#ghostface!tara

[rollingsins]

Quinn Bailey Must Die

P1 | P2 | P3

summary: Quinn Bailey is yours and Tara's man-eating, sexed up, horn-dog roommate. She's cool at first, you think. Until she sets her sights on Tara. 

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, language.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: set in the all hers universe, just a lil (big) one shot. love u guys, as always let me know your thoughts, always makes my day :))

Quinn Bailey is - to put it lightly - an absolute pain in your ass. 

New York City is expensive. 

College is expensive. 

And despite your parents' assistance and you and Tara both working part time jobs, it just isn’t feasible for you to get your own place in the city. 

So you’d put an ad in the paper. Found Quinn. She’d seemed fun at first - lively. The type of girl you’d want to be friends with in a new city like this. A tried and true party girl, glimmering like a jewel in a sea of dreary faces. 

But her sparkle had lasted all of three weeks. 

First it was the dishes. 

She left them piled up in the sink, unattended. For days, sometimes weeks. 

A little pet peeve of yours, but it wasn’t anything major. 

It had nothing on the men. 

They were like a revolving door. An entire roster of bodies to keep her warm. 

Short men. Tall men. Thin men, muscular men. Men with beards. Men without. Pretty men, sometimes, even ugly men. 

If he lived in the tri-state area and had a penis - likely he’d seen the inside of your apartment (and your roommate). 

But really, you’re not in the position to complain. 

You and Tara weren’t exactly known for having quiet sex, and of all the people you’d lived with, Quinn seemed to mind it the least. 

Maybe, looking back, that should have been the first warning sign. 

“I don’t know,” Quinn sighs one night over a glass of wine. Tara’s curled up in your arms, nursing her own glass as you play with her hair, “Sometimes I think I should just give them all up.” 

“Men?” You ask, furrowing your brow. You laugh a little at the thought, “I don’t know Quinn, outside of partying, men are your biggest hobby.” 

It’s not intended as a slight, and Quinn doesn’t take it as one. She throws a coy smile your way. 

“I don’t know, you two have just got me thinking lately,” She says, “I’ve never considered girls before. I mean, I like dick. A lot. But maybe dick isn’t everything.” 

“Poetic,” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

Men or women, it didn’t really matter who Quinn bought home. You’d have to wear your noise canceling headphones regardless. 

But Tara’s shifting in your arms, sitting up. Then, she narrows her eyes at Quinn.  

Like she’s scanning her for a potential threat. 

Although therapy had quietened some of Tara’s more jealous tendencies, it hadn’t gotten rid of them completely. Now, instead of stabbing - she chooses staring. 

You rub her arm, your quiet signal there are no threats here. 

“Besides,” Quinn says, throwing her hair back, “A chick can just strap one on, right? And it never goes soft. Maybe that’s an upgrade.” 

Tara’s tense against you. 

Quinn looks over at her, and suddenly notices the death glare she’s receiving. She pinches her eyebrows, a little confused. 

“What’s got you all worked up?” Quinn asks, with another flick of her hair. Her eyes widen, “Oh? You think I’m trying to make a play for your girl?” 

She leans back and lets out a loud laugh. 

“Chill Tara, if I was going to go for either of you, it wouldn’t be her.” 

And then it’s your turn to stare. 

Your hand freezes over Tara’s arm. A hot, familiar feeling of jealousy seeps through you, settles deep within your bones. 

Quinn catches your gaze and rolls her eyes. 

“Girls,” She says, exasperated, “You’re not the only pussy-lickers in town. Relax, okay?”

Tara leans back into you, seemingly placated. 

Quinn tilts her head, and downs the rest of her wine. She picks up her phone to call some other nameless man, no doubt to terrorize the two of you within the next half an hour. 

The conversation is over. 

But the jealousy bubbling under your skin doesn’t simmer down. And suddenly,  it’s the only thing you can think about. 

-

“What did she mean by that?” You agonize to Liv and Chad, a little later. 

You’re in the NYU quad, picking at your salad with a plastic fork. Tara’s in class, giving you more than enough time to stew on the conversation with Quinn. 

Chad slurps on his milkshake, seemingly unbothered. 

“She was just being friendly, YN, I wouldn’t read into it.” Says Chad, mouth open and full of food. 

Liv turns to him. Smacks his arm, a little too hard. 

“Friendly?” She says, voice shrill, “Friendly?” 

Chad blinks back at her, but she’s turning to you.  

“YN, she was not being friendly, don’t listen to him. Boys are so stupid.” 

“Hey-“ Interjects Chad, but Liv ignores him. She takes your arm. 

“She’s making a play for Tara, YN,” She says, a little urgently, “Girls do this. We like to play with our food before we eat it. She was scoping out Tara’s reaction before she put the moves on her for real.” 

You furrow your brow. 

“You think?” 

“I know,” Says Liv, “How do you think I got Chad?” 

Chad looks over to her, a little owlish. 

“Huh?” He says, creasing his forehead, “I asked you out, babe.” 

Liv shoots him a look. 

“You asked me out after I spent two weekends at your house asking for Mario Kart lessons.” 

Chad’s eyes widen. 

“You said that was so you could beat your brother!” 

Liv gives you a look. 

“Women are masterminds, YN. Watch the fuck out.” 

-

Liv’s comments ring in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. 

Now that you think about it, Quinn had been lounging about the house lately in scantily clad outfits. 

Sleep shorts that rose almost up to her hips. Tiny tank tops that were almost see through. She giggled a little too hard at Tara’s jokes, gushed over Tara’s cooking as if Tara was Gordon Ramsey himself. 

You’re starting to see it. 

Quinn liked her conquests. 

Men were easy, women a little harder - but for a girl who liked to conquer, who better than Tara? 

Your sweet, loving, loyal and devoted girlfriend. 

Prying Tara away from you wouldn’t be child’s play. 

Truly the Mount Everest of conquests. 

“What’s wrong baby?” Tara asks you a little later, after you’d spent half the night glaring at Quinn. 

She’d been traipsing around all afternoon in a pair of black panties and an old t-shirt, an outfit that wouldn’t have made you think twice about it a few days ago. 

But it’s different now. 

Liv’s words ring loud in your head, “Women are masterminds, YN.” 

You don’t respond, instead dropping a soapy pot to the countertop and watching as Quinn disappears into her bedroom, her phone pressed to her ear. 

Tara snakes her arms around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. 

“Babe?” Tara prompts. 

“Nothing,” You mumble. You’re in your own head now, half afraid if you say it out loud it will become true. 

You feel Tara’s pout against your shoulder. 

“Something’s wrong, you barely said anything when I tried to get you to watch Saw III,” She says, turning you in her arms. 

She raises an eyebrow to punctuate her point. 

“And you hate gore movies.” 

“I like movies that make you happy,” You lie. 

Tara furrows her brow. 

“Okay, something is definitely wrong,” She says. She stands on her tip toes and presses the softest kiss to your cheeks, “Tell me babe, what is it?” 

You bite your lip. 

Tara is your girlfriend, you reason after a moment of hesitation, and if anyone were to understand jealousy - it would be her. 

You sigh and loop your arms around Tara’s waist. 

“Is Quinn… do you think she’s acting weird?” 

Tara frowns. 

“No weirder than usual.” 

“It’s just…” you chew your lip, “I think she might.. be into you, babe.” 

Tara shoots you a look. 

“I don’t think so,” She says. She leans up and presses a kiss to your lips, “She has a pretty solid roster of dudes to keep her entertained.” 

She brushes a stand of hair out of your face, “Is that what’s bothering you, baby? You know you have nothing to worry about. I only have eyes for you.” 

It placates you for only a moment. 

Of course you don’t have anything to worry about. Tara adores you. Tara’s killed for you. Tara loves you with every fiber of her being. 

It’s just… 

Quinn is pretty. So pretty. 

Tara had fallen hard and fast for you, who’s to say she couldn’t fall the same way for someone else? 

And then the dread is back. 

“It’s just… Liv said-“ 

Tara groans. 

“Babe, don’t worry about what Liv has said. She barely knows the days of the week.” 

“But she knows how to get guys,” You say, a little pointed. 

Tara tilts her head. Her eyes are warm, the softest smile on her lips. 

“I’m not a guy,” Tara promises. She nuzzles her nose against yours, “Quinn could parade around here naked doing backflips and I wouldn’t look twice at her. You know that, babe.” 

You do know that. 

And so you let Tara press warm kisses into your neck and drag you back to the bedroom. 

Make sure to moan a little louder than usual just to remind Quinn exactly who Tara belongs to. 

-

It doesn’t work. 

Because of course, why would it work? 

The barrage of men flitting in and out of Quinn’s room comes to a screeching halt. She’s celibate for almost a week, focusing all her sexual energy on your girlfriend. 

It’s subtle, in the masterful kind of way Liv described. 

“Man,” She sighs loudly, one morning from her spot at the kitchen counter, “Tara, do you think you could help me on this paper for film class? I have to write a paper on iconic women in horror.” 

Tara springs to action, charging away from you like this is her sole purpose in life: to share her catalog of benign horror knowledge to any pretty girl who looks her way. 

You fold your arms, unhappily. 

“Start with Ellen Ripley,” Tara commands, before she even sits down. Quinn begins typing, madly. Tara pulls up a chair next to Quinn’s, leaning in a respectful distance to peer down at Quinn’s screen.  

“Signorney Weaver’s impact on horror is maybe one of the things that made me interested in horror to begin with.”

“I didn’t know that,” Quinn coos. She touches Tara’s arm, only slightly, leaning in until their shoulders brush, “That’s so cute, Tara.” 

Tara draws back, clearing her throat. 

“When you’re done with Sigourney, maybe touch on Jamie-Lee-Curtis.” 

Quinn blinks over at her, eyes round, like an innocent doe. 

You know better. 

Your eyes narrow as you stand, reaching for your purse. 

“Baby,” You remind Tara, leaning over to touch her back, “We need to get groceries today. Before Sam comes to visit.”

Quinn’s schoolgirl act drops immediately. Her eyes frost over slightly as she looks over at you, only the tiniest twinge of irritation apparent. 

“Maybe you could do that later, YN?” She asks, voice tilted, “I have to get this paper done before tonight.” 

“Sorry,” You flash her the mildest smile, not sorry at all, “Tara’s sister is coming all the way from California. We need to get the place ready, right babe?”

Tara nods, turning to Quinn to shrug.  

“Google should be able to help,” She says, scooting off her chair and grabbing her coat, “Carrie’s a great film too, if you’re in a pinch.”

“Well, maybe you can help me when you get back?” Quinn asks, a slight pout on her lip as she looks at Tara. 

Your eyes narrow, but Tara nods, helpfully. 

“Sure.” 

-

Naively, you’d hoped Quinn would get bored with this little game she’d started. 

Her attention span is short, you’d reasoned, as soon as she’d figured out Tara isn’t returning any of her flirty looks or comments, she’d get bored. 

You’d been wrong. 

If anything, Tara’s lack of interest only seems to spur Quinn on more. 

Most of your classes are in the mornings, Tara’s in the afternoon. Tara walks you to class, leaves you with a soft kiss and an “I love you”, but you know Quinn doesn’t work until the evenings, and it’s just her and Tara alone in that tiny little apartment for hours on end. 

So you toil in your classes. Imagine the worst. 

Tara and Quinn, sitting side by side, watching horror movies. Quinn touches her arm, then her thigh, leaning in to kiss her. 

Tara bats her away, most times you think about it. But sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes she lets herself be kissed. Sometimes she lets Quinn touch her, undress her. Fuck her. 

And those sometimes become all you can think about. 

This is a new challenge, one that has rarely surfaced in your relationship. 

Tara is so enamored with you, most people don’t even bother attempting to seduce her. But Quinn isn’t most people, she’s persistent and pretty and maybe Tara isn’t a guy, but that doesn’t mean she can’t fall for the same traps a lot of them do. 

A sticky hot, honey-trap by the name of Quinn Bailey. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, a little stern when you walk into the apartment that afternoon. Tara’s curled up onto the couch, blanket wrapped around her. Quinn’s hovering over her, the back of her hand pressed against Tara’s forehead. 

A prickle settles down the back of your spine. Your jaw clenches. 

But Tara doesn’t even look over, just nuzzles herself deeper into her blanket. 

“Tara isn’t feeling well, poor baby.” Quinn coos. 

You drop your bag, ignore the rageful little demon in you that wants to bat Quinn’s hand away and fall to your girlfriend's side. The tip of Tara’s nose is red, and her lips are chapped. As she blinks up at you, you notice her eyes are hazy. 

“Honey,” You say, all thought of Quinn gone as you press your lips to Tara’s cheek, “Why didn’t you call?” 

“It’s nothing, just a cold,” Says Tara, but she curls into your side anyway. You press a gentle kiss to her clammy forehead and rub her arm. Quinn disappears into the kitchen, returning with a small bowl. 

“I made her some tea,” Says Quinn, “And some soup from scratch.” 

You blink up at her. You’ve never seen Quinn cook anything in her life. She’s all Deliveroo and fruit roll ups and toast. But the kitchen sink is awash with stray noodles and dirty pots. The smell of soup lingers. 

“Thanks Quinn,” Tara murmurs, reaching out to take the bowl from her hands, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

The angry, jealous demon is back. Quinn’s smile is unsettling, almost triumphant. 

As if she’s out-girlfriend-ed you. 

You swallow the urge to punch her in the throat. 

“No, you didn’t.” You say, warily, “Tara’s allergic to MSG, you didn’t put any of that in it, did you?” 

Quinn shakes her head, her smile coy. 

“All natural, only the best for our girl.” Quinn says, and then squeezes Tara’s shoulder. 

You glare as she cleans up the dirty plates and contemplate homicide for the rest of the evening. 

-

When Tara’s feeling better, you’ll bring it up, you reason with yourself the next morning. 

Quinn Bailey is becoming a pest, a horned up sex-pest determined to get her claws in your girlfriend. 

It has to stop. 

The solution? 

This is where you’re a little stuck. You don’t know the solution. Strangling Quinn sounds great on paper, but not so much in practice. 

Dead people don’t pay rent, that’s the only thing you know for sure.

You contemplate this over the next couple of days, between wrestling a hot water bottle for Tara out of Quinn’s hands, and almost jogging down to the corner store at the end of your block to beat Quinn for the tylenol. 

Tara’s such a baby when she’s sick, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s starting to enjoy this. Two women fawning over her, competing for who can nurse her the best. 

And the worst part is, Quinn knows exactly what she’s doing and she wants you to know it. 

She doesn’t say it, not outright, too smart to play her hand too quickly. 

She grins as she spoonfeds Tara some leftover soup, flashes you a look as she dabs Tara’s sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. 

She raises an eyebrow at you as Tara croaks out to her, asking for more tissues. 

It makes you stew. 

It makes you want to grab the kitchen knife out of the top draw and slam it through her stupid neck.

It makes you want to grab her by the hair and throw her out of the window of your seventh story apartment. 

But you resist. 

Let her think she’s winning. 

It’ll make the victory you claw from her hands all the more sweet. 

Tara’s feeling better a few days later, and with her recovery comes the first taste of victory. 

Quinn’s making dinner in the kitchen - her newfound passion being culinary for your girlfriend. She hums a little, flitting between batting her eyelashes at Tara and shooting knowing glances in your direction. 

“Tara,” She says, just as she’s about to pour the tomato paste into the pasta “I can’t get this jar open. Can you help me?” 

Tara’s busy with her laptop, but she moves over regardless. She touches your shoulder lightly as she passes, and reaches out to take the jar from Quinn’s hand. 

It pops open immediately. You roll your eyes. 

Quinn beams, and as you look up, she’s running her hand over your girlfriend’s bicep. 

“You’re so strong,” She flirts, brazenly, “Thanks Tara.” 

Tara moves back to her laptop, unperturbed. 

When it comes to attention towards her she has always been oblivious. You let out a growl so low, no-one but you hears it. 

“Dinner’s up, Tara,” Quinn says, a few moments later, pulling out a couple of plates. 

You peer down at your book, suddenly very interested in the words. When Quinn had asked you your plans for the evening - grocery bags in hand - you’d neglected to tell her Tara had asked you out to dinner. 

Tara blinks over at her, a little confused. 

“Dinner?” She asks, closing the lid of her laptop. 

“Yeah,” Says Quinn with a sickly smile, “I made your favorite.” 

Tara tilts her head, “Oh. Sorry, Quinn, we’re going out tonight. I didn’t realize you were cooking for us.” 

Quinn stares a moment. 

“That’s fine,” She says, voice a little clipped, “Only, I asked YN and she said you guys were around.” 

You close your book and stand, grabbing your coat. 

“Oh yeah,” You say, smacking your hand to your head, as if you’d suddenly forgotten, “Dinner. I am so sorry, Quinn. Gosh, I am so forgetful sometimes.” 

Tara peers over at you, a little confused. 

Oblivious idiot when it comes to girls, yes, but not with you. You see the question in her eyes and neglect to answer it. 

Quinn’s eyes harden, but she doesn’t dare give up the jig. Not in front of Tara.

“It’s fine,” She says, “Maybe you can have it for lunch.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Tara says, a little absent minded as you wrap her jacket around her shoulders. 

You can tell she feels bad by the way she lingers. 

“We haven’t had a date night in a while, that’s all,” Tara explains. She wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes your hip, “Besides, I owe this one a dinner for taking such good care of me these last couple of days.” 

She presses a soft kiss to your lips, her brown eyes warm and shimmering. 

You can’t help the smile that snakes across your lips. 

Quinn crosses her arms, looking unhappy. 

“I seem to remember taking pretty good care of you,” She says, drawing Tara’s gaze, “Maybe you should be taking me out to dinner, too.” 

Tara’s eyebrows knit in confusion. She looks at you, a little helpless, like she’s suddenly aware she’s caught in a chess match she wasn’t aware she was playing. 

Bless her. 

Your poor, sweet, unsuspecting girlfriend. 

You squeeze her hand, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

“

“Did you get the feeling Quinn’s mad at me?” She asks, “Maybe we should have invited her to dinner. She did make me a lot of soup.” 

You tilt your wine glass to your lips, needing the rush of the alcohol to get you through this conversation. 

When you set it down, Tara’s blinking back at you, with wide, brown eyes. 

“Remember what we talked about a couple of weeks ago, babe?” You say, “About my conversation with Liv.” 

Tara nods. 

“And have you noticed it, this past couple of weeks?” You prompt, “Quinn flirting with you?” 

Tara tilts her head. 

“No.” 

“Tara, she touched your arm and called you strong,” You say, pinching the bridge of your nose. Quinn had gone to work earlier that day, blown a kiss goodbye to Tara as she’d left. 

Made sure you’d seen it. 

Tara shrugs, “I’ve been in the gym, babe, I’m getting stronger.”

She flexes her bicep. 

“Look, babe, that’s all muscle.” She says, proudly. 

“That’s not the point, Tara,” You say, “She’s flirting with you. She’s been flirting with you all week.” 

Tara frowns. 

“She has?” She asks, looking a little perplexed. 

Then, she pouts. 

“So she was just complimenting my lasagne because she wanted to sleep with me?” She says, looking put out, “I thought she really liked my new recipe.” 

“Forget about the lasagne, Tara, this is not okay.” You say, “How would you feel if she were hitting on me?”

Tara frowns. 

“Not good,” She admits, “Bad. Really, really bad.” 

You sigh, dropping your fork onto your plate. 

“She’s going to have to go,” You tell Tara, “If she can’t respect our relationship, she can get the fuck out.” 

Tara bites her lip. 

“Okay, babe,” She says, a little wary, “It’s just… rent is due next month and I don’t know how easy it’s going to be to replace her.”

She squeezes your hand, a little hasty as she sees the look on your face. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Tara says, leaning up to kiss you, “I’ll remind her I’m taken and not interested. And if she still tries it after that, she goes. How’s that, babe?” 

-

Tara’s talk with Quinn happens a little later. 

You climb into bed, head tilted as you hear the quiet murmur of their voices down the hall. It doesn’t sound heated, and you hear Quinn giggling as she tells Tara goodnight. 

You frown as Tara enters the room. 

“It’s just a misunderstanding, baby,” She says as she climbs into bed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “She doesn’t like me. She told me she’s just been a little clingier than usual because we’re her only friends.” 

“Babe-“ You start with a huff, ready to climb out of bed but Tara’s hands grip around your waist. 

“I know, I know, babe.” She assures, pressing another quick kiss to your neck, “I know you think it’s all bullshit so I told her straight up. I told her I’m in love with you and if she tries anything we’ll kick her straight out.” 

You frown, turning in her arms, “Really?” 

“Really.” Tara says, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “And I promise to keep my distance, okay babe? She can flirt until the cows come home, it’s going to fall on deaf ears.” 

She snuggles into your chest, soothing your hammering heartbeat with a kiss. 

“I love you. Only you.” 

-

True to her word, Tara goes out of her way to avoid Quinn. 

Gone are their cozy little sessions on the couch watching horror movies. Tara refuses Quinn’s cooking, turns down each of Quinn’s requests to hang out, or help her with homework, or whatever other brainless task Quinn can think of to get them to spend time together. 

The rental market is fucked, you discover in the interim. 

No way can you and Tara afford to move out, and even if Quinn did leave, it could take months to replace her. 

“No,” Mindy says, point blank when you ask her, “Not unless you and Tara swear to a vow of celibacy.” 

You sigh, unhappily. 

“Great,” You say, slumping back into your seat, “We’re going to be stuck with her forever.” 

Mindy looks over at you, taking a little pity on you. 

“Why don’t you ask Chad and Liv?” She suggests, “They won’t be able to hear you fuck over Liv’s soap operas anyway.” 

“I already asked,” You say, voice gloomy, “They’re in a two year contract.” 

Mindy shoots you a sympathetic smile. 

“You’ll find someone,” She says, “You just need to put some feelers out there.” 

And so you do. 

You spend the morning in class writing up the ad. You’ll put in the paper tomorrow, you figure. 

When you get home, ready to avoid Quinn and spend a night snuggling in bed with Tara, Tara’s already at the door. 

“Hey babe,” Tara says, bouncing up to greet you with a kiss. She smiles, lowering her voice, “Missed you. Wanna shower with me?” 

You smile and kiss her. 

“You know we can’t,” You say, regretfully, “Last time we used up all the hot water.” 

“So let’s have a cold shower,” She suggests, her smile turning into a leer, “I’ve got other ways to warm you up.” 

“Izzie, how are you? It’s been ages!” Quinn sounds from the living room. Your smile drops - you didn’t realize she was home. Tara notices your face shift, and rubs your hip, comfortingly. 

“She’s been good, babe, I promise,” Tara says, “Are you sure you don’t want to shower with me?” 

“I’ll start dinner,” You say, leaning in to kiss her quickly, “You go, baby.” 

Quinn’s in the living room, lounging across the couch when you enter. 

“Yeah, I’ve never done it before,” Says Quinn. If she’s noticed you in the kitchen, she doesn’t acknowledge you. She kicks her shoes off and lays back into the couch, twirling her hair between her fingers. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about it. You know? I really want to try it.” 

You pull a few potatoes from the bag and pull out a knife. 

Just a little while longer, you think, trying to stop yourself from glancing over. Just a few more weeks of her and then you’d never have to see her again. 

Quinn looks over, catching your eye. 

As if she can tell you’re thinking about her. 

And then, she smiles. 

“I met a guy last night, took him home because he looked a little bit like her. Dark hair, dark eyes, short.” She says, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur, “Fucked his brains out imaging it was her on top of me. Inside me. And she will be. Soon.” 

She’s looking right at you. Her voice is a low taunt, daring you to take the bait. 

And you fall for it. 

Hook, line and sinker. 

You slam the knife to the kitchen counter, cheeks flushing red. 

“That’s it,” You growl as you launch at her, “You’re fucking dead, do you hear me?” 

Quinn stares a moment, her jaw slacking. 

As if she hadn’t realized her taunting would finally come to fruition. 

In the form of you launching to grab at the end of her hair. 

You tug at it, hard, determined to make the end of your fist meet the slant of her chin. She squeals, dropping her phone as you tug her towards you. 

“YN,” She cries, “Stop it, you’re fucking crazy-” 

“You think this is funny?” You growl, letting go of her hair to shove her back against the couch. You swing at her - and miss - and you know you must look crazed. All wild eyes, red-faced, three weeks of taunting finally setting you over the edge, “ You think trying to sleep with my girlfriend is a game?” 

“Tara!” Quin screams as you launch at her once more, “Tara, help!” 

Tara’s name on Quinn’s lips - if possible, just makes you angrier. You lunge over the couch, but she stands, squealing as she ducks your advances. 

You hear the bathroom door slam, and a flash of dark hair before you turn to see Tara, soaking wet, towel pressed around her torso. Her hair is soapy with shampoo and she looks dismayed as she looks at the sight in front of her. 

Quinn screaming like a child and you feral. Grabbing for her with all your might. 

“Baby?” She says, sounding scandalized, “What are you doing?” 

Quinn lets out a sob. Teary-eyed, she barrels over to Tara and stands behind her, grabbing at Tara’s arms as if she’s her knight in shining armor. 

“She’s attacking me, Tara,” Quinn blubbers out through her crocodile tears, “Make her stop, please.” 

“Oh, give it a rest, would you?” You say, voice harsh, “Tears? Really? Why don’t you tell Tara what you were saying about her on the phone, huh? Why don’t you be honest for once in your fucking life and tell her what you’ve been trying to do this entire time.” 

“I was talking about a girl from my Chemistry class,” Quinn says, as if you’re crazy, “Her name is Charlotte, I wasn’t talking about Tara.” 

“Oh, bullshit,” You scoff, “Just admit it. You’ve been all over Tara from day one.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you crazy bitch,” Quinn says, “Look, just because you’re insecure, doesn’t mean I’m trying to sleep with your girlfriend.” 

“Enough,” Growls Tara. She wrenches her hand away from Quinn, turning to round on her. The anger within you dissipates slightly. You swallow as you’ve realized Quinn has inadvertently awoken The Rage. 

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that,” Tara says, her voice hot, “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

Quinn blinks at her. 

“Tara, it’s fine,” You say, hurriedly, “Babe, leave it.” 

And as much as you want to see Quinn get punched in the face, you don’t want The Rage to be the one to do it. 

You’d paid for too much therapy to see that fucker unleashed again. 

“Apologize,” Tara demands, her eyes flashing, “Apologize to her now.” 

You reach for Tara’s hand, tug her back towards you, out of Quinn’s reach. Her heart is racing,  her shoulders tight. You press your lips to her shoulder in an effort to soothe her. 

Quinn’s face contorts. You half think she’s about to spit right in your face. Maybe take a swing at you of her own. But then her face softens. 

“I’m sorry, YN,” She says, voice silky sweet, “It really was a misunderstanding. I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I was trying to take your girlfriend from you. I’m not, I promise.” 

She sounds sincere, but you see right through her. 

“Alright,” Tara says, though her shoulders are still tight, “Good. Now I’m going to finish my shower, and the two of you are not going to kill each other. Right?” 

Quinn nods, solemnly. 

“Bedroom,” You tell Tara, “Now.” 

-

“She’s going,” Is the first thing you say as Tara shuts the door. You’re pacing back and forth, your skin burning hot and red, “She’s fucking gone, Tara. I mean it this time. I don’t care if we have to sleep on Mindy’s couch for the next three years, I am not spending another second with her-” 

Tara rubs her eyes. They’re a little red, stained with unwashed shampoo. 

“Baby, why don’t you sit down for a bit?” She suggests, “Look at you, you’re all worked up.” 

You turn to stare her down, anger flashing through your features. 

“She was talking about fucking you, Tara,” You hiss, “Right in front of me. She was talking about how she wanted you inside her.” 

Tara moves a little closer, trying to touch your arm. You shake her off to continue your pacing. 

“You’re mine,” You seethe, “I don’t know what part of that is so hard for her to understand.” 

“Baby-” Tara starts. 

“You’re not talking me out of this, Tara,” You snap, “I want her gone. Tonight.” 

Tara catches your arm. She draws you in for a long kiss. 

She’s trying to settle you down. 

It works.  

“I’m yours,” She says, softly, “Like I already told you, you don’t have to worry about her.” 

“You promised, Tara,” You say, voice agonized, “You promised if she tried anything else she’d be gone. And I swear to god, Tara - if you try to take her side-“  

Tara shushes you with another kiss. 

Then she draws back, her voice soft. 

“Of course I’m not going to take her side, sweetheart,” Tara says, “I’m your girlfriend. I’m always on your side. She’s going. You don’t have to ask twice.” 

This relaxes you a little. Tara presses another lingering kiss to your lips. 

“Like hell we’re sleeping on Mindy’s couch, though,” Tara says, crinkling her brow, “Sam can lend us the money. She won’t mind.” 

Sam might mind. 

But it’s really the least of your worries. 

“Thank you,” You say, sighing as you lean into Tara’s chest. 

Tara squeezes your shoulders. 

“Let me finish my shower,” She says, “And then I’ll talk to her.” 

She eyes you, warily. 

“Maybe you should take a walk or something, babe,” She says, after a moment of hesitation. She brushes your cheek, “You’re all red in the face.” 

You frown. 

“If you think I’m leaving you here with that sexed-up-piranha-” You start with a growl, and Tara draws her arms back around your shoulders. 

“Alright, alright,” She concedes, “It’s okay, babe, we’ll do it together.” 

But by the time Tara’s out of the shower, Quinn is long gone. 

You spend the night seething, not even Tara’s gentle kisses enough to coax you out of your mood.

In the morning, you hunt through the apartment like a lion hungry for its prey but she’s nowhere in sight. 

She’s stupid enough to try you, but not so stupid enough to hang around for the fallout. 

When you head off to class, Tara reassures you with a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“She’ll be back here at some point,” Tara says, “As soon as I see her I’ll tell her to pack her bags.”

Economics flashes by in a rage-filled trance. You don’t even bother with your marketing paper. You’re worked up. 

You just want her gone. 

And so you skip the rest of your morning classes and head home.

You don’t bother smiling at the doorman, fish your keys out of your pocket in a grump. 

When you get to the door, you tilt your key in the lock, fiddling around to pry the door open. 

And then you hear it. 

A cry - it’s Tara, and then you hear Quinn. She’s squealing again. You blink. Your mind runs rampant with the possibilities. 

Tara with her knife, plowing through Quinn with the kind of ire only The Rage can bring. 

Tara grunts, and it’s familiar. Your stomach lurches. You might be sick. 

You know that grunt. 

The indicator Tara might be plowing Quinn in a much different fashion. 

Betrayal sinks deep within your veins. You fumble with the door, almost pry it off its hinges in your effort to barge through it. 

It swings open, and the lump in your throat grows with the thought of what you might find on the other side of the door. 

But what you see isn’t what you expect. 

You blink. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you. 

“Tara,” You hiss as your jaw drops, “What are you doing?” 

Tara has Quinn in a firm grip. Her legs are wrapped tight around Quinn’s waist, she has Quinn’s head between her arms in a chokehold. Quinn’s eyes are wide. She struggles desperately against Tara’s grip, eyes bulging as she tries to wrangle her way out. 

The scene in front of you would be comical, if it weren’t real. 

But it’s very real. 

Quinn looks over to you the moment Tara does. 

The sound of your voice is her escape. 

Tara turns to you, grip lessening only slightly as she realizes your presence. Her brown eyes widen, the way they do when she knows she’s in trouble. 

Quinn pulls herself out of Tara’s grip with a heavy gasp, almost shoving Tara to the floor. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Quinn says, voice high as she stands, “Are you actually serious right now?” 

“Explain, Tara,” You say, voice flat, “Now.” 

Tara looks over to you, eyes wide. She splutters as she speaks. 

“She tried to kiss me, babe,” Tara says, voice aghast, “She tried to kiss me and I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Quinn’s breathing heavily. 

She’s scary like this. Thundering over Tara’s tiny frame like she might snap her in two. 

“I throw myself at you and your first reaction is karate?” Quinn says to Tara. Her eyes are wild. She’s pissed, “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tara fires back, “I have a girlfriend.” 

You throw your bag to the ground. The heavy, unsettled feeling that’s stayed with you for the last three weeks is boiling. If Quinn doesn’t leave now, there’s no telling what you’ll do next. 

“Get out,” You tell Quinn, “You don’t live here anymore. Get your shit and go.” 

Quinn doesn’t move. 

“Get out,” You insist, “Before I kill you myself.” 

Quinn shoots an angry look at Tara, before redirecting it at you. 

“Fine,” She says, “You two deserve each other. Fucking Jackie Chan and Princess Prissy-”

“Out.” You snap as she grabs her purse. 

She shoots you an angry glare. 

“You can forget about rent,” She sneers, “And good luck finding someone else to live in this shitty apartment.” 

Your palms are sweating as she slams the front door shut. 

Tara looks up at you, eyes still wide, a little sheepish as you close in on her. 

“I didn’t kiss her babe, I swear,” Tara promises, leaning up to grab your hands, “She leaned in and I grabbed her before she could get close.” 

“I know you didn’t, babe,” You say after a long moment. Your voice softens. You brush her dark hair out of her eyes, “I know.” 

She’s quiet a moment. 

“I’m sorry that we didn’t kick her out sooner,” She says, “I really did just think she was trying to be my friend.” 

You sigh. Tilt your face to hers. 

“I know, babe,” You say, then you snort, “I can’t believe you put her in a headlock. Sam’s going to love that.” 

Tara pouts.

“She deserved it,” She says, “And speaking of Sam…” 

She looks up at her, eyes shimmering. 

“I talked to her about the rent,” Tara murmurs after a moment, “She agreed to help us out.” 

“Oh?” You say. A spark of hope sears deep within your chest. 

Tara bites her lip, “There’s a catch, though. She’s going to come live with us until we find a new roommate.” 

“Oh.” You say with a frown. 

“You’re not mad, are you?” Tara asks, a little hesitant, “I’d tell her no, but we’re really in a pinch, babe.” 

“It’s fine,” You say, after a moment, “I don’t mind living with Sam.” 

Tara hums. She leans in close against you. 

“And hey,” You nudge her, trying to keep the mood light, “At least I don’t have to worry about Sam trying to get into your pants.” 

Tara wrinkles her nose. 

You laugh. 

Lean down to kiss her, deep. 

Fuck you Quinn Bailey, you can’t help but think. 

You hope she enjoyed her little game.

Because when it comes to Tara, you never lose.

[mikavlcs]

Shade Astray

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Never in her life had Tara met anyone that made her feel like you did. She would make you hers, no matter what it took.

Warnings: graphic violence(!!!), murder, mentions of drugs and suicide, tara’s like genuinely terrifying here (tarafying? sorry), relatively bad pacing, overuse of the word anger and its various synonyms 

Word count: 6.1k (sorry)

Notes: ...sorry about this, i just needed to get it out of my system. not proofread bc i was tired of looking at this story lol, but i’ll be back to my regularly scheduled wednesday stories in a few days<3

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

For as long as Tara could remember, she had always struggled with her anger.

It was an issue during her early days. She of course didn’t remember, but her father would always humorously recall how she would scream absolute bloody murder as a baby if she wasn’t fed or if they took her toys from her.

Her patience did grow over time, but her possessiveness only ever got worse.

She treasured the things that she designated as “hers”, always treated them with the utmost care and she hated when others tried to take them from her.

Her family learned very quickly to not touch her stuff without asking. Only a few incidents were needed for them to understand how to respect her things.

Her older sister, Sam, seemed to understand better than her parents, but they learned, nonetheless.

And when she started going to school, it was the same.

Only once did someone make the mistake of taking something of hers. It was first grade. They were out for recess and one of her classmates, Alex, wanted to play with the stuffed animal she brought for show and tell. She said no, but he didn’t listen and snatched it right out of Tara’s hands.

In retaliation, she snapped the action figure he brought clean in half and threw the halves across different ends of the playground. 

Alex wailed; she just snatched her plushie back and went back to her spot on top of the slide.

Her teacher was worried by the display, but her parents wrote it off, saying she would grow out of it. If only she were so lucky.

Over the years, her anger ebbed and flowed and changed as she did, but it never left.

Hundreds of pencils and toys suffered at the hands of her rage, but never another person. That simply felt like a line Tara couldn’t cross.

And she did not cross that line.

Not when her father suddenly left. Not when Sam abandoned her for no reason. Not when her mother started drinking and leaving the house for days at a time.

She stayed firmly on the “right” side of the line, but the anger still persisted, strengthening with each person she watched walk out the door and never return.

It was almost funny how the emotion that haunted Tara was more present in her life than her actual family.

At some point, it became a comfort of sorts. Even on Tara’s worst days, days when she couldn’t feel much of anything, she could still feel that simmering anger within her. It grounded her in a way she knew it shouldn’t.

Years began to go by and neither her father nor Sam came back. Her mother’s alcoholism waxed and waned. Eventually, she began to go to rehab, but Tara didn’t really notice anymore. Even when she was sober, she wasn’t really present anyways.

What she did know was that through everything, her anger never faltered. It simply persisted, festering in silence, and at some point, Tara welcomed it.

-

As she entered middle school, Tara found herself migrating into a group of friends. The group was on the smaller side, consisting of five other members besides Tara herself.

There was Amber, a rebellious self-described “wild card” who loved parties. Wes, a shy, soft-spoken nerd that crushed on every girl he saw. Mindy, a slightly obnoxious film buff that would talk your ears off about her favorite franchises. Chad, a dumb jock with a heart of (mostly) gold. And Liv, a pretty girl with a startling lack of individual personality.

Tara adopted the role of the good, responsible girl. The one that reminded everyone about homework and urged them to study for tests. It was an easy enough persona to maintain.

They weren’t perfect, but they were more tolerable than the rest of Woodsboro and they were fiercely loyal. And weekly group hangouts were much better than just sitting in an empty house.

But these new friends did complicate Tara’s life a bit. When there was no one else around, there was no need for her to try and hide her anger.

Now, she needed to be cautious around others, to make sure the carefully crafted mask she wore around them never slipped. It was hard at first, but she got used to it with time.

The discovery of the Stab franchise changed her.

It was movie night at Amber’s house, the group favorite since her house was huge and her parents were virtually nonexistent. Amber insisted on them binging the Stab movies because she was obsessed and after enough “my house, my rules”, they obliged.

The group watched, Mindy and Wes pointing out every little thing they deemed ridiculous, but Tara was completely engrossed.

She had known about the movies and how they were based on the various real-life Ghostface killings across Woodsboro, but actually sitting down and watching them was riveting.

The movies themselves were fine, all overplayed tropes and cheesy one-liners, but the kills were another thing entirely.

Something about the brutality of them excited her, a mixture of anger and excitement creating a dangerous high that she was already addicted to.

Tara was immediately obsessed.

Immediately when she got home, she watched them all again. Within weeks, she had read every book and article she could find about the murders, absorbing it all like a sponge. She even joined the stupid Stab subreddits.

Her dreams became riddled with blood and gore and her behind that iconic mask. And from her dreams, it permeated her thoughts during the day. She daydreamed about it during class and when something inevitably angered her, it was the first thing she thought of.

The Line, as she had come to call it, could not be crossed in real life, but there were no boundaries she couldn’t cross in her mind.

If someone stirred that anger within her, she simply imagined herself donning the Ghostface mask and carving out their insides with one of her kitchen knives.

For a few years, that was sufficient, just thinking about the awful things she would do was enough to satiate the darkness within her.

Then you arrived.

You moved to Woodsboro a few weeks before the start of junior year. Tara heard about the new town residents, nothing stays secret for long in a small town, but she didn’t actually see you until the first day of school.

She and her friends were sitting at their usual table outside the school. Mindy and Amber were debating about some horror movie they saw, and Tara had checked out about five minutes ago when something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

A car pulled up to the school, grey and sleek and entirely unfamiliar to her. Her interest piqued, she watched on as two figures in the front seats talked. The passenger seat opened, and out of it came someone she’d never seen before. 

You.

All it took was one look and her world stopped. When it started again, it no longer revolved around the sun, but you.

You waved goodbye to whom she assumed to be your father and scanned your surroundings, hesitance apparent in your mannerisms. She intently watched you nervously thumb the strap of your bookbag, a plan to make you hers already formulating.

It began with something innocuous. Throughout the day, she found that your schedule was similar to hers, and in all the classes you two shared, the seat next to hers just happened to be the only one open.

Tara took the opportunity to introduce herself. You introduced yourself, voice soft and melodious, and already, she wanted to hear it again. She offered to show you around, which you shyly accepted. Before she could say anything else, the bell rang, lapsing the class into silence as the teacher began speaking.

Throughout class, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. You were everything she could ever want, and she knew then and there that she would stop at nothing to make you hers.

Within a week, Tara being by your side at school became normal. What was once a mere convenience became routine, and your place in class became rightfully next to her. Somewhat awkward small talk became friendly banter. And Tara finally got you comfortable enough to accept her invitation to sit with her at lunch.

Unfortunately, her friends were also there, but meeting them was an inevitability, and you ended up getting along with them pretty well. A bit too well in some ways.

Wes, of course, took an immediate liking to you. His light blush and stuttered words gave him away instantly, and as much as it annoyed Tara, that wasn’t what worried her.

What worried her was Amber’s behavior toward you. She was always talking to you, always grinning with her arm over your shoulders or a hand on your arm. A look in her eyes that Tara couldn’t—or more accurately, didn’t want to—place.

So Tara took a different approach. She started taking pens and pencils so you would ask to borrow hers, and she happily obliged. Then your class notes started going missing, textbooks disappearing between classes, but Tara always let you use hers.

She began inviting you over to her place under the guise of studying, but inevitably you ended up just hanging out. With some gentle coaxing, she got you to open up a bit.

You ranted about anything and everything, she listened, and you thanked her afterward.

She kept doing that until it became a habit. Until you began seeking out Tara to talk about something that was bothering you, which made her happy.

Tara slowly positioned herself to be the person you could rely on most, the one you could go to about anything.

And for a fleeting moment of time, that was enough—to know that you trusted her more than anyone else in the entirety of Woodsboro.

But, of course, it didn’t last. (It never did.)

You had an odd effect on Tara. You were the first person she had ever met that could calm her deep-seated rage. Any fury she felt at an incompetent classmate was washed away by the mere touch of your hand to hers.

But you also exponentially worsened it. Because even if she hadn’t made an official claim on you yet, you were hers. And she began to notice just how many people had their eyes on you.

The boys she caught leering at you in the halls, the jocks she heard having vulgar conversations about you—hell, even the occasional person that asked you for a pen in class. They all awoke an unprecedented amount of ire within her.

Every time Tara saw someone staring at you during lunch, she wanted nothing more than hit them until the skin on all of her knuckles was split and bleeding. Whenever she heard anyone talking about you, she wanted to reach into their throat and tear their vocal cords out.

She never did, she never once laid her hands on any of those people. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

Tara quickly found herself inching closer and closer to The Line, using all of her remaining control to stop from crossing it.

All of her remaining self-control and morality went out the window when someone finally asked you out.

Tara was the first person you told. And she didn’t know what angered her more—the fact that someone had the gall to try and take what was hers or the fact that the person that asked you out was Amber.

Boiling hot anger bloomed in her chest and spread through her veins.

Tara’s relationship with Amber Freeman was complicated.

In some ways, Amber was Tara’s closest friend. The whole group shared a love for horror films, it was what initially brought them together, but Amber was the only one whose love for the Stab movies rivaled hers. She had even introduced Tara to the franchise. But that wasn’t what made Tara’s relationship with her so different from the others.

Her bond with Amber was special because Amber was the only person Tara had ever met that was like her.

She saw it most in the way Amber looked when she watched the murders in the films. Sure, Amber always loved the gory kills in slasher movies, but something about the Ghostface kills made her more intense. And it only took one glance for Tara to know why.

The acute passion and almost primitive desire she saw reflected in Amber’s eyes when Ghostface slaughtered someone was something she was entirely familiar with.

In that moment, Tara knew that Amber was capable of the same terrible things that she was. And she knew Amber knew it as well.

They never talked about it, just let it linger in the air between them, open and free. Their special connection brought Tara closer to her than any of the others.

But that also made Amber Tara’s biggest threat. The horrifying potential within her made her unpredictable, and while that had yet to actively oppose Tara’s own wants, it was beginning to become a nuisance now.

Because she had seen the way Amber looked at you, knew what that desire in her eyes meant. She was taken with you the same way Tara was.

And she couldn’t accept that.

She wasn’t able to sleep that night. Her anger was so potent that it felt like it had swallowed her whole. Her fists shook violently, a scream she had been holding back for hours bubbled up again and Tara could only curl into herself and swallow it back down.

It was too hot, sweat coated her skin and soaked her clothes. Her fury was burning her alive from the inside out and she ached for something to take it out on, needed anything—even if it was painful to drown the fire inside of her.

More than anything, she yearned to get rid of Amber. Permanently.

She knew she shouldn’t, but once she thought of it, she couldn’t stop. It would be so simple, to just sneak into Amber’s house and gut her. Hell, she even had a costume, nearly forgotten in the back of her closet from Halloween a few years prior.

And if she didn’t do this, there was a chance that she would lose you.

With that realization, the dam broke, her moral walls crumbling under the weight of her need for you.

The Line was the last thing on her mind that night and before she knew it, her plan was fully formed.

Exactly one week before she planned to kill Amber, Tara invited her over for a Stab marathon. Likely around the twentieth one they’d had over the years, but this one was different.

Watching these movies never got old for Tara, and they were always made better by another person that shared her love for them.

But even with that, it was still less passionate, less enthusiastic than those other times. A melancholy had settled in the air. There was a new finality to the rolling credits, and Tara would be lying if she said it didn’t get to her.

She wondered if Amber could feel it too.

On the walk home, Tara was somewhat conflicted. But then she reminded herself that Amber was trying to take you away from her and that was enough to have her seeing red.

Without anymore hesitation, she took a step over The Line, crossing into that horrifyingly seductive forbidden territory, and firmly planted her feet there.

You were Tara’s and she wasn’t going to let anyone get away with trying to take you from her, not even a friend.

-

The kill itself was easy enough to pull off.

The Freemans were almost never home, leaving Amber to roam the house by herself most nights and she was never the best at remembering to lock the windows. She relied mostly on their cameras to alert her of anything, but even those were easy to avoid if you knew where they were.

She slipped in through a window around the back, swift and silent as she made her way through the house, mindful to avoid the inside cameras when she could.

Amber was in the living room, watching some show Tara didn’t recognize. Her phone sat on the couch beside her, and the sight of it nearly made her sigh. She had debated doing the phone call, but she didn’t have the iconic voice changer and thus, was forced to do without it.

She knew that Amber would be turning in for the night soon, so she waited, lingering in the darkness of the attached kitchen for her moment to strike.

That moment came mere minutes later. Amber turned the tv off and stood, stretching for a moment before heading toward the stairs. Tara gripped the hilt of her knife and quietly walked out. Her heartbeat quickened, perfectly matching her footfalls as she came up behind Amber.

One of her last strides had a bit too much weight behind it, causing one of the floorboards to creak. Amber whirled around and only had time to blink before Tara struck.

She buried the knife right between Amber’s ribs then twisted it sharply, finding a sick satisfaction in the way she felt something crack. Her heart raced as she pushed Amber to the ground, settling on top of her as she yanked the knife out and plunged it back into her, slightly lower this time.

Then she did it again and again and again. Tara would admit that she lost herself a bit, the adrenaline pumping throughout her pushing her into almost a frenzied state as she brought the knife down then back up.

Amber, to her credit, didn’t scream. The only sounds that filled the air were the sounds of the knife piercing flesh and Tara’s labored breaths under her mask.

When she finally snapped out of it, all she could see was red. It was everywhere—on her knife, the carpet, the surrounding furniture. Some had even managed to splatter onto the ceiling. It was oddly beautiful.

Knowing her time was limited, she turned her attention back to her victim. Amber remained silent, only the occasional bloody cough escaping her as she stared at Tara above her.

Tara reached into Amber’s pocket and pulled out her phone, holding it briefly in front of her face to unlock it. Once inside, she opened the security app and remotely shut off all of the cameras in the house. She waited for a moment, ensuring they were off before reaching up to pull her mask off.

Amber’s eyes widened slightly when their eyes met but she didn’t look surprised. If it were the other way around, Tara supposed she wouldn’t be either.

In a way, they both knew this would only ever end one of two ways.

They would either wreak havoc on the town of Woodsboro together, or one of them would eliminate the other. And unfortunately, it had to be the latter.

Tara adjusted her grip on the knife handle, careful not to move the weapon as she held her dying friend’s gaze. Neither of them said anything, they just let everything sit in the air around them until, finally, Amber stopped moving altogether.

Once the warmth left Amber’s body, Tara stood and pulled the knife out of her one last time, cleaning the blood off of it with a quick swipe of her hand per tradition.

She stayed there for another minute then left, making sure to lock the window on her way out.

Later that night, as she waited for sleep to take hold of her, she wondered if she regretted what she did, finally crossing that line after all these years of holding herself back. It took only a few moments for her to find that her answer was a firm and resounding no.

She would mourn the loss of a friend but never regret her decision. Tara was going to make you hers, and she was going to make sure that no one stood in her way.

-

It took three days for the body to be found.

Considering Amber’s parents were probably somewhere in Europe, they took no notice of their daughter’s sudden silence, but the rest of the group did. They had been on edge since the end of the first day and by the third, you wanted to go over and check on Amber.

Tara stopped you immediately, not wanting you to see what waited in that house, and suggested calling the police to perform a wellness check because “what if it’s something serious?”

Amber’s face was plastered all over the local news within hours. Along with the news that her killer was another Ghostface.

For public safety reasons, the security camera footage was released and immediately caused an uproar. The idiots in the Stab subreddits were clamoring, new theories being posted every hour. Tara ignored them.

Her entire focus after Amber’s death was made public was you.

The entire group was upended by Amber’s passing, but you were distraught. Even if you didn’t return her feelings, Amber was still your friend and her death hit you hard.

She took every opportunity to be there for you. She hung out with you after school when you didn’t want to be alone, invited you over on the weekends when you needed a shoulder to cry on. 

In your eyes, the two of you were grieving together, and in some ways that was true.

When you cried, she would always hold you and cry with you. Sometimes her tears were real, sometimes they were fake, but her concern for you was always sincere. And the way you held onto her like a lifeline made her sure that what she did was more than worth it.

Aside from your sorrow, everything was going relatively well. The fraudulent mask of sadness she needed to sustain almost everywhere she went was exhausting but necessary.

She knew she would have to grieve with the pack, and she did it masterfully while also paying special attention to you and your mental health.

Her ever-present anger had also been noticeably dull. It was always tempered when you were around, but even when you weren’t present it was still anemic.

It was actually somewhat peaceful, and she expected it to remain like that for a while.

What she didn’t expect was her sister to suddenly return to Woodsboro.  

Tara swore she had never been more surprised when she answered the door, expecting it to be the police, and saw instead her sister standing there. She was taller, a bit rougher around the edges, but she was still the Sam that Tara tried to forget about over the years.

She let Sam in more out of curiosity than anything. Tara wanted—no, needed to know why her own sister had to abandon her for years without even attempting to contact her.

And, admittedly, the explanation was worth her time.

Turned out that her sister was actually her half-sister. They had the same mother but different fathers. Sam’s father was Billy Loomis, one of the original Ghostface killers. Sam ran away because she was scared that she would end up like her father, that she would somehow hurt Tara if she stayed.

So she left and ended up getting mixed up in all kinds of bad shit. (She didn’t specify, but the track marks on her arms told Tara everything she needed to know.) But she heard about the rise of another Ghostface and that convinced her to finally return, for good.

Throughout Sam’s explanation, Tara bit her cheek until she bled and gripped her chair until her knuckles were white.

It was all she could do to not laugh in her sister’s face.

The “darkness” inside of her that she was so afraid of amused her because she knew it didn’t exist. She couldn’t see the potential that either she or Amber held in her sister’s eyes, and that made the entire situation laughable.

Tara couldn’t help but wonder how frightened Sam would be if she found out about what she did, how terrified she’d be if she knew about the things that Tara thought about doing.

Part of her was jealous, to come from such a profoundly blood-stained family legacy sounded incredible, but she knew it was for the best that it was Sam and not her. It would only make her a prime suspect.

So she flooded her eyes with tears and feigned understanding, allowing her sister to hug her for the first time in years.

The words “I forgive you” tasted like ash in her mouth, but the act needed to be upheld.

Sam expressed her want to move back into the house, something Tara was immediately against. But as she thought about it more, she found herself allowing it.

For insurance mostly. If there were more victims, Sam would be able to back up Tara’s alibis about being at home. She would also serve as her backup plan in case things went south.

After all, if the police were to ever suspect her, it would be so easy to implicate the ex-addict daughter of Billy Loomis in her place.

-

The following months were an adjustment period.

Tara having to relearn how to cohabitate in her house with her sister, the group learning to function without Amber, and the town having to deal with the fact that there was another Ghostface on the loose all at once proved to be…a lot. For everyone involved.

Naturally, Tara managed just fine. She dealt with the hurdles that came with her sister’s constant presence as they appeared and found a rhythm to fall into relatively quickly.

Things with her friends were similar. With more practice, her persona got easier to maintain and as the group began to accept and move past Amber’s death, it became effortless.

You had grown much closer to Tara over the past months. It was obvious that her insistence to be there for you when needed had paid off. You naturally gravitated toward each other, spending nearly every moment together at school.

You were also doing much better, smiling and laughing again like you did before. The effervescence you usually exuded was back and Tara couldn’t be happier.

There was just one problem.

Amongst the chaos, Tara found that the calm that settled in after Amber’s death slowly faded, her anger returning to her with a fiery vengeance.

But her rage was never more apparent than when she was with you at school.

Those guys that ogled you in the halls didn’t simply disappear (as much Tara wished they did). If anything, they only got bolder without Amber’s presence. Some of the stares she saw them giving you were downright disturbing.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the vulgar conversations she overheard about you.

Every disgusting word she overheard in class or in passing while she searched for you in the halls made her fingers twitch toward her side, looking for a weapon she didn’t have.

It was like before, but now that she had crossed The Line it was so much worse.

Now she didn’t simply want them to hurt, she wanted them to die by her hand, slowly and painfully. She wanted to watch the life slowly drain out of their eyes, for them to die with the knowledge that you would never be anyone else’s but hers.

Tara could only hold back for so long, especially when it came to you.

She gave in four months after Amber’s death, almost to the day.

Her second victim was Daniel Holmes, a lanky art club snob that had a crush on you. During Calculus, Tara would see him drawing pictures of you in his notebook.

His older brother found him on his bed with 11 stab wounds and no fingers. He would never draw you again.

Her third victim was Rowan Morlow, your tall and endlessly arrogant chemistry partner who took every opportunity to make you uncomfortable. He flirted with you relentlessly, ended up giving you a stupid poem about how you were “his sun” that always managed to light his world up.

Tara burnt him alive. The police could only identify him through his dental records.

Her fourth, and (for now) final victim was Jason Lowry, a linebacker for the school’s football team. Tara hated him. He was a repeat offender, ogling you in the halls, saying disgusting things about you in class, and always trying to get your attention. He was always on her list, but the others distracted her from dealing with him.

She finally snapped when she overheard him talking to his friends about wanting to drug you at a party you planned to go to that week.

That same night, she stabbed him 43 times and then slit his throat with so much force that she nearly decapitated him.

(Later that week, she convinced you to not go to the party and stay with her for a movie night. Just in case.)

After Jason’s murder, she had to take a step back from Ghostface and lay low for a bit. The media coverage was picking up and the sheriff was getting more and more intense about finding the killer. Especially after Jason’s (deservingly) brutal death.

The police were really starting to crack down, patrol cars were on nearly every street and Tara couldn’t afford to take any chances.

So, begrudgingly, she locked her Ghostface costume away and took a break from the killings.

Her hands still itched for the hilt of her knife when she saw someone’s eyes on you, but you made it manageable. And now that she wasn’t planning murders, she had more time to spend with you.

You seemed just as eager to see her, which pleased Tara. Biweekly hangouts became you coming over nearly every day to watch movies and just spend time together.

You admitted how terrified you were about the Ghostface killer running around Woodsboro and she nearly said that “she would never hurt you” before she caught herself.

It was the truth. Tara would kill herself before she laid a hand (or knife) on you. But she couldn’t say that outright.

Instead, she offered to drive you home after school every day.

And that’s where she was now.

Classes for the day had ended only twenty minutes ago, so there were still tons of students there waiting for buses and parents. She sat in the parking lot, blaring music in her car while she watched for you to appear at the entrance.

Two songs later, you finally walked out the doors. She perked up, about to get out the car to wave you down, but stopped when she saw who walked out with you.

Wes.

He was matching your strides, pulling you to a stop before you could look out to find Tara in the lot. 

Leaning forward, she watched him step close, much too close for her liking, and ghost a hand over your arm. Every time you went to look away, to look for her, he pulled your attention back to him.

It made her want to tear his insides out, but she held herself back. So far, the killings had been deemed random. Two murders within the same friend group would look suspicious. Not to mention the fact that Wes was the sheriff’s son. If she killed him, there would be a manhunt.

Before her thoughts could go forward, you looked over and saw her. The way your expression brightened almost made her forget about Wes, but he remained there. Even after you started making your way to Tara, Wes stood and watched you go.

Tara’s palms itched.

The passenger seat door opening brought her back to the present. She turned to see you already looking at her with a beautifully bright smile that she couldn’t help but return. 

Momentarily forgetting about Wes, she put the car in reverse then paused. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours.”

Tara nodded. It was the same answer you always gave, and she forced herself to swallow the lingering question of why.

She turned the music down and handed you the aux before she sped off toward her house. The drive was spent with Tara listening to you ramble about your day, your music playing softly in the background.

But even the melodic sound of your voice couldn’t distract her from the nagging thought of Wes and his stupid crush.

She lasted a few more hours before she finally cracked.

The two of you were in the living room lounging on the couch in front of the tv. Sam was out, thankfully, so Tara didn’t need to keep you holed up in her room to avoid her.

Some movie Mindy recommended was playing on the tv, but Tara had long since stopped paying attention, instead focusing on the feeling of your head on her shoulder.

But again, Wes and his stupid blonde hair invaded her thoughts. He was so close, looked so hopeful about whatever he was talking about. She couldn’t help herself.

“So, what was Wes talking to you about earlier?” She tried for a casual delivery and given the way you answered without hesitation, she succeeded.

“Oh, he just wanted to know if we could study for the chem test together. I told him I’d have to check my schedule,” you said, and she could hear the smile you inevitably had in your voice.

A growl bubbled up in her throat, but she forced it out as a breathy laugh. “He totally likes you, you know.”

You only hummed in response. Tara didn’t like that. She needed a definitive answer to how you felt. So she took a more direct approach.

“Do you like him?”

This time, you sat up straight, putting a bit of distance between you to her displeasure. She tried to meet your eyes, but you stayed quiet, not quite looking at Tara. She clenched her fist, nails digging into her palms so hard they nearly drew blood.

“Because if you do, you could always go hang out with him. I wouldn’t mind,” she lied, unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of her voice. 

She absolutely would mind. If you left her for him, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop herself from slitting his throat—sheriff’s son or not.

You looked at her then, eyes wide, “No, I don’t want to leave. I’d rather be here, with you. I feel safe with you.”

Tara’s fists relaxed, pride swelling in her chest at your admission.

“Besides, I like someone else.”

Surprised, Tara froze. Her anger flared again but she tempered it immediately. She knew she shouldn’t ask, that hearing you say anyone’s name but hers would send her on a rampage, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Who?”

You glanced away, lips pursing as you fiddled with your finger. She couldn’t be upset with you for your lack of answer when she saw the subtle shaking of your hands.

“I can’t say,” you eventually said.

Tara’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice soft. “Why not?”

You brought your eyes up, not making eye contact but close enough, and bit your lip. Tara could barely tear her attention away from it to hear you whisper, “Because it would ruin things.”

“What?” Tara asked, confusion drawing her brows together. What did that mean? What exactly would you ruin?

Again, you stayed quiet, but a deep blush was rising on your cheeks. Your eyes traveled the length of her face as you stuttered something too soft for her to hear. 

Finally, you looked up and met Tara’s gaze and she understood.

“It’s me?” she whispered, her disbelief more than apparent in her tone.

A sharp inhale, then you nodded, slow and shy. That was all she needed.

Without another word, Tara surged forward and crashed her lips into yours, kissing you fiercely. You were surprised at first, but you reciprocated with the same urgency, hands rising to her face. At the feeling of your hands

Tara lifted you onto her lap, slowly running her hands from your thighs up to your hips, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric of your shirt to graze your bare skin. A soft yelp escaped you, but you only moved closer, both of you losing yourselves in each other.

You stayed pressed against her until long after the movie ended.

That night you fell asleep in Tara’s arms. She laid awake, barely able to close her eyes with the overwhelming amount of emotion running through her. You had always heightened her emotions, but now that she’d kissed you, claimed you it was different. More intense. A type of euphoria she’d never been privy to.

But the anger still remained, still thrummed at the very thought of someone else touching you now. Unconsciously, her arms tightened around you.

You were finally hers.

And if needed, she would kill every single person in that godforsaken town to make sure it stayed that way.

[vioartemis]

Falling for her

(Amber Freeman x fem! reader x Tara Carpenter)

Summary: Amber reveals herself as one of the killers, and you, her girlfriend, are as shocked as everyone else. A year after all this shit, you and Tara become closer, eventually leading to something more than friendship... Part 1 || Part 2 Warnings: blood, injuries, death of characters, slight angst a/n: might do a part 2 👀 (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

Since the beginning you defended her, telling everyone she was incapable of killing someone. Telling them she wasn't like that. Telling them they were wrong.

Turns out you were the one who was wrong this all time.

And even now that she shot Liv in the head you couldn't believe it. You simply couldn't.

You were frozen in place, incapable of running away with the others. You only moved because Amber dragged you to her room, along with Tara, whom she taped and put in her closet before kneeling in front of you.

"You okay baby..? I know I lied, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to hurt you I promise"

She whipped your tears away with her thumbs and placed a peck on your lips.

"You're coming with me after this right? We'll run away from Woodsboro and start a new life together, just the two of us. No more Ghostface, no more blood, no more Tara."

As far as you could remember, she had always been jealous of Tara. Not that you felt anything for her, you loved Amber and her only, but your girlfriend didn't seem to understand that.

You fought a lot because of that, which led you to spend more and more time away from her. More and more time with Tara. You knew it wouldn't fix anything, but you couldn't handle your girlfriend's jealousy 24/7. You needed space.

“P-please d-don’t hurt her… I’ll come with you… j-just… leave her alone… please…”

“Oh baby… you’re so kind even in that situation… but I can’t let her live, she’d snitch on me and the police would be after us…”

She smiled at you. Not the smile that made you fall for her. A crazy, psychotic smile.

“Now come with me baby, you wouldn’t want to miss the spectacle, right?”

She gently took your hand and guided you downstairs before dragging you to the kitchen, when she told you to wait for her.

You wanted to run away the second she left, but your legs didn’t seem to agree. All you could do was cry on the floor, re thinking everything, every time Amber told you she had something to do, probably killing someone.

Killing someone with the same hands she touched you with.

Knees against your chest, you couldn’t stop crying. Your eyes were all puffy and red. Your chest hurt. Your heart hurt.

When Amber got back, gripping Sidney’s hair, followed by Richie and Sam, you were still there. Not even looking up.

“Y/n..? You… you knew..?”

That made you tilt your head up slightly.

“S-Sam I swear I didn’t know… I would never hurt anyone… let alone Tara…”

She looked at you with suspicious eyes, along with Sidney.

“N-no.. I.. please you have to believe me..”

“Yeah, believe her.” Richie said, grabbing your arm to make you stand up. “Maybe that’ll help you trust her”

He sunk his knife into your abdomen, five times, his other hand on your mouth to prevent you from screaming. He threw you back onto the floor, as Amber entered the room.

“Okay Gale’s here, now we can-” she stopped as she saw you bleeding on the floor “Y/n!”

She rushed to you, a worried look on her face. She took off her costume and tried to bandage you up with it, to stop the bleeding.

“What the fuck did you do to her?!”

She turned to Richie, glaring daggers at him.

“Touch her again and I will fucking kill you."

She kneeled in front of you, gently cupping your cheeks.

"I'm sorry baby... he wasn't supposed to hurt you... y-you're gonna be fine don't worry... we'll end this quickly..."

She kissed your lips softly, before standing up.

You didn't see nor hear anything after that, barely conscious due to the amount of blood you were losing. When you opened your eyes, you were alone in the kitchen.

You could hear fight noises coming from the hallway. You stood up painfully. Once at the door, you felt your heart drop for the second - or was it third? - time this day.

Amber and Tara were fighting. She was going to kill her. You had to do something.

You managed to get in front of Tara just as Amber was about to stab her.

"Baby what are you doing...? You should rest you're not-"

"Amber... please stop... you can't kill her... she's our friend... they all were..."

You could see she was hurt. She thought you would be on her side, even after her reveal. But you weren't. You'd rather protect Tara than stay with her.

"Okay then..." she said

You thought you convinced her. But you were wrong. There was even more craziness in her black eyes.

"If I can't have you no one will."

She raised her knife, but before she could do anything, she got shot in the head. You watched in horror as she fell, remember all the moments you spent together.

You fell on your knees, heartbroken at the sight of your girlfriend's lifeless body. Even if she tried to kill you at the end, you knew she loved you.

Tara placed herself in front of you so you didn't have to see Amber any longer, thinking it wasn't good for you. You looked up at her, tears in your eyes, before pulling her into a hug she gave back.

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

After "the incident", you spent a month at the hospital, in a room you shared with Tara. You were more than happy to have her by your side, and she felt the same about you.

Sidney came to visit you once, before going back home with her husband and children. She apologized for killing Amber, to what you replied she saved both your life and Tara's so there was no need for excuses.

Six months after that night, you moved out of Woodsboro with Sam, Tara, Mindy and Chad. You all agreed on the fact that to heal and move on, you needed to get the fuck out of this city.

New York was your new home, and you wouldn't deny you were doing much better since you moved in with Tara and Sam.

Eight months after your arrival at New York, you found yourself thinking about Tara a lot more than just a friend would.

Was it bad that you were falling for her, only a year after Amber died..? Did it make you a bad person? What would Tara think about that? Was there even a chance she'd like you back?

"Y/n? I've been calling you for like ten minutes, are you okay?" Sam said as she entered your room

"Sorry, I was... thinking"

"You want to talk about it..?"

"If you don't mind listening.."

She sat beside you on the bed, taking your hand in hers.

"Hey, remember what we said when we left Woodsboro? I'm here for you, I'll always be"

"Thanks..."

You gave her a grateful smile.

"Now tell me everything"

"It’s Tara… I-I think I'm falling for her..."

The older girl looked at you with a slight smile.

"You have every right to fall for someone you know? That means you're over her, you're healing"

"Yeah..?"

"Plus I'm pretty sure she likes you back, given the way she looks at you and talk about you"

She squeezed your hand slightly.

"C'mon now, dinner time"

A few days had passed since you talked to Sam. It was night, and you were on the balcony, watching the sky and the city, when you felt a blanket falling on your shoulders.

“I thought you might get cold..”

Tara’s sweet voice made you smile as you turned to face her.

“But you don’t even wear a jacket! Tara..”

You pulled her closer to you, wrapping the blanket around her too, before realizing how close you were now.

You only ever saw her freckles from afar, but now you could see them perfectly. She had more than you thought.

She was so pretty, face illuminated with the faint light of the city, head slightly tilted up to look at you.

“Y/n…”

Her eyes shifted almost imperceptibly to your lips before going back to your eyes.

Neither of you said a word, yet you understood each other. You placed your hands on her waist, while she placed hers behind your neck, pulling you close, her eyes never leaving yours.

She stopped, only a few inches away from your lips, making sure you really wanted it to happen. You were the one closing the gap between you.

One of her hands went in your hair, soft lips moving against yours tenderly in a passionate kiss.

You could kiss her for hours, and she could say the same. You stayed here for a while, only pulling away when the lack of air forced you to.

No words were needed, and none was said during the next hour you spend on the balcony. You watched the stars, her head resting on your shoulder while she intertwined your fingers.

When it started raining, you both returned to your rooms after one last kiss.

You sat on your bed, smiling like an idiot, while Tara did the same on the floor.

She took a bag from under her bed, opening it silently, and taking something out of it.

“Now that I have you..” she brushed the white mask with her thumb “no one else ever will”

[Next part]

[fanfics-and-love]

How Did Love Become So Violent?

Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x reader

Not my gif

Warning(s): ghostface!Tara, canon typical violence, mentions of death, mentions of blood, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of stitches

Word count: 5k words

Summary: A new ghostface has been terrorizing Woodsboro. After one of your friends is killed, you fear how close the killer might be. You could’ve never guessed Tara was the one behind everything

masterlist

Tara Carpenter had been a constant in your life ever since you had memory.

When you lost your first tooth, she helped you hide it underneath your pillow and slept with you, holding you so you wouldn’t be taken by the Tooth Fairy. When you broke your leg trying to skateboard at fourteen, she was there on the drive to the hospital, holding your hand and telling you everything was going to be okay. When you failed your math final and your father hit you for the first time, she was there, screaming at him and dragging you towards her house.

When everything else went to shit, Tara was there, next to you, helping you through it. So when murders began to happen again in Woodsboro, she was, of course, there.

You were staying at her house for the weekend, enjoying the calmness after so many days of chaos within the school walls. Another ghostface— god, you couldn’t believe it. People wouldn’t shut up about it either.

“Y/N,” Tara called from the kitchen. You muted the TV, turning to look at her. When she entered the room, she was smiling. “The popcorn’s almost ready.”

“Cool,” you said, getting up to grab two cans of soda from the fridge. 

“Hope the movie’s ready when I get there,” Tara turned back towards the kitchen, humming as she stared at the microwave. She seemed happy— happier than usual. You could only assume it was because summer vacation was getting closer. She hated school.

“Wanna know what we're gonna watch?” You asked, setting a glass on the coffee table. Tara hated drinking soda directly from the can.

“What are you watching?” She said. She only stopped looking at you when the microwave beeped. She put the bag of popcorn out, and poured the content into a bowl.

“Just the news,” you said, raising your shoulders.

“Turn that off,” she said, walking towards the sofa. She set the popcorn down harsher than necessary, sitting beside you. “You know how you get with this stuff.”

You nodded, deciding to open the Netflix app on the TV. Tara was right— you hated the whole ghostface fiasco. If you had to be honest, it scared you to pieces, though you would never admit it out loud in fear people would call you a coward. You sometimes wished you could just move out of Woodsboro, its bloody history making your bones chill. But of course, you were still underage so leaving was not an option, and even if it was, that would mean leaving Tara.

You couldn’t leave her, not after she was abandoned by her father and her sister, and her mother became a drunk. You had promised it the night Tara ran to your house, crying as she told you that Sammy is gone. You had held her throughout the night, whispering in her ear that she wasn’t alone.

“I’m right here. I’m never going to leave you,” you had pulled away then, looking into her brown eyes, surrounded by red from all the crying. “We’ll always be together.”

Something had changed in her face then, something that had made you realize it wasn’t simple words— it was a promise. One you weren’t sure how far Tara would take it to make sure you kept it.

“Sorry if I was harsh,” Tara said, as you scrolled through the multiple movie options. You turned to look at her. “I’m— I didn’t mean it that way.”

“You weren’t harsh,” you said, leaving the remote on the sofa to grab her hand. You wrapped your arms around her left one, resting your head on her shoulder. “You’re right. I get really spooked by those things. I know you’re just trying to protect me.”

And it was true. Ever since you were kids, Tara had protected you. Once, when a group of children had pushed you off a swing, she had punched one straight on the nose, hard enough to make it bleed. She had them feigned regret, telling the mother of the kid she was swinging her hands around and he just ran into her fist. You had backed her up, and after a while the mother had given up and had left the two of you alone.

It got worse after her father left, and once her sister did as well… Tara changed. She was still sweet, and caring, and the best friend in the entire world, but sometimes she would get this look on her face when you declined hanging out with her, or when you talked about how cute that guy from the TV show you were watching was. You weren’t sure what exactly it was; if it really was anything at all and not just your mind playing tricks on you, but whatever it was, you hoped it never got worse.

“I am,” Tara said. She kissed you on the head. “I will always protect you.”

You hummed, eyes getting heavy. Tara was always so warm, it felt nice to rest against her.

“Oh! Titanic,” you said. You two alternated every movie night to have control over the movie choices; you would always pick the romances or the romcoms, and Tara would choose scary movies that always ended up with you screaming and hiding your face in Tara’s neck.

“You’re a hopeless romantic,” Tara said, laughing. She grabbed the popcorn and set it on her lap, leaning back against the sofa as you pressed play.

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

Wes Hicks was found dead the following day, stabbed through the heart and neck, the cut so fiercely that the killer had almost fractured the bones on his spine. He was the fourth victim, and the closest to your group of friends.

Wes’ mother, Judy, had woken you and Tara up that morning, eyes red as she frantically asked you to go to the police station. You had gotten into her car, confused; she had almost dragged you towards it, so fast that you were still wearing your pjs and Tara’s jacket— she had lent it to you after she saw you shaking in the morning breeze.

“I can’t believe Wes is dead,” Chad said. After the interrogations, you had gathered around with Tara, Amber, Mindy and her outside the police station.

“Me either,” you said.

Amber rolled her eyes when she saw you were crying. “Honey, don’t be a crybaby. He was a dork anyways.”

You looked taken back by her words. “Wes is— was a good person. Don’t talk about him like that.”

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, moving closer to you. “Stab me?”

“What the fuck, Amber?” Mindy said, pushing her away. “Stop acting like that. Our friend is dead.”

“And we might be next,” she said, raising her shoulders. “Who the fuck knows. He was the weakest one anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” you said, sharply. You knew deep down that if someone from your friend group were to die, it would be Wes, but that didn’t mean she had to be so cruel about it, especially when his mother was a few feet away, mourning him.

“Where were you last night?” Mindy asked, crossing her arms.

Amber looked at her, and then laughed. “In my fucking house, where else?” After a moment of silence, she crossed her arms as well, moving to be in front of Mindy. “And why the fuck are you asking me that?”

“You seem rather relaxed and almost happy that your supposed friend is dead,” Chad said. “You can’t blame us for asking.”

“Oh, but I can,” Amber said, in a soft voice. “Because I can also ask where you were, and where your girlfriend was.”

“Leave Liv out of this,” Chad said, walking towards the dark-haired woman.

“Maybe you are the killer,” Amber said, eying the twins. “You two; the brains,” she pointed towards Mindy, “and the muscle.”

“I was with Liv,” Chad said.

“And I was with Frances,” Mindy said, harshly.

Amber looked at you then. “And what about you?”

“I was with Tara the entire day,” you said, feeling uncomfortable under her stare. You hated that Tara was being surprisingly quiet and wasn’t defending you.

“How convenient,” Amber said, shaking her head. “Everyone but me has a perfect alibi.”

“Maybe it’s because you are the killer,” Mindy said.

“Fuck off,” Amber said. “I’m not. But…” she turned to look at you— no, right behind you. Something crossed Amber’s face then, and she laughed. “Oh, I know just who the person is,” she said. “I know exactly who the new ghostface is,” she chuckled, turning around.

“What?” Mindy asked, looking taken back by her sudden change. “Amber!”

“What?” Amber said, getting out her car keys. “Angry I figured it out before the queen of horror?”

Tara ran after Amber, stopping her. The three of you looked as they talked, and then Amber left pushing Tara away.

“What did she say?” Chad asked.

“I asked her to go to the police,” Tara said, putting an arm around your shoulders. “I told her if she knew something she should go tell Judy, so we can get justice over Wes, but she said she doesn’t fuck with the police. Whatever that means.”

“It means she’s lying,” Mindy said. “She doesn’t know who ghostface is, and is just trying to fuck with us.”

“I think so too,” Tara said. “I just hope ghostface didn’t hear her.”

“Should we tell Judy?” You asked, leaning into Tara’s body. “Maybe he’s heard and Amber is her next victim.”

The four of you went quiet. You looked around, noticing how many people were in the surroundings of the police station. It ought to be busy, considering what had just happened, but that could mean ghostface was around, watching you and choosing his next target. A chill went down your body, and you burrowed your body into Tara’s. She held you closer, feeling your uneasiness.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Tara said. You could feel the vibrations of her voice through her body. “Amber is just fucking with us, and Judy has enough to deal with already. Giving her a possible lead and it turning into Amber being an idiot…”

“It’d break her heart,” you said, understanding her reasoning. “You’re right. Besides, it’s not like ghostface would just be stalking us… right?”

“Yeah,” Mindy said. She too was looking around, taking in all the faces surrounding your group. Inconspicuously, she pulled out her phone and took photos of the people. “Just in case.”

“Good thinking,” you said, making Mindy smile.

“I say we go back home and wait until we know something else,” Chad said. He turned to look at you. “Your mom is still off on that business trip, right?” You nodded. After your father left, your mother got a job that required her to be away for long periods of time. It paid the bills, so you didn’t complain much. “Then go to Tara’s, or Tara goes to your house. Once Liv is done being interrogated, I’ll take her to our house,” he looked at Mindy, who nodded. “And tomorrow we gather around and try to figure out who this fucker is. But until then, no one goes anywhere alone.”

“What about Amber?” you asked.

“Her house has a dope security system,” Tara said. “She’s safer inside her house. We’ll text her later about tomorrow. Maybe she actually knows who’s ghostface.”

“I doubt it,” Mindy said, never once the one who was okay with losing.

“I doubt it as well,” Tara said. “But we won’t know until tomorrow. So today we do what Chad said. Got it?”

All of you nodded, but you still felt something gripping at the back of your throat. Something was off, something that Amber could have figured out, but what was it?

“Hey,” Tara said, opening the car door for you. “It’s going to be fine, okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, eyes staring straight ahead. 

You could be the next victim. You could already see the headlines: Y/N Y/L/N, dead at 18. You looked over at Tara. She could be the next one.

“What?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. She closed the car door and locked it, turning once again to look at you. “What is it, baby?”

You felt tears in your eyes. “Don’t leave me.”

“I would never leave you,” Tara said, cradling your face in her hands. “Never, okay?”

“What if you’re the next one?” You asked. You could almost see it; Tara, laying breathless on the ground, blood slowly clogging around stab wounds. “I— I don’t want you to die. Please. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispered. “And nothing is going to happen to me, okay? I’m going to be with you all day, and then we’ll take down that asshole together.”

“Please, don’t die,” you begged, grabbing her by her shirt. “Please.”

“I won’t,” she said. You couldn’t believe how sure she sounded.

You shook your head, and without stopping to think of the consequences, you cut the distance between your lips. Tara responded automatically, grabbing your neck and deepening the kiss. After a moment of just enjoying her close to you, you pulled away. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” she said. She was still holding you by the neck. “Where did that come from?” She whispered. Her breath hit your lips, and you licked them, looking into her eyes.

“I— I’m not sure,” you said. You rubbed your nose against her, making her laugh softly. “I didn’t want one of us to die without doing this.”

“We’re not going to die,” she said. “Scratch that. I must’ve died and gone to heaven, because this is all I ever wanted.”

“Really?” You asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I think I’ve been in love with you my entire life.”

You chuckled, pulling away to caress her cheek. “If we make it—”

“We will.”

“If we make it,” you said, giving her a hard look. She laughed, moving her hand towards your hair, scratching your scalp softly. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

She smiled, lips stretching almost painfully. You couldn’t help yourself from kissing her again, teeth crashing into each other as you laughed. You had been wanting to kiss her for ages, and it had taken a new ghostface for you to gather up your courage.

A new ghostface. Wes, dead. And here you were, kissing and laughing with Tara. It felt like a dishonor to his memory.

“What is it?” Tara asked, noticing how your face had dropped.

“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” you whispered, blinking at the new tears that were trying to escape. “He was alive just yesterday, talking and laughing… it’s not fair.”

“It isn’t,” Tara agreed, resting a hand on your thigh. “But we’re going to figure it out, alright? And you’re going to be just fine.”

You chuckled. “You can’t promise that, Tara. Not when there’s a killer on the loose.”

Tara smiled then, and something in the back of your mind screamed at the sight; that wasn’t her normal smile, the one she had just given you after the kiss. It was gone the next second, when she reached over the console to kiss you on the cheek, and you smiled softly at the gesture. God, this whole mess was driving you crazy. 

“You’re safe,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

━━━ • 𖥸 • ━━━

You woke up in the middle of the night, hearing a noise somewhere in the house. You sat up in Tara’s bed, reaching for her side of the bed.

Empty.

You had spent the entire day with her, laughing and stealing kisses. She had ordered chinese and had let you put on one of your favorite comedies to make sure your mind stayed away from Wes. She had even made you lasagna, even though she always complained about how dragging it was to make it all for it to end up tasting like feet, and you had fallen asleep shortly after, the taste of her mother’s wine still on your lips as you kissed her goodnight.

“Tara?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. Your head hurt as you got up, going to the bathroom. She wasn’t there either. You walked back to the bedroom as quietly as possible, grabbing your phone. You turned on the flashlight and, after a moment where you took a deep breath and gathered some courage, you walked downstairs.

You walked into the kitchen, thinking maybe Tara had gone there for a glass of water. Instead, you found it empty. You turned on the light and tried calling Tara, but it went straight to voicemail.

Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong.

You grabbed a knife and turned around, looking at the place. It seemed empty, but was it? Had ghostface somehow gotten inside the house? Had Tara gone to check out some noise, just like you were doing now, and ghostface had killed her?

“Tara?” You asked in a whisper, rushing to turn on the lights of the living room.

Nothing. You looked behind the sofa, and the closet beside the front door where Tara kept all her coats. Nothing. You made sure the front door was closed, and then ran towards the dining room. Nothing. Nothing.

Where the hell was Tara?

You decided to check the bedrooms upstairs, and moved towards the kitchen to grab a bigger knife. Before you could, a hand covered your mouth and dragged you back to the living room, turning off the lights as they went. You tried to scream, and even bite off the hand, but they were wearing thick gloves that all it did was make your jaw hurt.

“Shh. I’m not going to hurt you,” you heard that disgusting modulated voice, and tears began to fall.

Ghostface was going to kill you. Ghostface had killed Tara, and she was probably laying in one of the guest rooms upstairs, her blood staining the carpet. 

Once he let you go, you turned around, ready to stab him right in the chest. But he was faster, grabbing your hand and twisting it until you dropped the knife. You gasped, feeling tears as you saw your only lifeline fall to the ground in front of your eyes.

You were dead. All he had to do now was raise his knife and—

He did raise his hand, but it was empty. He grabbed your face, caressing your cheek. The material of the glove was surprisingly soft against your skin.

“Fuck you,” you said, trying to punch him in the face. He grabbed your other hand, and pushed you towards his body. The warmth felt familiar, and the smell… no, it couldn’t be.

You looked in complete shock as ghostface raised his hand and took off his mask.

Your knees almost gave in when you looked into Tara’s eyes.

No. No. No fucking way. This had to be a nightmare. Tara wouldn’t…

She wouldn’t, would she?

“Baby,” Tara whispered, dropping the mask to the ground. She stepped towards you, but you immediately moved away as you shook your head. It couldn’t be.

“You’re pranking me,” you said, voice shaky. “You— it can’t be.”

“Baby, let me explain,” she said. Though the awful mask was on the ground, she was still wearing the black robe. It made her look terrifying against the darkness, almost as if she was a flying head.

“Explain?” You asked, putting even more distance between the two of you. “You’re— you’re ghostface?”

“Yes,” Tara said. She was starting to look desperate, and you didn’t want to know what she would do then.

Would she kill you, just like she had killed Wes and those other three students? Were you her next victim? Was what had happened today all a lie, a way to get you to lower your defenses? If you hadn’t woken up, would she have stabbed you in your sleep?

“God,” you said. The tears were falling too fast now. You could barely breathe.

“Baby, listen to me,” Tara was begging. She wanted to get close to you so she could kill you? You looked at her hands, raised in surrender. Where was she keeping her knife? “Please, just let me explain.”

“You’re going to kill me,” you said, crying.

“No!” She said, in a rush. She frantically shook her head, walking all the way until she had you in her arms. You tried not to shake. “Baby, Y/N— please, look at me. Please.”

Her left hand grabbed your chin, guiding your face until you had no choice but to look at her. “Tara, how could you?” Her gloves felt wet, and you touched your chin, looking to see your fingers bloody. “God. God, Tara. This is blood.”

“It’s not mine,” she said, cursing to herself as she took off the gloves. Stupid, she should’ve taken them off before touching you.

“Whose is it?” You asked, drying your hand on your shirt. “Fucking tell me!” You pushed at her chest, hating how much she was prolonging it. You just wanted her to kill you so you could be over this panic. 

“Amber’s.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the name. So she knew— she had figured out Tara was the killer, and that had gotten her killed. You couldn’t believe what was happening.

“What?”

“When she said she knew who the killer was,” Tara said, once again moving towards you. “I ran to her and told her we’d talk at night,” she was soft as she grabbed your hands. It felt nice to finally feel her skin on yours. “She said yes, because she wanted to be part of it. The fucking hero who will bring the Stab movies back from it’s fall from grace,” you swallowed hard, trying not to picture Tara stabbing Amber. “I put sleeping pills on the wine,” your breath was momentarily stuck in your throat; so that was why she had declined the glass you had offered her. “So you would fall asleep fast. That way I could go talk to get and not implicate you. It was to keep you safe, and out of this.”

“Jesus Christ,” you rubbed your forehead. Now it made sense why your head had hurt so much when you had woken up. It was a wonder you were even awake now, which was probably why she had been more careless moving around the house and making noises.

“ I was just going to talk to her. I swear. I didn’t want to kill her,” she sounded desperate as she grabbed your cheeks, making you look at her. “She kept the back door open, and I got in. I had the ghostface costume on my back because I knew she’d want to see it. And she did. God, her eyes…” she shook her head. “She was delighted when I told her how I killed Wes, and those three other boys.” Those three other boys who had asked you out this past year, you completed the sentence. How could you have been so stupid to not connect everything before? It all pointed towards you, which in turn pointed towards Tara. “But then,” Tara said. “But then she started to talk about my sister, and—” she shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. We were going to arrange an attack on her, to eliminate her as a suspect, and then one on me. But I knew the more she talked, that she was planning on killing you. Her movie could only have two survivors. I knew it, and she knew it. I couldn’t allow it. So I went into the bathroom while she was typing on her computer with a smile on her face and put on the mask and the robe, and then I killed her. She couldn’t kill you.”

“Why?” You asked, trying not to notice Tara’s fingers gently drying your tears. “Because I’m yours to kill?”

“No!” Tara said. “You— no. Please, don’t ever say that,” the desperation in her voice surprised you. “Please. No. Never. I will never let anyone hurt you, not even myself. I will never hurt you.”

“Tara, you’re a murderer,” you said, blinking rapidly. You refused to cry anymore. You were too angry to shed any more tears. “You fucking killed Wes!”

“Because he was going to steal you,” Tara said. Her eyes were wide open; it made her look terrifying, so different from the girl you’ve known for so long. “He was in love with you. I heard him talk with Chad, saying how he wanted to ask you on a date. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“God, Tara…” you closed your eyes, letting your head fall towards the wall. You weren’t even sure when she had cornered you, but it made your heart beat faster when you realized you had nowhere else to go. “You… you’re crazy. Like clinically sick in the head. Mental asylum type of way.”

“You drive me crazy,” she whispered, her lips hovering over yours. You put your hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. “I did all of this for you. So we could be together.”

“Tara—”

“We have to be together,” she said. “Don’t you see? It’s always been you and I. My father left, my sister left, my mother doesn’t even look my way on the rare occasion she’s home… but you have never left me, because you’re my constant. I can’t let anyone take you away from me. I’d go crazy without you.”

“And this is not crazy?” You asked, fisting her robe harshly. You couldn’t help but remember just that morning, when you had grabbed her shirt the same way to push her towards you. The memory tasted bittersweet now, tainted by her recent actions.

“This is me making sure things stay the same,” Tara said. Her nose caressed your neck, and you let her. Your body was completely petrified. “We’ve been so good lately. You even kissed me today. You want to be my girlfriend. You asked me on a date.”

“That was before,” You said, shaking your head.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said, desperate. “I’m still the same person I was this morning.”

“I thought I knew you,” you said in a whisper. “I thought… I thought we were in this together. I didn’t know you were a fucking killer.”

Tara swallowed, tears in her eyes. “Please,” she said, hands on your hands. “Please, please. Y/N, please. Don’t leave me.”

“Tara…”

“I’ll beg until my throat is raw. I’ll beg on my knees— do you want me to get on my knees and ask you for forgiveness? I will right now. I’ll do whatever you want.”

You rushed to grab her forearms when you saw her beginning to lower herself onto the ground. “Don’t do that,” you said through gritted teeth. “Get up. Jesus.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, straightening her back. “Please. You’re all I have. I did this for you— for us. I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me if you leave.”

“For fuck’s sake…” This was too much. You looked down, and saw her hands were shaking. Her eyes were full of fear, so profound you couldn’t stop yourself from hugging her. She immediately relaxed into your body, head pressed against your neck as she sobbed.

“I did this for us. Don’t leave me,” she whispered over and over, as you ran your hands through her back. 

You were reminded of the night her sister left. You had held her just like this, and she had shaken the same way as she cried. What would happen if you packed your bags and left, just like you had been planning in your mind ever since she had removed that mask? Something horrible, even compared to those four kills.

You didn’t want to know what would happen. It made your skin crawl with fear.

“It’s okay,” you whispered.

She felt small in your arms, opposite to how she usually acted— like the oldest, the strongest, unable to feel any fear or pain as she let you rely on her. She had always tried to be strong for you, with the exception of now; and that time when she was a little kid and had scraped her knee, so hard she had needed two stitches. You had hugged her as she shook in pain, waiting for your mom to pull out the car so she could take her to the hospital.

“Don’t go,” she begged. It was hard to imagine this same girl that was clutching onto you killing people emotionlessly. It was hard to see her as anything but your Tara.

“I won’t,” you whispered, running your hand through her hair. “I won’t leave you.”

“You won’t?” She asked, pulling away to look at you. You sighed, drying her tears.

“I won’t,” you said, hating how your loyalty towards her was stronger than your moral compass. But this was Tara, a girl who loved you, and a girl that would be dangerous if you weren’t there to stop her. “But you have to promise you won’t kill anyone else.”

She hesitated, eyes looking at the ground. You wondered if she was too far gone to live without killing now she had gotten a taste for it.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to find out.

“I promise.”

And deep down, you knew she was lying. But you still allowed her to grab your neck and kiss you. Her lips were just as soft as when you kissed her for the first time.

You weren’t sure if you had made the right choice.

[raccoonface]

Snaps from Jenna

(I’m sorry if I copied someone else’s bc Ik other people have done this)

Btw I’m your guys’ mother now. I’m the mother raccoon

(which is ironic bc I’m pretty sure they leave their babies in the dumpster)

From Jenna ⬇️

From Enrique⬇️

——————

Sorry if I copied some one else I’m just really bored looking for one to do so I made this.

I love y’all Raccoon faces!!

[onwednesdayswewrite]

this hell is better with you {tara carpenter}

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader  

Warnings: canon typical violence for scream, talk of murder, blood, smoking weed, cursing, misuse of prescription drugs, dark themes. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SCREAM 6

Word Count: 3.5k

hey y’all, I had a ton of fun writing this, and have a few more ideas in this little universe so let me know if you would be interested in seeing more!

chapter 2: you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the fall of your senior year at Blackmore University when you first realized you loved Tara Carpenter. Your heated debates over Geoffrey Chaucer and Jane Austen had drawn you closer to her. Being the overachiever she was, Tara was taking English Lit as a freshman; while you barely scraped by to get a passing grade. Though your time together was usually cut short, you couldn’t miss the way even the overly bright fluorescent lecture hall lights made her eyes sparkle. Or the way the memory of summer days danced across her cheeks in the form of freckles. Or the way that little scar by her eye crinkled whenever she smiled. 

 Of course you knew of the Woodsboro native’s past, everyone did. It didn’t terrify you like it did most, it only excited you. 

Your encounters had been limited to a few study sessions and passing each other on campus. You wanted more, but her friend group always lingered. Mindy was sweet, a bit of a geek but you found it appealing. And Mindy’s girlfriend, Anika was nice too but you didn't know her well. And Quinn, you liked Quinn. Of course then there was Chad. You didn’t like Chad one bit. Chad rubbed you the wrong way. He always walked around acting like he owned everything. Including Tara.

And Sam? Well Sam was a whole different monster entirely. 

The day started like most did these days. A double at the hospital meant the twelve block trek back to your off-campus apartment would be hell. The caffeine pumping through your veins did little to ease the exhaustion. It was a Sunday which meant you only had a few hours of peace before you had to begin studying for morning classes. You wanted nothing more than to fill those hours with sleep but the constant honking of horns and the wailing of sirens made it seem unlikely. It was days like this where you wished New York City wasn’t the city that never slept, even if it was the middle of the day. 

As the hustle began to ease closer to your apartment, the sounds of sirens continued to fill the air. You didn’t live in the best part of town, but this was unusual. Your phone buzzed in the leg of your scrub pocket. It was a notification from the News app that came pre-installed on your phone. The heading read ‘police release names of Blackmore students murdered to be that of Anika Kayoko and Quinn Bailey’. You felt lighter now, that takes care of two of Tara's friends. Poor Mindy though, she seemed to really like Anika. Your bitten-down fingertips hit the notification, and scanned the article. ‘Kayoko and Bailey were in Bailey's midtown apartment when the attacks took place.’

Your blood ran cold and you felt your heart plummet to your feet, Quinn was Tara’s roommate. Was Tara okay? Your mind ran through every possibility, before you took a moment to settle. Think rationally, y/n. You had been floated to the surgical floor, if anything too bad had happened, you would have known.  

It was when you were about half a block from your apartment and the sirens only got louder and louder you grew concerned. You didn’t live that close to the Carpenter’s and there shouldn’t still be police activity.

When you turned the ally onto your street you knew something was very wrong. The entire block filled with every first responder in the area. New York’s finest. The fire department. Paramedics and emergency medical technicians. The coroner. 

‘They found you y/n. I told you that you should have hidden the body better’ the bottle of pills shook in the pocket of your thrift store jacket. Maybe an extra one wouldn’t hurt, they would kick you from the nursing program if they knew about the voices. The bottle rolled between your fingers when you pulled it from your pocket. Only 13 pills left, you couldn’t risk what would happen if you ran out. You slid the bottle back into the pocket and zipped it shut. 

You quickly realized things were not as they seemed when you spotted none other than Samantha Carpenter amongst the crowd. Her body was covered in blood. It didn’t seem to be her blood, but where the hell was Tara? You knew Sam never let her far from sight, so Tara had been with her? Sam didn’t seem overly upset given the situation. 

Your worries dissipated into the air when Tara hopped down from the back of an ambulance. Your heart settled in your chest. She was walking, talking with Sam and another blonde woman and seemed fairly unharmed. And she looked even more beautiful now than you swore she had before. The way the red and blue lights of the ambulance reflected against her chocolate eyes. And being soaked in blood that wasn’t her own was a good look. Though her arm was in a sling, the white fabric tightened around her neck. A rather shitty job, you could have done better yourself. 

You observed them as they spoke for a few moments. They were just a little too far to hear the conversation, but you certainly saw when Tara’s face crumbled. Oh. Oh. She was crying now, tears driving her mascara stains farther down her cheeks. You had never seen her cry before, and the deep pit forming in your stomach told you that you would never let it happen again. Now if you could only get your hands on whoever did this you would rip-

“Hey, we got another one here” a grimace of pain flashed across her face from the movement, but it didn’t stop Tara from rushing to greet the second paramedic squad rolling a gurney from within the theater. 

“Chad, Chad” Tara’s voice cracked when she called out to him, nothing but joy laced in her words. 

“How are you alive?” Sam joined Tara at the side of the stretcher. A stupid boyish smile found its way to Chad’s face under the oxygen mask as he held up four shaky, bloodied fingers. 

“Core fucking four” Tara let out a watery giggle, and a smile followed. A wide smile. One that made dimples crinkle up the skin on her blood stained cheeks. Normally it would have settled the fire in your stomach, but not this time. Not when Chad was the reason for it. Not when Tara was clinging to him, tightly gripping his arm, scared that he would leave her.  

‘They should have just let him die, he’s too close to Tara’ the voice echoed through your head. The pill bottle felt heavy in your pocket now. You untightened the safety cap and dry swallowed the pill. 12 pills would have to be enough. You would make it be enough.

“Oh my god are you guys okay?” Mindy stubbled past the line of police officers. An IV port in the back of her hand, and a hospital bracelet hanging from her wrist. She practically crashed into the group. Tara’s hands only leaving Chad’s arm to steady Mindy’s gait. 

“Ma’am this is an active crime scene, you can’t be here” the officer was much larger than you, and it was no use fighting against him as he backed you down the street, pushing you farther from Tara. 

You took one final glance back at Tara as she clung to her sister’s side, both watching as they loaded Chad into the second ambulance. With a deep breath, you turned your shoulders and headed down the street. I’ll be back for you, Tara Carpenter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I recovered, I got mad. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life being afraid of monsters. I wanted the monsters to be afraid of me. Kirby’s words echoed through Tara’s head as she entered Sam’s mandatory trauma group therapy. Tara was tired of it. Tired of always being afraid and running. Tired of being small and tired of being stabbed. Tired of being on the shit end of kill or be killed. Ever since the moment Tara drove that knife into Ethan, something changed in her. It came as a gnawing, aching feeling, a deep desire to feel the warm blood pump over her hands again. 

The therapy did little to ease the continued obsessive thoughts. Sam’s new therapist freaked her out and she hated the sterile environment of private therapy so Sam suggested group therapy. 

Tara felt sick to her stomach as she listened to the others talk about their feelings. She reached for her now lukewarm Starbucks coffee, but it did little to push the bile back down her throat. How could they feel this way when she felt so different? 

“Tara, do you have anything you would like to share?” Every pair of eyes in the room shot to Tara when the older lady running the session spoke to her. Curious eyes, just waiting to hear her sob story. All judging her as if they didn’t have their own fucked up shit going on. 

“Hi…I’m Tara, and about 3 weeks ago my friends and I were attacked and I…” Tara voiced trailed off. She hated the way they all looked at her now. The pity laced in their eyes. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t deserve it. 

“I just keep...I keep having these, um…these thoughts in my head, and I don’t…” Tara’s voice shook as she spoke. What the hell was she even supposed to say? The truth would no doubtably get her locked up. 

“Now die a Fucking virgin” it felt good under Tara’s hands as Ethan choked on his own blood. His chest heaved as he tried to get oxygen past the blood rapidly filling his throat and lungs. Fear floated into his eyes as he realized he was dying, and it was so so sweet. Tara twisted the knife a little more. He gargled for air one last time. Tara let him fall at her feet. Fuck Ethan. And fuck his whole family for what they had done to her. 

“I don’t know if I can control them...and I’m just...afraid of what’s gonna happen” Don’t say it Tara. Don’t say you’ve been longing to take another life since that moment. Don’t tell them it's the only thing you can think about, day and night. Make something up Tara, think fast. Her eyes rapidly scanned the room looking for an answer. All eyes were still on her, wide and scared, just waiting for her to lose it. Her chest felt heavy, how was she going to get out of this one?

Until her eyes found yours across the room. And for once someone was finally looking at her like she wasn’t crazy. Like they weren’t going to lock her up and force pills down her throat. Like someone who finally understood her. Her heart was racing now. It was all too much. 

“I’m sorry, I need a second.” Tara pushed herself up from the chair and darted for the door without a second thought. 

The stale air of the meeting hall had been suffocating her, and now with the cool evening air rushing into her lungs, she felt like she could breathe again. She took another deep breath and settled down against the brick wall of the building. It felt nice on her spine after half an hour of sitting in those cheap plastic chairs. Tara checked her phone again, had it really only been 30 minutes? 

“Want a hit?” Tara almost didn’t notice you settle down next to her, offering a small vape in her direction. “Or may I offer a stale doughnut and coffee that tastes like it was brewed with sewer water?” You offered up your other hand which contained a white paper coffee cup with a black lid with a chocolate sprinkle doughnut balanced on top.

Tara took your offering of the doughnut, maybe the sugar would stop her hands from shaking so much. She picked a few sprinkles from the icing before tearing off a chunk of the doughnut. She was right, the chocolate did settle her nerves a little. 

“What are you doing here, y/n? Therapy I mean” Tara ripped off another piece of the doughnut, and then set the rest down on her thigh. 

“That’s a bit of a personal question, don’t you think?” Your eyes followed a fallen leaf as it tumbled through the parking lot. Tara knew it wasn’t that interesting, you were just avoiding making eye contact. 

“We almost kissed, I think I’m allowed to ask you personal questions” Tara chuckled out, the autumn breeze cooling the fire blooming on her cheeks. 

“And that shows the complex relationship between- y/n, are you even listening to me?” Tara paused her rant about Paradise Lost when she noticed your eyes had been focusing on her and not the book in front of you. You clearly hadn’t been paying attention, you didn’t even notice her lift her head up to look at you. Tara grabbed a paper clip from the nearby stack of papers, and tossed it in your direction. It hit you square in the side of the nose and you jumped. Caught red handed. 

“What? Yeah of course I am” your eyes shot down to the book beneath your fingertips, clearly trying to figure out what the hell she had been going on about. 

“Focus, our midterm is next week” Tara tapped her pastel blue pen down on the paragraph she had been talking about.  “And stop staring, it’s creepy” Tara didn’t really think it was creepy, but she knew if she let you look at her for too much longer then you might notice the pink tint that was finding its way to her cheeks from you being so close. 

“I’m not a creep! I just think you have a pretty voice” you pretended to act shocked, but you knew Tara didn’t take any of your shit. Not when it came to classes. Not with your graduation looming in the distance. Tara wasn’t sure what your plans were after college, but she hoped you were planning on staying close. Would you stay working at the same hospital? 

“That’s something a creep would say” Tara teased, rolling onto her stomach to copy you. She didn’t want to think about you graduating, and leaving just yet. It made her feel like lightning struck her heart. She didn’t like that feeling. “This is important, can we please focus?” As much as Tara wanted you to stay, she didn’t like the idea of you failing being the only reason for staying. 

“I’m already focusing on something important to me” Tara looked up to see you already looking at her. Your hand pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen out of her messy bun. Fuck. Tara felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. Their soft wings tickled the sides, spreading the warmth they left through her body. Tara watched as your eyes shifted down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. Please kiss me. Tara felt the heat between the two of you, something seemingly pulling you closer and closer. 

Your copy of Paradise Lost disregarded somewhere on the bed between the two of you, and for once Tara didn’t care. All she could think about was why the hell you couldn’t put on your big kid pants for once in your life and kiss her. Did she really have to do all the work? Just when she thought she was gonna explode, you leaned forward on your elbows. Your breath tickled her nose. Please just kiss me, you idiot. 

“Tara” Quinn shoved open the door to Tara’s room without a care. You quickly jumped away from each other, the notebooks in front of you suddenly becoming very interesting. That's it, Tara had decided you really were an idiot. She wasn’t even sure she could save you anymore. 

“Did I cockblock you?” it didn’t take a fool to read the situation, and Quinn certainly wasn’t a fool. Definitely not when it came to this. 

“What did you just say?” Tara squeezed her eyes shut. This is not happening right now. 

“Cockblocked you, I cockblocked you, didn’t I?” Quinn waved her finger between the two of you. 

“Immediate no” Tara jumped up from her spot on the bed, shaking her head. Quinn had just ruined this for her, and now she was only making it worse. 

“Please stop saying the word cock” your voice was muffled from where you had your face pressed into your notebook. Tara wondered if your cheeks looked as red as hers felt. 

“What’d…what’d you need?” Tara’s voice stuttered. 

“Sam just texted me asking if I needed anything, so she's on her way home” Quinn waved her phone at them as evidence. Tara hated it. She wasn’t ready to handle Sam just yet. You sent her a sad smile; you knew that meant your night was over. Tara took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. She really hated it. 

“Don’t ever enter a room like that again” Tara let out a sigh of frustration and sat back down on the bed. 

“I won’t” Quinn nodded her head, feeling just as awkward now. 

“Nice to see you, Quinn” you waved her direction and she offered an apologetic smile, turning and leaving the room. “But I'm gonna get out of here before your sister kills me” You smiled down at Tara. Tara could feel her cheeks burn even hotter now as you packed up your books. 

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Carpenter” you sent a wink in her direction before slipping out the window and down the fire escape. Tara let herself fall back on the bed. Fuck. The butterflies in her stomach felt bigger now, like a bird had taken over and was starting to flap its wings. 

“I changed my mind, give me that” Tara snatched the vape from your hand, and began to take a hit. The fire had begun to light up in her chest just from being close to you again. And she definitely wouldn’t have the courage to follow through with her plan if she was sober. 

“It’s weed Tara, don’t green out on me” you tried to pull the vape from her lips, but she swatted you away. It burned her throat, and her lungs felt heavy. 

“I know what I’m doing, I’m not some amateur” Tara took another long hit from it just to prove her point. When she exhaled she instantly felt the tickle in her throat. She felt her face start to turn red as she resisted the urge to cough. She wouldn’t let you think you were even a little right. 

“Not an amateur?” Your eyebrow cocked up, and a smirk played on your lips. After a few more seconds of watching her struggle, you offered her the cheap therapy coffee. And Tara took it gratefully, anything to soothe her throat. 

The second the coffee hit her tongue she knew it was a mistake. You had been right about one thing; that coffee HAD been made with sewer water. Tara felt humiliated as she sat coughing and spitting up trash coffee as the people of New York City passed by. Judging her. As if they even had a clue what she had been through. 

“Easy sweetheart, they haven’t given me my nursing license yet” your hand felt warm on her back, rubbing soothing circles. And even when the coughing settled and she sat back upright, you didn’t stop. You pulled her closer even. Tara didn’t mind though, she honestly hoped you wouldn’t ever stop. 

You were so close together now, the scent of coffee and weed still lingering on both of your breaths. Tara watched as you scanned her face for any sign of discomfort. Your face visibly settled when you found none. Tara wasn’t messed up by any means, but she definitely felt the high easing her nerves. She felt lighter now, like the weight of the world wasn't completely on her shoulders for once. And by the look on your face, she was sure you would take that weight if she had asked you to. 

Tara’s fingertips traced the scar above your eyebrow. It ran down the side of your face, and ended abruptly at your cheekbone. How had you gotten it? It didn’t look overly fresh, but was that why you had come to counseling? 

You abruptly grabbed her hand. Tara’s eyes flew to yours, and your skin warmed hers. The warmth burned hotter in her chest too. Tara liked having you this close. 

“I will not be held responsible for my actions if you don’t stop touching me” Your eyes were serious. 

Tara swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat. She had been holding back from you long enough that even the idea of giving in made her hands shake. Tara held your gaze for a moment, contemplating her next move, then shifted onto her knees and pressed her lips against yours. 

“Good girl” you whispered when she finally pulled away. She shivered under you. 

“You like that, don’t you? You want everyone to think you're so sweet and innocent. And good.” your breath tickled her ear “but you like the darkness. You need it, crave it. And I'm going to give it to you, Tara Carpenter”. 

And you were right. Tara needed it. She craved it. She craved you. 

chapter 2: you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

[andsoigotabutterfly]

Liberation

gf!tara x gf!fem!reader

a.n.: this is my first ever fic, so please make sure to share your thoughts about it...

warnings: blood, mentions of past trauma, slight schizophrenia, murder, mentions of hot scenes, harsh language

English isn't my first language, but I did my best!

word count: 5.1k

Some people say it’s a miracle you are alive. Some say you are cursed, and a threat to the community. Some say that some unworldly power helped you get through your life until now. You agreed with the last one. Nobody in the world knew how you survived your childhood. Except for you.

When you were three years old, you were involved in a car crash, in which both of you parents were inpaled on a tree and died. After that, at the age of five, your godfather, was shot down by the police, because they thought he is going to shoot them first. Of course, you were in the back seat when this happened, and you only survived, because you ducked away from behind your new guard. The orphanage you’ve been put in, burnt down around you, when you were eight.

The „Voice”, you called it. The second part of you, which nobody knew of. The part of you, that you hid from everything and everyone. It was the saviour of you. It was the one, who told you to put your back against you fathers’ seat, before the car crashed, so you would survive the tree that pierced through the front window. It was the one, who told you to duck, just before the gun was fired. It was the one, who told you to hug the ground and crawl to the back door of the building, so you wouldn’t suffocate from the smoke, and so you wouldn’t be trapped inside the building, once the support beam that held the ceiling crashed down. It forced you out of situations, without letting you warn others of the danger. It felt like there was a psychopath on you, who was ready for mayhem and destruction.

And it was the one, who tried to influence all your actions. It spoke to you; it tempted you and it bothered you. Only when in danger, did you listen to it. It was full of envy and hatred. It didn’t want you to make friends or go to activities. It tried to manipulate you and cut you away from those, who you loved and or cared about you. Whenever you tried to talk to it, it was like it didn’t hear you, or just didn’t bother to answer neither your questions nor your accusations.

Other then it being a pain in the ass when it came to the public, it was actually very tolerable when you were home at your aunt’s place. It stayed silent, mostly ever talking when you were trying to choose a movie or a book to read. You’ve had similar tastes and quickly found that the favourite movie series for you both, were the Stab movies. The only place where you could speak to it was in front of the mirror. You’ve rarely done it because it felt weird to speak to your reflection, that didn’t even mimic you. Anyone who would come in would see nothing, except for you talking to your own reflection. After you’ve made this discovery, it was there EVERYWHERE. Any time you would go to the toilet, there it was looking back at you from the mirror with a horrific grin on your mouth. Every time you looked onto the water’s surface it was there, mocking you. You were terrified of it and thus, yourself.

Then, at the end of primary school, when you went home, you’ve had enough. From it. It has teased you with murder before, but now it was meaning it.

“Kill the bitch! Run your knife through her and see what her insides look like! I guess that would be a sight worth seeing!”

You ignored its words. You knew it wouldn’t hear you until you were face to face with it. You barged in the bathroom and unleashed your fury at it on the dirty mirror.

“Shut up!” you screamed.

“If she won’t be ours, she won’t be anybody’s!” it lashed out.

“You want to kill her because she said no to me?!” you asked in disbelief, shame running through you as you remembered back at what happened.

“Of course! Turn the canal’s water red with her blood!”

“I don’t want to hurt her! I won’t hurt anyone!”

“It would be so liberating!” your reflection was feral. The grin on your mouth was mixed with the terrifying sight of absolute madness in your eyes. You needed to convince yourself, that you weren’t seeing your own face. You were feeling the effect it had on you. You were losing control of yourself.

“Get out of my head!”

“I won’t go anywhere! I will help you slice that bitch up and then get on with everybody else, who has hurt you. Think of the kids that bullied you in the orphanage. Now picture their bodies…”

“SHUT UP!” you were yelling at this point. You didn’t care if the neighbours heard you. You wanted it out. It was getting to you. The images that it said, were flashing through your mind, and to say they weren’t nice would’ve been a lie. You gripped the corner of the sink so hard, your fingers hurt and turned white.

“It would fill the hole in your soul. Let go! It would make you whole!”

Your vision went black. You couldn’t see anything but it, with a huge grin on your own mouth. You couldn’t think straight. You wouldn’t give up either though. In a last, desperate attempt, you crashed the mirror with your bare hands as you screamed your lungs out. It hurt like hell. Blood was dripping down your hand. But at that moment, you felt victorious and at peace. When you looked at your reflection through the cracks, you saw yourself. A laugh escaped your lips, as you smiled at yourself. You touched your face, like it’s the first time you saw it. The blood you left on it was now running down your cheeks, but you didn’t mind. It was nowhere to be found. You finally got rid of it.

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High school was calm and peaceful. From the moment you set foot in there, you were famous. Almost everybody knew your name, knew what shit you've been through. Most of the people left you alone, or tried to keep distance for the first half semester, like you were rotten meat. Except for a small group of people, whom you quickly became friends with.

After the school got used to your presence, the bullies started to present themselves. Not afraid of you anymore, they started picking on you, for even the smallest detail. To say that they made your time there miserable would be an understatement. You still finished your first year on a good note. Your aunt and you have become close and you finally had some friends with whom you would meet with during the summer.

The next year started off, as the last closed. At the first day the others already left because they got less hours than you. This was when the bullies showed up. Your impulsiveness led you to a fight with them. Two of their group ended up in the infirmary with bruises and stiches, and you in the principal's office, with a warning. When your aunt picked you up, she was angry but the moment you were in the car, her face lightened up and asked you all about the fight. At first you were confused, but then started to talk about what happened with more and more enthusiasm. She listened to every last detail you told her, with pride on her face.

"Next time, maybe don't hold back." She said with a wide grin.

"There won't be a next time, for a long time if I assume right." You answered.

At night, you all gathered at Tara's place. When they saw your black eye, and the stich on your cheek, their jaws dropped. Then, you were hit with a wave of questions on your well being, the state of the "other guy" and whom the fight happened with. You told the story all over again, with a bit more detail than you actually remembered. As you were talking Chad encouragingly patted your shoulders, and commented on your technique, like he was some kind of professional. Tara's face lit up when you got to the part where you got your scars. You didn't take it as something important until after the party, in your bed thinking about her. Realization hit you, that you like her. The way she moved around, the way she made everyone laugh and that she always was nice. Oh, you liked her very much.

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That night, in your dream, it came back. You were standing in front of each other. It spoke to you, but you didn't listen. Even if you tried to take in what it was saying, you couldn't understand it. Then it took out Ghostfaces' mask from behind it's back, and placed it on its head. As it approached you, you froze down. Couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't talk. When it reached you, it tilted its head, and you woke up. You tried to calm down, as your thoughts were racing. It was back. Was it back? 'Please. Somebody save me' you thought.

The next weeks were normal. You haven't heard its voice, or felt its influence. As the days were passing, you shook it of like it was a nightmare, even though you were most certain, that it wasn't one.

Just as you thought, the bullies didn't come back for a long time. During the 'Time of Peace', as you called it you managed to get to know your friends more, especially Tara. It was like having a new family. You guys would always go to one's house to hold small get-togethers and parties. Everybody was nice and smooth, but your eyes were always set on her.

You two got together really well. You both liked horror movies, and would go on to watch them all together. Like yours, her favourite movie series was Stab too. One time around the end of the year, you managed to prank call her, and she quickly got into the game. You left your voice changer at home, so you tried your best at hiding your own voice, failing miserably. You sneaked in through the back door and got into her house. As she was heading into the kitchen, you jumped her. She did definitely not expect you to be in her house.

She gripped you tightly as she calmed down quickly. Her touch made you have goosebumps. You never saw her scared, and were proud of yourself. She looked cute.

"Fuck!" she breathed out finally. "Y/N!"

"At your service."

"What are you doing here?!"

"Well, the plan was to sneak in, scare your gorgeous ass. Then maybe, just maybe, watch something together" you admitted. "First half worked out pretty well if I dare say so myself."

"Okay than Mrs. jumpscare. Take your shoes off. I just finished cleaning. After that, we may discuss having movie night." She looked at you through her smile. After a second, she watched you curiously and raised an elbow. That’s when it hit you how close you were. She was still in your arms so you quickly let go and did as you were told. You were trying your best to hide your blush but the way she looked at you made it pretty clear, that it didn't work.

You settled down on her couch, patiently waiting for her to make the popcorn. When she got to the living room, you slowly pulled out an ancient dvd holder of your bag. You shot her a grin as you saw her mouth drop.

"No fuckin' way where did you get this?!" she shouted in excitement. She took the holder out of your hand and started analysing it. It was the original Stab movie's director's cut.

"Did a little digging in the attic." You shrugged.

"You're kidding me."

"Indeed I am. I needed to pay off the guy in the dvd renter so that he lets me to the backside of his place. I found this piece of art there."

She bit her lips in excitement as she looked at you, her beautiful eyes full of wonder. You nodded to her, so she would open it and place the dvd in the player. As it started playing, she sat beside you. Too close, for your body not to act up. You could only hope that the couch didn't vibrate from your heartbeat.

Even though you have already seen the scenes that were cut from the film on the internet, you eagerly waited for every one of them. When one would come up, you sat straighter. Yet, you couldn't pay attention to them because every time you sat up, Tara grabbed your hand, like she was afraid you would go away.

This made it impossible for you to look at the television. Your vision was filled with her, the way the lights reflected back from her beautiful eyes, the way her smile could melt any matter on the world and the way she looked up at you time to time. This was one of those moments. Your eyes met and you felt like you could gaze into hers for the rest of your life. Her eyes went to your lips, then back again. You did the same, whilst leaning just a tiny bit closer to her. She was the one to close the distance. You felt in heaven as your lips crashed together, the salty taste filling your every sense. Your eyes shut close as you pulled her into you. She was addicting, and would be the death of you. Somehow that idea just made her even more appealing. She separated herself from you, to take in a quick breath, then she was back onto you, her jaws biting your bottom lip ferociously.

She pulled away again, worry in her eyes from her own action. You already missed her presence on your lips. You chased after her kissing her the same way she did you. You sank onto her, grabbing her thighs as you pushed her down to the couch. You can't tell how much time you spent there, just making out. The only thing that stopped you was a sudden scream. You quickly looked up not really understanding where it came from. Her giggles made you realize, that it came from the movie. It was as if the outer world completely disappeared to you. The film was about to end, and the real stabbing began in it.

"Do you know how long you've kept me waiting for this?" you asked her, when your senses became clear again. You still couldn't believe what just happened.

"I actually do." she said with a smirk. "You aren't really good at hiding your feelings dear."

"Yes. I get that a lot."

She smiled at you, somehow being even more gorgeous than before, than snuggled up to your side, to finish the movie. You put a hand around her and played with her hair, as you finally calmed down. After the film, the two of you would have a long night ahead of you.

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From that point, you two were always found together. She didn't want to hide you, which made you even more confident. Days, weeks and months passed but nothing made you feel as complete as her. Well, almost complete. You still didn't feel quite right, but you couldn't put your finger around it.

As your third year began, you both found some new activities for yourselves. You signed up for drum classes, and she to a new art group. You knew she loved to draw, and this only made her already good style into something that you could only describe as "high art". One day, you went to her place only to find it empty. As you killed time, you found one of her old sketchbooks. Your eyes widened, when you realized more than half of them were you. Wait, were you really that beautiful in her eyes? When she got home, you couldn't stop teasing her with it, as you also complimented her work.

"Stop it!"

"Only if you draw me right now, so that I can see how well my gorgeous can draw!" you said with a wide grin.

She blushed at the comment. With a bit more of your nagging, she finally gave in. As she drew you, she started speaking about her peers at the art group. She kept mentioning a boy named Kent, whom she really got close with. A hint of jealousy hit your stomach as you listened to her.

"He helped me improve my line work." She was always rambling about something when she was focusing. It's one of the things you loved about her. Whenever she was cooking, which she was also a goddess at, she would always talk about her day, or something that was on her mind. "He is also the best student of his class."

"Well, he sounds like a nerd."

Tara's hand stopped and her mouth dropped open a little. "Is someone jealous?"

"No…" you huffed out immediately.

"Riiiiiight." she teased and returned to drawing.

In minutes, you already hated this Kent. Tara rented about him for a few more minutes, only because she loved your reaction. You hated every minute of it. Anger coiling in you, eating you up from the inside. A really familiar feeling, but you couldn't quite remember when you've felt like this. Then it hit you. Just a moment later, it, also hit you.

"You know what to do…"

You froze down in shock. Terror showed on your face, and Tara immediately stopped, watching you worriedly. 'No, no, no, no… It can't… Why…' you felt like your mind stopped working. Everything felt cold and hot at the same time, your clothes too tight, you couldn't breathe. Tara stepped to you, saying something, but you couldn't hear it. Then she gripped your shoulders and shook you up a bit.

"Look at me!" she spoke, her words finally hitting your ear. "Y/N!" you obliged. "What's the matter? It was just a joke. Nothing serious…" she hugged you softly.

"N- No it wasn't that…"

"Then what was it?"

You couldn't tell her. You wanted to run away, to curl up in a corner and hide the world from yourself. Her eyes wouldn't let you. So you did the second best thing that came to your mind. You lied.

"La- lately I have started having panic attacks. They are tied to what happened with me in my childhood." 'Idiot!' you thought.

"Mhm, how can I help?"

"This does…" you said eyeing her closeness. She held you even tighter now, calming you down.

You don't know how long you've been standing in her arms, but after a while you slowly pulled away to kiss her. "How's the drawing going?"

She smiled at you. "Ready for you to judge babe." she said, taking her sketchbook from the couch, showing you the newly drawn masterpiece. You were truly amazed by it.

"I can't decide why it looks so good. Because it is about me, or because you were the one to draw it." you teased.

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The next days were torture. It came back indefinitely. It overtook your image in your reflections once again. It spoke to you in the most inconvenient of times. It tried to influence you again. And it fuelled your hatred of Kent.

You always saw him around Tara, either you were, or weren't with her. He was like a little puppy, eagerly following her around. He definitely had a crush on her. This made you mad and insecure. It was like there was a knife, twisting in your stomach. The Voice only made it worse. Somehow it succeeded at making you not think of Kent as a human, but as a threat. As a predator, who was circling around something, that was yours. This made your nights restless and your days infuriating.

"We need to keep her safe." it spoke to you, as you were drying your hair.

"I need to keep her safe, yes. Stop using the royal we please."

"There is not one, without the other. I am a part of you and you can't even fuckin' deny it."

"I can, and I do. Can I dry my hair now?"

"I see your dreams as well as you do. I know you've been dreaming about it. Let us cut him up!"

You didn't answer him.

"Oh, it would be a site to see. The bloodied mess of his open stomach. I bet his screams would be just as beautiful as your dreams show. What sweet nightmare we can bring to life if we pay him a visit! Picture Tara! See as he touches her, as he holds her!" you couldn't cut the pictures out of your head. You were furious, full of hatred and jealousy. It took your thoughts over. No. You took your own thoughts over. "Now picture him dead."

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That night you put on the mask. You didn't need to go far for it, as it was tucked away in your closet. The robes and the knife too. Originally you only wanted to buy a fake knife, but to your aunt's advice, you bought a real one. What a great decision that was.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Your reflection didn't behave differently from you. You pulled the mask down, and smiled at yourself. It was you all along.

You started the engine of your aunts' car. She was away on a business trip, and left the car for your use at home. You couldn't be more thankful for her, that she thought you how to drive at summer. Kent was living at the other half of Woodsboro, and you didn't want unwilling eyes to see you.

You stopped two blocks away from his house. You put your mask on, and taped the voice changer to your neck. You got out of the car and quickly made your way to the backyard of his house. Light shined out of the building. Only one shutter wasn't pulled down, and it was on the second floor of the house. 'Fuckin' prick too. Oh this really will be fun!'

You pulled your phone out and rang the number of the houses' line phone. While still at home, you searched it out of the phone book, your aunt was still keeping at home. It rang for a while, before someone finally picked it up.

"Hello?" you heard his voice from the line, uncertain.

"Hello there Kent." you said, voice changer turned on.

"Who am I speaking to?"

You chuckled. "Soon, you'll discover. Tell me! Would you like to play a game?"

He didn't answer right away, as if he was talking to someone. Were his parents not out of town? "Well, I'm kind of in the middle of one, so I would say no…"

You looked in through a small gap at one of the shutters. "I think this game is more fun than Monopoly…" you said with a grin under your mask.

"How do you know what we're playing?"

"Don't you know not to ask this question?" oh, he was clueless. Sweet sweet ignorance.

Now, a familiar voice came to the phone. "Hello sweet prank caller! Could you please let my friend go now? He needs to step in my hotel!"

You recognized her. What was Tara doing here? Your mind went through the possible causes, then you remembered. She invited you too for game night, but you backed out of the offer. 'Fuck. Well, can't back off now can I?'

"No I cannot Tara Carpenter. I have some unfinished business with the gentleman."

You saw the shock that settled on her face through the gap. It didn't please you even in the least amount. Then she looked up at Kent and cut the line. Both of them are going to start searching for you know. The others already left. Mindy and Chad left with Liv, because she needed her private time with Chad, and Mindy didn't have a car of her own. Wes had a tight deadline to head home because of her mother. Amber called sick for the week. The only ones staying the longest were always you and Tara. You didn't know about Kents' friends, but you didn't see more people than two.

You climbed up at the eaves of the house to the window, where your only entrance lied. You opened it with your knife, and climbed in without a sound. You called again.

"So, I bet you are dying to hang on the line now!"

"You talked about a game… If I play, you leave us alone… Right?"

Obviously Tara wasn't near him. She would have given him such a smack, that his screams would've echoed up the stairs. Oh what wouldn't you give to hear that sound.

"Precisely! Now you are getting it. I ask, you answer. A wrong answer means five more stabs! Do I have your undivided attention?"

You heard his gulp through the phone. "Yes."

"What's your favourite scary movie?"

"There is no good answer to this!"

"Wrong… You are living in Woodsboro. There can only be one good answer. Stab. But since this would be an unfair game, I will give you some fair questions, so you have a chance." You played with your knife in hand, waiting for his response.

"Okay…"

"Tell me Kent. What were you and Tara talking about when you took her hand, and drag her to class?"

"How…"

"I think at this point you really should know better than to ask back boy."

Little pause. "We were talking about her girlfriend. I was saying she was too possessive of her and she started a fight with me.

"Very good! Two more questions to go." you said as you sneaked down the stairs. "I'm going to make this harder for you. Who is the man behind the mask in the original Stab?"

"Lemme think!"

"Tick tack Kent!" you said after ten seconds. "If you don't answer, Tara might be in trouble. And you wouldn't dare risk her pretty shirt getting all bloody would you now?

"If you dare touch her!"

"I would be more interested in your wellbeing at the moment, if I were you. Answer!"

"I- I don't know!"

"Wroooong again… You disappoint me young man. I know for a fact Tara has told you about this, since she tells everyone about them.  The right answer is Billy Loomis and Stu Macher." you were in the living room now, sanding not far and behind him. "Last question, and this better be right! Do you think, I could have made it into your house, through the window that was wide open on your second floor?"

His head shot back, fear in his eyes. It was more beautiful then you ever imagined. You theatrically hung up the phone, then waved at him with the knife.

"TARA RUN!" He yelled out, as he too, started to run towards the front door. You took your time chasing him. Before you called first, you barricaded the front door. Nobody could leave that way.

He was banging on the door terror in his eyes as you walked slowly closer. "What's your answer Kenty boy?"

"Fuck you!"

"I'm afraid that I can't take that as the right answer…" you said tsking, then you started running at him hand and knife raised. He tried to duck away, but you predicted it and ran your blade through his side. It felt so good! The warmth of his blood that soaked your hand, the scream of pain he let out. It was liberating. "One!" you shivered out, euphoria taking over your body.

You pulled the knife out of his stomach, then kicked him to the ground. He desperately tried to defend himself, failing miserably in it. As you climbed him, he hit your ribs, and tried to pull of your mask. Each attempt he made, you rewarded it with a stab. His blood spilled on your mask, bloodying it. You couldn't contain the laugh that escaped your mouth. You counted the stabs, making sure to reach the target. Blood spilled from his mouth as he writhed under you. Your own blood was pumping in your ear, making you numb. You almost didn't hear the scream that echoed through the house. Your head snapped back up, searching for its source. Even though you didn't want to believe it, you would have recognized that voice from anywhere. Tara was in trouble.

You stood up, kicking his now lifeless body in the process. Then marched your way to where you heard her. As you entered the kitchen, you froze down from confusion. Tara was on the ground, sticking a kitchen knife in someone's neck, whom you saw with Kent two times before. 'So there was a third wheel…' You watched as she took the life of the boy, only looking up at you after she was done, smile on her face. That bloodied smile made you melt. This was a completely new side of her, that you never saw before. The insanity in her eyes was burning, her perfect white teeth shown to you.

"What took you so long?" she asked still smiling, getting closer to you.

"What do you mean?" you asked back. Your voice changer didn't work anymore. Kent probably ruined it.

When she reached you, she took your mask of and kissed you immediately, all softness gone from her. She bit your tongue and pulled you into her smaller body. You were so turned on from her, and you knew she felt it.

"You mean, you wanted me to get to him?" you asked, as you pulled away for a moment.

"We both wanted you to get to him. Our first night together, remember? The Voice in you, overtook you, and made me feel better than ever." she said, as she started undressing you, pulling you upstairs. "Afterwards, we talked freely. You told me everything about your past, so I told you everything too. I told you, how I feel my anger build up until I can't control it. I told you about my first victim, and you devoured me for it! So in return, I decided to help free yourself." she took half a step back looking at you with wild, heart eyes. "I love you."

"I love you too." you said instantly. As her lips crashed on yours, you could only think about you being finally complete. Complete with her, complete with yourself. You picked her up, and carried her upstairs. You dropped her onto the bed, and climbed after her. You were finally free. She liberated you, and you would dedicate your whole life to showing her how grateful you were for that.

[tatumrileyslover]

may i request for fic with Tara x Fem!reader or GN!reader, where Tara taller than short reader and Tara is also Ghostface!, but she would never hurt reader. BUT accidentally somehow the reader dies in Tara's arms due to another ghostface guy lmao

In These Arms of Mine

☆〜 Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

☆〜Genre: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Slight Fluff

☆〜Word Counts: 3.6k

☆〜 Warnings: too much Shakespeare references, violence, blood, murder, some cute fluff

Tara stood ominously over the frail girl before her, Cassie Millis. They used to be close until Cassie's relentless harassment of (Y/n) pushed them apart. A twisted sense of justice grew within Tara, convincing her that what she was about to do was right. She believed she was protecting her girlfriend, shielding her from the harsh outside world.

"Please, don't kill me," Cassie pleaded, her voice trembling with fear. She curled into a fetal position, a feeble attempt to shield herself from the impending danger. Blood pooled beneath her, staining the floor in a morbid display. Tara's head tilted to the side, an unsettling aura emanating from her very being, casting a haunting presence over the room.

The atmosphere grew thick with tension as Tara stood over Cassie, her figure shrouded in darkness. Her eyes, filled with a mix of determination and conflicted emotions, fixated on her defenseless victim. The air seemed to grow colder, as if the room itself recoiled from the malevolence that hung in the air.

Tara's gaze pierced through Cassie, her silence unnerving. A chilling stillness settled over them, broken only by the sound of their labored breaths. The weight of their shared history, the fractured friendship, loomed heavy in the space between them.

Cassie's voice wavered, barely audible as she pleaded for mercy. Her words hung in the air, a desperate plea that seemed to echo through the room. But Tara remained unmoved, her expression betraying a sense of inexorable purpose.

“Tara, I’m so sorry,” She sobbed curling into herself more, chocking her tears when Tara angrily kicked the discarded mask towards her, hitting her feet before settling by her side.

Slowly, Tara raised the knife, its gleaming blade catching the faint light. Tara's gaze fixated on the bloodied blade in her hand, relishing the power it symbolized. Cassie's soft whimpers echoed in the air, fueling her twisted determination. The cold metal felt heavy in her hand, its presence a chilling reminder of the darkness that had consumed her. Every fiber of her being yearned for another way, for forgiveness and redemption, but she knew deep down that it was too late for such resolutions.

Their eyes locked, conveying volumes of unspoken words. Tara's torn mask lay discarded, a macabre symbol of their shattered friendship. She leaned in closer, her voice barely a whisper, laced with a haunting sense of finality.

"This is what it’s fucking come to, Cassie," Tara seethed, her voice laced with anger and determination. "There's no turning back now."

Cassie's eyes widened in shock, a mixture of disbelief and betrayal washing over her face. She tried to find the words, to plea for mercy, but the weight of the situation paralysed her.

Tara leaned in close, her grip on Cassie's chin tightening with a vengeful force. Cassie winced in pain, her eyes squeezed shut as Tara's words seared into her ears. "You should have left us the fuck alone." With a swift, merciless motion, Tara plunged the knife into Cassie's stomach, their eyes locked in a chilling gaze. As life slowly ebbed away from Cassie's fading eyes, her face grew pale and lifeless, her lips stained with the vivid crimson of her own blood. Tara pushed her away with disdain, casting her aside like a discarded object. Cassie's head crashed to the ground, the thud echoing through the room like a final punctuation mark on her tragic demise.

Tara hastily gathered her blood-soaked belongings, cramming them into her backpack with a sense of urgency. She glanced at the clock, “Shit!” Time was ticking, and she needed to make her escape. With one last glance at the lifeless body of Cassie, a mix of adrenaline and unease coursed through her veins. She knew she had to leave the scene before the consequences caught up with her.

As she stepped out into the stormy night, rain pelted down heavily, drenching her to the core. The downpour seemed almost cathartic, washing away the physical remnants of her dark deed. Tara's gaze shifted to her hands, once stained with blood, now gradually clearing as the rainwater mingled with the crimson. It reminded her of Lady Macbeth's words, "A little water clears us of this deed." Though in her case, it was not a mere washing away of guilt, but rather an attempt to conceal the evidence and hide the truth.

Her hair clung to her face, a disheveled mask concealing the sweat and stickiness of her skin. The storm raged on, mirroring the turmoil within her. Tara knew that her actions would have lasting consequences, regardless of how well she tried to hide them. The rain offered a temporary respite, but the weight of her deeds would remain, forever etched upon her conscience.

Rounding the corner, Tara's eyes locked onto the familiar sight of her girlfriend's house, a place that held so many cherished memories. It stood as her sanctuary, a refuge from the darkness that consumed her. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, envisioning the warmth and comfort that awaited her inside those walls.

Her thoughts drifted to (Y/n), her petite frame and the way her laughter filled the room. Tara longed to hold her in her arms, to feel their bodies intertwined and find comfort in her embrace. (Y/n) was her sun, radiating love and light even in the darkest of times. Right now, Tara needed that warmth more than ever.

She quickened her pace, anticipation coursing through her veins. Each step brought her closer to the one person who could provide the solace she sought. As Tara approached the front of the house, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the illuminated living room. The warm glow spilled out onto the porch, signaling that her parents were still awake. A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins, knowing she had to find another way inside without arousing their suspicion.

She navigated the darkened path along the side of the house, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the pouring rain. Droplets cascaded from the leaves above, drenching her further as she made her way to the back. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth, mingling with the anticipation that hung in the atmosphere.

Standing beneath (Y/n)'s window, Tara glanced up at the illuminated silhouette behind the curtains. Her heart swelled with longing and a mischievous smile played upon her lips. With a flick of her wrist, she plucked a handful of small stones from the wet ground and let them soar through the air.

The stones sailed through the rain-soaked night, creating a gentle symphony of clinks as they struck the windowpane. Tara's eyes remained fixed on the window, hoping that the sounds of her impromptu serenade would pierce through the noise of the rain. Each stone was a small gesture, a tangible manifestation of her desire to be near (Y/n).

And then, like a scene from a romantic tale, the curtains fluttered and parted, revealing the face of her beloved. The sight of (Y/n)'s eyes widened in surprise and delight brought a surge of joy to Tara's heart. She watched as the window slowly opened, revealing a small figure framed against the warm glow of the room.

Tara couldn't help but chuckle softly, her laughter mixing with the pitter-patter of raindrops around her. She raised an eyebrow, her eyes sparkling with playfulness.

"Alright Romeo," (Y/n) teased, a smirk dancing on her lips. "What's with the whole romantic gesture in the pouring rain, did you watch the notebook again?"

Raindrops glistened on her hair and cascaded down her face, but her smile remained undeterred. Tara chuckled softly, a mix of excitement and relief filling her voice.

"Couldn't resist the allure of a classic romantic gesture, could I?" Tara quipped, her tone lighthearted despite the intensity of her emotions. "But I come bearing a rain-soaked kiss instead of roses."

(Y/n) laughed, her gaze filled with affection as she leaned closer to the window. "Well, I can't say no to that. Climb on up, Romeo."

With nimble movements, Tara scaled the trellis beneath the window, her wet clothes clinging to her like a second skin. As she reached the window sill, she pulled herself up and entered (Y/n)'s room, rainwater dripping from her onto the floor. The room was warm and cozy, a sanctuary from the storm outside.

They stood face to face, their height differences adding a playful charm to the interaction, Tara gazed down at (Y/n), her eyes full of love. She would do anything for her, their smiles reflecting the deep connection between them. Tara's fingers brushed against (Y/n)'s cheek, tracing the path of a raindrop as it made its way down. Their eyes locked, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

"I needed to see you," Tara admitted softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "I was having a rough night."

(Y/n)'s hand reached out, intertwining their fingers. "I'm here for you, Tara. Always." (Y/n)’s manicured finger lightly pushed into her chest, “and if I’m not, I’ll always be in your heart.”

Tara's heart raced with anticipation as she gazed into (Y/n)'s eyes, feeling an irresistible pull towards her. In a surge of passion, she crushed her lips against (Y/n)'s, their mouths melding together in an intense kiss.

Their tongues danced in a sensual tango, exploring each other's mouths with fervor and desire. (Y/n)’s hands tangled in Tara's damp hair, pulling her closer, deepening the connection between them. Their bodies pressed against each other, the warmth and heat emanating between them intensifying with each passing second.

They broke away for a brief moment, their heavy breaths mingling in the night air. Their eyes locked, their pupils dilated with a mixture of love and lust. Without uttering a word, they knew they couldn't resist the magnetic pull any longer. Tara's lips descended upon (Y/n)'s once again, claiming them with a hunger that spoke of their insatiable longing.

Their kisses became a fervent symphony, a passionate exchange of lips and tongues that expressed their deepest desires. Moans and sighs escaped their mouths, lost in the intoxicating sensation of their bodies entwined.

The world around them disappeared as they succumbed to the intoxicating bliss of their connection. Time became irrelevant as they immersed themselves in the depths of their desire, the rain serving as a backdrop to their passionate embrace.

But as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the house, reality crashed back into their consciousness. (Y/n)'s eyes widened in panic, her hand clasping Tara's tightly. With urgency, she pushed Tara into her closet, the door closing just as her parents entered the room, oblivious to the passionate moments that had just transpired.

Tara watched from the darkness as (Y/n) greeted her mother, her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and secrecy.

"(Y/n), your father and I are just heading out to see a movie," (Y/n)'s mother said with a gentle smile, her voice carrying a mix of warmth and concern. She wrapped her arms around her daughter, embracing her tightly before planting a tender kiss on her forehead. Tara watched with a mix of admiration and longing as the mother-daughter bond unfolded before her.

As (Y/n)'s mother pulled away from the hug, her heels clicked against the floor, adding a rhythmic beat to the room. She walked over to the open window, her tone filled with a blend of worry and light-heartedness. "How many times have I told you to close your windows, sweetheart? I don't want to come home to find you in any danger."

Tara's gaze shifted between (Y/n)'s mother and her girlfriend, hidden in the shadows of the closet. She marveled at the genuine concern in her voice, appreciating the depth of a mother's love and protection. Swiftly she made her way downstairs to meet her husband.

Suppressing a giggle, Tara couldn't help but find amusement in the irony of the situation. She, the one who dwelled in the darkness, now stood in the sanctum of (Y/n)'s room, concealed from the watchful eyes of her family.

Emerging from the closet, Tara's eyes met (Y/n)'s, an unspoken understanding passing between them. She reached out, her fingers intertwining with (Y/n)'s, their touch reverberating with an undeniable connection. The room seemed to fade into the background as they stood together, their love shining bright amidst the shadows.

"I promise, I’ll never let you get hurt," Tara whispered, her voice filled with determination and devotion. "Someone’s got to break the Romeo and Juliet curse." (Y/n) chuckled, burying her flushed cheeks into Tara’s shoulders, “You need to stop with all this Shakespearean shit Tar, we get it, you’re good at English!”

Both girls lay tangled together on the small bed, their bodies entwined in an intimate embrace. The laptop sat forgotten between them, the movie playing in the background serving as mere background noise to their shared moment. Loving gazes passed between them, each glance interrupted by an occasional scream from the movie that had lost their attention long ago.

As the credits began to roll, Tara let out a soft sigh, the weight of impending departure settling upon her. "I should probably get going," she murmured, her voice carrying a mix of longing and resignation. She felt (Y/n)'s fingers lightly tracing over her freckles, the gentle touch sending shivers down her spine.

(Y/n), still in a drowsy state, tightened her hold around Tara's waist, her touch comforting and possessive. She leaned in, her warm breath caressing the back of Tara's neck. "You could stay a little longer," she whispered, her voice laced with a hint of sleepiness. "I can tell my parents you're staying over."

Tara turned her head slightly, her lips curving into a tender smile. She understood the allure of staying, of being enveloped in (Y/n)'s love and warmth for a little while longer. But responsibilities tugged at her, reminding her of the impending essay awaiting her attention. "As much as I would love that," she replied softly, her voice filled with a mix of desire and duty, "I really need to start working on my essay. It's due on Monday."

With a gentle stretch, Tara began to disentangle herself from their embrace, her movements accompanied by a pang of reluctance. However, (Y/n), not ready to let her go just yet, reached out and wrapped a hand around Tara's waist, pulling her back towards her. Tara's heart skipped a beat as she felt (Y/n)'s lips press against the crook of her neck, a tender kiss that ignited a spark within her.

"Just use the front door," (Y/n) whispered, her voice filled with affection and a hint of mischief. "I need to lock it anyway." The words were accompanied by a yawn, a testament to their shared contentment and the peacefulness of the moment. Tara couldn't resist the magnetic pull of (Y/n)'s touch, and with a final glance, she decided to embrace the stolen moment a little while longer.

Slowly making their way down the stairs, Tara and (Y/n) clung to each other, cherishing the precious moments they had before their separation until Monday. As they descended, (Y/n) couldn't help but shiver, the sudden chill in the air catching her off guard. Confused, she made her way towards the thermostat, only to find it set at the usual temperature. Perplexed, she glanced back at Tara, who trailed behind her with a curious expression.

Cautiously stepping towards the entrance, (Y/n)'s eyes widened as she noticed the door had been left slightly ajar. A mix of irritation and amusement flickered across her face as she realized the irony of the situation. "And they complained about me leaving my window open?" she muttered under her breath. She sighed, turning up the heat on the thermostat. "I can't wait to use this against them the next time!"

Tara couldn't help but giggle at her girlfriend's sleepy rambling, finding solace in their playful banter. She leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to (Y/n)'s lips, their love and affection exchanged in that gentle touch.

"Goodnight," Tara whispered softly, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "I love you."

(Y/n)'s arms wrapped around Tara's neck, pulling her in for another lingering kiss. Their lips met, a fusion of love and longing, as they savored the taste of each other's presence. (Y/n) smiled, her voice filled with affection as she whispered, "Love you more, my Romeo."

Tara couldn't help but smile at the endearing nickname, a testament to the deep connection they shared. With a final exchange of loving glances, Tara opened the door, preparing to face the outside world once again. "Call me when you get home," she reminded Tara, her voice filled with a hint of concern and a touch of longing.

Tara began making her way down the street, her steps guided by the rhythm of the rain. Before she could fully disappear from sight, she glanced back, her gaze meeting (Y/n)'s figure still standing in the doorway. With a playful yet concerned tone, she called out, "Get inside and close the door before your house turns into a refrigerator!"

(Y/n) laughed, the sound of her joy echoing through the rain-soaked air. She shouted back with a mix of concern and affection, "Just keeping an eye on you until you reach the end of the street. The second I can't see you anymore, I'll close the door." Her words carried a sense of protection, a testament to her unwavering love and care.

Tara blushed at (Y/n)'s thoughtfulness, touched by her partner's determination to ensure her safety. She knew deep down that (Y/n) didn't need to worry about her, that she was more than capable of handling herself. Yet, in that moment, she appreciated the gesture, the reassurance of their bond.

As Tara neared the end of the street, ready to round the corner, she turned for one final glance back at (Y/n). A smile adorned her face as she waved, a burst of warmth and affection radiating from her being. But in an instant, the world shifted, and her smile faded into shock.

The image that met her eyes shattered her heart and stole her breath away. A knife, mercilessly plunged into (Y/n)'s stomach, transformed the scene of love and laughter into one of terror and despair.

(Y/n)'s hands gripped the hilt of the knife embedded in her stomach as she crumpled to the floor, her body falling limply onto the porch. From behind the partially open door, a tall figure emerged, donned in the same ghost face costume that Tara had hidden away in her backpack. The chilling presence exuded an air of malevolence, their intentions masked beneath the haunting visage.

Tara's heart pounded in her chest, her mind struggling to comprehend the horror that unfolded before her. Every instinct propelled her forward, her feet sliding on the rain-soaked ground as she stumbled towards (Y/n). Panic surged through her veins, her breaths coming in frantic gasps as she desperately tried to reach her beloved's side.

Who was this ghost face, and how had they discovered Tara's identity? Her mind raced with questions, her thoughts entangled in a web of confusion and disbelief. The realization struck her like a lightning bolt—someone had not only uncovered her secret, but they had deliberately targeted the person she loved most in the world.

As Tara fought against her own stumbling steps, her vision obscured by the rain and tears that blurred her sight, the figure disappeared into the house, their dark presence melding seamlessly into the shadows.

Kneeling beside (Y/n), Tara's hands trembled as she applied pressure to the leaking wound, her palms now coated in crimson that was spilt by her, not by her own volition. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the rain and blood as they fell onto (Y/n)'s stark features. Her words poured out in a desperate mantra, a desperate attempt to convince herself of the impossible.

"You're okay, (Y/n). You'll be okay, I promise," Tara's voice wavered, the weight of her broken promise heavy upon her. She knew deep down that the wound was fatal, that (Y/n)'s life was slipping away with each passing moment. The figure had inflicted a mortal blow, twisting the knife upon its extraction, leaving (Y/n) to bleed out on the cold, unforgiving floor.

(Y/n)'s grip on her side tightened in agony, yet her eyes, clouded by pain, held a gentle reassurance. She shook her head, her voice weakened by the loss of blood. "It's okay, Tara. I'll be okay," she whispered, her blood-stained hand reaching up to caress Tara's tear-streaked cheek. With a trembling finger, she pressed against Tara's heart, a gesture of eternal love and connection. "I'll always be right here."

Tara's attempts to staunch the flow of blood proved futile. The inevitability of the situation settled upon her like a heavy weight, crushing her spirit. She cradled (Y/n)'s fragile form against her chest, her sobs echoing through the empty night. "I promised," she choked out, her grip on (Y/n) tightening. "I was going to keep you safe."

As (Y/n)'s eyelids drooped, the light fading from her gaze, a bittersweet smile lingered on her face. Her voice, barely above a whisper, carried a love that would transcend death itself. "I love you, my Romeo."

Tara's heart shattered in that moment, the world around her crumbling into darkness. She held onto (Y/n) with all her might, as if by sheer willpower she could defy the cruel hand of fate. But as (Y/n) slipped away, Tara's cries of anguish mingled with the rain, a symphony of grief and loss that echoed through the night.

Authors Note

Why tf did tumblr delete my entire edited draft AH? Literally spent an hour on it and poof it was just gone, anyway I’m not feeling this story as much I think the endings a bit rushed but I’m also very sleep deprived so I think I have an excuse

[p0rkbun]

Omg… your Sam art is soooo hot (and your amber art and your art just in general lol)

it got me thinking… you know who’d be a badass ghostface duo?

Tara and Sam!

Like if they both snapped and they’re both so hot when they’re covered in blood/and or being slightly psychotic/unhinged…

no pressure though, just thinking thoughts!

💋

thank u 🥹🥹🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻 I appreciate it ❤️ be sure to send more art requests if you want!! love you friend!

bloody ver 👇

I hope I slayed 🙇🏻‍♀️ the carpenter sisters for sure slayed though

(should I print these as cards I could sell? Just thinking…)

[rollingsins]

all hers, epilogue

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: Tara and YN try their hand at some healthier habits.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of violence. Smut.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: it's been a wild ride. thanks for all who have come along. all hers is over, but I will still be writing gf!tara drabbles in the same universe - maybe some college oneshots in the drabble files. Until then: enjoy the final chapter! :)) 

As the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months, slowly, the pain subsides.

Your normal? It’s potentially forever gone. It shouldn’t be a surprise, at this point.

Once you’d just been a teenage girl, crazily in love with another girl.

Who turned out to be a serial killer. Who’d somehow turned you into a killer.

Who’d made you cry, and laugh and love harder than you’d ever loved in your entire life.

In the grand scheme of things - the scar on your belly is probably the least of your worries.

But that doesn’t stop you toiling on it.

It always seems to be the way, doesn’t it? Worrying about the things that don’t really matter.

You worry nonetheless.

“It’s pretty,” Tara murmurs in comfort when you’re staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, shirt lifted slightly, eyebrows pinched in dismay.

It’s not pretty.

It’s wiry and long and stems from the tip of your bellybutton down to your navel.

“It’s hideous.” You say, voice a little fraught.

It’s hideous and permanent.

You’ll never be able to wear a bikini again. You’ll never be able to take your shirt off again without being reminded of it.

Of her.

The woman who had tormented you for weeks.

The woman who you’d tormented for weeks. The woman whose son you’d taken from her. The woman who’d repaid you in mental scars to last a lifetime.

A belly scar to last a lifetime.

“It’s beautiful,” Tara says, pressing her lips to your shoulder, “It means you’re alive.”

She squeezes your hips, then lifts her own shirt.

“And it matches mine,” She says, eyes shimmering, “Matching knife wounds. Like soulmates.”

You snort.

Because of course Tara tries to make stab wounds romantic.

But to her credit - it works.

Your heart sings.

Soulmates.

Because that’s what you are.

“Who needs a wedding ring, right?” You say, biting your lip, insecurities suddenly fading.

Tara entwines your hands, lifts the back of your hand to her lips.

“You do,” Tara says, “And you’ll have one. Soon. I promise.”

You pull back.

“Not before-“

“College,” Tara says, rolling her eyes, “I know, babe.”

You press a lingering kiss to her cheek.

“I just don’t want to be one of those couples who rush into marriage and fall apart the moment they turn twenty-one.”

“That won’t be us,” Tara whines, and then she pouts, “Plenty of high school sweethearts get married right after high school.”

You groan.

“Tara, we talked about this already-“

“I know,” Tara says, voice hasty, “I’m just excited. I want you to be Mrs. Carpenter already.”

“Mrs Carpenter, huh?” You say, ignoring the fluttery rush that blooms through you at the thought, “And what if I want you to take my name?”

Tara cocks a brow and considers this.

“I don’t care, babe, I’ll change my name to garden gnome if you want, as long as I get to be your wife.” She says after a moment.

You smile. Squeeze her hand.

“You’d suit it,” You tease, “But Mrs and Mrs Carpenter has a nice ring to it.”

Tara tilts her head hopefully.

“So, maybe a high school wedding?” She asks, voice sly, “Mrs Carpenter would look good on your college application forms.”

You press a warm kiss to her lips.

“There’s no rush, babe,” You tell her, “And I need to save up. Get you a pretty ring.”

Tara squints.

“I’m proposing first,” She says immediately, “You promised, babe.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, you baby, I know.”

Tara tilts her head, seemingly satisfied.

You press a kiss to her lips. She’s cured your insecurity, for now.

But a new feeling gnaws at the bottom of your stomach.

Dread.

As you realize what comes next. You try to keep your voice light. Lighter than the heavy pit at the bottom of your stomach.

“Come on,” You say, trying and failing not to sound anxious, “It’s time for therapy.”

-

Dr Colmann is a five foot woman with long, flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Her office is bland. Gray walls. Little decoration.

Like she wants your attention on her.

You’d met her first, a few weeks ago. Like a pterodactyl scouting out a potential nest for her baby.

Your situation is tricky - there’s only so much you can tell her.

And you’re no doctor - but even you know surely it’s impossible to diagnose an illness without knowing all the symptoms.

“I want to get something out of the way,” You’d said after a long moment, clearing your throat.

Dr Colmann had looked over at you, pen tilted and ready to write. With all the intimidation of a woman who was about to change your life.

“I’m aware my girlfriend is…” You had paused, trying to think of the right word, “A little… possessive.”

Dr Colmann said nothing.

“I know that, and that’s why we’re looking for help.” You’d bitten your lip, nervous, “And I’m also sure the first thing you’re going to tell me is to leave her. But that isn’t going to happen. I love her. And she loves me. We’re looking for coping methods. I want to help her feel secure. But I will not break up with her.”

Dr Colmann had just listened.

Her silence, if possible, made you all the more nervous.

“She’s not abusive or anything,” You’d clarified, hastily, “She doesn’t hurt me. She just gets… jealous.”

“And what does she do when she gets jealous?” She’d asked, finally breaking her silence.

“Um-“ You’d said, voice a little high. Memories flashed before you like nightmares and you’d been entirely grateful your thoughts couldn’t be seen.

“She lashes out. Not at me. At other people.”

Dr Colmann scribbled something in her notepad. Long, wiry, black inky marks.

You’d squinted, trying to make up the words, but she’d looked back at you before you’d had the chance.

“Do you have any examples?” Dr Colmann prompted.

You paused.

You had a fair few of those.

None of which you could disclose.

“Little things,” You said, “I used to play soccer. But I had to quit because Tara thought some of the girls might become interested in me.”

You chew your lip.

“And… I was just in the hospital. She got jealous of the nurse.”

“The nurse?”

“She tried to… give me a sponge bath and Tara freaked out.��

Dr Colman stared.

You swallowed. The words out loud somehow seemed even more ridiculous than they are.

“How did she freak out?” Dr Colmann asked.

“She tried to…” You swallowed again, “She didn’t want the nurse to touch me again. Not even to change my bandages.”

Dr Colmann pursed her lips.

“I told her that was stupid,” You’d said, hurriedly, “But when she gets like that, nothing can stop her. She calls it The Rage.”

Dr Colmann tilted her head.

“The Rage?”

You’d nodded.

“Yeah. It’s like… it’s like something takes over her. Like a demon or something. Something she can’t control.”

Dr Colmann had closed her notebook. She’d looked over at you, surveying. You’d blinked back, eyes wide, surely screaming help me, or something to that effect.

Then, she smiled.

“When can I meet her?”

-

You’re no less nervous the second time.

You greet Dr Colmann with a tight smile, draw Tara down into the seat next to you. Your knee bobs up and down, unable to quell the tide of anxiety rising deep within you.

Please, you think, a little desperate, please help her.

As Tara and Dr Colmann exchange pleasantries, you blink. Too many times.

Like you don’t know how this is going to go. The worst case scenario flashes before you: Dr Colmann in a body bag.

Tara in a jail cell.

You in a jail cell.

Never able to touch her, or hold her, or kiss her ever again.

You need therapy, the little voice in your head leers, judgmental, not being with Tara is worse than a woman dying?

“So, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, when you’re all seated. With all the cheeriness of someone who isn’t aware you’re imagining her as a corpse.

“Tell me about The Rage.”

An awkward silence settles over the three of you.

Tara shoots a hesitant look towards you.

You squeeze her hand and nod.

Then, she looks over to Dr Colmann.

“It’s an anger thing,” Tara mumbles, not looking her in the eye, “I’ve seen shrinks before, none of them can fix it.”

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And what did these other doctors do?” She asks, “Anger management classes? Medication?”

“Both,” Tara says, “Nothing ever worked.”

Dr Colmann hums.

“I’ve read through your file, Tara,” She says gently, “Fourteen different therapists across the state. That’s a lot of doctors. Especially for such a young girl.”

Tara assesses her. Her face is tight, guarded. Like she’s not sure if she can quite trust her.

Dr Colmann scribbles something in her notepad.

“Lots of kids have problems with anger,” Says Dr Colmann, “But anger is just a symptom, like any other emotion. From what YN has told me, anger isn’t the problem. Sharing is the problem.”

Tara frowns.

“Plenty of children have issues with sharing,” Dr Colmann continues, “Usually, it’s the parents who stamp it out. But not always. I see in your file your sister used to bear the brunt of most of these anger issues.”

Tara folds her arms.

“Not always,” She says.

“But most of the time,” Says Dr Colmann, pointedly. She squints, reading through her notes, “It says here you attacked your sister when you were four years old because she tried to play with one of your Barbie dolls. Then again, later that week for taking a bigger slice of pie.”

“Four year olds are allowed to have boundaries, aren’t they?” Says Tara, defensively, “That Barbie was mine.”

“And YN? She’s yours too?” Asks Dr Colmann, evenly.

Tara blinks.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Tara says, diplomatically. The question is a trap, one she’s determined to avoid.

Dr Colmann tilts her head.

“And you don’t like when other people play with her? Is that right?”

Anger flickers through Tara’s features. You bite your lip, and squeeze her hand. Try to keep her grounded.

“I suppose not.” Says Tara, voice tight.

“YN told me about the nurse,” Dr Colmann says, “And the soccer team. You made her quit? Why?”

Tara looks over to you, a little helpless.

“I didn’t make her quit,” She says, slowly, like she’s being very careful with her words, “I just… suggested it. Strongly.”

Dr Colmann makes a noise of dissatisfaction.

Then returns to madly scribbling on her notepad.

Tara frowns again, looking self-conscious.

Dr Colmann looks up.

“And what if someone on the soccer team had been interested?” Dr Colmann asks, “What would you have done?”

You avert your gaze.

Kill them, is the answer.

It’s already happened.

More than once.

Tara shifts.

“I wouldn’t like it.” Tara says.

“No reasonable person would like that, Tara,” Dr Colmann prods, gently, “But what would you do?”

“I don’t know,” Says Tara, sounding aggravated, “Not let her see them anymore.”

“And do you think that’s an appropriate request?” Dr Colmann asks, “Do you really think you should have control over who your girlfriend associates with?”

Tara narrows her eyes.

“YN would do it for me,” She says, “We’re in a relationship. Relationships are about compromise.”

“That isn’t compromise, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, gently, “That’s you demanding she do something and her complying. Do you not trust her?”

Tara blinks.

She looks over to you, then back to Dr Colmann.

“Of course I do,” She says, voice soft, “It’s other people I don’t trust.”

“And what do you think these other people are going to do?” Dr Colmann asks.

“I don’t know.” Tara says, voice small, as if she’s never really thought that far ahead.

She looks like a little lost puppy. You want to wrap her in your arms and tell her you’ll never talk to anybody else again if that’s what she wants.

You resist.

Healthy wife, happy life, is what you tell yourself instead.

Dr Colmann’s face washes with sympathy.

“Jealousy is pointless, Tara,” Dr Colmann says, voice gentle, “Worrying is pointless. If YN is going to cheat on you, she’ll cheat on you. If she’s going to leave you, she’ll leave you. There’s nothing you - or The Rage can do about it.”

Tara blinks.

“I-“ She says, as if Dr Colmann has just spit in her face “What?”

Dr Colmann sits forward in her seat. Her notebook discarded.

“What you need to do - is trust. Your girlfriend loves you. Clearly. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara frowns.

“You’re afraid of losing her,” Dr Colman says, eyebrows knit, as if Tara is a particularly difficult puzzle she can’t quite get her head around, “But why? We’ve already established she loves you. She wouldn’t be here with you if she didn’t.”

Tara blinks. You soothe a finger across the back of her hand. Resist the urge to press a kiss to her pretty forehead.

You let the doctor do the work.

“Have other people you loved left you, Tara?” Dr Colmann prods, gently.

Tara’s shoulders tense.

Dr Colmann waits a moment.

“Who?” She asks, "Your Mom? Your Dad?”

“Both.” Tara says, voice small, “They both left me.”

Your heart aches.

If you could - you’d sucker punch the two of them right now.

It isn’t an option. Instead - you grip her hand tight, offer her a small smile of encouragement as she speaks.

Tara swallows.

“My Dad tried to fix me,” Tara says, “For years. I was an angry kid. They could never figure out what was wrong with me. Eventually he just… gave up. He walked out on me and My Mom and my sister. Left us, just like that.”

“That must have been very traumatic,” Says Dr Colmann, “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Says Tara, “My Mom never left. I mean, she did. She threw herself into work to cope with my Dad leaving. She started going on these long business trips. But she never officially left.”

Dr Colmann offers her a small smile, “And that’s why you get so jealous, is it Tara? You’re afraid YN will leave you? Like your Mom? Like your Dad?”

Tara hesitates.

She looks down at her hands.

“Yes.” She says, after a long moment.

“Baby,” You say, voice hushed. Tara squeezes your fingers.

Dr Colmann hums.

“That makes a lot of sense, Tara,” She says, her voice kind, “That gives us something to work with.”

She closes her notepad, offers the two of you a reassuring smile.

“Your anger - we can work through that. We can figure out some coping methods. But the main problem here isn’t anger, Tara. It’s trust. I know you said you trust YN but you’re still scared. Deep down you’re scared she’ll abandon you, just like your parents did. We need to work through that.”

“Is it something we can fix?” You ask, a tad desperate.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d promised Tara you’d never leave her.

And each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears the moment The Rage was invoked.

“We can try,” Dr Colmann says, “I can try. And it’ll take some hard work. But Tara, it’ll only work if you’re open to it. If you’re open to changing. Is that something you can do?”

Tara thinks for a moment.

And then she nods.

“Yeah,” She says, “I want to do it. I want to be different. For you, babe,”

She squeezes your hand. Thinks hard.

“And for me too."

-

You’re silent the entire way home.

Tara too.

She grips your hand so hard you think it might fall off at one point. It’s only when she pulls into the driveway, she speaks.

“I didn’t scare you off, did I?” She asks, chewing her lip as she looks over at you, “With all my… problems.”

“Never, baby,” You say immediately.

You lean over to kiss her cheek. She relaxes.

“I’m going to need a lot of therapy, aren’t I?” She says, sounding worried.

You press another warm kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll be with you the whole way,” You assure, “I'm not going anywhere, Tara.”

You hesitate.

“You know I’m not like your Dad, right?” You say, “Or your Mom. I’m not going to leave you.”

Tara offers you a small smile.

“I know, babe,” She says, “At least in theory, I know.”

You press a kiss to her lips.

“I guess I’ll just have to remind you then,” you say, “Everyday. I love you. You’re stuck with me. I’ll say it until you believe me in theory and in practice.”

Tara rests her forehead against yours.

“Okay,” She says, “And keep saying it after that, okay babe?”

You kiss her.

“Deal.”

-

Your Mom’s still in the hospital.

Her leg had been amputated after the attack, and the procedure hadn’t been easy on her or your Dad. She’d come home after two weeks and then been admitted once more when the wound became infected.

“Are you feeling okay?” You ask her now, chewing your lip, phone pressed to your ear.

Tara finishes up the dishes, setting down the washcloth to nestle in beside you, squeezing your hip comfortingly.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” She says, “Will you come and visit tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there,” You promise, “Sam is going to pick us up after school.”

“And everything’s alright at the house?” Enquires your Mom.

You were staying at Tara’s place until your parents came back home, a decision that was quickly agreed on, for once.

“Everything’s fine, Mom,” You assure, “Sam’s working now, but she’ll be home in a couple of hours.”

Your Mom hums.

“And Tara’s there with you, isn’t she?” She asks, sounding a little worried, “You’re not alone?”

“Tara’s here,” You say and Tara kisses the back of your neck, “You don’t have to worry, Mom.”

“Is that Tara?” Asks your Dad through the phone, a little gruff, “Can I speak with her?’

“Dad wants to speak to Tara, YN, bye for now,” Says your Mom, “See you tomorrow.”

You barely get out the goodbye before you hear your Dad’s voice once more.

“Tara?” He asks.

“It’s me Dad,” You say, and he makes a noise of vague disappointment.

You roll your eyes.

“We’re fine, thanks for asking.” You say.

“Yes, yes, I heard you speak with Mom,” He assures, “Put Tara on the phone.”

You hand off the phone to your girlfriend and pry yourself out of her grip, busying yourself with playing the leftovers into their containers.

“Hello, Sir,” Says Tara, the way you might speak to the President.

She bobs her head, eyebrows knitting.

“Yes, I did see the 49ers play.”

You huff.

Tara averts her gaze.

“Yes, I did think they played like a bunch of seven year old girls.”

You roll your eyes once more.

Tara’s newfound friendship with your Dad is better than the alternative, at least. You’d lived the alternative.

It hadn’t been much fun.

“We’re okay,” Tara promises, suddenly, “I have every door locked down, alarms set and cameras operating.”

Your Dad murmurs something down the line you can’t hear.

Tara smiles, and then reaches for your hand.

“I’m not letting her out of my sight, Sir, you don’t have to worry,” She says, “I won’t let anyone hurt her. I promise.”

She hangs up not long after.

You should be used to it by now, the flutter in the pit of your stomach every time she gets protective, or calls you hers, but you’re not.

Butterflies cascade through your belly, branching out to the tips of your fingertips where they settle. You curl in around Tara and press your lips to her neck.

She smells good. No perfume, just the tinge of her skin and her coconut body wash.

You squeeze her hips and nip your teeth against the nape of her neck.

“Oh.” Tara sighs as you slip your fingers into the waistband of your jeans. She leans back into your touch, titling your head to capture your lips.

“Really?” She asks, a little excited.

You laugh.

You’d not had sex in a few weeks, hardly in the mood. Your wound aches most days, and the rest are spent really remarkably unsexy, despite Tara’s constant reassurance you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.

She turns in your arms, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Sam won’t be home for hours,” You murmur against her lips, “Just you and me. The way it should be.”

“Your stomach doesn’t hurt?” She asks, a little soft. Her eyes swim with concern, “We can just watch a movie, if you want?”

You shake your head.

She looks good. Her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup, her spill of freckles poignant, her pretty lips pouty and red and kissable.

“I want you, baby,” You murmur, nuzzling your nose to the side of her face, “Do you want me too?”

You don’t have to wait long for a response.

She presses a searing kiss to your lips.

“Do you even have to ask?” She says, biting her lip.

“No,” You smile, “But I want to hear you say it anyway.”

“I want you,” She says, immediately. She’s excited again, you can tell by the way her eyes flicker, “I want you all the time.”

“Come take me then,” You murmur against her mouth.

She doesn’t have to be told twice.

She leads you up the staircase, walking backwards. Her mouth fused to yours, her careful hands roaming every span of skin she can get her hands on.

She helps you onto the bed, far gentler than her usual gig of wild hands and wild lips. Instead, this time she touches you as if you might shatter into a thousand pieces.

You make an annoyed murmur as she pulls your jeans down your legs. It feels like an age, the way she softly untangles the button and the zipper. Her touch is light, so un-Tara.

When she finally pulls your legs from your jeans, you almost cry out of frustration.

“Babe, I’m not going to break.” You tell her, but it falls on deaf ears.

She’s pressing her lips to your thigh, tiny, gentle touches as she pulls your underwear down your legs at a pain-stakingly slow pace.

“Don’t rush me, babe,” She says as you reach down to help her, “And lie back. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I feel fine,” You say, tilting up to meet her kiss, “Please hurt me.”

Tara huffs, drawing back slightly.

“It’s not fair to say things like that when you know I can’t.” She pouts, “The things I want to do to you will almost certainly rip your stitches.”

Arousal coils deep in your belly.

Then annoyance.

“Now who's not being fair?” It’s your turn to pout.

Tara nudges her lips to your neck.

“I’m going to make love to you, baby-girl,” She promises, her eyes dark, “That’s more than fair.”

You tilt your head up and press a lingering kiss to her lips.

“Besides. If I rip your stitches I think your Dad will have something to say.”

You wrinkle your nose.

“Let’s not talk about my Dad when we’re getting naked, babe,” You suggest.

She hums in agreement.

And then you reach for her shirt.

“Off.”

If she’s going to spend the entire evening getting your underwear down your legs, the least she can do is give you something to look at, you reason.

Your touch is impatient.

You pry off her jeans like there’s a time limit. Strip her of her shirt and her bra until she’s hovering naked above you, making your mouth water.

And suddenly, what little patience you had left is gone.

You rise up, starling her.

“Babe-“ She protests, but you can’t be reasoned with.

You tilt her around, until she’s lying back on the mattress, nudging her bare legs apart with your thighs.

“Too slow, my turn.” You murmur.

Your lips are hungry.

You kiss her, fierce, groaning slightly as your hands get to work. They work down the curve of her hips, to her thighs. You squeeze her, a little rough, and then move your hands to take her nipples between your fingers.

She gasps, her hips involuntarily jerking up towards yours. You detangle yourself from her lips, leaning down to press hot kisses against her neck.

She threads her fingers through your hair, tugging, tugging, as she moves against you. She’s still holding back, being careful not to touch your stomach.

You can tell by the way she’s groaning it’s hard for her.

And so you make it easy.

Your lips move down from her neck to her breasts. You circle each nipple once, then twice, before you’re taking her in your mouth, curling your arms around each of her thighs.

“Baby,” Tara murmurs, “Baby, your stomach-“

You release her nipple with a wet pop and a frown.

“I’m fine, babe.” You say, and it’s true.

It aches, slightly, but it always does nowadays. No matter what you’re doing.

And if it’s her you’re doing, at least the ache is dampened by the forest fire of arousal surging through your veins.

You return to your pilgrimage down her body.

Your lips graze her belly-button, your tongue slips down over the jut of her hips to the crest of her thighs.

She sighs, seemingly satisfied as you slip down further. Moving your body to settle nicely in between her legs.

Then, she tilts her head up, biting her lip.

Her eyes are hesitant, though encompassed with want.

“Tell me if it hurts,” She says, “Tell me and we can stop. Or…re-adjust.”

You nod, impatient.

“Alright babe, I will,” You say, raising an eyebrow, “Can I go down on you now?”

Her cheeks flush red with arousal.

“Please.” She whispers.

She’s beautiful, as ever.

You press your lips against the soft skin of her inner thighs, grazing your lips just gently. You use your tongue to work your way inwards.

Your breath catches in your throat the moment you taste her. Wet, syrupy, bittersweet goodness.

You lick it up, greedy for more. You press your lips to her folds, use your hands to spread her open for you. You lose control of your tongue.

One minute you’re ready to tease, the next, you’ve worked yourself up too much.

Your tongue moves hot across her folds and then down to her entrance. Your top lip brushes her clit and she sings.

A low moan that vibrates through the room.

A moan that indicates it’s been far too long since you’ve touched her like this.

You apologize with your mouth.

Low strokes of your tongue at her entrance. The quiet murmur of your own moan as your tongue moves up to circle her clit.

Lazy, slow, movements.

Then fast.

Like you’re changing your own mind too quickly.

You settle for writing words with your tongue.

babygirl, is what you spell out against her clit.

Your name. Her name. You connect them with a heart.

And then: mine.

Tara lets out a quiet moan as you take her clit between your lips. Sucking gently until her thighs are gripping like iron bars around the side of your head and her nails against your scalp bruise.

You give up on using the alphabet.

You slip two fingers inside her, sighing as she encases you. She’s tight and wet and begging for more.

You give it to her.

Curl your fingers up in just the right way. Lap your tongue over her clit just the way she likes.

And then she’s gasping as she tightens around you. She cries your name in a breathy moan as she cums hard around your fingers and mouth.

It’s always over too quickly, you think briefly as you reluctantly slip out of her. You need to learn patience. You need to learn how to tease.

But there’s something about her, and you don’t know how she does it. You just have to give her what she wants.

She lets out a happy sigh as you climb up her body and press your lips to her forehead.

She’s still a moment, but you know better. She recovers quickly.

In less than a minute she’s shifting.

You groan as your back hits the mattress.

Her hands slip down to your thighs, gripping you like she has an agenda. And she does. You know it by heart.

First, the gentle touch of her lips against your neck.

Then she’s sliding your underwear down your legs.

She kisses your lips, slips her tongue into your mouth for only a moment. And then she’s trailing kisses down your body.

Your chest. Your breasts.

She pays special attention to your nipples. Her eyes locking with yours as she sucks, ever so gently.

Your body feels hot.

You grip her face, holding her in place.

And then she’s nudging out of your grip, dipping down to press her lips to your navel.

She doesn’t kiss your scar, but you can tell she wants to.

She looks up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable as she squeezes your hips.

“You’re beautiful.” She murmurs. She ducks down and presses a kiss to the top of your inner thigh, “You’re perfect. My perfect girl.”

“Tara,” You say, voice a little gravelly, “Baby, please.”

She doesn’t make you wait.

One moment she’s pressing her lips to your thigh. The next, she’s dipping down between your legs. You lean back onto the pillows with a sigh.

Her lips graze.

She kisses your inner thigh.

Drags her tongue over your entrance and you gasp.

Then, her lips are on your clit.

You moan as she snakes a hand around your waist. The other slips between your legs. She teases for only a moment before she’s slipping her fingers inside you. You gasp at the sudden intrusion.

It’s not as though you’re not ready for it.

You’re so wet you’d give her a snorkel if she wasn’t such an experienced sailor.

But she rides your high seas like it’s her full time job.

Lips on your clit, fingers working in and out. She squeezes your hip with her free hand. Her talented mouth is like fire. Dancing around just where you need it most.

You close your eyes and let out a low moan.

She’s being careful.

Gentle.

Loving you like she doesn’t want to hurt you.

You take back the impatience. You take back the need for more, more, more.

Your sweet, loving girlfriend is all you need.

Gentle mouth. Careful tongue.

Her between your legs, working you into oblivion like sex is just a vehicle to express how deeply she loves you.

“Tara.”

You cum with her name on your lips. Her mouth fused around your lips. You cum feeling safe and wanted and needed.

And when she’s done, she climbs back up your body and presses the softest kiss to your lips.

Nestles herself with her head in your chest. Right next to your heartbeat.

Where she should be.

You close your eyes once more.

Thread your fingers through her hair. Press the softest of kisses to her forehead.

And then she looks up at you, her pretty brown eyes shimmering.

“Love you.” She murmurs. She punctuates her words with a kiss.

Your chest is heaving. You allow yourself the moment. Body thrumming with your orgasm, the love of your life pressed tight to your side.

Tara curls into you. She waits a moment, then looks over at you,

“I’m going to be better for you,” She murmurs, “I’ve put you through hell, baby, and I know that. But it all ends now.”

You frown.

“I’m in heaven with you, no matter what you’ve done,” You say, after a quiet moment, “After what we’ve both done. Right or wrong, I love you. And you love me. And that’s all that matters.”

Tara tilts her head to yours.

She takes your lips in a long, searing kiss.

She says what she can’t with words.

You say it too.

And when you pull back, you know she understands.

She’s yours.

And you are undeniably, irrefutably, entirely:

All hers. 

[mikavlcs]

Purity Weeps

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: You don’t talk about home very often and Tara finds out why.

Warnings: violence, gore, murder, domestic abuse, manipulation, tara is a terrible person, bad parents, repeated words and phrases

Word count: 7.7k (god...)

Notes: this is a request, i changed it up a bit so it could fit with the first part but the general gist is there. i also wrote like half of this with food poisoning so sorry in advance...

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3 

One thing Tara noticed about you was that you never talked about home.

You had no problem talking about yourself—your various likes and dislikes were something Tara had memorized within weeks of your arrival to Woodsboro—but you never talked about your family.

She only knew the most basic details. You lived with your parents. You had no siblings despite your longing for one. Your house was exactly six and a half blocks away from hers. And recently, you told her that your parents were getting divorced, something you seemed almost relieved about.

That was it. Even her knowledge about your parents was equivocal.

Your mother she’d met a handful of times when she picked you up from school before Tara designated herself your personal chauffeur. A polite woman, if a bit aloof. Never quite meeting Tara’s eyes when she talked, but she liked her well enough.

Your father, on the other hand, remained an enigma to her.

The only time she’d ever seen him was on your first day off school when he dropped you off. In the time since, he hadn’t been present for any school events with you and your mother. Not even a picture. He remained but a silhouette in her memory, and that made the situation all the eerier to her.

And you barely spoke a word about him either, only bringing him up when it was getting late, and you wanted Tara to take you home.

“My dad wants me home by eight,” you’d say and when Tara hesitated, wanting more time alone with you, you would follow it up with a quiet, “Please, Tara, I can’t be late.”

No matter how Tara felt about you having to leave, the tremble in your voice would have her grabbing her keys within seconds.

She always saw the way you shuffled in your seat when you were cutting it just a bit too close, sending anxious glances toward the clock.

There were even times, back when Tara wasn’t taking the situation quite as seriously as she should have been, when you would get out of the car without a goodbye, practically running into your house.

It angered Tara initially, that you had such strict rules being placed on you that were visibly afraid to break them, but with time that anger gave way to concern.

Your overly timid mannerisms when she brought up your family, the tight leash your father had on you, the anxiousness on display when you tugged a little too hard on that leash—it all painted a rather grim picture.

Her concern hit its peak when, after being together for a few months and friends for even longer, Tara realized that she had never been inside your house. She had seen the outside of it countless times when she picked you up and dropped you off throughout the week, but she had never seen the interior.

Why that specific revelation unsettled her so much, she wasn’t sure but it stuck with her.

 Tara was used to being able to see her enemies. Amber, Daniel, Rowan, and Jason were all people she knew, people she saw eyeing you in a way they shouldn’t have been, touching you when you weren’t theirs.

Your father was something different. A man she had never once met or seen. Someone she was almost sure was hurting you in some way but without proof, she wasn’t able to confidently act.

This wasn’t a problem she could just stab to death. At least, not without having potentially catastrophic effects on you and your mental health.

So she was going to try something different. She began making plans but every idea she came up with ended up being scrapped. Nothing she came up with felt right.

Tara did not at all care for rules and boundaries. Made up guidelines that served no purpose other than to irritate her. Imaginary lines in the sand that were made to be crossed. She permanently left those behind the moment she donned the Ghostface mase. But when it came to you, she took them very seriously.

The thought of breaking your heart and trust is what made her once again adhere to the made-up rules, what kept her feet firmly planted on the right side of the line in the sand.

It’s what kept her from breaking into your house and surveilling you and your family. What held her back from slitting the elusive man’s throat with no remorse. She couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you or driving you away from her.

But the idea of doing nothing didn’t sit well with her either.

Other, non-violent plans took form. She tried to be more direct, asking you about your father, what he was like, how close the two of you were.

You didn’t shy away from her questions but the answers you gave were always vague. Just enough to qualify as an answer, but not enough to give Tara any real information to work with.

When she realized she wasn’t getting results, she pivoted and decided to put more emphasis on being supportive. Reiterating how she would always be there for you and that if needed, you could tell her anything.

But no matter what she did, the curfew never budged and your avoidant attitude about your home life never changed. It was starting to get to Tara.

She wanted to believe that you trusted her enough to tell her if something was going on at home. But at the same time, if her suspicions were correct, there was much more to it than simply trust.

Sam would likely tell her to call the police, and that might be an option Tara considered if she had a modicum of trust in the Woodsboro police force to handle the situation correctly. But she didn’t. Law enforcement in Woodsboro had become a joke ever since Dewey stepped down as sheriff.

And she knew that if this situation didn’t get handled correctly, then whatever possible abuse you were enduring would get worse in the aftermath.

For the first time in her life, Tara was stuck. She had no idea what to do.

She was frozen in place, stuck in an endless loop of watching and waiting. Watching and waiting. Watching and waiting.

It was maddening.

Part of her, Ghostface she supposed, wanted to just gut him and get it over with. Like she’d done to everyone else that had been in this position. But if she was wrong,

So she was stuck. Suspended in time and space, unable to do anything but her set routine.

Watch and wait.

Watch and wait.

Watch and wait.

Until something, or someone, broke the cycle.

-

Today wasn’t a great day for Tara.

It started it off well enough. You stayed glued to her side all day, your attention completely on her just as she liked it. She didn’t catch anyone staring at you or trying to talk to you.

Hell, not even Wes tried to bug you throughout the day like he usually did.

It really was going so well.

But then at the last second, you canceled your usual Friday movie date with Tara, citing an urgent family issue. She had driven you home after school without complaint because she knew it wasn’t your fault, and you looked just as upset about it as she did, but she was still bitter.

She needed her time alone with you. You were an addiction that she could hardly keep at bay. Withdrawal symptoms began to set in before you were even gone.

Those symptoms were raging within her now, hours later. It was somewhere around midnight. Sam left only a few hours prior because she liked working night shifts for some reason, so Tara took the opportunity to have another Stab marathon.

She was about halfway through Stab 2 and debating whether or not to just call it a night. It wasn’t like she wasn’t enjoying it—Stab movies never got old to Tara, but the fact that you were supposed to be there with her taunted her, sucking the excitement out of her.

At some point near the third act, she allowed her thoughts to stay on you, disregarding the film entirely.

Lately, she hadn’t been able to spend too much time alone with you after school. The newly finalized divorce was your ongoing reasoning. Your father was moving out and you were helping him pack his things.

You seemed both relieved and conflicted but Tara, of course, was overjoyed about this development. The cycle she was in was being broken without her needing to intervene. Soon, both you and her would be free of this.

And once he was gone, you could spend as much time with Tara as you wanted. That was something she needed to constantly remind herself of when you canceled plans because she missed you.

Hopefully whatever issues you were dealing with (having something to do with your father, no doubt) didn’t take all weekend.

If it did, this would be one of the first weekends you spent without her since Amber’s untimely death. And if she missed you now, she couldn’t imagine how much worse it would get over the coming days.

Her rambling thoughts were interrupted by your familiar ringtone.

She hurried to pick up her phone. Maybe she had caught a break. Maybe your family issue wasn’t urgent after all.

She brought the phone up to her ear and answered with her usual, “Hey, baby.”

But instead of being greeted by your sweet “hellos” or melodic laughter, she was met with what sounded like frantic sobbing.

Immediately, Tara was on her feet, searching for her keys while she tried to figure out what was happening.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?!”

You tried to blubber out an answer, but it wasn’t anything she could remotely begin to decipher. Snatching her keys off the kitchen counter, she tried to ask again. “Take a deep breath. Can you repeat that for me?”

She heard you take in and release a shaky breath. “T-Tara, I…i-it’s my dad, he’s…” More cries echoed from the phone speakers, urging Tara to move faster. “Please, I don’t-I didn’t mean to.”

That set off alarm bells in Tara’s head. What did you mean?

“Just stay on the phone with me, ok? Don’t hang up. I’m on my way,” she hurried out as she stepped into her shoes, not even bothering to tie the laces. She was out the door and in the car in seconds, her raw panic nearly driving her to hysteria.

The call dropped as she backed out of her driveway, cutting you off mid-sentence. Tara’s heart stopped and only restarted when she noticed that her phone was dead. She took her own advice and took a deep breath.

She needed to get to you. Now.

Tara made it to your house in record time. She left her keys in the ignition, barely remembering to close the car door before she was running up to the door, grabbing the spare key she knew your mother kept under the potted plant by the doormat, and unlocking it.

The moment she stepped inside she froze.

Whatever she was expecting paled in the face of what she was met with on the other side of your door.

A man, presumably your father, lay limp on the floor. The back of his skull was caved in against the edge of the glass coffee table in front of the couch, staining the table and the carpet beneath it an achingly familiar shade of crimson.

After getting over the shock, Tara’s eyes were drawn to you standing a few feet away, looking unsteady on your feet.

Shamefully, her first thought was how amazing you looked with someone else’s blood on you. A depraved part of her was excited by the sight.

But that excitement was quickly drowned out by her concern at your state. To put it simply, you looked forlorn. Tears cascaded down your face in seemingly endless waves. Your eyes were flitting between your father’s body and your blood-stained hands, breaths coming in short, panicked bursts. You were shaking so vigorously that Tara was afraid your legs would give out, finally prompting her to move.

Slowly, Tara stepped inside and softly closed the door behind her. The sound of it, though quiet, still made you flinch. Your head turned, and once your eyes met hers, she saw some awareness creep back in.

“T-Tara,” you sputtered. She smiled sweetly and cautiously approached you, putting her body between you and your father’s corpse.

From this close, she could see the beginnings of large bruises blooming across your neck and upon closer inspection, she saw how heavily the outlines of the darkening marks resembled fingers.

Red clouded Tara’s vision. The familiar burn of her rage rose within her, but she forced her voice to be soft and soothing. The last thing you needed right now was her anger.

“Hi, sweetheart. Can you tell me what happened?”

“He-he tried to…” Your words broke off into choked sobs. But you didn’t need to finish. The bruises on your neck told her everything she needed to know.

“He-I wanted him off. So I pushed him and h-he…He tripped and…” You trailed off, eyes refocusing on the body over her shoulder. She saw the anguish rising and put a stop to it.

“Hey, no. Don’t look at that.” She brought you into her arms, guiding your face to her neck. You nestled into her instantly, clutching onto her like a lifeline as you wept once more. The blood on your hands was staining her shirt, something she took note of while she wrapped her arms around you.

Tara held you close, softly running one hand up and down your back while the other held your head. On the outside, she made sure she appeared calm and comforting, but on the inside, she was anything but.

Pure, unadulterated fury surged through her. Usually, Tara loved being proven right, loved the satisfaction and vindication that came with it. But this time she could feel nothing but malignancy because he tried to strangle you.

And the fact that you had to be the one to kill him deeply infuriated her.

A death at the hands of an angel was far, far better than he ever deserved.

She wished his heart would somehow restart, just so she could have the pleasure of making his last breath as painful as it should have been.

Better yet, she wished she could have gotten to him before he laid his hands on you.

Tara allowed herself, briefly, to daydream about what she would’ve done. A man like that didn’t even deserve the time it took to plan an intricate murder, so she would have kept it simple. Slow, excruciating exsanguination. Death by a thousand torturously shallow cuts as she forced him to keep his eyes open, so the tears could flow unimpeded. So she could watch the life slowly drain from his eyes.

So she could see the terror on his face when, instead of an angel, he spent his last fleeting moments staring into the eyes of the devil.

Your voice broke her out of her fantasies.

“What am I gonna do, Tara?” you sobbed into her neck. “I-I…he’s dead. And I did that.”

Tara hugged you closer and let you cry for a few minutes. It was painful to listen to, but she needed to put her focus on formulating a plan. Plus, it was probably good for you to let it out anyways.

While you wept, Tara took stock of the situation.

There was one body. Cause of death was a fatal head wound which meant there was lots of blood to clean. Luckily, you had a carpet to soak it up. A quick glance told her that nothing else appeared to have any blood splatter, significantly lessening the amount of cleaning she would need to do.

But even with all that in mind, she still had to find a way to get rid of the body. And that would be a tall task to undertake on her own.

There was also the matter of your mother’s whereabouts. Her car was in the driveway. Tara’s car was parked right beside it, so she had to be around here somewhere.

She decided to concentrate on locating her first. Both to make sure she wasn’t informing anyone else about the situation and because, as much as Tara hated to admit it, she would need help with disposing of the body in a timely manner.

Your father could wait a bit. It wasn’t like he was going anywhere anytime soon anyways.

With her mind made up, Tara gently pulled you back and cradled your face between your hands. “Do you know where your mother is, sweetheart?”

You blinked then looked away, biting your lip in concentration as you thought about the question. A smile pulled at Tara’s lips at the sight. Even now, you managed to be cute. You looked back a moment later, shaking your head shamefully. Tara just gave you an encouraging smile.

“That’s ok. I’ll find her,” she assured, wiping your tears with her thumbs.

You sniffed. “You will?”

“Yeah.” She looked around, eyes landing on the couch. Gently, she brought you to the back of it, guiding you to sit with your back against it. “Wait here for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

A nod, and you were burying your face in your knees, your shoulders starting to shake again. Tara wanted to comfort you but there was work that needed to be done, so she set her mind to the task at hand and began her search.

It didn’t take very long.

She found your mother in the kitchen, only a room over from where you were. The woman was curled into a ball by the stove, blank eyes staring out into space.

Tara’s brows shot up. Had she been there the entire time?

“Hey,” she called out, staying a healthy distance away.

No reaction. Tara sighed, looked at the clock on the stove.

12:17 a.m.

There was no time for this. Tara knelt down before the woman, getting directly in her line of sight. That worked and her gaze slowly drifted to Tara’s.

“Are you hearing me?” she asked.

Her inquiry was met with a languid nod. Good, Tara thought. She decided to ask her most pressing question next.

“Did you call anyone?”

Sluggishly, the woman shook her head. Tara let out a silent sigh of relief. Not having to worry about police made this a bit easier, but getting rid of a body on such short notice was still going to be a challenge.

“You were in here the entire time?” She couldn’t resist asking, needing to know if your own mother just sat by and listened while you were being attacked.

She averted her eyes away from Tara’s, choosing not to respond. But the silence itself was an answer, and not one that Tara liked. Her muscles tensed instinctively, fingers curling into fists, but she forced herself to relax.

After a breath, she asked, “Are you hurt?”

Another silent shake of her head and Tara had enough of this conversation.

“Then you are going to get up and help me help your daughter. Do you understand?” she gritted out, colder than she probably should have been.

For a long moment, your mother said nothing. The silence made Tara’s jaw clench painfully. Eventually, she gave another painstakingly slow nod, but the tension within Tara still remained.

Realistically, she knew your mother wasn’t entirely to blame for this situation, likely being a victim herself, but she had knowingly allowed you to get hurt. And there was no forgiveness for that. Not for Tara.

Still, she needed the woman’s help right now if she wanted everything taken care of in a timely manner, so she relaxed her jaw and scrubbed away the impatience in her tone.

“Good. Stay here, I need to take care of something real quick.”

Tara was striding out of the room before she had the chance to respond. Rounding the couch, she found you again. You had your knees pressed to your chest, mirroring your mother’s position.

With a sweet smile, she crouched down in front of you.

“Hey, I found your mom.”

Your eyes widened. “Is she ok?”

“Yeah, she’s fine,” she affirmed, bringing a hand up to your shoulder. “I need you to listen to me carefully, ok?”

“Ok,” you mumbled.

“Go upstairs and take a shower. Put these clothes in a plastic bag and leave the bag in the bathroom. Then you can go lay down in your bed and rest. I’ll come up when I’m finished.”

“What are you gonna do?” You sounded scared, she wanted to alleviate that fear.

“Your mom and I are going to take care of your dad.”

You still looked hesitant. Tara brought her hand up to trace your jaw, stared deep into your eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you answered immediately, making Tara smile.

“Then I need you to do as I say right now. Everything is going to be ok.”

“Promise?” you whispered. Your red eyes and quivering form made for a truly heartbreaking sight. One that Tara hoped she would never have to see again.

With a tender smile, she said, “Yeah, baby, I promise.”

She planted a kiss on your forehead then pulled you to your feet. You lingered for a fleeting moment before following Tara’s orders and heading up to the bathroom. Once Tara heard your footsteps upstairs, she went back to the kitchen.

Your mother was exactly where Tara left her. The smaller girl barely spared her a glance as she spoke.

“Alright, I’m going to need you to gather some things for me.”

Finally, she spoke up for the first time, feeble and low. “You have a…plan?”

At the question, the younger girl paused. She definitely didn’t, but she needed to come up with something, and quickly. She began brainstorming.

She had neither the time nor the tools to try the more elaborate methods of disposal that she’d seen in movies over the years. Things like cutting the body up and hiding the pieces, or melting the body with chemicals were off the table.

So she went with the easiest, least time-consuming plan that came to mind.

Turning, she said, “I need the largest bag you have, a shovel, a sheet, a hat, a bandana, a shirt, a pair of gloves, and your car keys.”

Your mother’s brows raised in disbelief. “My car keys?”

“Yes,” Tara answered, an equal amount of disbelief in her tone. There was no way she was going to potentially get your father’s DNA in her car. She wasn’t stupid. “Do you need me to write all of that down for you?”

She stared at Tara with that disconcerting look again before shaking her head and leaving to gather the items Tara asked for. While she was gone, Tara ventured to the kitchen, searching all of the cabinets until she found plastic wrap.

Returning to the body, Tara lifted your dad’s head off the carpet, careful to get as little blood on her as possible, and began wrapping the plastic around it. Layer after layer of plastic wrap was wound around his head as tightly as Tara could make it, using the entire roll to be safe.

She was just finishing up when your mother returned, the various things Tara requested in her arms. All but the shovel, Tara noticed. A large duffel bag was set down beside her, and Tara glanced up just in time to see her still.

“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing Tara with a queasy look. Tara’s fist clenched. She hated being interrupted while working.

“I’m wrapping his head so his brains don’t leak out inside of your car,” she explained flatly, shifting briefly to give the woman an annoyed look. “Unless you want that in your trunk?”

She paled, shaking her head vigorously. Her complexion was looking a bit green by the time she regained her train of thought. “The uh, t-the shovel is in the basement.”

Tara blinked. “Then go get it.”

A hurried nod and your mother was practically running to the basement. Tara rolled her eyes.

She took a long look at the bag beside her. It was a bit smaller than she would’ve liked, but it could work with the right positioning.

Taking advantage of your mother’s absence, Tara stripped her bloodied shirt off and shrugged the new one on. It was a simple t-shirt, solid black thankfully with no designs. Perfect for what she was going to be doing.

She dropped the bloodied shirt onto the carpet so it could be disposed of along with it and began unfolding the sheet on the floor next to your father. Very carefully, she rolled him over onto the sheet then did it again and again until he was completely wrapped inside of it like a burrito.

Once he was fully wrapped, she slid the hat over her head, tucking her hair up into it, and tied the bandana over the bottom half of her face.

Just as she was slipping the gloves on, footsteps sounded from the basement stairs and her accomplice appeared at the top of the steps, shovel in hand.

“Put that by the door, I need your help with this,” Tara gestured to the wrapped corpse.

Her eyes widened, noticeably avoiding looking at the body Tara was referring to.

“Y-you want me to help with…that?”

Tara bit back the scathing retort on her tongue and took on a pleading tone instead.

“Yes. Please,” she tried, “I can’t lift him into the bag by myself.”

Conflict flashed in her eyes. She swallowed roughly, still unmoving. Tara was about to give up and try putting him in by herself when she finally moved to where the smaller girl was.

Tara opened the duffel bag, and with some initial struggle, they maneuvered him onto his side, pushing his knees to his chest so he could just fit inside. It was a tighter fit than anticipated but they made it work.

Together, they lifted the bag and walked it to the car, placing it in the trunk alongside the shovel. Tara grabbed your mother’s arm before she could go back inside.

“Listen,” she spoke lowly, “while I’m gone, you’re gonna roll up the carpet and burn it in the firepit out back. Get the clothes from the bathroom and burn them as well. If there’s anything else that got blood or DNA on it, then throw that in too. Understand?”

A timid nod was the only response she got from the woman before she walked back toward the house.

“Oh, and clean the table too,” Tara called out as she reached for her own keys in her pocket and popped the trunk.

She was suddenly very thankful that she kept her platforms in her trunk for… spontaneous occasions.

With a practiced ease, she tied the shoes on and unlocked your mother’s car, quietly slipping into the driver’s seat. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel and she found that her body was more tense than usual.

The next part of the plan relied entirely on luck, something Tara didn’t particularly like. But she had no choice.

Turning the key in the ignition, Tara pulled out of your driveway and began the drive across town.

Woodsboro was a sleepy little town. Very few were out and about after 10 p.m. and even less were out now, well after midnight. But still, she needed to be as careful as possible.

She drove slow, headlights off, taking as many backroads as possible to avoid any cameras and the sightlines of any major streets or apartment buildings in case anyone was awake and watching.

After about twenty minutes of driving, Tara pulled into one of the two cemeteries in Woodsboro. A slow ten-minute circuit around the place told her that there was nothing of use there. It disheartened her a bit, but she couldn’t give up, so she set off to her next destination.

Thankfully, luck seemed to be on her side because a few minutes into her drive around the second cemetery, she found exactly what she was looking for.

A freshly dug grave.

It had been a real gamble. But considering most funerals were held on Saturday’s and it was a Friday night (or early Saturday morning, now), there was a chance she would find one.

Tara quickly got out and opened the trunk. She grabbed the shovel with one hand and the bag with the other, almost falling over as she tried to lift it out of the car.

Very quickly, she gave up trying to carry the duffel bag and settled for pulling it along by the bag strap with both hands.

“Heavy sack of shit,” she mumbled as she dragged the bag across the grass.

She lugged him over, grumbling, and set him down by the hole. Tara noted the dirt piled around the dug out grave. At least she wouldn’t need to worry about making a mess.

When she checked the time before getting out of the car it was already 12:47.

She had to get this done so she could get back to your house. Back to you.

With a sigh, Tara grabbed the shovel, jumped into the grave, and got to work.

Digging was an arduous process. Aside from how taxing it was on the arms, Tara had no real way of knowing how far down she was digging, so she had to just trust her instincts. She only stopped when she confidently estimated she had dug around two feet down.

Getting back out was a challenge even with platforms on to accentuate her height. Being short was a curse, Tara was convinced. But after a few attempts (and a lot of embarrassment) she managed to haul herself out with the shovel in tow.

Once back on her feet, Tara roughly kicked the duffel bag into the hole and started covering it with dirt.

Trying to gauge how much dirt she was putting in while also attempting to make it perfectly even to not arouse suspicion was difficult with the limited moonlight. She could have used her phone flashlight, but she wasn’t trying to draw any unnecessary attention to herself, so she made it work.

By the time she stumbled back to the car, threw the shovel back in the trunk, and collapsed into the driver’s seat, Tara was exhausted.

Her arms ached with a fierceness and she didn’t even want to think about how they would feel when she woke up in the morning. She sighed.

Why did breaking the law have to be so much goddamn work?

A glance at the clock told her it was 1:56 A.M.

You had probably long since finished your shower by now. She pushed her fatigue aside and got back on the road.

The knowledge that you were waiting for her made her want to slam her foot down on the pedal, but she held back. This was the home stretch, getting caught now would potentially ruin everything.

Tara let out a sigh of relief when she pulled into your driveway. She turned the car off and took the shovel out the trunk, the thought of every step bringing her closer to you driving her forward.

As she stepped inside, she set the shovel by the door and instantly spotted your mother, cleaning the blood off the glass table just as Tara asked. She was also pleasantly surprised to see that the carpet that formerly resided under the table was missing.

It seemed that the feeble woman actually was good for something.

“How is she?” Tara asked while taking the hat and bandana off. Silence followed. Tara threw the garments onto the couch and looked to your mother, who had stopped scrubbing to stare at the floor.

Tara blinked. Hard. Her eyebrows shot up.

“Have you not gone to check on her?” She couldn’t bother to keep her incredulousness in check.

Again, the room lapsed into silence as the older woman kept her head down. Tara couldn’t believe what she was hearing—or rather what she was not hearing.

After sitting by while your own father—her ex-husband was trying to kill you, she couldn’t even be bothered to check in on you. “Angry” didn’t even begin to cover how Tara felt at the flagrant display of cowardice.

She couldn’t help but wonder, was this even the first time something like this happened while your mother hid instead of intervening? Was this the first time she refused to look at you because of her own shame or selfishness or both?

Enough was enough, she decided.

“She’s staying with me.”

That got your mother’s attention. She shot to her feet; eyes trained directly on Tara’s for the first time since she stepped back into the house.

“She absolutely isn’t. Why would you think that?”

“I think it’d be better if she’s away from this house for a while,” Tara gritted out, patience running thin.

“There is still a killer on the loose in this town. I won’t let you take my daughter somewhere where I won’t know if she’s safe or not.”

Indignation burned bright and hot in Tara’s veins. Her lips curled into a distorted smile.

“And you think she’ll be safer here? With you?” she spat, enjoying the way your mother’s eyes widened. “You couldn’t even protect her from your own husband, do you really think you could protect her from a vicious murderer?”

The woman blanched and inched back, but Tara didn’t stop, taking a step into her space as she continued.

“Even tonight, as your husband tried to kill her, what did you do? Did you try to stop him? Or did you cower in the kitchen like you were when I came?”

Tara waited for an answer. None came. She persisted.

“That’s right, you did nothing. You didn’t try to stop him; you didn’t try to save your own child. Hell, you didn’t even try to call the police. Your daughter had to call me for help after he died because you were being too useless to even stand up.”

Your mother had gone completely still, a slight tremble setting in. She was close to crumbling, Tara knew. One more solid push should do it. So Tara leaned in real close, eyes dark, voice but a whisper.

“You couldn’t protect her all these years. What makes you think you can now?”

As predicted, that did it. Tara watched her shatter in one swift motion.

Tears pooled and spilled over as all of the blood drained from her face. The tremble in her limbs became a violent shake, sending her to her knees with a gargled whimper.

Tara just stood, watching the display with distaste. Languidly, she knelt down before your mother and caught her teary gaze.

“If anyone asks where your ex-husband is, you tell them that he moved out west and cut contact with you. Use the divorce as an excuse,” she instructed slowly. Eyes darkening further, Tara leaned forward, dropping her voice. “You will not speak a word about what happened here tonight to anyone. Your daughter will be staying with me until she’s able to feel safe in her own home again. Do you understand?”

It was a statement more than it was a question, the finality in her tone leaving no room for argument. There was only one acceptable answer for Tara. And it seemed that she understood that. Lips trembling, she gave Tara a shaky nod, making the smaller girl smile.

Satisfied, Tara stood, intending on collecting you and leaving, but your mother apparently wasn’t finished annoying her.

“P-please, please tell her that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” she gasped out between miserable sobs, weakly grabbing Tara’s hand.

Tara’s lips curled with disgust. Even now, after everything that had happened, your own mother couldn’t give you the apology you deserved to your face.

How pathetic.

Snatching her hand from the woman’s frail grasp, she began making her way upstairs, letting the pitiful cries fade with distance.

Tara entered the upstairs hallway, scanning it quickly. There were four doors that branched from the hall. The one all the way at the end was partially open. She made her way to it, taking a peek inside the bathroom along the way, pleased to see that the bag you presumably left on the floor was indeed gone.

At least your mother was good at following orders.

Pushing the door open wider, she was greeted by the unfamiliar sight of your room. It was a surprisingly sparse room for someone with so much personality. If Tara didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t have even guessed it was yours.

The walls were bare, lacking all the decoration that Tara’s had, and the furniture was more of the same. Plain, brown, and devoid of all the emotion and spirit that she envisioned it having. The only sign of life in the room was on your bed, where you laid unnaturally still.

You rested atop your comforter, your damp hair fanned out on the pillow beneath you, gradually soaking it. But you either didn’t notice or didn’t care, staring resolutely out your window. The bruising on your neck was already darker, a nauseating shade of purple that made Tara’s stomach stir.

She approached quietly, not wanting to startle you in your seemingly fragile state, and sat down on the edge of the bed. You didn’t register the shifting of your bed, so Tara tentatively slipped her hand into yours.

Finally, Tara saw you inhale, and your attention shifted from the outside world to her.

“Tara,” you whispered, voice gravelly, “my dad, w-wha-“

“Don’t worry about him, baby. I took care of everything,” she cooed, stroking her thumb over your cheek.

“Did…you call the police?” you asked. The soft furrow of your brows would be adorable if it weren’t for the worry in your eyes that accompanied it.

Tara shook her head. “No. No police.”

“Wh-“ A harsh cough forced its way from your throat, making Tara wince in sympathy. “What’s gonna happen now?”

The fear in your eyes made her chest ache. To combat it, she put a small, comforting smile on her face. “Actually, that’s what I was coming to tell you. I talked it over with your mom we came to an agreement. You’ll be staying with me for the time being.”

She half expected you to say no, to refuse being uprooted from your home so suddenly. Instead, you asked, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude on you or Sam.”

Tara almost sighed. You had a way of constantly making yourself out to be a burden when you were anything but.

“You could never intrude on us. Sam loves you and so do I. More than you could ever know. If you want to stay, you would be more than welcome,” she paused then posed the question. “Do you want to stay with me?”

She tried to brace herself for whatever you would say but your answer, only one small syllable, was said so fast that she didn’t even have time.

“Please.”

The rush of relief she felt was so powerful it almost knocked the air from her lungs.

Tara went over to your closet and started putting clothes into the overnight bag you used when you stayed with her for the weekend, grabbing your favorites first. The bag wasn’t big enough to fit everything, but it didn’t really matter, she could always come back and pick up more if need be.

Or you could wear her clothes. Tara liked that idea much better.

Once it was as full as she could get it, she turned to you and froze. You were sitting up now, brows drawn together as you stared at nothing.

Concerned, Tara dropped the bag and knelt down in front of you, reaching to cradle one of your hands between hers.

“Hey,” she prompted, voice soft, “what’s going through that head of yours?”

Pursing your lips, you tried to look away, but Tara wasn’t letting you get away that easily. She leaned forward, following your eyes. A sigh was expelled through your nose, voice dropping to a grave whisper.

“Do you think I’m a monster, Tara?”

Tara swore she could feel her heart fracture.

“No,” she asserted, shaking her head. “No, look at me.”

You did. She chose her next words very carefully, trying very hard to steer clear of anything resembling “he deserved it” (even if it was true).

“What you did was an accident,” she started, speaking slowly and clearly. “You didn’t want to hurt him, but he was hurting you and you reacted. You couldn’t have known that he would trip. And if you did know, you probably wouldn’t have done it. Why? Because you’re not a monster. You could never be one, not to me anyways.”

There was a brief silence after her small monologue. You took in her words while she watched you, admired you.

“Thank you,” you whispered. She just smiled, placing a feather-light kiss on your lips.

Tara tried not to dwell on how you would view her if you ever found out about the sins she’s committed without remorse.

She stood on unsteady legs. “Are you ready to leave?”

Thankfully you nodded, seeming just as eager as she was to get the hell out of this house.

She grabbed your bag and escorted you out of the house. Tara didn’t miss the way you barely glanced in your mother’s direction as you passed her.

The ride to her house was silent, as expected. You looked on the verge of either falling asleep or breaking down and nothing Tara could say would change that. Still, she reached over to intertwine your fingers with hers at the first red light.

Sam’s car was in the driveway when Tara pulled in, which made her groan. She was hoping she could at least wait until morning to explain the situation to her sister, that would have given her time to come up with a suitably vague excuse for your indefinite stay.

But her sister surprised her.

She stood from the couch as you both entered and took your shoes off, that irritating look on her face that indicated to Tara that an interrogation was imminent, but the minute she saw you, her mouth clamped shut.

The way her wide eyes trailed over the bruises on your neck didn’t escape Tara’s notice, and she was just about to step up and get defensive when Sam wrapped you in a delicate hug and told you that you could stay as long as you needed to.

Tara was shocked. She didn’t think it would be so easy, but she supposed this fell in line with Sam’s newer personality quirks.

Sam had a recent habit of being… protective of the people she cared for. It annoyed the hell out of Tara but, if it could help her get what she wanted, as it did just now, then she would learn to tolerate it.

So she sent her sister a large, grateful smile and pulled you upstairs, making a mental note to find other ways to take advantage of Sam’s overprotective streak in the future.

Tara debated bringing your things into her room, but she figured you deserved a space of your own that could truly feel like it was yours. She led you to the guest room, conveniently right across the hall from her room, and placed your bag on the edge of the bed.

She paused then, finding herself entirely unsure of what to do next. Part of her wanted to invite you to her room like usual, while the other argued that you may want some space to process what happened earlier.

Discordant words interrupted the beginnings of her internal debate.

“Can I sleep with you?” you rasped, sounding shy despite the fact that you’d shared a bed with her dozens of times before. Tara smiled.

“Of course.” She took your hand in hers again and took you across the hall, gesturing for you to lay down while she changed and put her dirty clothes away. She made another mental note to wash those clothes tomorrow. Just in case.

In the few minutes that took, you were already on the verge of falling asleep when she turned back around.

With a small grin, she laid beside you and opened her arms. The tiny smile you gave her in return was blinding. You burrowed into her and buried your face into Tara’s neck like you always did when you slept together. Tara started carding her hand through your hair, knowing it would lull you off faster.

You were asleep within minutes. She couldn’t blame you, it had been an eventful night, and Tara herself should have been passed out instantly with the amount of physical labor she had done not even a few hours prior, but she just couldn’t shut her eyes.

How could she peacefully sleep knowing what she did to you?

This entire situation was her fault. Her inaction led to this moment, her hesitance to possibly hurt you nearly got you killed.

Her hesitance made you kill. That was devastating.

Tara wasn’t oblivious. She wasn’t so naïve as to think that her ultraviolent impulses were normal. No, there was a reason why she hid her true nature.

Whereas she found killing to be exhilarating—as utterly satisfying as scratching an itch you hadn’t been able to reach—you found it to be tormenting. She saw how stricken you were earlier, heard how terribly you thought of yourself for your actions just earlier in your room.

This would torture you. Would be a burden you carried for a long time. Because of her.

Just the thought was agonizing. The knowledge that she had hurt you, intentionally or not, made her want to drive a knife through her own flesh.

It would never happen, that she would make sure of.

With reinvigorated purpose, Tara pulled a blanket over the both of you and pressed a long, firm kiss to the top of your head. A silent promise to do better. A vow that for as long as she had you, she would never let another soul do you harm.

And the next time she even suspected anyone of laying their hands on you, there would no hesitation and absolutely no mercy.

[vioartemis]

Falling for her (part 2)

(ghostface! Tara Carpenter x fem! reader)

Summary: After months of dating Tara, you find out she killed people, dressed in a Ghostface costume. Looks like you have a type... Part 1 || Part 2 Warnings: blood, injuries, death, angst (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

It has been five months since you and Tara started dating. Everything was perfect. You dates, the time you spent together, her. It was as if you were living in a dream.

It was rare to see one without the other, you were constantly on each other, cuddling, holding hands, or kissing. Which annoyed your friends, but you didn't care. You were happy with Tara, and hoped it would last.

Even with the recent murders that occurred, you weren't too affected.

Unfortunately, Tara wasn't with you right now, she had to go to the library to study, and you were bored. You thought you might study too, but you couldn't find your notes. Then you remembered where they were.

It was night, and the streets were dark and empty. You shouldn't be outside with a killer on the loose, but you really needed these damn sheets of paper. If only she didn't forget to give them back to you during the day...

A few days ago, you let one of your classmates, Ava Bennett, borrow your notes so she could complete hers. She wasn't supposed to keep them a whole week.

When you arrived at her house, you were surprised to find the door slightly opened, as if someone forgot to close it. You pushed it hesitantly, not wanting to see things you were not supposed to.

The first thing you saw was how messing the house was. Everything was upside down, vases broken on the floor. Suddenly, you heard a sound of broken glass coming from the kitchen.

Without thinking twice, you ran in that direction - dumb decision - only to be met with the sight of Ava's bloody form on the floor. You let out a horrified scream, before realizing she was not alone in the room.

The killer looked at you through his Ghostface mask, tilting his head slightly. You took the taser Sam forced you to carry out of your bag with shaky hands.

Fortunately, the killer ran away, probably thinking you were not alone.

A sudden movement made you jump. It was Ava. She wasn't dead! You let the taser fall to the ground, getting on your knees beside her, applying pressure on her wounds to stop the bleeding with one hand, taking your phone with the other.

You dialed 911.

"Please I need help! M-my friend has been stabbed she's bleeding!" you said as soon as someone picked up, tears in your eyes

"Miss, calm down, what happened exactly?"

"We don't have time for that! She's going to die if you don't come!"

You didn't listen to what the man said to you, quickly giving him the address before putting your phone down and put both of your hands to better use.

You grabbed a towel on the counter and applied more pressure on the bleeding wounds.

"I-it's gonna be okay.. I called 911... they'll be here quickly..." you said, in an attempt to comfort the girl.

Or maybe you were trying to convince yourself everything would be okay.

When the ambulance arrived, followed by the police, your hands and jeans were soaked with the girl's blood. She was still alive, you could feel it.

Some ladies helped you getting up, and led you to the back of an ambulance to see if you were hurt. A police officer then came so you could tell him what happened.

The rest happened really fast; they took your phone and called Sam, registered as the person to call in case of emergency, they told you they would need to keep it as an "evidence". Then Sam arrived.

She talked with a police officer, looking at you with worried eyes, before they finally let her pick you up.

She was about to hug you, but you stopped her, holding your hands in front of you.

"I wouldn't want to ruin your clothes..."

When you finally got home, Tara was waiting for you in the living room. She got up the second she heard the door.

"Y/n! Are you okay??"

She didn't wait for your answer and hugged you tight. The warmth of her body made you feel a little better.

"I have to see my therapist, can you take care of her while I'm gone?"

"You can go.. I'll be fine..." you said before Tara could answer

Sam nodded, still worried, before leaving.

"C'mon, let's clean you up.."

You both went to the bathroom, where Tara helped you take the blood off your hands, before giving you a new pair of jeans and throw the blood stained one.

Then, you headed to your room. You got under the covers, feeling safe with the blanket on you, while Tara sat beside you on the bed, stroking your hair gently.

She placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"You want to talk about it...?"

There was not much to say, as you arrived too late. You told her what you saw, Ava, stabbed several times, laying on the floor of her kitchen.

"He looked at me... he looked at me, and when I took the taser... he just- he ran away..."

"Don't worry, the police will catch this fuckhead soon. We already survived two Ghostface, we can survived one more, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I hope so.."

Then it hit you.

"... How do you know it was Ghostface...?"

You looked at her, sitting up in your bed. She stayed silent.

"Tara, how to do you it was Ghostface...?" your voice broke on the last words

"Y/n I-"

"Answer me."

"..."

That silence said everything. You couldn't hold back your tears.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me..."

"I'm sorry! You weren't supposed to learn it like that... I-"

"I'm not doing that. Not again."

"I- I never would've hurt you I'm not-"

"The last person who said that tried to stab me five minutes later."

"I know but you have to believe me! I love you so much... I would never lay a hand on you-"

"Get out."

"No Y/n please listen..! She wasn't a good person, she-"

"Tara. Get. Out."

The look in your eyes hurt her. You didn't care. You got up. She took a step back, looking at you with teary eyes.

"Y/n please..."

"Get the fuck out of my room."

Without her realizing it, you made her walk out. You slammed the door shut as soon as her back hit the bathroom wall, locking it from inside.

You sat in the opposite corner, knees against your chest, face buried in your arms. Tara was banging on your door, trying to talk to you. You could hear the despair in her voice, the guilt.

But you couldn't do this again.

You covered your ears with your hands, head resting on your knees, tears flooding down your cheeks.

When the door opened, she stopped trying. You didn't hear anything for a solid five minutes, before someone, probably Sam, knocked on your door.

"Please go away..." your voice was low and broken

No one else tried to talk to you after that.

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

You spent the next three weeks avoiding everyone, especially Tara. You still couldn't believe your sweet girlfriend killed Ava. Maybe she killed the others too. You weren't sure of anything at this point.

Despite all your efforts, one night, Sam managed to catch you in the kitchen, while you were grabbing some food.

"I'm worried about you... you don't talk to anyone, you almost don't eat... What happened that night...?"

"..."

"Y/n please... Tara's not doing well either, she feels really bad... I'm afraid she does something she'll regret... I don't know what she did, but you could talk about this, don't you think...? Or at least talk to me... maybe I can help..."

"You can't help us... We- I have to deal with this myself... But I can't right now, it still hurts too much..."

Before she could add anything, you got back into your room.

What could you do? Tell the police, and send the girl you loved in jail? No, that was not an option.

Forgive her, and hope she doesn't try to kill you? You wanted to. Yet you couldn't help but remember what happened with Amber. You thought you could convince her, and she tried to kill you.

The next day, while you were walking to class, you heard someone call your name. You turned around, already pissed.

"Y/n! Can I talk to you?"

It was Luca Harris, Ava's boyfriend.

"Uh... sure" you sighed

"Can we to go a.. more private place?"

You didn't really understand but you followed him behind the gardener's cabin.

"What do you want..?" you asked

"I'd like to talk about Ava..."

You glupped.

"What about her?"

"I wanted to thank you, for trying to save her."

"How do you know-"

"My dad has friends in the police. They told him they found you next to her, hands covered in her blood, trying to stop the bleeding..."

"That's what happened yeah..."

You didn't see where he was going. The only time you talked to him before was after you walked in on them having sex, to apologize.

"C'mon Y/n... we both know that's a lie"

"What...?"

"My dad's friends told him who you were. Y/n L/n, ex girlfriend of Amber Freeman. The psycho responsible for the Woodsboro massacre last year."

You felt your heart miss a beat.

"W-what are you trying to say...?" you asked

"Isn't it obvious? You killed Ava. Because you're as crazy as your ex. Because you were jealous of her."

"What...? Of course not..! Why would you-"

"Stop lying, I saw how you looked at me when you saw us in Ava's bed. You blushed so hard you were as red as a tomato."

"Because you were fucking naked!" you said, but he wasn't listening to you

"Your girlfriend can't satisfy you, can she? You needed someone else to take care of you properly, I can understand that. But you could've just asked, I would've done it with pleasure."

You tried to back off, but he wasn't ready to let you go.

"Why did you have to kill her? Now I have to kill you too... to avenge her"

Saying that, he took a pocket knife out of his jacket, and pressed a button to open the blade.

Luckily for you, Tara was watching from afar. The shine of the blade caught her attention.

In less than thirty seconds, she was here.

"What exactly do you think you're doing with that knife?" she asked the boy

"Ah, I was wondering when you would come. I was about to slice her open, just like she did to Ava."

"Don't you dare touch her."

"And what are you going to do, huh? Slap my knee? You're like 5'1! No wonder you can't satisfy her."

You tried you take a step closer to Tara, but Luca was faster than you. He put the knife against your throat, pushing the tip slightly into the soft flesh.

Everything happened so fast you barely understood what was going on.

Tara kicked the back of his knees and pulled him by his collar, making him fall slightly backward, before taking the knife out of his hand.

"No one touches my girlfriend dickhead."

With that, she stabbed him in the eye. Blood splattered on her shirt.

His body fell to your feet. He was dead before he even touched the ground.

You started to panic. There was tons of people only a few meters away. The body would be found before the end of the day.

You took a tissue in your pocket before bending down to remove Tara's fingerprints from the knife. Then, you took the boy's hand and wrapped it around the weapon, just in case, before taking off your sweater and throwing it at Tara.

She looked at you, mouth agape.

"Put it on, you're covered in blood."

She did as you told, before asking:

"So you don't hate me...?"

For the first time in weeks, your gaze met hers.

"Of course not..."

You saw her eyes shining a little with hope.

"Y/n I-"

"Can we talk about this later..? After classes? When we will be far away from his dead body?"

You didn't say that in a mean way, just worried someone might come here for whatever reason and catch you.

"Let's go before someone sees us..."

You both headed to class, hoping you didn't leave any evidences next to the body. Every time a teacher spoke, you were scared they had found the body.

Tara, on the other hand, was more relieved than scared. All she could think about was you. You didn't hate her. You gave her your sweater, her favorite one with your perfume on it.

It was too big for her, and you always told her she looked so cute in it. She spent her day thinking about all your dates and the moments you spent together.

Until an announcement was made.

You were in history, one of the only classes you had together, when the speakers turned on. The director started talking. They found the body.

You gave Tara a worried look across the class.

"Classes will end now. You must go home and lock the doors. Don't walk alone, always be with someone. Don't take any risks, if you see something suspect, call the police immediately."

Everyone started to talked as soon as the announcement ended, quickly exiting the classroom to find a friend to walk home with.

You walked to Tara, feeling sick.

"You okay..?"

"Yeah I think... let's just... let's go home..."

She nodded, and was about to take your hand, before stopping, not sure you wanted her to. You looked at her for a second, and took her hand.

"... I'm sorry I didn't try to talk to you... It just brought back memories I wanted to forget..." you said

You were both sitting on your bed, decided to explain yourselves.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing, I knew what Amber did, I saw how you felt after that, and I did the same... But the simple thought of someone wanting to hurt you makes me sick to the core... I... I just wanted to protect you..."

You placed your hand on hers softly.

"Why did you kill Ava..?" you asked gently

"I... I heard them, her boyfriend and her. They were talking about you.. He was telling her what happened at Woodsboro, the murder, that you were Amber's girlfriend, and probably her accomplice... They wanted to blackmail you, using that information..."

You didn't say anything, taking a minute to register the informations.

"And... and the others...?"

Once again, she explained everything to you. These ones wanted to take you away from her. It was true that they had been flirting with you for a month or so, and became more and more insistent.

"... You're not mad...?" she asked

"I can't say I'm happy about that... but you did this to protect me so... Thank you..."

Your lips curled up into a little smile.

"Does that means.. does that means we still have a chance..?"

"At first, when I learnt you did.. what you did, I thought you were like Amber... But I had time to think, the past weeks, and... Now that you told me everything... I realized you couldn't be more different... She was ready to kill me realizing I would leave her... You killed people to protect me from getting hurt, even if it meant me being mad at you"

You brought her hand to your lips, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

"I love you so much Tara... I'm sorry it took me that long to talk with you... but please stop killing people, I don't want to take the risk to lose you..."

"I'll try. For you"

She came closer to you, sitting on your lap, and cupped your cheeks. You tilted your head up slightly to look at her, before her soft lips met yours.

"I missed you" you whispered against her lips

"I missed you too"

[Previous part]

׺°”˜`”°º×•°¯`•• ♡ ••´¯°•×º°”˜`”°º×

By the way, I'm opened to requests, so if there's something you'd like me to write, feel free to ask ;)) you can see who I write for here (along with the rules to request)

@captainbeat @faunusrubyrose

[sorrowedpickle]

Okay I’ve made my mind I will start a series😔

Pick

[raccoonface]

Snaps from Jenna

We love Jenna She’s amazing btw this is part 2 of Jenna snaps bc we love her being a crackhead.

Also I have “oh god” (C.S) coming out soon bc I finally am forcing myself to work on it little by little so expect that coming out soon anyways enjoy!

From Jenna⬇️

From Aliyah

Anyways I love you Raccoon faces

Have a great rest of your day/night where ever you are

Fact; did you know you can spell Raccoon two different ways Raccoon, or Racoon.

[onwednesdayswewrite]

you, tara carpenter, have stolen my heart

chapter two of this hell is better with you

Pairing: ghostface!Tara Carpenter x ghostface!Reader  

Warnings: canon typical violence for scream, talk of murder (no details, but they do kill someone) blood, cursing, misuse of prescription drugs, dark themes. this isn’t smut...but like smut adjacent, it gets a little spicy. CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR SCREAM 6

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Reader and Tara are tired of fighting their urges. 

Also no one ever talks about how tiny Jenna would be as Ghostface so I felt the need to roast her a little☠️

~~~~

You watched as Samantha Carpenter’s gray Honda Civic rolled to a stop at the curb in front of you. It sat there for a few moments before the passenger door popped open. Tara appeared, an iced coffee tight in her hands, despite the freezing temperature. Her white Converses were traded for Doc Martens to give her more traction on the ice that covered most of the sidewalk. You met her eyes, and you could tell she wanted to greet you. But she wouldn’t, not with Sam so close. Sam was still ridiculously overprotective despite Tara begging for just a little freedom. You understood Sam’s worries given what they had been through. But this was all just too much, Tara needed to live her life. You shook your head, you didn’t want to look anymore. Tara was an adult, and more than capable of getting  herself to therapy. Sam needed to loosen the leash just a little. 

‘You should get rid of Sam, she will only make things harder’ the pill bottle felt light in the pocket of your winter coat. You shook the bottle but no sounds followed. Empty. ‘It's more fun this way, and you know it’ you wanted to argue back but you knew it was right. With every passing day the urges got stronger. You couldn’t fight it for much longer. You wouldn’t fight it for much longer. 

“I’ll walk back to the apartment” Tara started to close the door of the car. You could tell Sam wanted to make a comment, but the tone of Tara's voice didn’t leave much room for argument. Instead, she nodded, letting Tara shut the door with a thud. Tara stood for a moment, seeming to make sure Sam actually was leaving, before heading in the direction of the meeting hall. 

As soon as Tara was within reach, you pulled her to you. Tara let out a sigh of content when your arms settled around her smaller frame. You didn’t care if Sam was still close by. You missed Tara, and you certainly weren’t going to let her sister stop you from kissing your girlfriend. The taste of her sugar cookie iced coffee lingered on your lips when you pulled away. 

“You're gonna get us caught” Tara scolded, but hardly made any effort to move away from you. 

“Let her” Sam’s car made a left turn onto the main street, almost out of view. Her tail lights disappeared amongst the sea of red. Tara’s giggle turned into a misty cloud as it hit the cool air. You pulled her in for another kiss, and a warmth spread through your cold bones. Her ambrosial smell masked the scent of garbage and cigarettes that permeated through the city streets. Daisy by Marc Jacobs had been a popular choice, but it fit her. Tara bounced on her feet a little in your arms, visibly calmer and happier in your presence.

 The cold february wind cut through the skin, your scrubs doing little to shield you from it. A giggle vibrated against your chest, Tara squirming as you tried to zip up your coat with her inside too. When that didn’t quite work, Tara was still content with letting you hold her close. The start of spring semester brought long, cold days, and endless hours of clinicals. Tara hated it, the hours away from you. You could feel it even now by the way she clung to you, relishing the feeling of your skin on hers. You hated it too, but you knew Tara felt it more. It hurt her. 

Snow whipped around with the wind that cut through your coat like a hot knife through butter. Your gloves only made it harder to put the key in the lock, and served no real protection from the cold. A surgery ran long, leaving you stumbling through the door just after 2 am. All you wanted was your bed, and Tara. But you didn’t expect to see her still awake. 

The original Stab movie played softly, the dim light of the tv being the only thing illuminating the living room of your apartment. Tara’s favorite baby pink sherpa blanket and your old high school band hoodie were tightly wrapped around her on the sofa. Tara looked cozy, and her eyes desperately fought to stay awake to greet you. 

“Baby, what are you doing still up?” you weren’t mad, but you knew the hours tickled closer to her 6 am alarm to have her ready for classes. Your schedules didn’t often match up during the week, but you did your best to make do with what you could. 

“You know I can't sleep when you're not home safe” her voice was quiet and thick with sleep, like she was trying not to wake herself up too much. 

“Can I please take you to bed now?” you pulled off your winter clothes as you rounded the couch. You almost didn’t even wait for Tara to nod before scooping her up in your arms. She was practically dead weight in your arms as her body finally succumbed to the exhaustion. Her pink blanket still hung around her tiny body as you made your way down the hall. 

“Just one second, baby” you whispered in her ear as you set her softly on your bed. It was practically your shared bed now, with Tara using the key you gave her every night to get in once Sam went to bed. Only to get up early and sneak back in before Sam was any wiser. Tara claimed it was because the heat didn’t work right in her apartment, but you knew better. You didn’t dare question it or complain, the fleeting moments late at night and early in the morning were the only thing that kept you going on long days. A soft whine fell from Tara’s lips when you left her to change from your work clothes. 

Tara propped herself up on her elbow, watching your every move as you hurried to get ready for bed. Almost like she was terrified if she closed her eyes, you wouldn’t be there when she opened them again. Every few moments, her eyes would droop, her head following shortly after. Only for her to jerk back up, acting nonchalant as if she hadn’t just almost fallen asleep. But even when you flicked the light off, she didn’t miss a beat and had her hand ready to guide you into the bed. 

“Please don’t ever leave me” her body was warm against your cold one when you slipped under the covers. 

“I’m not ever gonna leave you, baby” you settled her against your chest. The room illuminated with every passing car headlight through a crack in the curtain. Tara’s breath evened out. “I will never, ever leave you, Tara Carpenter” you whispered into her hair, but you knew she was already asleep. 

“So I have a proposition” you leaned back against the brick of the building, rocking on your heels and pulling Tara with you. She eyed you suspiciously. 

“And what would that be?” a soft giggle followed her question. Her nose flared and dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. It was times like this where you craved sunny days to bring back her freckles. Her lip gloss glistened with the evening sun. For a moment you wondered if it was smeared across your face. But Tara’s lips were more tempting than the thought of her lip gloss. You weren’t one to have very good self control, so you didn’t push yourself when unnecessary. You pressed your lips to hers once again, then began peppering kisses along her jaw. 

“I propose that we get the hell out of this place, and do something a little more fun” your voice was barely audible against her ear.

“And what’s your definition of fun?” Tara’s voice dropped, her eyes darting from your lips, and then quickly back up to your eyes just wanting you to kiss her again. Her fingers were playing with the neckline of your scrub top. Other members of your group filtered into the building, paying no mind to the two of you. They were used to Tara being all over you until the very second group started, usually tumbling in a few minutes late. 

“Well there’s a few options” your finger hooked into the waistband of her jeans. Her skin was soft against your calloused fingertips. You tugged her close until her hips met yours. “But I have one that I think you will like the sound of most” you shrugged your backpack off of your shoulder. Tara tilted her head quizzingly, her eyes watching you pull open the zip. She peered into the backpack as you pushed away black fabric to reveal a Ghostface mask. 

“You, Tara Carpenter have stolen my heart, so let’s cut out someone else’s” you felt her shiver against you. 

“I thought you would never ask” she smiled up at you. A darkness took over in her eyes as she took your hand and tugged you down the streets of New York City. 

~~~~

Water ran over your knife. It mixed with the blood on the blade, and swirled together before running down the drain. A bottle of hydrogen peroxide sat by the faucet, your crumbled up shirt perched next to it, its blood strained edge hanging into the sink. You were annoyed to put it simply. Your favorite shirt was ruined, and Tara was taking far too long to return to the apartment. 

Your phone began to buzz, and the incessant tone followed after. It vibrated loudly against the wood where your leg rested on the cabinet door.  Liquid soaked through the sleeve of your robe, you weren’t sure if it was soaked more with water or blood. But at this point it didn’t really matter, you were covered head to toe in both. 

Tara’s picture lit up the screen of your phone. It was a picture you had taken at a local diner when you snuck her out one night when Sam was at therapy. Bloody water drops fell onto your screen as you answered, pressing on speaker mode. 

“Hello?” you answered, continuing to rinse the knife in your hands. 

“Hello, y/n” Ghostface’s voice crackled through the line. 

“Well it’s fancy speaking to you” you chuckled down the line. Tara was playing a dangerous game. Your knife hit the base of your sink with a clatter as you dropped it once it was clean.

“What was that noise? What are you doing?” Even through the voice changer you could hear the concern laced in Tara’s voice. 

“Oh I’m just doing some cleaning” You reached for the knife still coated in blood sitting on the counter. Blood pooled where it had sat. Tara’s knife had been much messier than yours, her body seeming to lose control as she used her blade to take a life. But it was all fun and games, until clean up time, and then? Well Tara wanted to play a different game. 

“Well wouldn’t you make a good little housewife, y/n?” Ghostface purred in your ear. “So do you have a girlfriend?” She quickly followed with. You set Tara’s knife down in the sink. 

“Why? Do you wanna ask me out on a date?” You chuckled darkly, Tara was gonna pay for this little game later. But if Tara wanted to play, then you would sure give her a show. You let your robe fall off your shoulders, it landed soundlessly on the mat by the sink. Goosebumps rose on your stomach and shoulders. With your shirt by the sink, it left you in nothing but a sports bra. But you knew Tara. And you knew Ghostface’s game, she was watching. 

“Maybe, I really just wanna know whose throat I have to cut for touching you” Tara growled, but you didn’t feel threatened in the slightest. 

“She would probably like that, she’s a bit of a kinky one” you tried to bite back your laughter. You knew if she had been close enough she would have smacked you around the head…if she could reach you with her height. Tara’s sigh was muffled by the voice changer. 

“Wanna play a game?” you could tell Tara was getting frustrated because this was all taking too long. Tara had no patience. You rounded the kitchen island, and made your way into the living room. You pulled the curtain drawn together, not before looking out the window. Not even a ledge or anything for her to stand on. You had been by the front door the whole time and it never opened. Where the hell was she? 

“Well what kind of game are we talking about?” and then it occurred to you, the fire escape at your bedroom window. Got you, Tara. 

“You run, I’ll find you” and with that the lights in your apartment flicked off. You staggered passed the couch and through the entryway to the hall in the pitch black. Not even the lights on the tv display guided you, the whole power to the apartment was cut. 

You kept your guard up, your ears perked up on high alert. If she was already in the house, you would hear her open your bedroom door. You rested against the wall for a moment. All you needed to do was let your eyes adjust.

“Oh please don’t kill me, Mrs. Ghostface” your voice called out into the darkness, taunting her. 

“Boo” and suddenly she was here, pushing you back against the wall, hard. Her Ghostface mask was long gone, but the robe remained, drowning her small stature. Her perfume blended with the metallic smell of blood. 

“I’m ready to discuss those other fun options you mentioned earlier” Tara’s breath was hot against your ear, her hands leaving goosebumps where they touched along your stomach.  Her lips brushed against the side of your neck but never once settled. And then you felt it. The lace of Tara’s thong tickled your side as she tucked them into the waistband of your jeans. She then took your hand, and pulled you down the dark hall.

Yep, Tara Carpenter had stolen your heart.

[shifterlover]

We need more Ghostface tara