try to play it cool, but inside, you’re an absolute mess. The way she cares for you, even in such a simple moment, makes everything feel... different. It’s like a tiny shift in the air, making you want to stay in this little bubble of quiet with her forever.

Tara looks up at you, the gears turning in her head. Was she being unfair right now? Giving you mixed signals.

She continues cleaning the wound, but now with even more care. She choses her next words carefully not wanting to sour the mood, “I'm really sorry for how I treated you. I think with everything that happened last year, I was scared to let new people in, and so I was wary of you even though you’ve been nothing but amazing to me. I guess I just had my guard up and it was unfair and—"

"I know Tara, I forgive you don't worry," you smile at her. And its pure and genuine, and Tara knows that you mean that whole heartedly.

As Tara finishes bandaging the cut on your palm, she gently flips your hand over to check for any other injuries. Her fingers graze across the back of your hand, and she notices the bruised knuckles. For a split second, she pauses, her breath catching in her throat.

Her eyes linger on your hand—on the faded bruise, evidence of the fight you’d just gotten into—and for some reason, she can’t help but think it’s... hot. The way your hand looks, bruised but still strong, it makes something in her chest tighten. You got into a fight for her.

She quickly shakes her head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingers. What the hell is wrong with me? she thinks, her face flushing slightly. Tara quickly looks up at you, trying to mask her sudden embarrassment with a forced nonchalance. But you're just sat there beaming at her, telling her its okay for how she treated you in the past, that you forgive her.

Suddenly, Tara couldn’t just take it anymore. The way you were looking at her, so soft, so genuine, made her heart flutter in a way she couldn’t ignore. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and then, without warning, she leaned forward, her eyes locking with yours.

“You know,” she started, her voice low and teasing, “Mindy said you were incapable of acting first.”

You blinked, confusion flashing across your face. “What?” you asked, not sure where she was going with this.

Tara smirked, clearly amused. “And that if I wanted something to happen, I’d have to be the initiator.”

You furrowed your brow, still not understanding. “What are you talking about?”

Tara’s smile widened, and she leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping even lower. “I find that hard to believe, given how you just got in a fight for me. I know there’s a little boldness in you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and before you could even process what she was saying, she added, “But I guess so do I.”

Without warning, Tara reached across the table, her hand grabbing the front of your shirt. You froze, your breath catching as she pulled you closer, her face just inches from yours. Your heart raced as she leaned in, and then—before you could even think—her lips were on yours.

It was soft, tentative at first, like she was testing the waters. But then it deepened, and everything around you seemed to fade away. The kiss was warm, gentle, but there was an undeniable intensity to it, as if she was pouring everything she felt into that moment. Your uninjured hand instinctively reached for hers, feeling the pulse of her heartbeat against your fingertips.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you pulled away, breathless. Tara’s eyes were wide, a soft blush coloring her cheeks as she looked at you, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

You blinked, your mind racing, and then you couldn’t help but grin, a nervous laugh escaping you. “Damn... I should’ve gotten into a fight a lot sooner.”

Tara rolled her eyes, but her smile was all warmth, and you could see in her eyes that there was something deeper. Something unspoken, but undeniable.

Something that was always there.

Taglist: @cobaltperun @machyishere @freakshow2501 @nwestra @mcchicken88 @101rizzlrr @snowdrop1026 @ilovesneezing069 @btay3115 @burntoutghost

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