#grabbing sam by the shoulders and shaking them violently

[legacywritten]

my muse for sam …. we are so back

[wraithlafitte]

crazy on you

pairing: soulless! sam x reader

CONTENT: smut RIGHT under the cut, porn what plot, dom/sub dynamic, s&m, unprotected p in v, usage of sir, bondage, marking, slapping/spanking, riding, dacryphilia, overstim, multiple organisms for both, light possessiveness, choking, pain kink? ig goes with s&m

word count: 2.9k

a/n: prompts used by @loveisanimaginarydagger3000 "Phrases/Actions that have my legs divorcing" @smaoineamhsalach "smutty dialogue prompts" @creativepromptsforwriting "smutty one-liners". all can be found in my master prompt list, linked in main masterlist. dividers by @cafekitsune

nothin' left to do at night / but go crazy on you

The door to the hotel room you were staying in slammed, making you fly bolt upright in bed. You relaxed when you saw that it was only Sam, the guy you had been hanging out with (and fucking) all week. His broad shoulders stretched beneath his worn flannel as he unloaded his pockets onto the side table, followed by a pistol from his waistband.

You didn't really know what it was that Sam did all day, sometimes night, or for a living. You had some inkling that it was violent, seeing as how he often came back bloodied (not always his own). But damn, gangster or not, he was good in bed, so you didn't ask questions.

Tonight he looked okay. The only flaws on his face were bruises from the week past, nothing fresh. His warm brown hair was messy, sure, and when he turned around, you saw that his t-shirt was dark with something that was probably blood, but if he had been fighting, the other guy lost.

"Hey," you called softly, voice thick with sleep. His head snapped towards you like he had forgotten you were there. "Welcome back. Kind of late."

Sam walked toward you slowly like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes glinted in the darkness. "It's only two."

Your heartbeat quickened, knowing what came next. This was the routine: Sam left for hours, came back beat up, then fucked you into tomorrow. You weren't sure when the man slept. You had resigned yourself to taking short naps while he was away.

"You're not how I left you," Sam observed.

Shit. He had told you to stay naked after your escapades last night and to be in bed when he came back. You had only fulfilled half of his requirements.

"I-I had to leave to get food," you offered lamely, knowing full well he had left you a credit card to get room service.

"Right," he said slowly, creeping closer. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach and down to your core.

"I'm sorry," you said, crawling backwards against the headboard. Sam tilted his head. "Sir," you added quickly.

The corners of Sam's mouth quirked up momentarily. "Strip."

"You first," you retorted, a rush of confidence emboldening you.

"Behave, I wouldn't want to punish you now." He looked at you warningly and finally touched down on the edge of the mattress.

You gulped and nodded, making quick work of your pajamas. You hadn't bothered to wear any underwear. "Make it even," you told him, shivering in the air-conditioned room.

Sam's head tilted in the other direction, almost like a dog. "Who do you think is in charge here?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.

You took a deep breath and shakily said, "I just wanna see you."

He chuckled, shaking his head, and peeled off his flannel, followed by the t-shirt that was damp with blood and sweat. "Better?" Sam asked, but the way he said it was almost mocking, like you were pathetic for asking.

His large hands gripped your knees where they were bunched up at your chest and spread your legs apart. He looked down at your pussy hungrily and ran a finger through your dampening folds. Your eyes closed at the sensation and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. After a week of being pounded into the mattress for hours at a time, you were more sensitive than you'd ever been in your life.

You felt him grip your wrists and shove them above your head. You opened your eyes to see him grab a blue tie that had been on the nightstand for days and use it to secure your wrists to the headboard.

You whined and pulled against your restraints. Sam just laughed triumphantly and got up from his seat on the edge of the bed.

"Not fair," you complained as he took the opportunity to remove the rest of his clothes. He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom for a minute, you heard water running, and then he was back, sans blood. He approached the bed slowly, lustfully. The look in his eyes was animalistic, and you had been around him enough to know that it pretty much was. You closed your legs instinctively, drawing back into yourself.

Sam kneeled over you and spread your legs again, more roughly this time. "Do I have to tie your legs down too?"

"No sir," you squeaked.

He grabbed your face and hummed, turning it side to side, fingers digging into your skin. You shivered at his touch, somehow giving you so much and so little at the same time. His head swooped down and he began kissing you aggressively, tongue invading your mouth. The taste of him had become so familiar, you relaxed in his hold.

Then Sam released you with a pop and started biting at the skin on your neck and chest, following the marks he had mapped out days before, darkening them. You arched your back into him, straining at your bonds.

"Sam," you moaned shamelessly.

He took your nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth. You gasped and pitched your hips up into him. His hand came down to your stomach, holding you down firmly.

Sam took his mouth off your breast and blew cold air over the spit he left behind. "Come on baby, if you want something, use your words."

You shivered intensely. "Just fuck me already," you whined.

He delivered a sharp slap to the outside of your thigh. You jumped. "Language."

"Sorry, sir," you breathed. "Please."

Sam smirked approvingly, moving up to sit against the headboard beside you. He lifted you up and turned you around so that you were straddling him, twisting your bonds so your arms were around his neck. He dragged his wet mouth up your sternum, breath hot against your skin.

You ground against his hard cock with lips pursed, staring him in the eye, daring him to do something about it. Sam didn't care much about making you use your words in that moment, and lined his cock up with your entrance.

You sunk down gladly, feeling yourself stretch around his length. He swallowed a groan, gritting his teeth and giving you that look again. He was restraining himself. For the time being, you were thankful, because you definitely needed to cum at least once before letting him loose on your body.

Sam's hands fell on your hips, urging you to lift up and start moving. You started bouncing on his cock, hips slamming together, his tip hitting the deepest part of your pussy and still not fitting all the way. Your thighs started to burn and shake and you put more of your weight on your arms, using your bonds to pull yourself up. But you couldn't keep it up and started slowing down, whimpering.

The pain seared up your legs into your dripping core. You could come just like this, you thought. Just clenching around him, staying still. Pain sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You closed your eyes and focused on the knot forming in your stomach, willing it to come undone.

But of course, Sam wouldn't let you. He slapped your ass, bringing you back down to earth. "Come on," he growled. You protested, opening your eyes. "You have to work for it."

"Help me," you whispered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you dragged yourself up and fell again.

"No," he said bluntly. He was smiling coldly, actually enjoying your suffering.

You let out something like a broken sob and began riding him again, slower than before as the muscles in your legs cried out for reprieve. Sam kept his hands on your hips, guiding you as minimally as possible, still making you do most of the work.

"Good," he growled. "Keep going."

He bit kisses into your jaw as you rode him, grinding your clit against his hips, head thrown back. Your breasts bounced as you heaved yourself up and down in a broken rhythm, feeling his cock drag through you unpredictably as your hips stuttered.

After minutes of slow building, the knot inside you suddenly snapped, and you were cumming around his cock before you knew what was happening. "Ah- fuck, fuck," you moaned. You couldn't find the strength to keep fucking yourself with him anymore and dropped.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned as you came fully seated on him, feeling the deepest parts of your walls gripping him like a vice.

You collapsed against his chest, exhausted, your arms suspended above you limply. You felt him tugging at your restraints and they came free, allowing your arms to drop to your sides. Then, he lifted you off his dick and let you fall to the mattress on your back.

Sam was back inside you almost instantly, allowing you little time to recover before he was pumping into you roughly. He propped up your legs, allowing them to fall open on either side of his hips as he fucked you into the mattress.

You could hardly catch your breath with the way he was on you, kissing and biting your lips and jaw. Another orgasm started building inside you, faster than you would've liked. Sam sure knew how to draw them out of you, thrusting at a pace that built the most friction and hit your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure to have you squirming beneath him in seconds. He had learned your body well over the past several days.

You came again with a cry, pleasure washing over you blindingly fast, but Sam showed no signs of stopping, instead doubling down. Tears streamed down your face as he pressed your wrists into the pillow by your head, a feral expression covering his face as he drilled into you.

"Yeah, keep fuckin' comin' for me baby," he growled. A whimper fell from your lips. He didn't even seem close. You had no idea how he had this kind of stamina, especially since you weren't sure if he slept.

Suddenly he released one of your wrists to reach down to the place you were connected, rubbing your clit vigorously. You moaned desperately, hand flying to his shoulder and clawing at his back. He threw his head back and moaned himself, pace faltering.

"Yeah? You like it when I do that, huh," he gritted out. Your nails dug into his shoulder, breaking skin as you came around his cock for the third time.

"Sam!" You practically screamed his name, restrained hand flexing into the air, desperate for something to grasp. Sam grunted and kept thrusting into you, fucking you through your high, and then you felt his warmth seep into you as he followed.

He pulled out and sat back on his knees, continuing to rub your clit as your hands grabbed the pillow behind your head in an effort to lighten the overwhelming sensation.

"Oh god Sam, fuck- stop, please, sir," you blabbered. You opened your eyes to see him stroking his cock to you in the same rhythm as he rubbed your clit; slow at first, but picking up speed in response to your moaning and writhing.

Sam smiled unfeelingly, showing no mercy. "Can't you handle it, baby?" he asked wickedly.

Your hips bucked of their own accord. "Yes, I can- fuck, I can handle it," you whined, eyes wide and shiny, staring desperately at him.

The look on his face alone was enough to send you careening over the edge again, thrashing in his grip as you chased more. More sensation, more of his touch, just more of him. You could feel your mascara melting down your face as involuntary tears flooded out.

You felt him spread your folds with two fingers, smearing your wetness around your pussy and thighs. You jolted as his fingers skated over your clit. "So fucking pretty," he growled. "If only you could see how your pretty pussy is leaking my cum. All pink and puffed up just for me."

Your breath came out in little moans as you struggled to think of a response. "Water," came your voice, barely recognizable to yourself. You tried to sit up and find the glass you'd set by the bed.

Sam grabbed you by the throat and threw you back down. "We're not done yet."

You whimpered, looking up at him to find that same cruel glimmer in his eyes. You felt another pang of arousal rush your body. The way he controlled you was toxic, you knew, but it also turned you on insanely to be thrown around and used like a limp rag doll.

Sam's smile was strangely devoid of emotion as he looked you over, his gaze ending on your face. He wiped your wet cheek with his palm. "Don't cry, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need."

His words were sweet but his expression was deadly. You suddenly found yourself wondering what would happen to you once Sam left. Would he just leave you behind, imprisoned by his memory?

Perhaps it would be your blood staining his shirt one day.

Better to seize the moment while it's still here. You laced your fingers up Sam's neck, grabbing him by the hair, and pulled him down roughly to meet your lips in a messy kiss. He growled into your mouth and gripped your waist tightly. His body weight crushed down on you as he slowly thrust his half-hard cock back inside you. You gasped, the walls of your pussy fluttering at the sensation.

Sam hissed, nose and lips pressed into your neck. His long hair brushed against your cheek. You hooked your legs around him, wanting him closer than was humanly possible.

"Come on, Sammy, fu-uuck," you breathed, nipping his ear.

He jolted up, eyes narrowing on you. His hand was instantly back on your throat, and your own flew up to meet it.

"Don't call me that," he said sharply. His hand tightened below your jawline. You grasped weakly at his fingers. You were becoming lightheaded, but his bruising grip was all you wanted.

Your lips tried to form the words I'm sorry, but no sound would come out. Sam started driving into you, holding you where he wanted you by your neck. With each thrust, the pressure on your neck increased, then decreased. Increased, decreased. You gasped in air on the upstrokes and let yourself become dizzy on the down strokes.

Fire blazed in your core, and you weren't sure if you were cumming again or if you just never stopped. Sam hit deep inside you every time, and soon the pleasure was constant and the pain was fading away. Or maybe it was the opposite. You couldn't tell anymore. You could hardly think anymore, Sam the only thing on your mind.

His hand wrapped around your neck. The weight of him on top of you. The feeling of his cock splitting you open for... was it the fifth time tonight?

"Sam," you rasped, eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your neck loosened for a moment.

"What?" Sam almost looked angry. He always looked angry, seeming like he had some pent-up rage about something to get out.

"Hurt me," you begged. "Do whatever you want, don't stop- ah!"

Sam squeezed your neck once harshly and let go, hand flying to your thigh, scooping your leg up and pressing it forward, calf resting on his shoulder. He slapped your ass sharply, followed by a slap to your face. You cried out in surprise.

"Such a fucking slut," he grunted, pounding into you harder than you thought possible, his tip bruising your cervix, causing a pleasant ache to rise in you. You couldn't even hope to respond, breath coming out in short pants and gasps.

Pain lit your core on fire, mirroring the blaze in Sam's eyes. You came faintly, feeling exhaustion set in and becoming aware of the layer of sweat that covered your body, dripping onto the sheets.

Sam's skin shone with sweat too, but he glowed. You could only lie there and take it, imagining how worn you looked compared to the god of a man above you.

"Good fuckin' girrrll," he said, sounding strained. His brow knitted together, eyes closed, as his rhythm began to falter once more.

"Give- give it to me," you stuttered, struggling to catch your breath. "Fuck, sir- please!"

Sam's arms scooped underneath you, holding you tightly against his body as he buried his cock deep inside you. His voice cracked as he groaned deeply, pressing into you as far as he could as he released inside you again, shuddering.

It was still for a moment. Sam held you caged in between his big arms, breathing heavily, your hips closely attached. Then he raised his head from where it had dropped into the crook of your neck and fell on your lips, kissing you roughly, letting out the last of his energy for now. You kissed him back with fervor, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other embedded in his bicep.

Sam pulled out, releasing your mouth with one last wet suck, and rolled to your side, pulling you with him to hold you tightly. You traced your fingers dazedly up and down his torso, blinking heavily as exhaustion threatened to take over.

Strangely, Sam didn't seem tired. At least, he didn't seem like he was going to fall asleep, like most men would after going that many rounds. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about something you would never learn. But you had come to expect this from him. He would hold you selfishly until morning, and then he would be gone again, leaving you weak and horny and unsure if he would return in one piece.

You supposed if he didn't sleep, there wouldn't be much else to do at night. You were sure this wouldn't last, he would move on and find another girl to pass the time inflicted by his insomnia. When he left, you would remember how he had made you feel, picturing his face with every other partner, always hoping he would come back and rock your world just once more.

[celiastjamesoscar]

Sweat and Serendipity

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: While working out at your local gym, you run into someone you haven’t seen before.

Warnings: R and Sam both being horn dogs

Word Count: 4.9K

AN: this was from a request a couple days ago and I hope you enjoy it! It’s a little bit shorter than my other work but I didn’t want to stray too far from the request

The upbeat melody of ‘Funky Town’ rang throughout the pitch-black room, causing Y/N to stir in her sleep. The woman groaned as she rolled over and fumbled around the end table by her bed before finally grabbing her phone. She shut off her alarm and then checked the time, 4:30 am. She let out another groan as she forced herself up in bed.

She stared blankly at the wall with a zombie-like expression on her face. She needed to go to the gym this morning, fearing she might break her cycle of going at the ass-crack of dawn. And she also knew that if she didn’t go just this one time, she would never go back again this early.

After a few minutes of blank staring, she swung her legs over to the side and pushed herself off the bed. Her bare feet met with the cold wooden floor, sending shivers up her spine. She stumbled into her bathroom and flicked on the lights, instantly shutting her eyes as she covered them while mumbling a curse word.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the blinding lights, she moved her hands and slowly opened her eyes. She looked just as she felt: a soldier who was returning half her weight, or much like a zombie who had been stuck in a mall listening to ‘Dance Monkey’ on repeat since the start of the apocalypse.

When she saw the bags under her eyes, the memories from last night flooded her mind.

She was staying at her friend Anika’s house, and they were celebrating the release of Speak Now (Taylor’s Version). The worst part about the night was that she was so wasted she couldn’t remember any songs from the album. Hell, she doesn’t even know how she got home. The few things she could recall were faint memories of Anika violently sobbing during ‘Last Kiss,’ and she also vaguely remembered herself talking about Rhea Ripley and wanting to get pinned by her.

Shaking off the bad memories, Y/N put in her contacts and brushed her teeth. When she finished up in the bathroom, she turned off the lights and went back into her room. She opened up a dresser drawer and grabbed a pair of socks and a sports bra, along with some shorts. She sat on her bed and put her socks on, then stood up and quickly changed into her shorts. She took off her shirt and put on her bra, and then put the shirt back on. She raised her left and smelled herself, “smells fine,” she mumbled as she packed her gym bag; it was just a spare change of clothes and some shampoo and condition. She hated showering at the gym, but she also hated driving home sweaty. She swung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed her phone and earbuds, and walked toward her bedroom door. She did one final sweep to make sure she didn’t forget anything before she left the room and shut her door.

Y/N made her way into the kitchen and grabbed her jug of water that she left on the island. She filled it with some ice and then filled it up with water. Once it was full, Y/N put the lid back on and grabbed a protein shake from the fridge. She made her way to the door with her water jug and her ‘breakfast’ drink in hand as she held her car keys and went out the door. Y/N locked the door and walked down the stairs into the lobby, and left the apartment building. She walked across the street to the parking garage, found her car, got in, and started it.

Y/N sat in her car for a few minutes, debating if she really wanted to go to the gym today, and decided that if she did go today, that would mean she could eat more cake at her cousin’s birthday party that was later today. Y/N smiled to herself at that thought, backing her car up and driving towards the gym, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel with excitement. She opened her protein shake and drank it throughout the drive as The Killers filled the silence. The sky was still dark with dusk hours, but Y/N appreciated the beauty of the early morning. The Big Apple was always hectic, but the morning hours always seemed peaceful.

As she pulled into the gym’s parking lot, she noticed a single car, and it immediately caught her attention. At most, there were three people at the gym this early; herself, a shy dude in his early twenties but shredded, and a decently attractive soccer mom. But this car didn’t belong to either of them, so that meant someone new was here, and it sparked her interest.

Frattini’s was a small gym and not a popular one at all, so the people that worked out there were either locals or people who hated crowded gyms. Y/N was the latter; she hated working out with many people around, and she also had a personal vendetta against Planet Fitness, but not that that mattered. The gym was an old one and had been around long before Y/N was born, but she loved it nonetheless. The building was old, and the metal roof sometimes leaked when it rained. The machines were old, and the padding was worn down on almost all of them, and sometimes the treadmills didn’t work, but Y/N would rather die a death by a thousand cuts than ever step inside a Planet Fitness or any other gym for that matter. This place was like Y/N’s second wife, falling short of Cate Blanchett, and she would never leave her for a younger, more modern gym, no way.

She finished off her shake, grabbed her bag along with her phone, water jug, and earbuds, stepped out of her car, and walked towards the doors. She used her green key fob to unlock the door and walked inside. She could hear the faint sound of Guns N Roses playing over the speakers as she walked up to the front desk and scanned her key fob again. Y/N didn’t know why she had to scan it-she believed it was a way of checking in-but she was a rule follower and did what she was supposed to.

After she checked in, Y/N walked past the desk and opened up the door to the actual gym. She didn’t see who was there with her, but she knew she would find them eventually. She walked about ten feet from the door and stopped before the red cubby holes. Y/N lightly laughed as she saw a light pink gym bag in a cubby towards the middle. She was slightly glad that the stranger didn’t take the one on the end of the right side, as that one was hers, and she hated it when someone would place their stuff in it. Well, it wasn’t technically hers, but everyone who came here throughout the day had their own personal cubby, so she naturally got defensive over it.

When Y/N walked past the door, to the left, there was a wall that was lined with treadmills, and that wall cut back into a smaller section of the gym that’s used for, well, Y/N didn’t quite know what that side was for, she just knew that the flooring was turf and it slightly agitated her. On the same wall that had the cubbies, it was lined up with three stair masters that Y/N hated, along with a pull-up machine, two different hip abduction machines, and some weird core machine you twisted on that scared Y/N. The second row included more machines; a couple of ellipticals, two bikes, a lat pulldown, one chest press, one tricep extension, and a bicep curl. There was a third row, but Y/N didn’t mess with that stuff too much except for the linear leg press. On the right wall was a full-length mirror that took up the entire width of the wall, with a rack of dumbbells toward the left side of the wall and leg machines with a squat rack towards the right. On the wall across the cubbies was the deadlift bar with another full-length mirror in front of it. And if Y/N walked to the left of the deadlift set, she would enter that turf area she hated.

Y/N placed her bag in her cubby and put her earbuds in as she walked over to the linear leg press with her water jug. She put the right amount of weighted plates on it and moved to lie down on the backrest. Y/N pushed the bars out that kept it locked, and when she brought it down and went to push up, her left eye caught something. She turned her head to see what had caught her eye, and her knees buckled, causing the leg press to come down quickly. Luckily, her legs didn’t go inward, and they just slammed into her chest, causing her to lose her breath.

Over on the turf was a captivating Latina doing pull-ups. She wore leggings with just a bra, and Y/N had to wipe the drool off her chin as her eyes ogled the woman’s back muscles. However, when her legs buckled, and the press came down on her, it caused a loud bang to echo throughout the vaguely empty gym, which caused the woman to drop down from the bar and face Y/N.

Y/N sent the woman an awkward smile followed by an awkward wave, and she mentally cursed herself for it. But she changed her mind when the woman let out a small laugh and wiggled her fingers at Y/N, giving her a playful wave before returning to her pull-ups.

When the woman turned around, a giant grin overtook Y/N’s face while she did a fist pump, clearly amazed at herself. Y/N then decided to continue her workout and began doing proper leg presses.

After she finished her first set, she started listening to music while subtly moving her eyes over to the turf side. She probably would have checked the woman out by now, but the turf also had mirrors on its wall that you could see the rest of the gym out of. So if Y/N had checked the woman out, the Latina would have seen Y/N nearly kill herself because she had tried to. The alluring woman had moved to cable rows, and Y/N had to pry her eyes away from the woman’s biceps, which were glistening with sweat.

‘I just wanna lick-ouch!’ Y/N thought as she continued her creepy staring but was cut off when her legs gave out again, causing the woman to look over at Y/N. This time, Y/N didn’t meet her gaze as she pushed up on the press and locked it. She got up from the seat and re-racked her weights. She refused to do leg stuff simply because she needed her leg strength to mow down children at her cousin’s birthday and not because the woman of her dreams kept making them weak.

Y/N grabbed her jug and phone and moved to the lat pull-down. She decided she would do her pull again, and also because she wanted her back to look good in case the beautiful woman decided to leave scratches on it.

Ten minutes had passed, and Y/N finally finished her set. She had started to work up a sweat and wiped it off with her shirt. Unbeknownst to her, the woman from earlier had caught the action and stared at Y/N’s abs. Sam felt she had looked at the stranger’s abs, but she couldn’t help. She thought the woman was a little awkward just based on their interaction from earlier, and against her better judgment, Sam wanted to know her better. She waited until Y/N moved to the chest press before walking toward her.

Y/N had been so focused on not embarrassing herself anymore that she didn’t see the woman approach her until she was standing in front of her. She took one earbud out to listen to the woman. “Are you done with this?” Aphrodite asked while gesturing to the lat pull-down machine. “Oh, yeah. Go ahead,” Y/N said while looking at the woman, “hey, I am sorry about earlier.”

Sam looked at Y/N with a raised eyebrow before she released what the woman was apologizing about. “Don’t worry about it; I’m just glad you aren’t hurt too bad,” Sam says in a gentle tone as she sits down on the seat of the machine. Y/N nods her head at Sam’s words and continues with her workout.

Twenty minutes had passed since their short conversion, and Y/N was done for the day. She was getting ready to leave when Sam asked her for help. “Would you mind spotting me?” Sam asked quietly, almost as if she was afraid to ask for help.

Y/N took a drink from her jug before nodding, “Of course.” She followed Sam to the bench press and stood at the head of the seat. She watched Sam add her plates to the bar and made a look of shock as she realized that Sam might be stronger than her, and she had to ignore the fire she felt in her core.

Sam lay on the bench and gripped the bar before slightly pushing it off the rack and bringing it down to her chest. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she watched Sam push up on the bar like it was easy work, and she continued to do 12 reps. Y/N helped Sam re-rack the bar as she took a break and sat up. “I never got your name,” Sam stated breathlessly, but she couldn't tell if it was from the bench press or the attractive woman in front of her.

“Oh, I’m Y/N. It's nice to officially meet you,” Y/N says with a smile as she extends her hand toward Sam. Sam accepts Y/N’s hand and slides her own into the woman’s. Y/N nearly melted onto the floor at the feeling of Sam’s rough hand against hers and had to hold back her rated-R thoughts when Sam gave her hand a gentle yet firm shake.

On the other hand, Sam felt something she had never felt before when her skin had made contact with Y/N. She felt that spark you only hear about in movies or books, the type of spark you feel when you find the one, and it shocked her. Instead of being an asshole like she wanted, Sam gave Y/N’s hand a firm shake, not meaning to be gentle about it. “I’m Sam, and it's nice to meet you as well,” Sam replied with a smile as she dropped Y/N’s hand. She then moved to lie down on the bench again and finish out her sets.

After her third and final set, Y/N helped her re-rack the bar again and the weights. When Y/N looked at Sam, she finally noticed that she was a couple of inches shorter than her, and for some reason, it boosted Y/N’s confidence. But that confidence quickly died when Y/N saw a small bead of sweat trail down Sam’s abdomen. Her face became red, and her tongue dry as her mind was filled with raunchy thoughts again. So she pretended she wasn’t in the middle of a gay panic and drank some water, trying to calm herself down while keeping her tongue wet for talking purposes and no other reason.

The two walked together toward the cubbies and grabbed their things. Sam pretended to look for something when Y/N asked, “How come I’ve never seen you here before?”

Sam chuckled at the question and looked over her right shoulder, “I moved here a few months ago, and I decided I needed a good gym to work out at. I tried a few different ones, but none of them stuck,” Sam said with a shrug of her shoulders.

“So why give Frattini’s a try?” Y/N asked with a playful smile before adding, “Not that I’m complaining, though.”

Sam rolled her eyes at the comment but returned the playful smile, “I prefer quality over quantity; I’m not a fan of chain gyms, and I like supporting the smaller ones.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll find too much quality here, but it's a small gym, and everyone is nice here. And I also prefer smaller gyms,” Y/N said as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Sam copied the woman’s actions with her own bag and started walking toward the door with the woman. Y/N opened the door and held it for Sam, and Sam did the same thing with the front door.

The two walked out to their separate cars as the early morning sun barely peeked above the horizon. “I hope to see you around sometime, Sam,” Y/N said with a smile and hopeful eyes. She didn't know why, but she wanted to see Sam again soon.

“You will. And thank you for helping me, Y/N,” Sam replied as she opened her car door as well.

“Anytime,” Y/N said as she gave Sam one final smile before getting into her car and shutting the door. Sam smiled as she watched Y/N drive off before getting into her car, looking forward to seeing Y/N again soon.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably as she drove home; she regretted not showering, but again, she was glad she got to walk out with Sam. Her mind drifted off with thoughts of Sam, and she wondered when she would see the beautiful woman. She regretted not asking her for her number, but she felt that it might have been too forward.

When the next morning arrived, instead of moping around in bed, Y/N sprang out of bed with excitement. She quickly brushed her teeth and put in her contacts while she eagerly got dressed. She grabbed her phone, earbuds, and water jug before entering the kitchen. Y/N refilled her jug and put the lid back on as she moved toward the door. She grabbed her keys, locked the door, and basically skipped out to her car. She turned on her car and pulled out of the garage as excitement overtook her body.

Y/N knew it was crazy to be this excited at 4:45 in the morning, but she couldn’t help it. Her mind had been plagued with thoughts of Sam so much that during her cousin’s birthday party, she forgot to get a piece of cake she had worked so hard for.

As Y/N pulled up to the gym, she almost screamed with happiness; it would be just her and Sam again today. She parked her car, turned it off, and flew out of the car with all her things. She scanned her key fob twice and acted calm and collected as she placed her things in her cubby. Y/N never liked working on Saturdays, but she would force herself to like it if she got Sam all to herself. She walked over to the leg press and hoped she could get leg day in, but just as she laid down, Sam walked out of the bathroom and stopped right in front of Y/N. “Hey, sailor,” Sam said with a flirty tone, and Y/N almost did a repeat of yesterday morning, but she caught herself and started her workout.

“Missed me already?” Y/N questioned as she pushed up with her legs, trying her best to focus on building her leg strength and not the gorgeous woman currently towering over her. Sam wore the same outfit from yesterday but in a different color, and Y/N had to fight back a bark.

Sam scoffed at Y/N’s words, “Of course not; I just happened to see you struggling, and I decided to offer you my support.”

Y/N finished up her set and locked the machine before sitting up slightly. “You wound me, Sam,” Y/N said with a hurt expression that quickly turned into a playful one.

“Well, if I wound you so much, I guess you wouldn’t want to work out with me then,” Sam suggested with a sigh before she pretended to walk off.

When Y/N saw Sam turn away from her and begin to walk off, she quickly stood up. “I’d like to work out with you,” Y/N spewed out quickly, causing Sam to turn around and raise her eyes rows, “only if you want me to, though.”

Sam laughed at the woman’s nervousness as she walked toward the girl and gently slapped her arm, “come on, let’s do some legs.” Y/N smiled at Sam’s words and followed the Latina to the squat rack, her heartbeat picking up for an unknown reason.

Y/N helplessly watched as Sam added her weights to the bar and ducked under it, and stood up, resting it on her shoulders as she gripped the bar. “Spot me?” She asked, snapping Y/N out of her thoughts. She nodded her head as her hands ghosted over Sam’s hips. She knew this wasn’t the proper way to spot someone, but she saw an opportunity and took it.

Sam’s body heated up when she felt Y/N’s hands close to her hips. She knew that this wasn’t the correct way to have a spotter, but she enjoyed having Y/N’s hands on her hips and didn’t want to lose contact.

When Sam would squat down with the bar, Y/N slightly copied the woman’s movements, ensuring everything was appropriately aligned. Sam suddenly felt nervous when Y/N copied her moves, and when she stood back up, her eyes locked with Y/N’s in the mirror.

Y/N gave Sam a polite smile with her hands still resting on the woman’s hips. “Hi,” Y/N breathlessly said.

“Hi,” San replied with a faint smile. She couldn’t tell if her heartbeat was going a mile a minute because of the squats or if she was simply flustered due to the attractive woman standing behind her. She refused to believe it was the latter.

Sam continued the rest of her set, and when she was done, she and Y/N would trade places. Sam tried her best to make sure that Y/N’s legs didn’t dip inward, but she was too distracted. Every time Y/N would stand up, she would let out a small groan, and Sam hated the way it made her feel.

When the two finished with squats, they started on the leg press. Sam watched with hooded eyes as Y/N’s quads flexed every time the woman straightened her legs. By the time Y/N had finished all three of her sets, Sam had got speechless.

“Sam? You okay?” Y/N asked as she got up from the seat and stood before Sam, gently placing her hands on Sam’s forearms. The contact pulled Sam out of whatever trenches they were, and she shook her head, “No, yeah, I’m good. Sorry about that; I was just distracted.”

Y/N nodded at Sam’s words, gave the woman’s forearms a soft squeeze, and dropped her hands down to her sides. “Alright then, what next?” Y/N asked with a gentle smile.

Almost an hour later, the two women had completed their workout, and Sam somehow managed to avoid going into cardiac arrest. Y/N was glad she got to spend more time with the pretty woman. “So, do you work out on Sundays?” Y/N asked when they got to their cubbies. She was messing around with her bag and refused to look at Sam.

“No, that’s my only day off. Why do you ask?” Sam questioned as her heart thumped steadily against her ribcage; she hoped that Y/N would ask her out, either in a platonic or friendly way. She didn’t care which one it was; just as long as she was with Y/N, she was ecstatic.

Y/N stopped messing with her hand and turned to face Sam. Any previous nerves were gone, nowhere to be seen. The woman's confident smile lit up the gym, and her eyes danced across Sam’s body. On the other hand, Sam seemed to absorb Y/N’s nervousness; her face began to heat up, her palms started to sweat, and for the life of her, she could not look the taller woman directly in the eye.

“I was hoping you would want to do something with me tomorrow? You know, outside of the gym,” Y/N asked as she put her bag over her shoulder, getting ready to head to the showers.

“Why does it have to be tomorrow and not today?” Sam asked when she finally made eye contact with Y/N. She noticed how the woman’s cheeks pulled with her smile, indicating that her confidence was a facade to hide her nerves.

Y/N perked up when she heard Sam’s request, and she instantly beamed. “Oh, I didn’t know if you had plans for today. But if you don’t, I would love to go do something with you later,” Y/N said as she shuffled from one foot to another but maintained a smile.

“I don’t have anything else to do today, so I’m free whenever,” Sam responded while matching Y/N’s smile. She had just met the other girl yesterday, but she couldn’t help the gravitational pull she felt towards the taller woman.

Y/N nodded her head at Sam’s words and slightly pulled on the strap that was across her chest, “Sweet! I mean, okay. We can get breakfast or something once I finish my shower.”

A small laughter rang throughout the gym when Y/N mentioned her shower. “You’re seriously taking a shower here?” Sam asked with a small laugh.

“Of course, I can’t smell bad for our date,” Y/N replied but froze as she called it a date. She hadn’t meant to call it one, but she couldn’t help but yearn for a date with the beautiful woman before her. Y/N noticed how Sam caught her slip up and the way she froze, so she decided to direct the attention away from her. “Unless you would want to join me?” She asked with a smirk that surprised Sam.

The remark flew through Sam’s ear and out the other as embarrassment overtook her. She was never flustered easily, but there was something about Y/N that caused her entire body to act out of line. “You aren’t that slick, Y/N. I’ll just wait for you out here,” Sam said with a smile as she tried her best to hide her evident excitement. She would storm into heaven and hell if it meant she could see Y/N naked in her bed, but she kept those thoughts to herself. The last thing Y/N needed to know was that Sam had been thinking about fornicating with her since they started working out together.

“Are you sure? This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, and it expires in ten seconds,” Y/N said as she walked backward to the showers, and both women ignored how she almost tripped.

“I’m sure, Y/N, you won’t win me over that easily. Just hurry up,” Sam replied with a small smile as she grabbed her things. She watched as Y/N asked again if she wanted to join her before the taller woman disappeared into the shower room.

Y/N practically ran into the closest shower and stripped in record time. She did a quick rinse with soap and water; Sam told her to be quick about it, and she listened. She finished up her shower and threw on her clothes, and calmly walked out of the shower room with a smile, but her grin dropped as she saw that Sam was nowhere to be seen.

She walked to the cubbies and saw that Sam’s bag was gone, but she found a small note in her own cubby.

‘My sister cut herself with a knife trying to cut an apple, and I have to take her to the hospital. I’m still looking forward to our breakfast later today. Call me!

Sam ;)

XXX-XXX-XXXX’

Y/N smiled at the note as she pushed the door to the lobby open with her back. She pulled out her phone and sent Sam a quick text message asking if her sister was alright, to which she got an immediate reply of a picture of Sam and her little sister sitting in her car together. The sister had her right hand wrapped in a bloody bandage resting in her lap while her left hand was flipping the camera off. She had no smile as opposed to her older sister, who had a giant one on her face and gave the camera a slight thumbs up.

She was going to ask if she needed to reschedule their date, but Y/N erased the message when Sam sent, ‘I’ll drop the child off at the ER, and we can eat shitty hospital food while she gets stitches, my treat!’ Y/N smiled at the message and returned a picture of herself with a thumbs up, eager to see Sam again, even if it was in an awful hospital cafeteria.

[all4seth]

pov: you find out about your boyfriend, seth and his friends being able to shift into wolves

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know?" Seth asked for the milionth time.

"I do want to meet your friends, seth, I know how important they are to you" I reassured him with a smile.

We were now walking through the reservation, heading towards emily and sam uley's house, where seth's friends often hung out. We had been talking about this for a while and I figured that I would have met them sometime anyway, since Seth and I had been dating for a few months.

As soon as we reached the house, a few dark haired, shirtless and tan boys ran out, their faces radiating with excitment.

"So you're the lucky girl, huh?" one of them looked me up and down.

"Seth seems to be luckier, Jared. I'm Paul Lahote" another smirked as he held out his hand.

I took it nervously and said: "Y/N Y/L/N"

They each then shook my hand and greeted me.

"Embry Call. Nice to finally meet you, Y/N."

"Seth talks about you all the time, trust me. I'm Quil"

Seth lightly punched his shoulder and the boys laughed.

And so on. After introducing themselves, they sprinted back into the house as someone called for them. Seth and I stayed behind and he softly squeezed my hand, before saying:

"Seems to be going good"

"They all seem like great friends" I smiled at him.

"They are" he smiled back. "But if you ever bring this up, I'll deny it"

We both laughed and he turned to me as we reached the doorway and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

The boys sat at the table made puking sounds and jokingly covered their eyes with their hands.

Seth and I laughed it off, right before a woman scolded them.

I hadn't even noticed her; after she turned around, she came up to us and hugged me, then introduced herself as Emily Young.

"You're Sam's wife, ri-"

"His imprint" Paul cut me off.

I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion as the boys all snapped at him, Jared's elbow hitting Paul's side, perhaps a bit harder than he meant.

In response to Jared, Paul got up, his chair falling to the ground, and pushed Jared a few meters back. They were yelling at each other as the other boys were quick to drag them out of the house, both of their bodies shaking violently.

"Stay here with Emily" Seth whispered, then ran towards them.

She and I got out on the porch, incapable of interfering.

Jacob was holding Paul back by his arm, while Quil and Jared were trying to calm Jared down, the other boys standing in between them.

"Cool off guys, Sam's about to get here" Emily shouted.

It was no use; swiftly, Paul freed himswlf from Jacob's grip and shockingly enough, his body contorsioned into the one of a huge, ash-gray wolf. Jared was quick to jump back at him, only he had transformed as well. Paul sank his teeth somewhere around the other guy's shoulder, who howled in pain before striking back.

When I was finally able to look away from the fight, my eyes searched for my boyfriend, with fear. He was nowhere to be seen; instead, in the place he last stood was now a wolf, who was a bit shorter than the rest, eyes looking into mine.

"Seth" I whispered.

I was frightened; not really of the huge wolves, though, but rather for Seth, praying he wouldn't get hurt.

I was pulled out of my train of thought by the shouting of another man, who was fastly approaching them. His head turned to me for a moment, before his clothes all fell onto the ground, shredded, as the greatest of wolves stood next to the fighting boys. He was visibly taller with black fur, his chest pressing forward as he held his head high; "must be their leader" I thought to myself.

Suddenly, the wolves all backed up, Paul and Jared's bowing in front of Sam. After a few moments in which all looked the great wolf in the eyes, they scattered running into the forest, nowhere to be seen.

Emily grabbed my arm softly and urged me inside.

"Come on, they'll be here soon"

"Are they going to be okay?" I asked quickly, much worried for them all, tears forming in my eyes.

She looked at me and sighed, stroking my hair.

"Yes, they'll be okay, sweetheart. This happens pretty much on a daily basis around here"

I gulped, with shock.

"So this... this huge wolf thing is common around here?"

She laughed and nodded.

"They'll explain everything to you when they get here"

As soon as she said that, the tan boys came back into the house, all laughing and joking around, Paul and Jared included. All except for Seth and Sam, who stayed behind, talking in a very serious demeanor. As they reached the house, Seth stopped into the doorway while Sam came uo to Emily and kissed her tenderly. Then, he turned to me and said:

"Seth wishes to talk to you, kid."

I nervously walked outside, meeting his anxious gaze.

We sat in silence for a few moments before I bursted out loud:

"Oh Seth, are you all alright?"

I checked his arms and chest and back, searching for any sign of harm, yet he was spotless.

"Yeah, I'm fine" he laughed, still tense.

I exhaled, relieved and hugged him tight.

"Are... are you not absolutely terrified by me? Do you not want to never talk to me again?"

I giggled against his warm shoulder.

"No, of course I'm not scared of you. I mean, was I completely taken aback when all you guys turned into huge wolves? Yeah, sure. But scared of you? No, never." I shook my head as I voiced the last words.

"I love you" he said, finally relaxed.

"I love you too"

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xxii

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: Ghostface has you. Sam and Tara hurry to find you before it's too late.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, graphic violence.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: hi bbies, pls peep the warning for this one, not for the fainthearted. as always, appreciate all the love and let me know your thoughts on the chapter :))

“Drive, Sam, drive!” Tara all but screams.

Her hands are pressed firm against the dashboard of the car, heartbeat in her throat. Her eyes are wide, red, but no tears spill over. She’s focused. Determined.

Her body is thrumming, wild, as she feels a familiar force take over. Her eyes blacken.

“I am driving, Tara.” Sam says back through gritted teeth. Her hands are sweaty, pressed firm against the wheel, her foot on the gas.

The car blows through a red light, tires screeching against the tar of the road.

“Drive faster.” Tara growls.

Her seatbelt is unbuckled. She looks wild, as if she’s about to launch herself across the car and shove Sam out of the way.

“We go any faster and we’ll spin out.” Sam tells her. She’s hunched over like a formula one driver, racing through the familiar roads of Woodsboro.

She flies past a stop sign, almost crashing into a nearby car. The car honks, but Sam’s gone before he can even make out her license plate.

Tara turns her attention to the backseat. It’s a mess of kids hockey gear and empty fast food wrappers. This isn’t Sam’s car - they’d left it at the house and commandeered it the moment they’d figured out the truth.

Tara clutches a children’s sized hockey stick between her fingertips - the only viable weapon she can find, and turns her attention back to the road.

In the distance, she can make out the house.

Just a few more feet and she’ll be there. With you.

“Let me take the lead,” Sam commands. She grips on tighter to the wheel as she launches it into the drive, “She’s dangerous, Tara, don’t do anything stupid-”

But Tara’s out of the car before it even stops. Charging into the house with her hockey stick drawn like she’s about to go to battle.

“Shit.” Sam says. She hits the brakes, drawing up the parking brake and clambers out of the car, hot on her sister’s heel.

The house is still. Silent.

Broken glass mars the lawn. The front door is wide open, an alarm blaring loudly in its wake. The noise has drawn a small crowd, near the end of the road. Neighbors peer over, their interest peaked. But Sam pays them no mind.

“YN!” Tara calls loudly. She rushes through the front door, “Baby? Are you here?”

They both hear it at once - a moan, weak, coming from the living room.

Tara doesn’t hesitate. She surges forward, and into the living room, Sam hot on her heel.

Your Mom is on the floor, eyes bleary. She can’t move, her blood oozing deep red onto the carpet.

Sam’s breath catches in her throat.

Tara leans down, eyes wild.

“Where is she?” She asks, voice desperate, “YN. Where is she?”

Your Mom gurgles.

“Ghostface…” She gasps, “Ghostface… he took her.”

“Took her where?” Tara asks, hyper-focused, “Where did Ghostface take her?”

Your Mom’s chest rises, her vision spots, eyelids drooping slightly. She's loosing consciousness. 

In a panic, Tara takes her by the shoulders and shakes her, somewhat violently.

“Took her where?” She yells.

Sam reaches forward and grabs Tara by the shoulder.

“Tara,” She says, voice a hiss, “Stop it.”

But Tara isn’t listening. She stands, grabs her hockey stick and looks over at Sam, look in her eye determined. Your Mom moans out, but Tara ignores her. Her feet shuffle in a wild pace around the living room, her eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. 

“Where would she go?” She asks, “Sam, think. If you were the Sheriff, where would you take her?”

Sam blinks.

“Sam.”

“To her house, maybe,” Sam says, mind whirling as she tries to think, “Think about it, Tara, she doesn’t know we know.”

Tara shakes her head, “No, Sam. She isn’t stupid. She’s thought about this. Planned it. There’s no way she’s dumb enough to kidnap someone and take her home.”

Her chest heaves. 

"It's somewhere remote. Somewhere she knows she won't be seen." She deduces. 

Sam presses her hands to your Mom's neck. Her pulse is still there, slightly faint. 

"The police will be here any minute," Sam tells your Mom, not unkindly, "And the ambulance. And the fire department. We called everyone." 

Your Mom murmurs, her eyes closed. 

Tara's head jolts up. She looks over at Sam, as if she's just had a brainwave. 

“Millwood. There’s a house in Millwood.” She says, voice urgent, “Wes used to live out there. The Sheriff still owns it. Wes used to drive out there sometimes to think.”

“Millwood’s thirty minutes away,” Sam says, sounding doubtful, “Tara, are you sure? If she’s not there, we’ll never get back in time.”

Tara blinks. Sam watches as the cogs spin in her head.

“I’m not sure,” Says Tara. Her voice shakes, “But there's no-where else.”

-

There’s a gentle hum that buzzes throughout the basement.

It’s an old refrigerator, you think mindlessly. The hum is a welcome noise. Steady, almost peaceful.

The complete contrast to the emotions you’re feeling right now.

The blood on your neck has dried, prickling uncomfortably against the hairs on the back of your neck.

The Sheriff has her back turned to you. Her dagger rests on a small table, only feet from you, police scanner in her hand.

The hum of the refrigerator is suddenly drowned out by the crackle of officers on the radio.

“Ten twenty Park, two victims down and unresponsive.” Says one officer, “Sending units, over.”

The Sheriff clicks the radio off and turns back to you.

You press back against the seat of your chair, tears leaking from your eyes.

She hasn’t said a word since she took off her mask, ignoring your desperate pleas and wild attempts to unseat yourself. She’s calm, too calm, as if she has you right where she wants you.

She blinks over at you, and suddenly something new washes through her features.

Regret.

Your heart pounds.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” She says, voice dropping, “I didn’t intend to have collateral damage.”

Your heart thuds.

“Is my Dad alive?” You ask, desperately. Your voice shakes, “Did you kill him? Did you kill my Mom?”

She stares.

“I don’t know,” She says, and it sounds honest, “They both took a few pellets to the legs. It’s just what I had to do.”

She hums, as if she’s just convinced herself of this.

“But I didn’t intend it,” She says, almost hurriedly, “It wasn’t the plan.”

“And what was the plan?” You ask, voice hoarse, “To drag us all down to the station and have your cop buddies tag team us?”

The Sheriff purses her lips.

“I was going to bring you all here,” She says, eyes sparkling, “I recorded a message. Richie. He’d been sighted, the call said. At an old house in Millwood. I’d bring you all here, get you downstairs and then-“

She closes her eyes, as if the thought of it is ecstasy.

“Boom. Boom. Boom. Sam first, she’s the strongest. I’d shoot her in the leg, handicap her.” She freezes, voice sharp.

“But not kill her. Not yet. Not before she knew all about what her precious baby sister got up to in her spare time.”

She leans in, eyes flickering.

“Not before I gave you what you both deserved.”

You swallow.

“And you were in it with Richie? This whole time?”

The Sheriff shrugs.

“Richie had a score to settle. So did I.”

At this, you blink, a little surprised.

“What did we ever do to him?” You ask.

Tara had been a brat, that you can admit. But a couple of tantrums over a game of Uno was hardly motive enough to don a Ghostface suit and attempt to kill you both. 

“Tara murdered his girlfriend.” The Sheriff sneers.

You blink up at her, eyebrows furrowing. The last time you'd seen Richie's girlfriend was less than an hour ago; alive, well and climbing into the Sheriff's car. 

“Sam?”

“Amber Freeman.”

“Amber?”

Your mouth is dry. You hadn't thought about Amber in months. You remember the force in her voice as she'd thrown herself at you. You remember the quiet confirmation she'd been punished for it. You feel her now,  like the ghost of her is here, taunting you in your fibred shackles. You can see her sneer in the Sheriff's face. 

"They met online, he said," Says the Sheriff, "They had plans of their own. Plans for Sam." 

You swallow as she twirls the knife in her hands. 

"Sam's related to Billy Loomis, did you know that?" The Sheriff says, "Richie and Amber had worked it out. They devised some half-baked plan to bring Ghostface back to Woodsboro. But someone beat them to it."

She blinks. Her grip on the knife tightens. 

"I guess the rumors were true, after-all. Carpenters. They're no good. Related to Billy Loomis or not."

"So you decided to what?" You ask, voice thick, "Join in?" 

The Sheriff purses her lips. 

"Richie was devastated." She says, quietly, "He attacked you at the house, that first time. An eye for an eye, he called it. A girlfriend in exchange for a girlfriend.” She laughs, “God, he was so sloppy. I had him pegged within minutes. I was going to offer him a deal. A lighter sentence in exchange for his testimony against Tara.”

She leans in, eyes glinting dangerously.

“But then I had a better idea.”

She’s so close you can see the pores on her cheeks. Your heart hammers. If you can headbutt her just hard enough…

But then she’s retracting before you have the chance.

“And, well, you know the rest.” She says. She reaches for the dagger, grips it firm within her hands.

You swallow, desperate to keep her talking. 

“How did you find out?” You ask, voice shaking, “About Tara?”

She looks over at you.

“It wasn’t difficult,” She sneers, “Tara’s not as smart as she thinks she is. She left a breadcrumb trail of bodies that all led back to you. Aaron, your first kiss? Sadie, your first girlfriend? Chad Meeks told me Amber Freeman openly hit on you just hours before her murder.”

Your head is swimming, but all you can think is: Damn it, Chad.

The Sheriff’s hand tightens around the blade.

“And then there was my son.”

Her entire demeanor changes. Gone is the taunt in her voice. Her shoulders draw tight, like a weapon ready to be fired. Her eyes flash, filling back with violence and hatred and vengeance.

“He figured Tara out, didn’t he?” She asks, stepping closer.

Fruitlessly, you tug against the binds around your hands.

“He worked it out. He was smart, he was always so smart.” Her voice wavers. There are tears behind her eyes she doesn’t let fall. Her face is hard.

“And he came to you. Not me. Not Tara. You. Witnesses had him at the house. They didn’t see Tara, they said you let him in.”

She takes in a sharp breath.

“And I want to hear you say it.” She says, voice barely above a whisper.

You gulp.

“Say what?”

Her lip curls.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” She asks, “It wasn’t Tara, not this time. He came to warn you and you killed him for it.”

She grips the knife so tightly it looks as though it might break.

The refrigerator hums loudly, once more.

This is the end, you think, briefly, no matter what you say this only ends with her knife buried in you.

And all you can do now is hope she doesn’t make it too painful.

It’s what you deserve.

It’s Wes, you see him clear as day. That little version of him that lives in your mind, popping up every so often to taunt you. He’d warned you this day would come and now here it is.

His mother in front of you, the very hands that had killed her son tied taut around your back.

It’s justice, Wes sneers.

You could play dumb, but you have the feeling it might make her angrier than the truth. It hardly matters now. The Sheriff, proof or no proof, has herself convinced you’re guilty.

And you are.

“It was me.” You say, voice strangled, “I did it.”

The Sheriff lets out a sigh. She closes her eyes, like her entire body is filled with relief. She has you now, the person who took her son from her. But it doesn’t last long.

Grief floods back into her face.

She has you but not him.

And she’ll never have him again.

Her hands reach out to grip your throat.

You let out a cry.

“Tell me what happened,” She growls, “Tell me every detail. Every word. I need to know.” Her voice breaks, “Did he suffer? How did you do it? Did he see it coming? Everything.”

“I don’t think-” You choke out. Her fingers on your throat loosen slightly. She replaces them with the blade of her knife, “I don’t think you want to know, Sheriff. I don’t think it’s good for you to know.”

“You’ll tell me every detail or I’ll slit your throat ear to ear, right now.” She snarls.

You swallow. The blade breaks the skin of your throat, only slightly. You flinch at the sting, feel a trickle of blood stream down your chest.

“It was quick,” You say, voice quiet, “He didn’t suffer. He told me he knew about Tara. He didn’t know I knew. He said he was going to tell everyone and I had to protect her.”

It sounds pathetic, when you say it like that.

You know it’s pathetic. Any sane person would have you drawn and quartered for your admission. You deserve to be locked in a cell for the rest of your life.

Your girlfriend had murdered six people and you’d protected her.

Because you love her. Because you’d do anything for her.

You’d watch in silence as she murdered them all again.

Because you’re hers and she’s yours and nothing else matters.

Not Sam, nor Dan. Not Aaron or Amber. Not Sadie, not Chase.

Not even Wes.

And she can see it in your eyes.

“Well you failed.” The Sheriff sneers, “When I’m done with you I’m going back for Tara. I’ll bring her here, let her wail over your mutilated body. And then I’ll do the same to her.”

A gasp catches in your throat.

She would kill you, that you were convinced of. You’ve relinquished yourself to it now. She’s bigger than you, stronger. She has a weapon and no matter how hard you tug on the binds around your hands, they wouldn’t break loose.

You’re at her mercy, to which you can see she has none.

If you’re lucky, she’ll slit your throat. If you’re unlucky, she’ll make it painful. She’s likely to make it painful.

But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about anything but her.

“Please,” You beg, “I’m the one you’re angry with. I’m the one who killed your son. Tara didn’t do anything to him. She loved him. She was his friend.”

The Sheriff moves away from you. She’s poised again, calm. Gone is the anger. You don’t know which is scarier. She reaches for her dagger, grazes the tip along the tabletop.

“She’s the reason he’s dead,” Says the Sheriff, “You said it yourself. He died so you could protect her.”

“But it was me who did it,” You beg, “Do whatever you want to me. I deserve it. But please don’t hurt Tara.”

She looks over at you, and you immediately know you’ve said the wrong thing.

Her eyes flicker, like there’s something she just realized.

Something she can use against you.

She grips the knife between her fingertips and leans in again, blue eyes cold.

“I was going to kill you first,” She says, voice like ice, “It’d be better that way, I figured. Safer. So you couldn’t run. But now I’m not so sure.”

You hold in your breath as she grazes the tip of the dagger along your neck. It’s so cold it burns.

 She smiles.

“Maybe it’s better if I kill her first. In front of you, so you can know just what it’s like.” Her jaw tightens, “So you can feel what it’s like to lose someone precious to you.”

It happens in a split second.

She’s close again. So close you can feel her breath against your cheek.

There’s something in the back of your mind, someone, like she’s there with you, holding your shoulders and begging you to fight for your life.

“Fight, baby,” Tara begs, and you close your eyes, willing her close, “Fight for yourself. Fight for me.”

You think of her. 

Her smile. The way her hair catches sometimes against the smear of her lip-gloss. Her freckled nose. Her deep, pretty brown eyes. You know what she’ll do if you die. If you die, a part of her will too.

You know she’ll never forgive herself.

And so you do it for her.

You launch your head forwards, as hard as you can. Your forehead crashes against the Sheriff. The sound is sickening; like a hammer against a ton of bricks. Immediately, your head throbs, painfully. Bright light careens behind your eyes, and a wave of nausea rips through your body like a storm.

But you ignore it.

The Sheriff cries out, stumbling backwards and careening into the table with the force.

Your legs wobble, and it takes all the strength you have left in your body to stand, bringing the chair up with you, your hands still bound to it. You stand, almost collapsing as you blink the room back into vision.

The Sheriff is on the ground, clutching her head, the knife discarded on the floor. You swing around, using all your might to thrust the chair behind you forwards onto her body.

She shrieks as the wood of the chair catches around her leg. Shockwaves flood through your body at the force. You press down onto her once, then twice, but the binds don’t budge and the chair doesn’t break.

The adrenaline flooding through you makes you feel like the hulk, but the reality is - you’re too small for this. You panic as she writhes, trying to grab at your leg and spring forward.

Like a lamb running from a lion, you do the only thing you can think of.

You run.

Fast. Towards the stairs and up to the basement door.

You must look ridiculous.

The chair catches the sides of the staircase every second step, and you almost trip trying to reach the top. You don’t look behind you, you don’t want to know how close she is. You reach the top step and use all your might to ram at the basement door.

You grunt.

Your shoulder hits the middle of the door, almost barreling it open.

But nothing happens.

The door is locked, because of course it is.

What kind of person kidnaps someone, ties them up and doesn’t lock the door to their cage?

You cry out, panic flooding through you. Your cheeks are red, stinging with the pain of the attack and the flurry of tears spilling out from your eyes.

You ram at the door once more, but it doesn’t budge.

“HELP ME.” You cry out. You smash your shoulder against the door frame once more, “PLEASE, SOMEONE, HELP ME.”

But no-one answers.

And after several moments of banging, and screaming and fruitless attempts to pry the door open, you feel a heavy hand on the base of your calf, and then you’re being tugged, hard, down the staircase.

You gasp, crying out as you hit the staircase, face first. You feel blood smear your cheeks, and a sharp, stinging pain near the top of your forehead. You scream, writhe, with everything you have left in you.

The Sheriff drags you down the staircase, her forehead red, bruised where you hit her.

And she looks angrier than you’ve ever seen her.

She tugs you back down into the basement and you feel the chair beneath you crack with the sheer force of her pull.

Blindly, with your vision spotted with your own blood, you untangle your hands from its ruins, but she’s too quick. She climbs atop your body, pinning your hands above your head. She looks crazy, possessed, like she might kill you right there on the spot.

Madly, you launch your knee up between her legs.

She growls out in pain, but her weight doesn’t move.

Instead, she frees one of her hands to clutch at the knife, and brings it up to your neck.

Immediately you still.

The room is cool. It smells metallic, of your own blood. You can’t hear the refrigerator, not anymore. Blood pulses through your ears. The Sheriff on top of you feels claustrophobic, like she’s leaning onto your torso so hard she might crush you with the sheer force of her weight.

Her eyes are black. Gone is the blue.

She chokes on her own tears as she says it.

“This is for my son.”

And then she lifts her knife, and with all the force of a mother scorned, launches it down and between your ribcage.

You scream.

Your cheeks flush red and the knife sinks deep into your skin. It’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt. Every inch of the knife feels magnified, like she’s sinking a hundred feet of steel between your ribs. The blood in your ears dulls, replaced by the sheer force of endless, mind-numbing pain that bursts from the broken skin of your stomach and out to every part of your body.

The Sheriff heaves, her grip on the knife loosening.

You furrow your brow, blood and sweat glistening from your forehead as you bring yourself to look down. The nausea brimming in your stomach almost blooms as you look down to see her knife, lodged deep into your body.

Your mind fogs, shock permeating through your body.

You feel dizzy, like you might pass out.

The nausea, the pain, the blood spilling out all at once.

Your scream dies in the back of your throat, replaced with a gentle, quiet, murmur. Sobs that can’t quite metamorphize. Quiet, strangled, blubbers as you realize the last moments of your existence.

You’re going to die here, under her.

You’re going to die and then she’s going to kill Tara too. You gag on your own saliva, choking slightly as you writhe under her, desperate for a few final moments of strength.

But it’s too much.

Your body has taken all it can. It’s failing on you.

You’re dying.

The Sheriff watches, her own blood trickling down her forehead. She blinks, satisfaction flooding through her features. Her vengeance, realized.

Her justice served.

You’re going to die and she’s going to sit here and watch.

Your eyelids fall, heavy.

Suddenly, you feel weightless.

The pain lessens and lessens and lessens, until you can barely feel it.

You feel like you’re floating.

You hear Tara’s voice again. Distant, like she’s shouting at you to stand up and fight. You want to do it for her. But it’s too much.

There’s nothing left in you.

You squint, vision hazy.

You’re on the cusp of passing out, you can feel it. Inches away from death.

But then you hear it.

A thud, quiet at first. Then louder. A distant ramming, like droplets of thunder that are getting louder and louder.

And then a crash.

Your eyes jerk open.

The Sheriff scrambles off your body, falling backwards onto the floor with a thud.

Her eyes are wide and round, but she’s not looking at you. She’s looking up the staircase, towards the basement door.

You hear Tara’s voice again.

But this time it’s not distant. It’s not in your head.

You whirl around and see her standing on the staircase, her face contorted in rage. Her dark hair is swept from her face and her eyes are an inky, jet black.

It’s not Tara, you realize all at once.

This is The Rage.

“Get the fuck away from her.”

She’s holding something, something you don’t recognize. It’s a children’s toy, some sort of bat. Sam’s at her side, your Dad’s shotgun in her hands.

“Back up, Sheriff,” Sam says, voice fraught, “Backup or I’ll shoot.”

You’d weep, if you had the strength.

She’s here.

Tara came for you. Against all odds, she’d found you. Bound in the basement, god knows where, moments from the Sheriff taking the knife in your stomach and ripping it up to your chest.

You try to call her name but it gets lost in your throat. Your fingers throb, like there’s needles inside them, all the blood that should be there is pooling around the knife buried deep in your stomach.

The Sheriff is on her back, helpless. Vulnerable.

Tara steps a little closer. Her shoulders are tight like she’s brimming with unbridled fury.

“Sam,” Tara says, voice quiet, “Do it.”

Sam lifts the shotgun, only slightly.

And then lifts the barrel and fires directly at the Sheriff’s chest.

You blink, waiting for the bang of the gun. For the Sheriff’s scream.

But nothing happens.

Only the sound of your heavy breathing and the steady hum of that damn refrigerator.

Sam wrestles with the gun, panic overtaking her features.

“It’s stuck.” Sam says, her voice frantic, “God, Tara, it’s filled with blood.”

The Sheriff takes her chance.

She launches forward, back atop your body.

Tara isn’t quick enough.

She swings the stick out behind her head, ready to launch it forward. 

“If I pull it out, she dies,” The Sheriff pants. You gasp at the pressure of the knife as she seizes it, “Stay the fuck back or I'll kill her right here." 

“Tara.” You murmur. 

There's so much you want to say to her. You want to tell the Sheriff to give you a moment to muster the words. You want to pause the world, like a real life slow motion so you can kiss Tara and hold her and tell her the breadth of what you feel for her in broken, mindless, babbling paragraphs. There isn't an encyclopedia in the world that could do it justice. 

But you can't. 

The Sheriff's grip on you is too tight. Your mind is dizzy, and you know even if you tried, you couldn't form a coherent sentence. 

So you settle for three little words. 

"I love you." You hum. It comes out in a slur. Like you're drunk. But she hears it. She looks to you, stricken. 

“It’s okay, baby-girl,” She says it soft, her voice fraught, “I love you, too. Don’t move, you’re going to be okay.”

But you’re not, even you know that. There’s a six inch knife in your stomach and you can’t feel your fingertips. Your would-be killer lingers over you, like her only purpose left in life is to take yours. You’re minutes from death, you can feel it from the flare of your broken skin to the settling realization deep in your bones.

You’re dead. If not now, you will be within minutes.

You can’t do anything about that.

But you can still save her.

The Sheriff has a knife. Tara has a children’s toy. Tara’s fiery, and she’s killed before but she's so little. 

The Sheriff is bigger. Stronger. Her weapon has a blade. 

They'd fight like a Doberman against an angry, yapping Chihuahua. The Sheriff would have a knife to her throat in seconds. And in your final, fleeting moments, you can't bear the thought of her taking Tara too. 

It should be hard, what you’re about to do, but it isn’t. You don't think about yourself. You don't think about the pain. 

You think about Tara. 

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made in your life.

You jerk your body upwards, startling the Sheriff slightly.

And then you’re reaching down with both hands to steady your grip around the handle of the knife buried inside you and tugging it up and out of your body.

It had hurt going in, but this feels a thousand times worse.

It hurts like you’re tearing your own flesh from your body. It hurts like you’re swallowing sandpaper, or eating an open flame.

Pain and shock roar through your body. You cry out in anguish, but your hands don't falter. 

Tara is the only thing on your mind.

Tara screams out your name.

The Sheriff turns to face you, wide-eyed.

And then you tilt the knife and shove it hard as you can through her throat.

Whatever energy you had left is depleted. The Sheriff gurgles, wide-eyed, hands fumbling to grasp the hilt of the blade buried in her throat. 

You collapse backwards onto the ground.

Tara’s running, you think, the dull thud of her boots against the ground as you try to blink the world into sight.

You can hear the Sheriff spluttering on her own blood, but the tips of your ears go numb, muffling your hearing.

Your eyes droop. Your legs feel numb.

You don’t see as Tara launches herself at the Sheriff, thudding her weapon down against her with the force of a two ton semi-truck.  You don’t see Sam hurry in after her, tossing the shotgun to the side and skidding down to press her hands against your wound. You don't hear Sam call out your name, desperate to keep you awake. 

You don’t hear Tara’s screams. Carnal. Full of fury and grief and desperation.

You don’t see as she pries the knife out of the Sheriff’s neck and rehomes it.

First, into the Sheriff’s gut. Not once, not twice. Three, four, five, six times.

You don't hear the Sheriff scream. You don't hear the wet, bloodied sounds of Tara carving her way through the Sheriff's body, puncturing every span of unbroken piece of skin she can find. 

You don't hear her sob as she does it. 

Until the Sheriff is limp on the ground, eyes glassy, blood sprayed over the ceiling, over the floor, all over Tara.

Like Tara’s very own Jackson Pollock.

You cough. Gargle slightly on your own blood. Sam’s screaming, you think.

You narrow your eyes, trying to make out her words.

Her eyes are on Tara.

You shift. Your hands are shaking. Your face white. You try, with all your might to listen to what she’s saying.

“Tara!” Sam screams. She abandons you a moment, and you gasp as the weight of her leaves you.

“Tara, she’s dead, stop.”

But it’s not Tara she’s talking to.

You hear it again. Low, vengeful grunts as The Rage takes out all its anger on The Sheriff’s mutilated corpse.

“Tara, YN needs you,” Sam says, her voice urgent, “Tara, she’s dying.”

You try to sit, but the stars behind your eyes take over.

You slump back into the floor.

There’s a flurry of movement.

Someone’s reaching back across your body. You feel the press of someone against your thighs. You wince as a pair of hands reach over to press against your wound.

For a moment, you think it’s Sam. You can barely see, your vision is so dull. This person has dark hair and wide, brown eyes.

A smattering of freckles across her nose, under a thick coating of blood.

And you realize it’s your girlfriend.

“Tara.” You murmur.

She ducks down, presses her lips against yours. Her press is firm, but you barely feel it.

“It’s okay, baby,” She says, smoothing your bloodied hair back across your forehead, but her voice is shaking. She looks scared, “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re going to be okay.”

She looks like an angel, you think, briefly, she’s heaven-sent.

Even like this, a mesh of tears and blood that isn’t hers.

She’s perfect.

She says something, but you don’t hear it.

The lack of blood takes over. Your eyes flit as you try to fight it. But it’s no use.

The last thing you see is the tremble of her lip before a flurry of tears spill thick and fast down her cheeks and onto your own.

“YN,” She murmurs, voice high. Desperate, “Baby. Stay with me.”

And then everything turns white. 

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Wishbone.

You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.

Based on the poem Wishbone by Richard Siken. Lines taken directly from the poem are in bold. If you're interested, you can read the full poem here.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x female reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - 18+ - blood, cursing, guns, sexual content. this is a little dark. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Word Count - 3617

Author's Note - my god I had fun writing this. wishbone is my favourite poem ever, and I reread it a few days ago and had a vision of nomad steve and bucky on the run and just had to turn it into something. if you haven't read the full poem, I'd highly recommend!! this is darker and a bit more jagged than my usual fluff but you know, versatility and all that. I strongly believe that Steve was feral while on the run - he has to crack at some point. I mean you can only be squeaky clean for so long, right? as always, thoughts, questions or requests, send them my way! feedback is massively appreciated always <3

Masterlist. Requests.

You saved my life he says I owe you everything. You don’t, I say, you don’t owe me squat, let’s just get going, let’s just get gone.

You met them on a bridge in the middle of the night somewhere in Europe.

All three of you running from your sins.

Steve and Bucky had bolted the minute they refused to sign the accords. They were under the impression they’d all go together – Team Cap, side by side.

Wanda and Vision left them first. Natasha next. Lastly, Sam.

Steve and Bucky were the only ones remaining. It started with just the two of them. It would end with just the two of them.

Your ankle cracks and splinters as you barrel forwards over the bridge. Gunshots rain down around you, like some sort of lethal meteor shower. You don’t know how they found you. These remainders of the past won’t leave you alone. They’re shooting at you, four of them, these grown men firing their guns at this runaway girl.

The broken bones finally give way, and you slam into the concrete, head bouncing off the surface. The road is warm under you, and you relax into it, ready to surrender to your fate.

A fate which never comes. A strong, metal arm grabs you by the bicep and pulls you up, your ankle sending strokes of pain lashing through your whole body. You’re screaming, and you’re thrashing, and there’s blood pouring into your boots. Your cries for help are ignored as the man throws you over his shoulder and starts running at an inhuman speed.

He keeps sprinting, heavy shoes hitting the ground with every step, the impact rattling up into your bones. Everything is hazy and nothing makes sense and the lights of the city are blinding you as you’re carried by the stranger. You don’t know if he’s saving you or kidnapping you or both or neither.

A blond man appears, running next to the brunette with the metal arm. You’re thrown from one man’s shoulder to the others, as if you weigh nothing. As if you’re worth nothing. Just a girl caught in the crossfire. A victim. If only they knew.

Your shoes are filling with your own damn blood.

You passed out sometime on the journey, the men’s heavy steps lulling you into unconsciousness.

One minute, you’re being thrown around like a ragdoll, and the next you’re waking up on the floor of a dingy motel. You think you might be in Berlin. Or was it Brussels? It didn’t matter anyway. Doesn’t make a difference.

The carpet is sticky and caked in dirt and patterned like it was made in the 70’s. You wake with a jolt, gasping for air. The blond man is nowhere to be seen. The brunette is sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with careful blue eyes.

“Why am I on the floor?" you ask, venom dripping from each word. “You couldn’t throw me down on the fucking bed?”

He scoffs and shakes his head.

“Your boots are filled with blood,” he spits. “Better on the carpet than the sheets.”

He crosses the room and kneels down in front of you. He cautiously unties your left boot and pulls it off. Then he unties the right one, the broken one, and yanks it off with a careless hand. You grit your teeth and hiss, hand flying out to fist into his shirt.

“Asshole,” you mutter. “That fuckin’ hurts.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he replies. “It’s fractured. Smashed to pieces, actually.”

He grabs your boot and walks over to the tiny sink in the corner of the room. Turning it upside down, he watches as your blood pours out.

“Shit, girl,” he mumbles. “How are you still fightin’?”

You think you hear a New York accent. Brooklyn, maybe. It seems to come out in waves, a slight twang every now and again. His raspy drawl vibrates through your stomach, right into your core. He’s handsome. He’s battered and bruised, clothes ripped, hair mussed. But he’s handsome.

“I’m tougher than I look,” you retort.

He chuckles, and it makes you want to rip your clothes off.

He comes back to your place on the floor and yanks you up by your arms. He throws you onto the bed unceremoniously, ignoring your groans and protests. He grabs you by your chin and forces you to look at him.

“Stop fuckin’ wincing,” he snarls. “I’m trying to help you.”

You figure his help is better than nothing. You go pliant, and let him assess you, only whining when he presses his thumbs into a sore spot.

I’m always saving and you’re always owing and I’m tired of asking to settle the debt.

Steve has always loved playing the hero. It’s the role he falls into naturally. Bucky does too. After everything he’s done – been forced to do – it makes him feel good to save people now.

Maybe that’s why they saved you.

They watched you run from those men, four vigilantes out for blood. Bucky and Steve had gone out to kill them, to get them off their backs. As soon as Bucky had seen you fall, he was moving at the speed of light, barrelling across the bridge to scoop you up and out of the crossfire. Steve just watched, shaking his head. Buck had always been a sucker for a pretty girl.

They don’t question why you were out there, fighting men with your bare hands. They don’t wanna know. Frankly, they don’t care.

“What the fuck?” Steve asks when he swings open the door to the motel room. “She’s still here?”

“Her ankle is all messed up,” Bucky replies. “There’s no way she’s walking. We can’t throw her onto the street. The rest of them will come for her.”

Steve’s rolling his eyes as he walks over to where you’re unconscious on the bed. He grabs the front of your shirt and pulls you up level with him. You startle awake, and stare daggers into his pretty face.

“What did they want with you?” he spits.

You glare at him for a solid minute, but he doesn’t crack. He wants answers.

“Pissed them off, I guess,” you snicker. “They tried to hurt me. Hurt them right back but harder. They didn’t like it.”

Bucky’s watching the two of you interact, his head tilted to the side. He’s not quite sure how this is going to play out. He can’t wait to see.

Steve surveys you, eyes scanning your face methodically. God, he’s tired of playing nice.

He grabs your chin firmly, forcing you to open your mouth. He stares into your soul, as if daring you to defy him, before he spits onto your tongue, never once breaking eye contact. You swallow, holding his gaze – goading him into making another move. He slams his lips onto yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth, claiming you as his. You suppose you owe him this, at least. He did save your life, after all.

I say I want you inside me and you hold my head underwater, I say I want you inside me and you split me open with a knife.

This is how it always goes. Your new normal.

The three of you run from city to city, country to country, never staying in one place for too long.

They marked their claim on you that day. All of you without a place to call a home – so you found it in each other. And what a fucked up home it was.

Somewhere along the way, you realise you’ve changed. Not just mentally, or emotionally. But physically. You’re taller, stronger, able to run faster. You’ve gone through some sort of metamorphosis and you don’t know what it is but you like it.

You’re in Colombia, in a motel room, naked from the waist up and sat in Bucky’s lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins. Just the way you like it.

“I’m different,” you tell him, and he nods his head.

“Why do you think we saved you?” he replies.

He straightens up to sink his teeth into your shoulder, right next to the bite mark left by one of them the day before.

“You are different,” Steve tells you as he walks through the door. “It’s our fault. Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, with no real apology in his voice.

Both you and Bucky turn to look at him. Where did that cut on his cheekbone come from? Blood is dripping down his face, and your mouth waters. You want to lick it off.

You crawl to the end of the bed and rise onto your knees, before grabbing Steve, both hands twisted in the front of his shirt. You run your tongue from his jaw to his temple, savouring the taste of copper. Fuck, he tastes so sweet. They both do. You’d drink it if you could.

Steve moans, and the sound makes your legs weak. He fists a hand into the back of your hair and yanks, exposing your throat to him. Then, with no gentleness whatsoever, he scrapes his teeth along the side of your neck, bruising as he goes. You’re purple and red and tender and sore and your big doe eyes are looking at him like you want him to eat you alive. It takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

Bucky doesn’t possess the same amount of self control.

He yanks you back by your wrists, pinning you underneath him. He crawls along your body, and catches your underwear in his teeth, dragging them down and off. He looks hungry. No, he looks feral. It’s animalistic, this connection the three of you have. It’s sharp and bloody and jagged and raw and it makes you want to cut them open from head to toe so you can live inside them forever.

You hate this life and the fact everything is temporary and you hate that you have nothing. Not really. You’re not even one hundred percent sure that these two men wouldn’t leave you if they got offered something better.

But for now, you let them get lost in you. In each other. It’s all you can do to stay sane, in this life spent running and hiding.

Will you let me kiss your neck, baby? Do I have to tie your arms down? Do I have to stick my tongue in your mouth like the hand of a thief, like a burglary like it’s just another petty theft?

You’re in another motel room. This time, Argentina.

The three of you are sat on the bed. The wound in your side is gushing, and Steve has his hand practically in your rib cage, trying to quell the opening.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs. “It’s alright, it’ll stop soon. The advanced healing will kick in any minute now.”

Advanced healing.

It’s something you’d known for a while. Something you’d never brought up with them, just in case. But here he was, telling you like it was nothing.

“I’m a super soldier, aren’t I?” you gasp out between raspy breaths. You’re not actually in that much pain, you’re just panicking. No one should be able to lose this much blood and heal like nothing ever happened.

Bucky nods his head from where he’s sat behind you, chest pressed to your back. His strong arms are keeping you still while Steve plays doctor.

“We didn’t mean for it to happen, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear.

“It was probably Brazil that did it,” Steve chimes in.

Brazil.

Bucky had been shot and you’d been stabbed and Steve was bleeding for some reason too.

You’d crawled to Buck, throwing yourself on top of his body. Your wounds were both open and your blood was mixing together and you couldn’t tell whose flesh was whose.

You’d stuck your tongue in his mouth and he drank you down, blood and dirt and sweat be damned. Steve yanked you both up and threw an arm under each of you, practically dragging you to safety. You were painted in crimson and dripping with the evidence of your love.

Yes. It was definitely Brazil that did it.

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” you utter in disbelief.

“Honestly, neither did we,” Steve replies.

“But now you’re one of us,” Bucky murmurs. “The three of us. The same.”

He’s kissing your shoulder and you’re squirming because you can feel your skin healing, patching itself back together slowly.

“Let him kiss you, baby,” Steve urges. “Do I have to tie your arms down?”

“Yes,” you beg. “Please. Do it. Please.”

Bucky twists your arms behind you and locks them into place with his metal hand. You can’t go anywhere. You don’t want to.

Did he find that one last tender place to sink his teeth in? 

One day, somewhere in Alaska, Steve finds you crying in the bathroom.

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, and you don’t recognise what you see. You have scars scattered across your face, your hair is darker than it’s ever been, and it’s shorter from where Bucky took the scissors to it. Who are you? What have you become?

“Now isn’t the time to have an identity crisis, darling,” Steve says when he enters the room in his boxers.

You nod, and smile, and sniffle, taking a deep breath.

Steve walks over to you, placing you effortlessly to sit on the counter. He stands between your legs and cradles your face in his gun calloused hands.

“Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he reassures into your mouth.

Leaning forward, he runs his tongue up your cheek, catching the tears as they fall. He grabs your chin with one hand, and tugs your pants off with the other.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry.”

It feels like love when he sinks his teeth into your neck so hard, he draws blood.

and with this bullet lodged in my chest, covered with your name, I will turn myself into a gun, because it’s all I have, because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.

You crack on a random Tuesday afternoon in Bulgaria.

You’ve been shot at one too many times. It’s not something anyone should ever have to endure. The bullets have carved you out and left you hollow. There’s only so much blood you can lose.

The three of you are sat with your backs against the door of the dingy motel room. Just minutes prior, there had been men banging on the wood, demanding to know where Captain America was hiding.

You hadn’t heard that title in a while.

America’s Golden Boy. If only they knew.

If only they knew how he craved the taste of blood now.

If only they knew how he’d lick the sweat from your neck and keep on going.

If only they knew how the fear turned him on.

Being on the run had taken Steve’s golden blood and turned it black. He didn’t mind. Neither did Bucky. Neither did you.

This was out of your wheelhouse, though. Bucky had gone through wars, been on the run more times than he could count. Steve, too. You, however, were different.

You weren’t 100 years old. You’d been a super soldier for a matter of months. You’d gotten into trouble, pissed off the wrong guys, and it had spiralled out of control. Now, you’re hiding from six armed men with Captain America on your left and The Winter Soldier on your right. How times change.

It all explodes suddenly, and you can’t contain it anymore. You jump up, gun in hand, tears sprinting down your cheeks. You’re pointing the weapon at them, and you’re not sure why. But you’re angry. And upset. And so in love with the both of them it’s driving you crazy.

“Tell me you’re not going to leave me,” you threaten, pressing the barrel of the gun against Steve’s chest.

“Sweetheart-“ he starts, but you cut him off.

“No. Tell me you’re mine. Promise me you’re not going to leave me.”

You’ve still got the gun pointed at Steve, but now you’re grabbing Bucky by his hair, forcing him to look up at you.

“Both of you. Promise me.”

They aren’t looking at you like you’re crazy, or unhinged. They’re looking at you like they’re proud of you. Like they want you. Like they love you.

Steve kicks you hard in the shin, making your legs give way. You’re flat on your back now, and Bucky’s moved to pin your arms above your head. His full weight is pressing into you, and his blond counterpart has crawled to yank your head into his lap.

“We’re yours, baby,” Bucky murmurs against your lips.

“We’re not leaving,” Steve adds from where his forehead is pressed against yours.

“And you look really fucking hot pointing a gun at Steve,” Bucky smirks as he kisses along your neck, sucking a bruise as he goes.

“Asshole,” Steve retorts, but he’s smiling. Not that golden, Captain America smile that everyone’s used to. No, this is different. This is a dark, jagged smile, that’s equal parts cunning and broken. It makes you shiver. But you’re not scared. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll be your slaughterhouse, your killing floor, your morgue and final resting, walking around with this bullet inside me ‘cause I couldn’t make you love me and I’m tired of pulling your teeth.

Somewhere in Croatia, you watch Steve and Bucky almost die.

Bullets are raining down, and you’re surrounded on all sides. You can’t see past the swarms of armed men, and you’re bleeding but you’re not sure where from. Steve and Bucky are trying their best, but they’re losing. You’re all losing.

You don’t know where it comes from, the rage. One minute, you’re down on your knees, breathless and sweating. Next minute, you’ve elbowed a man in the face and stolen his machine gun. You’re gunning down men left and right, ignoring their pleas for mercy. The ceiling is raining blood and you’re dripping crimson. You’ve never looked more beautiful.

By the time you get to Bucky and Steve, the abandoned garage looks like a slaughterhouse. You’re stepping over bodies like you’re in a cemetery, your eyes glued to the two people you did all of this for. They’re looking at you like they’re scared of you. Finally, you think. They see me.

If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand. Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now? There’s a bottle of whiskey in the trunk of the Chevy and a dead man at our feet staring up at us like we’re something interesting.

The three of you hijack a cabin in rural Canada.

You’ve been walking through the forests for days when you come upon a small wooden lodge with smoke pummelling out of the chimney. Respite.

Bucky shoots the man point blank when he answers the door. You leave him dead on the porch and make your way inside. It’s cosy, all flannel patterns and fur rugs. You could get comfortable here.

You shower while Steve cooks you dinner. Buck finds decent whiskey in a cabinet, and the three of you take turns drinking it straight from the bottle. You all sit on the floor, legs tangled, warming up by the fireplace. Steve falls asleep, and you step outside to get a breath of fresh air.

The dead man is still on the porch, staring up at you.

“He looks peaceful,” you say to Bucky, who’s appeared silently behind you in the doorway.

“He probably is,” he replies. “God knows anything is more peaceful than this life.”

You charge at him, and bite his lip so hard he whimpers. He takes you right up against the front door, frosty cold biting into your back. Steve watches through the window.

This is where the evening splits in half, Henry, love or death. Grab an end, pull hard, and make a wish.

When Steve and Bucky get called back to SHIELD, you get scared.

You’re not exactly an upstanding citizen. You’re the furthest thing from an Avenger. SHIELD are going to take one look at you and lock you up for the rest of your life, you’re sure of it.

The boys won’t let that happen.

The two of them argue about going back for days. You get caught in the crossfire. You’re used as an excuse, a bargaining chip, a distraction. You’re a tactic, both of them trying to use you against the other.

Eventually, Bucky cracks. Maybe it’s because your lips are on his neck and Steve’s are on his stomach. Maybe it’s because he’s tired of fighting.

“Fine, Stevie. Fine,” he sighs. “But if it all goes wrong, I’m taking her, and we’re running. I ain’t dealing with all that shit again.”

Steve nods in agreement, and shoves his tongue in Bucky’s mouth.

The three of you decide you’ll go back together. You make a deal – you’ll refuse to be separated. If you have to fight, you’ll fight as one. No one’s going to tear you apart. Not even death.

Steve cuts his palm first, then yours, then Bucky’s. You join hands, and promise that no matter what happens, you’ll always choose each other.

Blood drips down your wrist, and Steve catches it with his tongue.

Both men look at you with their big blue eyes, and you know nothing is ever going to hurt you as much as love does.

[someplace-darker]

In The Static | Ted Lasso

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader (no y/n) Wordcount: 2.1k Warnings: panic attack/talks of panic attacks, vague mentions of trauma. That's about it I think, it's a touch angst and hurt/comfort I suppose. Fluff. Summary: Ted thought he was past his panic attacks until he encounters another, and you follow him to make sure he's okay. A/N: "now jay" you might be saying "wasn't the last thing you posted smut almost a year ago?" and the answer is yes. But i've recently become insanely attached to Ted Lasso, and I dipped my toe into writing more than a wip. SO here's my middle aged white man of the month. Enjoy :)

“REFEREE!!!” Keeley stands with a force that causes her to latch onto your arm to keep from falling forward. It continues to astound you that for such a tiny lady, she really contains an insane amount of spunk. One of the opposing team’s men had just slid Sam’s legs out from under himself, causing him to land hard on his shoulder. The game had been a rough one so far, more aggressive and bitter than most. Richmond had been respectful at first (as per usual) but the second their opponents had started playing violent and dirty, that changed.

Roy and Beard were obviously shouting and pointing angrily, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying from your seat in the box. Ted, however, was standing stiffly with his balled fists shoved into the pockets of his Richmond zip-up. You can feel that something is off. Even if you can’t see his face, you know him well enough to read his body language. There’s mere minutes left in the game and the teams are tied.

Rebecca is already standing and gathering her belongings to head back in, gesturing for the lot of you to follow. That’s exactly what you begin to do before the crowd goes ape-shit, jumping from their seats and screaming so loud it makes your head thrum. 

“ROJAS INTERCEPTS THE KICK AND PASSES TO TARTT AND JUST LIKE THAT-”

You turn just in time to watch Jamie kick the ball into the net, the stadium erupting in cheers that shake the ground.

“AFC RICHMOND TAKES ANOTHER VICTORY 2-1 IN A SHOCKING LAST SECOND SCORE”

Keeley, Higgins, and Rebecca rejoice, grabbing at each other in shock. Placing your fingers between your lips you let out a piercing whistle, jumping up and down as thousands of chants echo. You look down to your coaches, expecting to see all three soaking in the sweet relief of not gaining another loss. Instead, you see Ted darting for the locker room, head down with his phone held two inches from his face. It was obvious to you that he was trying to use it as a cover. 

“I’ll meet back with you guys later, I’ve gotta check something real quick.” 

They smile and wave you off, relishing in the buzzing excitement clearly felt throughout the facility. As much as you wish you could join them in celebration, you were pretty sure Ted needed you more. So you slip through the small crowds with ease, having much practice during your time with Richmond, taking the back staircase to the locker room hallway. 

At first you check his office, finding only his jacket laying on the floor. The second spot you search is the right one, opening the door to darkness. You almost turn and leave but a staggered breath gives him away. 

“Ted?” you whisper, stepping into the boot room and closing the door gently. He sniffles almost silently and hums in response, curling in on himself when the lights flicker on at your touch.. You’ve never seen him look so small before, his entire body condensed into half of his height in the corner of the room, the sight moving you to shut the lights back off for his sake.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, walking over to kneel in front of him. He has his head placed between his knees, hands on the back of head with his fingers intertwined tightly. As much as you know of his panic attacks, you’ve never been present for one. Something tells you he tends to keep it that way with everyone around him. 

However, you’re well versed with them yourself.

“I’m gonna sit beside you, but I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay.”

You lower yourself onto the ground, the floor cold beneath your already freezing ass. England's weather was not kind to the warm blooded. Ted doesn’t lift his head all the way, simply angles it towards you just enough for an eye to peek out from behind his arm. He looks at you with the gaze of a wounded puppy, eyes red and wet, smeared with warm tears.

The silence that follows is deafening, a faint ringing the only thing you hear. Ted looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. It’s not like you can blame him. The last time he opened up to someone he considered close about his panic attacks, it ended up plastered on every magazine and tabloid across the country. Trust within himself and others had been fractured- not broken. No one could ever betray Coach Lasso enough to break that within him, it was fundamental to who he was as a person.

After a few more minutes of silence his foot slides over to yours, just barely nudging it. He lifts his head and sniffles, using his sleeve to wipe the mix of tears and snot off his face.

“I want to tell you about it, I do. I’m just… stuck. Feels like if I tell you, it’ll be too much,” he murmurs, keeping his foot pressed to yours.

“I understand, Ted,” you whisper. “I started having panic attacks before I was even a teenager. I’d been through things- rough things -and they plagued me for years.” He begins to unfurl himself, listening intently to every word you say, the blatant honesty and vulnerability easing his anxiety. “It took me a while to open up to anyone about them, let alone a therapist. I spent so long trying to hide them, that when I finally did get help I felt like a fake.” 

Ted adjusts himself to sit up straighter, shimmying closer so your shoulders touch. You can tell he’s trying to be inconspicuous about it, but the man is known to be anything but subtle.  Outside you can hear the boys begin filing into the hallway, headed for the locker room surely for some type of victory activity. Their shadows dance across the wall in the darkened boot room, slashed into segments by the blinds slanted slightly open. Both of you seemed to have held your breaths as they passed, because as soon as they’re gone there’s a simultaneous exhale of relief.

An amused breath comes from Ted, palm pressing from the corner of his eye to the tip of his cheekbone to wipe away the stray tears. He knocks his knee against yours and dares to glance at you, opening up enough to make eye contact. Here in this room, he looks more human than you think you’ve ever seen him. For the most part he keeps his mood insanely optimistic, tending to care more about others happiness than his own. It gave him an almost otherworldly bounce to his step and light to his eyes. 

But now that he’s sat no more than two inches in front of you with puffy eyes and a chewed lip, Ted is just… a broken man. 

“You’ll never be too much, Ted. It’s normal to feel stuck, and it’s okay to not be able to talk about it yet.” His eyes flick to your hand when you lift it towards him, a lifeline of trust, openness in the form of warm skin and an upward facing palm. Internal conflict tugs at his lungs, his breath hitching as he weighs his options for all of five seconds before taking your hand. You are someone Ted knows he can always find solace in. 

Someone who he could spot in a crowd of thousands, someone who he will always seek out. 

His other hand reaches to pat the top of yours, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing circles. A shuddered breath begins to pass his lips, but he smothers it to ashes with the cool press of a kiss to your wrist. 

Humming amusedly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, you lean your head on his shoulder, moving slightly as they lift with the intake of air into his lungs. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel bad that I haven’t spoken to you ‘bout it,” he tsk’s softly to himself, carefully navigating his brain for the right words. 

“I was fine out there, y’know? I’ve been doin’ better, Sharon’s helped a lot. But it just got so loud, and everything felt out of my control- out of any of our boys’ control and I- I just couldn’t breathe. Tunnel vision, boom, just like that.”

You whisper encouragements softly under your breath, murmurs of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you can keep going’ pushing him gently in the right direction. Voices can be heard from the locker room, loud cheering and chanting from the team acting as muffled background noise for Ted’s moment of vulnerability. 

“After everything that happened with Nate, I learned to mask it a bit better I guess. That’s the fancy word Doc told me about,” the corner of his lips quirks up “I figured I’d be okay in here for a bit anyway, then you walked in.” Your brows furrow and you pull away from his shoulder, opening your mouth to apologize for intruding but he beats you to it.

“No, no, that sounded different than I meant. I am very glad that you found me here. I needed you even if I didn’t know it,” he traces the details of your face with his eyes, not stopping you when you move your head back down to his shoulder. 

“I think you’ve worked on it so much quicker than you realize, Ted. It wasn’t that long ago, yeah? Healing and improving takes time, and it’s okay that it takes time. I certainly took my time,” you muse, channeling your own therapist’s word. “But I think it’s right on par with who you are, who I know you to be, that you got on it as fast as you did. Even if it was begrudgingly at first.”

“Yeah, Doc definitely had her work cut out.”

You laugh, normally at first but then Ted snorts and you both lose it, bodies bumping against each other with the shakes that come with post-meltdown laughs. Soon enough you’re both wiping away tears of a different variety, the air in the room much lighter than before. You take that moment to push yourself up and off the floor, lending a hand to Ted to pull him up.

“I am immensely proud of you, Coach Lasso. So is the team. You have a very large family backing you up, as unorthodox as said family is.” You take one step closer, hand still holding onto his, pressed between your bodies. Taking your free hand, you hold the side of his face and lean in to kiss his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. 

Ted presses into your lips, chasing your touch even when you turn to the door. Twisting the knob open you find Will standing there, boots tied by their laces hanging over his shoulder, hand outreached to grab the now absent handle. 

He blinks at the two of you for a second, gaze one of vague shock, before curling his lips in an embarrassed smile and stepping out of the way.

“Not a word, Will,” you sing-song when he opens his mouth, pulling Ted down the hall to stand outside of the locker room door. 

You can hear Roy in the middle of a somehow happy/angry sounding congratulation speech that only he is capable of, grinning and turning to face your Coach once more. “Now, get your butt in there and relish in the sweet taste of winning.”

“I mean, relish is pretty tasty-”

“Ted.”

“Yep,” Ted takes a deep breath and nods, squeezing your hand “you coming in with me?” 

“I don’t want to intrude on your moment, Coach.”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and pushes the door open, dragging you with him. The boys’ faces light up, immediately rushing to storm him, all reaching to touch him and jumping up and down. Their team song buzzing and bouncing along with them.

“WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE KNOW WE ARE, WE’RE SURE WE ARE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE”

You slide past the group, safely reaching Roy and Beard without your feet being stomped on. The smile on your face is one of pure joy and contentment, not faltering when Beard slides to your side, bumping your elbow. 

“Thanks,” he speaks, nodding towards Ted. It’s easy to know what he means immediately, always one to be of few words. 

“No need to thank me,” you reply easily, watching your family bond even more “it’s what we do.”

[dreamersbcll]

It would be cool to see an au scene where it was Tara rather than Anika crossing the ladder…..

this was SO mean. but here we go.

“Lovely”

—————————————————————-

“Go, go, GO!”

Sam shoved Tara forward, catching her by the shirt as she stumbled. Mindy was hot on their heels, dodging slashes from the latest asshole in a mask.

The trio slammed themselves into the bedroom, pushing the wardrobe in front of the door. Sam immediately went to the window, trying to flag down the boy next door, while Mindy panicked openly.

Standing behind Sam, Tara tried to stabilize herself. She had never felt anxiety like this before. It was as if everything was on fire, and the flames were licking every square inch of flesh on her body. Her breathing was picking up, and she knew that she didn’t have an extra inhaler on hand. It’s not like she would have time to use it anyways.

Ghostface was in her apartment, and now she, Mindy, and Sam were trapped in a bedroom with nowhere to go. Mindy was also starting to lose it, trying to shove more things in front of the shaking door.

“I- What do we do? What do we do?” Mindy stuttered, trying to move the bed.

Tara just shook her head, holding onto the gaping wound in her stomach. Of course, she had to be stabbed again. Internally she was cursing herself for not being prepared. And of course, Ghostface was someone close to them. How could she be so stupid? Groaning, she looked down at the wound, feeling faint at the sight of gushing blood. Stumbling behind Sam, Tara could feel her body giving out by the minute.

They needed a way out and fast.

And that’s when Tara saw him. That stupid boy that Sam was fascinated with. Whether or not he was a good guy didn’t matter right now. For all she cared, right now, he was their savior. Their savior in the apartment across from their own.

Sam threw open the window and started yelling at him. Tara was feeling too woozy to catch what was being said. Something along the lines of Don’t worry, I got you, to, Are you fucking kidding me?

Her big sister would handle this. Tara just needed to stay upright. Between Mindy holding the door closed and Sam fiddling with what sounded like a metal ladder, Tara was too overwhelmed to help.

She stumbled back, landing on the bed. Her stomach was hurting. Was she crying, or was that sweat? Someone was yelling at her. Sam?

“You two go first. Mindy!” shouted her sister, trying to grab Tara's sleeve. She missed, as Tara was too far away.

That was the last time Sam would be close enough to touch her again.

Mindy shook her head frantically. “No! Somebody has to hold the door. You first and Tara next. Go!”

To Tara's surprise, Sam gave in and started climbing out the window. She tried to muster up the words, anything, to tell her sister.

Don’t go. Why are you leaving? Please take me with you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry I was so mean to you. I didn’t mean to. It hurts Sam. It hurts. Please help me. I love you. Don’t go. Please stay.

But every time she tried to speak, the words died out on her tongue. It didn’t matter. Her sister was disappearing from view. Was she climbing? Is that a ladder? Where was she going?

It didn’t matter. She was tired. There was so much blood. Maybe she should lie down.

“Mindy! Tara! Come on! COME ON!” screamed Sam, breaking Tara out of her trance.

Mindy shoved the wardrobe before the door and ran over to Tara, propping her up.

“No, Mindy, no. It hurts,” she mumbled, letting the girl drag her to the window.

The girl parked her before the window, gently pushing Tara towards the ladder. Tara tried to steady her hands and grasp the ladder, but she missed and nearly keeled forward. Mindy pulled her back, and Tara started to push away from her.

“No, Mindy, I can’t. You have to go, you have to,” she slurred, trying to get Mindy to let go of her shoulders.

Her friend shook her head violently, her voice thick with tears. “No, Tara, you have to. You have to go!”.

Behind them, Ghostface had broken open the door, his mask peeking out. Coupled with her sister's screams, Tara knew what she had to do.

Mindy had to go first. She was steadier. Tara wasn’t ready yet. She could go last.

Tara reached out and grabbed Mindy’s forearms, holding on tight to her best friend.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to be precise. “Mindy. You go first. I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” she softly said, focusing her eyes on Mindy’s terrified ones.

The girl shook her head, tears streaming down her face. Mindy leaned in and kissed Tara on the forehead, and made her way out the window.

Tara held onto the ladder, coughing. Flecks of blood splattered across the ladder, and she could feel herself slipping. She tried to force herself to hold on, hold onto the ladder so Mindy could make it.

It was almost her turn. It was almost her turn.

She could hear her sister, her Sam, soothing Mindy, begging her to keep going. Tara tried to look up, make eye contact with her sister, but everything was blurry. She couldn’t see. It was all fuzzy.

“Sammy,” she whimpered.

Ghostface kept pushing against the door, objects clattering all over the room. She gasped at the pain on her side and prayed that this would work.

It had to work. It had to. It was almost her turn.

Finally, Mindy crossed, and Tara could go.

It was her turn. It was her turn.

“Come on Tara, come on baby, you can do it!” cried Sam, holding out a hand for Tara.

She grasped the ladder, preparing to cross. It was too much. She couldn’t see straight. There’s so much blood. Why was she bleeding so much? She needed Sam. She needed help.

“I can’t. I can’t do it,” she slurred, grasping onto the slick ladder.

“Yes, you can! Yes, you fucking can!” Sam screamed, hands still outstretched.

Tara whimpered but started to crawl. She had to move. He was behind her. Sam was in front of her. It was her turn. She had to move.

She inched forward, moving as quickly as she could. Mindy and Sam screamed encouragement, and Tara could tell that Sam had her crying voice on. She kept inching forward, crying as she went.

Suddenly everyone went quiet, and Tara saw the moment that Sam knew. Her big sister’s eyes widened, and Mindy gasped a bone-chilling, world-ending gasp.

“What?” she softly said, afraid of the fear in her family’s eyes.

Sam just opened and closed her mouth, shaking her head rapidly. Mindy was the only one who could find her voice.

“Tara, you have to move now. YOU HAVE TO MOVE NOW!” her friend yelled, her eyes filled with a fear that Tara wishes she could unsee.

Tara followed her sister’s eyes, looking behind her. And there she knew that this was the end.

He had the ladder, and he was shaking it.

And suddenly, Tara was eight years old again.

——

“Tara, come on, honey. You can do it, and you’re almost there!”

Sticking her tongue out with determination, Tara reached for the next monkey bar. Big kids can climb the monkey bars. Sam always told her that she was a big girl. She could do this.

She was on the third bar, Sam on the other side. Her big sister was waiting with her arms open, a big smile on her face.

Tara wanted to be a big girl like Sam. She could do this.

So she climbed, bar by bar. All fourteen rungs, stopping at the twelfth to catch her breath. Looking down, she could see her feet dangling over the woodchips.

She whimpered. She was so high up. This was scary. Maybe she couldn’t do this.

“Baby, look at me. Look at me. You can do this, honey. I’m right here. Come to me!” Sam cheered, hands still outstretched.

Tara took a deep breath and kept pushing.

Fourteen rungs later, she tumbled into Sam’s arms, giggling as her big sister caught her.

“Oh my god! That’s my big girl! I’m so proud of you, baby!”

Tara snuggled into Sam’s embrace, giggling at the kisses her big sister planted all over her face.

“I did it, Sammy! I’m a big girl!” she crowed.

Her sister kissed her hair, squeezing her tight.

“You did it, baby. You did it,”.

——

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this,” she wailed, the ladder shaking.

Ghostface was shaking, no, throwing the ladder around, bouncing her up and down. Blood was splattering everywhere, and she was losing her grip. Everything was slick with fluids, and she was losing consciousness by the second.

“Tara, give me your hand. Baby, look at me, come to me!” her sister frantically cried, hands outstretched.

Tara looked up, making eye contact with her sister. Through all the movement, chaos, and pain, she found serenity in those brown eyes.

“I don’t wanna die, Sammy,” she whispered.

Her sister shook her head back and forth, hand outstretched.

“You’re not dying, baby. You’re not. Please give me your hand. Tara, give me your hand!”

Tara groaned, reaching one hand out to her sister. Her fingertips grazed Sam’s, and Tara sighed in relief. Her big sister’s hands were always warm and strong. She was going to be okay. Sam was going to save her.

But that’s when the ladder flipped, and Tara went airborne.

She had so much she still needed to say. She had so much she needed to do. So many broken promises, so many unfulfilled dreams.

As Tara fell to the ground, she hoped Sam knew she had tried. She almost got across. She tried so fucking hard.

The last thought in her mind before she hit the cold concrete was simple.

I love you, Sam.

[crazycatfaery]

#17 (... to distract) for Stellatrix or Skloom, your choice! No pressure ofc

I don't know why my brain immediately went for angst instead of the obvious fluff potential this prompt has, and I also accidentally wrote about 1300 words for this one (oops?). There's eventual fluff though, if only a little. And I've enjoyed writing my first Stellatrix, so I hope you'll enjoy reading it!

(I might need to start putting these in a list)

Read on Ao3 or down below.

TWs: Kiss might come off as non-consensual at first, descriptions of seizures/seizure-like erratic movement.

Returned

Kiss prompt: 17. A kiss to distract.

She runs. It doesn’t matter that’s it dark and she can’t see shit, she doesn’t have time to conjure up some light. It doesn’t matter that she’s been asleep for only twenty minutes, even though it’s nearly five in the morning. It doesn’t matter that she’s barreling barefoot through the school, and it doesn’t matter that she’s the crown princess of Solaria.

As soon as her brain had registered the name Aisha mentioned after waking her, followed by “greenhouse”, she’d jumped out of bed and taken off. Image and appearances be damned.

Nearly tripping over her own feet, she flies around the corner of the hallway leading up to the greenhouse. The doors are closed, but light shines through the matted glass, illuminating Headmaster Silva who’s standing in front of them.

“Stella,” he says quietly. The tone in his voice is gentle, but his eyes tell her he’s frightened, horrified even. “I take it Aisha has told you,” he adds as she halts in front of him.

“Is she in there?” Her own voice sounds sharp, too loud for her own ears.

Silva grabs her shoulder. “Stella, I need you to calm down, okay? We don’t know what happened yet, but she’s…it’s bad.” His eyes turn soft, but a vague glint of worry remains. “We might need you to try and help her.”

“Help her? But how, why, what?” She tries to even her breathing, her hands starting to tremble now that the spike of adrenaline isn’t in use for running anymore. Her heart is still attempting to perform a marathon though, going so fast she feels like she might faint any minute.

Letting go of her, Silva opens one of the doors before guiding her through. Stella blinks into the warm light, her eyes needing to adjust from running through the dark halls. When they finally do, the headmaster has led her halfway through the greenhouse, towards the section that’s used as the infirmary.

“Keep her still!” Flora, Sam, Terra, and Professor Harvey are all there, the siblings trying their hardest to hold the person that’s violently shaking on one of the beds as the professor tries to place a stethoscope on the person's chest. The iron bedframe rattles at the movement, intermitted sparks of electricity trickling down the arms of the patient. The sound may be even more haunting than the moaning and occasional screams coming from the seizing body.

“We’re trying, Dad, she’s too strong!” Terra shouts back to her father.

Stella shakes off Silva’s hand that he had placed back on her shoulder again in some form of support, and charges for the bed. Shoving Terra aside, she kneels at the bedside and finally lays eyes on the person they’re trying to restrain.

She looks like one of those undead monsters from the movies in the first world, she thinks wryly. Her skin is so thin and pale that she almost seems see-through, the bags under eyes stark against her paleness. Dirt clings to her hair in clumps, her clothes are ripped and her nails look bloody. Her wrists and ankles are tied to the bed frame, the ropes straining under the erratic movements.

“We had to tie her down,” Flora says apologetically. “She was starting to hurt herself.”

“Beatrix,” Stella whispers. Her eyes scan the body of her friend, still trembling in front of her. Long, bloodied scratches adorn her arms, and when she looks up she sees more of them around her throat. She reaches out and puts her hand on the girl’s cheek.

Beatrix immediately reacts to the gentle touch. Her eyes fly open, and she looks directly at the light fairy. “Help…me,” she squeaks, desperation beaming from her eyes.

“I will, I’ll help you, what do you need?” Stella hastily asks, retracting her hand to start removing dirt clumps from Bea’s hair instead.

“Chaos…mind…so full,” Beatrix utters in between gasps, immediately followed by arching her back and pressing her shoulders into the mattress. “Can’t…focus…” she adds before she lets out a short scream and clenches her eyes shut.

“What do I do!?” Stella turns around and looks at Terra who’s taken a few steps back and is clutching Flora’s hand. “You’re supposed to be smart, tell me what to do!” she lashes out at both of them, doesn’t want to, doesn’t mean it, but she’s desperate to find an answer.

“Hey!” Sam calls out, stepping forward towards her, but Silva grabs his shoulder while Flora shakes her head at him. “I’m no mind fairy…” the flower fairy starts, hesitantly. “But it seems as if her mind is too crowded…too active?”

“Good thinking Flora,” Professor Harvey nods at her. “I can give her some concentrated valerian and chamomile extract, but only a small dose. Too much and it will likely do more harm than help.” He turns around and starts gathering and preparing the ingredients, with Terra quickly joining him at the table to help.

Beatrix is shaking violently, whimpering as her limbs repeatedly jerk at her binds. Stella puts her hands on one of her arms and starts to gently circle her thumbs over the dry and slightly muddy skin while whispering soothing words.

She isn’t even sure the girl can hear her, but she seems to miraculously calm down a little at the repeated motion of the light fairy’s fingers. Professor Harvey returns to the other side of the bed, tapping a small syringe half filled with a greenish-yellow substance.

“Wait, I think…I think she just needs a distraction” Stella says. Beatrix seems to have calmed down immensely, even though she’s still whimpering and her eyes are staying shut. “Might as well try,” she mumbles, and before anyone can stop her she rises and reaches forward, both hands cupping the air fairy’s face.

It’s a desperate move, but it’s all she can think of. She doesn’t know if Beatrix would even consent to this if she would’ve been able to, a pang of doubt telling her she maybe should’ve at least tried asking first, but she’s already doing it and now it’s too late. She revels at the fact that she’s even able to kiss the air fairy at all and wishes it would’ve been in a better setting, a different, less critical one. 

The remnants of dirt on Beatrix’s mouth certainly take away from the experience, but her mind rejoices as the girl responds to the kiss by moving her lips against Stella’s, the gut-wrenching moans and cries dying at their touch. Her body stills, no longer seizing and rattling the entire bed.

Quiet sobs begin to rise from deep down the air fairy's throat, and Stella feels her hands slowly becoming wet. Alarmed, she pulls back immediately.

“No, no, I’m so sorry Bea,” she starts panicky. “I was just…I thought…”

“Oh shut up,” Beatrix whispers shakily as her eyes flutter open. She smirks, though the tears still steadily roll down her cheeks. “Way to kill the mood, Solaria.”

Stella starts to laugh, but halfway through her body diverts to a sob. She presses her forehead to the air fairy’s, as they both smile through their tears.

“You can put that syringe away now, Professor,” Beatrix says eventually. Stella shoots back up, blushing at the realization that they just had a small audience witness their…exchange.

Professor Harvey coughs softly as he meets eyes with the headmaster for a second. “I’ll need to fully examine you though, Beatrix. It’s not every day that a fairy rises from the dead. You’re quite the miracle.”

“If you must,” the air fairy grimaces. Sam and Flora step forward to untie her wrists and ankles, and she groans as she rubs her freed but severely reddened skin. She smiles thankfully at the three earth fairies who proceed to leave the greenhouse after a nod from Headmaster Silva.

“I’ll stay with you,” Stella says, not even asking for permission from the professor or headmaster. She won’t be parted from her.

Never again.

~ Ask me more ~

[faacethefacts]

trick !!! or treat :)

here we return to the era of me writing schmoopy shit all the time

It takes a while for Sam to peel himself up off of the floor.

He doesn't remember what kickstarted this one, and he doesn't remember the attack itself. All he knows is he's lying on the ground in his room with one hand gripping his shoulder violently, the other covering his mouth. He loosens his grip and a stinging pain crawls down his arm, prompting him to realize his other shoulder matches. Okay, he thinks, panic slowly subsiding and being replaced by familiar exhaustion, okay. This is fine, I'm cool. He removes his hand from his mouth and sits up- he's in his room, he's alone. It's still dark outside and inside, so he assumes Hannah isn't up yet. He makes his way to the bathroom and shuts himself in, turning on the light and grabbing the first aid kit. He inspects his wounds in the mirror- the scrapes bleed sluggishly, just deep enough to be of some small concern to Sam. He looks at his hands and finds blood under his fingernails. Ah.

It's fine, they aren't that bad. He cleans and bandages the wounds and heads back to bed- what else is there to do?

He wakes up in the morning only minimally shaken, and he goes to work. And everything is normal for maybe 5 minutes.

"You smell like blood. You're hurt?" Matt appears from around a corner, looking concerned. It hadn't really occurred to Sam that Matt would notice or comment on that. He blinks in surprise, staring. Matt only seems to grow more concerned at his lack of response, and he motions for Sam to follow him.

"Sam's clocking out early," Matt announces to Foggy, grabbing Sam's elbow.

"Everything okay?" Foggy calls back.

"Yes! Everything's fine!" Sam cuts in before Matt can say anything, earning him a half-hearted glare directed his way.

"It's really not a big deal," Sam starts- because it really isn't. He doesn't understand why Matt's so worried, it's not like he doesn't get much, much worse injuries on a near regular basis. He cleaned and bandaged the wound, it wont get infected and it'll heal in a few days. Therefore, not a big deal.

"It is," Matt insists. Sam huffs at him, and he sighs back. "You didn't- that wasn't another person, your suit is too tough in that area and you- you don't smell like anyone else, so you must've-" he cuts himself off. Oh.

Sam doesn't have a response to that, it's not like Matt's really wrong, per se. Still, he finds himself touched that Matt worries that much- he doesn't want him to, but its sweet that he does. It's overwhelming, and Sam is silent for the rest of the walk.

Matt takes him back to his apartment, and Sam lets him. He takes off his overshirt when Matt asks to see his shoulders, resigning himself now to Matt's fretting.

"It wasn't- I didn't-" he stutters as Matt unwraps the bandages. Matt tilts his head. "Didn't do it on purpose." He mumbles.

Matt tuts at him and his wounds, rewrapping them once he decides he's done inspecting them or whatever it is he's doing.

"Had a panic attack or something, I don't really remember." He explains. Matt hums in understanding, sitting next to him on the couch. Sam runs out of things to say, and Matt pulls him into a hug. Sam closes his eyes and rests his head on Matt's chest.

"Are you okay?" Matt whispers. Sam whispers into his shoulder that he's fine, and Matt shakes his head. Then he bends forward slightly and kisses the top of Sam's head. It startles him into tears and he sits up, wiping at his eyes.

"Sorry, shit." He half-laughs.

"You don't have to-"

"I know." Sam sighs, pressing his back to the couch.

[taughtdefense]

you're deathly quiet. your face is set in a hard grimace as johnny & the eagle fang students walk away from the rest of miyagi-do, miguel being one of them. you watch them until they disappear past the gates. it's understandable because hawk is one of his best friends. you look glance over at sam, brushing a hand over her shoulder absentmindedly, carefully gauging her reaction to everything happening. you agree with sam - if the miyagi-fang students roll over & do nothing, they're going to keep attacking because they can get away with it. your mom & dad are both quiet from where they're standing next to demetri, clearly annoyed with cobra kai's actions. they're looking right at you. they know you're not going to act like nothing happened. your anger has been barely containable lately. you've been angry with the world since robby joined cobra kai back in december.

your hands curl up into fists, fingernails digging sharply into your palms until you draw little crescents of blood that slowly begin to slip down your fingers. your shoulders tremble with anger, having to close your eyes so no one sees the way your eyes start glowing bright red with anger. something in you snaps violently, tearing you apart from underneath your skin. thunder rumbles in the distance, the wind picking up violently. you can hear various items shaking items inside of the dojo, like the picture frames of past sensei's of miyagi-do dojo, & the wind chimes. you don't even realize you're moving with a newfound purpose, grabbing your hoodie from the ground & brushing it off absentmindedly. you don't hear your friends, sensei or even your parents chorus your name, all different levels of confused & concerned. you're so laser-focused on moving, a man on a mission. you're already at the fence where johnny & the eagle fangs disappeared, only pausing when emma asks a question that actually, finally registers in your head.

❝ ethan, where are you going? ❞ she calls. ❝ i'll be back soon. ❞ you reply, but don't elaborate further while pulling your car keys out of your pocket. you ignore their concerns, moving towards your rolls royce. you see hawk & the group in the distance, deciding to get in & drive up to the group. you roll the window down, even as it starts to rain ( your doing ). ❝ ethan? where are you going? ❞ johnny looks a little shocked at the hard-set expression on your face, squinting in the rain. he's not seen that look on your face since he very drunkenly admitted to accidentally shoving robby into the lockers just a few weeks ago, while you were helping him clean up his apartment he'd left a mess. it's a look he remembers very well, even in his drunken state.

miguel looks nervous. that look on your face is downright terrifying. ❝ what are you plan- ❞ you cut miguel off, something you would have felt bad doing anything other time, but now is not the time to talk. ❝ who, hawk ? ❞ hawk winces at your protective but cold tone, pulling his hoodie strings tighter so the hood hides his shaved head, better protecting him from the rain.

❝ robby. ❞ he mumbles. johnny looks sharply at hawk in surprise, then sighs heavily. his disappointment washes over you as you empathetically feel the emotion. you say nothing, but all of the anger you feel changes from the entire dojo to a singular person: robby. thunder booms violently & the wind gust rattles your car, pelting the car with colder-than-normal rain. the eagle fang members all look nervous/alarmed at the sudden intense rainstorm, & you use your powers cut back on it. your hands tighten a bit on the steering wheel, blood starting to dot the steering wheel, knuckles ghastly white.

❝ i'll stop by your house in a bit, hawk. ❞ your tone is alarmingly flat. you don't explicitly promise you'll be fine. an entire dojo vs. one person… admittedly, the odds wouldn’t be great if you weren’t you. ❝ ethan- ❞ you ignore miguel's concerned lecture, no doubt, revving the engine. you peel out of the driveway of miyagi-do dojo, heading down the dark, rainy road.

you drive with a single goal in mind. it only takes you a short, three worded text & a dropped location pin from ciro to find out everyone's locations. they're out celebrating like they won the fucking super bowl. like they didn't commit gang assault or psychological warfare; almost an entire dojo vs. one. they really find hawk that much of a threat? it's so fucking ridiculous that it makes you want to laugh out loud, bitterness the primary emotion. in the rearview mirror, your pupils momentarily flash yellow, signaling incredulousness. you wait for a stoplight to turn green. the storm seems to ramp up in intensity with each second that passes.

you park in front of the local restaurant & get out of your car, slamming the door shut. inside, damiana, ciro, shadow & gray all freeze at practically the same time. dami even stops herself mid-sentence, her fork & knife stilling as an icy feeling of dread. shadow blinks, giving a tiny, barely noticeable nod. she quickly excuses herself. she rises from the table & makes a beeline for the front door, meeting you halfway up the steps. you step back onto the pavement, the anger in your eyes unmistakable. ciro exhales heavily. he looks like he’s anticipating a nuclear bomb hitting the restaurant, quickly excusing himself to follow after his eldritch friend. tory, nova & scarlett frown at their friend’s sudden weird behavior. kyler, landon & nolan all exchange looks with each other, landon with jaime.

❝ big brother, listen. you need to calm down- ❞ dami begins placatingly, attempting to diffuse your enraged state. she senses your rage & it terrifies her. she knows that this rainstorm was definitely your doing. you just stare at her, fingernails digging into your healed-over palms once more. ❝ why would i do that? ❞ inside, kyler peeks out the window & blinks in surprise. ❝ guys, ethan’s here. ❞ he announces to his fellow students. a small smirk touches his lips. ❝ he’s all alone. time for a beat-down. ❞ he looks thrilled with the idea.

the cobra kai students file out of the restaurant, tory nudging @taughtpain’s shoulder as she walks past him, silently urging him to get up & follow after everyone to see what’s going on.

when the cobra kai students file out of the restaurant, you & dami move back towards the parking lot to give them some room, still staring at your twin sister with a blank expression. you look at tory, smiling coldly. tory freezes in place, heart skipping a beat. her eyes widening in surprise. she’s never seem you look like that before. not at the house break-in, not even during the glimpses she caught of you during the school fight she started. you don’t speak directly to robby, but the group as a whole. when you speak, your words remain flat. you remember tory’s words the night the blonde broke into the larusso household on kreese's orders, a tiny, cold smirk pulling your lips up.

❝ heard you guys were celebrating. hope you don’t mind if i crash. ❞

she flinches like she’s been slapped, but you ignore her. dami tries to diffuse the situation, but you're furious. you take a single step forward, dark, enraged eyes on robby. shadow & gray immediately step to the sides, while most of the other students step up to fight you. dami, gray & shadow all give you a very wide berth. you don't pay any attention to them. it's like they're not even there. you just stare at robby. if you were human, the idea of taking on a dojo full of trained students would daunting. but you're not, & that gives you much more of an advantage.

[slippedtheknot]

Two Truths and A Lie

Cw: Blood, one bruise mentioned, pistol, 2 whumpees, murder, under 18 whumpee

Cold hands touched me; shaking me awake. I groaned and covered my eyes with my arm.

“Elijah, get up! We must go. There’s some people getting close to us.” My brother, Samuel, sounded afraid and urgent.  He shook me again impatiently. “We have to go now.”

“Give me a second.” I rolled over onto my stomach and began to push myself up. “How close are they?”

“Really close. We have to go.” My eyebrows raised at his terrified voice. If these people were like anyone else we’ve met, they’d just joke about our age and move on. No one cares if we’re here because we’re kids, therefore we won’t make it anywhere alive. We aren't actually here for any gold, mostly just the scenery.

My body shivered when a sudden drift of wind hit my bare, exposed back. “Hey, would you close the tent flap?”

“I-I can’t.” Samuel’s voice started to tremble; like he might start crying.

“What do you mean you can’t?” I looked over my shoulder at him. Except it wasn’t only Samuel there. In my sight I could see two men, and one was pointing a pistol at Samuel’s head. Samuel had tear streaks on his face, and there was a black circle framing Sam’s eye.

“Okay, pretty boy, why don’t you come out here so no one get’s hurt?” He had a scar going across his face, and his eye seemed slightly off. Then again, I guess that everything seemed slightly off about him.

“Uh, would you mind me getting a shirt on first?” My very own voice trembled, and I hated it. I really didn’t want to show these two men that I’m scared of them.

“Just get out here,” He turned to his henchman. “What are you waiting for, Cameron? Get him out!”

Cameron thrusted his arm out to grab my wrist. “Come on, kid. I don’t want to hurt you, alright?”

The dominant one glared at Cameron, and then flicked his eyes over my way. “But I do and will hurt you. So, try something funny and your friend here get’s left behind, got it?” He dug the pistol farther into Samuel’s skull. Samuel winced but didn’t move away from the pistol.

Outside, there was more than just two men. At least four more stood glaring at us, and each had their own weapon. My hands curled in on them selves to contain my shaking. I looked over at Samuel for a brief second. His eyes were red rimmed, and his head was down.

“Which one of you is the oldest?” The leader switched his aim between us.

“I am.” I stepped up and looked him in the eye. His eyes showed no mercy or regret. I’ve seen wolves who showed more emotion.

“My name is Steven. What is your name and who do you work for?”

“You can call me Elijah, and we work for no one.”

Steven stood there for a second before grabbing Samuel and pulling him close. “So, does he work for you, huh? Tell the truth or he gets hurt!” He shook Samuel by his collar.

“Now you let him go. If there’s a problem, Samuel has nothing to do with it so just let him go.” I lowered my voice and stalked closer to him. I beckoned my hands to get Samuel to come to me. “Come on, Sam. Get away from him.”

“Aw, how cute. A bigger brother standing up for the weaker man,” Steven moved from Samuel’s collar to his neck. “Now, you’re going to answer every question I have honestly. Either that, or your brother gets seriously hurt.”

“Yes sir.” My body trembled violently from the cold air.

“Who do you work for?” Steven punctuated his statement by tightening his grip on Samuel.

“No one; like I told you before. My brother and I came here to search for gold like everyone else.”

“Liar!” Steven threw Samuel to the snow and whipped his pistol from his hip.

“Wait! No! It’s the truth! I have somethings in the tent. You can take those things but not my brother’s life.” A tear slipped down my cheek as I spoke in a rush.

“Why are you two kids up here? Where is your father or uncle?”

“Our father is dead, and our uncle is no where to be found.” My heart rate slowed down as Steven put his pistol away.

“Have you found any gold at all?”

“No, sir.” I swallowed my fear as Steven started to relax.

“Very well then. You seem to be telling the truth.” Samuel tensed up as Steven got close to him. Steven put a boot on Samuel’s chest and pushed down.

“Hey, wait, you said that you wouldn’t hurt him.” I hurried over to them, but Cameron grabbed my arms and pinned them behind my back. His grip was tight enough to compress bone.

“That is true, isn’t it? I guess that I just can’t help myself.” Steven gripped Sam’s neck again and started to squeeze like a python. He left some slack so Samuel could scream out in fear. Just so he could get some pleasure of seeing my brother in a state of panic. Sam tried struggling. His arms flailed in the air, and he kicked his legs.

 “Elijah! Help me! Help me, please!”

“No! Please! Let him go and kill me instead!” My lower lip quivered, and water batted down my cheeks.

“No, I don’t think I will. It’s killing you watching him die, am I right?” Steven looked at me for a minute and smirked. “Maybe if you actually loved him, you would help him out.”

“Just let him go! If you kill him, I’ll kill you, understand?” I screamed at him, my pain turning into rage. Samuel had stopped moving by now, and his arms laid limp at his side.

“Oh, I’m enjoying this too much.” Steven stood up, got his pistol out, and shot Samuel in the face.

“No! Sammy!” I ripped my arms from Cameron’s grip and tackled Steven. I grabbed his pistol and pointed it at him. “You’re going to get what you deserved.”

“I guess that I’ll see your brother in hell.”

I pulled the trigger after his statement. Steven fell back and a pool of blood formed next to his body. Next, I killed Cameron. The other four pulled out their own pistols, but it was too late. I took cover and murdered all of them. Glancing over at Samuel, I could see how pale he was and the blood he’s lost. His neck was swollen and red. There was no saving him.

I walked over to Samuel’s lifeless body and cradled it in my arms. A sob came, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care if someone saw me weak and vulnerable. “I’m so sorry, Sammy. I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t help you.”

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xv

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: Richie pays R a visit.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, mention of murder.

word count: 4.4k

a/n: god bless hd scream vi Tara gifs and you all for being patient for this chapter ;)))

It’s a mad struggle down the staircase. You kick. Bite. Try to scramble for your whistle but it’s no use. Richie’s too strong. 

He wrestles you down through the kitchen. Kicks open the back door and it’s there you take your chance. Kick up between his legs. Hard. 

Then scream for help. 

“Tara! Dad! Tara!”

The grass is cool against your bare feet. You scuffle through it, trying to fling your way back into the house. 

But Richie recovers too quickly. 

He launches forward, his eyes wild, his hand snapping back over your mouth. 

“Shut up.” He says, urgently. Takes you back in his arms, roughly. It hurts. His grip is unforgiving. You can already feel the bruises start to form. Your mouth aches with the weight of his hand. But it’s the last thing on your mind. 

You struggle once more, harder. 

“Shh.” He says, eyes wild, “I’m not going to hurt you. I told you, I just want to talk.” 

You try to bite down on his hand. Face soaked in tears. He doesn’t even flinch. Stares back at you with wide eyes. 

“I’m going to remove my hand.” He says, voice slow, “And you’re not going to scream. Okay?” 

You give up the struggle, slightly. Nod. 

He removes his hand. 

Immediately, you scream. 

“Tara!”

“Stop!” He hisses. He grabs you by the shoulders, shakes you hard, “Stop yelling. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk about Sam.” 

At this you blink. Tilt your head. Your ears ring, body aflame. Heartbeat still in your throat. 

“What?”

Suddenly, your mind runs wild. 

“What’s wrong with Sam? Did you hurt her?” 

“She kicked me out.” He says, eyes wide, mournful, “She thinks I did it. Tried to kill you or whatever. But I didn’t. You know I didn’t.”

You stare back at him a moment, disbelief flooding through your face. 

This is what he wanted to talk about? 

“Most people pick up the phone when they want to talk,” You snarl. You step back from him,  “They don’t break into people’s homes and drag them outside kicking and screaming.”

“I’m sorry,” He says, mournfully, and he sounds like he means it, “I’ve had too much to drink. I just saw you and panicked-”

He looks terrible. Unshaven. Dark circles under his eyes. You don’t see a weapon in his hand. You swallow. 

“Let me go inside.” You say, trying to reason with him, “Let me go get Tara and then we can talk-”

Richie shakes his head, violently. 

“Tara won’t believe me. She’s the one who started this whole thing. She’s the one who poisoned Sam against me.  But you and me, we’re friends right? We sometimes talk. Like that time in the kitchen.”

“Richie-”

“I didn’t do it. I swear to you. I’m not Ghostface. I’m not a killer. I could have killed you right now, but I didn’t.” His eyes are wide, earnest. 

“You just kidnapped me instead?” You hiss. 

“No one’s kidnapped, we’re talking. Like civilized adults.” He says as if he actually believes it. 

“Richie, you broke into my house.” 

“I didn’t break into your house,” He says, gesturing wildly to the backdoor, “The door was wide open! I just walked inside.”

At this you pause. Turn to look at the backdoor. You’d locked it yourself. Triple checked. No doubt Tara had done the same. Your Dad had attached pad-locks for extra security.

You see it now, tossed away in one of the flowerbeds, broken in two. Your chest seizes. 

“Then what do you call that?” You hiss. 

Richie blinks. As if it just occurred to him it wasn’t broken on purpose. He stares back at you. 

“It wasn’t me.” He says, “I promise it wasn’t me. Why would I lie? If I’m Ghostface why not just kill you right there on the spot? If I’m Ghostface, why am I trying to reason with you?” 

You stare at him, heartbeat in your throat. He doesn’t look like he’s lying. Eyes wide, pleading, begging you to believe him. It occurs to you suddenly you’d never heard of a Ghostface attack without the costume. It occurs to you Ghostface definitely didn’t drag his victims outside and ask you to phone up his girlfriend for him. 

The realization sends a shockwave like ice water down your spine. 

You’d called out to Tara. Not once, not twice, but three times.

Tara who insisted you carry a rape whistle. Tara who followed you into the bathroom because she was scared someone would attack you mid-pee. Tara who hadn’t let you out of her sight since that first attack. 

Tara comes when you call. But there’s no sign of her now.

“Tara.” You murmur, eyes ablaze. 

Shock flushes through your body. Adrenaline follows it. Before your brain can even register what you’re doing, you’re shoving Richie out of the way with all the force of a star quarterback and rushing back into the house. 

You fumble for the whistle, blow it hard as you race up the staircase. 

“Tara!” You scream. 

It attracts the attention of your Father. He’s opening his door, eyes wild, shotgun in hand when you reach the top. Your Mom peeks out behind his frame, bleary-eyed. 

“YN?” Your Dad asks, panic surging through his face. 

“My bedroom! Tara!” Is all you’re able to get out as you try and sprint past him. He catches you, grips your waist. 

“Let me go.” He insists. 

He all but throws you back, shotgun cocked. And then moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move in your life. Richie’s behind you, red-faced as you follow your Dad down the hall. 

The bedroom door is closed. Your Dad kicks it open, his shotgun raised. 

And you almost bawl at the sight in front of you. 

Tara’s there. Standing only in your nightshirt. Face flushed red with anger, her eyes wild as she struggles against her attacker. 

The Ghostface mask stares back at you. He has Tara in a vice-grip, his arm around her throat, knife tilted to meet the skin of her neck. He tilts his mask like he dares you to come closer. 

Tara’s eyes lock with yours. You watch as the anger drains, instead replaced with fear. Desperation.  

“Stay back, baby.” She insists, her eyes pleading, “Don’t come any closer.” 

Your lip quivers. A fresh wave of tears flood down your face. Your mother gasps, hand tight on your arm. 

Then, Tara looks at your Dad, “Shoot the fucker.” 

“No!” You cry out. You launch yourself forward. No thought in your head but to stop the pellet from leaving the barrel. To stop him from shooting that awful thing anywhere near Tara. 

Richie grabs at you, pulling you back.  

Ghostface tuts. Then that awful, hair-raising voice speaks out, “Shoot me and you shoot her. Is that really what you want, Dad? You really want to take YN’s darling girlfriend away from her?”

You sob. Struggle in Richie’s arms but his grip is too tight. 

“Let her go,” Your Dad says. He’s eerily calm, his grip steady, “Let her go and we can talk. You can tell us whatever it is you need to say.” 

Ghostface’s grip tightens. The knife grazes Tara’s throat. Close enough to break skin if he pushed down any harder. You watch helpess. 

“You mean they haven’t already told you?” 

Ghostface’s mask tilts. He’s smiling behind it, you can’t see it but you know.  

Tara moves in his arms, trying to break free. 

But Ghostface is stronger. He’s bigger. She looks so small in his arms, so fragile. He’s holding her up so high she’s on her tip-toes. He tilts his knife to her neck. 

“Move again and I’ll slit your throat ear to ear,” Ghostface growls, “And then who will protect her?” 

Tara stills, almost immediately. Her chest heaves. A fresh wave of tears spills from your eyes. 

“Dad, do something.” You beg. It’s no use. You know he can’t. The shotgun pellets will hit Tara too. 

“Do it,” Ghostface eggs him on, “It’s the least she deserves. Do you want to tell him, YN? Or should I?”

“Let’s everyone just calm down,” Richie interlopes as if he’s the voice of reason. You can smell the whiskey on his breath, his words slightly slurred,  “We can talk about this. Mister Ghostface - I’m sure whatever Tara did to you, it can be resolved-” 

“Shut up, Richie.” You and Tara hiss at the same time. He shirks back. Loosens his grip on you. 

“I called the police,” Your mom pipes up, her voice wavering, “They’ll be here any second. You best let the young lady go or they’ll catch you red-handed.” 

“The police?” Ghostface sneers, “You think the police are of any use? Seven murders in this town and not a suspect on the board. Seven murders and-”

He doesn’t finish. 

Your Mom’s interjection gives Tara the opening she needs. 

With all her might, you watch as she slams her body back, tilting Ghostface off guard. His grip on her loosens, but only for a moment. Then his grip on the knife tightens as he tilts his hand and plunges the knife into her stomach. 

You scream. 

Tara slumps to the floor, knife inside her buried to the hilt. 

Richie’s strong grip around you is suddenly weightless. You pry him off, ignore your mother’s screams as you surge forward. Ghostface has abandoned her, his weapon gone. He charges for the open window in a mad sprint. 

The drum of the shotgun deafens you as it rings out. Your Mom’s screaming doesn’t subside. The shatter of the glass of the window. You don’t see as Ghostface rushes out through the opening, knife abandoned. You’re at Tara’s side, prying her off the floor and into your arms. 

Sobbing as you stare at the flow of blood oozing out of her stomach. 

You don’t feel your Dad’s hands on you, desperately trying to pull you up. 

You feel her. You feel the weight of her body against yours. Her chest heaving. You feel the spill of blood against your hands, feel her fall limp against your side. 

Every sense you have; sight, touch, smell, sound is on Tara. 

“Baby,” You murmur, voice thick. Her breathing is steady. Blood gushes from the wound in her stomach, “Baby, stay with me. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” 

Tara tries to open her eyes. They’re hooded. She’s far-away, barely there. In pain. 

You sob. 

“Tara?” Your Dad’s voice booms. He tries to shuffle you out of the way, “YN, let me see.” 

But you only clutch onto her tighter. 

He abandons the cause, not long after. 

He’s speaking to your mother, instructions, maybe, but you don’t hear him. You grasp Tara’s face with your bloodied hands, try to bring her back to you. 

“Tara, baby, stay with me please-”

-

You don’t remember much else. 

You remember the flash of police bursting into your bedroom, guns drawn. You remember the hands on you, trying to pry you away as Tara slips into unconsciousness. 

You remember your own screams. 

But then it’s nothing. Blank. The night a total blur. 

And now there’s nothing but the quiet beep of Tara’s heartbeat monitor.

She’s clean now, not a drop of blood in sight. Tubes wrapped around her arms, in her nose. 

She looks almost peaceful, if not pale, her eyes still closed in her hospital bed. 

It’s you who looks like a mess. Eyes red, still wet with tears. Her blood all over your hands, your shirt, your face. But you won’t move. Plastered to her side. 

“YN-” Says your Dad but you cut him off. 

“I’m not leaving until she wakes up.” You say, voice shaky, but firm. 

He sighs. 

“The doctor said she’s going to be fine-”

“Does she look fine?” Your voice trembles, a little. He rubs your shoulder. 

“Alright.” He says, sinking back down into his seat, “I’m just saying when she wakes up, I doubt she’ll want to see you here covered in blood.” 

“She’ll want me here,” You murmur. Brush her hair out of her eyes, “Doesn’t matter what I’m covered in.” 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Richie hovering in the hallway. Hands pressed against the glass as he peers in. He's still drunk. A wave of irritation floods through you. 

“Can’t you get rid of him?” You ask. 

Your Dad growls. Stands and marches to the door, “I’ve got rid of him four times already, that boy is like a gnat-” 

He doesn’t finish. 

Sam’s barrelling through the doorway, Richie hot on her heel. She all but rushes to Tara’s side, eyes wide and mournful. 

“Oh my god, Tara.” 

“She’s going to be okay,” Your Dad says preemptively, “She lost a lot of blood, but the ambulance got there on time.”

If Sam hears him, she doesn’t acknowledge him. She dips down, takes Tara’s cheek in her palm. 

“Oh, Tara.” Her voice shakes. She leans in, presses the softest kiss to Tara’s forehead. 

Then she rounds on Richie. 

“What the hell happened?” 

“It was Ghostface, Sam, and it wasn’t me.” He looks to you, wildly, “Tell her it wasn’t me-”

“And what the hell were you doing then?” Sam asks. Her voice shakes again, but this time it’s out of anger. She smacks him, hard.

Then again. 

“What the hell were you doing while he was carving up my sister?” 

Your Dad intervenes, pries them apart. You don’t take your eyes off Tara. Press your nose to the side of her face, willing her to open her eyes. 

“Everybody needs to calm down!” Your Dad’s voice booms out, “This is a hospital. Tara needs rest. She doesn’t need to wake up to find you two screaming at each other.” 

Sam abandons the fight. Her lip trembles. She walks back over to Tara’s side and sinks down next to her. 

“What happened?” Sam asks you, softer. Her eyes are round, she’s desperate for answers. You rub Tara’s limp hand with your thumb. 

“He got into the house somehow,” You begin. You can see Richie out of the corner of your eye. His face is pleading. Pleading you not to tell the truth, “Richie came to um- talk to me. We were on the lawn and I saw someone broke the lock to the backdoor. And then I realized he was in the house.” 

“Ghostface?” Sam asks, eyebrows knit. 

“He had a knife to her neck by the time we got there,” You say, taking a shaky breath, “He must have taken her by surprise. She had a gun, but she didn’t use it. God, I don't know how she didn't see him coming-” 

“Unless she wasn’t expecting it.” A new voice sounds out. 

Your head snaps up. 

It’s Mindy, leaning against the door, looking serious. 

“Unless it was someone she knew.”

Chad and Liv are with her. They don’t hover, move to Tara’s bedside. Liv squeezes your shoulders, drops down into the seat next to you. Chad hovers at the end of her bed, looking mournful. 

“Is she going to be okay?” He asks, eyes wide. 

You nod. 

“The doctor said she’ll be awake soon. Anytime now.” 

You bring the back of her hand to your lips. Hope your words will awaken her. 

“See their face?” Mindy questions, eyes squirting. 

“Obviously not,” You snap. You’re not in the mood to play Nancy Drew. 

Mindy hums as she takes a seat next to Sam. She doesn’t waste any time. 

“Okay. Updated suspect list. We know it wasn’t YN. We know it wasn’t her parents-”

“Why would it be my parents?’ You interject, eyebrows furrowed but Mindy waves you off. 

“We know it wasn’t Richie. We know it wasn’t me-”

“Hold on.” Chad says, “We don’t know that.” 

Mindy gawps. 

“Chad. I’m your twin sister-” 

“You weren’t with me, I don’t know what you do in your spare time.” 

Mindy stares a moment. Then shrugs. 

“Valid point. I know it wasn’t me. Liv and Chad-”

“We were having sex.” Liv pipes up, “It wasn’t us.” 

Mindy wrinkles her nose. 

“Convenient. And also gross. But if they’re vouching for each other that leaves one.” 

She turns to Sam. Sparkle in her eye. Sam stares back at her. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

Mindy raises her hands. 

“Everyone’s a suspect. Even family. Especially family.”

“You think I’d hurt my own sister?” Sam says, voice raised, “My baby sister?” 

“Your anger is making you a little suspicious.” Chad admits, quietly. 

“Sam would never hurt Tara, it wasn’t her.” Richie says from his spot by the door. 

“Shut up, Richie.” Sam snaps, “I don’t have time for this. Where are the police? I want to talk to them.” 

“By the coffee machine,” You say, voice gravelly, “Same ones that were posted outside the house.” 

“Fat lot of good they did,” You Dad sneers. Sam stands, makes her way to the door, “I’m coming with you. I want a word with that so-called Sheriff.” 

Richie trails behind them like a lost puppy. Your rub your eyes, trying to quell the rainfall of tears behind them. Tara looks so small like this. Not two hours ago you’d been wrapped up in her arms and now she’s here. Unconscious with a three inch stab-wound in her stomach. You kiss her hand once more and take a deep breath. 

If she needs you to be anything now, it’s to be strong for her. 

Mindy reaches into her bag, slaps down a folder and opens the first page. It’s a spider-web of names, dates and pictures. Like an information board at a police station. You stare down at it, then blink up at Mindy. 

“What’s that?” Asks Liv, peering over. 

“Dude.” Chad says, as he slips into Sam’s empty seat, “You really need a girlfriend.” 

“Do you want to hear what I’ve found or what?” Mindy asks. Chad peers down at the folder. 

“Sadie. Aaron. Chase. Dan. Amber-”

The back of your neck prickles. A familiar wave of anxiety flooding through you. You’ve been here before. With Wes. 

You interject before she can go any further. 

“Yes, congratulations Mindy. You've worked out the people who were murdered.” You snap.

“Let me finish.” Mindy says, sounding impatient, “They’re linked. I promise they’re linked.” 

“They all went to the same school.” Liv nods, helpfully. 

Mindy shoots her a look, “No, dumbass. I mean yeah, but that’s not it. Think about it. What do they all have in common?”

Your heartbeat speeds up. 

More than ever, you will Tara to wake up. She’d know what to say, what to do. If the three of them work it out right now, Tara will wake up handcuffed to her bed and you’ll be long gone. Locked away in some far away jail cell. 

Chad furrows his brow. 

“They’re all teenagers?” 

Mindy sighs. Points to an underlined name in the center of her folder. 

“Sam babysat them. All of them.” 

You’d laugh, but it’s not really that funny. You’d cry, if you had anymore tears left in you. You let out the quietest of sighs. For all her diagrams, Mindy's nowhere close. 

Chad and Liv look dubious. 

“Come on,” Mindy says, gesturing to her folder as if she’s just solved the mystery of a century, “Think about it. It makes sense. Sam’s always been- angry, and maybe this was her endgame all along. She’s been building to kill Tara. Like the grand prize. Seek revenge on all the brats who made her teenage years hell. Tara was maybe the brattiest of all of them.” 

“I don’t know, Mindy,” Chad says, “It seems a little far-fetched.”

“It seems a lot far-fetched.” Says Tara, voice groggy. 

Her voice jumpstarts your system. 

You sit up, clutch her hand a little tighter. Her eyes are a little hazy, her voice tired. But she’s awake. Your stomach flips. Relief floods through you. You lean in close, press your lips to her forehead. 

“Baby,” You say, closing your eyes as you breathe her in, “Are you alright? How are you feeling?” 

You pull back, clutch her face in your hands. 

“I’m fine.” She says, though she doesn't sound it, “What happened? Did you get him? Ghostface?” 

You shake your head. Sink back into your seat, take her hand with you as you press your lips to the back of it. 

“He got away.” 

“Did you see anything?” Mindy asks, voice urgent, “Anything at all. Ghostface was in the bedroom, they can’t have snuck up on you-” 

Tara tries to sit, her face betraying the amount of pain she’s in. You climb into the bed to sit a little closer, wrapping your arm around her shoulder. 

“You were gone too long,” Tara says, looking up at you, “I left the bedroom to come find you and then he grabbed me. He was already in the house.” 

“How did he get in?” Chad asks, looking confused, “YN, you said your Dad bought alarms. And extra locks. Not to mention the police outside-”

“The lock was broken when I went outside,” You say, chewing your lip, “And the alarms? I don’t know. Maybe we forgot to set them?”

“We didn’t.” Says Tara, voice firm, “I triple-checked them.” 

Then she frowns. 

“What were you doing outside?”

You pause, wonder if you should tell her the truth. She’s already hurt, and the last thing you want to do is spike her heartbeat monitor and send her back into another mini-coma. You swallow. 

“Richie wanted to talk. So we went outside.” 

Tara stares at you. You’re blinking too much, one of your giveaway signs. She knows them by heart. 

“Richie wanted to talk?” She asks. Her eyes on you scanning, surveying, “And how did Richie get ahold of you? You left your phone in your room.” 

Damn it. 

“He was already in the house.” You say, biting your lip, “He asked me to come outside and talk.” 

It’s not a lie, not totally. But Tara sees right through it. 

“He asked you?” Tara says, “He asked you to come outside alone with him when Ghostface is running around trying to kill you?” 

“He-” You sigh. You don’t care enough about him to try and protect him. You squeeze her hand, try to preempt the anger, “He sort of- took me outside.”

“He took you outside?” Tara sits up at this, her voice raising, “He took you how?”  

You pause.

“He put his hand over my mouth and dragged me outside.” 

Tara’s up in a flash. Her face awash with fury. The four of you jump up in mutual protest as she’s climbing halfway out of her hospital bed. The heartbeat monitor sings out as her heartbeat spikes. Chad’s arms on her are firm as he pushes her back down into the bed. 

Her hospital gown seeps red with fresh blood. 

“Tara, your stomach.” You gasp, “Baby, lay down, please.” 

Tara groans as the pain catches up with her. She slumps, slightly, chest heaving. She’s furious, you can tell by the way she’s gripping your hand, eyes ablaze.

Then she looks up at Chad, a dangerous look in her eye. 

“Tell Richie to come here right now,” She growls, “Tell him I’m about to kill him with my bare hands-”

“As tempting as I’m sure he’ll find that offer,” Interjects Mindy, sounding a little too excited, “Doesn’t this just prove my theory? It’s Sam. She asked her boyfriend to lure YN away and then when you least expected it. Bam!” 

She slaps down on her folder. 

“She had you exactly where she wanted you.” 

Tara moans. Presses her hand against her wound. 

“Baby, I need more painkillers,” She says, voice high. Sweat on her brow, “Tell the nurse I need something. Anything. Tell her I want to be up and walking and killing Richie in the next ten minutes-”

“You’re not walking anywhere. And you’re certainly not killing anyone.” You say, smoothing her hair out of her face, “Mindy go get the nurse. And can you stop with your stupid folder. As if she’s not worked up enough.” 

Mindy rolls her eyes. Presses her folder back into her backpack. 

“You’ll all see,” She promises as she goes off to find the nurse, “I’m right about this.”

She hovers in the doorway. 

“Just don’t either of you be alone with Sam. Promise me.” 

“Mindy.” Tara growls, “If you don’t-”

Mindy raises her hands, “Fine. Fine. I’m going.” 

-

You spend the rest of the night by Tara’s side. Anxiously watching as the nurse changes her bandages. You hold her hand as they pump her with meds, try to still some of the pain from ripping her own stitches. 

Chad, Liv and Mindy peter out, one by one. Promise they’ll return in the morning. You wouldn’t mind if they didn’t: the Scooby Doo act is getting a little old, Mindy’s questions starting to grate on you. You’re no closer to figuring out who Ghostface is and now Tara has a three inch gash in her stomach to prove it. 

Your Dad returns a little later. Sits just outside the door, watching over the room like a posted guard. Sam sits a little closer, near the end of the bed. Her hand touching Tara’s foot every now and then as if to remind herself she’s still there.  

Tara's eyes droop, loopy on pain medication. She’s shivering a little. You pull the bedsheets a little higher, settle into her side, careful of her wound. Press a kiss to her forehead. 

You watch as she desperately tries to keep her eyes open. 

“Go to sleep, babe.” You insist for what must be the sixth time, “You’re safe. We’re in a hospital with tons of people. I’m here, Dad’s here. Sam’s here. He’s not going to touch you.” 

“What if he gets you?” She says, voice drowsy. She blinks, trying to fight off her exhaustion, “I need to stay awake. I need to protect you, baby.” 

She’s not protecting anyone like this. 

“It’s my turn to protect you.” You murmur. Lean in close to press the softest of kisses to her lips. Her eyes flutter closed. 

“You can sleep, Tara, I won’t let anyone touch her.” Sam says from her spot near the end of the bed. Sam’s tired too, you can see it in her eyes. But there’s something else. Determination. Her shoulders are tense. You get it. This is the second time in under a month Tara’s been here like this. Looking so small in her hospital bed, failed by her mother. Failed by Sam. Failed by you.

She wants to protect her, that you can understand. You want to protect her too.

Tara looks at her, really looks at her. Her eyebrows knit, like she’s appraising her. Then she nods, a little slow. She pulls you closer, nestles her head against your shoulder. 

“Wake me if you hear anything,” She says, a little sleepy. Curls a little closer into your side. You nod, kiss her once more. 

“I promise.” 

And then her eyes flutter closed as she drifts off to sleep.

Next part

[little-fics]

Bee

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Stucky x Reader; platonic!uncle!Tony

Summary: Reader is teetering the edge of a slip when her buddies Sam and Clint are mean to her, daddy stucky to the rescue

Warnings: age regression, scary bees, bottle, pacifier, anxiety, a little violence, angry!Steve (not at you), mean!sam and mean!clint, I may have missed some, read at your own risk

Word count: 2.2K

A/N: I had fun with this one! I hope you like it!

Disclaimer for my blog!

Life with Bucky and Steve was great, you'd officially been together for about a year, and they'd been your daddies about half that time. You didn't always regress, just when the world got a little too big and you needed to leave it all behind. The avengers didn't know about your coping mechanism, at your own request, save for Tony who has programmed Friday to detect when you're little and were about to do something that babies shouldn't do, such as cooking or showering because babies makes messes and get hurt. It was something you'd kept private and to yourself for a long time, and it took months to feel comfortable enough to talk with Steve and Bucky about it. You weren't always feeling little, and had the capability of being a very vital part to the team, but on your days off, it was easy to find yourself slipping into that headspace.

That's how you got to sitting on the balcony, slowly slipping into that headspace after a difficult mission. You'd woken up between Steve and Bucky, crawling out of the bed quietly, not quite feeling small but you know it's coming. Clint and Sam find you outside, sunbathing and staring at the clouds. Sam is the first one to come outside, Clint following close behind.

"Mornin' sunshine," Sam sits next to you, Clint moving to the other side of you, relaxing in his seat, Sam holding out a glass to you, "want some lemonade? I know that coffee makes you jittery on your days off." You take the glass, smiling at the yellow straw poking up from the top, "Thank you! And a straw!" You twiddle with it gently, pulling it out to take a sip. "Gosh," your shoulders sag and your head leans back in ecstasy, "Clint's lemonade is the best, thank you." Clint pointedly looks at Sam, smug, "Why thank you Y/n, I'm blushing." Sam scoffs, "You wouldn't have even made it if I didn't beg!" Clint shrugs, "I made food," he looks to you, "speaking of," he has you a plate with a sausage and egg biscuit. You tentatively take it from him, "Oh thank you, are you sure?" Clint laughs, leaning back in his seat, "Yeah, honey, me and Sam already had some."

Once you finish your biscuit, you're back to staring at the pretty sky, sipping on your lemonade listening to Sam and Clint bicker back and forth. A bee comes out of nowhere, eliciting a small yelp from you and you're quickly standing from your seat. They're laughing, which hurt your feelings, the fear of the bee causing you to slip fully. You try to go inside but hear Sam speak to the AI, "Friday, lock patio doors under code Falcon," before you make it to the door. When you pull on it the door won't budge. "Sam," your voice is meek, "that's not funny," you whine and shake the door again, getting nervous over the buzzing around your lemonade on the table. "Friday, open the door." Clint laughs again, "It's just a bee, you've been shot before and you can't handle a bee?" A tear slips down your face, and you feel your heartbeat pick up.

You shake on the door, trying to get away from your mean friends, wiping a tear away, "Open the door Sam." He's laughing, he thinks this is funny, "It's just a bee, it'll be gone in a minute Y/n, it's fine." You shake the door more violently, and it's clear Sam wasn't going to open the door. You bring your hand to the bracelet that lays around your wrist, a fail safe if something is wrong, to immediately notify Steve and Bucky that you need them. You find the tiny sun charm, pressing the tiny button that notifies your daddies of your state of mind and that you're in trouble, different from the other charm, a moon, who notifies your boyfriends of an emergency.

Bucky is the first one to hear Friday, "Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers," he groans groggily, "Friday, it's too early for this, what is it?" Bucky reaches over to find just Steve, no tiny baby to love on as he hears Friday once more, "I am sorry Mr. Barnes, but it seems munchkin has requested your presence with signs of distress." Bucky's eyes snap open at the use of the programmed name for when you're in your little space, throwing the covers off and slapping Steve's shoulder. "Bucky, what the-" Steve stops when he realizes that Bucky is already out the door, he's quickly behind him, not bothering to put a shirt on, as Bucky hadn't.

"Friday, where is munchkin?" Bucky spits, FRIDAY speaking up once more, "Munchkin is on the patio with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barton." Their brows crunch together in confusion, Steve finally speaking up on their way to the patio, sleep still heavy in his voice, "Is something wrong?" Bucky shrugs nervously, "Friday said she was showing signs of distress." The system speaks up once more, "That is correct. Munchkin's heart rate seems to be elevated and she is showing signs of high stress. She notified me by her emergency contact Sun Ray." At this, Bucky and Steve speed up, trying to get to you as quickly as possible.

The bee is still there, attracted not only to the lemonade, but the brightly colored pajamas keeping its attention as it flies back and forth between you and the lemonade. When it flies towards you, you hide in the corner of the patio, screaming, running to the other corner to hide from it when it follows you, a tear streaking down your face. Sam sees the stray tear, immediately his stomach sinking while you're piddling with your bracelet, ignoring the tears on your face, not hearing Sam when he stands and calls out gently, "Friday unlock the doors." Sam's in front of you, "Let's go inside, come on." When he reaches for you, you flinch back from him, causing his heart to break a little. You're now frantically pushing the button on your charm.

"Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, munchkin has sent a distress call 13 times, up to 17, 23," and then they're at the doors to the patio, slinging them open.

Bucky takes in your appearance, you look afraid, tears freely streaming down your face, now surrounded by Clint and Sam, who are violently moved by Bucky. He's lifting you by your thighs, bringing them around his waist, glaring at Sam and Clint before carrying you inside. When you're back inside, feeling the rush of AC, you let loose, heavy thick tears falling with sobs. "Shhh my little bunny, I've got you."

Steve remains on the porch, staring at a shell shocked Sam and Clint, "What happened?" They shrug, "It was just a bee, we didn't know it would scare her so bad." Steve rolls his eyes at the men, following Bucky back to your room. When he gets there, you're straddling Bucky on the bed, hands tucked under you, fists balled up tightly, hiccuping sobs. "'S mean," Bucky is rubbing your back, shushing softly while you try to explain what happened, "wouldn't let me 'nside daddy, I try." More sobs erupt from you, Steve's brow furrowing, wondering what you meant.

"Friday, show me what happened with munchkin on the patio before Sun Ray was activated." He watches as the TV screen starts playing the scene, fury creeping up in his bones, while Bucky continued to console you, but matching the fire Steve has in his eyes. Steve saunters out of the room when the TV shuts off, heading straight for Sam and Clint. Bucky holds you closer when you whimper, "Oh doll, dada will be right back, he's just gonna go get you something to drink." You continue to sob, you refused to take your pacifier, dropping it out of your mouth every time he tried to put it in, sobs not allowing it to stay. "Baby baby baby, you're okay, that little bee isn't gonna getcha in here, only daddy." He tries to tickle you, but you just sob louder. He's thankful for the soundproof walls, knowing you don't like to draw attention.

Steve finds Sam and Clint in the common room with Nat and Tony. Tony stands when he sees Steve, anger on his face still shirtless. Steve comes up from behind Sam and Clint, grabbing their shirts roughly, pulling them up and off the couch, feet dangling a foot above the floor, turning them to face him. They're shouting, trying to get Steve to let go. Tony is trying to pull Sam away from him, Nat trying to hit his weak spots so he will drop Clint but he doesn't budge.

"Did you think it was funny?" Steve spits, bringing his face closer to theirs, "Did you? You think it was funny when she cried? Think it was funny when she screamed and pulled on the door? How would you feel huh? If someone laughed at you because you were scared? If your friends laughed at you?" Tony and Nat are confused, "Steve calm down, what happened?" Steve scowls, overpowering the men easily as he turns them around, still holding them in the air. "Friday, pull up the patio clip and my bedroom feed on the common room television."

"Voice identification confirmed. One moment." The video starts playing, but all they can hear are your sobs, not able to hear the small consoling your daddy is trying or the talk from the patio clip as it plays. "Is it still funny bird boy? Is it still funny when you know you're the reason she's like this? No? Good." Steve throws them down on the couch, Tony is furious, Nat is scolding them, and Steve's on his way into the kitchen.

Tony follows Steve after shutting off the video feed, Nat still scolding the two perpetrators. Steve is piddling around, heating up some milk in the microwave. "You okay man?" Tony asks, placing a hand on his back, when Steve glares at him Tony sighs. "Man you can't go back to her seething like this." Steve lets out a huff, "I've never wanted to throttle someone like I do right now." He grabs the milk from the microwave, mixing some hot chocolate power in it, something that frequently happens when you're having a very bad day. Tony hands Steve a bottle, hidden in a thin cabinet, only unlocked by four people in the tower; Uncle Tony, your daddies, and you. "She's your baby, and she hasn't stopped crying because her buddies were mean to her and she doesn't understand, if you go in there angry, she will think you're mad at her." Tony chides, Steve, resonating with Tony's words, takes a deep breath, filling up your bottle and continuing to shake it. "Want me to come cheer her up with you?" Steve sighs, "Let us calm her down a bit, get her feeling right and we'll play some games later yeah?" Tony starts to rummage through the fridge, "Have Friday notify me." Steve nods, leaving Tony and going back to his baby.

When he opens the door, you're still crying, but when Steve sits he pulls you into his lap, holding you like a baby and rocking you. "Shhh, it's okay baby, I know they were mean, but papa's here now. It's okay," he's rubbing your face gently, your sobs turned to weak whimpers. "That's it baby, you want some milk?" You nuzzle into his chest, Bucky taking a sip of the bottle making sure it's not too hot and gives it back to Steve. He holds the tip to your lips, you instantly wrap your lips around it and hum happily.

"There she is, sweet girl," his fingers tangle in your hair, massaging your scalp gently while Bucky rubs your legs with a feather light touch. You hiccup on the milk, Steve moving it away from you and wiping away a stray tear. Your fingers clutch around his shoulder, whining, "Papa." He coos at you, "Drinking too fast aren't we love?" You let out another whine, your bottom lip wobbling, "Pease papa." He traces your jawline before bringing the bottle back to your lips, "Slower, you hear me dove?" You nod gently, closing your eyes and continuing to drink the bottle.

You're teetering on the edge of sleep, Steve wiping away a drop of milk that finds its way to the corner of your mouth. He takes the bottle very carefully, stopping when you suck on it a little harder, trying to hold it in your mouth. "Bunny," Bucky's voice sings to you, "let daddy have that, okay?" Steve tries to pull it away again, this time with no fight, Bucky pressing your pacifier to your lips, which you take happily. He clips it to the top of your pajama shirt so if you drop it, it'll stay relatively within reach. "Friday, put on munchkins lullaby playlist."

Soft music starts playing through the room, bringing you all the way under, soft snores against Steves chest alerting them to your slumber. "Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes, Mr. Wilson and Mr. Barton are outside, requesting entrance." Bucky rolls his eyes as he slides back down into the bed, "Friday, decline entrance and leave us be to nap for an hour." Steve moves you to Bucky, your sleeping form habitually wrapping around him and his warmth. Steve huddles behind you, wrapping his arm over you and resting it on Bucky, rubbing small circles. "She's gonna be a handful today," Steve comments, letting Bucky know that he thinks today is going to be one of those days where you regress further than usual. "She's gonna have such a good time with Tony." Bucky laughs, his eyes flutter shut, "Don't count her daddies short."

[incendiobrock]

The Witches Forest

Request: heyy idk if u do requests but if u aree then can you do one where the reader is a witch and is dating colby so she goes on one of the haunted trips w them and does some reading idkk you can end it however you like <33 tyy! 

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this! I loosely based this imagine off the witches forest video on the Sam and Colby channel but instead of the witch from the video giving the reading it was y/n, and instead of Colby getting lost in the forest it was y/n. Hope you enjoy! Also this was loosely inspired by an imagine I read by @annab-nana you can read it here!

Warnings: sexual joke (I think that’s it)

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It was a typical day with the trap boys. Your boyfriend Colby had finally convinced you to go on a haunted trip with them. The only reason you had agreed was because he had promised you, and Corey, that there wouldn’t be any seances. You would all be going to just spend the night there, not summon anything.

In fact, Sam was planning on doing a cleansing ritual that he had done some research on. So, you agreed. You were always super worried about the boys and the trouble that they would find themselves in, especially with demonic entities and spirits. 

One of the other reasons you had agreed to do the video with them was because you knew that the fans have been begging for you to make an appearance. Colby got tweets and comments daily about his “witchy girlfriend” joining in on a haunted overnight video. All the fans knew that you were super into crystals, and tarot cards, and different herbs, and just about anything that you believed would help protect you and connect you to the world of spirituality.

So here you were, sitting in front of the camera, Colby right by your side, his ring clad hand holding onto your thigh, as the rest of the guys surrounded the table. “Okay, who’s ready for the reading?” You questioned, looking around the table. Everyone nodded and agreed to begin. You passed the tarot deck to each of the boys, instructing them to shuffle the deck while thinking of their intention for the trip to The Witches Forest. Everyone did as told and passed the deck back to you, you were the last to shuffle.

“Alright, so I’m going to pick the top three cards and then we can go over what they each mean for us, and for the trip we are about to go on.” You stated, gently flipping over the top three cards, The Tower, The Nine of Swords, and the card of Death.

You felt the room tense as they all read the cards chosen. “It’s not bad.” You said, trying to calm everyone’s nerves. “Uh- I don’t know about you but a card that says death seems pretty bad to me.” Corey said, laughing out of fear.

“Yeah babe, what does that mean besides ‘we are going to die?’” Colby air quoted the last part. “Will you guys just give me a minute to explain it?” You laughed at your boyfriends face as his eyebrows remained scrunched on his forehead, looking desperately at you for answers. You went on to explain that death could signify the “death” of an era and the beginning of something new. The Nine of Swords means that their own thoughts can weigh them down, or cause a feeling of darkness, and The Tower means danger, chaos, but also liberation. 

“See, so nothing is necessarily bad. It actually seems like this might be good for you guys, especially since we are planning on doing the fire ritual too. That way you can begin a new journey and have a nice cleansed path before the next moon cycle begins.” You stated, leaning your head on Colby’s shoulder and cuddling into his side. He placed a short kiss onto your forehead taking hold of your hand, “Alright so let’s get on the road we don’t want it to get too dark before we set up the tent, plus it’s about an hour drive.” Colby said to the group, still holding your hand as you both stood up to go get into the car.

About an hour later you had all arrived at the forest. Colby had parked the car a little off the dirt path in a small clearing between the trees. You were happy to get out of the car to stretch after having to sit between Jake and Corey in the backseat. You brought along a small backpack of stuff like a water, first aid kit, a flashlight, and most importantly some crystals that offer protection. You took out the small ziploc with the crystal and began to give one to each of the boys, telling them to keep their crystal in their pockets for protection. 

Sam had asked you to explain to the camera what all you had brought so you showed him the black tourmaline, amethyst, and the obsidian, saying that they each offered protection and grounding properties. “Alright, now that we got our protection rocks let’s go pitch the tent we will be staying in all night.” Sam said, shutting off the camera. You all stood around trying to help as Colby did most of the work putting the tent together. You were impressed with his skills, never knowing that he could set up a tent with little to no instruction.

“Dang brother, those Cub Scout skills are really showing right now.” Jake joked, sticking the last spoke into the dirt. “Thanks brother, you know I’m skilled with these hands.” Colby responded, sending a wink in your direction. Your cheeks heated up as a small laugh escaped from your mouth. Leave it to Colby to make a sexual joke that makes the guys cringe. 

After a little exploring all together, and almost losing the location of the tent, you had all decided it was time to start the fire ritual. You were glued closely to Colby’s side, hearing a lot of motion within the trees. “Once we get the fire going maybe we will feel better, the light and heat should scare off any animals that are near.” Sam said grabbing the fire bucket that he had brought for this ritual.

Colby lit the fire and you all sat around in camping chairs. “We should’ve brought s’mores bro.” Corey said, trying to alleviate some of his fear. You agreed with him because you knew you felt the same fear as him at the moment. Sam explained what was going to happen with the fire ritual and passed out the objects that everyone was going to be throwing into the fire, in hopes to release any possible spirits that were attached to them. As soon as you guys started to watch the stuff burn Colby flew back, falling with his camping chair.

“Did you guys see that! Right there! Right behind Jake! Sam? Did you see it, it was like a shadow and it moved super fast right behind Jake’s head.” Colby yelled, standing quickly off the ground and shining a flashlight in that direction. “I saw that too!” You said, abandoning your camping chair as well. Colby took hold of the camera and began walking away from the fire and towards the trail. “Colby! Wait for us bro you can’t go alone!” Sam yelled out, chasing after him. “I have to go, I know I saw something I need to see where it’s going before it gets away, I wanna capture it on camera!” Colby said.

“Someone has to stay by the fire we can’t all leave! Jake you stay here with Corey and we will go investigate.” Sam instructed, but Jake hesitated wanting to go too. Corey ended up agreeing on staying by the fire so you three could keep up with Colby who was still walking quickly away from the group. You thanked Corey, worried that your boyfriend would get too far ahead of everyone. You began to jog to the path, already extremely behind the others because of the sudden panic. 

You turned onto the dirt path and didn’t see any of the three boys, but could barely make out their voices in the distance. You began to jog down the path, heading to the left. You had felt like you were getting closer to them but their voices still remained faint and incoherent. You knew that Sam had yelled for everyone to stay on the path in order to avoid getting lost so you kept jogging further and further into the forest, away from the fire where Corey sat.

You slowed to a walk, shining your flashlight all around, hearing tons of branches snapping and rustling. You suddenly felt very alert, almost as if something was watching you. You felt the panic really set in as it became harder and harder for you to catch your breath. “Colby!” You yelled. “Colby! Sam! Jake! Corey!”  You knew you had made a mistake going this far down the path. “Hello?! Can anyone hear me!” You heard a scream off in the distance making your eyes basically bulge out of your head. You turned sharply towards the direction of the noise, shining your flashlight out in front of your face. Your hands were trembling, shaking the light violently. Not only was it freezing out, but you were terrified of what was out there.

You began running back the opposite direction of the trail, your breath almost nonexistent at this point, but you were determined to make it back to the tent. You heaved, feet stomping away at the dirt path beneath. After what felt like a century, you saw the distant glow of the fire. You ran, the victory of reuniting with the boys fueling your return. The fire was now in clear sight as well as the figures of the four boys you were so anxious to see. The noise of you approaching causing them all to turn and look at you. 

You practically leapt into Colby’s arms, tears pouring down your face as you wrapped tightly around his torso. His hand found its way straight to your hair, pulling you as close as he could to his body, swaying you side to side. “Oh my god, baby. Where were you? I was so worried! I thought I had lost you.” He said quietly, running his fingers through your hair trying to soothe your crying. “I-I was running after you a-and then I got lost. I heard a s-scream, I’m so scared.” You sobbed, never wanting Colby to let go of you.

“We looked all over, we were calling your name like crazy but Jake said we should come and wait by the fire incase you came back. We didn’t want to keep moving further away from you on accident.” Sam said, standing closely near you and Colby. 

“Can we please go? I don’t think I want to be here anymore.” You pleaded, looking into Colby’s eyes as his delicate fingers helped to wipe away your tears. “Yes, of course. I love you, I’m so glad you’re safe. Let’s head to the back up plan, the cabin.” Colby said, directing the last sentence to the boys. You nodded gratefully, making your way into Colby’s car while Jake, Corey, and Sam packed up the mess. 

The night was getting foggier as you pulled into the driveway of Jenna’s cabin. You felt relief rush over you, knowing that you wouldn’t have to spend another second in the Witches Forest. You all got out of the car and huddled by the front door, rain beginning to pour down. Sam took off his backpack digging through it to find the spare key Jenna had lent him. “Uh, Colby did I give you the key earlier?” Sam asked. Colby let go of your hand and patted his pockets down, “No I don’t think I have it. Is it in your pockets?” He responded, recapturing your hand in his, knowing that you were still shaken up about getting lost. Sam flipped his jean pockets inside out, no key to be found. He began pulling everything out of his backpack, searching deep into the bag for the key.

“Let’s go back into the car maybe I left it in there.” Sam said, heading straight back to Colby’s car. You all got back in as the rain continued to pour, Sam searching every inch of the vehicle. “I can’t believe you lost the key Sam, first Y/n goes missing and now this?” Jake says from the backseat, obviously frustrated. “It’s not all my fault okay? You think I meant to lose the key?” Sam snapped back, the tension in the car rising. 

After a lot of searching, the key was no where to be found. Much to your dismay, you had to go back to the tent in the depths of the forest. You all huddle into the blue tent, slipping into your sleeping bags. It was only a few more hours until daylight, a few more hours before the suffering would end.

“I’m not going to let anything hurt you. I lost you once tonight and it was the scariest moment of my life. It’s not going to happen again, I promise.” Colby vowed, pulling you into his chest. You smiled at his kind words, despite how scared you were he always knew how to make you feel safe. “Thank you Colby, I love you so much.” You responded, nuzzling further into his chest. “I love you, to new beginnings.” He chuckled, referencing the tarot reading from earlier. “To new beginnings.” You agreed, sealing the deal with a kiss on the lips.

[dingbatnix]

Breakout

Prison break time! For context, this is set when Quackity comes in, the dog is there, and Techno disappears. Enjoy!

Warnings: Vore, mild description of injury (it's in the prison, what do you expect?)

Word Count: 1,912

Techno didn’t think Dream could hold out in the prison for much longer. The man was a mere shell of what he used to be. Sure, he could talk and joke and mess with Techno almost like he used to, but whenever Techno moved too fast, spoke too loud, or even hit the bell too harshly, Dream would be on the other side of the room, breath stuttering, as far as he could be from the piglin hybrid.

Not to mention when Sam or Quackity were in the cell. Sure, Techno tried to stop them from torturing the admin. Keyword being tried. He was usually restrained, chained against the wall and splashed with weakness, blindness, anything to keep him down while they worked on Dream.

And Dream’s physical state. Oh, prime, his physical state. He had been in the prison for months before Techno got here, and he looked like a bee could touch him and he'd crumble.

The point being, Techno didn’t think Dream was gonna last. Right now, the man was swaying, clinging to Techno’s cape to stay upright. He was shaking so bad that Techno himself could barely stand, just from the force of it.

They had heard the voices on the other side of the lava, and were now waiting for either Sam or Quackity to arrive. Most likely Quackity. He hadn't shown up to torture Dream in a good while. Techno frowned. But…Dream wouldn't survive another one of Quackity's sessions. Techno had seen this same thing enough times throughout his life to be able to tell. Either Dream would break, this next time, or he would die.

Dream stated as much, surprising Techno with how plainly he put it.

“I-I’m not gonna ma-make it through th-this one, T-Tech.” Techno’s ears perked, and he looked over at his cellmate with raised eyebrows. Dream pointedly avoided looking at him, instead staring harshly at the slowly bubbling lava. “If-f it looks like I’m gonna spill the revive book, though, then…” He faced Techno, cracked mask glinting in the lava-light. “...then k-kill me. I-I won’t–it can't be in Quackity’s hands." Dream shuddered, leaning further into Techno's side.

"I–I–what?" Techno was at a loss. Logically, he could see the reasoning. But…Dream was his ally. Maybe even his friend…he didn't want to kill him.

He pinned his ears back, thinking furiously for something else he could do to help the admin. The slowly falling lava glopped quietly. Techno paused, inspiration striking him.

“Oh, hold on,” he muttered, turning to Dream. “I have an idea. Hold still.” He dropped a cloven hand on his trembling cellmate's shoulder, falling silent.

He glanced over at Techno curiously. “Techno, what-?” Dream’s eyes widened when he had to look up –up!– to see his friend’s face. “Techno-!”

Dream stiffened, jerking away, but it was too late. In mere seconds, he was knocked down from his lofty six-foot-seven to a meager few inches tall. He staggered dizzily backwards, gaping up at the now-colossal hybrid who was crouching almost directly above him.

Techno reached out, gently snagging Dream between his cloven fingers, and lifted him to eye level. The man writhed in his grip, confusion written clearly in the curl of his mouth.

"Look, this is gonna be super uncomfortable for the both of us, so just chill for a bit, yeah?"

With that, Techno lifted the tiny admin and gently shoved him into his mouth. Dream yelped, horrified, and flailed violently. Tiny hands snagged on his lip as Dream grabbed at anything he could, cursing furiously.

With a quick swipe of his tongue, he pulled Dream's hands inside of his mouth and closed it, pressing the struggling admin to his palate.

Dream fought, expletives flying from his throat as he was shoved into Techno's gaping maw.

The broad, squishy tongue squashed him against the roof of the mouth, inhibiting his movements and drenching him in spit.

Then, without warning, he was shoved to the back of the mouth. The loud swallow echoed around him as he was sucked into the throat. The tight muscles squeezed his frail body, making his injuries scream in pain as he was pulled down the long esophagus.

After a long, agonizing beat, he was shoved through an even tighter ring, and he fell into a huge, empty chamber. The stomach.

Dream froze, processing slowly.

…The…stomach…

All of the fight drained out of him, and he slumped against the plush flesh. When he told Techno to kill him, he didn't mean now. He didn't mean like this! But…

A muffled, familiar clank stole Dream's attention. The platform! That meant Quackity had arrived in the cell!

Maybe if he screamed loud enough, Quackity would hear him and— …And then what? Quackity wouldn’t help him. If anything, he’d get Dream out and-and-

The burns, cuts, and bruises scattered about his body twinged at the thought. No. He’d rather–he’d rather–at least he’d die quickly this way. At least it would be relatively painless. In-in comparison to what Quackity would do to him, at least.

If Quackity got ahold of him like this, then there-

“Where’s Dream?!” There was a rough shove, and Dream was thrown forwards. “Where’s Dream, Techno?!”

Tcchno made a noncommittal noise, shrugging. “He turned into a dog.”

Quackity twitched, baring his shark-like teeth in a wild, half-frantic sneer. “He what?”

“He turned into a dog,” The hybrid reiterated, loosely tilting his head towards the chest, where the dog still sat. It woofed, blinking up at them both.

“What?!” Quackity shoved off of Techno’s chest and stomped over to the canine. “You’re telling me that Dream, Dream, the admin Dream–turned into a dog?!”

Techno grunted in affirmation, wincing in sympathy as the shorter man grabbed the hapless canine by the scruff and dragged it off of the chest.

“It was kinda gruesome, actually. Bones cracking and popping and all that.” He casually pulled a raw potato from his inventory and started munching on it.

Quackity grunted, yanking the dog up to face him. “You’re telling me that this dog, is Dream?!” The dog in question snarled, snapping furiously at the nose inches from its muzzle.

Quackity didn't even flinch, glaring deeply into the canine's eyes. Conveniently, they were the same shade of green as Dream's.

"SAM!" Quackity suddenly screamed, whirling around to stare down at the creeper hybrid across the chasm. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

The warden seemed to be at a loss, waving his arms fruitlessly. Quackity snarled, stomping closer to the edge. "Bring me over, Sam!" Sam nodded jerkily and moved out of sight.

As the platform started to move closer to the cell, Quackity turned and jerked a finger at Techno. "I'll be back for you, Techno," he growled, an ugly scowl on his face. Techno just shrugged.

The duck hybrid scoffed, turning and hopping onto the platform, dragging the dog along with him. Soon he was at the other side of the chasm, and the lava was quickly flowing back into place, leaving Techno alone in the cell. Well. Almost alone.

He dropped a hand to press against his stomach, and got a furious, slightly painful kick in response.

"Well," he started, poking at the stiff form in his gut. "At least—"

Suddenly, he was jerked nauseatingly through something, and then he was facing the wall of his secret base. His stomach clenched around its tiny cargo as he reoriented himself.

"...What?"

"Did it work?" Techno jerked his head up at the voice of Phil and glanced around. His eyes alit on the avian, and relief washed through him.

"Phil, oh my God, Phil," he pushed himself off of his knees and staggered towards the man, eyes wide. Phil cocked his head, shoving a bucket of milk into Techno's hands.

"Here, Tech, drink this."

The hybrid gratefully chugged it, completely forgetting about the tiny admin in his belly until there was an agonizing pain from his stomach. Techno doubled over with a grimace, dropping the milk bucket.

"GET ME OUT OF HERE, YOU PIG FUCKER!" The enraged screech echoed from his stomach, making the both of them jump. Phil looked at Techno with widened eyes, pointing at the piglin hybrid's gut. "...Is Dream..?"

Techno nodded, pressing a cloven hand against his midsection. He winced at the resulting kick, and sighed.

"Just, just give me a second, Dream." He muttered, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, preparing to vomit the admin up. Then, without warning, he clenched his stomach around the small form and squashed it up, into his throat. The stiff figure traveled along the reversing muscles of the esophagus.

With an undignified 'Blouwh,' he forced Dream out of his throat, into his mouth, then pushed him forward with his tongue, finally spitting the writhing admin into his awaiting hand.

He closed his fist around the slimy figure and swiped the trailing strings of saliva that dropped from his mouth with his other arm.

Dream coughed a few times before turning to glare up at the piglin hybrid. His mask was askew, revealing half of a pale, freckled face and angry, pinprick emerald eyes. He was absolutely covered in milk, bits of mulched up potato, and slimy stomach acids.

"Techno," the man hissed, sodden hair flopping soggily into his eyes. He swiped it away with a scowl of disgust. "I'm going to break your fucking jaw."

The hybrid scoffed dubiously. He doubted Dream would even be able to stand, much less break bones.

"This counts as your favor, Dream." The admin scowled as Techno dropped to one knee, evidently displeased with the news.

With a slight twitch of his fingers, Techno began regrowing Dream to his original height, keeping his hand on the man until they stood eye-to-eye, even.

The admin wobbled at the sudden change in size, clamping Techno's wrist in an iron grip to steady himself.

Then, as soon as Dream seemed to get his feet under him, he moved. He drew back his arm, and, with a sickening crack, drove his fist into Techno's jawbone.

Techno went down hard, tumbling to the floor with a crash. Phil yelped, jerking forward to help the hybrid in an instant. Techno groaned, bringing a hand up to his jaw and poking at it. Huh. Whadda you know. It was actually broken.

Techno grunted, crunching the bones of his mandible back together and gratefully taking the healing potion Phil offered him. For a man who had spent the better part of seven months wasting away and being tortured in prison, Dream had one hell of a sucker punch.

The man in question was swaying dangerously after the beast of a punch he just threw. He staggered forward a step, before his legs folded and he collapsed, dropping like a wet sack of flour.

Phil, the saint he was, was over by Dream's side immediately, just managing to snag the back of the man's soggy orange jumpsuit before his head cracked against the floor. He looked up at Techno with worry in his eyes. Dream had passed out.

The hybrid sighed, massaging his sore jaw. He supposed he deserved it, really. Letting loose another groan, he stood, and gestured for Phil to lay Dream on the table in the center of their base.

Phil nodded, and dragged the limp form over on the table. Together, both he and Techno began cleaning the slime off and treating the admin's wounds, then waited for the man to wake up.