#sam carpenter x reader

[tortillamastersblog]

The Moment I Knew | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: none :)

Summary: You love Sam with all your heart, and after three years of being with her, you suddenly feel like you can’t wait a second longer to ask her to marry you.

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“Babyyy,” Sam whines playfully, making me chuckle in my high chair at the kitchen island.

It’s late, almost eleven, but because Sam and I had Tara, Mindy, Anika, and Chad over for dinner, I didn’t get a chance to answer some important emails yet.

It’s Friday, and I won’t be back in the office or on my computer until Monday, so I have to answer all of them now.

“I’ll be right with you,” I say with a gentle smile when Sam emerges from the bedroom, dressed only in one of my oversized shirts. Her hair falls down one side of her neck in messy waves, and she pouts as she makes her way over to me, going behind me and snaking her arms around my middle and resting her chin on my shoulder to watch what I’m doing while her hands slip under my hoodie, her fingers skimming over my skin in a gentle touch.

It’s not sexual, I realize fairly quickly when she doesn’t start planting kisses on my neck like she normally would. It seems like she just wants to be close to me so I tilt my head to the side to touch my temple against her cheek before continuing typing.

“What are you even doing?” she asks curiously flattening her warm hands on my stomach.

I sigh tiredly and press the heels of my hands against my eyes before returning to typing. "I just reviewed a bunch of cost reviews and am now writing an email to our cost engineers about what changes they can approve to R&D," I explain, which makes her hum.

She nestles her face against the side of my neck and takes a deep breath, almost as if breathing me in, before tightening her hold on me and watching as I finish up work.

I quickly finish my email and make sure I don’t have anything else to review or reply to before finally shutting my laptop with a sigh.

Realizing I’m done, Sam perks up and lifts her chin from my shoulder.

“Bed?” she whispers, raking her nails over my stomach, making me shudder.

I hum in agreement and tap her hands over my hoodie before slipping off the chair and turning around in her arms so her hands rest on my lower back. I smile at the way her sleepy eyes fixate on me, watching my every move as I step closer, cup her cheeks, and dip my head to peck her lips softly.

She makes a quiet sound of approval and pulls me even closer when I try to break the kiss, moving her lips against mine in a slow, sensual way.

Even after more than three years together, kissing her still makes me weak in the knees. And when she pulls back a moment later, I’m the one chasing her lips, making her chuckle quietly.

I grumble playfully and peck her lips a couple more times, which makes her smile before we eventually break apart completely.

“Bed?” I repeat her own words back to her, making her nod and disconnect from me. She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bedroom.

She stops right in front of the door, though, and turns back around with a frown. “Wait, the dishes.”

I huff in amusement and kiss the top of her head, smoothing my hands down her arms. “I did them while you were getting ready for bed.”

Her expression shifts, guilt flickering across her face, and she fists the front of my hoodie in her hands and tugs me closer. “I told you I’d do them,” she says quietly.

Every time I do something around the apartment, she hates it. Not because she doesn’t appreciate it, but because I work a lot, and she doesn’t want me taking on chores on top of everything else. But I honestly don’t mind. She works a lot too, at the café, and she’s about to graduate with her degree in photography. If I’m home and I get the chance, I want to do everything I can to make her life easier.

“It’s fine,” I reassure her, but she’s not having it. Her frown deepens, and her eyes glisten like she’s close to tears. It’s the same expression she always gets when we have this conversation. But it is fine. I don’t mind cooking, doing the dishes, or throwing in a load of laundry every now and then.

I love her, and I’d do anything to make things easier for her, whether it’s working twelve-hour days so we can afford a vacation together or simply doing the dishes after a long day like today, when all we want to do is go to bed.

I exhale softly and press a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I don’t mind,” I murmur. “I like taking care of you.”

Her hands tighten in the fabric of my hoodie, her breathing uneven for a moment. Then, she exhales, her forehead dropping against my chest.

“I just don’t want you to do everything,” she mumbles.

I let out a quiet chuckle, stroking a hand down her back. “I don’t. Just… the things that make your life easier.”

She lifts her head, looking up at me with a tender expression, until, finally, nodding and tugging me into the dark bedroom again.

I quickly get ready for bed in the en-suite before joining Sam. She’s already snuggled up in bed, her face buried in my pillow, eyes closed.

The city outside is still alive, as always, lights twinkling in the dark even as rain starts to fall, a few drops sliding down the floor-to-ceiling windows. Being this high up, we have the perfect view of it all.

Hearing me come back, Sam lifts her head and smiles tiredly, opening the covers for me to slip under with her. As soon as I settle on my back, she shuffles on top of me with little grunts of effort, like even the smallest movements are exhausting. When she finally exhales and slips her arms underneath my shoulders, she lets out a satisfied sigh.

The weight of her on my chest and the warmth she radiates after showering earlier makes me realize just how tired I am. Because we watch something every night before bed, I ask if she wants to put something on, but she surprisingly denies.

“Just wanna cuddle,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to my throat that makes me melt.

“Okay.” I agree quietly, wrapping my arms around her and running my hands up and down her back over the fabric of my shirt.

“I love you,” she mumbles a couple of moments later, already half asleep, and even though she says it constantly, right now, for some reason, it makes my chest tighten with realization.

I want to marry her.

I’ve known it since we got together because I’ve been in love with her since we were kids, but right now, it really hits me—I want to marry her.

I want to marry her right now, in this moment, alone in our bedroom, cuddled up under the sheets like any other night.

She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

The thought makes my heart skip a beat, and I only manage to croak out a quiet, “I love you, too,” before blinking back tears at my realization. Any other time, Sam would have noticed how off I am, but she’s right on the brink of falling asleep, so she doesn’t comment on it.

She just exhales deeply, sinks into me even more, and then she’s gone.

I hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to her temple and closing my eyes, breathing in the lingering scent of the soap she always uses.

I want to marry her.

The thought circles through my mind as I stare at the ceiling, making me feel warm and tingly until I realize I still need to buy a ring and ask her.

Shit. I need a ring.

I won’t be able to sneak off this weekend because we both took it off, but on Monday, I’ll get out of work early and find one.

Before I do that, I’ll have to ask Tara for permission and maybe even see if she wants to come along. I’m sure she’ll say yes. She loves Sam and keeps telling us to just get married already, so I know it’ll go well.

A small smile tugs at my lips at the thought of her reaction, and a few minutes later, exhaustion finally catches up to me. I drift off with Sam’s grounding weight on top of me and her steady breath warm against my neck.

I grumble when I wake up to a sudden weight on my stomach and squint against the sun streaming in through the windows.

“Mhmm… Sammy,” I mumble, turning my head in an attempt to bury my face in the pillow.

“Wake up, baby,” Sam prompts quietly, leaning down to nudge my cheek with her nose.

I huff and slide my hands up her thighs, still keeping my eyes closed. “’S too early.”

“No, it’s not. It’s almost ten,” she retorts, amusement laced in her voice as she starts pressing kisses to my cheek, along my jaw, then onto my lips.

I grimace, not ready to get up yet, but I kiss her back anyway, even though it’s lazy.

It’s a simple movement of lips against each other and doesn’t last very long. Sam pulls back sooner than expected, which makes me open my eyes to find her dark gaze already on me, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Good morning,” she whispers, her hair falling around her face and shielding us from the outside world.

The memory of my epiphany last night makes me smile too. I squeeze her thighs gently and tilt my chin up to peck her lips again, my tiredness already fading.

“Morning. What do you want to do today?”

Sam frowns in thought and brings her hands up to graze her fingers against the side of my neck. “Do you wanna go out for breakfast? I’m in the mood for some loaded bagels. And then maybe we can go for a run this afternoon and make lasagna for dinner?”

“Hmm. Sounds like a plan,” I say, smiling up at her for a moment longer, watching as her eyes light up before flipping us around and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, swallowing her surprised squeak at our sudden change in position.

She doesn’t protest, though, and keeps kissing me before giggling when I slide my hands under her shirt. I forget sometimes that she’s ticklish, but the sound of her laugh just makes me smile too. I pull back and watch her cock her head to the side, reaching up to brush a strand of hair off my forehead.

“I thought we were going to get breakfast,” she says, squirming slightly when I slide my hands higher underneath her—well, my—shirt, running my fingers over her ribs while her legs wrap around my hips and pull me closer despite what she just said.

“Mhmm, but not just yet,” I tease, which makes her chuckle before pulling me down for another heated kiss.

One kiss turns into another, then another, until the teasing shifts into something deeper and slower. Her fingers thread through my hair as I press my body into hers, hands exploring and breaths mingling. The lazy morning stretches on as we lose ourselves in each other, wrapped up in warmth and soft touches until we finally get up to take a shower together before heading out for breakfast.

I drum my fingers against my steering wheel, nervously glancing around as if I’m doing something wrong when, in reality, I’m just waiting in my car for Tara to get out of class.

It’s Monday now, and I need Tara’s help picking out a ring, so I got off work earlier, like I planned, to catch her right as class ends.

I wait a couple more minutes until Tara finally comes into sight, ambling out of one of the university buildings with Anika, who’s got her arm slung lazily over Tara’s shoulders.

They’re giggling about something I’ll probably never get to hear, but when they spot me stepping out of the car, their laughter shifts into curiosity. Then it brightens into surprise.

“Y/N?” Anika asks, brows raised as Tara hugs me without hesitation. “What are you doing here? Come to give us a ride?”

I chuckle, a little nervous, hugging Anika as soon as Tara lets go.

“Actually… no. I came to steal Tara for the afternoon.”

Tara raises a brow, her smile teasing. “Oh really? What for?”

I hesitate for half a second. If Anika knows, Mindy will know. And Chad? Chad will find out before I can even blink. I want to keep this quiet for now.

Tara notices the pause. Her smile softens into something gentler. “You know what? Never mind. Surprise me.”

She turns to Anika with a quick squeeze. “I’ll see you at home?”

Anika groans about having to take the subway alone but shrugs it off, hugging Tara one last time before waving and heading down the sidewalk.

Once we’re alone in the car, Tara settles into the passenger seat and turns toward me with curious eyes.

“So… what’s going on?”

I pull onto the road, heading downtown.

“I need your help with something,” I say, glancing her way. She’s got her hands resting quietly in her lap, waiting for me to explain.

“I’m going to propose to Sam. And I need your help picking out a ring.”

Tara gasps. Then she squeals, grabbing my arm.

“You’re proposing? When?”

I laugh, my heart thudding. “I don’t know yet.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Do you have a plan? When did this happen? I mean, I always knew you two would end up married, but now?”

“We’re not getting married right now,” I say quickly, even though just saying the word makes me feel like I’m floating. “It just kind of hit me the other night. We were in bed, just cuddling, and all of a sudden I knew. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to take care of her and make her happy. I don’t have a plan yet. I just know I want to be ready when the right moment comes.”

There’s a pause. When I stop at a red light, I glance at her and find her staring at me with teary eyes.

“You are literally perfect for her,” she whispers, her voice cracking. Then she starts laughing, wiping at her eyes before diving into a stream of proposal ideas.

She goes on and on, from rooftop candlelight to some dramatic beach moment in the south of France.

I just smile and nod, letting her excitement carry us forward. Even though I always knew Tara would be supportive, there was a small part of me that worried she might think it was too soon. But clearly, she’s all in.

We reach the jewelry stores, and after what feels like forever of comparing options and debating settings, we finally find the one.

A simple, elegant gold band with a small round diamond in the center, flanked by two smaller ones set into the band. Classic, understated, and beautiful. Just like Sam.

Tara holds it up to the light, nodding like she’s found the Holy Grail. “She’s going to lose her mind,” she says with a grin.

“I hope so,” I reply, my chest already full.

Of course, Tara decides her expert help deserves dinner, so she invites herself over. We stop by the grocery store, grabbing everything we need for carbonara, before heading home to the apartment Sam and I share.

She’s already home when we get back, stepping out of the bedroom with damp hair and a makeup-free face, dressed in shorts and an oversized hoodie. When she sees Tara and me, she doesn’t even question her being here. She just pecks my lips in passing on the way to the kitchen and asks, “What groceries did you get for dinner?”

“We’re making carbonara. How was your day?” I ask, following her into the kitchen. Tara trails behind me, buzzing with excitement, which makes it ten times harder to act normal. The weight of the ring in my pocket has my hands sweating, but I ignore it as I start unpacking the groceries.

Sam hums, says "yum," and hops onto the kitchen counter, telling us about her day, which was pretty uneventful, while Tara and I cook. Well—I cook. Tara stirs the pasta so it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pot while I cut the guanciale and grate the cheese.

Then, out of nowhere, Sam asks, “Wait. What were you and Tara doing today? I thought we weren’t supposed to see each other until tomorrow night?“

I freeze. Tara glances at me with a barely restrained grin, which instantly makes Sam go still too.

She stops swinging her legs and sits on her hands, frowning slightly. “What? Am I missing something?”

“No, no,” I say quickly, trying to play it cool, but my voice comes out too high. Tara’s grin widens, not helping at all.

Sam slips off the counter and tugs on my shirt to get me to face her, since I turned back to the stove to hide my flushing face.

I slowly turn, shooting Tara a glare before meeting Sam’s eyes.

“What is it?” she asks quietly, fingers tugging at the hem of my shirt. It makes me flinch, only because her hand is way too close to my pocket. She notices, and her face falls a little. It looks like she thinks I’m pulling away from her, and that makes my heart lurch.

Panic crawls up my chest and I look at Tara again, not surprised when I see she’s practically vibrating with amusement.

I sigh and take Sam’s hands in mine.

Why wait?

I have the ring. I never said I needed a plan. I just wanted to be ready, and right now, everything feels right.

We’re home, Sam’s comfortable, and she’s surrounded by the people who love her most in the world.

I squeeze her hands and give Tara a look. Her eyes widen and she steps back so I can move away from the counter.

I let go of Sam’s hands briefly to turn off the stove. Then I take a deep breath.

“Y/N?” Sam asks, brow furrowed, about to kneel with me when I drop down. I shake my head with a watery smile and gesture for her to stay standing.

When I get down on one knee, it hits her. Her eyes widen as her hands fly up to cover her mouth. She glances at Tara, who’s already pulled out her phone and hit record.

“Do you remember Friday night when we were cuddling?” I start, voice shaky. She looks at me again, eyes wide, but I keep going before she can answer.

“You were sprawled out on top of me like you always are. But that night, I realized I didn’t want to spend another night without knowing you’re mine forever.”

She lets out a soft, watery laugh behind her hands.

“I’ve always known I wanted to marry you. But that was the moment I knew I wanted it soon. So after the weekend, I picked up Tara and asked her to help me find a ring.”

I pull the box from my pocket. A tear slips down my cheek, but weirdly, I’m calm now. My heart’s steady because I know she’ll say yes.

“You are the love of my life. After everything we’ve been through, all I want is to give you the peace and the love you deserve. So... Sammy, will you marry me?”

She’s crying. Ugly crying. But then she drops her hands and says yes, of course I’ll marry you, before cupping my face and bending down to kiss me.

Her hair brushes against my cheeks and her tears drip onto my skin, but I just kiss her back, holding the ring box, with my heart happily fluttering in my chest.

When she pulls away, she’s still crying, and I look at her for permission before gently taking her hand and sliding the ring onto her finger.

Then I stand, and we kiss again. It’s not intense or wild because Tara’s still here, and we’re both too happy to stop smiling.

After a moment of quiet, forehead to forehead, Tara throws her arms around us and squeals.

“You guys are getting married!”

Sam and I lock eyes and start laughing.

“Yeah,” I say, cheeks aching from smiling. “Looks like it.”

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This one’s been sitting in my drafts for a long time, but I finally finished it.

Hope you guys liked it ❤️

[moralogy]

GHOSTFACE!SAM HC’S

— warnings: ghostface!sam au, nsfw mention (no smut), mentions of blood, mentions of violence, f!reader

— a/n: hi guys! i know i said id be active more and i promise you im trying! i was going through my archive of my old posts and found this :) so yes its a re-upload im useless i know haha! hope you enjoy anyway

⋆˚࿔ ghostface!sam is definitely an adrenaline junkie, so i feel like dates would be going to a theme park & her begging you to go on the scariest rollercoaster you’ve ever seen or something.

⋆˚࿔ loves it when you bathe her after a kill. coming back wearing a blood soaked backpack with her outfit in, blood on her face and covering her boots. opening the door quietly to not wake you, but you couldn’t sleep. no words shared between you both, just silent nods and you sitting with her, running her a bath as you wipe away the blood splatters on her cheek.

⋆˚࿔ mask stays ON during sex. she feels most like herself in the outfit, she wants you to know and understand that side of her.

⋆˚࿔ even if someone isn’t part of the bigger picture of her killings, she will hurt ANYONE who has wronged you. at a party and someone got a little handsy? her knife slipped into their chest 27 times oops! she so silly :p

⋆˚࿔ she wouldn’t keep her killings/ghostface persona hidden from you. you either love every part of her or you don’t love her at all (that’s the way she sees it anyway)

⋆˚࿔ before she was ghostface she was rough during sex, but now she’s found a way to release the anger in a healthier way she’d be much more gentle. she would never hurt you. never.

[dray4short]

Taste You

! CONTENT ! ! Smut, begging, teasing, cunnilingus, edging, use of "cum", binder mentioned, porn without plot, aftercare, established relationship, Sam calls you "love" ! I think that's it, tell me if there's anything else y'all need a warning for

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x FTM reader Dynamic: Dom!Sam Sub!Reader Summary: Sam goes down on you and makes you beg for release A/N: Been waiting to write for a while, REQS OPEN BTW and Masterlist incoming

You’re not sure when she flipped the switch on you.

One moment, Sam was curled beside you on the couch, fingers lazily toying with the rings on your hand, her head on your shoulder like she didn’t have a single intention beyond relaxing into your side. But then her thigh shifted—pressing between your legs a little too deliberately—and her teeth scraped your neck like she knew.

Now, you’re on your back.

Your shirt is bunched up just beneath your chest, binder tossed somewhere across the room, your body aching with how exposed it feels. Sam has her thighs straddling your hips, her hands planted firmly on either side of your head like a cage, and her eyes locked on yours with a look that pins you in place harder than her grip ever could.

You're flushed. Twitching under her. And she knows it.

“Such a mess already,” she murmurs, her voice too casual for the way your body’s trembling beneath her. “Barely touched you.”

You bite down hard on your lip, trying not to buck up into her. Your fists clench at the sheets. Every part of you is screaming for more—friction, pressure, something—but she’s holding you there with that same cruel patience she always uses when she really wants to see you come apart.

“Sam…”

It’s half a plea, half a warning.

But all she does is smile—small, soft, devastating—and dip her head down to kiss just beneath your jaw. Then lower. The slope of your throat. The curve of your chest. Every inch of you she passes makes your skin burn hotter, your thighs twitch wider.

You gasp when her fingers slide along the inside of your leg, teasing just close enough to make you jerk.

And then she pulls away.

Not far. Just enough. Enough to make you groan in frustration, to push your hips up instinctively, only to be met with the press of her palm against your lower stomach, holding you still.

“Not yet,” she whispers, and it’s maddening. “You’re not ready.”

You are. God, you are. But you don’t say it. Your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat and your head’s already spinning from how wound up you are. She knows that. Of course she knows that. But still, her hand just rests there—firm, steady, unmoving—like she’s daring you to disobey her.

And you almost do. Your whole body pulses with the need to chase something you know she’s not going to give you yet.

She leans in again, this time slow, her lips trailing lower, her breath hot and devastating. Her mouth barely grazes where you want her most before she pulls back again, tongue wetting her lips like she’s tasting the moment.

“You’re shaking,” she says quietly.

You are. You’re so close and she hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

But she doesn’t let you finish. Not even when your hips arch into empty air. Not even when you gasp, loud and broken.

Instead, she shifts back, settles between your thighs, her palms spreading your legs wider like she owns every inch of you. And then she just looks at you—devouring you, loving you—and it makes your whole body clench with need.

“You're gonna stay right here,” she murmurs. “Until I say you can fall.”

And you will. You’ll beg if she makes you. You’ll wait through every cruel stroke of her tongue, every teasing whisper, every brush of her fingers that never quite tips you over.

Because she owns this part of you. And you love every goddamn second of it.

Your legs are trembling.

Sam hasn’t even started yet, not really, but you can feel every second of this in your bones. Your nerves are on fire, your muscles clenching with every shift of her weight between your thighs. She's staring up at you like she could devour you whole—and part of you thinks she might.

Then her hands slide up.

Her thumbs press into the creases where your hips meet your thighs, spreading you open wider, grounding you there—helpless and pulsing under her. You try to breathe. You try to hold it together.

And then she leans in.

The first drag of her tongue is slow. Purposeful. It's barely even pressure, just enough to make your stomach jump, to make you feel the heat of her mouth without giving into it. You twitch. She holds your hips down harder.

One more stroke. Higher this time. Right over where you're sensitive, throbbing, aching—and you let out a sound that isn’t a word. It’s a broken, breathless whimper.

“Fuck, love,” she murmurs against you. Her breath is hot. Her voice drops low. “You taste so good when you’re like this.”

You barely hear her. Everything is tightening, your chest, your fists, your thighs. The ache is blinding. Your whole body’s trying to lean into her mouth but she keeps you pinned, won’t let you move. Won’t let you finish.

Her tongue circles slow and cruel, never enough pressure to push you over. You’re soaked. Dripping. You can feel it trailing down, can hear it each time her mouth finds you again. And again.

You don’t even know how long it lasts. Your mind is haze and tension. You’re shaking hard now, every muscle in your stomach drawn tight, every breath a ragged pull of heat and need and helplessness.

Your hips buck up without warning—and she pulls away.

Just a few inches. Just enough to leave you grinding against nothing, panting, aching.

Your vision blurs.

“Baby…” you gasp. “Please—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she says, voice soft and infuriating. Her fingers stroke lightly along your thigh, almost like praise. “You’re doing so good.”

You whimper. Because of course she’d say that now. When you’re straining, twitching, flushed down your chest. She says it like you aren’t already unraveling right beneath her.

And then—God—her mouth is on you again. More pressure this time. More intent. You can feel the difference. Her lips wrap tighter, her tongue flicking fast, rhythmic—and you think this is it, she’s going to let you—

But no.

She stops again. Just before the edge. Just before you break.

You're sobbing her name now, shaking so bad it feels like your body’s not even under your own control anymore. Everything throbs. Everything hurts in the best, most unbearable way.

And she’s still holding your hips down like you’re hers.

“Not yet,” she breathes. “I want you ruined first.”

You don't know how much more you can take.

You're wrecked. Every nerve is on fire, your thighs shaking with the effort not to grind into her mouth, not to beg again. And Sam? Sam is calm, so calm, like she hasn’t just pulled you back from the edge three different times, like she hasn’t been watching your body twist and tremble under her for what feels like hours.

Your chest rises and falls fast, your skin damp with sweat, flushed all the way down. Your fingers dig into the sheets, into your own thighs, anywhere you can hold onto as you pant and writhe, aching for her to finish what she started.

She watches you.

God, she loves this—loves seeing you come undone like this, leaking down your thighs, lips parted and eyes wild, too overwhelmed to even form real words anymore.

And then she softens.

Her hands slide up your body, slow and deliberate, resting over your ribs, your stomach. She leans in again, mouth close enough that you feel the warmth of her breath.

“You’ve been so good for me,” she whispers, pressing a kiss right at the crease of your hip. “So fucking sweet, baby…”

Your head falls back against the mattress. You moan her name, helpless, trembling with it.

Then her mouth finds you again—and this time, there’s no holding back.

It’s firm. Hungry. Her tongue moves with purpose now, drawing circles, flicking over that aching spot again and again and again until your whole body is rising, tightening, curling toward her mouth with a cry. You can’t stop it. Can’t slow it. You’re already too far gone.

Your hips jerk, a broken sound leaving your throat, your hands flying to her hair, gripping tight as your body finally, finally lets go.

You cum hard.

Harder than you meant to, than you thought you could after being edged so long. Your thighs clamp around her head, back arching, your cries raw and desperate as you ride every pulse of it with your whole body.

And Sam doesn’t stop.

Not even a little.

Her grip on your thighs tightens as she rides you through it, her mouth unrelenting, tongue drawing more and more from you until your body’s twitching with aftershocks, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, your voice a wreck of gasps and broken praise.

You’re barely holding on.

Everything’s wet. You. Her. The sheets beneath you. You can feel yourself leaking down her chin, dripping onto her fingers where they hold you open.

And when she finally pulls back, she looks wrecked too. Her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, eyes wild with pride and hunger as she crawls up over your body to kiss you—

You taste yourself on her tongue.

She moans into your mouth. And you, shaking and breathless, kiss her back like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

“Think you can go again?” she whispers, barely giving you room to breathe.

And the thing is?

You probably could. Because after that?

You’re not just ruined.

You’re hers.

You're still trembling when she finally eases off of you. Your chest is rising too fast, and your fingers are cramping from how tightly you were gripping the sheets. You can’t even speak yet—not really. All you can do is lie there, boneless, flushed, and blinking up at the ceiling as your heart races in your ears.

Sam’s weight settles beside you on the bed, and without a word, she reaches for you.

Not to start again.

Just to hold.

She curls up against you like she’s fitting puzzle pieces back together—her thigh hooked over yours, her hand splayed over your chest where your heart’s still pounding. She presses her nose to your neck, kissing the skin there with so much gentleness it almost breaks you more than the orgasm did.

"Hey," she murmurs, voice rough with affection. “Still with me?”

You nod—or try to. You think it might come out more like a whimper, but she gets it. She always does. One of her arms snakes around your waist, tugging you closer as she nuzzles her way under your chin, letting you melt into her warmth.

Her fingers trail up and down your side in soft, lazy patterns, just enough to ground you.

"You did so good for me, baby..." she breathes, kissing the corner of your jaw.

You finally manage to turn your face into her hair, your lips brushing her temple. She smells like warmth, like skin and sweat and comfort. You feel her hand move to the side of your face, thumb brushing just beneath your eye where the tears dried.

"Too much?" she asks gently.

You shake your head and whisper, “Not even close.”

She smiles. You can feel it. Her lips press to your cheek, then your nose, then your mouth—soft kisses, dotting you like she’s trying to memorize every inch. Her hand finds yours and interlaces your fingers, resting them against your chest.

“Want water?” she asks. “Or a blanket? I can clean us up, just say the word.”

“Just... stay.”

That’s all you need right now. Her warmth. Her weight. The safety of her arms around you after giving her everything.

She hums and pulls the thin sheet up over both of you, tucking it gently under your chin like she always does. Her legs tangle with yours, and she keeps whispering to you—soft things, soothing things. You’re not even sure what she’s saying half the time, just that her voice is slow and calm and low, and it keeps you grounded.

You fall asleep like that.

Nude, spent, and warm in her arms, your heartbeat finally matching hers.

[luffyssa]

[halfmoonaria]

when you weren’t here

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara sought escape in all the wrong places, never expecting reality to catch up with her

warnings: graphic violence/injury; stabbing, blood, coma-related discussions

author’s note: someone asked for more angst and i’ll deliver. actually love this one.

Tara had gotten used to hospitals.

The way the air always smelled faintly of antiseptic and something sterile, like it had been scrubbed too clean. The way the lights buzzed quietly overhead, flickering just enough to make her wonder if they were about to go out.

The way voices echoed in the halls—doctors speaking in calm, measured tones, nurses hurrying past with carts that rattled against the floor. She knew the sounds, the smells, the feeling of hospital sheets stiff against her skin, the weight of bandages pressing into wounds that had barely started to heal.

She had been here before. Too many times.

The first time was when she was six. She still remembered the sharp snap of pain in her wrist when she fell off the monkey bars at school, how she hit the ground so hard that for a second, she thought she had cracked the earth beneath her.

Sam was the one who carried her to the car, her voice tight with panic as she told her to hold still, just hold still. Tara had cried the whole drive there, cradling her arm against her chest, the pain radiating all the way up to her shoulder.

She had stopped crying when the nurse handed her a lollipop, but the ache lingered for weeks after, even beneath the heavy cast wrapped around her arm.

The second time was worse.

Woodsboro.

She had spent weeks in a hospital bed, stitches holding her together while the bruises darkened and then faded, while her body fought to get stronger, to recover from the way a knife had torn through her, over and over.

She had learned how to sleep in hospital beds, how to breathe through the pain, how to smile and pretend she wasn't terrified every time a nurse walked in, half-expecting the glint of a knife instead of the dull shine of a clipboard.

And then, she had come back. Not as a patient, but as a visitor.

Chad had been in the hospital for weeks after the attack. He had survived, but just barely, and Tara had spent so many afternoons at his bedside, watching him try to act like everything was fine even as he winced with every breath. Mindy, too. Tara didn't know how many times she had walked into one of their rooms with a stupid joke on her lips, trying to make them laugh, trying to make the place feel less suffocating than it was. But she hated it. The smell, the sounds, the memories pressing in on all sides.

Then came New York. A fresh start. A way to move past everything that had happened.

But the past had followed her.

Hospitals had followed her.

And now, she was back.

It shouldn't have affected her so much.  She had gotten used to hospitals after all.

But this one was different.

This time, it wasn't her in the bed.

She had gotten used to the steady beeping of the monitors beside her. Steady, rhythmic. A constant in the background, something that had faded into white noise over time. It was the same sound she had heard for months.

The same sound she had heard that first day. Or that day

She remembered the day too clearly.

She had been told what to expect before she stepped inside—that you wouldn't look the same, that there would be wires and tubes, that there was no way of knowing when or if you would wake up. The words had been clinical, rehearsed, meant to prepare her. But nothing could have.

Because when she stepped into that room, everything in her just... stopped.

The world outside the door felt like a different place. A different life. One where you were still you, where your voice filled the spaces between words, where your laughter tangled with hers in the air like it belonged there.

But in here, in this room, there was only the hum of machines and the too-sterile scent of antiseptic. There was only you, still and quiet in a bed that wasn't yours, wrapped in too much white, your face almost lost beneath the harsh fluorescent light.

She hadn't moved at first. Couldn't.

She just stood there, staring, because none of it made sense. You didn't look like yourself. Too pale, too still, too much like something fragile, something breakable. She hated it. Hated the way the sheets swallowed you up, hated the way your hand looked so small against the stiff hospital blanket. Hated that you weren't looking at her.

Somewhere, deep down, she half expected you to wake up right then. To blink up at her with that same sleepy smile you always gave when she woke you up too early. Because that was supposed to happen. That was how it was supposed to go. She would walk in, and you would see her, and everything would be okay.

But you didn't.

You didn't move at all.

And for the first time since it happened, she felt the full weight of it settle into her chest.

You weren't just sleeping.

You weren't going to wake up. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And she didn't know how to breathe through that.

You hadn't just been sleeping.

You hadn't been going to wake up. Not then. Maybe not ever.

And she hadn't known how to breathe through that.

For a second—just a split, desperate second—she had caught herself thinking that it had to be some kind of joke. That any moment now, you'd sit up, laughing until your stomach hurt, teasing her about the look on her face. You'd tell her it had been a prank, a huge, sick joke, and she'd have been pissed, but she wouldn't have cared, not really, because at least you'd have been you. At least you'd have been here.

But you hadn't woken up.

You hadn't moved.

You had just laid there.

Tara had only stared. She had seen you a million times before—had seen you grinning with flushed cheeks, had seen you rolling your eyes at something dumb she'd said, had seen you looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

But that? That hadn't been you.

Your face had been too pale, too still. Your lips had been cracked. The glow you had always had, the warmth, the life—it had been gone. The person in front of her had looked like a shell, like someone wearing your skin but missing everything that had made you you.

And Tara hadn't been able to accept it. She wouldn't have accepted it.

Not that. Not you.

Her hands had trembled as she had forced herself to move. She had taken a step forward, then another, but every movement had felt wrong, like she had been walking into something she hadn't been meant to see. Like if she had gotten too close, if she had looked too long, she'd have had to admit this had been real.

She had sat down in the chair beside your bed, but not without hesitating. She had hesitated with every move she had made.

Her fingers had clenched against her jeans. She had gulped hard.

And then—slowly, silently—the tears had started falling.

She hadn't even realized she had been crying.

It hadn’t been you.

It couldn’t have been.

But it had been.

Her breath had hitched as she had reached out, stopping just before her fingers had touched yours. She hadn't wanted to feel it. Hadn't wanted to know what your skin had felt like now, what it had meant for you to be this cold.

But she had done it anyway.

Her hand had covered yours, careful, almost fearful.

You hadn't moved.

Your fingers hadn't curled around hers, hadn't squeezed back, hadn't reacted in any way at all.

And you had been cold.

Tara had sucked in a sharp breath, blinking fast, trying to keep herself together.

She had told herself it had just been the hospital, that rooms like that had always been freezing, that it hadn't been you, not really.

But the truth had sat heavy in her chest.

You had been cold because your body hadn't been living the way it should have been.

Because your heart had been beating, but you hadn't been there.

She had swallowed past the lump in her throat and had whispered, barely above a breath—I'm here.

And then she had just sat there, her hand over yours, watching, waiting, hoping.

Convincing herself that it hadn’t been forever.

That you would wake up.

That she'd see your eyes again.

Bright with laughter, maybe even squinting as you smiled, the way they always did when you were really, really happy.

Because the last time she had seen them. Really seen them. Was in the moment she found you, bleeding out on the floor.

They had been wide with shock, glazed over with pain, staring up at her as blood pooled beneath you.

They had searched for her—pleaded with her—before fluttering shut, before your body went still, before everything collapsed around her.

That wasn't how she wanted to remember them. She didn't want that to be the last image burned into her mind—the dull, fading look in your eyes, the way they lost focus as your body went limp.

She tried to push it away, to replace it with something else, something better.

But no matter how hard she tried, that was the version of you that haunted her.

She wanted to remember your eyes the way they used to be—warm, bright, alive.

She wanted to remember the way they squinted when you smiled, the way they gleamed with mischief whenever you teased her, the way they softened when you looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

She wanted to remember how they flickered with something unreadable when she kissed you—how your lashes fluttered for half a second before you melted into her like you had been waiting for it.

But when she closed her own eyes, when she let herself slip for even a second, that wasn't what she saw.

She saw them wide with fear.

Glassy. Unfocused. Darting between her and Sam as she held onto your wrist, fingers trembling because she knew what she was asking you to do. Go. She had said it again and again, her voice sharp with urgency, her grip tightening like that alone would be enough to make you listen. But you hadn't—not at first. You had shaken your head, refused to leave her, your voice cracking as you told her you weren't going anywhere.

And god, she had wanted to hold onto you, to tell you she wouldn't leave either. That you'd get through this together.

But she couldn't.

Not when she had no idea what was coming next. Not when she was standing there, her pulse hammering, her body braced for something—the inevitable moment Ethan and Quinn would make their move, the moment they'd step out from the shadows and turn this entire fucking night into something even worse than it already was.

She had forced you to say it. To repeat it back to her—those three words that still echoed in her head.

I'll walk away.

She could still hear the way your voice had cracked on the last word, how quiet it had been. She could still see the way your fingers had twitched by your sides, the way your throat had bobbed like you were trying to swallow down the fear pressing up into your chest. You had looked at her like you wanted her to stop you. Like you wanted her to change her mind.

And she had almost—almost—reached for you again.

But she didn't.

Her fingers had curled into fists at her sides as she forced herself to nod, to meet your eyes one last time and tell you it was okay. That she would come back to you, that she'd find you the second Ethan was dead, that she'd be right behind you before you even had the chance to start panicking.

That you'd be safe.

That everything would be fine.

She had believed it. She had believed every single word she said to you.

But she had said it all too loudly.

And Quinn and Ethan had been listening.

She hadn't known it then. She hadn't even thought about it.

She had just stood there, her hands shaking as she tried to steady her breathing, her mind racing with a dozen different thoughts at once—how long they would have to wait, how Ethan would show himself, how Quinn of all people could be Ghostface, how quickly she and Sam could get this over with so she could go back to you. She had been so fucking sure that was how this would go. That Ethan and Quinn would attack, that she and Sam would fight back, that they would win.

She hadn't known that while she was standing there, preparing for a fight that hadn't even begun yet, they had already found you.

She hadn't known.

She hadn't known that while she stood there, gripping the handle of a knife so tightly her knuckles burned, you had already collapsed to the floor. That while she braced herself for Quinn and Ethan to make their move, you had already felt the first sharp, brutal tear of a blade slipping between your ribs.

She hadn't known that while she sucked in a slow, steadying breath, yours had been knocked out of you. That your fingers had clawed at the wound in your stomach, hot blood spilling between them, painting your hands in red that you barely registered because—fuck—it hurt, it hurt so bad.

She hadn't known that while she took a step closer to Sam, her body tensing in anticipation, your legs had given out beneath you. That the floor had rushed up to meet you in a way that felt almost unreal, your head spinning so violently it was hard to tell which way was up, which way was down, which way was—

Her.

Where was she?

Your lips had parted, the effort of forming her name too much when your throat was already thick with blood, choking you, drowning you.

But she hadn't heard.

Because she hadn't known.

She had stood there, heart pounding in her chest, waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen—unaware that it already had.

She had lifted her knife, a sharp inhale burning its way down her throat, seconds away from lunging at Ethan—while you lay just meters away, blood pooling beneath you, slipping through the cracks in the floorboards.

She had ducked when Quinn swung for her, twisting her body at the last second—while your fingers barely twitched at your sides, weak and useless, unable to do anything but slip in the mess of red beneath you.

She had slammed her knee into Ethan's stomach, her breath sharp, body thrumming with adrenaline—while your chest barely moved, every breath shallower than the last, drowning under the weight of it all.

She had shoved a fucking knife into his mouth.

And she had laughed.

A short, breathless thing—sharp with relief, with victory, with the overwhelming certainty that it was over.

That you were okay.

That the only thing left to do was find you.

She had turned, her fingers still curled around the handle of the knife, ready to run back to you, ready to wrap her arms around you and hold you, ready to breathe again because she could, because you could, because you were—

Her body had frozen.

Because you weren't there.

Because the spot where she had left you, the place where she had told you to go, was empty.

And then she saw it.

A hand.

Limp. Pale. Blood-slicked fingers barely curled.

She followed it.

Followed the trail of blood smeared across the floor, the crimson soaked into your sleeves, the mess of it seeping into your hair.

And then—

She saw your eyes.

And she wished she hadn't.

Because they weren't the same ones she had been so desperate to see again. They weren't shining with laughter, weren't squinting slightly at the corners as they always did when you smiled at her. They weren't warm, weren't alive.

They were glassy. Unfocused. Half-lidded, as if keeping them open was already too much for you.

And fuck—

There was so much blood.

It coated your skin in streaks, in smears, in pools. It had soaked through your clothes, clung to you like a second skin, painted your lips a deep, terrifying red. There was some on your chin too, like you had coughed it up, like your body had already started failing you.

Your lips trembled.

You were trying to say something.

She knew what it was.

Her name.

But it didn't come out.

Because you couldn't force it past your lips, couldn't get enough breath into your lungs. Because you could barely even move—the only sign of life being the weak, desperate twitch of your fingers, the way your hand, the one that wasn't splayed limply against the floor, pressed against your stomach, trying—failing—to stop the bleeding.

You had tried.

You had tried to help yourself, tried to push down against the wounds, tried to fight.

But there were too many.

There was too much blood.

And she wasn't thinking anymore.

She dropped to her knees so fast she barely registered the pain of the impact, her hands pressing over yours, her fingers curling over your own like she could somehow give you her strength.

Your body flinched under the pressure.

A sharp, agonized wince twisted your features, and Tara felt her own face crumble, a shaky breath pushing past her lips because—fuck, she didn't want to hurt you, but she had to.

Your body was shaking. Your breath came out in short, quick pants, your chest barely rising.

She could see you slipping away.

She could see it happening, right in front of her.

And her lips parted.

A scream tore out of her throat, raw, desperate.

She screamed for Sam.

Screamed louder than she ever had in her life.

And within seconds, Sam was there.

Sam, who had still been gripping her knife, ready to fight. Sam, who had barely even taken a breath of relief after Ethan before Tara's scream had ripped it away. Sam, who froze the second her eyes landed on you.

Because she had thought it was over.

Because Tara had thought it was over.

Because you were supposed to be safe.

And yet—

There you were.

Bleeding. Dying.

Tara didn't know which one of them had moved first, but the next thing she knew, Sam was beside her, already pressing down, already shaking, already pleading with you to stay awake.

And Tara—

Tara couldn't breathe.

She felt like she was drowning.

Her hands were soaked with blood—your blood—and it was warm and thick, seeping between her fingers as she pressed down harder, tighter, trying to keep it inside you where it belonged. Her breaths were sharp, ragged, her chest rising and falling too fast, too fast, her vision blurring as she blinked furiously, trying to keep her focus on you.

Sam—

Sam, call 911.

Her own voice barely sounded like herself. It was strangled, hoarse, somewhere between a plea and a demand, but she didn't even know if Sam heard her because she was already moving—already pulling her phone out with shaking hands, already fumbling with the buttons.

And Tara—

Tara was left with you.

With your barely-there breathing.

With your trembling lips, stained red.

With your fingers, twitching so weakly against hers that she wanted to scream.

Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake.

Her voice shook as she said your name.

She begged.

Told you it was okay.

Told you she had you.

Told you she wasn't going to let you die.

And maybe it was a lie.

Maybe she knew it was a lie.

But she had to say it anyway.

Because your eyes were slipping shut, and she couldn't let them.

Her hand moved from yours to your cheek, fingers smearing warmth against your skin as she cradled your face, her thumb brushing against your jaw. She tried to smile, even though her lips were trembling, even though her lungs felt too tight.

"Hey, baby."

It came out too soft, too small. Like her voice had caved under the weight of her panic, like it was shattering inside her chest.

She sniffled, blinking back the hot sting in her eyes, forcing her lips to curl up a little more, forcing herself to keep it together.

"It's okay. You're okay."

You blinked. Barely.

Your eyes were losing focus again, shifting away from her, but she wouldn't let you go.

Her grip tightened against your cheek, forcing your gaze back to hers, forcing you to look at her.

"That's it. Just keep looking at me, okay?"

Her throat was tight, aching, her pulse hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears.

Sam was talking to the operator.

There was a rush of static, a frantic voice on the other end.

But Tara didn't hear it.

Didn't listen.

Because you were staring at her.

Like you wanted to say something.

Like you needed to.

She leaned in, pressing her forehead against yours, whispering so softly that only you could hear—I love you, I love you, I love you.

And then—

Your lips parted.

Barely.

A single breath.

A single, broken word.

Love you.

And then—

Nothing.

Your breath stopped.

Your lips stilled.

Your eyes—

Your eyes slipped shut.

And Tara—

Tara lost it.

She didn't mean to scream.

Didn't mean for it to tear out of her like an animal caught in a trap, raw and broken and filled with something so deep and unbearable that it didn't even feel human.

But she did.

And then she was grabbing you, shaking your shoulders, trying to wake you up, trying to pull you back, trying to make you breathe again.

But you didn't move.

Didn't react.

Didn't do anything.

Her whole body shook as she let out another choked sound, barely even words, just something painful clawing its way out of her throat. She pressed her forehead against yours again, like it would do something, like it would keep you here with her, but your skin was so cold now, your breath completely gone, and she—

She knew.

But she couldn’t accept it.

Not yet.

Not when the ambulance hadn't even gotten here.

Not when she could still hold you.

So she refused.

Refused to let go.

Refused to move.

Refused to stop begging.

She kept calling your name over and over, her voice cracking with every syllable, her hands shaking as she tried to press down harder, tighter, anything to stop the blood from slipping through her fingers like sand, anything to keep you here.

Sam was still there—somewhere in the background, talking frantically to the dispatcher, telling them to hurry, hurry, hurry, but it had already been too long.

Tara felt like she was outside of herself.

Like she was floating, completely weightless, completely detached, like none of this was real, like any second now she'd blink and it would all be over.

She wanted to shake you harder.

Wanted to snap you out of this.

Wanted to undo it all.

Because this wasn't the plan.

You were supposed to walk away.

She was supposed to come back to you.

You were supposed to be safe.

She was supposed to keep you safe.

And now—

Now she was holding you as you died.

Something inside her snapped.

She barely even registered the sound of sirens.

Barely noticed when the paramedics rushed in.

Barely heard anything at all, except for her own sobbing as someone—several someones—pried you away from her.

She fought them.

Of course she did.

Her hands were clawing at the arms that grabbed her, her voice raw as she screamed at them, screamed at everyone, trying to keep you with her, trying to go with you.

But they wouldn't let her.

She struggled against Sam's grip, sobbing, thrashing, desperate to follow, desperate to get to you as the paramedics swarmed around your body, pressing oxygen to your lips, pushing down on your chest, yelling to each other.

But Tara couldn't hear them.

She could only see you.

Could only see them lift your body onto the stretcher, see the way your arms limply bounced at your sides, see the way the blood had soaked through every inch of your clothes, see the way your head lolled to the side, exposing the cut along your throat—not deep enough to kill you instantly, but deep enough to steal your breath, to steal your voice, to steal every last chance you had of surviving if they didn't move fast enough.

And they—

They weren't moving fast enough.

Tara felt it—felt the exact second she knew you were already gone, felt it tear through her like a physical thing, knocking the air from her lungs as she screamed again, her body sagging against Sam's as she watched you get carried away.

And she knew.

She knew that would be the last time she ever saw you alive.

She knew she wouldn't make it to the hospital.

She knew you'd be pronounced dead before she ever got the chance to say goodbye properly.

She knew she wouldn't see you again until—

Until your funeral.

Until you were in a coffin.

Cold and gone.

And when the ambulance doors slammed shut, locking you inside, separating you from her completely—

Tara broke.

Tara didn't remember getting to the hospital.

Didn't remember the car ride.

Didn't remember the moment she and Sam rushed through the doors, demanding answers, begging for updates, shaking as they pressed their hands over wounds that weren't even theirs.

She only remembered sitting in a waiting room that smelled like antiseptic and old coffee, staring down at her bloodstained hands, feeling the way the dried, sticky patches of it clung to the creases of her palms, the way it coated her fingernails, the way it was still under her skin even after Sam had tried to scrub it away in the hospital bathroom.

Hours had passed.

At least, Tara thought they had.

Time felt warped, stretched too thin, like the entire world had stopped the second the ambulance doors slammed shut and left her behind.

She hadn't moved since then.

Hadn't spoken.

Hadn't done anything but sit in the same plastic chair, hunched over, her fingers clasped together so tightly they ached, like holding onto herself was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

Sam sat next to her, just as stiff, just as quiet.

She had tried—at first—to say something, to get Tara to drink some water, to get her to breathe, but Tara couldn't.

She couldn't do anything.

She could only wait.

Wait and hope and pray that at any second, some random, exhausted doctor would walk through those double doors, look her in the eyes, and tell her you were alive.

And eventually—

After what felt like an entire lifetime—

Someone did.

Tara's head snapped up the second she heard your name, her chest tight as she stared at the doctor in front of her, unable to breathe, move, think.

She wanted good news.

Needed it.

But she knew better.

Even before he spoke, even before she saw the look in his eyes, she knew there was no happy ending.

"The patient stabilized in surgery."

A pause.

A hesitation.

"But she is in a coma."

The words slammed into her.

Coma.

Coma.

She heard Sam exhale sharply beside her, heard the way her sister's body tensed, but Tara—

Tara felt nothing.

Or maybe she felt everything at once.

Because she should be relieved, shouldn't she?

You weren't dead.

You weren't six feet under.

You weren't a name carved into a headstone.

Your heart was still beating.

Your body was still here.

There was still a chance.

She should be grateful.

She should be grateful.

But all she could do was stare.

Stare at the doctor.

Stare at the fluorescent lights buzzing above her.

Stare at her own hands, still covered in your blood.

Because how the fuck was she supposed to accept this?

How the fuck was she supposed to accept that you weren't here, not really, not anymore?

How the fuck was she supposed to live with the fact that you might never wake up?

The first time Tara walked into your hospital room, she thought she was going to be sick.

Because it was you—

It was you.

Your face, your hair, your body—

But at the same time, it wasn’t.

Your skin was too pale. Your lips were too dry. Your body looked too small under the weight of the hospital blankets, like there was less of you now, like the attack had taken something she could never get back.

And worst of all—

Worst of all—

Your eyes were closed.

Not like when you were asleep, not like when she could nudge your arm and whisper your name and hear you grumble in response.

This was different.

This was wrong.

And Tara couldn't fucking stand it.

So she did what she always did when she didn't know how to cope—

She stayed.

She stayed through the first night, sitting at your bedside, refusing to let anyone move her.

She stayed through the second, through the third, through the fourth, through every single hour, every single shift change, every single moment that passed where you didn't wake up.

She was always there.

Always.

No matter how much Sam begged her to go home, to get some actual sleep, to take care of herself for once.

No matter how many times the nurses told her she needed a break, that she couldn't sit there forever, that you weren't going anywhere.

She didn't care.

She couldn't care.

Because what if you woke up and she wasn't there?

What if you opened your eyes and she wasn't the first thing you saw?

She couldn't let that happen.

She wouldn't let that happen.

So she stayed.

And she talked to you.

She talked to you about everything.

She read her texts out loud—Mindy's updates, Chad's stupid jokes, Sam's endless concerns.

She told you what was going on outside, what she saw from the hospital windows, how the city looked the same even though everything had changed.

She braided your hair, just to have something to do with her hands, just to feel like she was taking care of you in some way, even if you didn't know it.

She curled up next to you in bed, not caring if she was uncomfortable, not caring if her body ached from lying still too long, not caring about anything but being close to you.

And some days—

Some days she was angry.

Not at the doctors.

Not at the Ghostfaces who had done this.

Not at herself.

But at you.

Because how the fuck could you do this to her?

How the fuck could you just lay there while she was falling apart?

How the fuck could you not wake up

She would sit at your bedside, gripping your hand so tightly it left marks, whispering please, please, please through clenched teeth.

Some days she would beg.

Some days she would yell.

Some days she would just cry.

But every day—

Every single fucking day—

She would stay.

But then.

It happened on a Wednesday.

Or maybe it was a Thursday.

Tara wasn't sure anymore. Time had stopped making sense a long time ago.

All she knew was that Sam had been relentless—pressuring, bribing, threatening, begging her to go home.

And at first, Tara refused.

Because how the fuck was she supposed to just leave? How was she supposed to walk away while you were still lying there, unconscious, unaware, not even able to notice she was gone?

She had told Sam no.

Over and over and over again. OVER AGAIN

But somehow, some way, Sam had gotten to her.

Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was the way her own clothes had started to feel stiff with dried blood and days-old sweat.

Maybe it was the way the nurses kept looking at her, like they were worried, like they were waiting for her to break.

Or maybe it was the fact that, deep down, she knew Sam was right.

So she left.

Just for a little while.

Just to shower.

Just to change.

Just to pack some extra clothes—yours too, just in case. Because when you woke up, you wouldn't want to stay in a hospital gown. You'd want real clothes, something comfortable, something normal.

She even let herself picture it for a second—

The way you'd sigh when you saw what she brought, the way you'd tease her for picking something too baggy or too tight or not what you would have chosen.

The way you'd sit up, bleary-eyed, still weak but there, and she'd help you get dressed like she had a million times before.

That's all it was supposed to be.

A quick trip.

A moment of preparation for the future she was sure was coming.

But then—

Then she laid down in her bed.

And she couldn't move.

She told herself it was just for a second, just to rest her eyes, just to feel something that wasn’t a stiff hospital chair.

But that second stretched into a minute.

Then an hour.

Then a whole fucking night.

And when she woke up—

When she woke up, she was supposed to go back.

She was supposed to be at the hospital right now.

But she couldn't.

She couldn’t.

Because the image of you lying there—pale, still, lifeless—was burned into her fucking brain.

And she wasn't sure she could see it again.

Because it didn't even feel real anymore.

It felt like they were lying to her, like the doctors and the nurses and the beeping machines were all just some elaborate trick to stop her from completely falling apart.

Like you were already dead and they just didn't want her to know.

And she didn't think she could handle looking at you, knowing you were technically alive but still feeling like she had already lost you.

So she stayed home.

And she told herself it was just for a little longer.

Just one more hour.

Just until the afternoon.

Just until the evening.

Just until tomorrow.

And then tomorrow came.

And she told herself the same fucking thing.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Tara knew that.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to be there, in that tiny, sterile room with the too-bright lights and the never-ending beeping of your heart monitor.

But she hadn't been there in—

Fuck.

How long had it been?

A week?

Maybe longer?

She didn't know anymore.

The first few days had been the worst. Every morning, Sam would ask her—Do you want me to come with you?—and every morning, Tara would say the same thing.

I'll go later.

Later.

Always later.

But later never came.

Because there was always an excuse.

She wasn't feeling great. She had too much homework. She needed to sleep.

She had plans with Chad.

Or Mindy.

And Sam never called her out on it.

She never said I know you're lying, never forced Tara to get up and go, never made her face what she was trying so fucking hard to avoid.

She just nodded, lips pressing together, like she was holding back a lot of things she wanted to say.

And then there were the hospital calls.

They didn't come every day. But when they did, Tara never picked up.

She could imagine what they were saying.

How it must have been strange to them—

How she had spent days refusing to leave your side, only to suddenly disappear, like she had given up.

And maybe—

Maybe that's exactly what she had done.

Because in the beginning, she thought being there meant something.

She thought that if she talked to you, if she held your hand, if she begged you to wake up, maybe—just maybe—you actually would.

But you didn't.

You didn’t.

So what was the point?

What was the point in going back?

It wouldn't make a difference.

You wouldn't wake up just because she was there.

You wouldn't even know.

And she—

She wasn't sure she could handle looking at you, knowing that.

So sometimes, Tara tried to pretend you were just away.

On a trip somewhere, maybe.

She'd picture you on a beach, stretched out in the sun, laughing at some dumb joke a stranger had told you. Or maybe in a different city, wandering through streets you'd never seen before, texting her updates every few hours.

She'd tell herself that you were fine, that you were just busy, that you'd be back soon.

But it never worked.

Because the second she turned on her phone, there was another reminder waiting for her.

A missed call from the hospital.

A thinking of you text from Anika.

A question from Chad—When's the last time you went to see her?

And Tara hated it.

Because every time someone asked, they assumed the answer was yesterday.

They assumed she was still going.

And she hated that, too.

Because it made her feel like she should be going.

Like she should still be sitting at your bedside, still talking to you, still believing that maybe, maybe, you would actually wake up.

But she wasn't.

And she didn't.

And she was tired.

Tired of people looking at her with that soft, sad expression, like they were waiting for her to break.

Tired of Sam and Mindy and Chad and everyone else acting like they knew you'd be okay.

Tired of the fucking hospital calls, the fucking questions, the fucking hope.

And sometimes—

Sometimes, she was tired of you.

For not waking up.

For making her feel like an idiot for believing, even for a second, that you ever would.

And she hated that she felt that way.

Because it wasn't your fault.

But she still wanted to blame you.

She wanted to be mad at you, wanted to yell at you, wanted to shake you and demand to know why.

Why you had to get hurt.

Why you had to leave her here like this.

Why you weren't waking up.

Why you never would.

It had been weeks now.

Weeks since Tara had last walked through that hospital corridor.

Since she'd last sat by your bed, waiting for something to change.

Since she'd last let herself HOPE.

She told herself that it was fine. That it was normal.

That you wouldn't want her to spend every second of every day sitting in that damn chair, waiting for a ghost of a movement that would never come.

That you'd want her to go out, to be around friends, to breathe for once instead of drowning in the same thoughts over and over again.

And Chad—Chad made that easy.

He distracted her.

Dragged her to parties, pulled her into conversations, gave her something to focus on that wasn't the memory of you lying still and silent in that fucking hospital bed.

And she let him.

Because it was easier to be here, laughing at one of his stupid jokes, than it was to be there, watching you not wake up.

And every time that guilt crept in—every time she thought about how you were still there while she was out here—she reminded herself that this was what you'd want.

That you'd want her to be happy.

That you'd want her to be okay.

And if she just kept telling herself that—

Maybe one day, she'd actually believe it.

___

It took a lot for her to get here. More than anyone knew.

Because nights like these—loud music, too many people, voices blending together until they didn't even sound like words—used to be something she loved. Before. Before the hospital. Before you.

But now, everything felt different. Too loud. Too fast. Too much.

Because it wasn't just a party—it was leaving. It was stepping out of her room, out of her head, out of the cycle she'd been trapped in for weeks. It was choosing to be somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't a hospital waiting room or the inside of her own thoughts. And that choice felt heavier than it should have.

She had almost backed out a hundred times. When she stood in front of her closet, staring at the clothes she hadn't worn in weeks. When she slipped on her shoes and felt how unfamiliar they were, like she had forgotten what it was like to go anywhere but home. When she grabbed her jacket and stopped in the doorway, telling herself that if she left now—if she really left—then it would mean something.

Tara had almost turned around the second she stepped inside. Had almost let the pulsing beat and the heat of the room push her right back out the door. But then someone had handed her a drink, and someone else had pulled her toward the couch, and she'd let it happen—because that was easier than thinking. Easier than remembering the other nights she'd spent alone, staring at her phone, knowing exactly where she should be and refusing to go anyway.

Someone shoved a drink into her hand, someone else pulled her toward the couch, and she let it happen. She let herself be here, because that was easier than thinking. Easier than wondering if she should be anywhere else.

So she sat. She stayed. She let the noise settle around her, let the weight in her chest dull just enough to breathe.

And maybe that was why, when someone sank onto the couch beside her, when their knee brushed hers, when their voice—steady, familiar—cut through the noise, she didn't immediately pull away.

She didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Hey, T."

Chad's voice was easy, familiar—like nothing about this was strange, like it was just another night. Tara turned her head slightly, enough to see the lazy grin tugging at his lips, the way he slouched back against the couch like he belonged there.

"Didn't think I'd see you here."

Tara turned her head slightly, enough to catch Chad watching her, a lazy grin playing at his lips. He had a drink in one hand, the other slung casually over the back of the couch like he had been here for a while.

"When'd you get here?" she asked instead of answering.

"Like an hour ago," Chad said, tipping his drink toward her in some half-formed gesture. He leaned back against the couch, exhaling like he'd been here for a while, like this was just another night. "Mindy's already yelling at people over their taste in horror movies. She's been going off about Hereditary for the last ten minutes."

Tara huffed a quiet breath. "I'm surprised she hasn't gotten banned from parties by now."

"Give it time."

Chad smirked, nudging her knee with his, and for a moment—just a moment—this almost felt like how things used to be.

But then the silence crept in. Not real silence—music was still thudding through the walls, voices still blending into the background—but the kind that settled between words. The kind that gave room for thoughts she didn't want to have.

And she could feel it.

Because this was the part where you would've jumped in. The part where you would've teased Mindy's dramatics, the part where you would've slung an arm around Tara's shoulders, warmth and confidence and energy spilling over into everyone around you. You loved parties. Maybe even more than she did. You were always the one pulling her onto the dance floor, the one convincing her to stay just a little longer, the one filling every night with something bigger than just music and drinks and meaningless conversations.

If you were here, this night wouldn't feel so empty.

If you were here, Tara wouldn't be sitting stiffly on a couch, holding onto a drink like it was the only thing grounding her. You'd be tugging her toward the dance floor, laughing against her ear, telling her to loosen up, babe, it's a party. You'd be pressing up against her, hands on her hips, turning a casual sway into something that meant something. And eventually—eventually—you'd be pulling her away from the crowd, finding some empty bedroom, letting her press you against the door with her lips against yours.

That's how tonight was supposed to go.

But you weren't here.

And Chad—he was thinking about that, too.

She could tell by the way he shifted beside her, by the way his grip tightened slightly around his cup, by the breath he let out, like he was bracing himself to say something he wasn't sure he should say.

Tara already knew what it was. She knew before he even opened his mouth.

He was going to ask about you.

And she couldn't do this.

She didn't want to hear his voice shape your name, didn't want to see that soft, careful look in his eyes, didn't want to be reminded that everyone knew—that they all knew exactly where you were, what had happened to you, what had become of you.

So before he could say it—before he could ruin this moment, this fragile distraction—Tara lifted her drink and knocked back the rest of it in one long pull. Let the alcohol burn its way down her throat, fast and sharp and necessary.

She needed to get out of her own head. Needed the edges to blur, just a little.

And when she set her empty cup down, her hand was already reaching for another. Some half-finished drink left on the table in front of them, someone else's, untouched long enough that it didn't really belong to anyone anymore.

She didn't care.

She just wanted to forget.

Just for tonight.

And she did.

A few hours passed in a haze of too-loud music and too-smooth drinks, slipping through her like water.

She had loosened up. Had let herself sink into it, let herself laugh at things that weren't funny, let herself tilt her head back and feel the bass thrum through her bones like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

She had spoken to people, barely remembering faces, barely remembering names. But none of them had mentioned you.

Maybe they had forgotten.

Or maybe it was just easier to pretend. Because it wasn't like you were gone. You were still here—in whispers, in thoughts, in the space that people hesitated to step into. But you weren't really a person anymore, not in the way you used to be. You were a memory, a tragedy, a thing that people danced around, careful not to get too close.

And so Tara danced, too.

Without you.

It felt wrong. It felt like breaking something sacred. But it was easy to ignore that when her limbs were light, when the alcohol softened the edges, when no one was looking at her like they were waiting for her to fall apart.

And eventually—eventually—she found herself back on the couch, back where the night had started, back where Chad was still sitting.

Her body felt light, her head a little heavier, but not in a way that mattered. Not in a way she cared to notice. The music wasn't as loud anymore, or maybe she just wasn't listening. Voices blurred together, but none of them sounded like yours, and that was enough. That was all she needed.

Chad glanced over when she sat down, tipping his drink slightly in her direction like some kind of wordless toast. His eyes flicked over her outfit, and he smirked, leaning in just a little.

"You look good in black.”

Tara huffed out something that could've been a laugh, stretching her legs out in front of her.

"Yeah, well, I always wear black."

"Still," Chad shrugged. "It suits you."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Didn't say anything, really. Because her skin was warm, her limbs felt light, and the weight in her chest—the weight that had been pressing down for weeks—wasn't as heavy anymore.

She let her head tip back against the couch, let herself breathe. Let herself exist in this moment, in this space, without thinking about where she should be, or who should be here with her.

It was easier that way.

He smiled. And maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the warmth of the room, maybe it was just that she was tired—but something about the way he was looking at her felt different. Not bad. Just... different.

For a moment, she just looked at him. At the way he was watching her—not expectantly, not like he was waiting for something. Just LOOKING.

She didn't know why she noticed it now, why it felt DIFFERENT now, but it did. Maybe because it had been a long time since someone looked at her like that. Like she was more than just tired eyes and half-finished sentences.

Like she was here.

Not in a hospital room. Not sitting in the quiet, waiting. Not halfway stuck in something she couldn't change.

And maybe it was stupid, maybe it was just the alcohol, maybe it didn't mean anything—

But she didn't move when he shifted closer.

Didn't pull away when his gaze dropped to her lips.

Didn't say anything when his fingers brushed her jaw, so barely there it almost didn't feel real.

She knew what was coming.

And she should stop it. She should turn her head, she should say something.

But then his lips were on hers, and—

For a second, her breath hitched.

For a second, something cold curled in her chest, something sharp that made her almost pull away.

Maybe she should have. Maybe some part of her wanted to.

But Tara was tired.

She was tired of the weight pressing down on her chest, of the way everything felt wrong all the time. Tired of the dull ache in the back of her head that never really went away.

And tonight was the first time in weeks that it hadn't been there.

So when Chad's fingers brushed against her jaw, when he leaned in—slow, careful, like he was giving her a chance to pull away—she just... didn't.

And when his lips met hers, she let him.

She didn't think. Didn't analyze it, didn't pick apart what it meant, didn't try to figure out if it should mean anything.

She just let it happen.

Because thinking was exhausting. Thinking meant remembering, and remembering meant you.

And tonight, she just wanted to exist outside of that.

So she kissed him back.

And she didn't feel guilty.

Not at first.

And maybe that was the strangest part.

Because she should have. Should have felt that sharp sting of regret, that pull in her chest telling her she had done something wrong. But it never came.

Instead, she just felt...lighter. Like something inside her had finally shifted, like something had clicked into place in a way she hadn't expected.

And it didn't stop there.

She let Chad pull her closer, let his arm rest against the back of the couch, fingers grazing her shoulder. She let him lift her legs, shifting them into his lap, his hands lingering at her ankles, his thumbs brushing against the exposed skin there. She let him say nice things, flirty things, let herself listen without the immediate instinct to brush it off.

Because stopping felt weird.

Because she couldn't stop anything else in life, could she?

She couldn't stop what happened to you.

Couldn't stop the way things changed the second you weren't there. Couldn't stop the way the world kept moving forward without you in it.

So why should she stop this?

Why should she pull away when everything else had already been taken from her?

And an hour later, when she and Chad were standing side by side at the beer pong table, when the last ball landed in the final cup, when he threw his arms up in victory—

She didn't stop herself then, either.

Didn't stop her hands from reaching up, from grabbing his face, from pulling him down into a kiss.

It wasn't a conscious choice. It just... happened.

They won, right?

That was all it was. Just a moment. Just a win.

And when he kissed her back, when his hands settled against her waist—

She let that happen, too.

She let him guide her upstairs.

Through the hallway, past half-open doors and muffled voices, past the sound of the party still pulsing downstairs.

She let him press her against the bedroom door the second it shut behind them, let his hands grip her waist, his mouth on hers, warm and eager and wanting.

She let him push her onto the bed, his body over hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

She let him kiss down her neck, over her collarbone, let him pull her shirt over her head.

She let herself moan.

She let his hands roam, let his lips trail lower, let herself arch into the touch, let herself forget everything else except this.

She let him push himself in.

Let him thrust.

Let herself take it.

She let it happen.

Because stopping felt impossible. Because stopping meant thinking. And thinking meant remembering.

And she didn't want to remember.

Not tonight.

Tara knew what she should have felt after that.

What she should have done.

She should have pushed him off of her the second it was over, scrambled for her clothes, left the party without looking back. She should have gone straight to the hospital, straight to you, should have cried by your bedside and apologized over and over and over—even if you couldn't hear her, even if you never woke up to hear it.

She should have thrown up from the guilt, should have felt it twisting deep in her stomach, making her sick, making her sorry.

But she didn't.

She laid there instead. Stretched out on the bed, chest rising and falling, skin warm, heartbeat slowing. Chad lay beside her, one arm lazily draped over his stomach, breath steady, like this was just—normal. Like it was nothing at all.

And that's what she told herself too.

That it was nothing.

It didn't mean anything.

It was just a party. Just alcohol. Just loneliness.

And that excuse—at first—was enough.

But somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered: It stopped being nothing the second you let him take off your bra.

She ignored it.

She didn't leave. Didn't pull away when Chad rolled onto his side, looking at her with that same easy, familiar smile.

And when he said something—low, teasing—she answered.

She talked to him.

Laid there, stayed there, and let the minutes slip past.

It shouldn't have happened again.

Tara knew that.

She knew it the second she left the bedroom, clothes rumpled, skin still warm, the air of the party pressing in around her like a reminder—like a weight. She knew it when she went home that night, when she stepped into the quiet of her bedroom, when she curled beneath the covers and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the guilt to settle.

But it didn't.

Not really.

And that was the problem.

Because it should have crushed her. It should have eaten her alive, kept her awake, filled her with a twisting, ugly sickness that left her gasping. It should have sent her to the hospital the next morning, should have put her at your bedside with tears in her eyes, whispering apologies to the silence, to the beeping machines, to the part of you that might still be able to hear her.

But she didn't go.

She didn't cry.

She didn't feel enough of anything to stop herself when it happened again.

And again.

It was supposed to be nothing. But nothing wouldn't have made her text him the next day, wouldn't have made her go looking for him at another party, wouldn't have made her say yes when he asked if she wanted to go somewhere quieter.

She told herself it didn't matter.

Because what was she supposed to do? Tell you?

She couldn't tell you.

You wouldn't hear her.

You wouldn't look at her, wouldn't cry, wouldn't scream or push her away or force her to see what she was doing. You wouldn't do anything.

She couldn't allow you to do anything.

You weren't supposed to be able to hit her, to yell at her, to leave her.

And maybe that was why it was okay.

Maybe that was why this was okay.

Because Chad was safe.

Because Chad wasn't you.

Because when she was with him, there was no weight, no pressure, no fear that she might destroy something fragile and real.

So she saw him again.

Let herself fall into the easy rhythm of his company, let herself forget.

It was different now.

She wasn't just seeing him at parties, wasn't just stumbling into his space, wasn't just kissing him because she was drunk and the music was loud and she wanted something to drown everything else out.

Now, she knew she would see him.

Now, she didn't drink as much. She didn't need to.

Because when she found him, when she sat next to him, when his arm stretched along the back of the couch or his knee pressed against hers, she could pretend that this was what she chose.

Not what she fell into.

Not what happened because she didn't know how to stop it.

She wasn't supposed to want this.

She wasn't supposed to want him.

But when he texted, she answered.

When he called, she picked up.

And when he kissed her, she kissed him back.

Like now.

A week after the party.

Another week without you waking up.

Another week where nothing changed—where she walked into that hospital room, sat by your bed, held your hand, and whispered words that never reached you.

Another week where she left, where she didn't go straight home, where she let her feet take her somewhere else.

Somewhere she could breathe.

Somewhere she could forget.

And now—now, she was doing just that.

She was in his bed, her body moving with his, their breaths tangled in the stillness of the room, the only sound the quiet creak of the mattress beneath them. His hands were on her skin, sliding over her waist, up her ribs, gripping her hips as he thrust into her.

And she let him.

Let her head fall back against the pillows. Let her fingers grip his shoulders. Let herself feel everything but think about nothing.

Because it was easier.

Easier to sink into this.

Easier to chase pleasure, to gasp against his mouth, to moan when his lips dragged over her throat.

Easier than facing the weight of another empty day, another silent visit, another reminder that nothing was getting better.

That you weren't getting better.

So she moved with him.

Let him pull her closer.

Let herself let go.

Her release tore through her, a sharp, shuddering thing that left her gasping, her body tensing before melting back into the bed. A loud moan escaped her lips, her head tipping back against the pillows, her limbs weak and shaking.

Chad followed soon after, groaning as he buried his face against her shoulder, his grip on her hips tightening for a moment before finally slackening.

And then it was over.

He rolled off her, collapsing onto his back, both of them a mess of sweat and heavy breaths. Tara stared up at the ceiling, her skin still tingling, her body still pulsing from the aftershocks.

She'd lost count of how many times it had happened tonight. Twice, maybe three times. It didn't really matter.

What mattered was that she still didn't feel better.

Chad turned his head, looking at her with a lazy, satisfied grin. She didn't look at him. She kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling, blinking up at the shadows cast by the dim light in the room.

"Getting better, aren't I?" he said, his voice low, teasing.

Tara let out a short, fake chuckle.

It wasn't funny.

He wasn't getting better.

You weren't getting better.

She wasn't getting better.

Nothing was getting better.

But then.

The sound of her phone buzzing cut through the quiet, sharp and insistent.

Tara barely thought before reaching for it, her hand fumbling along the bedside table until her fingers wrapped around the device. The screen lit up in the dim room, notifications flooding her vision—

A text from Sam, the words

ANSWER ME!!!

standing out in harsh, capitalized letters, punctuated with exclamation marks.

Her brows pulled together as she swiped down, revealing more—three missed calls from Sam. And below that, another string of missed calls, this time from a number she recognized instantly.

The hospital.

Four times. No—five.

Her stomach twisted.

She had their number memorized by now, burned into her brain after calling it over and over in the past, desperate for updates.

Still, her first thought wasn't that. It wasn't you.

It was that the hospital had been calling to check in again. Maybe to ask when she was coming back. It had been a while since she last went, and she knew how the nurses had gotten when she stayed away too long.

Beside her, Chad shifted, voice thick with exhaustion as he mumbled something—"What's wrong?”

Tara didn't answer.

Her fingers moved on instinct, tapping Sam's name, pressing the phone to her ear.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—Sam picked up.

The line barely had time to connect before Sam's voice hit her, urgent and breathless—"Have you heard?"

Tara froze.

She couldn't tell what emotion was laced in Sam's voice. It was everything at once—shaken, unsteady. So she assumed the worst.

Her chest tightened.

The hospital. The missed calls. Sam's voice like that—fuck.

Her mind spiraled, flashing through every possibility, every horror.

You were dead.

That's what she thought.

That the shell you had become had finally broken. That your body had given up, collapsed in on itself, unable to keep going without you inside of it.

She could already feel her throat closing up, her vision growing blurry. Her lips parted—

"No," she said, barely a whisper. "What?"

Sam hesitated.

The world felt like it had stopped turning, the air thick and unmoving.

Then—Sam's voice, breaking through the static.

"She's awake."

Silence.

Tara's heart dropped.

The next words came softer, lighter, like a breath of relief—

"Y/N woke up."

[kaisacobra]

Speak No Evil - Sam Carpenter

Part 1 of Dark Knight series

Summary: You think Tara's sister hates you, or, at least, she is embarrassingly aware of your little crush on her. You couldn't be further from the truth, but Sam wouldn't let you know the length she'd go to protect you.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Stalker!Sam, violence, blood, character death (not main) mentions of sex, cursing, mostly following canon.

w.c: 5.6 k

“Ugh, I just want to get home and throw myself on the couch.”

“Real.”

You and Tara climbed the stairs to her apartment side by side, dragging your feet more than anything else due to the exhaustion of the grueling day in college. You almost sighed with relief when you arrived in front of the familiar door, seeing your best friend take the key out of her pocket and open the lock with her shoulder already against the wall.

She entered the house already throwing her own bag aside, without even noticing the object sliding across the wooden floor. Being a visitor, you couldn't afford the same carelessness, opting to leave your bag on one of the small sofas. Your shoulders thanked you when they were spared the weight of the textbooks after long minutes on the subway and walking.

“You're home early, Sam.”

Automatically, your heart started racing when you heard Tara's simple words and you turned around at lightning speed to see Samantha Carpenter emerging from the kitchen, wearing nothing more than a gray tank top and black pants, comfortable to wear at home but dangerous for your eyes.

“They robbed that electronics store next to the bar.” She shrugged at her own explanation, but you were more focused on the way her biceps seemed to bulge when she crossed her arms. “The boss chose to close it for safety reasons, plus no one would want to drink with a police car parked right outside the door.”

“H-Hi, Sam!” You raised your hand to greet her, but your brain froze as you decided between a gesture, and you ended up with a strange three-fingered salute.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you instantly regretted your action, especially after Sam barely reacted to your presence, with nothing more than a nod to indicate that she had heard you. She had barely finished greeting you when she turned to Tara again. “Since I'm here, I can cook something for dinner instead of getting takeout.”

“Great!” Tara agreed beside you. “Just don't do too much. Y/n and I are going to make popcorn and watch a movie right now, I won't be that hungry later.”

“And I'm not staying for dinner!” You hastened to say, not wanting to give Sam any more trouble, especially when she seemed to stare into the depths of your soul with those piercing dark eyes. “I-I still have a lot to study, I have to get back early.”

Still remaining a woman of few words, Sam merely nodded and began to retreat to the kitchen again, before stopping to point at Tara. “Just don't make it too loud. Last time I had to listen to a lot of complaints from the lady upstairs.”

“You got it.” Tara replied with a joking salute and the older sister just rolled her eyes before finally leaving the two of you alone. It wasn't long before you became the butt of Tara's jokes, as she mimicked your voice in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. “H-Hi, S-S-Sam...”

“Fuck you.” You punched the girl weakly in the shoulder as you walked over to the couch, throwing yourself against the cushions with your arms crossed. Tara paid no attention to the micro-aggression, laughing even louder as she sat down next to you, crossing her legs on the furniture.

A sigh escaped your throat as Tara turned on the television and flipped through the catalog of some streaming network, probably looking for another horror movie. “I think your sister hates me.”

“Nah, that's just how she is.” The shorter girl threw a gesture of indifference. “But she surely knows about this big ass crush you have on her.”

You felt your face catch fire again at the accusation. “I don’t- .”

“Yes, you do. It's obvious and it's disgusting.”

“Yeah?” You decided to join in Tara's teasing game, knowing that this was just one of your usual friendly banter. “Like the crush you have on that blonde from the basketball team?”

“Look, i’ll have you know that-”

You interrupt Tara with a shush escaping from between your lips, parted in a smile. Your phone had just beeped with a notification and you quickly pulled it out of your pocket to see Mindy's text on your lock screen.

Unfortunately, the content of the message instantly broke the fun mood. “Shit.” You cursed through your teeth, feeling the corners of your lips drop.

You could feel Tara stirring on the sofa, dragging herself to your side as she tried to read what was on your screen. “What?”

A sigh. “Mindy's asking me about what happened at ARCS.”

“Oh.”

Analysis and Reflection on Contemporary Society, also called ARCS, was an elective that you and Tara were taking and it basically consisted of having a debate on a topic proposed by the teacher every class. You had joined because the proposal was interesting, but most of the students were only there because Professor Ross graded you through attendance and not through exams.

Which was a good indicator of the type of person who was attending those classes.

The moment of silence was broken by your best friend's hesitant voice. “Do you... want to talk about what happened?” 

Tara, bless her heart, wasn't the best person to offer emotional support and you knew that very well, both because of the long year you'd been friends for and because of the complete awkwardness she found herself in. Even so, you knew she wouldn't rest until you took some of the weight off your back.

“I don't want to pay too much attention to this.” You huffed, shoving your phone back into your pocket as if it were the reason for your anger. “E.J. Abrams called me a bitch to the whole class, who cares? Everyone knows I was getting his ass in that debate.”

Seeing that you were more annoyed than hurt, Tara jumped at the chance to curse the boy, feeling much more comfortable now that the topic seemed to be centered on hatred. “That little shit. He thinks he can do whatever he wants because he's blond and strong and some dumb girls suck his toes.”

“I think it's more the fact that he's a medal-winning swimmer on the Olympic team and he's in one of the most exclusive fraternities on campus.”

“Well, fuck that ridiculous fraternity and fuck his medals too.” Tara continued, seeming to enjoy the way the F-word came out of her mouth. “I can't believe Professor Ross didn't even give him a warning.”

“I can.” You retorted without much joy, knowing damn well that the man would never intervene in any discussion between students because it was all part of the “debate experience”. Which, in fact, seemed more like an excuse so that he wouldn't have to get directly involved in any conflict.

With the movie completely forgotten in the background, you and Tara continued to curse every last generation of E.J., transferring all your indignation into words that the boy would probably never hear.

Meanwhile, someone else was listening to the entire conversation through the thin walls of the apartment, making a mental note to do more research on E.J. Abrams another time.

__

Sam was glad she had decided to wear a stronger jacket. New York nights were gradually getting colder as winter approached.

If she turned around, she would probably see students rushing around as they crossed campus, trying to get to their dorms before the curfew. Without even looking at her watch, Sam knew that they had approximately 5 minutes before 10:30 pm. She liked to arrive at 10.

But she didn't turn around, choosing to keep her back against the bars of the fire exit one floor above yours. She still couldn't believe that she had a perfect, hidden view of your entire room through your window, but Sam would never complain about that gift.

It was a safety issue, yes, but you were never going to be in danger when she was right there, in that fire exit, every night. No other person would harm you as long as she was there.

“Are you still hiding behind false pretenses?”

Sam would recognize that dry, slurred voice anywhere. She barely had to turn her head to see her father, or the image of him, sitting right in front of her with that familiar mischievous smile. He looked as he always did, not that a hallucination could have such a vast closet. White blouse stained with blood, messy black hair and eyes that Sam sometimes recognized in the mirror.

“There's nothing false about what I'm doing.” Sam muttered in response, even though she knew she shouldn't. 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed.” Billy continued, his smile getting wider with the attention he was receiving. “I know more than anyone that everyone needs a good obsession. Obsession makes perfect, doesn't it?”

This time, Samantha chose to leave him without an answer. Obsession. That word sounded so ugly to her ears, completely wrong too. She wasn't obsessed with you, she was just... protecting you.

At first, that hadn't exactly been Sam's intention, of course. When Tara talked about a new friendship, her protective big sister instincts instantly went on alert. No one could blame her after everything they'd been through in Woodsboro and more recently in her own apartment.

But she also couldn't deprive Tara of having a normal life and interacting with other people. Not everyone was a psycho waiting for an opportunity to stick a knife in the Carpenters. Still, Sam wanted to make sure that you weren't going to be another disappointment in her sister's life.

That's how she found herself on that fire escape for the first time, making sure that you really lived in the dorms, that you hadn't lied about your identity, that you didn't have a secret agenda or sneak out at night to play God and take some lives.

But you were... normal. Sam would even say that you were more normal than she and Tara would ever be. Everything about you was genuine and you carried with you a kindness that made Sam stop thinking of you as a suspect to someone she put on her mental protection list.

And it was by studying your normality, immersing herself in your pure and well-intentioned actions that Sam realized she was no longer watching you because she lacked trust in your person, but rather because she wanted that for herself. Those moments watching you from afar, seeing you live your life, brought an inner peace to Sam that she couldn't even explain.

It had been months since she had started this routine, so Sam knew very well that in a few minutes your roommate would open the window to use her pink-flavored vape, since you hated the smell being trapped in the room. The open window would allow Sam to eavesdrop on 20 minutes of conversation between you and your friend, which Sam thought was perfect for finding out at least a little about what was going on in your life.

Just as planned, the blonde opened the window and leaned both elbows on the sill, letting the flavored smoke escape through her lips as she took another drag of the pink device. Sam didn't like your roommate, Sammy - yes, she had also found the coincidence of names a bit ironic -  because she thought the girl was... too clingy with you.

But as far as Sam knew, it wasn't a crime to be a clingy friend. It was just annoying. Annoying wasn't enough reason for Sam to do anything about it.

“... Well, frat guys are shit.” Sammy spoke over another puff of smoke, probably finishing answering something. “They must have a total of two neurons combined.”

“I knoooww...” You whined, rubbing a hand across your face in frustration. Sam could see you lying on your bed with your phone in your hand, certain that you must’ve been scrolling on your social media, as you always did at that time. “But the people in class laughed at me at the time and, I don't know, I don't want to be made a laughing stock.”

Sam felt an angry pulse in her neck. It was outrageous that you were afraid of being ridiculed in your class because some idiot thought it was funny to interrupt your debate to call you a bitch. She could almost picture the scene if she closed her eyes, and just the thought of seeing your lost and embarrassed expression made her blood boil.

“Did they put any videos online? If you want, I can delete it.”

The proposal was genuine. While Sam was still doing her own research on your life (for safety's sake, of course), she had found your roommate's data as well. Sammy was a computer science major and, from the internship she had landed with a great salary, she must have been very good at what she did.

“I'll take a look.” You answered in a low voice, your eyes frantically running over the phone screen, looking for something that Sam would never be able to see from that distance.

Billy chose that moment to come back to torment his daughter, his evil smile almost shining in the moonlight. “It's so good that there are so many people who care about our girl, isn't it?”

“Shut up.” Sam grunted through her teeth. He could even be a figment of her mind, but Sam was never going to let Billy ever refer to you as his possession.

In response, he just laughed, his dead head falling back as he amused himself at the girl's growing annoyance. If Billy had a material body, Sam would already have provided a fresh wave of red on his stained shirt.

“FUCK!”

Sam turned her head towards the window like a bolt of lightning as soon as she heard your cry of outrage. Sammy had also done the same, removing the vape from her lips as she turned around with wide eyes. “What?! What?!”

“Look at this shit!” You squawked, waving your phone in the blonde's direction. From a distance, the most Sam could see was the layout of the app. It looked like twitter, but she couldn't be sure.

Not that that was going to be a problem. Carpenter quickly took her phone out of her pocket, opening it to the app that used to have a bird as its icon. Fortunately, the account she wanted to use was already open and she had no trouble finding what she was looking for.

Yes, Sam had also created one or two fake social media accounts when she was investigating you, just to be safe. She had gotten the data from a Gordon Wu, who was majoring in engineering at your university and had apparently never created an account for himself. Sam thought he wouldn't mind if she borrowed it.

It was easy to create a profile with no photos and start following other students at the university to keep up to date with everything that was going on, as well as other random accounts such as soccer memes and Pokémon just to keep her little disguise authentic. Fortunately, the app's algorithm seemed to understand that what Sam really wanted to know was what was going on at Blackmore.

So it wasn't long before she saw E.J Abrams' verified account on her timeline, with a tweet that had over 2k likes:

@themanEJ: That bitch in ARCS just got mad cause she wants this d again

Sam's eye twitched.

“I can't believe he posted that!” You complained even louder, a mixture of anger and dread in your voice. “I've never slept with him! Never! And I never want to!”

The comments were horrible. Men encouraging E.J., calling you crazy and giving reason to his lies, women saying they wouldn't miss the same opportunity or adding fuel to the gossip, asking for the name of the mysterious bitch.

“I'll see if I can delete it, okay?” Sammy patted your shoulder before going to her own side of the room, opening her computer while trying to somehow take down that tweet. Meanwhile, Sam's hands clenched into a fist in the pockets of her jacket.

“You know what to do, Sam.” That familiar voice whispered in her ear, like a snake tempting her to bite the apple. “Are you really going to let that fucker hurt our girl?”

“She's not your girl.”

“But she's yours, isn't she?” Billy retorted without wasting any time, his dark eyes sparkling at the mere idea of having fun in his favorite way. “Don't you remember how good it felt to finish off Bailey? How amazing you felt sticking that knife, my knife, in his eye after he played with your family?”

Sam remembered the excitement, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she took revenge for everything he and his family had done, the smile that automatically opened on her face after he had stopped moving. She remembered how satisfying it had been to slit Richie's throat as if he were a fish, watching him beg for air as the blood dripped to the floor.

E.J... he hadn't killed anyone, but... he deserved it, didn't he? He shouldn't have messed with you. Someone had to teach him a lesson.

“You know you want this, Sam. Don't fight your instincts.”

She felt the weight of Billy's knife in her pocket, serving as a nudge, as if it were another way for the universe to tell her that she was right, that she should do it. 

For the first time in months, Sam looked behind her at the fire escape, now no longer focused on your window, but on the entrance to the house of a famous fraternity that wasn't that far from your dorm.

__

It was incredibly easy to get into the house. Really. The front door was open.

Sam didn't even have to make an effort to get to the boy's room, as her footsteps were completely drowned out by the loud trap music that was blasting from the speakers. She caught a glimpse of four guys playing ping-pong in the kitchen and another two playing video games in the living room.

None noticed her presence and she didn't make a point of being seen either, especially while she was dodging protein bar wrappers and plastic cups that were lying on the floor. She climbed the stairs two steps at a time, wanting to do what she needed to do right away to get out of that nightmare of a place.

She took her phone out of her pocket as soon as she reached the top floor, looking at one of the photos E.J. had posted on his Instagram that showed a bit of his bedroom from the back. The walls were dark blue with some of his medals hanging on them, along with photos of him receiving them. Sam hoped that the boys' rooms weren't all the same.

Fortunately, the first door she walked through was exactly where she needed to be. E.J.'s room wasn't much better than she had imagined. Pants and boxers (which she hoped were clean) were scattered all over the floor and the room smelled of an uncomfortable mixture of aftershave and an extremely woody perfume, to the point of making Sam's nose sting in response.

And there it was, the blue wall full of medals and photos of the boy, like a mural entirely dedicated to his narcissism. Sam was tempted to destroy some of those pictures, punch them right in the middle of that static smile of the boy-next-door that she knew very well was completely fake. There was nothing good about E.J. The world would be a better place without him.

Sam sat on the completely messed up bed, with one sheet turned over and two pillows completely crumpled. E.J. seemed to be the kind of guy who had someone to do the cleaning for him at home, of course he wouldn't be able to do something as simple as making his own bed. He probably thought it wasn't his job.

Speaking of the devil, it didn't take long for E.J. to walk into his own room and be surprised by the sight of the brunette in his bed. He was tall and strong, as an athlete should be, of course. Some people would say he almost looked like Captain America, if you completely ignored the part about having moral values.

Not that that would intimidate Sam. If anything, it would only make the result all the more satisfying.

“Heeey, babe.” Abrams cracked a mischievous smile, analyzing Sam as if she were a piece of meat. “I don't remember having anything scheduled today. Did the guys fix you up for me?”

She had to press her black gloved hands against her thighs to stop herself from immediately jumping on the boy's neck. Act, Sam. Billy's voice and her own were mixing in her head, trying to keep her in line. Sam cracked the best smile she could manage. 

“I just had to have a chance with the hottest guy in Blackmore.” She winked, trying to swallow the disgust she felt at those words. Sam got out of bed slowly, her movements being followed by E.J. like a hungry predator. “Better lock the door, huh? We don't want any interruptions.”

“You're right, beautiful.” The boy quickly agreed, turning the lock behind him at the same time as Sam reached him, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt. “You've got attitude, kitten. I like that.”

“I bet.” Sam smiled again, knocking him onto the bed just as he made a move to try and grab her waist. She tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying her best to maintain a seductive voice. “Why don't you take it off for me, E.J.?”

“Right away.” He nodded, making a show of opening the only three buttons on his polo shirt before pulling the green fabric off over his head, as if Sam was interested in seeing that pile of muscles that would soon spasm until they stiffened.

Sam took a single step closer to the bed, watching the boy crawl through the messy covers until he rested his back on the headboard, spreading his legs as if to invite Sam in. She just tilted her head to the side, her arms crossed. “E.J… What does it stand for?”

“W-What?” The athlete muttered, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he tried to pull himself together in his fake suave persona. “You don't need to know that, kitten. Come here and I'll give you something else to think about.”

“Can I guess, then?” Sam continued, finally climbing onto the bed, her knees sinking into the soft mattress right next to Abrams' thick thighs, pinning him in place. He only nodded, biting his lip as he appreciated the sight above him. “I'd say it's... Edward Jacob Abrams. But you tell everyone you're Edward James, so you don't have to admit that your mother named you after the two hot guys from Twilight. You don't think that's a very manly name, do you?”

E.J.'s expression went from surprise, to panic, to pure hatred. His set jaw quickly clenched and he made a point of getting up to confront Sam. “Listen here, you bitch - OOF.”

Whatever he was going to complain about was interrupted by a swift punch right in his Adam's apple, causing the boy's hands to go up to his throat as he searched for air. His white face quickly turned red and a few tears escaped from his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

Sam smiled at the scene. “You're really like calling women by that word, huh? It's about time someone shut your filthy mouth.”

With a lot of effort and his eyes twitching, E.J. managed to spit out a few words. “Y-You're c-crazy!” He coughed, the veins in his throat widening with the effort, his skin almost turning a purplish hue.

“Maybe.” Carpenter murmured, calmly taking the knife out of her pocket, admiring how the metal of the blade glistened against the moon rays coming through the window. “But you need to learn a thing or two about swallowing your words.”

In one swift movement, Sam used the handle of the knife to strike E.J.'s fingers with a resounding crack, making him grunt in pain and pull his hands away from the front of his neck, which had been Samantha's target all along. He raised his hands, trying to reach the woman to strangle her, but Sam had been faster.

With a single blow, now with the blade, E.J.'s throat had been slit open, spurting wine-red blood from his neck down his bare torso like a waterfall. He opened his eyes wide, his vocal cords gurgling in an attempt to speak, or to call for help, but nothing came out.

He struggled with one last effort to escape, but Sam also had strength in her lower limbs and trapped E.J.'s thighs between her own, forcing him to stay in place while he lost more and more blood and oxygen.

In a way, it was as if Sam was stealing his soul. Her eyes glowed maniacally as the brightness of the boy's eyes dimmed, his muscles growing weaker and his limbs abandoned him, giving up any chance of salvation.

Sam leaned forward, not minding the way her gloves got stained with the blood that now covered the entire bed. She moved closer to E.J.'s ear and whispered, “Who's the bitch now?”

Taking advantage of the boy's almost deoxygenated state, Sam opened his mouth without resistance, aligning her knife with E.J.'s tongue. Through the reflex of the blade, she swore she’d seen Billy’s eyes staring back at hers.

The sharp object descended on the tip of the athlete’s tongue, cutting the muscle with fluidity and letting the small piece fall back into EJ’s trachea, making it even more difficult for the boy to breathe, who at that point was a few seconds from fainting. His mouth was filled with blood, escaping from his lips and mixing with the red that drenched his neck.

E.J was finally unresponsive, breathing non-existent as well as his pulse. The boy’s blue eyes were completely lifeless, staring at Sam in an empty expression. She thought she’d feel a little bad. He was young and had not done much more than stupid mistakes of a 20-something asshole.

But she didn’t feel bad. Because that stupid mistake had been made against you, so he deserved it.

"You didn’t have to do this thing in the end, you know?" Billy commented in a faux bored voice, walking through EJ’s room with his hands behind his back, admiring the walls. "You’re more of a dramatic killer than I am."

"Shut up." Sam muttered back, feeling the tiredness begin to take over. She looked at the digital clock by E.J’s bed, which marked 00:04. Maybe she could be in bed by 1 am, which would give her six hours of sleep before she needed to get up for work. It was more than Sam usually slept, but she had the feeling her sleep would be hard as a stone that night.

Sam stood up from bed carefully, murmuring swears as she saw that the blood had stained her gloves and pants. She had expected to throw the gloves off but, man, she liked these pants.

"Who would’ve guessed that the impulse you needed to become like me was to mess with your heart and not your head."

"I’m not like you." Sam denied, turning to the image of her father in the corner of the room, his damn smirk seemed bigger than ever. She did not try to deny the rest of the sentence, however, because she knew it was true.

Her heart was her greatest weakness. And you seemed to be taking up a lot of space in it.

Billy laughed, approaching his daughter with slow, calculated steps. "You can deny as much as you like, Samantha. You have my blood in your veins and other’s blood on your hands. You cannot escape your family line."

"But, of course, you only did what you did because you needed to defend the honor of the poor and helpless Y/n." he continued, mockery escaping from his non-living lips, feeding on the growing anger in Sam’s chest. "Her knight in shining armour. No, scratch that. There’s nothing shining about you, Sam. You’re her Dark Knight"

She looked into the eyes of her father, seeing her clenched jaw being reflected in the pupil surrounded by an onyx iris. As much as she hated the way he talked about you, Sam couldn’t say that she hated the idea of being your knight, however twisted it was.

"I’ll up the dose of my medication."

"Ha! It’s gonna take more than a few pills to get rid of me, Samantha." Billy shook his head, a humorous smile still on his face. He bypassed his daughter, analyzing the crime scene as an art expert analyzes a painting. "Now let’s clean that up, shall we? No Loomis leaves behind evidence."

__

"If anyone asks me about E.J today, I’ll kill myself."

"Woah! Okay, how about we avoid suicide here?" Mindy replied from your side, gently pushing her shoulder with yours as you walked around the campus. 

"Yeah, if someone has to die here, it’s got to be the people who come and try to fuck with you." Tara added, walking on your other side with the headphones hanging from her neck. "I’ll do it!"

"How about we don’t kill anyone?" Chad joined the conversation, a little further behind you while still struggling to put on his football jacket. Anika, next to Mindy, rolled his eyes with the boy’s words.

"Stop being boring, dude."

The familiarity of the conversation with your friends relieved some of your anxiety, but not completely. E.J’s tweet had gotten more than 3k likes throughout the night and most of them came from people from your college. As stupid as he was, people liked to be siding with a pretty face.

As you approached the communal area of students, more you felt a weight falling on your shoulders. It was almost as if your body was anticipating the looks, whispers and fingers pointed in your direction, as if you were a circus attraction - "The girl rejected by E.J Abrams"

But that never came, not even when you approached the tables occupied by several students. They all seemed more concerned to look at their own phones, apparently immersed in some gossip by the increasing volume of whispers in unison.

"What happened?" You turned to your friends with furrowed eyebrows, watching Mindy mumble a brief I don’t know while pulling the phone out of her pocket. Around you, people seemed scared, as if something terrible had happened. 

You unconsciously thought it might be something else related to the ghostface attacks and the hell your friends had experienced in the past. You had heard the stories, had sympathized with the trauma experienced by them, although you secretly wished that the same fate would never fall on you.

Maybe that was the universe signaling you had no escape.

"Oh My God!" Mindy exclaimed as she opened her phone. Anika, beside her, took a hand to her mouth in complete horror and shock. You, Chad and Tara rushed to surround her, trying to read the news that had left the entire student body in a state of dread.

Athlete and fraternity member is found dead this morning. Suspicion of foul play falls on his roommates.

Gasps were slipping out of your throat as you kept reading the news. E.J Abrams was dead. His throat and tongue had been cut and the boy had bled to death in his own bed. The police had found some traces of hair from the other residents of the fraternity on his nails and they were the main suspects, with the current theory that it had been a prank that ended very badly.

You had a ringing in your ear. You’d woken up this morning wishing EJ would die, but now that he was really dead you felt... What? Relief? Revenge? Disgust? Fear?

A silence fell on your friends, but you could understand the thought that was being shared even without words. None of you felt bad for EJ, but the idea of your cursing suddenly being materialized seemed eerily real.

"Well, I hope they don’t cancel classes." Tara shrugged, being the first to give up pretending to care about the situation. "I didn’t walk all this way for nothing."

She pulled you by the arm, taking you out of your inner thoughts for a moment as you went towards the ARCS room, both knowing that one of the chairs would be empty but with the sketch of a body that was once there.

E.J was dead, but instead of relief, you felt in your guts that something was wrong.

[pussyydestroyer]

“First date”

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Tara and you work at a store in New York, having to restock some things on a weekend as punishment.

Warning: None. Y/n is just a little awkward and nervous around Sam, plus alcohol and all that stuff.

Word count: 6.3k

A/n: It's basically the story of Usnavi and Vanessa (played by Melissa Barrera) in In the heights but these are F!reader and Sam with some details changed and different from the musical so that Sam's character in Scream fits better 😋

I was inspired by The Club but wanted to expand it further to get to that part

“Stop being a jerk and come help me!” You shout as soon as you walk through the door with a large box in your hands, and you see Tara standing at the register doing absolutely nothing.

Completely bewildered, she raises her head and reluctantly puts her phone aside when she sees you giving her a withering, amused look. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.”

She gets up from where she was and walks with slow, unmotivated steps until she reaches you, walks around you, and enters the warehouse, where the other boxes are to refill the shelves with food.

“Thanks,” you say sarcastically with a knowing smile, only for her to shake her head mockingly in response, making you chuckle.

Tara and you are friends from college, you being the oldest by two years. You’ve both been working at a store for a couple of months, hoping to earn some money for yourselves.

One day, she showed you a post she found online about a small shop looking for staff. At first, you were skeptical of the place because of the reviews, but the next day they were both hired since the owner was desperate for workers.

The job was relatively easy; they just had to serve the few customers who showed up and restock the shelves and vending machines whenever the food ran out or expired.

They spent so much time together in college and at work that they got to the point where they became very close.

"Why are we doing this?" she exclaims tiredly as she carries a box to the other side of the room, even though she hasn't moved from her seat since the day began. "I mean, it's Saturday. We shouldn't be doing this."

Tara was right. Her contract had a set schedule that meant she didn't work weekends. But it was both of their punishments for doing so.

You laugh and roll your eyes as you pull some candy that had expired a few days ago off the shelf. "Maybe it's because someone was caught idling and eating the store's merchandise?"

A few days ago, both of them were literally lying on the counter watching some silly YouTube video since there hadn't been any customers for a couple of hours. So they decided to eat a snack or two to pass the time.

Only when you open a can of soda does the owner appear and see them not doing their homework and with empty wrappers in plain sight.

They make up terribly lame excuses so that in the end, he decides to check the cameras and discover that they haven't moved from their spot for about four hours.

With amusement and feigned annoyance, she tidies up the shelf across from yours. "Speak for yourself. I only ate one potato chip."

“Liar. You also had three wrappers of chocolates on the counter,” you exclaim, squinting at her expectantly through the small slits.

You feel her shifting in place as she giggles and continues tidying.

“It was exam week, okay? I was anxious about the results.” You roll your eyes and nod in mock understanding at her perfectly valid excuse. She laughs with you before adding, “And don’t act like a saint, you ate things from here too.”

You feign hurt, placing a hand on your chest, then speak more calmly. “And I totally accept the blame.”

You simply laugh, glancing at each other as you finish arranging the things on the shelf for when the door opens, ringing a small bell that signals when someone enters or leaves.

You peer at Tara through the cracks and tilt your head in a quick motion toward the counter.

"I know," she sighs before dropping what she was doing and heading behind the counter to wait for the woman who just entered to pay.

You smile sarcastically at her for a few moments before placing the last few treats.

You take a quick look around the store to check if anything else needed restocking until the completely empty refrigerator behind you catches your attention.

You pick up the box you just emptied and walk toward the storage area to get the drinks to restock.

You go back inside, humming a song with a carefree expression on your face, heading toward the previously empty refrigerator.

You turn slightly when the bell rings again, noticing Tara engrossed in her phone and the woman gone.

You smile to yourself before returning your attention to your task.

You wanted to get this done as soon as possible without distractions so you could enjoy your weekend. Even though you didn't have any plans, the best thing you could do was stay locked in your place watching TV shows until late.

The place fell silent for a few minutes, with only your low humming heard, until that small bell rang again.

The silence was instantly interrupted by murmurs of happiness in the distance.

You listened briefly to the conversation, wondering if all the happiness was due to the fact that it was a friend of Tara's, as you took out some energy drinks.

"Hey y/n, look who's here." Tara's enthusiastic voice pulled you out of your thoughts, but you continued on with your own business, never taking your eyes off the drinks.

“What’s up?” Crouching down, you gesture with your hand, oblivious to what was happening, thinking it might be Mindy, who regularly passed by.

You hear laughter from the other corner and a mock clearly coming from Tara.

You add a few cans to the fridge, ignoring her words and managing to hear footsteps coming toward you.

You hum again, your attention fixed on the fridge.

The cool air hitting your face was refreshing and satisfying in the sweltering heat.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts, along with the task at hand, that it took you a good couple of seconds to realize someone was standing next to you.

You turned around calmly, but upon seeing the person next to you, your heart raced, taking all your strength not to drop the can from your hands.

The basic skills of any human being faded from your system. You hadn’t expected Sam to be in the store, much less standing in front of you. Her expression was calm and stern.

From the close range, you managed to capture her slightly messy hair and her skin glistening with sweat, assuming she'd just worked out or left the gym.

Still, that didn't take away from how beautiful she looked.

The time it took you to examine her seemed like an eternity, internally cursing yourself as you felt your face heat up and simultaneously praying that she wouldn't notice your slight blush.

From the moment Sam entered your life, you had a small crush on her.

Tara had talked to you about her a couple of times before, even shown you pictures, but nothing compared to the time Sam arrived to pick Tara up from college.

When you first saw her get out of her car, her hair blowing in the wind. Watching her like a kid yearning from afar for something in a toy store.

From then on, you knew your life wasn't going to be so easy with her on your mind.

There had been times before where you'd run into each other by chance or because your connection was through knowing Tara, but it never went beyond a friendly greeting with a few exchanges.

Sometimes it could be a little awkward because you got so nervous around her, and Tara seemed to pick up on the tension between you two from all the times she teased you about her sister.

"Hi" you finally managed, a goofy smile tugging at your lips.

"Hi" she reciprocated in a soft, cheerful voice. Everything around you stopped the instant your gazes met.

The glances and smiles lasted longer than you expected. Honestly, you didn't know what else to do after that.

Sam felt the same way, but her face didn't change to discomfort or embarrassment. However, she moved her hand forward toward you.

At first, you didn't know what she wanted to do since her movements were hesitant, until you realized Sam wanted a drink from the refrigerator.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." Embarrassed, scratching the back of your neck, you took a step back, then bumped into the open refrigerator door.

A blush spread across your face, hating yourself for acting so awkwardly in front of her.

It was always the same. Every time you tried to impress a girl, you ended up acting completely different from your normal self. And Sam was no exception to your clumsiness.

She simply chuckled and waited for you to walk away so she could get an energy drink. “Thank you.”

Her voice sent a chill through your body, making your heart beat faster. “You’re welcome.”

The words came out in a stuttering whisper as you were once again mesmerized by her brown eyes.

The two of you remained in a slightly awkward silence. Neither of you dared to move away or say a word; you just stared at each other with a hint of something neither of you could decipher.

Tara, who had been watching this whole scene from afar with regret and shame etched on her face, decided to interrupt. “Hey, Sam.” She waited for Sam to turn around before she could continue. “Y/n wants to ask you out, did you know that?”

Your breath stopped at that same instant as you broke out in a cold sweat upon hearing Tara’s words.

Your head swiveled sharply to look at Tara, who was wearing a wicked smile.

It never crossed your mind that she would do something like this, but this definitely caught you off guard, causing you to freeze completely, along with your stomach tightening in your abdomen.

Tara smiles triumphantly at seeing you in this state, knowing she had you in her grasp.

“I-…” You tried to excuse yourself, to say anything, but Sam was quicker, turning to you again with an anxious expression and genuine happiness.

“Oh, really?”

“I…” You’d never been in a bind like this before. You didn’t know what to do or say to dont make her feel bad. “I mean-”

“Yeah. That's what we were talking about this morning, wasn't it, Y/N?” Tara interrupts again, making Sam's smile grow at her.

Every time Tara opens her mouth, you think she's going to save you from this predicament, but she only makes it worse and worse, turning you into a nervous, clumsy mess.

You stutter for a moment, looking from Sam to Tara repeatedly, as if that would get you out of this dilemma.

“Yup, well…” you stuttered longer than you meant to, unsure of what to say next until Sam interrupts you with moderate excitement.

“Where do you want to take me?” she says mischievously, her interest piquing further with each of Tara's words to help you with the mess she started.

“To the club a few blocks from the subway,” Tara adds playfully, mockingly, before looking at you and continuing. “She’s really eager to take you there. Really.”

Sam seems more and more convinced about the idea of going out with you, which makes you even more nervous when you see her expression. “I heard it’s a good place.”

“Yeah, it is,” you smile, scratching the back of your neck, desperately trying to say something more. “We can go this afternoon… if you want, of course.”

You bite the inside of your cheek for speaking too quickly, thinking you’ve ruined everything with the way Sam stares at you without any response.

Finally, she nods in approval, and a genuine smile appears on her face as she reaches for her phone in her pockets.

“Here. Here’s my number so we can clarify the details further.”

She extends her hand toward you, her phone number flashing on the screen.

At first, you stare at it in bewilderment, not understanding what she’s doing until your mind clicks.

“Oh, yes,” you fumble in your clothing pockets to find your phone. You take it out and quickly write down her phone number.

She laughs and waits for you to do so before putting her phone back in the same place she had it before.

"Nos vemos" she says in a low, mischievous voice, then turns and leaves, not before saying goodbye to her sister.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears, feeling like you could faint at any moment.

Your mind replayed what had just happened, unable to truly believe that you had a date with Sam.

She was already gone, but you were still trying to come back to earth as you held onto the fridge.

Little by little, Tara's laughter crept back into your ears.

"Why the fuck did you do all that?" You spat out in embarrassment and annoyance as your senses returned to normal.

She was almost out of breath, tears in her eyes from the fit of laughter at the situation she'd gotten you into.

You turned around and banged your forehead against the glass door of the refrigerator, waiting for Tara to finish teasing you and for your blush to fade.

Finally, she stopped laughing and spoke breathlessly, "No. I saved you from making a complete fool of yourself in front of her. You're welcome."

She was partly right, but you weren't going to admit it after how stupid and useless you'd acted because of Tara and her interventions.

You tapped the glass

with your forehead repeatedly, trying to gather your racing, anxious thoughts. "What am I going to do now?"

"Go on a date with my sister, maybe?"

You groan softly as you tap it once more, then press your forehead against the cold glass, knowing full well that she finds your condition amusing. “Did you see how I just acted? I look like a complete idiot in front of her. I won't even last five minutes before I ruin everything.”

Tara's expression softens at hearing you speak about yourself like that. She wanted to continue teasing you, but she took pity this time. “Relax, everything will be okay, don't worry.”

She waited for your reaction to her gentle words, but seeing that you weren't reacting the way she wanted, she decided to add, “You have a point in your favor. She likes you.”

Your heart pounded again. You turned around quickly to see any hint of a joke or a lie in her expression, but all you could see was sincerity. “Really?”

She smiled at you, hearing your yearning and decided to continue encouraging you. “Of course. She wouldn't have agreed if she didn't.”

A little confidence returned to you, hoping everything that happened later would be perfect.

You took out your phone with a glimmer of hope in your eyes as you saw Sam's profile on the screen. “I'll try not to screw this up.”

Hours passed, and as if in the blink of an eye, you were standing on the subway, staring at your nervous expression through the reflection of the doors.

After closing up shop a few hours earlier, you texted Sam to arrange a time and place where the two of you would meet.

When Sam finally answered, clearing things up, you immediately changed into something more comfortable and casual, but not too elegant to distinguish the fact that you were going to a club.

Your reflection vanished in an instant when the doors opened, allowing you to get off the train.

You walked with a knot in your stomach as you wiped your sweaty hands on your clothes until you reached the meeting point where the two of you had decided to meet.

Not seeing her anywhere, you decided to wait for some sign of her.

You straightened your clothes over and over again, hoping to look good for her, only to look up and find her walking toward you.

She shakes her hand, and you can't help but watch her every move.

"Shall we go?" Her sweet voice hits you, bringing you back to reality when she's close enough to you.

You shake your head slightly with an almost shy smile, "Let's go."

The night was cool and refreshing, with a silence that at first felt a bit awkward as you walked side by side.

Their arms occasionally brushed against each other, making you even more nervous than you already were, until Sam broke the silence by asking a couple of questions.

You sighed in relief at no longer being burdened by your racing thoughts and readily answered her little interrogation.

Gradually, you became less nervous as you spent more time with her.

Walking and talking with Sam, letting go more and more, you realized that longing for her from afar was a complete and total waste of time.

She's so sweet and so funny that every time she made you laugh with little jokes, you blushed, admiring her beauty at the same time.

If you weren't so shy and dumb, you could have enjoyed this a long time ago.

They continued walking and chatting for a bit longer before loud music and flashy lights caught both of their attention.

Despite being a few steps away from the club, you couldn't stop paying attention to the lights Sam had told you about earlier during your walk here.

“Damn, this is nice…” You say with a hint of admiration as you look at the enormous place. “I really like what they've done with the lights.”

She laughs, rolling her eyes and gently nudging you, thinking you were making fun of her for previously exaggerating about the venue's extravagant lights.

The thick air of the place hits them along with the loud music as they barely step foot inside.

In one corner, there was a group of people gathered at the bar, and another group of people dancing on the dance floor to their own beat.

“You might be right, this music's tight.” You look at her with complicity and amusement, having to raise your voice so she could hear you over all the noise.

You follow Sam through the crowd to explore the place a bit, watching her laugh again, making your heart beat faster. “I told you!”

None of them had been here before. You could say Sam knew the place better than you did, based on the experiences her friends told her.

You followed Sam, who walked deeper into the place, piquing both of your interest and curiosity with every step you took.

The fact that you hadn't said anything in a while, along with the music pounding your eardrums, made you feel even more nervous and restless.

You didn't want to ruin a beautiful evening that was starting off really well.

You felt the urge to say something, anything to calm down a little.

"Did I mention that you look great tonight?"

Sam stops and turns slightly, noticing a smile from something you couldn't quite understand on her face.

Their eyes meet, causing you to scratch the back of your neck and continue speaking quickly. "Because you do, you really—"

"Hey, relax," she interrupts, gently taking your hand in hers, noticing that you're back to being as nervous as you were at the beginning.

Behind all the noise, you managed to hear the softness of her voice, as if it were just the two of you in the vast space.

You sighed with relief, feeling calmer with the comfort of her words. “Yeah, alright.” She smiled at you, squeezing your hand once more before letting go. “I’m relaxed.”

You didn’t know how, but from one moment to the next, you were both dancing across from each other on the dance floor.

You watched with awe and amusement as Sam moved with grace and rhythm, her hips and arms swaying to the beat of the music.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she danced in front of you as you did the same.

Her body moved freely and passionately, creating an exciting spectacle.

Time seemed to stand still when you were with her.

The more you watched her eyes, her hair moving with every movement, her smile, a warm feeling welled up in your chest.

Despite all the hardships and self-sabotage you inflicted on yourself, you enjoyed being with her far more than you ever would with anyone else.

“Maybe you and I should hang out some more…” You say without giving your words a second thought. She looks at you skeptically when you begin to slow down, realizing what you’d said out loud.

“I’m such a dork, but I-” You apologize, a little embarrassed, but before you could ruin it again, she interrupts you, pulling you closer so you could hear her. “Let’s go get a drink.”

You were completely grateful to whatever it was that Sam interrupted you every time you messed up.

Her slightly agitated voice sent light shivers down your spine.

You tried to put that thought behind you, accepting and walking with her again to the bar, which wasn’t that far away. “Something sweet.”

Sam seemed to like your suggestion, nodding and looking at you knowingly, as if you were both connected. “You know me, a little cinnamon.”

You walked peacefully, interrupted only by the din of music and people, to the bar.

Upon reaching the small space, Sam silently gestured that she would get the drinks. You nodded, knowing she would bring the same thing for both of you.

You couldn’t help but watch her figure as she slowly walked away and disappeared from your sight a moment later.

You didn't believe in love at first sight, but after this date, you'd openly admit that you were completely in love with her.

You headed off to find a table so you and Sam could rest and be more comfortable after dancing earlier.

"yo, be more careful," you heard a familiar voice as you clumsily backed away and bumped into a table.

You turned around to find Mindy sitting there with a smile, a bit dazed from the alcohol, you assumed, and a drink in her hand.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" You looked at her in amusement as you reached out to shake her hand in a friendly gesture.

Mindy laughs, squeezing your hand, then lets go and takes a sip before answering. “I came with my girl to have a good time,” she says playfully before turning her head from side to side as if she's looking for someone. “But apparently she went to get more alcohol or something.”

You laugh, thinking that her girlfriend, Anika, and Sam might be meet at the bar, but you didn't want to bring it up yet.

Mindy was a fun and witty person. You met her through Tara a while ago and immediately liked her personality.

You and her don't hang out much, but when the opportunity arises, you talk for hours on end.

She looks at you, sizing you up and down inquisitively.

“So what are you doing here? I don't think you came alone,” she says curiously, raising an eyebrow.

You just laugh and roll your eyes, sitting in the seat across from Mindy while her girlfriend was gone. “Well…” you stammered, not wanting to say who you came with, but knowing you would have to say it eventually. “Yes. I came with someone.”

“So? Who’s the lucky one?”

You ran your fingers along the edge of the table briefly, not wanting to brag, but the way you smiled let Mindy know she was someone special to you. “I came with Sam.”

Her jaw almost dropped at the information.

She didn’t think you’d ever be able to hang out with Sam, which took her by surprise. “No way… really?”

You nodded, blushing slightly at her slightly drunken and exaggerated expression. “Yup.”

She took a deep sip of her drink, which you didn’t know what it was, to process it properly. “I never thought it was possible. Congratulations.”

You continued to play with the edge of the table, your smile lingering. “Thank you, I guess?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “No. I mean it. Congratulations.”

Your expression softened at her supportive words, even though you clearly thought this was impossible. But thankfully, it happened.

“Ever since Tara told me you were madly in love with her sister, I never thought you could date her…”

Your eyes widened, your blush deepening at the exaggeration in her words. “I’m not—” You tried to interrupt her to clarify that you’d only had a minor, non-obsessive crush for some time now, but she wasn’t listening.

“After all these years.”

You smiled warmly at her constant exaggeration, appreciating the sincerity beneath all the alcohol in her system.

Just as you were about to express your gratitude, Mindy stopped a waitress who was passing by, taking two shots, which, judging by the color, were probably tequila.

She placed one in front of you while extending her hand with the other tequila, wanting to make a toast. “To finally getting Samantha.”

You grabbed the tequila, laughing at all this before raising your hand and clinking the small glasses together.

“Cheers!” You said in unison and then drank.

Between laughter and the bitter taste of the drink going down your throat, Sam arrived with two glasses in each hand.

Your body temperature rose again when you saw her, slightly disheveled, placing the glass on the table.

A completely silly smile appeared on your face, but Sam didn't notice it as she greeted Mindy.

She stayed by your side the whole time, watching as she made small talk with Mindy while you sipped.

The pleasant atmosphere didn't last long when a guy arrived at the table out of nowhere, standing right behind Sam. "Hey, you!"

His arrogantly smug voice would almost irritate you if it weren't for the fact that Sam turned around reluctantly, knowing full well that she was being spoken to.

"Who?" The expression of disinterest when talking to him was very noticeable.

"You!"

"Who, me?"

Sam pretended not to understand, responding sharply to the other guy. Deep down, she knew what would happen if she continued talking to him, and she didn't want to.

"You wanna dance?"

She continued her arrogant little game, avoiding contact with him as much as possible.

The guy seemed like a hateful person, and if she could, she would tell him so. "Nah, man."

The guy simply laughed at his defeat, taking a step back and stopping his insistence, understanding that Sam was absolutely against being with him. “Okay, I took my chance.”

Watching the small conversation between the two of them from the silence, you somehow felt bad for the poor guy who was immediately rejected by Sam, even though you could tell she had the same feelings for him.

“It’s cool, it’s cool… hey if you want to.”

You absolutely didn't want Sam to go with someone else. It was your date with her, and you wanted to spend the rest of it with her, but your mouth betrayed you as always.

She looks at you expectantly, surprised that you'd let her be with some random on her own on a night that should have been between you two.

Her smile, once one of happiness, vanished completely from her face.

"You don't mind?" You recognized that look of anger and betrayal anywhere, even though it was the first time you'd seen it on her.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wanting to avoid any eye contact from her, but her eyes bore deeply into you.

You swallow hard, holding your breath as you feel Sam's irritated gaze and the other guy's triumphant one. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

She stares at you for a while longer, waiting for you to say something to fix the mess you just made, but nothing comes out.

You watch as she walks away, heading for the dance floor with someone other than you.

When she's completely out of your sight, you breathe normally again.

Your mind spins with flashbacks of how stupid you just were, along with Sam's cold stare.

You grab the glass Sam had brought for the two of you to share and take a deep sip, scrunching your face.

Mindy, who was completely oblivious to what was happening at the table, sees Sam leave with someone else, surprising her more than you expected. "Who's Sam talking to?"

"Some dude..." you say listlessly, sprawled across the table as you watch the alcohol swirl as the glass rolls in your hands.

She raises her eyebrows as her drunken mind connects the dots of something she didn't fully witness. “That’s messed up, she’s trying to make you jealous.”

You raise your head from your spite and look at her as if you were talking to someone completely sane.

Was Sam trying to make you jealous? Why would she do that?

That’s why Sam immediately left with him without objecting or mentioning that you and her were together in the first place. You think about your naiveté.

“Jealous? I ain’t jealous, I can take this fella, whatever.”

It was clear you couldn’t.

The minutes passed, and you were already tired of being the third wheel between Mindy and Anika

You kept glancing at the dance floor in case you could spot Sam anywhere. But there was no sign of her.

You were starting to worry, but deep down, you knew she could handle any idiot who crossed her path.

You felt bad for letting her go dancing with a stranger.

You just wanted to be with her, but you'd already ruined that.

You sighed heavily, banging your head against the table, making a small noise that no one heard.

Turning your head, raising your gaze after a brief moment of cursing yourself, you saw a head of red hair that was easily recognizable anywhere.

If Sam wanted to make you jealous, you can make it happen too. You told yourself, remembering Mindy's drunken words.

Probably the effects of the alcohol were also starting to kick in, which is why you were working up the nerve to go talk to Quinn, who was selflessly chatting with a guy.

Ever since you've known Quinn, she's always flirted with you, making double entendre, or complimenting you on everything.

You just avoid her, dodging her constant suggestives by pretending not to understand.

You knew she had a bad reputation for hooking up with anyone who caught her eye, and to your misfortune, you had caught hers.

But that didn't matter at this point; you just wanted to piss Sam off a little.

The boy immediately gets up from his seat, leaving Quinn alone and relieved for a moment until her eyes sparkle with desire as she sees you approaching.

"Hey..." Quinn says slyly as you sit across from her, where the other boy had previously been.

You don't want to have a social interaction with her, much less end up in a situation you'd regret later. So you interrupt her, starting to speak rapidly.

“Look, I know you do this with everyone, and the truth is, I'm not interested in you. I just want to make someone jealous, and you probably don't give a fuck about that, but this will be the closest thing to having my full attention. So let's go to the bar or something to satisfy your self-absorbed facade once and for all.”

She remains silent for a few seconds, staring at you with amusement, as if she were holding back a laugh.

This awkward silence, coupled with her intense gaze, made your hair stand on end. But she finally responds with a curt nod

“Yeah. Whatever.”

Before grabbing your wrist, forcing you to abruptly get up to go to the bar.

Between her leading you to take another drink and the increasing number of people, it made your curiosity and concern for Sam grow.

You looked everywhere for her, but there was no sign of her dancing with anyone or drinking.

Your concentration shifted elsewhere as Quinn flirtatiously asked the bartender for drinks.

Being with her felt like a punishment.

You just nodded or fake laughed whenever she spoke or said something supposedly funny.

Every now and then you looked up to see if Sam was around, but you were already considering the idea that she was gone.

Sadly, you continued your performance in front of Quinn, taking a big sip of something you weren't used to drinking.

Just as you were losing all hope, you saw Sam alone in the distance, heading through the door they'd entered a few hours ago.

You apologize to Quinn before hastily getting up to follow Sam.

Your heart was pounding as you pushed through the crush of people.

You'd made a huge difference with her today, and the thought of losing her in an instant was more suffocating than when you'd tried to talk to Sam this morning.

"Sam! Hold on, hold on!" you shout from outside the club, seeing her in the distance.

She turns around irritably, and you put the hands on your knees to catch your breath from running.

You lift your head to meet her upset gaze. "Why are you leaving? I mean, we're having a good time, aren't we?" you say agitatedly.

Her eyes widen in disbelief.

“If having a good time means leaving me with an idiot so you can flirt with someone else, then yes. I had a great time.”

You gritted your teeth at the venom in her sarcasm.

You felt a little happy that your plan to make her jealous with Quinn had worked, but this wasn't the time to celebrate.

You fell silent for a moment, considering your next words.

“I- I wasn't flirting with anyone…” You admit, your tone lower as you regain your composure. Sam notices your meek behavior, softening her features just a bit. “I was just hanging out with someone else because I thought you were having fun with another one.”

“Of course I wasn't having fun with him!” “I came here to be with you, ¡no con un completo idiota!” she yells again, but this time she takes a few steps toward you. Seeing this, you do the same.

“Look. I'm sorry, okay?” Your words are more confident now as you move forward, staring at her with determination. “When you're around me, I act like a fool, and I admit it.”

Sam was perplexed by your confession. She'd noticed your behavior, but didn't believe you'd admit it so openly.

She quickly examined you without moving from her spot.

There was still a wide gap between you, giving you the confidence to clarify your feelings.

"I never know what to do or say when you talk to me or look at me. I become a total mess and you know it."

She avoids smiling to maintain her angry facade; instead, she just nods.

You were no longer embarrassed or anxious. You'd spent so much time with Sam that you'd grown accustomed to her intense but pleasant gaze.

"Even Tara had to help me ask you out when I wasn't even thinking about it right now."

You both laughed at the memory of what had happened, unaware that Sam was laughing and taking a few steps forward.

You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself, with the constant fear that Sam wouldn't want to see you ever again.

"And yes, I know that I screw up by not intervening when the guy came over and flirted with you, and I feel bad about it.”

The brief silence that fills the space is almost deafening.

There's no more music, no more loud people; it's just you and her, along with the constant pounding of your heart in your ears as you stare directly into her beautiful brown eyes.

“I had a great time tonight, and I just want you to forgive me—” Her soft lips capture yours, forcing you to stop talking.

You hadn't realized she was so close to you, the kiss taking you by surprise.

When your mind finally clicked, you melted in that instant, parting your lips and allowing her tongue to slide past.

You raised your hands, not knowing where to put them.

Sam noticed this and guided one of them to her lower back, making you gasp against her.

You were always curious to know what it was like to feel Sam so close to you, and you couldn't believe this was finally happening.

The kiss slowly grew more intense, heating your bodies more and more.

You had to admit that the way she gently tugged at your hair with her hand tangled in it drove you crazy, but not now.

The lack of air ruined the moment, and you reluctantly pulled away so you could catch it.

She looked at you panting with her eyes half-closed, while you stood with your gaze wide open, shocked by all of this.

"Yes... I forgive you."

At first, you couldn't understand what she meant, but slowly your mind came out of the lustful haze. "Right."

She rolled her eyes before leaning closer to you and laughing, resting her forehead against your shoulder.

You were still coming down from the intensity of things, so you simply placed a hand on the back of her head, completely distracted and out of it.

She breathed deeply, feeling her body press against yours.

She moved away slightly to take your hand in hers and resume her walk. "Let's go."

You intertwined your fingers as she did so as you began walking.

The peace and tranquility of your mind was interrupted when you turned to look at the club, which was now further away than you thought. "I thought we'd go inside again."

She nodded with feigned reasoning, then gave you a quick, playful glance. "Yeah, well, I'd rather finish this at my place."

The mischievous way she said it made you not doubt her other intentions at all, causing a smile to spread across your face due to the shiver she gave you. "Alright”

[jackiesnats]

Our Own Summer

pairing: sam carpenter x reader; past quinn bailey x reader

warnings: camp counselor au, mean dom sam, daddy kink, rough sex, rough face fucking, rimming, finger sucking, face slapping, reader is a bit of a little shit, tara & reader friendship, strapon use, begging, verbal degradation, sam's been waiting to do this for awhile-, jealous!sam, she’s a bit toxic but she takes accountability.

summary: sam always found you annoying, but now that you were working as a counselor at the same camp as Sam, she finds you to be even worse.

edited by my lovely girlfriend @specialinterestshows 🥰🩵

word count: 10.3k

“Welcome! I’m Sam, and I’m the head counselor here at Camp Crystal Lake. We’re going to have a few days before the campers get here, so that will give you some time to learn the layout and ask for help with whatever you need. Does anyone have any questions for me right now?” Sam asked, looking around at the new and some returning counselors. You smirked as her eyes locked on yours, holding eye contact with you for a few seconds before shaking her head.

You could tell she was annoyed by your presence, having been at her house enough times to know how she acted when she was trying to pretend you weren’t getting on her nerves. Now that you were working at the camp she was in charge of for the whole summer, you were only going to make things worse.

“Dude, stop eye-fucking my sister,” Tara whispered as Sam started to answer your new coworkers’ questions.

“What? I- I wasn’t eye-fucking nobody, but especially not your sister,” you said, biting your lip as you realized that wasn’t believable.

Tara rolled her eyes, “Yeah sure.”

“Honest!” you try to argue, but Tara wasn’t having it.

You both knew you had a crush on her older sister since the moment you and Tara became friends. There were many sleepovers the two of you had had while Sam watched you, while her family was gone. Tara and you had been friends since the seventh grade and now that the two of you were adults, you wished Sam felt the same way towards you.

Since you didn’t think she would ever feel that way, annoying the fuck out of her was good enough. Sam didn’t own the camp, so she couldn’t fire you - in your mind that meant you were able to push her buttons more than usual. Of course, you never did it in front of Tara, considering she knew about your crush on her older sister for the longest time.

“(Your Name),” Sam called out, causing you to jump, “Come here.”

You did as you were told, getting closer to her as the counselors moved to get their stuff. You had zoned out, thinking about Sam so much that you didn’t realize she was handing things out to everyone.

As soon as you walked up to her, she smirked. “Good girl. Here’s your supplies for your campers when they get here. You’ll be in cabin two.”

You looked down at the ground, eyes widening as you noticed the black boots Sam was wearing. Between being called a good girl and seeing her boots, all you could think about was grinding against them while she praised you.

Shaking the thoughts of your head, you sighed, crossing your arms, “Samantha.”

Sam glared at you, “Stop calling me that.”

Bringing your hand up to your chin, you tapped it with one finger playfully, “Mm, no.”

You grabbed your stuff and walked away before she could say anything. Without looking at Sam, you knew she was still focused on you.

“Are you done doing that for today? It’s bad enough we’re going to be here all summer,” Tara complained as she sat her stuff down to get a drink of water from her bottle. “Instead of annoying her and poking the bear, why don’t you just make a move?”

You gave Tara a surprised look, “Make a move? What, so she can laugh at me and say no? I’d rather keep annoying her.”

Tara shook her head, “How do you know she would laugh at you?”

“She just would,” you sighed, “Would you like some help carrying your stuff to your cabin?”

“I’ve got it,” Tara said, picking her stuff back up. “Plus, Sam put me in cabin thirteen which makes no sense. What cabin are you in? I didn’t hear her when she said it.”

“Cabin two.”

Tara nodded, “You do realize Sam is in cabin one, yeah?”

“I figured, what about it?” you asked, unsure as to why Tara would bring it up. It didn’t matter to you if Sam was in cabin one or cabin twelve, you were going to annoy her just as much.

“You do realize that cabin one and cabin two are connected?” Tara informed you.

“Oh? I- well, I mean that’s fine, I’m confused as to why you’re pointing it out, to be honest.”

Tara sighed. “I just… I know you like to annoy her and we’re best friends, but she’s my sister.”

You gave her an odd look, unsure of what she was getting at. Yeah, you annoyed Sam a lot, but you genuinely did like her. “What are you trying to say?”

Tara got a bit closer to you. “I just don’t want to see her, or you, hurt.”

“Tara,” you started, “Me hurting her? I would never.”

Tara’s facial expression was unreadable when she spoke up again, “Then try not to annoy her more than what you already do. I don’t think you would intentionally hurt her, but after Richie… she puts up a big front.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” you questioned.

Tara tried her best to hide the smirk that was threatening to show, and if it was anyone else, she would be able to get away with it. Not you though, you knew the moment you asked her that she was fighting the urge to smirk.

“Got to go get set up, talk to you later,” Tara said, chuckling as she walked away.

You stood there for a few more minutes, trying to decipher what Tara was trying to get at, but you soon let it go - for now - as you headed towards cabin number two. You decided you were going to take a nap once you had your clothes and such all put away. You had a few days before your busy summer started and getting familiar with the camp could wait. Sleep could not, especially when all you could think about Sam – as well as what Tara was saying. Did Sam feel the same? Or did she know that Sam did not feel the same? You loved Tara like the sister you never had, but sometimes you wished she wasn’t so secretive when it came to important things.

“Hey, (Your Name), wait up!” a voice called out to you, causing you to stop in your tracks. You turned around, a smile spread across your face as both Chad and Mindy rushed towards you. You dropped your bags as soon as they got close enough to hug you. Chad went first, hugging you tightly and then as soon as he let go of you, Mindy gave you an even tighter hug.

“How have you been, babe?” Mindy asked as she let go of you.

“Pretty good, I’ve just been busy working and writing the book I started a bit ago,” you smiled. “How about you?”

“You still at that one place?” Chad asked.

“I’ve been good, movie theater has been doing good, I was surprised that they let me have the whole month off to do this,” Mindy said.

“I’m glad! And yeah, I’m still at that one job,” you groaned, “But honestly, I might quit when I go back home.”

“I don’t blame you, really,” Mindy said. “Well, if there’s a killer out in the woods with us and you die, then you wouldn’t have to quit!”

Both you and Chad glared at her.

“You know Sam wouldn’t let anything happen to (Your Name), the killer would be dead so fast,” Chad laughed.

Mindy hit his arm hard, glaring at him while you looked at both with confusion written all over your face. You now wondered if everyone knew something that you had no clue about. Tara was one thing – she’s Sam’s sister after all – but the twins? You were missing something and as much as you had your suspicions on what it was, you didn’t want to guess and end up wrong; you wouldn’t be able to look Sam or any of your friends in the eyes after that.

“Ow! What did you do that for?!” he whimpered, rubbing his arm.

“Ignore what he’s saying, he knows nothing,” Mindy rolled her eyes.

You sighed, wanting this conversation to end. You loved them, but all you really needed was to lay down and try and forget about the day. Looking at your watch and then back at the twins, you spoke up again, “Hey, I’ll talk to you guys in a bit, I have a bit of a headache and I’m going to be laying down for a few hours.”

Mindy and Chad said their goodbyes before they turned around. You had assumed they had already gone to the cabins they were staying in, since they didn’t have any of their stuff with them when they came up to you.

As soon as you got to the cabin, you dropped your bag on the floor before sitting on the nearest bottom bunk. You felt bad for lying to Chad and Mindy, but you were so overstimulated from everything going on so far. You got up once more to grab your pillow from your bag before laying down.

You awoke when a door was slammed shut. “What?! What's going on?” you shouted, sitting up quickly.

“You do realize there’s a room in between the cabins for the counselors to sleep and live in right?” Sam asked.

Her arms were crossed and you could tell she was annoyed. Unfortunately this time you weren’t even trying to annoy her, so it wasn’t fun for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

You cursed yourself for getting so shy when you were overstimulated. You looked down at the ground, refusing to even look at her.

“Oh,” Sam sighed. “You weren’t doing this to annoy me, were you?”

You shook your head, eyes still glued to the floor. The room was filled with an uncomfortable silence, but before you could say anything, Sam came up to you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, she rubbed it gently before sitting next to you.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you about it. Let me help you carry your bags to the room I was talking about, okay?” Sam spoke softly.

You nodded. “Okay.”

You stood up at the same time Sam did. You grabbed your backpack and your pillow while Sam grabbed your duffle bag.

“How did you carry this all the way here? You should have asked me for some help,” Sam sighed, grabbing the bag.

You followed her into the counselor’s room, setting your stuff down and she spoke up and pointed to the bed that was empty. “This is your bed, and over there is where you can put your clothes.”

“Thank you, S- Sam,” you said, finally making eye contact with her, “I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem, really. We’re going to be here the entire summer, so I’d rather help you out now so I’m not worried about you the rest of the summer,” Sam explained herself, which made your heart drop.

A part of you wanted her to worry about you - attention from her was something you’d always craved. Now was no different from back then, other than the fact that you were an adult now.

“You have a point,” you sighed. “Is Quinn working here this summer?”

Sam gave you a dirty look. “Why? I mean, yes, but why?”

“Because I haven’t seen her in a while? We’re friends?” you said, unsure as to why she was asking that.

Quinn and you had dated for a short time, and although things didn’t work out well between the two of you, you were still really good friends. You figured she was just worried that you’d run back to Quinn after spending countless nights at Tara and her house after she had left you randomly. You were over the redhead, finally realizing that your crush on Sam was still present once you got over your first real heartbreak.

“Mhm,” Sam hummed, seeming to accept your response. “Anyway, I’m going to make sure everyone is settled in and that they don’t need my help. You can take a nap because I can tell you’re tired, and I won’t come in here as loud as I just did.”

“Thank you so much.”

Sam walked out with her clipboard and sunglasses and as soon as you knew she was gone, you put your things away in the drawers. Grabbing your stuffed animal, you put it at the head of your bed before you laid down.

You couldn’t help but think about how good Sam looked in her tank top. With her muscles on display, all you could think about was her pinning you down on the bed and fucking you over and over while you begged her to keep going.

You sat up and grabbed your MP3 player from your backpack before putting your headphones in. Once you were all situated, you laid back down with music blaring in your ears. You took a deep breath, slipping your hand into your shorts. You closed your eyes, moaning when you felt how wet you were through your underwear.

You ran your fingertips lightly against yourself, enjoying how good it felt. “Fuck, Sam, please don’t tease me,” you whimpered, unaware that Sam had already ducked back in to get her water bottle. She wasn’t trying to look, especially since you weren’t aware that she was there - that is, until she heard you moan out her name.

Finally, after a few minutes of teasing yourself through your underwear, you pushed your hand into them. Rubbing your clit lightly, you imagined Sam touching you whenever she wanted to.

“Please, Sam,” you moaned, “I’m yours.”

You sped up your movements, finally bringing a finger down to your entrance. You took a deep breath, trying to spread your legs, but your shorts weren’t allowing you to. Pulling your hand out of your pants, you quickly pulled them down, followed by your underwear. Kicking them off just as Mascara by Deftones started to play.

You spread your legs, bringing your hand back down to your pussy. You kept your eyes closed as you slid a finger inside yourself. You would normally work yourself up a bit more, but you were already so wet, all you wanted was to make yourself come a few times before Sam got back. The last thing you wanted was for her to see you like this, moaning her name when you weren’t even sure if she liked you. The last thing you needed was to make things awkward for the both of you the whole summer.

You added a second finger, curling them as you began to fuck yourself. “Faster, please, Daddy. Please, wan’ to come for you,” you cried out. You opened your eyes as you heard someone come up the stairs, pulling your hand out and pulling your pants and underwear up as quickly as you could.

Sam opened cabin one’s door and you used that time to make it look like you weren’t doing anything. When she opened the door to the counselor’s room, you opened the book you had brought, wanting her to not question what you had been doing while she was away. You turned your MP3 player off and set it on the nightstand.

“We’re going to be having dinner around seven-thirty, so you’ve got a few hours of free time to explore,” Sam informed you, smiling softly.

“I mean, if we have a few days before the campers even show up, I can explore tomorrow,” you sighed. “I’m so exhausted.”

Sam smirked, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, I bet.”

You gave her a confused look, but deep down your heart had just dropped. “Wh- What’s that supposed to mean, Samantha?”

You knew she hated it when you called her that, so you did, trying to get her to think that everything was okay. Sam’s smirk turned into a frown as she stood there – her eyes burning into you. You turned your head, realizing she was still staring at you and it made you nervous.

“Are you going to be a brat this whole summer, (Your Name)?” Sam asked, getting closer to you.

“What? I’m not being a brat?” You weren’t sure where this was coming from – for years when you annoyed Sam and pushed her buttons, she would just ignore you or make a petty comment back to you. But here she was, snapping at you.

“Stand up,” was all Sam said, but she gave you no room to not listen. She grabbed you by the arm, forcing you to stand up. “We’re going to get something straight here. You will behave this summer or you will not get anything from me, do you understand me?”

You nodded, getting the feeling as if Sam didn’t want you to talk at the moment.

“That means if I ask you to do something or anything, you will not call me Samantha, you will not talk back and for the record, between the two of us – you will not touch that pretty little pussy without my permission again. Got it?” Sam snapped.

You nodded in understanding, but that wasn’t good enough for Sam. Grabbing you by the throat, she squeezed lightly, before saying, “You can speak now, puppy.”

“Y-Yes, Sam, I got it,” you swallowed, licking your lips.

“Now, for years you’ve been annoying me with little things, poking the bear and then backing away, and for years I’ve been allowing you to do so. At first, I thought maybe you didn’t like me, but that wasn’t true because Tara would have dropped you the moment you said something to her… Then I got to thinking that maybe it was a crush you had and I had to make myself not believe that, because why would you have a crush on me? A few people told me you had feelings for me, but I couldn’t get myself to believe it… until today when you thought I wasn’t here, and you were masturbating. Granted, I had come back for my water bottle, and I was going to leave to give you some space and the privacy you needed,” Sam paused, getting closer to your face. You felt your cheeks heat up, hating how shy she was making you feel. “But then you started to moan my name, and I knew that this wasn’t just a one-sided thing, because if I didn’t have feelings for someone, I sure as hell wouldn’t be moaning their name. Am I wrong?”

“N- No, you’re not wrong,” you whispered, not wanting to keep her waiting for an answer from you.

“Good girl. See? It’s so much better when you behave, don’t you agree?” Sam asked.

“Yes, Sam,” you licked your lips.

“Now that we've discussed that part, tell me what you were thinking about when you were touching yourself,” Sam said, letting go of your neck to sit on her bed. She looked at you, waiting for your answer. “Well? Don’t keep me waiting. Tell me. Now.”

“You using me however you want while we’re here. Also obviously after the summer. I wanna be yours,” you admitted, keeping your eyes down onto the ground.

“Eyes on me, you look away and you’ll be going to bed with nothing but a sore ass and frustration,” Sam threatened, smirking as you shot your head up instantly without any hesitation.

“Good girl! Such a good girl,” Sam praised.

On instinct, you squeezed your legs shut, the ache between them was growing stronger. You weren’t sure how much of it you could take. Sam was actually into you, and although you were completely clueless, the more you thought about it, the more you knew you should have seen it. Between all the times Tara would smirk at Sam when she’d refuse to give you eye contact. Or how Sam would put up with you for the longest time when she could have easily told Tara to cut you off. Their relationship was extremely close, and you knew for a fact Tara would end your friendship if Sam didn’t like you.

“Aw, do you like being praised, baby?” Sam hummed, mocking you a bit to see how you’d reacted.

You bit your lip, trying to contain the moan that was fighting to come out. Her tone of voice and facial expression was not helping the ache between your legs and you needed her now.

“Please,” you whimpered, watching as Sam grabbed her backpack that had been on the floor. “I don’t think I can take any more. M’need you now, Daddy.”

Sam stopped her movements, taking a deep breath and you knew the effect you had on her. You tried your best to contain the smirk that was forming - not wanting to risk not getting anything from Sam. One thing you always knew about her: she always kept her word.

“You need me now, yeah?” Sam teased, bringing her hands to her belt buckle. “How do you need me?”

“Want you inside of me, want you to fuck me as hard as you can for all the times I’ve annoyed you. Please, Daddy. I can’t wait anymore, I’ll do anything,” you begged, hoping Sam would give in and give you what you needed.

Sam sighed, standing up from her seat to show you that her belt was unbuckled. She sat down next to you and you turned to face her.

“Yeah? You’ll do anything?” Sam questioned.

You nodded, watching Sam’s hand come up to you. “Suck” was all Sam said, bringing two fingers up to your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the digits, closing your eyes as you focused on getting them wet.

“Mm,” Sam hummed. “I bet you’d be so good at sucking cock huh?”

You smiled with her fingers still in your mouth, flinching a little as Sam wrapped her free hand around your throat. You continued to suck on her fingers, running your tongue through them.

“God I want you on my cock so bad,” Sam sighed, squeezing your throat lightly. “I brought one with me just in case, didn’t know you’d be this easy, but I kind of love that about you. You’re a whore, just a set of holes waiting to be filled by anyone.”

You shook your head as best as you could, trying to say “no,” but with her fingers in your mouth it was too hard to do so.

Sam pulled them out of your mouth before asking, “What was that?”

You took a deep breath, “N-Not anyone, just you. Want you to be the only one to fill my holes. Please, please just… please fuck me. I want you.”

“Aw, but I thought you needed me, baby?” Sam teased, smiling as you whined.

“I do need you!” you cried out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes.

“But you’re so pretty when you’re all desperate for me, I think I’m going to keep you like this for a while. Now stand up and get your shoes on, we’re going to explore the camp so you know it by heart before the campers get here.” Sam stood up, a smile on her face as she made her way to the bathroom to wash her hands.

You sat there, trying your best to catch your breath and calm down before you could get up. You were stunned - unsure as to why Sam wanted to keep you waiting, but you knew you couldn’t argue with her.

You stood up slowly, grabbing your shoes as you tried not to think about Sam’s fingers inside of you. They felt good in your mouth and you knew they were going to feel so good when they were in your pussy. But for now, you kept quiet, slipping on your shoes while Sam grabbed her clipboard and water bottle.

“I’m ready,” you said, grabbing your own water bottle. The last thing you needed was to be dehydrated, especially in this heat.

“Good girl,” Sam praised, causing you to bite your lip. You wish she had just fucked you - until she would, you were going to try and be on your best behavior. “If you’re good for the rest of the day, after dinner I’ll fuck you.”

“You promise?” you asked, eyes wide as the two of you made your way through the cabin.

“I promise,” Sam said, “And I will keep my promise, as long as you keep yours to be a good girl and behave.”

When the two of you left the cabin, you ran into Quinn for the first time in a full year. She stopped the two of you, smiling at Sam before pulling you into a hug.

“Hey, (Your Name), how’s it going? I haven’t seen you in a bit, you look so good!” Quinn said, finally letting you go. You were too busy focusing on Quinn to notice the glare Sam was giving you.

“We should hang out soon, after the summer is over. Maybe catch up with dinner and a movie?” you suggest.

“I’d love that! Alright, I’m gonna go take a walk around the whole camp before dinner, I’ll see you two then!” Quinn said as she walked in the opposite direction that Sam and you were going.

“You realize you just asked her on a date, (Your Name)?” Sam asked as the two of you continued to walk.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you said, realizing that you had fucked up. Quinn was your ex-girlfriend, but she was still your friend. So in your mind, you thought you were just asking her to hanging out like friends do.

“I’m not upset with you,” Sam reassured you. “I know how you are sometimes, so I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

You looked at her. “But?”

“But it also means that I get to remind you that you belong to me,” Sam hummed.

”Oh,” you gasped, her words going straight to your pussy. You knew it wouldn’t have affected you that much if she hadn’t just worked you up before denying you even a single touch. At this point, you thought if Sam just touched you once you would come.

Sam ignored you as the two of you made your way around the corner. You sighed, putting your hands in your pocket, slightly jumping when Sam spoke up.

“So, what are you into?” she asked. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment - you weren’t expecting her to ask you right there and then. You stayed quiet for a few minutes as the two of you continued to walk.

“Well,” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I haven’t done too much, but I know I like being choked, slapped, and spanked. I also like being face fucked and… well… I like anal, as well as being degraded.”

Sam smirked, looking down at the ground. “That’s very good to know. I’m into those things as a domme, and a lot more that I would love to try with you, if you want to. Doesn’t have to be now or during the summer; you’re more than welcome to come over. Even if Tara isn’t home, okay? I know this is a lot to take in and I do really like you, so I would love to spend time with you outside of sexual things too.”

You nodded, “Thank you for letting me know.”

Sam took your hand in hers, “I’ve liked you for a long time and I know we can’t do anything here, but I want you to know that I really do care about you…”

“I know you do, so why are you saying all of this?” you asked.

Sam pulled her hand away, bringing it up to her forehead to wipe the sweat. She turned to look at you once more and said, with a straight face, “Oh, because I plan on fucking you as if I fucking hate you, and I want to make sure that you know that I really do like you.”

Your eyes widened, quickly turning your head so Sam couldn’t see the look on your face. You knew you shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet, here you were.

“What?” Sam asked, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“I- nothing, just-“ you began, but she cut you off.

“Oh I know what it is,” Sam hummed. Her confidence was making things worse for the ache between your legs. “You love the idea of me using you roughly, making you feel as if all you’re good for is being a set of holes for me. But after, you can’t wait for me to hold and cuddle you and praise you for being such a good girl for me. Am I wrong?”

You shook your head, whispering, “No, you’re not wrong at all.”

You stopped walking, trying to catch your breath as you took a drink from your own water bottle. Dinner needed to get here sooner; you were hoping that after that, she would give you what you wanted.

“Do you need to sit down? We can rest for a bit if you need to,” Sam said, watching as you nodded.

She helped you sit down on the ground and then sat down next to you. Sam took a drink from her water bottle and when she sat it down, she turned to you.

“Pull your shorts down,” Sam said, watching as you nervously looked around. The two of you were tucked into a corner and even though no one could see you, you were terrified that someone might walk by. Especially Tara.

Although Tara seemed to want the two of you to be together, you were worried that she would be angry if she caught the two of you fucking. It was a silly thought, really, but as Sam tugged at the waistband of your shorts, you focused back on her instead of your anxieties.

“What… what if someone catches us?” you asked, still nervous.

”No one is going to catch us. And even if they did, I would make sure they didn’t say anything to anyone else. Do you trust me, (Your Name)?” Sam asked.

You nodded, “Of course, Sam.”

“Then pull your shorts and underwear down and I’ll give you a little something to keep you going until after dinner,” Sam said.

You did as you were told, pulling both down as you refused to look at Sam. When they were around your ankles, she pushed your legs apart, giving you a look to silently tell you to keep them open. You bit your lip as she wasted no time, bringing her hand between your legs.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. And it’s all for me, yeah?” Sam asked, even though she knew the answer to it.

“Y- Yes, only for you, Sam,” you whimpered as she rubbed at your clit as softly as she could. She was still teasing you, but you were just glad she was touching you.

“When I’m fucking you, you’re to call me ‘Daddy,’ understood?” she asked, pulling her hand away from you.

“Please-“ you began just before Sam spat on her fingers, bringing her hand back to your pussy.

Sam rubbed faster this time, not giving you a chance to ask for more when she slipped a single finger into you. She curled it, fucking it in and out of you. You bit your lip, trying to focus on not coming so soon - having been worked up for a while, you expected it, but you were still embarrassed by how close you already were. Sam noticed, still her finger inside of you mid-thrust.

“You’re so pathetic,” Sam laughed, slipping in a second finger, “You’re already so close and I’ve barely touched you… makes me want to keep you waiting even more.”

“No!” you cried out, “Please, Daddy, please don’t stop. I can’t take anymore teasing. Please.”

Sam shook her head, pulling her fingers out of you. You watched as she brought them to her face, taking both into her mouth. You let out a whimper as she sucked on her own fingers, humming at how good you tasted.

When she pulled them out of her mouth, Sam licked her lips. “You’ll take what I give you because I’m giving it to you. You’ll be a good girl and take it all, because that’ll make me happy. And you want to make me happy, don’t you?”

You nodded, “Yes, Daddy, I do… but-“

“No buts,” Sam cut you off rather quickly.

You sighed, pulling your pants back up. Before you could stand up, Sam stopped you.

“Sam,” you whined, your eyes widened when she grabbed your forearm, “Please stop teasing me.”

Sam’s smile grew wide, “No, I don’t think I will, baby. It’s too much fun.”

You rolled your eyes, frustrated with how close you were. You were desperate and you knew you weren’t going to be able to make it through dinner, let alone wait until tonight. Sam let go of your arm so she could stand. She stuck her hand out to help you up and you took it with no hesitation, despite how desperate you were. A part of you thought she was just doing all of this to fuck with you, and that at the end of the night, she was going to tell you that she had no feelings for you at all.

“Thank you,” you said, picking your water bottle up off the ground. You took a few sips before the two of you continued to walk.

”That building with the red roof is the arts and crafts room. It’s a single room that they used to use for storage, but decided it would be a better fit for something else with how big it is,” Sam pointed out. When you nodded, she continued. “The other building next to it is empty and is never used. We’re also not allowed to use it, but I go in there sometimes at night when I want some alone time to think.”

”It seems like a good spot to clear your head after a stressful day,” you agreed.

Sam seemed ready to say something else when Chad and Tara caught up with the two of you.

“Hey Sam!” Chad smiled, pulling her into a hug, “I see you two are getting along.”

You looked down at the ground in embarrassment, knowing that if Tara could see your face then and there, she would know something was up. The last thing you needed was for Tara to ask you a bunch of questions, because at the end of the day, you were horrible at hiding things from her. She was good at getting information out of you and you were sure she was going to want to know what was going on between you and Sam.

”Yeah, we had a bit of a talk and we’re now on the same page,” Sam said.

You could hear the smirk in her voice without even having to look at Sam, and you knew she was teasing you. You looked up at Tara, instantly regretting it when she gave you a knowing look. I’m so fucked, you thought to yourself as Chad nodded and went on to talk with Sam some more as the four of you began to walk together. You knew that the moment Tara got you alone, she was going to ask you what Sam meant by “being on the same page.”

Did Sam do it on purpose, to make it so you had to wait even longer? Or did she not mean for it to happen? You couldn’t really believe that she didn’t mean to do it, because she knew how her sister was.

”I didn’t realize how hot this summer was going to be,” you complained.

You were relieved that the building you had assumed to be the dining hall was approaching. You wanted to sit down in some air conditioning, and this was your chance to get it before dinner.

”Well, I’m gonna go and get changed for dinner, Tara, you coming?” Chad asked.

Tara smiled at him, “No, I think I’m going to stay with Sam and (Your Name), but I’ll see you when it’s dinner time.”

Chad walked away from the three of you. You felt the awkwardness when you all made it to the dining hall, unsure of what to say or if you even wanted to say something in fear that Tara would ask you questions in front of Sam.

“We can hang out here until it’s time for dinner,” Sam said as she opened the door, letting both you and Tara in first before she followed behind.

“The air conditioning feels so nice,” you groaned, sitting down at one of the tables.

“I agree,” Tara nodded.

“You two get comfortable, I’m going to see how the cooks are doing,” Sam said, patting your back before walking away from both Tara and you.

You started to play with your nails, wanting Sam to come back fast. Tara cleared her throat, causing you to jump.

“So I noticed that you and Sam are getting along better, and this is the longest you have gone without annoying the fuck out of her,” Tara commented, taking the seat next to you.

Suddenly you felt as if the walls were closing in on you, the anxiety making it harder to breathe. “Yeah, w- we, uh-“ you began, but she cut you off.

“I know you’re hiding something and that’s okay, I’ll figure it out, don’t worry,” Tara smirked. “I love you, (Your Name), but whatever the two of you have going on, please don’t fuck it up.”

You have her a puzzling look, “Why would I fuck anything up? If, you know, there’s something there�� which there isn’t.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” Tara rolled her eyes. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but you are my best friend. Sam… ever since Richie… she’s been different when it comes to dating. Maybe me saying ‘don’t fuck anything up’ is the wrong word choice, so I apologize for that. She… I don’t know how to explain it.”

You looked down at the table, unsure of how to respond to that. You bit your lip, wanting Sam to get back to the two of you faster than she was.

“Please don’t let that be your reason for not trying,” Tara said, and you thought it was because she sensed your anxiety. “Also don’t tell Sam I said anything, she’d kill me.”

You looked up at Tara with a small smile. “You’re right about that.”

You weren’t entirely sure what she meant, but for the time being, you decided not to question anything. You were stuck at Camp Crystal Lake for the whole summer and the last thing you needed was to fuck everything up and have to deal with things being awkward for three months.

Of course, after the first camp week was over with, you could ask to change cabins. Tara would be the most up to doing it, you were sure of it. But you didn’t want that - you had been wanting Sam for years and you weren’t going to ruin your chance just because you wanted to ask questions. You and Tara sat in silence, waiting for Sam to get back. Finally after what felt like a full hour (but was really only about fifteen minutes), Sam appeared again.

“Sorry about that, Quinn and I were talking about a few things,” Sam said, trying to hide the irritation in her voice. You and Tara knew her too well; she was doing such a terrible job.

“Are you okay?” you asked without thinking.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine,” Sam snapped, taking a seat next to Tara instead of you. You knew you shouldn’t have been surprised - she was her sister - but you were a little hurt.

You frowned at Tara before looking back down at your hands. You hated feeling as if you had done something wrong, but you also knew Sam wasn't trying to make you feel that way.

You wished you had your phone so you could distract yourself from the thought of Sam being irritated with you.

“Hey Sam?” Tara asked, causing you to flinch a little.

You refused to look up, not wanting to see Sam glaring at you.

“Yeah?” Sam asked, her voice calmer than it had been.

“You need to lower your tone. (Your Name) was just asking if you’re okay because she cares about you,” Tara snapped, making your eyes widen. You had never heard Tara stand up to Sam like that - especially not on your behalf.

Sam took a deep breath, “I’m sorry, (Your Name), Tara is right. You were just asking out of concern and that’s on me.”

“It’s okay,” you said, finally looking up at her.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.

For the first time, you saw real concern on her face and it melted your heart. You couldn’t believe that all of this was happening.

“I’m sure,” you nodded, “But please, try not to snap at me again. We just started talking and I want this to continue.”

“I’ll try my best, but I promise you did nothing wrong. Quinn just made a comment and it irritated me. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you when you were just worried,” Sam admitted.

“Thank you.”

Finally, the other counselors flooded in; it was time for dinner. You were relieved, realizing that you were starting to get hungry. You took your place in line and as soon as you got your food, you sat back down at the spot you were in before. You breathed a sigh of relief when Sam sat down next to you.

“Make sure you eat as much as you can,” Sam leaned in and whispered, “You’re going to need all the energy you can get. If you still want me to fuck you, that is.”

You nodded frantically, “I- I still want you to fuck me. More than anything.”

Sam smirked, “More than anything?”

You nodded again, “Yes, Daddy.”

You went straight to eating your food, not wanting to say anything more to Sam, fearing that someone might overhear. When Tara and Chad sat down across from you and Sam, you began talking to Chad about your favorite TV show. Sam stayed quiet, occasionally looking at you while you talked, in awe. You only noticed once Tara started to smirk at you.

When you were done, you excused yourself. Throwing your trash away and returning the tray, you made your way out the door and toward the cabin. You needed to change into something more comfortable, having walked around in the heat for most of the day.

You changed into pajamas and laid down in bed, deciding that you were going to try to take a quick nap before Sam got back to the cabin. Closing your eyes, you pictured how Sam was going to fuck - if she was going to fuck you, at least. You were still worried that she was only playing with your feelings as payback for how much you had annoyed her purposefully over the years. Although, if Tara and Chad both knew something positive, you don’t think they would let you think she was being honest if she wasn’t.

You couldn’t sleep, too excited to see what would happen. Just as you sat up, Sam came into the room. You watched as she sat her water bottle down on the nightstand next to her bed. She pulled her shirt off, revealing the black tank top she had underneath. You licked your lips, the sight of her muscles making you ache to see more.

”I can feel you staring, and if you want something, you need to ask,” Sam said firmly. “I’m not going to hand you anything, baby. You’re going to have to earn it.”

”Sam,” you whined, causing Sam to turn to you.

”Yes?” she responded, a mocking tone in her voice that made goosebumps form on your skin, “What would you like?”

”I…” you trailed off, the words refusing to come out right away.

“Use your words. Or did you forget how to use them? Hm?” Sam teased, getting closer to you. When you looked down at the floor, Sam grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. “Oh I see what’s happening. When that pretty little pussy of yours gets all wet, you get fucking stupid. Is that what it is, pretty baby?”

You closed your eyes, “Yes, Daddy. Can’t think when I’m horny.”

Sam smiled, letting go of your chin. “Good girl. Don’t you worry about having to think anymore - I can do that for you. Now tell Daddy what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

”I want you to fuck me, I’ve been wanting it for so long,” you admitted, “Please, can’t wait any longer.”

Sam moved back to her bed, sitting on the edge while she raked her eyes over your body. “Strip for me.”

You did as you were told, pulling your shirt off and throwing it onto the ground. You then pulled your shorts down, kicking them off you as quickly as you could.

“Stand up and c’mere,” Sam ordered. You did as you were told, getting up quickly and moving towards her.

Sam placed her hands on your hips, turning around so your back was facing her. “You’re so fucking sexy,” Sam hummed, unclasping your bra. “I can’t wait to fucking ruin you.”

Sam hooked her fingers underneath the waistband of your underwear, slowly pulling them down. You bit your lip as you tried to be patient. Sam was taking her time and you hated it. As soon as your underwear was around your ankles, you kicked them off. Without a word, you turned around to face her.

“Did I say you could turn back around?” Sam asked, slapping your thigh hard.

“No, but-“ you began, but Sam cut you off with another slap in the same spot. You whimpered, watching as Sam licked her lips.

“So if I didn’t tell you to turn around, what should you do?” Sam questioned, crossing her arms over her chest as she waited for you to do what you were supposed to do.

You turned back around, your back facing her once more. Sam guided you to move a little bit before she stood up. You turned your head as best as you could, but Sam slapped your ass. “Did I say you could look at me?” she asked.

You turned your head back to look straight ahead, not wanting Sam to drag it out any longer than she had already. You closed your eyes as Sam began to grab your ass - whining when she removed her hands.

“Stay still,” she warned, standing up behind you. She pulled her tanked top off, then her shorts and underwear. “Bend over your bed for me.”

You were a little confused. Was she going to fuck you now? You’d think she would at least take a little time getting you ready. Despite your confusion, you did as you were told, bending over your bed right in front of her.

“Fuck,” Sam breathed, coming up behind you, “I want to fuck your ass so badly, but that can wait for different day.”

“D- Daddy,” you whined as Sam brought her hand down to your pussy.

“What is it?” Sam asked, slipping a single finger inside of you. When you didn’t respond, she spoke again, “Come on, answer me. Just because I’ve got one finger in you, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be stupid.”

“M’need more,” you whispered.

Sam sighed in faux irritation. “You need more? Because it seems to me that you could come with me just fucking you with one finger, considering how much you’re squeezing.”

You cried out, “Please, Sam!”

“Fine,” Sam said, pulling her finger out of you. She brought it to her mouth, cleaning it off with her tongue. Pulling out from between her lips, she spat on her fingers before bringing them back to your pussy.

Sam slowly rubbed at your clit as she moved to sit on her knees behind you. She leaned in as she slipped two fingers into you, biting your ass before trailing her tongue all the way to your asshole. She tested the waters, circling her tongue around your entrance before pushing it in just a little.

“Oh- that’s,” you moaned, gripping the sheets. Sam’s tongue on your ass felt strange in the best way and you wanted her to keep going.

As Sam continued to fuck her tongue in and out of you, she kept the same pace with her fingers. You were usually shy the first couple of times you had sex with someone new, but everything felt too good for you to really care.

“D- Daddy,” you moaned. Hearing Sam chuckle against your skin brought you closer to the orgasm you were trying to fight off. “Please- Please, I’m so, so close. Please let me come.”

Sam pulled her mouth away and hummed, “Go ahead and come for your Daddy.”

You bit down on the sheets on your bed as you came, not wanting to be heard by anyone passing by. Sam pulled out her fingers, smacking your ass with the hand that was just inside of you. “Get on your knees,” she demanded.

You quickly obeyed, looking up at Sam with wide eyes. “Open,” she said, and you did as you were told. Opening your mouth as wide as you could without hesitation, you had no time to react as Sam shoved two fingers into your mouth. You gagged around them, trying your best to suck when she was pushing them deeper down your throat.

“God, you look so fucking pretty with tears in your eyes,” Sam praised, leaning down over you. “Close your eyes.”

You weren’t sure why she was telling you to do that, but you closed your eyes - doing as she had ordered. You flinched, pulling your mouth off her fingers when Sam spat on you.

“You want something else in your mouth?” Sam asked, smearing her spit across your face.

You took a deep breath, opening your eyes once you felt comfortable enough. You nodded and without a word, Sam gripped the base of the toy and brought the tip to your lips. You welcomed the toy into your mouth, pushing inch by inch until your nose touched her stomach. When you pulled off the toy, a string of drool was left connecting your mouth to it.

Sam jerked the toy off, spreading your drool all over it. “God you’re so fucking pretty. Come on, get back on my cock.”

You leaned back in, taking the toy in your mouth before Sam grabbed your head with both of her hands. She kept you in place while she began to fuck your face at a slow pace. You looked up at Sam, trying your best to suppress the gag reflex that was threatening to act up. Sam sped up her movements as she kept a firm grip on your head.

You gagged, causing your eyes to water - which made Sam pick up her pace. You breathed through your nose, trying to relax as she pushed you down further on it, making you gag again.

“You’re such a filthy fucking whore for me, letting me choke you with my cock when anyone can just walk in. I bet you’d like that, huh?” Sam teased.

Sam fucked your face harder, letting one of her hands come down to pinch at your nose. You pushed at her thighs as you tried your best to stay relaxed. Finally, Sam let go of your nose to slap your face as she continued to fuck your mouth.

Sam pinched your nose closed once more, this time she stopped thrusting to hold you down on the strapon. You gagged again, not once, but twice before Sam pushed you off her. You gasped for breath, as you wiped the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand.

“On my bed, on your back,” Sam said, grabbing her water bottle and taking a sip. As you went to lay down, Sam handed it to you. “Take a few sips - you’re going to need it.”

You did before handing the bottle back to her. Sam smiled, “Good girl.” She sat it down on the nightstand before climbing into the bed and between your legs.

“Spread your legs. Wider,” she said, reaching over to open the nightstand drawer to grab a bottle of lube.

You watched as she squeezed some onto her hand. Bringing her now-lubricated hand to your pussy, she rubbed it into you, causing you to whimper. “Now this is your first and final warning: I’m going to fuck you like you’re nothing to me and I want you to know that’s not the case. Okay?”

You nodded, “I understand. I want it, want you to put me in my place, Daddy.”

Sam rubbed the tip of the toy against your clit and through your folds. “You stop me at any time if you need me to, okay?”

“I will, I promise.”

“Good girl,” Sam said as she pushed the strapon all the way inside you.

You let out a pained cry as Sam fucked you at a bruising pace. You brought your hand down to rub at your clit, but Sam smacked it away.

“You don’t get to touch yourself, fuckin’ greedy whore,” Sam spat, bringing her hand up to wrap around your throat. She squeezed hard, causing you to choke as she continued to fuck you.

“Nothing but a set of holes for me to fuck,” Sam grunted, letting go of your throat. “If I knew how easy you’d be, I would have done this so much sooner.”

“Fuck, S- Sam,” you gasped.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam growled, glaring at you.

Sam slapped you across the face, using her free hand to keep herself balanced. You whimpered, feeling yourself getting closer to your orgasm. You figured Sam sensed it as well, pulling out of you.

“What the-“ you began, but Sam slapped your pussy as hard as she could.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you that toys don’t fucking talk?” Sam asked, shoving the strapon back into you. “You really do like to be treated like you’re nothing, huh? It’s really fucking pathetic.”

Sam picked up her pace once more, not saying a word as she focused on fucking you.

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you begged. You were once again on the verge of an orgasm, but Sam ignored you. ”Daddy.”

”Pleasepleaseplease, Daddy,” Sam mocked.

Sam brought her hands up to your nipples, pinching them as hard as she could. It sent you over the edge and - to your surprise - she fucked you through your orgasm, not stopping. Sam didn’t let up, she continued at the same pace.

“I- I’m coming aga-!“ you cried out, but Sam covered your mouth.

“I’m going to have to teach you to shut up, don’t I?” Sam moaned, feeling her own orgasm approaching. “Go on, come for me, my pretty little fleshlight.”

You came, this time unable to cry out as she continued to cover your mouth. Sam stopped for a moment, leaning over you and taking one of your nipples into her mouth after moving her hand away from yours. She bit down, pulling it between her teeth.

“Fuck, ow,” you whimpered.

You kept grinding against Sam while her strapon was still inside of you. Letting go of your nipple, Sam asked, “You want to come again?”

You nodded, “Yes.”

Sam licked your nipple before sitting up straight again. “Do you think you’ve earned it? You already came twice. I’ve got a greedy set of holes here.”

Sam slowly pulled out halfway, looking down and letting spit fall from her mouth and onto the toy. She pushed the strapon back inside of you, beginning at a slow pace this time.

“All you’re good for is being my fucktoy, yeah?” Sam questioned, holding your thighs in place. She didn’t trust you, knowing you would try to close your legs when she wasn’t paying attention. “Repeat it back to me, you stupid slut.”

“I- I’m only good for be- being your fucktoy, Daddy,” you repeated, earning a satisfied smile from Sam.

“Yeah you are,” Sam laughed, picking up the pace, “Is that why Quinn fucked you last week? Hm? Are you a set of holes for her? Are you?”

“I-“ you began, unsure of how Sam would know that or why she would bring it up.

It was true, Quinn had called you over to hang out like the two of you normally did, but as the night went on, with the way Quinn was looking at you, you caved and ended up letting Quinn fuck you. You just weren’t expecting Sam to know about it. Then it clicked - that’s why she was annoyed when she came back in from talking to Quinn.

“I- it just happened, fuck-“ you cut yourself as Sam brought her hand down to rub at your clit, “It won’t happen again, D-Daddy.”

“No, it won’t, because you’re mine,” Sam snapped, pulling the toy out of you.

You cried out, unsure why she did that. Sam crawled up the bed so the strapon was right in front of your face.

“Clean up your mess, whore,” Sam said, watching as you strained your neck to get the toy into your mouth.

Sam grew impatient, fucking your face at a rough pace. You gagged as the tip of the toy hit the back of your throat, making you cry. Instead of stopping for a moment, Sam continued to fuck your mouth at a rough pace.

“God, I can’t wait to use you anytime I want. And you’re going to let me, right?” Sam asked.

When you didn’t answer, Sam stopped mid-thrust. “I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Or should I go tell Quinn that you want her back?”

“Mm hm mm!” you tried to say, but it was difficult to speak with your mouth full.

Sam knew what you were trying to say, smiling down at you before she continued her thrusts again. You looked up at her again, your vision blurry from crying.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry,” Sam moaned, coming as she fucked your face with the strapon.

She took a deep breath before pulling out of your mouth. Sam wiped your spit from your mouth, rubbing it all over your face as you whimpered.

“Get on all fours,” Sam ordered.

You did as you were told, getting on your hands and knees as Sam got off the bed to grab something.

“Has Quinn ever fucked your ass?” Sam asked, grabbing a condom from her backpack.

“N- No, Daddy,” you whimpered, stopping yourself from turning to look at her.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt the dip in the bed. Sam was behind you, running her hand against the small of your back.

“Are you lying to me?” Sam asked.

You looked back at her, “I- I would never lie to you! She’s never fucked my ass because… well…”

“Because?” Sam pushed.

“I wanted you to be the one to fuck my ass, if there was a chance that you liked me,” you admitted, looking back down at the sheets. You were embarrassed, unsure of what Sam was going to say.

“You were waiting for me to be the one to fuck your ass, yeah? Am I hearing you right?”

You took a deep breath. “Yes, you heard me right.”

“Has anyone fucked your ass?” Sam asked, her voice much softer than has been all night.

“No.”

Sam took a deep breath before getting off the bed. “Then we won’t be doing anal at all this summer. I’m not going to be rough the first time with you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said, getting out of the position to sit at the edge of the bed, “Are you upset with me?”

“Oh no,” Sam said softly. “Why would I ever be mad at you?”

“Quinn… A week ago I didn’t know this was going to happen between us, but I promise, I only want you,” you reassured her.

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed with you, wrapping her arm around you. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Sam asked with a concerned look on her face.

You shook your head, “Not at all, I had a lot of fun.”

“I’m so glad,” Sam smiled. “You were such a good girl for me, y’know that?”

You bit your lip as you felt your cheeks heat up. “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now let’s get you all cleaned up.” Sam stood up, grabbing a washcloth from her drawer. She walked into the bathroom and came back out.

She helped wash your face off, then your thighs, occasionally leaving soft kisses on your arm and shoulder.

Sam threw the washcloth on the floor and you assumed she was going to get it later. “Would you like to wear something or would you rather sleep naked?”

“I’ll sleep naked,” you said. “Can we cuddle?”

Sam laid down on the bed, patting the space next to her. “Of course we can.”

You laid down next to her on your side, closing your eyes and smiling to yourself. You weren’t sure how you got this lucky, but you were glad that you finally got what you had wanted for years.

“I’m sorry if that killed the mood,” you said.

Sam wrapped her arms around you. “Nothing you did killed the mood, I could just tell you needed a break. Plus, I’m in no rush considering we have all summer and after. I would tell you if you did something to kill my mood.”

“Okay.”

You quickly fell asleep, feeling safe in Sam’s arms.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Jealous Lover

Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader

One-shot

Summary: Your eagerness for discussions regarding your favorite band leads to an argument with your girlfriend

Warning(s): Swearing, no pronouns but sam uses 'girlfriend' once, jealous!sam, drunk!tara, & mentions of puking/gagging

Notes: For all the fellow passionate music lovers out there, this one's for you. Maybe one day I'll dive into how I think punk/rock in general's played a role in Sam's life and how she's passed down her love for music to Tara

This is not how you wanted to spend your night. You were dragged out to a party you didn’t even want to go to. You would much rather spend the night with your girlfriend. Much rather. But you kind of owed your friend since you always managed to make up an excuse for these things in the past. Her own girlfriend was out of town visiting family so you were second in line to be her plus one. 

You were actually having an okay time, still missing your girlfriend, but you ended up having an interesting conversation with this guy you met while grabbing drinks for you and your friend. The conversation regarded music. You could never pass up the opportunity to go on and on about something you actively worshiped. But unfortunately, this little peace you found didn’t last when from the corner of your eye you noticed a familiar figure tumbling her way over to the couch. It was then you looked over to see your girlfriend’s little sister sitting with her friends. 

Ah, crap.

You knew for a fact she was not supposed to be here. You thought about what was in store for her when she got home before excusing yourself and walking over to her.

“Tara,” you said to get her attention. “Hey, uh—”

She looked up from the couch to you with a bright smile plastered on her face before getting up and wrapping her arms around you, momentarily catching you off guard. You almost forgot she was a clingy drunk. 

“Look it’s Y/N!” She shouted to her friends as you subtly winced from her volume.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you shortly laughed. You looked over Tara to see her friends, Mindy and Anika, wave to you in which you returned with a nod. “I'll take this from here,” you told them while helping Tara up after she tripped on her own foot. 

Mindy gave you a thumbs up while Tara started to slump in your arms. “Tara?” You looked down to see her wearing a more tired expression that matched her sluggish demeanor. Another thing you noticed in the time you knew the girl is that she had quite a bit of mood swings. 

“Let’s get you home,” you said with a comforting pat on her shoulder. 

—

Sam could not believe Tara. She specifically told Tara no to the party she was now off to retrieve her from. She just got home from her therapy too, Quinn had accidently slipped and told Sam where Tara was before going back to her room. As soon as Sam heard this, she rushed to put on the jacket she had just taken off. 

“That sneaky little shi—” Sam was reaching for her taser but stopped once she heard the locks on the door begin to turn, stopping in her tracks. Tara walked through the door, hiccupping and giggling, as you held her up.

“You Carpenters are really something when you’re drunk—oh, Sam! Hi!” You stopped walking, now looking at your girlfriend like a deer in headlights. You knew she would be home by now. You knew you would have some explaining to do. Yet you still found yourself unprepared as you saw her standing right by the doorway because she was presumably getting ready to hunt down her sister.

“I have a perfectly good explanation for this,” you said.

She furrowed her eyebrows, tilting her head as she crossed her arms and looked at you. “Really? You do?” She looked so intimidating, so in control of the situation. It was so hot. But you had to focus.

“Mhm,” was the only thing you managed to muster.

“Then, please, enlighten me because it looks like my sister snuck off to a party against my wishes, yet you seem to be aware of that part. So, care to tell why you didn’t throw me in the loop?”

“Okay,” you lightly sighed. You nodded your head in the direction of the living room and Sam followed. You laid Tara on the couch before you finally spoke. “When I went there, I didn’t know she would also be there. We just ran into each other and as soon as we did I brought her here,” you calmly spoke and you could see Sam slowly start to ease at your words. 

Yet that ease only lasted so long before a drunk Tara pitched in. Sam was about to reply when she was cut off by the younger Carpenter. “And some guy was flirting with Y/N,” she said before stretching out her arms and dramatically yawning. 

Always an instigator. 

“Some guy was what?” You could hear it in Sam’s voice that any ease you brought her disapparated. If her voice didn’t give you anything, her expression certainly did; her eyebrows were scrunched as she clenched her jaw and flared her nostrils. 

“It wasn’t like that,” you quickly tried to reassure your girlfriend. “He noticed the album cover on my shirt and he said it's his favorite album. A conversation struck up but it was nothing more than two fans expressing their mutual appreciation for a band and their music.” 

“You talked about music?” Her tone was defensive as she adjusted her crossed arms, attempting a stoic stance to cover any hurt she felt upon hearing what you just revealed. 

She knew how much you valued music, what it meant to you. It isn’t like your love language, it is your love language. When you first started hanging out, instead of the typical bouquet of flowers, you made her a playlist, gifting it to her on a CD. Now she finds any excuse to listen to it 24/7, never growing sick of the intimate playlist you constructed with songs that you said made you think of her. Even on your first date with the older Carpenter, the two of you talked for hours discussing all the greats—from Kurdt Cobain to Jimi Hendrix. Sam also had a connection to music, growing up it was her escape from the outside world. So, inevitably, it played a big part in your relationship. You two met in a record store for Pete's sake. So yes, she grew a somewhat possessive once she found out you were discussing one of your all time favorite bands with a man who was supposedly flirting with you. 

“You sure that’s all he wanted to talk about? Wouldn't be the first time someone's blatantly flirted with you but you were too oblivious to notice.” She let out a dry chuckle, her voice vindictive. 

“Yes, that’s it. Music is all we talked about. What? Am I not allowed to talk to other people now?” You remarked, a little more unapologetic than you intended. Sam didn’t have a jealousy problem per se, she just had trouble drawing the line between possessive and protective. Often, those lines blurred to the point where even you had trouble telling them apart. 

Fine, maybe she did have a jealousy problem.

“Talking and flirting are two different things. Excuse me if I don’t want my girlfriend conversing with people who want more than musical insight,” Sam defended pointedly. 

“You’re saying that as if he was all over me. The point is he wasn’t.” Your patience was thinning as you were running out of reassuring words to say. 

“I’m—” Sam had begun but was once again cut off by Tara who was now gagging.

“Shit, I think I’m gonna puke!” Tara shouted as she tried to make it to the bathroom. You and Sam rushed to her aid, the both of you desperately hoping that you would get Tara to the bathroom in time. 

—

After about an hour of holding Tara’s hair back as she puked—you and Sam rotating—you and Sam finally managed to put a very pouty Tara to bed. As Sam adjusted Tara's pillow, you pulled her blanket over her and adjusted the sides. Sam kissed her forehead and you followed with a light pat on her head before the both of you said ‘goodnight’ to the now snoring girl. 

Upon hearing the soft click Tara’s bedroom door gave from gently closing it, the two of you let out exhausted sighs. You both walked to the kitchen, Sam leaning against the counter as you opened the cabinets looking for a mug.

“You want some tea?” You asked your girlfriend, already grabbing the lavender tea she stored in the drawers just below where the mugs were kept. 

You glanced over to see her nodding, giving you a nonverbal answer. You got the tea kettle out and filled it with water using the kitchen sink. You then placed it on the stove, set the heat to an appropriate temperature, and then placed the small box of lavender tea to the side for when the water is finished boiling. Another moment of silence passes before you divert your attention from the kettle to your girlfriend. 

“Sam…”  You finally spoke in a gentle voice.

“I know.” She wasn’t curt with her words but understanding. 

You lightly exhaled, making your way over next to Sam. You leaned against the counter before asking, “Are you gonna talk to me or just try to wait it out like every other time?” You weren’t demanding but genuinely asking her.

You looked at her, your faces not so far apart, you saw the reluctant and shameful look she wore. This made you slightly furrow your eyebrows as you looked at the woman. 

“I hate the thought of you with anyone else,” she answered. She looked to the ground in shame. Shame for letting her thoughts consume her like this, shame for letting it lead to an argument with you. What if you discovered just how deep her jealousy ran? You would leave her, that’s what. At least, that’s what she told herself would happen.

You lifted her chin with your free hand so she would look at you, but you saw her eyes hesitate to comply. “Look at me, Sammy,” you told her and it was enough for her to listen. “I’m yours and only yours. No one else can have me like you do. No one else,” you said with great truth. 

Sam’s heart skipped a beat at your words, melting at how your thumb softly grazed her chin. Your touch could have her crumble in mere seconds. That scares apart of her, but another part of her can't help but admire it.

“I was being ridiculous.” She shook her head, still feeling guilt for giving you a hard time for talking about something you’re passionate about.

“That’s in the past now.” You gave her a smile that’s always been enough to brighten her days. “Just know you’re the only music dork I want in my bed,” you teased.

A gorgeous smile grazed Sam’s face at this comment. “Oh, yeah? I feel the exact same way about you,” she said as you both began to lean in.

“Good, we balance each other out,” you flirted back right before you two closed the gap between you, your lips meeting halfway. Her lips were warm and soft, and you could taste her nightly cigarette on them. You tilted your head and parted your own lips to deepen the kiss and give her tongue access, but the forgotten tea kettle on the stove whistled, interrupting the kiss before it could escalate. 

You and Sam broke apart, slightly panting, as you both wore shit eating grins. “I should go set up the tea,” you said with warm cheeks.

Sam nodded with an, “Okay,” but her eyes never pulled from your back as you prepared the tea. She subtly walked up behind you, putting her hands on your hips and rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Sammy,” you lightly laughed in an excited surprise. 

“Bring the tea to my room and don’t take too long. I wanna finish where we left off,” she whispered into your ear in a husky voice. You could feel her breath against your neck due to this, your heart racing in response. 

Sam sauntered off to her room, but not without leaving a kiss just below the corner of your jaw. If you noticed her taking a subtle bite then you didn’t comment. The kiss sent shivers down your spine, and after snapping out of the daze Sam put you in, you quickly went back to the tea. You never made tea so briskly before tonight. 

Later, Sam kept on her promise. She may have left a few hickeys for the world to see but you could never prove she did it with possessive intent.

That was just for her to know.

-----------

A/N: and if I said y/n was wearing an 'In Utero' shirt?? (ofc, imagine whatever shirt you'd like)

[denwritesandcries]

Fall(ing for You) – S.C

Pairing: sam carpenter x soft goth!reader

Summary: Sam is certain that Tara's new quiet friend may turn out to be Ghostface, unfortunately – or not –, that friend is you.

or, it takes the help of tara and a dog for sam to finally come to her senses.

Word count: 6,0k.

Content: scream 6 but without the killing, r's 23, cursing, wingman tara ft. yr dog, jokes abt r being ghostface, fluff, pining, sam falling first AND harder, silly movie references.

Note: hey guys, It's been a while since I've written for scream but I rewatched it recently and finally got some inspiration again! I describe the reader a little more in this but it won't really affect anything if you choose to ignore it.

English is not my first language.

Tara made a new friend.

Sam still isn't sure exactly, but the only plausible explanation for the way Tara has been acting lately is that her sister met someone interesting enough to keep her attention so that she gave everyone a break from her tantrums and reckless behavior since their new start outside of Woodsboro.

Now, that could be a good thing, it had been months since the kids started college and they were all doing relatively well. Mindy had Anika, Chad had Ethan and also there was Quinn, even though she wasn't very close to anyone. Tara should have someone too.

The problem is that Sam has no idea who this person is. Tara just won't tell her.

You see, Sam understands that she might have been a little too protective of her sister and that this made Tara's behavior become defensive towards her. Her new therapist – after she got rid of that quack – is helping her work through that, okay? But curiosity and worry were eating away at her insides. The curfews, the tasers and pepper sprays, and especially the ID checks were all important to keep them safe, dammit! Mindy and Chad had no problem with it, and it was only after all the appropriate measures were in place that Sam could breathe and let these new people be a part of their lives. Not knowing this so-called friend, let alone who they were, was driving her to the brink of a breakdown.

She was trying to give her some space, probing with subtle questions here and there and the most she got was an eye roll and ‘It’s just a sophomore I met at the film club, haven't you said I should try to be part of something that didn’t involve frat parties?’

Well, at least it wasn’t a boyfriend, given the lack of dreamy sighs, giggles into the phone and late-night escapades. That was good. They already had enough problems to deal with and a new relationship so quickly was the same as asking for a ghostface to go for them again and Sam hadn’t been back in Tara’s life long enough to know how to deal with this part of being a big sister yet.

Sam had understood that she wouldn’t meet this mysterious person for a while, at least until her sister’s tantrum had passed, and between two shitty jobs and trying to keep a structured life being responsible for a bunch of teenagers in the big city, she couldn’t find it in herself to insist on the subject any further and get the risk of causing a fight. She thought it would be forgotten.

Now just imagine Sam's surprise when she came home one night after a long, exhausting shift, expecting to eat the leftover pizza she had hidden in the fridge and fall into a deep sleep, only to be knocked over by an noisy and strange dog with a piece of pizza in its mouth as soon as she opened the apartment door. Her pizza.

“Koda!” Someone called. Someone unfamiliar. It wasn’t just the dog, there was a stranger in her house.

Sam’s hand instinctively moves to reach for the taser hidden in her jacket when a pair of black-clad legs show up in her vision. Does Ghostface work with dogs now? She wonders in confusion for a moment, and has given up on the voice changer?

The only thing stopping her from tasing this potential killer in front of her is the pure bewilderment and Tara’s laughter filling the room.

“Oh my god,” the figure bends down, picking up the dog who turns out to be a very excited puppy, the pizza falling from its mouth and onto her shirt, getting it all over her, “I’m so sorry.”

It’s a girl, a face she’s never seen before, looking completely mortified.

“Hey, Sam,” Tara stops beside her, a barely hidden tone of satisfaction in her voice, “This is my friend. I thought you’d like to meet her.”

It's safe to say that Sam didn't like Tara's new friend at all.

“You didn’t think about telling me you were bringing someone?” Sam exclaimed, rubbing her temples wearily, “Especially that Lydia Deetz project right there? I almost shocked her in the middle of the hallway!”

Quinn shifted from where she was leaning against the counter in the small impromptu meeting and didn’t bother to hold back her laugh, “Nah, I think Tara would fit that role better.”

“Quinn,” Sam groaned exasperatedly.

“If I had told you you would have said no,” Tara shrugged.

“Yes! Because we don’t know her!”

It was quite awkward sitting on the couch in their living room less than five feet away from the kitchen and being able to hear every word spoken as if you weren't right there, with your messy dog ​​happily chewing on the sock on your ankle.

This wasn't the turn you expected your night to take when you decided to accept Tara's sudden invitation for a movie night, visiting her off-campus for the first time since you became friends.

You met her at the start of the school year, the day she showed up for a film club meeting before anyone else arrived, well, anyone except you. She seemed completely lost and suspicious, even though she was clearly struggling not to show it, which made you like her right away.

Getting attention and starting conversations was never really your thing, this whole club thing wasn't either, honestly, but you ended up being one of the last older members to join with most of the others having recently graduated and the responsibility of looking after the new freshmans gradually fell on you. Most of the time you kept to yourself, preferring the behind-the-scenes side of things to participating in the long-winded debates of high school teens obsessed with slashers and making Stab parodies, but you noticed the way Tara seemed desperate for any sense of normalcy beneath her laid-back facade and the whispers of murder that haunted her.

You took what seemed like a rabid kitten under your wing and ended up cornered by the personification of a Doberman because of it. Talk about doing good deeds and stepping out of your comfort zone. What a joke.

Tara’s older sister, Sam, if you got it right, stared at you with narrowed, suspicious eyes – just like Tara when you first approached her – towering over your figure that tried to look smaller than it actually was on the couch, as if she was trying to learn every little hidden detail about you.

“So…” you began hesitantly, wanting to break the awkward silence that had ensued, “you have such a beautiful house.”

“Aren’t you too old to hangout with a freshmen?" Sam cut in coldly, one eyebrow perfectly arched in distrust.

You sighed, this conversation sure started off very well, “I’m 23,” you cleared your throat, “Tara’s in the same club as me, and I’ve just been helping her with some classes I used to take when I first started here.”

You hear Tara’s distinct chuckle, clearly amused by your frustration, which doesn’t help your situation much. What a wonderful friend, indeed.

Sam hummed with fake indifference and the other two housemates watched the exchange intently, eyes darting between you like they were at a tennis match, amused by the sight of Sam trying to intimidate the poor unsuspecting twit that you were.

A great friend, for sure. Ugh, this is why you don’t sponsor obviously troubled kids.

It’s not like Sam Carpenter is really intimidating or scaring you out the way she seems to want to, she has bags under her eyes and a greasy pizza stain on her shirt and you’re a grown woman, for God’s sake! It’s just that it was extremely embarrassing to cause a scene like that, especially with someone who you really wanted to make a good first impression.

Interacting so much socially lately was becoming relatively exhausting and you expected it wouldn't become a thing, as you were feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything. You hoped this would be the last big meeting you had for a while. Tara had told you a lot about her sister, mainly about how it was a pain in the ass to always have someone hovering over her, but it was something you never took seriously because of the way she sounded when she talked about it, too loving for someone who hated the situation so much. No, Sam was important and Tara had insisted that you meet her after doing the same with the twins just a few days ago. You had carefully planned how it would happen, what clothes you would wear and what you would say and now your chance to make things right was ruined, the words seeming to have escaped you in a flash. You were reserved, quiet, small in the midst of so much hustle and bustle, used to watching everything go by from the safety of the shadows. Being a mouse was easy.

“Is that all you have to say?”

Less easy when caged with a lion.

“Look,” you tried again, silently squirming as your pup start sniffing Sam’s combat boots furiously as you stood to pick him up, “I really didn’t want to cause any trouble or misunderstanding, Tara called me earlier while I was walking this little guy and insisted it would be okay if I came over for a movie. I can leave now if you want to, I’m really sorry for… well, all of this.”

You noticed Sam's expression became conflicted, as if she didn't know exactly what to make of you standing in the middle of her living room without showing any threat and wasn't used to people actually listening to her on sight. Still, she wasn't going to give up that easily.

“Great,” Sam nodded, her voice sounding less firm, “go then.” She pointed directly at your dog, now sitting at her feet with its fluffy head tilted to the side in a guiltily innocent manner, “And make sure to take that pizza thief with you.”

(You swear he looked personally offended.)

“What? No!” Tara seemed to realize that her little game could backfire and came out from behind the counter in your defense.

“Tara—”

“Come on, Sam, it's movie night!” She stomped her foot loudly, “I refused the invite to Jason's party for that, we were marathoning all the Texas Chainsaw Massacres!”

You don’t even have to be good at reading people to know that Sam had lost that fight the moment Tara looked at her with pleading eyes, knowing that there was no way to blame her for simply doing what she asked.

That didn’t stop Sam from rolling her eyes and huffing in irritation.

“Fine,” she practically growled, shifting her attention back to you, “But I’m gonna keep an eye on you, so you better not act all smart and keep that fleabag away from me.”

“His name’s Koda.” You pointed out, before softening, “And thank you, I promise I’m not gonna—”

“Shush.”

Sam was sure this was all part of an act of yours, just the first step to infiltrate their lives and pull the rug out like others have done before, because no one in their right mind would sit quietly next to someone who nearly shocked and threatened them in many ways just a few minutes ago.

Especially if that someone is burning holes in your head with their eyes, like she's doing now.

Sam watches shamelessly and intrigued, shooting daggers at your figure as you lean back with Tara babbling enthusiastically between you, your puppy completely knocked out on her lap, oblivious to the sounds of death and fake blood spurting from the TV. She notices the way you effectively ignore her, responding to Tara’s remarks with genuine interest, even if your voice doesn’t match her enthusiasm.

You remained quiet beyond those moments and the tiredness along with your lack of sudden movements made Sam feel secure enough to leave the room and finally take a shower – because along with everything she never saw much fun in these movies like Tara –, warning you that it was better for everyone to finish the night when the movie ended.

(She also forced Quinn to take her place on the couch and promise to scream if anything happened. You didn't comment on that either.)

Sam only falls asleep when she hears the sounds of goodbyes coming from the living room and the door house being closed, finally relaxing after all the interaction, deciding that it was enough. You could have been at her house, but that doesn't mean she would let you come over again.

You come back, because of course Tara doesn’t give a damn about Sam’s warnings about being careful around strangers – incessantly claiming that you’re not a stranger – and there you are at the next game night that Chad insisted on making a tradition.

At least there’s no sign of the shirt-destroying furball this time and there are pizzas smelling good on the kitchen counter.

“‘Sup, Sam!” Chad greeted loudly as she walked through the door, waving excitedly from the couch, “We’re playin’ uno!”

Her eyes landed on you, who waved at her with a small, tight smile, awkwardly sandwiched between Anika and Ethan, the way you stood out among them so comical that Sam suppressed a snort. She decided to join in without much protest, someone responsible still had to watch you, after all.

Sam wouldn’t admit to anyone, absolutely anyone, that she was enjoying the evening, listening to the heated exchanges as everyone got competitive. Strangely, she noticed that you didn’t try to engage much in the conversation, just like the other night, seeming happy to just be there. She thought you had been withdrawn then because of her behavior towards you, but maybe you were just shy.

That made her raise an eyebrow, Tara didn’t usually embrace introverts. Actually, she had always been pretty popular even before Sam left, if she remembered correctly, so this was new. She felt a small piece of curiosity spark inside her instead of more mistrust as she expected and it disconcerted her.

“The whole point of the 7 card is that you're not supposed to talk, man!” Mindy throwing chips at Ethan interrupted Sam's flow of thoughts.

“This rule is stupid! The manual doesn't even mention it, read it for yourself!” Ethan shuffled the cards wildly – ​​everyone at the table had seen his hand – pointing, “And you’re talking too!”

“Whatever! Nobody reads the fuckin manual to play uno, Ethan!”

Tara groaned, “Guys, just shut up and everybody buys a card.”

“But that’s not how you play!”

She decided to abandon the game and all the fuss in favor of getting some air and a slice of pizza and was surprised to find that her favorite was still untouched, which was a miracle in such a crowded house.

“Tara said that you liked this flavor,” your voice coming from nearby startled her and Sam saw you gesture to the box in front of her, “My treat, for the other day.”

She cleared her throat hesitantly, “You didn’t have to.”

“I did,” you dismissed with a wider smile, “My dog ​​left you without dinner.”

Sam didn’t respond, but you leaned against the counter next to her anyway, picking at the dark polish on your nails casually, listening to your friends arguing in the background.

“Get tired of the crowd?” Sam asked, deciding that ignoring you wasn’t an option since you clearly weren’t leaving.

“Yeah,” you agreed, shrugging with an odd laugh, “I guess I’ve had enough socializing for one day.”

Sam wasn’t sure why she didn’t just send you away then, seizing the perfect chance to dismiss you like she’d wanted all along and avail everyone's presence to remind that you weren’t welcome, but that strange spark flared in her and made her smile unconsciously, more sincere than the previous tense ones.

“Oh, I know what you mean,” she agreed slowly.

Your expression brightens in surprise, as if you expected a cold, blunt rejection or maybe a slap (probably both) and Sam feels a bit guilty by it. Sighing, she waves you towards the apartment’s tiny balcony, silently inviting you to join her, to which you respond with a firm nod as you watch her unwind the chain on the sliding door – they keep everything locked up tight now – and follow her.

Sam swears she’s not doing this to be nice or anything, all she wants is to repay you for your politeness, that’s all.

The night breeze is refreshing and sends pleasant shivers down your arms and shoulders as Sam leans against the railing and the two of you fall silent. It’s pleasant, actually.

Sam takes a moment to look at you, like, really look at you for the first time since you met and her breath hitches.

Your relaxed features look cheerful and are well-emphasized by the makeup you’re wearing – she tries to search her memory and gets frustrated when she can’t remember if it’s the same style as the night you met – your hair blows a little in the wind and your clothes just fit. Every single thing about you seems to have been specially made to be this way, charming, beautiful.

Your elbow brushes hers in the small space as you lean in to better contemplate the dreary, empty New York sky and Sam’s skin is burning and she doesn’t understand why.

Sam didn’t realize, through all the haze of anger and suspicion and tantrum, until she was touching a pretty girl, that you were, in fact, a pretty girl.

Shit.

“You’re trying so hard not to like her that I’m getting embarrassed for you.”

It’s late. Everyone has already left, including you, who went early claiming you had to work the next morning. Tara should be in bed by now, but she’d be upset if Sam told her to do that, so she doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam dismisses, packing up the last of the leftover pizza to put in the fridge.

“But you do,” Tara hums smugly, stifling a yawn, “Just admit that you were wrong and that I’ve made a friend who’s not a potential serial killer. And that you might have a crush on her. I saw you two on the balcony.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she grumbles, “And I wasn’t wrong for being worried that you brought home a stranger without telling me, even if she’s not dangerous.”

“Ha!” Tara points out, “So you admit she’s no danger.”

Sam sighs tiredly, bringing a hand up to massage her temple, “She can keep coming over for movie nights or whatever if that’s what you're asking me.”

Tara cheered, jumping up from where she was sitting on the counter to finally go to sleep. She stopped just before turning the corner to her room.

“Seriously though,” she caught Sam’s attention, “You guys have more in common then you might think, that’s why I like her. I think you could too, if you get to know her better.”

“That’s impossible, Tar,” Sam says weary, looking at her sister with the most done expression, “I don’t ‘get to know’ anyone, I already have all the people I need in my life.”

“Maybe you’ll be surprised,” she shrugged, “It would be good for you anyway.”

Sam's approval was all Tara needed to make you a regular fixture in their lives and make movie nights an official thing. Sam usually walks in when they're in full swing, with the two of you deep in conversation about the completely random movie you decided to watch that day, and now she greets you back instead of ignoring like she did before and you look happier every time she does it openly.

She finds excuses to wander around the living room and kitchen when she hears Tara pause the tv for whatever reason, just so she doesn't leave you unsupervised in their house – it was still too early to rule out all the care, after all. It ends up making her feel kind of ridiculous, because, hell, she shouldn't have to make excuses to wander around her own house! But you guys talk during these moments, sometimes.

Sam learns more about you as time goes on, and she tells herself that it's just gathering information, that you're not friends at all, but she finds herself soaking up every bit of detail. What are you majoring in, how long have you been in town, if you live close to campus like most students or if you have roommates like them.

(Actually, when she thinks about it now, Sam probably sounded more like a maniac trying to find out where you live, but at least you didn’t call her out on it.)

Then movie nights are joined by study sessions that Tara insists on having as her first week of finals approaches, and you manage to convince Sam to let you bring your puppy too so he won’t be alone for so many hours and she can act a little more normal around you and have a conversation that doesn’t sound like a job interview. You tell her about the movies you like – which consist of more than just an extensive list of slashers like she initially assumed – in a loud and excited tone instead of your usual repressed one, and it stirs something inside her, which leads to several other facts. Your favorite color, what kind of music you like, what you do when her sister isn't dragging you somewhere, and why you decided to adopt a dog so young when you already had so many other responsibilities.

“He helps me not feel alone,” you replied, looking deep into her eyes, “my roommate graduated last year and moved out. I guess I couldn’t stand coming home to empty houses, you know? And he’s my guard dog, he takes care of me and I take care of him. The little guy might be small but knows how to do damage.”

She could relate to that, in part.

And then you start asking too, suddenly and Sam finds herself with a dilemma after so long avoiding your attempts to get to know her. She’d rather remain closed off.

But a trade isn’t a fair trade unless she gives you something back, is it? And you’ve been quenching her thirst for knowledge for a long time now, you gave her a lot.

So, during one night when you insist on helping her make dinner, she confides in you – somewhat reluctantly – that she really enjoys cooking, especially healthier meals. She doesn't look at you, nor does she say it clearly but still, you listen and Sam is surprised when she finds herself speaking.

“You really should ask her out.”

And of course, Tara is always close enough to raise an eyebrow with a knowing look at her on practically every occasion.

“I've told you already, it's not like that.”

“You're cuddling her dog right now.”

“Just so he stays quiet and doesn't disturb you two! Shouldn't you be studying, by the way?”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Sam can almost, almost admit that you're her friend too.

(Though she kinda wished it were a little more than that.)

Movie nights evolve into sleepovers, because Sam argues that it’s simply too late and dangerous for you to come back alone and she feels embarrassed – and guilty as much – when Quinn brings up that it has always been dangerous and she didn’t mind letting you go before, when she didn’t care about you.

Now there are some of your clothes in a drawer Tara set aside for you just like a colorful food bowl in the living room for your dog – Mindy jokes that it's theirs now – and there’s rarely a day that goes by where she doesn’t see you.

And when you don’t come over, Tara makes sure to remind her of how anxious she looks waiting for a knock on the door and how she lights up when you greet her first when you finally arrive.

“I swear that now she comes here more to see you than me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Yeah, sure,” she huffs, “And when are you gonna make a move again?”

“Never, Tara.”

Sam hasn't heard a thing about you in days. Tara said yesterday that you ended up getting really busy with a college project, preparing a presentation that, her sister quotes, 'needs to be perfect because public speaking is horrible and there's a big chance I'll embarrass myself.'

It's not that Sam asked, it's just that she doesn't text you often and Tara thought it would be convenient to talk about it out loud when she was on the phone with Mindy.

Anyway, it doesn't really matter, it's not like you two are close. You are Tara's friend. If it weren't for her, you two wouldn't even have a reason to see each other. There's no reason to be so stressed.

But she misses you anyway. She's having a shitty day at her shitty job and everything seems to go by even slower because Sam knows that when she gets home at night you probably won't be on the couch waiting with the soft smile she's grown accustomed to looking forward and if she has to deal with another group of rude teenagers she'll freak out.

The sound of the bell ringing at the entrance draws Sam’s attention back to the counter and she ends up face to face with the person who has been on her mind all day.

“Sam!” you approached with a tired smile, your dog wagging his tail happily on a leash in one hand and a paper bag in the other, “I was looking for you.”

You'd never visited her at work before, she didn't even know you knew where it was, having only mentioned it in passing, but there you were, with the smile she wanted to see and bags under your eyes.

“Hi,” she cleared her throat, feeling her face heat up. Damn, she looked like a teen girl with a crush, “I didn't expect to see you here, what, uhm, what do you need?”

You snorted at her flustered attending voice. Seeing her show any kind of nervousness was very unusual.

“Tara called me today demanding I get out of the house for a bit and ‘touch some grass’, so I decided to bring this buddy along, he was begging me for a proper walk,” you shrugged, “And she asked me to bring your lunch.”

Sam paused at that, Tara definitely didn't make lunches for her, much less go to the trouble of delivering them like that.

“...Thank you,” she accepted the paper bag you held out delicately, eyeing the package suspiciously. You held back a giggle when she looked at you again, “Anything else?”

“Oh, um,” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, obviously nervous, “I’m taking Koda to the park nearby and I thought maybe you’d like to come with us. If you can, of course.”

Sam couldn’t really, it was still a few hours before her shift ended at the coffee shop, but she didn’t want you to leave without the promise of seeing you again.

“Of course,” she found herself replying instead, “I can meet you there in a few minutes.”

She knew she’d made the right decision when you gifted her with one of your warm smiles.

“Okay! Nice,” you nod, absently twirling your dog’s leash around your fingers, startled by the sudden, loud bark he lets out at the delay, breaking the oblivious bubble you were in, “Alright, I should go before he starts trying to jump over the counter.”

Sam barely hears the sound of the bell announcing your departure over how loudly her heart pounds in her ears.

It takes a lot of willpower and her last pack of good cigarettes to convince her insufferable coworker — who’d watched the whole thing with a bored expression and loudly chewing gum while cleaning the coffee machine — to cover the rest of her shift. He ended up ordering her lunch too, thinking it might be something special, only to complain when he was met with a sad peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a carton of warm apple juice. Tara really didn’t cook… but then why had she done that?

(She laughed at him anyway.)

“You owe me, Carpenter,” he grumbled, taping a note to her arm that had fallen out of the package.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

Sam was out the door before he could change his mind.

Taking a deep breath of the damp autumn air, she picked up the yellow post-it note curiously, recognizing her sister’s handwriting immediately.

‘u looked so depressed lately that I

decided to send u a gift

DO something this time

good luck!!’

She knew. She fucking knew that smartass had set her up. Sam should have guessed it before. Tara would never let her get away with this without doing something with her own hands. At least she hadn’t brought Mindy into the scheme this time.

The park you had mentioned was more like a small square and with the rainy cold weather of the last few days, it was pretty empty. Sam could spot you without difficulty, sitting on one of the few benches watching the scenery and she made her presence known when she got close enough.

“Can he even sit still sometimes?” Sam asked, hands in her bomber jacket pockets, pointing with her chin at the dog playing alone on the grass. You moved a little so she could sit next to you and subtly moved closer when she did.

“It rained last night and he's a big fan of puddles,” you chuckled, “I guess he's just excited, we haven't been out much lately.”

He wasn't the puppy he'd been when Sam had first seen him a few months ago and the sight of him running around the trees chasing flowers and stray twigs was actually quite funny.

“He's so covered in mud that it looks like a bear.”

“Well, his name's Koda,” you pointed out amusedly, “I would have called him Pongo but he always looked more like a small bear than a dalmatian anyway.”

She snorted, “If you say so.”

Sam couldn't remember a time when she felt so relaxed, with the weight of your shoulder resting against hers, enjoying the weather of the early season, the ground covered in orange and yellow leaves framing your surroundings.

She couldn't stop the restlessness she felt inside her chest, watching your profile. Feeling warm inside, but also shivering with a terrible fear of ruining everything. Do something, do something, do something echoing like a mantra in her head.

Sam took a deep breath. She'd faced murderers before, for God's sake! She could be braver than that.

"So..." She coughed, "Tara set this up, you know? The lunch stuff and everything."

You turned your attention to Sam, raising an eyebrow with a confused look.

"She did?" You asked, "Why would she do that?"

It's now or never, Carpenter. Focus.

“She did it so I could see you,” she looked away, “Because I missed you. Because I…” She felt your hand reach for hers and noticed a fallen leaf on your shoulder.

“Because you…?” your voice echoed anxious. She could do this. She's going to do this.

“I—”

A loud howl scared the two of you and you turned to see Koda behind a pile of leaves, pupils dilated and jumping up and down.

“Oh no.”

“What?” She stammered.

“He saw a pigeon.”

You see, Sam is not a pet person. She has only had one guinea pig her entire life and only before her father left and a 6-year-old Tara let it escape from its cage never to be seen again – poor Darwin would always be remembered – she does not know how to handle dogs, much less big, excitable ones like yours.

Yet she grabs the leash from your hands when you finally reach your dog who won't stop barking at a tree and ignores your warnings that he is heavy and strong, Sam, it will end up dragging you away and tries to gently pull him to convince him to let go so you can get out of there. Because she is big and strong and she wants to show you that she can handle a mere happy dog.

He acknowledges her like she wanted and also drags her like you said he would.

This manages to surprise her more than the first stab wound she took, how one minute she’s standing still, telling your silly dog ​​to walk in a confident condescending tone, and the next she’s running at full speed through the trees and puddles of the park, your worried voice ringing behind her, as does your laughter.

“Sam!” you exclaimed from a distance, hands cupped around your mouth and dark red scarf falling from your neck, “You need to stop!”

She does stop, yes, but only after your dog has already circled her and Sam must be a ridiculous sight with a colorful leash wrapped around her legs and a dog panting with its tongue out next to her.

“Oh my god,” you lean in closer, unable to hide the amusement in your voice, “Are you okay?”

Sam huffed, feeling a strand of hair fall across her face: “A little help would be appreciated.”

“Sure,” you laughed, reaching out to carefully untangle it, “Maybe I should call him Pongo after all.”

She rolled her eyes: “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you, it’s just cute.”

Sam opened her mouth to retort, only to realize how close you two were, with your hands resting on her shoulders to steady her and your faces just inches apart, your breath tickling her skin. You seemed to realize the same thing, tongue coming out to wet your lips, your gaze fixed on her mouth.

Do something. Do something. Do something.

She finally does something. She kisses you.

It's all a mix of sensations, she feels when you sigh, breathing through your nose in surprise and satisfaction, she feels where your hands tighten on the fabric of her jacket and tastes you, warm lips contrasting with the cold skin of your cheeks, with traces of coffee, lipstick and something else so undeniably you that Sam swears her heart might stop.

You pull apart hesitantly, breathing fast, noses touching, eyes shining, and she feels herself falling, literally. Your dog jumps on your waist, demanding to be petted, and you fall, taking Sam with you.

Landing in a pile of leaves is more uncomfortable than the movies make it out to be, but Sam can’t find it in herself to protest when you’re the one on top of her. She smiles and you laugh out loud. She didn’t mess up.

“You’re covered in leaves,” you say, running your fingers through her hair, “And your face is smeared with black lipstick.”

She scoffs, “I wonder who’s responsible for that.”

“He is,” you point innocently at the dog standing next to you.

Sam rolls her eyes, but cups your face with her cold hands to pull you close again, and the second kiss she gives you is just as magical as the first.

Tara doesn’t expect to find a dog taking up the entire couch for the first time in days when she comes back from Chad’s dorm after sending you off on a fake mission to find her sister. Yet, hours later, there it is, with one of the sneakers she forgot to put away when she got home from class stuck in his mouth and trails of mud and leaves across the room.

“C’mon, man, that’s not a toy!”

She hears a laugh and finds herself face to face with Sam, looking completely filthy despite the sound of the shower running in the hallway and Tara knows Quinn isn’t home yet. Oh.

“So, you finally did something?”

Sam nods solemnly, pointing to the dark kiss etched into her jaw.

“I did.”

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |7|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 3.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

It wasn’t that long of a drive from your place to Sam’s apartment, she was surprised how close you lived. It made sense though, she had never seen your Jeep at the gym, even in the middle of the night, she figured you jogged there every time, it seemed like a thing you would do. Their apartment didn’t have parking, but it seemed you got lucky enough to get a spot on the street, Sam would have felt bad if you had to park further away and then walk all the way back to the apartment.

She led you into the apartment complex and up to her apartment number, which was on the top floor, though you didn’t seem to mind the stairs. There was an elevator in the complex, but Sam didn’t trust it, she had the image of getting into the elevator and then Ghostface attacking, only for there to be nowhere for her to run to or a way to fight back. You didn’t even so much as raise an eyebrow as Sam began unlocking every lock she had on the door.

“Are you okay?” Tara asked as soon as Sam walked through the door.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, giving her sister a small smile so she knew everything was truly okay.

“Great,” Kirby said, pushing herself off the chair in the living room. “I need to get back to my case anyway.”

“You stayed?” Sam tilted her head. She had expected Kirby to drop Tara off, maybe walk her up to the apartment but she definitely didn’t expect Kirby to still be there when Sam got home.

Kirby gave a little shrug and looked back at Tara who was sitting on the couch next to the others, except for Quinn, who Sam assumed was either out or in her room with a guy. “Figured you wouldn’t mind,” Kirby smiled. “Didn’t feel right just leaving them alone.”

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, I’ll keep you updated.” Sam nodded and followed Kirby to the door to see her out. When they got to the door Kirby turned around, looking past Sam and at you. You were standing a bit away, far enough to give Sam and Kirby privacy but not so far into the living room that you were invading the unknown space. “Are you sure you trust them enough to be here?” Kirby whispered.

Sam looked back at you, seeing you with your hands shoved in your pockets and despite everything that’s happened, you were still completely relaxed. “I’m not sure why, but I do,” Sam whispered. “Was there anything in their file that would indicate otherwise?” Sam searched Kirby’s face for any sign that you might not be as great as you seemed. She didn’t like asking Kirby about you, it didn’t feel right, like that she should hear about your past from you and not someone else, it almost felt like she was crossing a line.

Kirby sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Sam furrowed her brow and glanced back at you. It wasn’t a bad reaction, if there was a glaring red flag Kirby wouldn’t have even let Sam leave the station with you, not without warning her first, but it also wasn’t exactly a good reaction either.

“They’re special forces,” Kirby whispered. Sam nodded; you had told her that much. “Pretty much anything they’ve ever done is classified and way above my paygrade. From what I could make out,” she looked past Sam again. “They’re an exemplary soldier.”

“Then what has you hesitating?” Sam narrowed her eyes; she knew Kirby was holding something back.

“This is Ghostface, no one can be trusted.”

“Kirby,” Sam pleaded. Kirby’s excuse wasn’t wrong, it was completely true. The only people Sam knew she could trust a hundred percent was her sister, Chad, Mindy, Kirby, and as much as she hated it at times, Gale.

“I don’t know why they’re in town,” Kirby finally caved. “Their base is in North Caroline.” Sam furrowed her brow at that. “They do have a house here, have for years.” Sam nodded; she had seen that for herself. “The army doesn’t just let someone go off that far away from base, not when they’re active duty, they’re meant to be training or nearby in case a mission comes up.” Sam glanced back at you again to make sure you weren’t listening. “They’ve been here for a few months now, that’s not normal. So, something had to have happened.”

“Any ideas?” Kirby shrugged. “Right, classified.”

“Look, I want to trust them,” she gave Sam a sympathetic smile. “Them saving your life definitely adds points in my book.” Sam smiled at that; in the back of her mind, she knew that still could have all been a ploy though. “Just be careful.”

Sam nodded and said her final goodbyes to Kirby. Once Kirby was out the door, she quickly closed it and re-locked all the locks again before turning back around to you and the others. Despite the initial meeting in the hospital, she had a feeling this would be a long night. Tara was the only one who knew Sam asked you to come back to the apartment, she figured Tara would inform the others when she got home but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t still be caught off guard by your presence.

“So, we’re just inviting random people over when Ghostface is clearly out there?” Mindy asked.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Anika and Ethan are literally right there,” Sam said, gesturing at the two.

Anika didn’t seem too offended by the comment, but she did pout a little. Ethan looked around as if he were shocked by the accusation, despite knowing he was a suspect.

“And they’re not a stranger,” Chad said. He jumped up from the couch and practically ran towards you. “I’m so glad you decided to join us,” he gave you a big smile. “It’ll give us time to get to know each other better.” Sam flung her head back and closed her eyes as she tried to suppress a groan.

“How exciting,” you said, though Chad seemed to miss the sarcasm based on the way he was smiling and nodding along.

“I think it’s only fair,” Mindy said. She detangled herself from Anika and walked up to you, crossing her arms as she raised an eyebrow. “We deserve to know who you are if you’re going to be staying with us.”

“Is this how you treat all your guests?” You asked, looking at Sam and completely ignoring Mindy.

Sam put a hand to her head and tried to rub away the oncoming headache. “I’m sorry,” is the only thing she could think to say. You probably would be better off on your own, Sam knew that, if Ghostface had tried to attack you at your house if your dog didn’t scare them away you certainly would have.

“They’re a suspect,” Mindy continued, pointing at you. “We deserve to know who’s going to be sleeping in the next room.”

 “You probably think having everyone stick together, even if they’re a suspect,” you said before Sam could think of a way to get them to ease up on you. “Is the smart move, if everyone is together and one of the parties is the killer, then they’re less likely to make a move.”

“Yeah, what of it?” Mindy crossed her arms and straightened her back just a bit more. Mindy talked big with this kind of stuff, Sam couldn’t deny that Mindy knew her stuff when it came to horror and when it came to the Stab movies and the real life Ghostface killings. That didn’t stop the fact that Mindy was terrified, and she was trying harder than Sam had ever seen to put on this cool and confident front.

 “It’s a mistake,” you said plainly. You were blunt but it didn’t seem like you were judging them on their decision.

“You don’t think keeping the enemy close is a good idea?” Tara asked, getting up from the couch and joining the others around you.

“Not when you don’t know the enemy.” Sam flicked at glance at Tara to see her and Mindy already looking at her, as if they expected her to jump in. Sam just tilted her head and looked back at you, curious as to what you were seeing that they weren’t. “You think watching everyone means you’re watching the enemy. When really, it’s the exact opposite. Keeping the enemy close just means they know all your plans and where you are at all times.”

Sam sucked in a breath, that’s exactly what happened last time. They didn’t know who to trust, even after Dewey told them it’s always someone in the friend group. Everyone still hung out together, they all went to a party at Amber’s house. Sam still trusted Richie until the end, the first time she truly hesitated had been when she was in the basement and left him. Amber and Richie worked together, when one was pretending to be a victim the other was doing the killing. Seeing one of them in the same room as Ghostface made them all lower their guards around them, made them trust and reveal things to them.

“Kirby said you were a sergeant,” Tara said. Chad and Mindy both raised their eyebrows at that, it seemed Tara hadn’t revealed everything they learned at the station. “Who are you with?” It seemed she had picked up on the exact same thing Sam did.

“Army, special forces,” you answered, exactly as you told Sam.

“What kind?”

Sam raised her eyebrows, she didn’t think to ask that, she didn’t even know there were different kinds, she kind of figured a sergeant was a sergeant. She looked at you only to see you smirking, it seemed Tara asked the right question. “A weapons Sergeant.”

“So that means you know how to use weapons,” Mindy interrupted.

“It is in my title,” your voice dripped with sarcasm.

“So, you’d know how to use a,” Mindy bobbed her head around as she pretended to search for a weapon to ask about, “knife?”

“It is probably the most basic and common weapon there is, so yes, I’d say so.”

“Why don’t we make this interrogation a little more family friendly,” Chad said, slapping you on the shoulders in a friendly gesture before putting arm around you as if you were one of his buddies. Chad was smiling as he raised an eyebrow at Mindy who just rolled her eyes. When Chad looked back at you, he was met with your glare, making his smile instantly fall as he slowly removed his hand from your shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Sam couldn’t help but smile as Chad gestured awkwardly at the dining table around the corner. He pulled out a seat for you and then moved to one on the other side of the table at the complete opposite side of you. Sam shook her head and joined as Mindy took a seat next to Chad and Tara grabbed the seat at the end of the table, leaving the only seat left next to you for Sam.

“I apologize for my sister,” Chad started again, this time much more calm than he had been any other time he talked to you or about you. “When did you join the army?”

“When I was eighteen,” you answered.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” Mindy asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Hey,” Sam snapped. “You don’t ask someone that.” Sam knew she was being a total hypocrite, but you didn’t point out she had asked you the exact same thing just a little bit ago.

“You will never believe the night I had,” Quinn yelled as she entered the apartment, locking the various locks before stepping into view. “This guy…” Sam looked over when Quinn never finished, she saw Quinn standing just a few feet away, her arms still raised as they usually were when she was about to go into extensive detail about a particular hookup, but her eyes were locked on you.

“Well, now, who is this cutey?” Quinn said, smiling as she walked right up to you. You didn’t turn to face her until Quinn gently ran a finger up and down your bicep.

“This is Y/N,” Chad introduced you. “They-”

“Saved Sam’s life,” Quinn completed. “How dare Sam keep something like you a secret from me.” Quinn tilted her head; she was giving you her best flirtatious smile. Sam was trying to make her glaring at Quinn not too obvious. “Now, tell me,” Quinn stared right into your eyes. Sam couldn’t tell if you were falling for Quinn’s attempts or not, she was finding your composure and lack of reaction to things very irritating at the moment. “Is there a special lady in your life?”

You looked down and smiled, more to yourself than anyone else. Sam shook her head, hoping she hid the hurt on her face before anyone saw, it was clear you were thinking about a special someone. “You could say that,” you said. “Saved me more times than I can count. Can’t imagine life without her.”

Quinn pouted but took her hand off of you. “She sounds amazing,” Sam said, giving a tight-lipped smile.

“She is.” You turned to Sam and smiled at her. “You should know,” you nodded at Sam. “You met her.”

Sam furrowed her brow before rolling her eyes. “Your dog, really?” she chuckled. “That’s the special lady in your life?”

“Most important girl in my life.” Sam just rolled her eyes again, she shyly smiled to herself. She never thought she’d be thankful for Quinn’s relentless flirting.

“You have a dog?” Tara asked, her eyes lighting up. Tara had always wanted a dog when they were growing up but even before their dad left their parents never let them get one.

You nodded. “Her name is Artemis and she’s my battle buddy.”

“She’s a military dog?” Tara leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she got more invested in hearing about your dog. You nodded once again.

“That’s so cool,” Chad said. “She goes on missions and stuff with you? Finding bombs, taking out bad guys,” he did some fighting motions with his fists.

“She did,” you explained. “She’s retired now but she still can give a good scare.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Sam scoffed.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” Quinn said. “Unless the soldier here wants to join?” she looked you up and down, making Sam glare at her again.

“No thank you,” you said.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” she shrugged. She winced when she turned around to head towards her room.

“Are you okay?” Sam called out, furrowing her brow.

“Yeah,” her voice went slightly higher. She turned around and smirked, “I started to tell you, it was a crazy night.” Sam let out a hum and turned back to the others.

Sam glanced at you only to see you watching Quinn walk away. It didn’t seem like you were regretting not taking Quinn up on her offer, more like you were studying her. When she heard Quinn’s door close, you looked back at Sam, and she couldn’t help but send you a questioning glance. You just gave a subtle shake of your head as if to tell her not here, which only perplexed Sam more.

“Okay, I think it’s time we call it a night,” Sam said.

Tara went off to her room with Mindy and Anika following her. Everyone was staying the night, and the girls tended to share Tara’s room while Chad always took the couch. Sam frowned, with you she’d have to figure something out, she didn’t want to ask you to stay with them and then force you to sleep on the floor.

“You’re not staying?” Chad asked, making Sam turn around to see Ethan gathering up his backpack.

“I-I have an early class,” Ethan replied, giving them an awkward smile.

Ethan’s looked around the room, but his eyes kept darting back to you. Sam glanced over to see you watching him with narrow eyes, your eyes didn’t leave him until he was out the door. Sam wasn’t sure if you were seeing something she wasn’t or if you were just even more paranoid than she was.

“I’ll take the floor,” Chad said, getting up from the table.

“No, no,” you said, shaking your head. “Take the couch.” Chad opened his mouth, clearly ready to object but you beat him to it. “I’m serious.” Chad sighed and got comfortable on the couch, pulling the blanket they had draped over the back down on top of himself.

“You can take my bed,” Sam said. “I’ll take the floor.”

“No,” you waved her off. “It’s fine.”

“Please, I’ve already inconvenienced you enough.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” you stood up from the table. “Besides, the floor’s more comfortable anyway.” Sam searched your face for any evidence of a lie, but it didn’t appear you were.

“Fine,” Sam reluctantly agreed. “But let me help change your bandage first.”

You sighed but sat back down at the table. Sam smiled and ran off to grab some clean bandages. When she came back, she took a seat next to you and you lifted your shirt to reveal your wound. As gently as she could she peeled off the dirty bandage, she could feel your breath hitch as her fingers brushed against your skin.

“I’m sorry about my friends,” Sam whispered again. “Thank you for putting up with them.” Sam placed the clean bandage over your stitches and lightly pressed the edges to make sure it would stick.

“It’s not problem,” you whispered back, pulling down your shirt when Sam was all finished up. “If I may ask, why do you want me here?”

Sam made a fist, bunching up her jeans in the process. She looked up to see your eyes already on her. “You protected me, when you didn’t even know me,” Sam shrugged, letting out a humorless chuckle. “I just-I can’t explain it,” she looked down at her hand again and slowly unclenched them. “I think we’re safer with you around.”

When Sam looked up again, she was suddenly aware of how close she was to you. “No harm will come to you or your sister while I’m here,” you rasped out.

Sam wasn’t sure if it was you leaning in, or herself, or the both of you, all she knew was that you were getting closer. Her lips had just brushed yours; she wanted to close the gap and pull you in for a real kiss, but a loud snore broke the moment. You both quickly pulled away and glanced across the room where Chad was already passed out on the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” Sam rambled, shooting out of her seat, trying to create as much distance between you and her as possible. “I can’t,” she shook her head, but man did she really want to. “I’m sorry.”

Sam stopped when she felt you gently grab her hand. “Hey,” you whispered softly. “It’s okay,” you smiled. “Good night.”

“Night.” It took all her strength, but Sam pulled her hand away from yours and went to her room. She leaned back against the door as soon as she shut it, she couldn’t believe she had just kissed you, it was barely a kiss, but she wanted nothing more than to do it again. She knew she couldn’t though, not until this whole thing was over, there was a part of her that was still doubting whether they could trust you, she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, there was no way she would get this lucky finding someone so perfect and understanding.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

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“C’mon, pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!”

Coach Mason’s voice makes me grit my teeth and push harder, skating as fast as I can even though my legs are numb and my lungs are burning.

He’s had us doing suicides for the last five minutes and if I wasn’t as out of breath as I am right now, I’d curse him out so bad.

“One more!” I stop right before hitting the wall, spraying it with ice before pivoting and sprinting back. “Aaannnd DONE!”

I fall to my hands and knees and cough. That was the worst. The others are panting as well and from the looks of it one of my teammates, Percy, is about to throw up.

“Good job, guys. We’re done for today. Go shower and enjoy the rest of your day.” Coach Mason pats my best friends Liam and Paige on their backs before stepping out of the rink.

I groan and get back up after a moment, and skate over to Liam and Paige. They’re wheezing and trying to catch their breath as well, but when they see my face they burst out laughing.

“Look who’s back P, it’s Tomato,” Liam says, taking off his helmet to reveal his sweat slicked hair.

“Fuck you.” I gasp and take off my helmet as well before sticking up my middle finger. I know my face gets red every time I exercise. “You’re just jealous you’re not as fast as I am.”

“Ha! Never. You’re not even that much faster.” Liam pokes me with his stick and turns to Paige who’s giggling at our antics. “C’mon back me up here.”

Paige raises her arms and shrugs. “Nah. I’m not getting involved.”

I laugh at Liam’s offended frown and smack him with one of my gloves before skating to the rink’s exit where our other teammates are already taking off their skates.

“So, are we still on for dinner tonight or what?” Paige asks when she gets off the ice after me. “And if so, are we ordering in, or cooking?”

“I say we cook something. It’s been a while since we cooked together,” Liam says, taking a seat on a bench to take off his skates.

Paige looks at me for confirmation and I shrug. “Sure. I’m fine with whatever.”

“Perfect. It’s settled then, but our fridge is empty, Lee, so we’ll have to go grocery shopping. Care to join us, Y/N? We can head straight to the store, buy what we need and then spend the rest of the afternoon watching movies before cooking together,” she suggests.

I check my watch for the time and frown apologetically. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I have to pick Tara up from school and I promised her I’d help her with a history project, so rain check on the movie marathon?”

Paige smiles and says, “Of course.”

Liam nods and stands back up. “Yeah, no problem. Just text us when you’re coming over.”

I take off my skates and check the time again.

Shit, I have to hurry. If I don’t I’m going to be late and Tara will think I forgot about her.

“Will do. Thanks guys! I’ve gotta run. I’ll see ya later!”

Liam and Paige give me a thumbs up and I smile gratefully before rushing to the locker rooms.

“Hey!” Tara jumps into my car as soon as I come to a stop in front of Woodsboro High School. I’ve managed to make it just in time. She throws her bag on the backseat and immediately accepts the aux cable when I hand it to her so she can play some music.

“Hiya, how was school?” I ask, waving at Chad, Mindy, Wes and Amber. They smile when they see me and I smile back before starting our drive to Tara’s house.

“It was fine, but we got a shit ton of homework.“ She pulls out her inhaler after putting on a song and takes a drag of it. “How was practice?” She glances over and smiles when she sees my face is still a little red. “Did Coach Mason make you do sui’s again?”

I glare at her playfully and stop the car at a red light. “Do you even have to ask?”

Tara laughs and takes another drag of her inhaler. “No, not really, but I like annoying you.” She smirks and drops the inhaler into the cup holder.

I grumble, not even half as annoyed as I’m pretending to be. “Mhmm. I can tell, you little shit. You know, if you didn’t have asthma I’d make you walk the rest of the way home.“

“No, you wouldn’t,” she quips confidently and turns up the volume of the music.

I raise an eyebrow but sigh a moment later, whispering, “Yeah, no. I wouldn’t.”

The rest of the drive is uneventful and before long I’m pulling into the Carpenter’s driveway.

“Is your mom home?” I ask when I get out of the car. My eyes momentarily dart to the house on the other side of the street.

My house. . . I square my shoulders and look away. No, it’s no longer my house. I sold it because it stopped being mine the moment my parents died in the accident.

Tara grabs her bag from the backseat and shakes her head, snapping me out of my thoughts. “No. She’s in London.”

I frown. “For how long?”

“Don’t know,-“ she turns to unlock the front door-“don’t care. It’s not like it’s the first time she’s left for an extended period of time.”

“Right. . .” I clench my jaw and step inside the house after her.

Christina Carpenter has been a shit parent ever since Tara’s dad left. I don’t dare to dwell on it though because if I did that woman would get an earful of how bad of a mother she actually is. It would be the truth, yes, but I know it would upset Tara which is why I stay quiet and take my frustrations out in the rink.

“So, what’s this project you need help with?” I ask, following Tara into the kitchen.

My gaze lands on the pictures on the walls, but I’m quick to look away and ignore the hurt that constricts my heart.

They’re nothing but memories now. Painful memories of what once was and reminders of what could have been. I’m in several of those pictures, alongside Tara and her family, but the face staring back at me, my face, is one I no longer recognize.

“I have to write a paper on the Cold War, but I don’t know how to start,” she says, pulling two bottles of water out of the fridge.

I cringe and take one of the bottles when she offers it to me. “Phew. Okay, I was never really good in history, but I’ll try to help as best as I can.”

Tara smiles and takes a sip of her water. “Thank you. Should we get started?”

“Sure. After you, ma’am.” I bow playfully and gesture for her to lead the way upstairs to her room.

“Idiot.” She smacks my arm as she brushes past me which makes me laugh.

We go to her room and plop down on her bed, getting started on the paper.

After skimming the instructions, I realize it’s not as difficult as I thought it would be. We work together, going through textbooks and using the internet to gather all the information we need before Tara gets to work on actually writing the paper.

I keep her company and proofread everything she shows me until, finally, after two and a half grueling hours, she’s done.

She saves the Word document on her laptop before shutting it and falling back on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

“Urgh. Finally. That was the worst,” she complains.

I chuckle and toss a pillow at her. “It wasn’t that bad.”

She sits up again and hurls the pillow back at me. I catch it with ease and stuff it behind my back to make myself more comfortable.

“Maybe for you it wasn’t. All you did was help me research. I did all the writing,” she argues, dragging her hands down her face.

“Yeah you did because it’s your assignment. I just said I’d help, not that I’d write the damn thing for you.” I nudge her playfully which makes her roll her eyes.

“Whatever,” she whispers before pulling out her phone. “Hey, it’s already pretty late. Do you want to stay for dinner? Amber’s probably going to come over as well.”

I check my own phone to see that Paige texted me that she and Liam managed to get everything to cook Spaghetti Bolognese together.

I sit up and shake my head with an apologetic smile. “I’d love to but I already made plans with Liam and Paige.”

Tara doesn’t seem fazed by my rejection and just smiles. “Alright. So, you’re leaving now?”

I get up and nod. “Yeah. Is that okay? Or do you want me to stay until Amber gets here?”

“No, no. You can go, I’ll be fine,” she says, getting off the bed as well.

“Okay then.” I pull her into a hug and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Call me if you need anything.”

She breaks our hug and shoves me gently with an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just go, I’ll be fine.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.” I go to the door and open it. “Love ya!”

Tara snorts, but says, “I love you too, idiot,” before I make my way down the stairs and out of the house. I lock the front door with my spare key and get in my car, texting Liam and Paige that I’m heading to theirs now.

There’s quite a bit of traffic, so it takes longer than expected to drive all the way across town and to make matters even worse, right before I get to Liam’s and Paige’s, I catch sight of Tara’s inhaler in my cup holder.

Shit. She needs that. She mentioned two days ago that she lost her backup inhaler.

I make a U-turn and call Liam.

“Yello?” he says after picking up.

“It’s me, Lee. I have to turn back around because Tara forgot her inhaler in my car.”

“Oh, no worries. Take your time. Paige and I are going to start cooking though, is that okay? I’m starving.”

He groans and I laugh. “Of course. I won’t be long.”

“Yeah okay. See you in a bit. And tell Tara I said hi.” I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Ew, gross dude,” I say, adding, “She’s like five years younger than us.”

This time it’s Liam’s turn to laugh. “Relax. I’m just joking.”

I huff and make a right turn. “You better be.”

“I am, I swear,” he defends. Silence. Then. . . “For real though, tell her I said hi.”

I roll my eyes and hang up. I know he’s only joking, but it gets on my nerves sometimes. I continue driving, listening to the radio until fifteen minutes later, I’m once again pulling into the Carpenter’s driveway.

I grab the inhaler and get out, frowning at the absence of Amber’s car for a moment.

Shouldn’t she be here by now?

I shake my head and make my way around the front of my car.

Maybe she decided not to come over after all.

I skip up the stairs to the front door, only to freeze a second later when a muffled scream pierces through the silence.

“Tara. . .” I drop the inhaler and rush to the door, unlocking it as fast as I can before bursting inside.

Another blood curdling scream echoes through the house and I dash toward the kitchen where it came from.

There’s blood on the floor and a handprint on a nearby door and when I round the corner I see a cloaked figure standing over Tara.

She’s on the ground, sobbing and coughing. Her pink shirt is covered in blood and one of her legs is twisted in a weird way, obviously broken.

Looming over her is a cloaked figure and when she turns around to crawl away, he raises a blood covered knife and stabs her in her lower back.

“Tara!” I jump into action and tackle him to the ground.

He grunts, surprised by my arrival and manages to twist around underneath me. The sight of his infamous Ghostface mask me freeze for just a split second, but that seems to be all the time he needs to get his arm free and swing the knife at me.

I’m quick to react, leaning back just in time to avoid getting my throat slit. When he swings at me again though, I’m not as lucky and with a grunt he manages to stab me in the shoulder right next to my neck.

I scream and topple off him, raising my hand to my shoulder when he pulls the knife back out. My heartbeat is loud in my ears, and I think this is it, this is how I’m going to die, but then I hear the sound of police sirens.

No, this can’t be it. I’m not dying unless I know Tara is safe.

Ghostface grabs the front of my hoodie and lifts his arm to land the killing blow before making his escape, but he never gets the chance to bring the knife down on me because I kick against his knee, making him stumble.

That’s it. That was his chance. If he doesn’t get out now he’s going to get caught, I think, and I’m right.

Ghostface limps out as the sirens get louder. I know he’s not going to return, so I turn my back on the doorway and shuffle to Tara’s side.

“Y/N,” she sobs, clutching at her side. My eyes widen at all the blood and when I see she got stabbed through the hand I feel sick.

“I’m here, Tara. I’m here,” I croak. I pull off my sweatshirt even though I can barely move my shoulder, and press it against her stomach to slow the bleeding.

She hiccups and whimpers, and I slip my free hand underneath her to also apply pressure to the stab wound on her lower back.

“You’re going to be fine,” I whisper. Warm blood soaks the shirt around my own stab wound, making it stick to my back and chest, but I don’t stop applying pressure to Tara’s wounds.

She’s all that matters. She has to survive.

After what feels like hours, the front door flies open and police officers swarm into the house.

“You’re going to be just fine. I promise.”

The constant beeping of Tara’s heart rate monitor keeps me from falling asleep even though I stayed up the entire night. She’s been out of surgery for about half an hour now and the doctors said it’s going to be a while until she wakes up.

She looks so pale and small, it makes my heart hurt, so I carefully take her hand in mine and move my chair even closer to her bed.

It’s a little bit of a struggle because my right arm is in a sling since my shoulder was stitched up, but in the end I manage to get the chair to where I want it to be.

I let out a defeated sigh and lower my head. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking as tears prick my eyes. “I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have left.”

No one knows what would have happened if I had stayed. Maybe the attack wouldn’t have happened at all. Maybe Tara would be fine now, or maybe we could have ended up exactly where we are right now. The truth is, no one knows, but at least she wouldn’t have been alone and that is the part that gnaws at me the most because I broke my promise to her.

After Sam left, she was heartbroken. She was alone and lost, so I promised her that I’d never leave her.

She’s always been like a little sister to me because Sam and I were best friends and we used to look after her together, but after that promise, we became inseparable.

“I’m sorry.” I whisper again, shutting my eyes and ignoring the tears that drop down my cheeks. I squeeze her hand in mine and rest my forehead against the edge of the bed.

It’s an uncomfortable position, but I’m too tired to move. I stay like that for a couple of minutes, listening to the heart rate monitor until the door slowly creeps open.

I shoot up in my chair and hiss at the stinging pain in my shoulder.

“Sorry.” Paige’s soft voice makes me relax again and when I turn around I see her standing in the doorway with an apologetic smile on her face.

Liam is right behind her and, for once, he has a serious look on his face.

“Hey.” I sink back in the chair and send them a tight lipped smile.

“How are you feeling?” Paige asks, entering the room. Liam follows her and closes the door.

I don’t even have the energy to scoff at that, so I just whisper, “Like shit.”

Usually Liam would make a joke about it, teasing me by saying I also look like shit instead of just feeling like it, but given the severity of the situation, he doesn’t. He simply places the bouquet of flowers they brought onto the bedside table and joins Paige at my side.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, squeezing my uninjured shoulder.

“Thanks.” My voice is gruff, but I couldn’t care less about that right now. I keep my eyes on Tara, watching her chest rise and fall steadily.

“We were so worried about you,” Liam says.

I hum in acknowledgment, but don’t say anything. I called them using the hospital’s phone last night after the doctor’s took care of my shoulder, and filled them in on what happened.

They were so worried, they wanted to come to the hospital immediately, but I told them to stay at home and come back in the morning which it apparently already is now. I also called Amber and Wes, telling them to stay at home and go to school until Tara wakes up.

“Is she going to be okay?” Paige asks, bringing me back to reality.

I nod and tear my eyes away from Tara to look at her. “Yeah. The doctors said she’s going to be fine, but she almost didn’t make it. . .S-she could have died, Paige.”

A sob claws its way out of my mouth and almost instantly Paige and Liam pull me into a hug.

“Yes, it was a close one, but she’s going to be okay,” Liam says. “I’m sure if it wasn’t for you, she’d not be here right now.”

His words shatter something in me and suddenly, my entire composure crumbles. I begin sobbing uncontrollably and break down, clinging onto both of them as best as I can without letting go of Tara’s hand.

A groan makes my eyes snap up from my lap. Liam and Paige left a while ago after making sure I had something to eat (a disgusting protein bar from the hospital’s vending machine) and something to drink (an entire bottle of Gatorade).

They were reluctant at first when I told them to go to class, but gave in eventually when I convinced them their note taking (and then sharing said notes with me) would be more beneficial than their being here.

Now, my eyes widen at the sight of Tara waking up.

“Y/N?” she whispers, opening her eyes slowly.

I get to my feet and grab a cup of water from the bedside table. “Yeah, I’m here.”

I take a seat on the edge of the bed and smile softly when her dazed eyes land on me. I offer her the cup and help her drink from it when she takes it.

“How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” I ask, taking the cup back when she’s done.

“N-No,” she says quietly. She moves her uninjured hand to her stomach where she was stabbed. “But. . . I’m scared.”

I nod and put the cup on my chair, not wanting to get up to put it back on the bedside table. “Me too.”

Tara’s eyes clear up a little and when she properly takes me in for the first time, she shudders and brushes her fingers over the sling my arm is in. “Your shoulder. . . You’re hurt.”

I grab her hand and squeeze it gently. “I know, but we’ll both be fine.”

Tears well up in her eyes and her chin starts quivering. “You came back. H-He was going to kill me, but you came back. Why did you come back?”

I nod and don’t bother swallowing the growing lump in my throat. “Because you forgot your inhaler in the car and then I heard you scream and—“ I gulp and decided mid sentence not to finish that though. “I’m not leaving your side again until that fucker is either behind bars, or dead, okay?”

A tear streams down Tara’s cheek and I let go of her hand to pull her into a gentle hug. “Okay,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Here you go. One Red Bull and a Snickers,” I say, handing Deputy Vinson the snacks he asked for when I offered to get something from the vending machine.

Wes, Mindy, Chad and Amber got here a couple of minutes ago and I decided to step out of the room for a moment to give them a chance to catch up with Tara alone.

“Thanks.“ Deputy Vinson opens the Red Bull and takes a big sip. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it.” He took Tara’s and my statement earlier and was then stationed outside of her room by Sheriff Hicks.

We share a little smile and I walk past him to go back into the room, only to feel my heart drop when I hear a familiar voice as soon as I open the door.

No, it can’t be. . .

I step into the room and swallow harshly when my eyes land on her.

________________________________________________

[the-thing-withfeathers]

exceeded caution series masterlist

summary: when your relationship with tara fails, you find yourself in a predicament. why can’t you stop thinking about sam?

—

chapter 1: she would have chosen the devil

chapter 2: first time for everything

chapter 3: promise to keep

chapter 4: our thing

chapter 5: how dare you?

chapter 6: i get it now

chapter 7: upcoming...

drabbles:

carpenter v carpenter

[sku-nk]

I've been inspired Skunk. Do you lnow that TikTok trend where it's like "When they're all up on my girl in public but she thinks they're just being friendly" and it's that audio that's like COME HERE.

Can I request that.

Come Here.

Synopsis: Some guy's getting a little too close for comfort. Unfortunately for Sam, you're oblivious to it.

Warnings: Language, jealous Sam, Not really controlling but bossy Sam, Just funny shit

A/n: i got your other ask clarifying who u wanted :))

Nothing is ever simple. Never.

Actually, there are a few things that are simple. A lot even. Things that are exactly as they're supposed to be, things that never have any extra complications.

With you nothing is ever simple. there has to be at least billion things that actually prove themselves to be what they should be, yet anything regarding you just can't be one of those things.

Like shopping.

It was supposed to be a boring little shopping trip. It was supposed to be quick. Pick up some things you need around the house, stuff you've ran out of and stuff you've suddenly realized you need. Maybe convince Sam to take you to Victoria's Secret and leave a dent in her wallet.

Honestly, Sam would prefer that to what's going on instead. She'd prefer anything over this. Like sleeping in, or watching a movie, or maybe punching that dude who's got his hand on your back.

What's worse is that you don't even seem to realize what he's doing. You've clearly been standing there for a while now, speaking to some stupid guy with a stupid chain and an even stupider fake deep voice.

At first Sam didn't even know where you were, you'd just wandered off. She'd assumed you were going to get something else on the list. When she caught up to you, finding you at the other end of the baking isle, she wished she'd followed you.

"Just need to start looking right, you know?" This guy says, standing much too close for comfort. "Pull a ten, maybe."

You nod, smiling. "I'm sure you will, Ryan," you say politely.

Sam can see the way his eyes rake over you, the look on his face so clearly filled with want it's actually ridiculous you're oblivious to it. Then again, you always have been. That's how you were with her.

"Shit, if I was like you, I wouldn't need to do all this. But you're just mad pretty," Ryan says, laughing for whatever reason. You're smiling kindly but Sam's got what's probably the dirtiest of looks on her face.

"Oh, thank you," you smile. Sam rolls her eyes. This dude's not your friend.

"Y/n," she says, making her presence known. Your eyes widen and an even bigger smile graces your face, head whipping in the direction you heard the voice. Ryan looks too, though his face is more curious than anything.

"Sammy," you say, as Ryan's hand drops from your back. Sam feels herself let out a breath despite the fact that you're still a little too close to this guy.

"Come here," she says, arms crossing.

"Hold on, this is Ry-" you begin, pointing at the guy who's now a good two and a half feet away, though you don't get the chance to finish.

"Come here." Sam points at the ground in front of her.

You tilt your head, glancing between Ryan and Sam, but you don't protest. You make a face, something between confusion and annoyance. Sam doesn't notice, or else she doesn't care.

"Now," she says, something in her voice possessing an odd sort of finality. You let out an exaggerated sigh and glance at Ryan, who seems to be just as confused as you.

"Sorry, Ryan," you say as you speed up. For some reason, this causes Sam to sigh and roll her eyes again.

She's irritable all of a sudden, you think. She shoots the not so poor guy a look, a look that has him stepping back even further.

"Let's go," she says impatiently as her eyes land on you, urging you to hurry up. You give her a look of your own.

"Why'd you do that?" you ask, despite the fact that you're doing exactly as she's told you to, glancing back like that dude's actually stupid enough to still be standing there. Sam grabs your sleeve and pulls you little closer even though it really doesn't benefit her in the slightest (besides making her feel better) and leans onto the cart.

" 'Cause I did. When you're shopping, you're shopping with me," she tells you, tone suggesting that you doing otherwise is an insult or something alike. "Not some weird ass dude."

"Ryan's not weird-"

"He's weird!" Sam cuts in, throwing a hand up. "Weird and wants you. You're with me, you're shopping with me."

You almost laugh. It's funny. What is she even talking about? Ryan wants you? That guy you just met? Sam notices your little smile out of the corner of her eye and scoffs.

"It's funny 'till he wants a smooch," she says, dead serious.

That does it.

You can't hold it any longer. You burst into a fit of giggles, smacking Sam on the arm. "He was being nice, relax," you laugh, as Sam rolls her eyes for the millionth time.

"He doesn't need to, he's being a little too nice."

"It's not that deep, I promise!" you tell her, grin unwavering.

"It's always that deep! Everybody wants you! All the time! I do!" Sam shoots back, instinctively straightening up as you grab the cart, shaking your head and beginning to push it down the isle. She nearly pulls her hair out when you start fully laughing at her again.

"Made me forget what I was over here for," you say to yourself as Sam follows behind you, saying something about the elderly crossing guard across the street checking you out.

"So you need to stay with me all the time!"

I dunno how to end this guys

[luffyssa]

tag your fav writers here to show some appreciation! <3 i'll go first: @cherikolya @osarina @tonycries

[halfmoonaria]

unanswered II

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara finally comes to her senses.

word count: 6k

author’s note: sorry for the wait guys! might be forgiven tho since i claimed this was 4k words but it ended up with 6k.

i tried to include all your suggestions so i hope you like it

Tara had been blocked.

You had blocked her.

Though, it didn't hit her all at once. The first few minutes, she thought you were just asleep, it had been late when she had texted you after all.

Maybe you needed space after what Tara had said a few nights before, and she couldn't blame you for that.

Yet she still tried texting you, each one more desperate than the last. They were all small messages, apologies wrapped in awkward words that probably didn't mean much for anyone but her.

At first, Tara chalked it up to bad timing, bad service, something.

You had to see her messages eventually, right? So she kept sending them. But there was still no reply. Then, the doubt crept in.

Maybe you were ignoring her.

That thought weighed heavily on her, but she didn't stop.

She was still convinced there had to be an explanation. You always stayed. Even when things were at their worst, when she screwed up time and time again, you stayed.

But something was different this time. She felt it.

Then she noticed the green bubbles. The messages weren't delivering.

Her stomach had dropped. It wasn't bad service. It wasn't bad timing. You had cut her off completely.

Her thumb hovered over your contact, thinking about calling, but she stopped. What was the point? You wouldn't answer.

You were done with her.

She stared at her phone for longer than she should have, as if willing it to change.

But it didn't.

The reality sank in, slow and suffocating. You were gone.

For the first time, she wasn't the one walking away, and the absence of you—your presence, your texts, your warmth—was a hole Tara hadn't even realized she relied on.

It wasn't like she hadn't expected it after everything that had happened.

You always had a way of catching her when she messed up, but things seemed to smooth over eventually.

She never really had to confront her mistakes because you stayed, no matter how many times she got it wrong. Now, though, there was nothing.

Tara wasn't used to this. Sure, she knew she had done something wrong—pushing you away, keeping you in this weird limbo while she figured herself out—but she hadn't thought it would lead to you cutting her off.

Blocking her, even.

That had never happened before. No matter how many times she messed up, you had always been there, willing to pick up the pieces, and things just... worked.

She hadn't even realized how much she relied on your presence until it was gone.

For the first time, she was completely alone. No Amber, no you. Just silence.

———

Tara woke up the next morning with a strange sense of hope. She half expected to see the messages had been delivered, that maybe you'd unblocked her while she was asleep. Maybe it was all just a mistake. You wouldn't really cut her off, not after everything, right?

She grabbed her phone, swiping to the messages she'd sent.

Still green.

Her heart sank, the pit in her stomach deepening as she realized nothing had changed. You were serious. You weren't coming back.

When she got to school, a part of her still thought maybe you'd be there, waiting to talk like you always did, or at least watching from afar. She found herself glancing at the spots where she usually saw you, waiting for that familiar feeling of your eyes on her.

But you weren't there.

But Tara kept walking, her heart heavy as she scanned the hallways. That's when she spotted Amber, standing by her locker, waiting. The familiar feeling of longing tugged at her, but this time it wasn't as comforting as before.

Amber caught her eye and signaled for her to come over, flashing that smile Tara always fell for. Without thinking, Tara did. She walked straight into Amber's arms, letting Amber sling her arm casually around her shoulders as if nothing had changed between them.

For a brief moment, Tara felt like she had what she wanted. Amber was there, holding her close, showing everyone that she was hers—at least for today.

But there was still a heaviness in her chest, something she couldn't shake. It didn't make sense. She was with Amber now, wasn't this enough?

The thought of you crept in, uninvited.

No, it couldn't be that.

She pushed the feeling down, convincing herself that having Amber was enough.

It had to be.

That's what she told herself for the following days, trying to convince herself that Amber was enough, that this was what she wanted.

And for a while, it almost worked. Amber had been good—more attentive, more affectionate than usual—at least during the school week.

The weekends, though, were different. Parties took priority, and Amber's attention drifted.

Yet even when things were good; better than ever if you will, Tara couldn't shake the feeling lodged in her chest, that gut-wrenching discomfort that seemed to cling to her no matter how much she tried to ignore it.

The more she tried to push it down, the more it twisted inside her, leaving her uneasy.

And all of the thoughts led back to you. To Tara's own surprise.

You didn't try to search for her between classes, didn't glance in her direction when you passed her in the hallways. Nothing. Like she didn't even exist.

That was what Tara should've expected, really. After everything she'd done—after the way she'd strung you along, pushed you aside, left you waiting on the sidelines—it made sense. She had no right to expect anything different.

Tara had always been the one to call the shots, to decide when and where things stood between the two of you. Now, for the first time, the power was out of her hands.

She kept telling herself it was temporary. You'd come back—you always did. She just had to wait it out. Maybe this time it would take a little longer, but you'd be there, eventually. You had to be. So she forced herself to get used to it, to the absence, pretending she could handle the emptiness you left behind.

But what really started to get under Tara's skin wasn't just your absence or the way you seemed to move on so easily. It was seeing you with someone else.

She first noticed it during English class. You had been sitting next to some girl—someone Tara vaguely recognized but never really paid attention to before.

At first, she didn't think much of it, but as the days went on, she kept seeing the two of you together. Talking. Laughing. It wasn't just casual conversations either. You looked comfortable. Almost like you were enjoying yourself.

And as the days passed, Tara couldn't help but notice it more.

You hadn't even glanced her way in days, and yet here you were, cozying up to someone else like nothing had happened.

And every time she glanced in your direction during class, there you were, talking to her. Sometimes you'd laugh, or lean in a little closer, your body language relaxed in a way that made Tara's stomach twist.

You weren't just sitting next to each other anymore—you were... comfortable. And it wasn't just in English. She caught sight of you together in the hallways, outside the building after school.

The more she saw the two of you, the more it grated on her nerves. A sharp, simmering anger that built with each passing day.

Every smile, every shared glance between you and this girl made it harder for her to focus on Amber, even when Amber was right beside her, holding her hand or whispering in her ear.

It shouldn't have bothered her like this. It shouldn't have mattered.

You were free to talk to whoever you wanted. For all Tara knew, she was just a classmate, someone you happened to sit next to by chance.

But that didn't stop the ugly feeling from growing inside her, gnawing away at her with every interaction she witnessed.

She told herself it was nothing. That it didn't mean anything. But with every glance, every shared word between you and that girl, her anger simmered, coiling tighter until it was all she could focus on.

It wasn't jealousy, Tara told herself. It couldn't be. She had Amber, after all.

Yet there was no denying the way her chest tightened every time she saw you with her. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. You weren't supposed to matter anymore.

But somehow, you still did. Of course you did.

___

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Amber's voice broke through Tara's thoughts, cutting through the low hum of the campus.

Her tone was sharp, playful in a way that normally would've made Tara grin, but today it grated, pulling her out of the spiral she had been sinking into.

They were sitting outside, perched on one of the weathered wooden benches that lined the quad, the usual bustling energy of lunchtime fading as the crowd thinned.

Chad and Liv had disappeared first, throwing out some half-hearted excuse about "something better to do," Mindy had ditched too—not that Tara blamed her, considering she wasn't exactly Amber's biggest fan. Which left only Amber and Tara behind.

Normally, Tara would've reveled in that—the rare chance to have Amber's full attention, unshared, unchallenged by anyone else. She used to crave these moments when it was just the two of them, when Amber's eyes were only on her.

But now, Tara could barely summon the energy to care. The thrill of it had dulled, smothered under the weight of everything else she couldn't stop thinking about—of everything she couldn't feel.

Your absence hung heavy in the air, even though Amber didn't know it was there. She couldn't know.

She wouldn't have cared if she did.

Amber shifted beside her, more out of impatience than concern. "Seriously, you've been acting weird all week," she pressed, her voice tinged with frustration.

She wasn't used to Tara being so distant, and the idea that something might be slipping out of her control clearly bothered her. "What's your problem?"

Tara blinked, her mind sluggish, trying to catch up. It wasn't like she could explain it—not in any way that made sense.

How could she tell Amber that the cold shoulder she had been getting from you had thrown her completely off balance?

That it was the same cold shoulder she'd given you, over and over again, each time leaving you on the outside while she stayed wrapped up in Amber's world. How could she admit that now, when it was her on the receiving end, it felt like a punch to the gut every single time she saw you?

"I don't know," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "I'm just tired."

It was the best she could come up with, the easiest excuse, but even as the words left her lips, she knew it wasn't enough.

Amber wasn't the type to let things slide, especially not when it came to Tara. She was used to being the center of attention, the one calling the shots, and when Tara's focus wasn't on her, Amber always took notice.

"Yeah, well, you've been 'tired' for a while now," Amber snapped back, her tone cutting through the brief silence like a whip.

She didn't sound concerned, not really—just annoyed, irritated that something wasn't going her way. "Maybe you should come out with me this weekend, you know? Party with me."

Amber's suggestion hung in the air between them, and Tara hesitated. Normally, Amber didn't bother to ask.

She'd go without her, living up the night on her own, letting Tara watch it all from the sidelines. She'd see it unfold through Amber's and other people's social media—photos and videos of Amber laughing, surrounded by friends, completely absorbed in her own world.

But this time, it felt different. Tara could feel it in the way Amber's eyes lingered on her, waiting, expecting something—expecting Tara to be excited, to jump at the chance like she would've done before.

But the thought of it, the thought of pretending everything was fine, felt suffocating.

She nodded anyway, forcing herself to give Amber the answer she was waiting for, even if it felt hollow. "Yeah. Sure."

But even as the words came out, Tara felt the weight of them, heavy and wrong.

Because the truth was, none of it mattered—not the party, not Amber's fleeting attention. None of it made a dent in the gnawing ache in her chest that had started the moment you stopped looking at her.

She told herself it was fine. She could play along. She had done it before. But deep down, Tara knew that no matter how much she tried to push it down, nothing could fix this disgusting feeling.

She sat in silence for a moment longer, staring at the ground as her mind whirred with thoughts she didn't want to have.

She clenched her jaw, trying to shake the feeling, trying to make herself believe that this—Amber, the party, all of it—would be enough. It definitely would've been before, hadn't it?

But now, the weight of your absence pressed in on her from every angle, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. It wasn't supposed to matter so much.

Amber shifted beside her, sighing loudly. "Whatever, Tara," she muttered, standing up and brushing invisible dust off her jeans. "Don't get all weird on me."

Tara barely registered her leaving. The rush of relief she might have once felt in moments like these—when Amber turned her attention elsewhere—was gone, replaced by an ache she couldn't name.

A week ago, maybe two, Tara would've called after her, almost running to catch up. She would've asked if they could get ready together, spent half an hour agonizing over what she should wear, hoping for Amber's approval.

Her mind would've spun with questions, things she'd never needed to worry about when she was around you.

What should she wear? What did Amber want her to look like? Was her hair okay down, or should she try something new? She would've sent selfies for Amber's opinion, eager for a reaction, any reaction, to reassure her that she was enough.

But now, the questions didn't come. They felt distant, buried under the weight that had settled in her chest and refused to leave. Tara didn't care what Amber thought anymore. She didn't even care what she looked like.

The weekend came sooner than she had expected, almost sneaking up on her while she drifted through the week in a haze.

Throughout the week, Tara had tried to text you. Just one message each day, nothing too desperate, nothing that screamed she was losing her mind over your silence.

But each time, the bubble turned green, and with every little notification, her hope that you might respond twisted into something bitter, something angry.

Were you with her? That girl from your English class, the one she'd seen you walking with down the hallways, laughing, your head bent close to hers like you didn't have a care in the world.

Tara's stomach knotted at the thought, her grip tightening on her phone every time she imagined the two of you together. Were you sharing the jokes you used to save just for her? Did you laugh the same way?

By the time Friday came around, the anger had wrapped itself around her chest, growing heavier each time she looked at her phone, still green, still silent.

It weighed on her as she stood in front of the mirror that night, staring at her reflection like a stranger. She had thrown on whatever was closest, not caring how it looked—not caring how she looked—and now, standing there, she could feel the frustration boiling over.

She looked terrible, and she knew it. The clothes didn't sit right, her hair was a mess, and she didn't even have the energy to fix any of it.

Normally, she'd have texted Amber for advice, asked her what to wear, how to do her makeup. They might've gotten ready together if Amber cared enough, Amber teasing her the whole time but never letting her leave the house unless she looked perfect.

But tonight, none of that mattered. Tara was angry—angry at herself, at you, at the girl you were probably with right now. She felt like she was spinning, her thoughts spiraling into a million catastrophic possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Maybe she just needed to see you in person. Maybe if she could find you, look you in the eye, and tell you how she was feeling right now, you'd understand. Maybe that's what would finally break through this silence.

If she could just get you to listen, maybe if she could tell you all of it—how she didn't know what she was doing, how none of it made sense to her—you'd understand.

But would you even believe her? Would you even want to hear her out?

Without thinking twice, she pulled out her phone and typed out a message to Amber.

can't make it tonight. smth came up.

She didn't even wait for a response before throwing her phone onto the bed, her mind already somewhere else.

Part of her wanted to look you up, track you down, and talk to you face-to-face. Whether you were with someone else or just avoiding her the way she'd been avoiding you —but either way, Tara was done waiting around for you to reach out.

She stood frozen for a moment, feeling ridiculous as the thought of showing up at your house unannounced settled in.

She could already picture how stupid she'd look, standing at your door, trying to explain herself. You'd blocked her—didn't that already say everything she needed to know?

But then that other girl's face flashed in her mind, the way you laughed with her, walked next to her in the halls.

The thought of her taking you away, of her being the one you shared everything with now, twisted Tara's stomach in knots. She couldn't let that happen. Not without at least trying.

She didn't want to be too late.

Tara hated how desperate she felt, how even after everything, after you'd blocked her, she was still running after you. But she couldn't help it.

Even if she had to look you in the eye and hear you say you didn't want her anymore, she needed to know for sure. She needed to fight, because the thought of losing you to someone else was worse than any rejection you could throw at her.

With a deep breath and her hands shaking, she grabbed her jacket and keys.

Feeling stupid the whole way, she headed out the door, her heart pounding with every step she took toward your house.

___

didn't think u were weak enough to back out.

guess i was wrong.

Amber's text lit up her screen, but Tara barely glanced at it.

Normally, Amber's words usually stung, leaving Tara questioning herself, doubting everything. But tonight, they barely registered. She didn't care anymore, not about Amber's opinion or her insults.

The thought of how she'd been stringing you along—pushing and pulling, hot and cold—made her stomach twist in a way Amber's games never had.

Tara had always hated how Amber toyed with her, how she'd be there one day and gone the next, keeping Tara on a leash just long enough to never fully let go. Now, she realized, she was doing the same to you. She'd been selfish, scared, and now it was coming back to haunt her.

Amber had dragged her through the same emotional mess for so long—back and forth, never knowing where they stood—and now she had done the same to you.

It wasn't about Amber anymore. It was about you. And she wasn't going to let you slip away without at least trying.

She made it to your house almost sooner than she'd liked. The sight of your front door tightened the knot in her stomach, something she wasn't used to feeling.

Tara wasn't the nervous type—usually, she could handle herself in any situation, always sure of what she'd say or do. But now, her palms felt damp, her breath catching every time she thought of you opening that door.

She didn't know what she was going to say. Hell, she didn't even know if you'd open the door. But she had to try, even if her nerves were making her feel like a complete idiot for being there.

But she was already here, and she'd come this far—she couldn't just turn back now. She'd fought her way through every doubt to get here, and backing down wasn't an option.

Her feet felt heavy as she took each step up the walkway, the familiar creak of the wooden steps underfoot echoing louder in her ears than it ever had before.

The closer she got, the more every little detail stood out—the chipped paint on your door, the soft glow of light seeping out from the window.

She raised her hand to knock, fingers hovering just inches away, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if you'd hear it from the other side.

Taking a deep breath, she let her knuckles tap lightly against the door, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the still night air.

It took long enough for you to answer that her thoughts had time to spiral. She knew your parents weren't home; in the little time she'd spent actually getting to know you, she'd learned that they hardly ever were.

You were probably home alone, and the idea haunted her—maybe you'd invited someone else over, maybe you weren't even alone at all, maybe you were with that girl she'd seen you with before.

By the time she heard footsteps approaching, her heart was beating so fast she almost felt sick, every possibility fighting for space in her mind.

Finally, the door swung open, and for a split second, there was a soft smile on your face.

But the moment your eyes landed on her, it vanished, replaced by something unreadable.

It wasn't anger—your expression was calm, almost neutral, yet there was a guardedness to it, like you'd been caught off guard, not entirely prepared to see her standing there.

The warmth in your eyes had dimmed, leaving something harder to read.

Tara couldn't tell if that look meant you were relieved or if she was the last person you wanted to see right now.

For a second, Tara felt so small. She knew she was short, but this was different—she'd never felt this out of place, like she was shrinking right there on your doorstep. Not since Amber.

Her fingers fidgeted, tracing over her knuckles as she tried to read you, to figure out what was going on behind that guarded expression. She barely registered the sound of her name until she heard your voice.

"Tara.. Hi."

The words hung there, making the quiet between you even heavier.

Tara didn't respond right away, too caught up in the questions swirling through her mind.

Had she interrupted something? Were you expecting someone else—someone who actually wanted to be here?

Her mind raced, flashing back to all the times you'd tried reaching out, inviting her over, and all the times she'd ignored you, too wrapped up in the momentary thrill of Amber's attention.

She hadn't let herself think about what that might've felt like for you.

And now, standing here, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was karma—that maybe you'd moved on, found someone else who didn't make you feel like a backup option. What if, after all this, she was too late?

Finally, after a moment, she managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper, unsteady.

"Were... were you expecting somebody else?" Her words faltered, her gaze fixed on her hands as she twisted her fingers together, almost as if she could hold onto some kind of confidence.

You furrowed your brows just slightly, a small, almost confused smile pulling at the corner of your mouth as you let out a soft, breathy laugh. "No... why would I?"

Tara's mouth opened, but no words came out right away. She hadn't expected you to look so genuinely surprised, and now she felt her cheeks warming, her gaze darting down as she scrambled for something to say. Her fingers twisted together, and she forced herself to meet your eyes again, feeling silly for even bringing it up.

"I... I don't know. I just thought... maybe." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she hated how uncertain it sounded, as if she'd already given away too much. But she couldn't help it—she just had to know.

You tilted your head slightly, still wearing that soft smile, though there was a hint of something knowing in your eyes.

"Is she.. ignoring you again?" you asked, the question so casual yet so pointed that Tara's breath hitched.

She knew you meant Amber—you didn't even need to say her name. And the worst part was, she felt a pang of guilt because, honestly, it wouldn't have been the first time.

She swallowed hard, feeling like her own answer was betraying her. "Actually... no," she said slowly, her voice faltering as she tried to piece together her words. "She, uh, actually invited me to a party."

Your expression shifted, that lightness fading from your eyes, and Tara's stomach twisted painfully when she noticed.

She hadn't expected you to react like that, hadn't anticipated that flicker of hurt crossing your face. And now, standing there in the doorway, she felt a rush of regret wash over her.

Before she could stop herself, she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I didn't... I didn't go."

You didn't respond right away, just looked at her, eyebrows raised, silently waiting. Tara shifted under your gaze, feeling smaller by the second, until finally, she started to speak.

"I know you probably... don't want to talk to me right now," she began, her voice a little too fast, like she was rushing to get the words out before she lost her nerve.

She took a shaky breath and continued, "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I mean, it's not like I've given you a reason to, you know, feel any different... or... yeah."

Her hand drifted up to her wrist, squeezing it as she fumbled for her next thought. "I... I messed up. And, I've been thinking about it, like, a lot, and it's just—I didn't know what I was doing. I mean, I thought I did, but then I... I didn't. And I didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't... important, or that I didn't care, because I did. I do."

She bit her lip, glancing up at you, unsure if she was making any sense, but she kept going. "I know it's probably too late to say any of this, and you've probably moved on, but I just... I don't know. I didn't want you to think that I... forgot about you. Or... or that you didn't matter."

Her gaze flickering down to the ground, then up to yours again, almost as if she's scared you'll walk away.

"That message where I told you to... that I didn't want anything to do with you..." She shakes her head, struggling for the right words. "I shouldn't have said that. I was... I don't even know what I was thinking. I just... Amber was there, and I felt like if I didn't, she'd—" She stops herself, clenching her fists a little, swallowing hard.

"And all those other messages.. I just kept trying to say sorry, but it was probably just... desperate, I guess. I didn't know how else to say that I... I wanted you, that I didn't mean it. That I still..."

Her words falter, and she sighs, rubbing her forehead as though exhausted with herself. "I know it probably doesn't make up for any of it, but... I swear, I didn't mean it. I never wanted to hurt you."

As soon as she stopped talking, a wave of embarrassment crashed over her, and it was all she could do not to cringe.

She hadn't even planned on saying half of what she'd said, and yet here she was, fumbling through one strained apology after another.

It felt messy, like she was just piling words on top of words, hoping that somehow they'd turn into something that made sense to you, that could somehow make things better.

But in her heart, she knew it sounded like nonsense, just a lot of desperate, pointless excuses that probably made her look even more pathetic.

And you just stood there, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read—somewhere between shocked and neutral.

The silence between you seemed to stretch on, making her rambling feel even more pointless, like each second of quiet only added weight to her mess of words.

Tara could feel her face heating up, and all she wanted was to take everything back, to make it sound right somehow—but she didn't even know what "right" would be.

Her fingers tightened around her wrist, her gaze dropping back to her worn out converses as the silence thickened around her. Part of her wanted to shrink back, to stop talking altogether, but she'd already put too much out there to turn back now.

So when you didn't answer, she continued.

"I... I want to do better," she said, each word a little slower, like she was searching for the strength to actually mean it. Her eyes barely lifted to meet yours, as if waiting for something—anything—that might tell her it wasn't too late.

Your hand, which had been holding the door open this whole time, finally slipped away. You clapped both hands against the sides of your thighs, the sound breaking the quiet between you two.

Then, with a tone that was almost unreadable, you asked, "Is that it?"

Tara's face fell slightly when your words cut through the silence. She searched your expression, looking for something—anything—that hinted at forgiveness, but the steady way you looked back at her made her stomach drop.

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.

"So... you don't forgive me?"

Tara looked up at you, her eyes wide and glistening, almost like a puppy's, searching for any hint of understanding. It was a look she hadn't meant to put on, but somehow it found its way back to her face, a reflex from childhood.

She remembered using those same eyes when she'd gotten into trouble with her mom or when Sam wouldn't let her hang out with her friends. Back then, she'd wielded them like a weapon, a last-ditch effort to melt hearts and earn forgiveness.

Now, though, it felt different.

There was no intent behind it, just a genuine plea for empathy that made her feel exposed, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her as she realized how desperate she must look.

You took a breath before responding, your gaze steady but distant. "I do.. but I don't see why that matters because it'll all happen again." You said slowly, weighing each word.

Tara felt her heart sink at your words, the reality of what you said hitting her hard. She knew all too well how it felt to be caught in that cycle—Amber had done the same to her, repeatedly promising change only to slip back into old patterns.

It was frustrating and disheartening, and in that moment, she understood where you were coming from.

She took a shaky breath, trying to find her voice. "It won't... I promise it won't." Her tone was earnest, filled with a desperate need to be believed, to convince you that this time would be different.

Tara searched your expression, and as your words echoed in her mind—you did accept her apology—a flicker of hope ignited within her. It felt like a delicate promise written in cursive, intricate yet fragile, and she couldn't help but cling to it.

She tried to muster a soft smile, though it felt tentative, as if it might shatter under the weight of everything left unsaid.

"Can we... do you think that maybe we can try again?" The words tumbled out, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. It was a fragile request, a chance she hoped wouldn't be met with rejection.

She could see the flicker of thoughts crossing your face. Your brow furrowed slightly, and she sensed the hesitation lingering in the air between you. It was as if you were weighing her words, measuring the sincerity of her apology against the weight of the past.

She couldn't tell if you were considering her request or if doubt still lingered in your mind.

It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for a sign, desperately hoping that you would choose to leap with her this time.

After a long pause, a small, soft smile crept up on your face, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. You finally met her gaze, and the warmth in your eyes hinted at something Tara had been longing to see.

"Sure... yeah, I'd like that," you said, your voice gentle but firm, like a lifeline tossed her way.

Tara let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her shoulders eased slightly at your response, something softening in her expression as she processed your words. It wasn't a promise, but it felt real enough.

A quiet acknowledgment that maybe this could lead somewhere different.

She looked at you for a moment longer, managing a small, uncertain smile as if not entirely sure this chance would hold but willing to take it anyway.

The silence lingered, weighty but almost comfortable. Tara held your gaze, her expression softening just a bit as she let herself settle into the quiet, not wanting to push any further. When she finally managed a small smile, it was tentative, as if she was holding onto it carefully.

"Guess I'll... see you around?" she asked, her voice a quiet murmur, like she wasn't entirely certain if she should even say it.

You gave a slight nod, already moving to close the door. The subtle acknowledgment was enough to let her feel that maybe, just maybe, things could shift—if only a little.

She shifted slightly, like she wanted to say something more but couldn't quite find the words. A small, unsure smile crossed her face as she looked up at you again, her voice softer.

With that, Tara turned to go, casting one last look back at you before turning around to walk away.

___

The next week, Tara's phone buzzed on her nightstand, pulling her from a the books scattered all over her bed.

She squinted at the screen, hoping to see your name lighting up, a sign that things were finally moving forward between you two.

Maybe it was about the plans you'd casually mentioned — plans that did not include Tara bringing out her frustrations in bed with you.

Instead, her heart sank a little as Amber's name flashed across the screen.

u free this friday?

For the first time, Tara felt a surprising clarity wash over her as she read the message. She didn't hesitate, knowing exactly how she wanted to respond without second-guessing herself.

In the past, she'd tiptoed around her replies, always afraid that Amber would judge her for whatever she said.

But now, after everything with you, she was certain of what she wanted. This time, there was no uncertainty clouding her thoughts. So, after a moment, she typed a quick reply.

im actually busy, sorry

With a breath of relief, she hit send and immediately blocked Amber's number. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders.

This time, she wouldn't be waiting for Amber's text, for promises that never changed anything.

She knew what she had now—this newfound sense of clarity—and what she wanted. And that was enough.

This was how it would stay.