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reiding-writing · 1 month

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congrats on 1k followers!!! u deserve it sm u're literally my favorite cm writer on here <333

i'd like to request spencer/cold!reader with 4 from blue (color prompts)

TRYPANOPHOBIA [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˌtaɪpənəˈfoʊbiə/

4. "Will you hold my hand?”

WARNINGS: fem!reader, needles, suturing, allusion to spencer’s past addiction, blood, reader injury

spencer x cold!reader | hurt/comfort | 1.6k | climacteric event

a/n: thank you <3333 made the quote a little more blunt bc yk, cold reader, but i think it works either way. cold!reader is slowly developing her own lore and i’m living for it honestly.

main masterlist! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!

⋆｡°✩ event masterlist! ✩°｡⋆

You’d consider yourself pretty strong, mentally and physically.

You’d had your fair share of bumps and scrapes in your job that’s left you in the temporary care of EMTs sat in the back of an open ambulance. You’d been hit, kicked, slashed, shot at, and basically every other thing that you could possibly think of.

And it always came out alright in the end.

Most of the time the paramedics didn’t have to do more than clean out your injury with an antiseptic wipe and send you on your way.

But your luck had to run out eventually.

You’d garnered yourself a pretty nasty gash on your left bicep, one that the paramedic said would probably scar even with stitches.

Of course it would.

Either way, he seated you down on the edge of the open ambulance prepped your arm in the hopes that having it stitched closed would at least minimise the mark left behind. But it was never going to be that easy.

—

Morgan nudged Spencer’s arm with his elbow, nodding his head over to where you were sat on the edge of the ambulance with a very firm look on your face as you shake your head at the paramedic in front of you, who is seemingly trying to explain something that you’re not listening to. “Something tells me the Ice Queen might want some backup,”

“She told me to leave her alone,” Spencer shrugs slightly through furrowed eyebrows, eyes fixed on you despite the fact that he’s talking to Morgan.

He was the one who pointed the gash out to you in the first place. He knew that you had a high pain tolerance, but to not at all notice the blood trailing down your arm— even with the adrenaline in your system —was absolutely insane to him.

You tried for almost two minutes to brush him off, but he managed to convince you to get check out by the ambulance eventually. Even if it did result in him being on the receiving end of one of your disgruntled glares.

He’d rather that than you getting an infection.

“Come on man she’s clearly not enjoying herself over there,” Morgan tilted his head at Spencer with a knowing look. “Go and do your thing before she gives the poor guy a heart attack,”

Spencer doesn’t really have an option as Morgan pushes his shoulder in your direction, sending him stumbling a few steps forward.

—

“I said no.”

“Please miss it’s to make you more comfortable-”

“You are not putting that in my arm.”

“Is everything okay over here?” Spencer furrows his eyebrows, catching the tail end of your argument with the paramedic as he approaches you. “Are you alright?”

“I would be if this fucking-“ You exhale heavily through your nose to compose yourself.

It’s not his fault. He’s trying to help you. Don’t think about smashing his face into the tarmac.

“I don’t see why you need to stick me for a strip of butterfly stitches.” Your eyes are cold and unwavering as you glare right into the paramedic’s soul, and Spencer can see him take a small step backwards to steady himself under your scrutiny.

“I told you miss, butterfly stitches aren’t viable for your injury, they wouldn’t hold. You’ll have to have traditional sutures,” The paramedic argues his point hesitantly, but Spencer is surprised he’s even managing to argue in the first place with how harsh your expression is.

“Getting stitches for a serious injury can reduce the risk of infection by up to 86%,” Spencer takes a seat at your side cautiously, his eyes soft and non-confrontational as he tries to mediate your seething refusal to the idea of getting your injury stitched.

It looked bad. Something that he’s sure most people probably would’ve passed out from under the combination of pain and the fountain of red spurting from inside it.

“You need to get it treated…”

“I don’t do needles. It isn’t going to happen.” You don’t look at Spencer as you voice your reason for refusing medical attention, but you don’t have to, he can practically feel the anxiety radiating from you the second the possibility leaves your mouth.

You had a fear of needles.

Now that was something he never expected from you.

To be honest he was under the general impression that you weren’t afraid of anything. Especially not needles.

But he couldn’t exactly blame you either.

He also hated needles, although he was sure his reasoning was different from yours.

Either way, he knew what the anxiety felt like. But it didn’t change the fact that you needed stitches. That gash wasn’t going to heal on it’s own.

“Hey, uh,” Spencer bit the inside of his cheek as he spoke to you, glancing between the back of your head and the paramedic stood with an anaesthetic needle in hand, expression furrowed with no idea of how to convince you into letting him do his job. “There are several methods for effectively dealing with phobias during situations like this, I can walk you through one if you’d like?”

“I’m not getting a needle in my arm, let alone multiple.” You turn your sternness in your decision towards Spencer for the first time, and he almost folds immediately under the harshness of your glare. But he doesn’t, and his resistance to your defences is beginning to become increasingly torturously frustrating.

“The best first step is to turn away from the area of insertion,” Spencer moves his gaze from you to the paramedic and gives him a small, almost imperceptible nod to move forward. “Then you should focus on finding a suitable breathing pattern,”

“Reid I’m not-” There’s a sharp sting in your left shoulder that cuts your sentence short, and your eyebrows furrow and then rise in a mix of pain and shock as you turn your head just in time to see the top of the now empty needle leave your arm.

“Distraction is usually the easiest option…”

You turn to look at Spencer again with a look of absolute betrayal on your face, your eyes narrowed so far that it almost looks like your scleras are blackened through only your pupils being visible. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing except an astonished breath leaves your mouth.

“I’m sorry…” Spencer presses his lips together with a guilty expression. He couldn’t quite determine whether you wanted to shout at him or cry, and it was one of those times where he was reminded that you were a real person with real emotions underneath the wall of ice you protect yourself with. “It’s really in your best interest I promise,”

The paramedic gives you a guilty look of his own as he returns with a suturing needle attached to some thread. “You won’t feel anything I promise, just keep your eyes on your friend alright?”

“I am so going to kick your ass for this.” You turn your head as far away from the paramedic as possible as you reluctantly accept your fate, hissing your words out through your teeth as you face Spencer directly.

“I know,” Spencer gives you a small nod, guilt still riddling his features as he sighs. “I’m sorry,”

“Hold my hand.” You extend your right hand out towards him, palm upwards expectantly.

“I- what?” Spencer stares at it like he’s never seen a hand before in his life.

“You’re putting me through this, it’s the least you can do.”

He slips his hand into yours cautiously, your grip immediately tightening to a point where your knuckles clash together almost uncomfortably and his palm bumps into yours.

It’s enough to make his cheeks bloom red and his throat go dry, and yet you seem entirely unaffected apart from the tenseness in your shoulders in the anticipation of feeling the suturing needle in your arm.

It doesn’t come.

“All finished. Keep them dry for the next week or so and they should dissolve on their own,” Your eyebrows furrow as you break your stare on Spencer to look back towards the paramedic and then down to your arm. He’d literally stitched it shut without you feeling anything.

“…Thank you,” You still look absolutely furious, anger still coating your words, but you’re thankful nonetheless, and the paramedic gives you a short smile.

“Thank your friend, he did the hard work,” He gestures towards Spencer with a nod before leaving the two of you to regroup with the rest of the EMTs.

You watch the paramedic walk away for a few seconds before you turn your attention back to Spencer, and his eyes are already locked on you as you meet his eyes.

“Are you- uh- ready to go back to the station?”

You give him a short nod as you stand, inadvertently pulling him to his feet alongside you through your still connected hands.

They stay that way as you reapproach the rest of the team, and none of them have the gall to mention it under the lingering discomfort in your narrowed gaze as Spencer helps you into the car.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #mgg #climacteric 🪶

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dirtyvulture · 5 months

Text

Darkest Knight - Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

Word count: 4954

AN: Click here for Part 1!

Thanks to everyone who read and interacted with Part 1. Things get a little wild in this one...

“I should have never come here,” Natasha cries. “You don’t deserve this, after everything you’ve done for me–”

“I can help you,” you insist. “Please, Nat. Just tell me who they are–”

She looks up at you, and even in the darkness the fear in her eyes is unmissable.

“The Red Room.”

The words send physical shivers down your spine. They weren’t ones you had expected to ever hear again, and you were shocked that this woman knew of its existence, let alone escaped. Now, you can fully sympathize with and understand her fear.

“Put your shoes on. We’ll go out the back door. Hurry.” You speak in short but commanding sentences, directing Natasha into the kitchen. The pounding on the door escalates to heavy, inconsistent thuds, and you know the “officers” are using their battering ram now. Luckily, you had assembled this cabin yourself, board by board, with the door built of solid oak, so that would buy you some precious time.

You stop at the freezer to grab a plastic bag that Natasha doesn’t even look at. She’s staring at the back door, practically shaking with fear, and anger fills you so suddenly you can’t see. But you can’t slip into one of your rages now, not with Natasha being in such close proximity and having no idea what you’re actually capable of. If she knew who you really were, what you were, she’d run happily into the Red Room goons’ arms and beg them to take her away from you.

On the other side of the back door, you hear the crunch of boots on fresh snow, the anxious heartbeats, and the pump of a shotgun.

You don’t have any time to warn Natasha before you jump in front of her, shielding her body with yours just in time as a round of buckshot blasts through the door into your chest. The pain is like an explosion that takes your breath away, but luckily darkness engulfs you before it becomes overbearing.

Natasha screams when your weight falls back into her. You are ridiculously, unexpectedly heavy, almost pinning her down, but she manages to scramble back in time, leaving you to thud onto the floor. She stares at your body in shock, where lead pellets are buried in your chest, blood seeping out to soak your layers of shirts. Natasha instinctively gravitates for you, trying to find an area to apply pressure so she can slow the bleeding.

“Y/N, Y/N,” she whimpers, ignoring the fist punching through the weakened door and opening the lock from the outside.

“Hey, I found her!”

“And you took out the other one!”

“Natalia…” someone says in a mocking voice. “Natalia, come home to us…”

Natasha’s head snaps up and adrenaline fills her veins as she blindly launches herself at the soldier who killed you. She tears the shotgun out of his hands and clubs him on the head with it, knocking him down and smashing the butt into his helmet’s face shield until it cracks. She hasn’t felt fury like this in a while, putting her in an almost euphoric state, but her focus is a concentrated pinpoint, and she doesn’t see the second soldier behind her pointing a gun at her head.

“RAHHHHH!”

Natasha ducks, wondering if someone let a large animal into your home. She catches a flash of silver as the muzzle of the soldier’s gun falls harmlessly to the floor as if sliced right off. You’re back on your feet all of a sudden, teeth bared in a ferocious snarl, three silver, knife-like claws protruding from your knuckles. You slash at the soldier, tearing through his body armor effortlessly and puncturing his heart. He crumples next to his partner, who’s shaking in complete terror while crawling away from you.

“Don’t look, Nat,” you growl and she turns away, flinching when she hears the man’s cut off scream. She jumps when you grab her shoulder, afraid that she’ll find herself on the other end of your knives, but you shake her gently. When she looks at you, your knives are gone and so are the buckshot holes in your chest.

“How are you–What did you–” Natasha stammers.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking a step back from her when you sense her overwhelming levels of stress. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

Natasha slips her hand into her pocket, where your stolen pocket knife is. It would be like trying to fight you off with a toothpick, but Natasha Romanoff wasn’t one to go down without a fight.

“Nat, please. We can get away on my motorcycle. Come on.”

You’ve made no move to hurt her, keeping your hands where she can see them. Even though you had turned the Red Room soldiers into shish kabobs, you hadn’t let them suffer, taking them down with deadly accuracy and efficiency. Deep down, Natasha knows she can trust you, but her body is having a very resistant physical reaction to going with you. After all, anyone’s natural instinct would be to run very fast and far from away from a person who literally came back from the dead and mowed down two grown men with knives built into their arms.

“Nat?” you prompt a final time, not sure what you’re going to do if she refuses to go with you.

“Okay,” she says, wringing her hands together frantically. “I trust you.”

It means more than you can explain that she’s put her faith in you and you lead her out of the bloodied kitchen. You race to the shed, where you tear off the padlock with your bare hands. There’s only one helmet, which you clasp around Natasha’s head. You throw one leg over the seat of your motorcycle and it sinks considerably under your weight. Natasha slides on behind you, wrapping her arms around your muscular torso, unable to resist the waves of body heat coming off of you.

She hardly notices the blistering wind as you take off into the forest, somehow finding your way around trees and rocks despite keeping the headlights off. Her fingers are clenched, almost frozen, to the plastic bag you had made such an effort to retrieve from the freezer. She has no interest in its contents now, clinging to you desperately and closing her eyes, hoping that when she opens them she’ll wake up from this nightmare.

You eventually turn the motorcycle onto a road and careen on.

*********************************************************************** It’s probably not the wisest idea to stop at a motel, but you’re certain Natasha is still exhausted from the long night that’s not over, and you need some time to collect yourself. You park your motorcycle in the dirt lot and shake Natasha awake.

“We’ll stay here for a few hours, then keep moving,” you say, gently prying the plastic bag from her. Her hands are freezing and you feel awful for not taking care of her better.

“But the men…they could catch up–”

“You need to get proper rest,” you interrupt. You’re not sure how many hours she had been awake before she met you at the bar, and while she’d already been looking better after dinner, you didn’t want to push her.

“This is too dangerous–” Natasha protests.

“They know you’re with me,” you say, and this quiets her. “So they’ll need to come up with a new plan if they want you.” You untwist the plastic bag, pulling out a soggy wad of cash. Her eyes grow wide. “This should keep us covered for a few days.” Then, you notice the rusty red splotches of dried blood splattered across your shirt. If you walk up to the front desk like this, the manager would call the cops. “Uh…shit.”

“Here.” Natasha takes her jacket off, despite your protests for her to keep it on, and she wraps the sleeves around your shoulders, carefully draping them in a way that hides the blood splatter. She fights back a visible shiver. “Much better.”

“Thanks. Let’s go quick,” you say, herding her into the tiny front office that barely fits the two of you side-by-side. “Two rooms,” you tell the pimply boy behind the dusty desk who smells like energy drinks and weed.

“Huh?” he responds, blinking slowly at you.

“Two rooms. Please,” you say through your teeth, pulling out a few bills to show your commitment.

A long pause as you stare each other down.

“Uh, yeah we don’t have two rooms,” the boy says. “Just one–”

“That’s fine, then,” Natasha intervenes, as you can consider hefting the kid over your shoulder and dragging him out to the dumpster around the corner. “We’ll take whatever you have left.”

“Sure.”

You reluctantly hand over the deposit and he disappears into the back room to find the keys. Mumbling under your breath about the lack of hiring standards, you rub absently at your chest and Natasha looks at you in concern.

“You okay?” she whispers.

“Yeah.” You drop your hand back to your side. “Probably gonna cough up some buckshot later, to be honest.”

Natasha doesn’t know if she should laugh or leave. “How did you…” she trails off, searching for the right words.

“Heal so fast?” you supply. “Always have. I was literally just…born that way.”

“And the…” Natasha gestures to her own hands and forearms.

“Claws?” you finish. “Been with me since the beginning, too.” Your answers are vague, almost useless in the new number of questions they spark, but Natasha knows now is not the time. The boy finally returns with a key hooked to rabbit’s foot, which you accept with a very judgemental scowl, but are very glad to finally be on your way to some privacy for the night.

***********************************************************************

Natasha startles awake, trying to piece together the traumatic memories of the past eight hours into a coherent storyline. She’s alone in the motel room, her anxiety skyrocketing at the thought that you might have ditched her, when the door creaks open and you step back in. You’re wearing new clothes and holding a crumpled white bag stained with grease.

“Did you sleep okay?” you grunt, tossing the bag onto the bed by her feet. “I got you some breakfast. It’s probably shit, but everything else nearby is closed.”

“Thanks.” Natasha reaches for the bag, despite having almost no appetite. She takes out one of the sandwiches, but can’t bring herself to take a bite. “Y/N, I think we need to get moving again. We’ve hung around for too long–”

“Eat your damn sandwich, then we’ll leave,” you gruff, and it’s almost endearing to Natasha how grumpy and thoughtful you can be at the same time. “But you know, we can’t keep running forever.”

“We can run far enough,” she insists. You don’t respond and Natasha realizes you’re waiting for her to take a bite of her egg and sausage sandwich. Fighting back a smile of amusement, she nibbles off the edge of the dry muffin and you nod in satisfaction.

“Look Nat, I want to help you. You know that, right? But I’m…familiar…with these Red Room goons and–” Her eyebrows shoot up as she keeps chewing. “That’s another story for another day.”

“Did you escape from them, too?” Natasha asks, her eyes wide.

“Well, not exactly. But I know who they are. What they are. And what they do to women like you.”

Natasha tenses suddenly, sensing judgment from you. She’s ready to defend herself, that she didn’t let them break her or keep her hostage, when you add, “They should be burned to the ground. Just a bunch of psychopathic perverts.” She laughs out loud, startling you because you weren’t even trying to make a joke, but you let out a snort.

“But they’re a damn smart bunch of perverts,” you continue. “And you know we can’t take them alone. I have some old friends that can help us. I’ll take you to them.”

“More old friends? Like the one who’s clothes I’m wearing?” Natasha says, wanting to join in on the lighter mood, but she immediately regrets so when she sees the sadness cloud your face.

“Not like that,” you murmur. “She would’ve helped us, though. But she’s gone now, so…”

Natasha doesn’t know what to say, guilt gnawing at her stomach for making such an unnecessary joke.

“They’re in New York. It’s been a while since I last saw them, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind us stopping by,” you say to break the silence. “They’d help us without question.”

“Even against…the Red Room?”

“They’d have those Red Room schmucks for breakfast,” you chortle, the mood lightening once more. The knot in Natasha’s stomach loosens, and she takes another bite of the sandwich. “But it’s gonna take us a while to get there. And we’ll probably need a car…”

“I’ll handle it,” Natasha volunteers.

You look at her with a raised eyebrow, challenging but curious. “Okay. We’ll go when you’re done eating.”

***********************************************************************

While you clear out the motel room of all your tracks, Natasha triumphantly returns with the keys to a large blue Ram truck. You’re sad to leave your motorcycle behind, but it’s served you well, so you take it for one final ride to a strip mall, Natasha following in her menacing blue truck. You park in a shaded corner, saying good-bye with a caress to the faded leather seat, then join Natasha in the truck.

With good weather and little traffic, the drive would take about 40 hours. And even though you’d be able to make the entire drive yourself with minimal stops, Natasha won’t let you. It’s a long first day, stopping for more junk food and bathroom breaks. You buy a phone from a gas station to text your contact in Westchester, and in the few responses you share, they seem eager for your arrival despite your circumstances.

Another night is spent at a shoddy motel, and this time you don’t automatically ask for separate rooms. Natasha seems comfortable in your presence–tolerant, at the very least–and you’re starting to enjoy her company too. She keeps to herself for the most part and even though you can feel her studying you sometimes, she doesn’t ask anything inappropriate. She also tries to take care of you, though you think of yourself as the last person who needs it, but it’s cute how she picks up on your favorite gas station snacks (the jerky and Snickers bars) and buys you extra packets behind your back, and she offers to drive almost every time the two of you get back into the truck.

So on the third and final day of your trip, when Natasha begs to make a stop at a mall in Ohio, you agree, mostly because you know how happy it will make her. While the mall itself is disappointingly unimpressive, Natasha has the biggest smile as she drags you around under the pretense that she wants to find some clothing that wasn’t bought from a gas station, but she tries to browse every store, commenting which retailers have taken the old spots of familiar locations from her childhood.

“Try this one on,” Natasha says, thrusting yet another checkered flannel shirt at you.

“They all look the same,” you grumble, feeling that you may be colorblind because you can’t tell what’s different about the prior three she’s made you try.

“No, this one goes better with your eyes,” she says, her cheeks suddenly turning red when she realizes what she’s said.

You grin at her. “Then I’ll buy this one.”

You proudly wear the shirt out of the store, sneaking a glance to see Natasha’s expression and she does seem even more excited than when you first arrived at the mall. For lunch, you stop in the food court, and while you’re wolfing down a triple-patty burger with frightening intensity, Natasha suddenly reaches across the table and grabs your hand.

“What?” You stop mid-bite.

“Behind you,” she hisses.

Wiping grease off your chin, you drop your shoulder and turn your head subtly. But you know immediately who Natasha’s referring to. A woman with long black hair tied into an immaculate ponytail, not a single stray hair flying about, wearing a black overcoat and gloves, strides towards the food court with purposeful, powerful steps. You recognize her posture, her outfit, and the cold, emotionless expression on her face.

“Holy shit,” you mumble. “They sent a Widow after us.”

“We have to go!” Natasha tries yanking up but she isn’t strong enough. “How do you think she found us?”

“They’ve probably been tracking us the whole time,” you say, sad to leave the remainder of your meal. “They were just waiting for the right time to strike.” It’s hard to walk fast without making it obvious that you’re running from someone. You offer Natasha your hand and she takes it without hesitation. You drag her along a little, urging her without words. “It’ll be fine, Nat. We’ll take care of her and keep moving.”

“We shouldn’t have stopped here. This was all my stupid idea,” she says.

“It wasn’t a stupid idea. I liked it.”

If the two of you weren’t running from a Widow, Natasha would have stopped and hugged you. Although she hasn’t known you for more than four days, she feels completely safe with you and has a deep admiration for you. You’ve never prodded about her past, you’ve never judged from where she came from. While you’re not such an open book yourself, Natasha can see how much you’ve relaxed around her from your first meeting. She likes your calmness, your willingness to drop literally everything in your life for her, with no expectation of anything in return. She’s never met someone like you before but hopes that you’ll let her stay around even after this mess is cleaned up.

“Go this way,” you say, nudging Natasha into a maintenance corridor, having seen a sign for roof access on one of the walls. At least you could take care of the Widow without worrying about innocent casualties–assuming there weren’t more hiding up there. “Take the stairs,” you instruct Natasha, pushing her into the stairwell.

“I hope you don’t expect me to jump from the roof,” she replies.

“Well, if we have to, I’ll jump first and catch you,” you quip, but there is no time for her to linger on your comment. She dashes up the three flights of stairs with lightning speed, while you lumber up behind her.

“The door’s locked,” she says, stopping in her tracks.

“Move.” Your middle claw rips out of your hand and you slide it between the jamb and wall to cut the lock. Throwing your weight against the door, it pops open easily and you stumble out into the unusually bright outside. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Just hide somewhere and wait.”

Natasha is skeptical of your plans, not wanting to be caught in a dead end with another Widow, but she hurries towards an air conditioning unit. When she turns around, she sees you’re not following her and are facing the roof access door, your claws sliding out as the Widow makes her appearance, now wearing a gas mask.

“Y/N!” Natasha screams with no other way to stop you.

The Widow tosses a metal canister that immediately releases a thick, white fog. It hides the Widow and worse, burns your eyes until they water and destroys your sense of smell with a piercing, peppery odor.

“Shit.” You drop onto your belly, searching for a breathable pocket of air. You hear another canister clang to the ground, spreading the white fog farther and farther. As you crawl to where you think Natasha is taking cover, the unmistakable pops of gunfire ring through your skull.

Your sense of sight, smell, and now sound are completely unreliable and fear ices your veins as you think about Natasha’s safety. But she’s also a Widow herself, so you’ll have to trust that she can handle herself while you figure out the way to her. You force yourself up, wiping snot on the sleeves of your new flannel and hunkering down, focusing hard to feel the vibrations of movement on the roof. You pivot left, inching forward cautiously. The faint click of a rifle trigger alerts you and you lash out with your claws, slicing uselessly through the fog. But it was nothing but a ruse, as the Widow comes up behind you and stabs you in the neck with a pronged instrument that sends hundreds of volts of electricity through your body. Your muscles seize and you collapse to the ground, seizing uncontrollably.

You’re pretty sure you’ve bitten your tongue off as blood fills your mouth and you start choking, unable to roll to your side to cough it out. The Widow points the muzzle of her at your face, pressing the cold metal tip to your forehead. You bare your teeth in a vicious snarl, wishing you could will control back into your body to slash her throat out.

“Good night, mutt,” the Widow says.

***********************************************************************

Natasha tucks her mouth and nose into her elbow, charging into the fog while wielding the tiny pocket knife she stole from your apartment. She tackles the Widow with her full bodyweight, puncturing the blade through her vest deep enough that the Widow screams, dropping her gun. Knocking off the Widow’s mask and pulling her into a tight headlock, Natasha squeezes her arms as tight as she can, counting the number of seconds it takes before the assassin finally stops struggling and slumps to the ground. With watering eyes from the gas, Natasha strips the Widow of her equipment, despite knowing that at her peak, her bare hands would be deadly enough weapons. The gas starts to spread further and further and Natasha can finally see your convulsing body.

She runs over to you, tentatively yanking the taser out of your neck. You take a huge breath of air, rolling to your side and coughing hard.

“Thanks,” you mutter as your tongue grows back. Shakily you get to your feet, touching the side of your neck and feeling the jagged openings left by the taser slowly closing. “Where is she? I’m gonna–”

“No. Let’s go,” Natasha intervenes, grabbing onto a handful of your shirt to stop you, like you’re a dog on a leash. You push her away, stomping over to where the Widow is lying motionless. Your claws pop out. She won’t feel anything.

“Y/N, STOP!” Natasha yells and you freeze, turning to glare at her.

“They sent her to kill us,” you seethe.

“But she’s not herself,” Natasha begs. “She’s being controlled. You know that. Please don’t kill her. She was just…She was just following orders.”

You clench your fist, the muscles in your forearm rippling as you retract your claws. Natasha gulps and takes a visible step back from you. She’s never seen such rage in your features before, not that it would be unwarranted, but it almost seems like you’re on the verge of completely losing control. Your expression twitches when you smell the fear rolling off Natasha in waves. She’s not afraid of the Widow anymore. She’s afraid of you.

“Fine. Sorry,” you grunt, backing up. You want to put your claws down your throat for scaring her like this. Your whole life you had fought to convince everyone that you were more than the animal you were born to be. It always felt like a losing battle.

“No, I’m sorry,” Natasha says. “I said something that upset you.”

“Is that mine?” You’re suddenly distracted by the sight of a small knife poking out of the Widow’s side.

“Uh…” Natasha glances at you sheepishly. “I thought it would come in handy eventually.”

“Hmm.” You don’t dwell on it though, having other things to worry about. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

The parking lot is a jumbled mess as people hurry to leave as emergency vehicles enter the premises. You keep your head down, hoping you’re moving fast enough for no one to notice the few stains of blood on your collar. Natasha races to keep pace with you. She’s barely able to jump into the truck in time before you have it in drive, speeding out of the parking lot.

“Thank you,” Natasha finally whispers as you merge onto the highway.

“For what?” you grunt, your knuckles clenched tightly around the steering wheel.

“For not killing her.”

You make another grunting noise.

“You know she doesn’t deserve that.”

“It’s not about what she deserves,” you snarl. “She was there to kill me and take you back to the Red Room. Which she failed to do. So if anything, the Red Room will probably kill her–”

“They wouldn’t do that,” Natasha interjects. “The Widows are huge investments. That’s why they want me alive.”

“Well, they don’t really seem to care if you get in their crosshairs of trying to kill me.” You don’t like how your words come out, but it’s too late to take them back now. You know none of this is Natasha’s fault–you were the one who willingly came to her aid, who insisted on driving her across the country, who offered your own friends to help.

“You don’t deserve this either.” Natasha’s voice drops. She sounds small, and when you side-eye her, she’s curled up in her seat in a way that makes her look small too. You frown. “You were just trying to be a decent person, and now you’ve had your life threatened several times, you had to leave your home, you’re being chased across the country–”

“Stop it,” you interrupt. “If this is the consequences of my actions, then so be it. I’d do it again a thousand times for you. Because you’re worth it.”

“I am?” Natasha looks at you in disbelief, partially because this is the most emotional she’s ever heard you and partially because she wonders if this is you admitting you have feelings for her.

“Yes,” you confirm, giving her a slight smirk before focusing on the road.

***********************************************************************

The final stretch of the drive is rough, but you make it. It’s nighttime now and exhaustion weighs on your shoulders from the entire day’s events. You shake Natasha awake as you park on the driveway.

“We’re here,” you say, cutting the lights and turning off the engine. Natasha gets out of the car, gaping at the enormous mansion you’ve stopped in front of. As you walk with her up to the front door, she stops to read the plaque.

“‘Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters,’” she says. “Hang on, this place is a school? Why would you bring us here? You’re putting children in danger, Y/N–”

“Hold on,” you cut her off. “The kids and staff here? They’re just like me.”

“Just like you? Meaning–” Before Natasha can finish her sentence, the front doors swing open and a woman with spiky gray hair appears, throwing herself at you.

“Y/N!” she cries.

“Hey, Ororo,” you mumble, returning her hug with a little less passion. “Sorry to arrive so late. Ran into a little trouble earlier…”

“You made it safely and that’s all that matters.” She pats your shoulders affectionately. “Hi there. I’m Ororo,” the woman introduces herself to Natasha, awkwardly standing off to your side. “But the kids around here call me Storm.”

“I’m Natasha.”

“Please, come in. It’s freezing and I know you’ve both been on the road for days,” Ororo invites. “Your room is all prepped, Y/N.”

You hadn’t even thought to ask her for another guest room, but you have a feeling Natasha won’t mind sharing again. You gesture for her to enter the mansion first. She seems in awe, and a little overwhelmed, that this building had been converted into a boarding school. Maybe later you’ll take her to the basements to show her the other half of the school.

A man wearing ruby sunglasses despite the midnight hour stands at the bottom of the staircase, a beautiful red-headed woman by his side.

“Jean,” you breathe, almost frozen in her presence.

“Hi, Y/N,” Jean says in a sultry voice that makes your heart beat embarrassingly faster. Natasha feels a prick of jealousy when she sees the way you’re looking at this new woman.

“Y/N!” the man barks.

“Good to see you too, Scott,” you add, not noticing the way Natasha moves closer to you, almost brushing against your arm. “This is Nat. She’s been traveling with me for the past few days, and–”

“You’re the one who escaped the Red Room,” Scott says, and Natasha cringes.

“Yeah, she is,” you answer, annoyed by his tone of voice.

“And how do we know that we can trust her?” Scott asks.

“Because I trust her.”

There’s a pause while Scott accepts this answer.

“I just finished heating dinner up for you two. It’s in the kitchen,” Ororo interrupts. She’s the only one thrilled to host guests, you think.

“Thanks, Ro,” you say.

“Well now that you’re back, Y/N, we actually need a substitute P.E. teacher tomorrow morning,” Scott teases, his arm going around Jean’s waist. “How about filling in, for old time’s sake?”

You raise your arm, extending the middle claw only. Everyone howls in laughter.

“Put that away,” Ororo chastises. “Come and eat now, before the food goes cold.”

You and Natasha start walking after her, but you stop when you hear the whir of wheels, an older bald man zipping up to you in a wheelchair.

“Professor,” you greet, for the first time taking the initiative to hug, leaning down to embrace him. “Thanks for helping us out. We really appreciate it.”

The man smiles, a twinkle in his eye. “Of course. Welcome back, Y/N.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Click here for Part 3!

Hopefully, going to the X-Men was a wise decision on R's part...

Let me know what you think. :) Please leave likes, comments, and reblogs.

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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kisses4kaia · 8 months

Text

dark but just a game - ethan landry

summary; you and your boyfriend are what professionals would describe as sadists, and also probably psychopaths. but he didn’t see you that way, nor did you him. sure, what you guys did was dark, but to you two, it was just a game.

warnings; dark!!! very dark!! murder, sadism, smut, dom!gf!ethan + sub!gf!reader. fem reader, oral sex (m receiving), and penetrative sex (p in v), fingering. overall very mature themes. please do not read under the cut if you are under the age of 18.

a/n; you ask and you shall receiveee. i originally got this idea for charlie while listening to dbjag by lana, but y’all wanted ethan so here u go!! (please reblog with tags if you enjoy🖤)

“you can run,” ethan said, voice distorted on one end of the line, speaking to a stupid girl who left her windows open whilst she was home alone.

“but you can’t hide,” you spoke, on the opposite side of the house and line.

and then the chase began. as far as she knew, there was only one person out for her blood. this was your favorite part, the revelation they get when they realize they’re outnumbered.

she screamed bloody murder as ethan chased her throughout the house. she tried to run out of the front door, but you were there, waiting for her.

it’s just so predictable.

she opened the door, saw you with your glisteningly clean knife and costume, turned around but slammed directly into ethan’s cloaked chest.

“we tried to tell you,” ethan spoke condescendingly to the girl as you laughed.

“you want this one?” he constricted her by her arms as she screamed and cried, pleading for her life.

you rolled your eyes at her volume but nodded at your boyfriend. “how could i resist when she’s a bitch annoying as she is?” you went for the first slash across her left bicep.

she screamed in pain, but ethan took one of his hands and pressed his flush against her jaw. “shut the fuck up, bitch,” he growled in her ear, becoming impatient.

you could sense it and quickly went for 2 matching jabs in opposite sides of her hips, being sure to twist the blade.

you continued with multiple painful penetrations to her skin, but none of which would kill her immediately.

her body was going limp after you slashed her achilles tendon and her screaming was becoming more tired, so you decided she’d had enough, and finished the job with a stab directly to her heart.

she let out one final gasp of pain before her weight became dead in ethan’s arms.

he dropped her body and pulled off his mask, speedy to pull yours off too. ethan smashed his lips against yours. “god, you’re so fucking hot,” he whispered as you desperately rutted your core against his thigh.

his hand went down to grab your ass, but halted when he heard the sirens approaching the house getting louder. he quickly grabbed your hand and ran out the back door into the hidden getaway car.

the adrenaline was still running high from the recent kill, your need for him in-between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

he drove fast, trying to make it quick to your shared dorm. you tore your cloak off in the passenger seat and opened your legs to him, revealing you weren’t wearing underwear underneath your skirt.

“fuck,” he muttered, almost instinctively bringing his hand down to your pussy, circling his thumb around your clit fastly, his middle finger fucking your hole, bringing you so close to orgasm, but you arrived at campus before you could meet sweet release.

he kissed you all the way up the elevator and down the hallway, fumbling the key in his jean pocket under his dark cloak.

the moment you two stumbled inside, you had him pushed against the door.

you dropped to your knees almost immediately, hardly even struggling with his belt and pulling his pants and boxers down.

you yearned for the feeling of the weight of his heavy cock on your tongue, the thought of it making your heart skip a beat.

after placing a simple kiss on his painfully red tip, you decided teasing wasn’t needed or even wanted by either party.

you took him in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks and locking eyes with him. your head bobbed up and down his length, making pornographic slurping sounds.

ethan tangled his hands in your hair, tugging slightly. you moaned around his cock, and the vibrations brought him so close to the edge.

the feeling of his tip prodding the back of your throat made him teeter over, and he came with a mix of expletives, moans of your name, groans, and whimpers.

you swallowed down everything he gave you, the sweet and salty flavor only making you hornier.

you were on your feet again before you know it, kidding ethan passionately, making him taste himself on your tongue.

aaand, he’s hard again.

now he’s pushing you into your bedroom, not even disconnecting your lips.

he’s tearing your clothes off, aswell as his remaining shirt. before you even realize a moment has passed, he’s pushing into you.

the stretch is delicious, forcing a deep moan from your throat.

for your sake, ethan tried to go slow, but he couldn’t keep that up. he rammed into you, his tip hitting the most perfect place at an ungodly speed.

“shit, baby. e-eth, slow- fuck!- slow down!” you said in between moans, your head becoming cloudy and the knot in your stomach tightening.

“i- i c-can’t- nngh,” his whimpers in your ear as well as his hands burning into your hips made you roll your eyes in ecstasy, and become so close to cumming.

the straw that broke the camels back was his lips traveling down to your collarbone, wasting no time in finding that one spot that always made you scream.

your pussy clenched around him as you came. your body convulsed as incoherent whines and whimpers left your lips like nothing else could.

his second release was close behind yours, thrusts getting sloppier and moans getting more concentrated.

soon, he emptied himself into you with a loud moan of your name, repeating it like an orison.

the both of you came down from your orgasms not long after and ethan pulled out. you whined at the emptiness, but it wasn’t for long.

“cant waste any of that cum, can we?” ethan’s grin was wide as he pushed two of his fingers inside of you, ensuring not a drop left your abused hole.

you were so sensitive, tears began to pool in your eyes.

the intense pleasure became too much very fast, and you had to physically hold his wrist to stop his fingers pumping into you.

ethan pulled his fingers out of you and stuck them in your mouth, forcing your throat open to swallow all of the mixed arousal on his digits.

once he felt they were clean, he pulled them out and brought his lips to yours in a passionate, gentle, and loving, kiss.

you felt yourself falling asleep with a hazy smile on your face, but your sleepiness dissipated into thin air when you heard a loud, angry, banging, on the door.

“NYPD, open up!”

#ethan landry #jack champion #ethan landry x reader smut #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #scream #scream vi #scream 6 smut #scream 6 #the endinggg😭#.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#kaia writes ethan

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stimpry · 7 months

Note

Hi just here to let you know of a cute alternative ship name to Sharpened Hammer. Aka…Slash and Smash : ).

THAT ONES REALLY GOOD TOO...,.,,.,,.

im using both

#cbs x ass pancakes #sharpened hammer #slash n smash

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cobaltperun · 3 months

Text

Lost (18) - State of my head

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 3.1k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-The only way I'm leavin' is dead That's the state of my, state of my, state of my head-

You read about it a few times, just out of curiosity, just to explain the feeling you'd occasionally get when you completely relaxed and everything came easy and naturally when you just entered the flow and you didn't think about anything. Maybe it was the survival instinct kicking you into it, but you just began moving as the knife approached you from the left. It all seemed so slow to you in that moment.

You stepped back, letting Quinn's hand go past your head before you grabbed and twisted her wrist. The knife fell into your hand and you just slashed through her throat. The blood gushed from her throat and you saw life fading from her eyes before she even had the time to properly process what happened.

You lifted her body up just as Bailey raised his gun and began firing. Four shots later he stopped shooting and stepped back, looking horrified as you just tossed Quinn's body to the side.

You turned your attention to Thomas and saw him shaking his head with a smirk on his face. "Come on then, let's leave the families to their own conflict," he backed away toward the doors leading to the room you and Tara were in before all the while motioning for you to follow him.

"Y/N," Tara's worried voice reached you.

You didn't look at her. You didn't take your eyes off Thomas for a single moment. "Don't interfere or come after me. This is my battle," and then you took off, running after the former MMA fighter.

You ran into the room and couldn't see him anywhere. You still ducked, avoiding a high kick from behind just in time and spinning around to try and slam an uppercut into his jaw.

Thomas just barely regained his footing and leaned his head back, avoiding the punch. The abrupt move cost him his balance and you elbowed him on the cheek with your other arm. Taking the opportunity, you pulled him into a clinch and slammed your fist into his face repeatedly. After the fourth punch connected, he managed to put his forearms up to try and guard his face, but you switched to kneeing him in the guts, twice. His knees buckled and you smashed a haymaker into the side of his head.

Thomas stumbled to the side, eventually dropping to his knees as you went after him dropping a kick right on his back. He grunted, scrambling to his feet and avoiding a kick to the side of the head by less than an inch. Gasping for air he ran up the stairs.

You didn't run, feeling no need to rush this when he was already feeling the strikes you landed. You made your way up the stairs when he threw a chair at you. You just caught it and dropped it on top of him when he tried to attack you, probably thinking you'd dodge and leave yourself more open for an attack that could send you down the stairs. The old chair shattered, and the splinters made tiny cuts on his head and shoulders.

When your eyes met his you could see fear within them. Good. You raised your knee up, connecting it with his jaw, he stumbled back, spitting a tooth out and running away once again. He reached some ladder and began climbing up. You followed him and realized he brought you to the roof. For a moment you took your surroundings in. The inside of the theatre wasn't in the greatest condition, but the roof was way worse. There were rusty rebars sticking all over the roof and there was no fence or anything that would keep someone from falling.

You tilted your head to the side when he pulled out the knife.

"Do you want to know why I'm doing this?" he asked as he tried to catch his breath.

"Don't care," you replied evenly, not showing any signs of emotion to him at the moment. You looked at ease as you walked up to him, only to abruptly close the distance between you and land two quick hits to his face. Thomas dropped down, trying to grab your leg and bring you down, but you jumped back, using the same tactic he used in the bodega to gain advantage. You sidestepped him and kicked him guts, even lifting him off the ground for a moment.

He coughed as he came back down and his eyes widened as you grabbed his collar and slammed him into the room, thus knocking the wind out of his lungs. He managed to bring his arms up, shielding his face as you kept punching his forearms to break his guard. Punch after punch landed and finally you made him drop his guard. He took a hit to the face, just barely staying conscious as the back of his head collided with the concrete under him. Desperately, he moved his head to the side, evading the second punch. And in that same desperation he tried to stab you in the throat, but you easily caught his wrist.

He kept pushing though, and while you had the upper hand you still chose to step back from him.

He stumbled to his feet, gasping for air and spitting out blood. Out of the blue, he smirked and rushed at you, you didn't have any time to react in any other way but to try and go for his neck, but the moment he lifted you off the ground and pushed you a couple of feet back you screamed. He let you go and took several steps back, breathing heavily as you gasped for air.

You looked down, seeing a rusty rebar dripping with blood coming out of you, just beneath your chest. It went right through you, and you were barely able to reach the ground with your feet to keep it from messing you up even more.

"You are about to die anyway, and you did give me quite a thrill of battle just now, so let me tell you a secret," Thomas approached and stabbed the knife into the right side of your chest. He left it there as you just stood there, unable to even muster the energy to move due to the rebar piercing through you. "You were supposed to die right after your fight with Anya, but Bailey offered me lots of money to help him, so you got to live for almost another year."

He pressed against the rebar, forcing a blood-curdling scream out of you as you choked on the blood filling your lung.

"I became a bit of a hitman about five years ago, you know. And someone hired me to kill you. Someone who knew all about you and Zack, as well as Susan. Trust me, the fact that you are his half-sister makes this even better, Y/N. You can die knowing you'll be my favorite kill for a long, long time, maybe even for as long as I live," he twisted the rebar and slowly began pulling. "I have to admit though, I've been hired to kill someone's parent before, but I've never been hired by parents to kill their only child. They couldn’t let their reputation be tarnished by their own daughter being caught up in barbaric conflicts," he yanked the broken rebar out of your body and you dropped down on your side, a pool of blood already forming beneath you.

You were on the verge of losing consciousness as you stared at the rebar that was tossed to the side. He knelt down next to you and pulled the knife out of your chest. "Sorry, I have to make this look as Ghostface-like as possible," you weren't even sure where he was stabbing you, but you felt the cold steel entering your body several times before your fingers clenched around the blood-soaked rebar and you stabbed Thomas through the neck. He stumbled back, but he was still holding onto you, so he somehow pulled you to your feet and the two of you stumbled to the right, plummeting from the roof to the pavement below.

With what little consciousness you had left you saw the knife Thomas dropped next to you two. You fell on top of him, just barely cushioning your fall and letting you stay conscious. You grabbed the knife by the blade and just dropped your arm, hoping it would pierce his throat. You were vaguely aware of some resistance, so you pushed your left palm against the butt of the knife and felt a couple of drops of warm liquid hit your face. You dropped to the side, still holding the knife, and thus twisting it in his throat. If he somehow survived rebar to the neck and the fall you were sure this killed him.

You tried to get up, but your body wouldn't move, and the darkness consumed your consciousness.

~X~

Tara sat with Sam on the stairs in front of the mannequins. She killed Ethan, though he managed to stab her in the stomach. And she got shot in the left arm. Sam killed Bailey and was actually pretty much unharmed. Tara was so relieved Sam was okay, even if her own wound was hurting her like hell, but more importantly, something didn't feel right.

"Y/N is taking too long," she stood up, unable to shake off a bad feeling she had. She should have ignored you; she should have gone after you the moment she knew Sam was fine. You'd be fine though. You were much stronger than her or Sam. You'd come back through that door, and you'd be fine and you'd pick her up and hold her because you'd all make it out of this against all odds.

She and Sam raised their heads when Danny ran in with half a dozen police officers and paramedics.

"Tara! Get outside right now, it's Y/N!" her heart nearly stopped when she realized he had blood on his shirt and hands.

Tara ran past him, not caring if her wounds would start bleeding again, she rushed outside and saw an ambulance surrounded by pure chaos. Between all the paramedics she saw blood dripping to the floor of the van.

"The bleeding won't stop! We're losing her!" she had no idea how she didn't collapse right then and there as she stumbled forward and reached the van.

"Stay back, miss!" one of the paramedics warned her.

Tara didn't understand what they were telling her. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening in front of her eyes. This wasn’t true, this was… She watched you, your clothes soaked with blood, she watched the blood dripping down. "Y/N? Baby?" this couldn't be happening. This was a nightmare. She must have fallen asleep and was having the worst nightmare of her life. "Baby, please," she cried out, reaching in to grab your hand.

You were cold and still. You didn't react to her touch.

"Her pulse is getting weaker!" someone yelled and all of a sudden all Tara could hear was intense buzzing, all she could feel was the blood, your blood, sticking to her hands, all she could see was dark red liquid and your unmoving body.

“Y/N!” she cried out, gasping for air, but not caring for a moment as her lungs struggled for oxygen. “Y/N!” you had to wake up, you had to open your eyes, to move, to give her any sign that you were going to be fine. “Don’t! Please wake up!” she began coughing, her body convulsing as she went into shock, just barely clutching onto the ambulance doors, the closest she could get to you. “Please don’t leave me, please, Y/N, please don’t,” she cried and screamed, and tried to shake off whoever was pulling her away from the ambulance, away from you. "Let go of me!" she screamed, breaking free just as the ambulance closed and drove off and Tara just dropped to her knees as some paramedic began checking on her.

It didn’t matter what was happening to her. It didn't matter how she was. They were taking you away from her! She looked to her side when Sam dropped to her knees next to her, Sam was crying. "They found a rusty rebar near her, it went through her."

Too much. It was too much.

Tara just lost consciousness.

~X~

When Tara woke up she was in the hospital, surrounded by Sam, Chad, Mindy, and Danny. She immediately sat up and tried to get up, but Sam stopped her. "Y/N?" she needed to know, her eyes frantically searching their faces for any sign or reaction to your name.

"She's alive!" Sam quickly reassured her, and Tara felt like she could breathe again, even if she began crying from relief.

"I need to go and see her," she tried to get up, but Sam was still holding her down.

"She's in a coma, Tara, she lost too much blood and they don't know if she'll wake up," Sam's voice shook as she said that.

Tara just felt like her whole world fell apart.

Later that day she found out that you were stabbed five times, one of which pierced your right lung, but luckily it didn’t collapse. Worse than that was the rusty rebar going through you, it went in through the small of your back and came out just below your chest. Then the fall from almost thirty feet caused internal bleeding and while you survived the surgery and they didn't find any brain damage, you were in a coma.

~X~

Two days later you were still in a coma, with no signs of waking up any time soon. Tara didn't even have any energy left to cry, she just sat by your side, afraid to leave you even for a second. What if you woke up and she wasn't there? What if something went wrong and she wasn't there.

"Please, wake up," she whispered, she needed you to wake up, to say anything, or even to just look at her. Anything would be fine. She felt cold and alone, and she did the only thing she was used to doing when she felt like that. She reached out for you, she lay down on the bed, curling into your side while taking extra care not to touch any of the wounds you had. She was barely touching you, but just for a moment she felt warm and safe again. It was a fleeting moment of happiness, though.

You didn't touch her. You didn't hold her. You didn't move. You couldn't do any of that and Tara began shaking, the cold seeping into her bones as tears she didn't even know she had left soaked the sleeve of your gown.

Sobs and loud cries wrecked her throat and her whole body, and even when Sam came in to comfort her, frantically trying to make up for the lack of your warmth, Tara still kept crying. Yet, even with her screams you didn't react.

~X~

On the sixth day, only Sam came by, since Chad and Mindy could no longer delay going back home and had to get ready to leave. Tara was still at the hospital 24/7. She would read to you, talk to you, tell you repeatedly how much she missed and how much she loved you, she would just as often apologize to you, for plenty of things. You still didn't wake up.

On the tenth day, not even Sam could come, she had to cover two shifts at work. Tara stayed, she stayed, this time telling you about the future she imagined, the future in which you were awake. She imagined a different life, one without Ghostface in it, a life she was spending with you and Sam and all the people she loved without trauma and fear of letting someone new in. She cried that day, overwhelmed by what could have been and what could be. Overwhelmed because you couldn’t respond, you couldn’t tell her if you wanted that exact future as well, or if you’d rather create that future somewhere else. Even with someone else, as long as you woke up that would be enough for Tara. You still didn’t wake up.

On the twelfth day, Sam tried to get her to leave your side. At least for a little bit. To take a walk, get some fresh air. Tara did walk, she walked around your room. She'd open the windows to keep the air fresh for you when you woke up. Tara knew what Sam wanted to tell her; Tara knew Sam was losing hope that you'd wake up. But Tara wasn’t losing hope. You’d wake up. You’d come back to her, like you always did, and you’d recover and stay by her side for the rest of Tara’s life. You didn't wake up that day either.

On the sixteenth day, Tara once again crawled into the bed next to you. For the first time since the second day. Once again, she felt the same freezing cold, she could barely breathe, she was wheezing and coughing next to you, crying her heart out after holding back the tears for the past six days. She needed her inhaler, but she didn't want to move from you, she needed to feel you next to her more than she needed air. And then her eyes widened, her breathing stopped, and her body stilled completely as the tears fell down her face freely. She felt it. The softest touch on her back. She looked at your face and saw you blinking slowly.

Tara just watched you, going as far as to forget how to breathe. You smiled softly, taking what little oxygen she had left away. You raised your hand, gently tapping her back. She realized you were telling her to breathe. So, she took a breath and continued breathing as she began crying once again, this time too happy to stop her tears.

"I love you, Y/N," she said as softly as she possibly could and pressed a kiss on your cheek.

She felt safe and warm once again, and you, as difficult as it must have been, wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

A/N: One chapter to go! Big thanks to Anon who indirectly gave me a bit of an epiphany for my nickname problem. Thanks to everyone reading and I'll see you next time! Updated: 30.03.2024.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x female reader #tara carpenter #scream #jenna ortega x reader

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wannaeatramyeon · 11 months

Note

Hi, I would like to ask for a story / script about kabe-dong with the guys from Lookism (Seo is desirable, but you can make it to your taste)

God I love your work so much 😗❤️‍🔥

(Sorry for my English, I don't really speak it and I do everything through a translator)

Anon! Please don't apologise for your English, and through a translator?? Dedicated! Thank you for teaching me something new! I had to google this, and I didn't realise there's a name for this move. It might just be my greatest weakness ughhhhh.

Lookism x Reader: Kabedon with Samuel, Gun, Johan, Goo, Jake

+ HTF: Taehoon, Seongjun

Very different scenarios for each one. Daniel and Zack giving you a taster of what kabedon is 👇

You feel a tug on your wrist, whirling you around until your back slams against the wall, all air knocked out of your lungs.

"Oof!"

A hand lands onto the wall next to your head, and a solid body stands in front of you. Trapped.

Samuel Seo

Your eyes widen in surprise at his forwardness. This had been strictly off-limits according to him. Absolutely no funny business at work Samuel had warned.

"Samuel?"

You can see your own look of surprise reflected in his glasses as he smirks.

His free hand lands on your waist, caressing down to your hips before winding its way around to grope at your ass.

A very undignified squeak slips out.

"I couldn't resist," Samuel chuckles against your neck, leaving feathery kisses.

"Samuel... we... shouldn't!" You force out between gasps, though you make no move to stop him.

"I know," he says, pressing the full length of his body to yours. "Tell me to stop."

You blush furiously when you meet his eyes.

"Tell me to stop," he repeats again.

"...N-no." You stammer, and that's all the invitation he needs.

Gun Park

"Do I scare you?" Gun taunts, face inches from yours, smirk on his lips and victory within reach. He has you cornered and he knows it.

You give him a toothy grin, teeth stained with blood and tell him no. And that's the truth. This game of cat and mouse makes you feel alive.

He arches a brow, "Only an idiot would have no fear in their final moments."

You notice his hand against the wall trembling almost imperceptibly, the pose half for show, half needing the support to hold himself upright. His other arm hangs limp by his side, having lost use of it after your first strike. His left eye already beginning to swell and bruise. The crimson pouring from the slash on his stomach, your scratches on his chest, his split lip.

You want to see him drown in his own blood.

"Gun Park," your fingers walk their way up his ripped shirt until you reach his neck. "You can kill me but you would miss me."

Gun's curiousity is piqued, not being able to figure out your next move.

With a vicious yank of his collar, you smash his lips to yours.

Johan Seong

"Johan?! What are you doing here?"

At your words, all energy seems to leave Johan. He removes his hand and looks at you as if he doesn't know why he's here neither.

"Johan?" You ask, brows knitted in concern why your boyfriend would turn up at your school.

"I... " he starts, but can't bring himself to say the next words. He turns his head, averting your gaze.

"Is everything ok?"

Johan murmurs something under his breath that you can't catch.

"What?"

"Imissedyou" rushes out in a jumble. And then you notice the flush, from his hairline all the way down to his collar.

"Oh." This boy. Seriously. Can he get any cuter.

You tell him so and that's what causes his prickliness to return.

"I'm not cute," he scowls.

"Sure you're not," your words are insincere but Johan is placated, defences crumbling, when you reach up on your toes and kiss him.

Goo Kim

Goo blinks owlishly at you as you just continue to stare.

You expect him to do something, but he just stands stock still, not having planned this far ahead.

"Ok... Now what?" you ask.

"I dunno," A shrug. "Just thought it looked hot in animes. That was hot, right?"

You nod. Although you find almost everything Goo does pretty hot, which you would never tell him because his ego does not need any more inflating.

"Hmm," he taps his chin with his other hand for a moment as he thinks.

A devious glint in his eyes and smarmy grin appears.

"Wanna kiss?"

And unfortunately, you find that pretty hot too.

Goo knows he has you wrapped around his finger. You give another nod.

Jake Kim

"Fancy meeting you here," he purrs and the urge to roll your eyes doesn't come because with Jake, the line works.

Your thoughts fizzle and on auto-pilot, you move your lips to his. Just wanting a quick taste. Just for a moment... Before you snap to your sense.

"Jake!" you scold, face pinched, "You're interrupting!"

"Hmm? I thought someone was bothering you."

You glare at him, unswayed by his handsome grin.

"Sorry, sorry, where are my manners..." Smoothing his hair back, Jake turns and directs his charm to your classmate.

A rather cute and popular boy. Apparently. You didn't see it though. But everytime you mentioned him in front of your boyfriend, talking about your time spent together, him helping you out after school, Jake's jealousy would flare up. There's been a few times you haven't been able to walk properly for days after.

(So what if you occasionally use this to your advantage.)

Reaching out for a handshake, "Jake Kim. Y/N's boyfriend."

Jake at full force really is something to behold. He smiles and even throws a wink at your friend.

You see his magnetism take hold in real time.

Like something out of a k-drama, time slows down and a luminance radiates from Jake. The other boy gasps, taking in his tall stature, eyes running down his body hungrily and cheeks flushing.

His hand inches slowly towards Jake's. When they finally meet, an unexpected gust of wind literally sweeps your friend off his feet and straight into Jake's arms.

"N-nice to meet you," he stammers, now beet red, staring at Jake with stars in his eyes and making no effort to move. Who knew such solid and muscular arms could be so comfortable?

Third wheeling in the background, you loudly scoff at the scene unfolding.

Seong Taehoon

"Get your stinkin' feet away from me!"

Your efforts to free yourself and push his leg away from the wall is futile. Taehoon unruffled and unmoving, watches with his hand in his pockets.

"Those are Korea's legs you're manhandling,"

"Hmph."

"You still mad?"

Evidently.

Taehoon clicks in tongue in exasperation, "Cmon, stop being an idiot."

"..."

"How is it my fault that I'm this hot."

"..."

"Why am I being blamed for those girls flirting with me?"

"..."

"I didn't do anything!"

"..."

"You should be happy you're with someone so handsome-"

You hand shoots out, having heard enough and wanting to clamp his stupid mouth shut.

Taehoon easily intercepts and holds it steady in his. Damn this guy and his lightning reflexes.

"Don't be like that," he brings your hand up to his lips and kisses your knuckles. "I'm yours, you dumbass."

Baek Seongjun

"You're here." Seongjun holds your chin with his other hand, thumb gliding along your lower lip.

"What can I say, I'm a big fan."

A very sticky situation for you if this got out: the producer should never mess around with the talent.

But what can you say, Seongjoon's appearance on your show led to the ratings hitting an all time-high. After one too many celebratory drinks with him and your team, lines quickly becoming blurred, you both discreetly bid everyone goodbye and ended up at his home.

"You're going to regret this." Seongjoon murmurs in your ears, shifting his weight, hands now working quickly to unbutton your pants.

The speed of your movement matches his as you almost tear his shirt open. "I already do."

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laenordeservedbetter · 1 year

Note

For Samantha Carpenter x fem reader. (If you're doing requests, I'm not 100% sure if you are or not,please.)

Reader is Amber Freeman's half older sister (Sam Carpenter's age). Amber knows that Stu Macher is her sister's father, which she is jealous of. So after attacking Tara and luring Sam back to Woodsboro, Amber attacks Reader at Ambers and rs house. (Sam and Reader dated before Sam left, and once they've all moved to NYC, they get back together. R is also a little reliant on alcohol and weed after everything that happened.)

Holding On To You

Words: 3.3k (I think)

Relationships: Samantha Carpenter x Fem!Reader, Sibling!Amber Freeman x Fem!Reader, Implied/Referenced Tara Carpenter x Amber Freeman, Chad Meeks-Martin x Tara Carpenter, Mindy Meeks-Martin x Anika Kayoko

I wrote this this fic in bits, so the timeline is kinda jumbled. I only arranged which part should go where when I finished writing and decided to imply Tamber last minute because why not? Also, Amber's dad raised r as his own, which is why r refers to them as her parents.

The ' * * *' means a long period of time has passed.

Warnings: (18+) this is definitely not my best work, poorly written fight scene, angst, violence, cussing, grief, suggestive themes, reader has problems with alcohol. lmk if I missed any! (I don't remember if the core four were drinking alcohol in Sam and Tara's apartment, so I put something else here)

A/N: I didn't intend for half the fic to focus on reader's dynamic with Amber, but I felt like it's important to show how torn she is by how she feels with what happened. Sorry if I made it too angsty and not what you (anon) asked for 😭

not my gif. || masterlist || previous work

Your phone buzzed at the same time you were about to go up the stairway leading to your room. Determining that whoever is texting you is more important than sleep, you unlock the cellular device to read the message.

(1:49 a.m.)

Amber: Tara was attacked.

Three words. Fifteen letters.

Your body turns stiff as if there was a supernatural force compelling you to stay still. Tara was attacked. The first thought that went to your mind was ‘is she okay?’ but for some reason you can’t explain, your fingers typed in different words.

(1:50 a.m.)

You: Does Sam know?

Is Tara in the hospital?

How is she?

(1:51 a.m.)

Amber: Such dumb questions. What you should be asking yourself is ‘who’s next?’

Your brows furrow and you frown. She shouldn’t be saying that, you thought. Amber was peculiar but if there was one thing you were sure she’s best at, it was being there for Tara - protecting her. The person on the other side of the screen that you’re talking to feels different from the Amber you know. Something is off.

(1:55 a.m.)

You: Don’t say shit like that, Amber. Tara got hurt. This is serious.

(1:55 a.m.)

Amber: Oh, this isn’t Amber.

(1:56 a.m.)

You: Then who are you?

(1:56 a.m.)

Amber: You’ll find out soon enough.

The chances of being given ample interval to question the sender of the text who is definitely not Amber reduces to zero the second a masked figure creeps behind you and slashes your arm. “What the fuck?!” Blood trickles down your skin, the wound deep enough to nearly make you see your bones. You have to look away from your own body or else you might collapse from the mere sight of it.

You’re panting, looking into the mask of your attacker. He tilts his head at you tauntingly. “And here I thought that the daughter of Stu Macher would put up more of a fight.”

You don’t react, but you run for the kitchen, grabbing the first breakable object you can find: the floral vase.

When Ghostface attempts to lunge forward, you aim the vase at his head, but he dodges swiftly, leaving the vase to smash against the newly-painted wall. You grimace. Your parents were gonna kill you the moment they decide to hop on their plane and get home. “They’re going to be so mad at me.” You complain while grabbing a kitchen knife.

This will do.

“What are you planning to do with that knife?” Ghostface wonders mockingly.

You make a face at him, “No more talking.”

And just like that, you got into a knife fight. You manage to stab Ghostface in the abdomen. He rolls over, his hand going over his stomach to assess the damage. Smiling triumphantly, you let your guard down, which proved to be an error of yours as Ghostface recovers enough to dig his knife near your chest. You drop your weapon, feeling your eyes flutter shut. Your attacker slowly removes his mask, shocking you, yet it was like the time you fade out of consciousness was also planned since you pass out way before you can see what he looks like.

* * *

“We’re waiting for you downstairs.”

You stop what you were doing to look up at Tara. She sends you a sympathetic look and you shoot her one back. “I’ll finish up in 5 minutes.” You say, motioning to the clothes that are yet to be packed into your suitcase.

“Okay.” Tara’s attention is drawn to the picture frame on the nightstand. It was of you and Amber when you were children. She was wearing a pirate costume while you wore a witch’s. “Are you bringing that with you?”

“Yes.” You reply, taking the frame in your hands, fingers ghosting over the photograph. “It was one of our happiest memories together. She was such a sweet kid. I’d like to remember her that way instead of…” You trail off, taking a sharp intake of breath. A month has passed since your sister attacked you and murdered people. You’d never know why she did it nor do you want to. Some things are better left unsaid. Tara, however, felt the opposite. She knew Amber differently and you can understand how she feels, to an extent. “You can keep it if you want. I have other photos in this room stored somewhere.”

Even though Tara shakes her head ‘no’, she is appreciative. “No, it’s fine. I have pictures of my own too.”

The two of you bask in the silence. No other words needed to be shared. Tara leaves you alone after that, but the space she formerly occupied isn’t left empty for long when Sam appears by the doorway.

You grin when you see her, “Hi.” It’s the first time in days that you managed to smile authentically. Going through the worst thing imaginable can dim someone’s light and you were in no position to pretend that everything was okay when circumstances proved the opposite. Although it pained you to think about that night, seeing Sam made you feel that you weren’t alone.

“Hey.” She replies. “Ready to go?”

“Most definitely.” You answer with the truth as you zip up your last bag, ready to leave this place behind and start anew.

Sam holds out her hand, “Come on.”

You don’t take one last look back. You’d be lying if you said you would miss this house. Everything direful that happened in Woodsboro began here, so it is fitting that this is also where it should end.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

* * *

The bottle in your hand weighs lighter than your grief. That’s what you keep telling yourself during these types of moments. It’s a remedy. Ephemeral, maybe, but it helps you forget. That’s the one thing you could ask for.

You nurse your wounds at a bar stool. The time is a bit early for a Saturday for you to be drinking, just how you like it. You take a sip, then another, and another, making you finish your drink earlier than you’d like. “Fucking hell.” A new bottle slides over in front of you before you can ask the bartender for one more drink. Turning your attention to your side, you note a woman staring right at you, a sly smirk on her lips.

Once you give her a nod as a ‘thank you’ for the booze, you go back to the bottle, indicating you want to be left alone. Unfortunately for you, the woman does not take the hint. She moves to the stool next to yours, hoping to shoot her shot.

“Hey.” She says, her bright blue eyes shining in the dim light of the bar. Although you cannot deny that she’s attractive, you’d rather be gazing into a different pair of eyes, preferably brown ones on the face of the only girl you’ve ever loved. “I’m Jolene.”

“Hi, Jolene.” Putting down the bottle, you purse your lips, hoping that this exchange would end soon. You tense when Jolene places a hand on your right shoulder.

Jolene chuckles, unbothered by the signs that you were uneasy, “You’re a little tense.” She pauses, gauging your reaction, “I can help you relax.”

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but, uh. . . I’m kind of waiting for someone, so if you don’t mind. . .” You pull your arm away, pretending to look at the entrance to the bar as if you were meeting one of your friends. Truthfully, it should be a lost cause since you haven’t told anybody that you would be here, including Sam.

“Well, let me keep you company while they arrive.”

You internally groan. “Respectfully, Jolene, and I mean this in the nicest way possible since you seem like a good person, leave me alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

Jolene smiles understandingly, about to get up and turn away, but then her mouth drops open as if she’s seen a movie star, “Wait, you’re one of the survivors of the murders at that one house in Woodsboro! Your sister tried to kill you and your biological father was a killer too, right?! Stu Macher, that’s what his name was.”

Of course. That’s why she approached you. She only pretended not to know who you were until you tried to convince her to piss off. Great. “Bye now.” You throw a fifty dollar bill on the counter, hastily running out of the place as if you were brought back to those nights spent in that house trying so desperately to get away. The feeling of tightness takes place in your chest. You see a stranger pass by with hair that looks exactly like Amber’s and you turn lugubrious. No matter what she did, she was still your sister. You want to hate her for everything she did to you, to Tara, to everyone you thought she cared for. However, missing her triumphs all the other emotions you have. Though that may not be an excuse for her wrongdoings, it makes you mourn what has and what would have been.

You wanted her to go to college. You wanted to be the one on the front row cheering her on as she accepts her diploma. You wanted to be the person she turns to for relationship advice. You would have wanted her there when both you and Sam began getting harassed online just because your fathers were serial killers. Amber would have fought anyone who attempted to cross a line. Sometimes it felt like she was your big sister even though you are technically older.

And then it hits you.

You’d always be stuck in that goddamn stupid, cursed house, persistently wishing that things had been different. That you hadn’t moved there, that your sister never met Richie, that you have the same biological father as Amber. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, you realized that maybe you never left the place at all. You are in New York (You’re not deluded. You know that much.), but a piece of your heart would eternally be in Stu Macher’s house with Amber at the doorway while the other half is chasing after a love that might never be.

* * *

Sam drops by in your shared room to ask what you want for dinner. On Saturdays when neither of you are working, you and Sam order food and watch a movie that is preferably a romcom or fantasy. The unspoken rule being: watching horror is out of the equation.

She notices your swollen eyes and discards her phone on the table to comfort you. Sam climbs into your bed, arms circling around your waist in order to ground you. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

You don’t speak, fearing that your voice might crack and that it might show that you are as weak as you think you are.

But of course, Sam notices. “I know you don’t want to talk right now, so I’ll just hold onto you. If or when you want to talk, you can squeeze my hand. Is that okay?”

You shake your head in affirmation, locking your fingers with Sam’s, granting yourself the permission to crumble in her arms.

Once your heartbeat slows to a calm rhythm and the heartache subsides to a low wave that stays at your feet, you squeeze her hand three times.

“I’m listening.” Sam says, sensing your hesitance. Understanding where your diffidence comes from (she sees it in herself too), she adds, “I won’t judge you. I’m here to listen and if you want advice, I’ll try to give one. If you don’t want me to say anything, that’s fine too. Whatever works best for you.”

She is giving you the space to feel. Not a lot of people can say that and still stay after you’ve poured your heart out. Sam is different from most people because she cares. You are each other’s anchor. That’s why it doesn't take much convincing for you speak of your feelings bit by bit without worrying about falling into a rabbit hole. Knowing that Sam is there with you, listening, holding your hand, is more than enough motivation to keep going.

“. . . Sam, is it wrong? To miss Amber? The whole world tells me what she is. A murderer. But I- I saw it in her eyes that night at the party. Hesitation. Remorse. She told me that she was jealous that I got to be the one whose father was a serial killer but when she pointed the gun at my head, I saw something else flicker in her eyes. I don’t know. It’s probably just my brain making things up to make me feel better. Maybe I should just accept that my sister was a killer and move on. I shouldn’t even be feeling like this when I know she murdered people in cold blood — people I used to know. Am I crazy?” Once you started talking, you couldn’t stop. It was like you’ve been bottling this up to release it at the right moment. The memories of that night resurfaced in the forefront of your mind, acknowledging them for the first time. By now, you were laying on your back while Sam had an arm wrapped around your shoulder and the other still on your waist. For less than a minute, you were scared that she would push you away in a literal sense.

She didn’t.

“It’s not wrong, Y/n. She was your sister, of course you have the right to miss her. Now, I still don’t understand her motive and I won’t try to because she hurt Tara and you. But you knew her better than me or the people calling her names. You knew the kid that she was. You know what’s real. You are allowed to have your own opinion of Amber even if it isn’t what others want you to think. You’re not crazy for feeling these things. I’d be scared if you didn’t feel anything at all. It’s normal. You’re human. Don’t be too hard on yourself because of something you can’t control.” Sam says, soft but stern.

You take this opportunity to gaze into her eyes, seeing reverence, sympathy, and devotion all in one. She took the parts of yourself that you hated and treated them as if they were something sacred. When you have a person like that in your life - one who helps you accept your flaws instead of turning them away -, you start to see flowers bloom in the pieces you considered damaged. She loved the things about you that you execrated.

Before Sam, you gave love a definition: it is a thing that enfeebles you - yet that’s not all that there is to it. Love can be a chain, it can be suffocating, and there is no doubt that it can shatter you until the only thing you have left is a piece of a broken mirror to prove that it existed; but it can also be a tune (like the song you sung as a kid that you never paid much thought to), a soft bed, a dance, or a simple look a person gives that sends your heart fluttering no matter how many times you have been on the receiving end of it.

“Sam?” You call out, realizing that you’ve spent a while not responding.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for listening,” You say quietly. “and for not becoming a stranger.”

She smiles gently.

Your heart flutters.

* * *

Tara lets out a deep breath. She’s laying down with a novel in her hand that became abandoned three minutes ago, her attention now focused on glaring at you and Sam from her position on the couch. “Just get back together already. I’m so tired of watching you two tiptoe around each other with your unresolved feelings!” She yells, roughly flipping a page of the book in order to prove her annoyance. Sam, who was currently on dish duty, dropped a plate upon hearing Tara’s comment. (It didn’t break, fortunately.)

“Are you talking about the book or…?” Of course, Chad would be the one to make the situation far more awkward than it needs to be. You don’t hate the kid, but he does get oblivious at times, which you normally wouldn’t mind if it doesn’t affect you. Mindy punches him in the shoulder. His mouth gapes. He looks at you, then at Sam. “Ohhhh.”

“Idiot.” Mindy mumbles.

“I agree with Tara though.” Anika comments, pointing her apple drink at Tara. (You and Sam don’t allow the kids to drink at the apartment, so the only beverages available are apple and orange juice boxes.)

“Me too, babe.” Mindy beams proudly as if Anika gave the answer to an unsolvable mathematical equation and gives her girlfriend a peck on the lips.

Chad makes gagging noises, averting his eyes away from the couple.

You see the scene unfold in front of you with a smile before you turn away to take the popcorn out of the microwave. “I think we’re driving Tara crazy with the suspense.” You joke, transferring the popcorn to a bowl and placing another bag inside the microwave. Sam shoots you a questioning glance, referring to the amount of popcorn bags that were already cooked. “I was thinking that each couple would have a bag or bowl each. Mindy and Anika, Chad and Tara. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to share with me, which is why I put another-”

Sam takes out the uncooked popcorn from the microwave, interrupting what would have been your rambling, “Of course I’d share with you. You’re my girlfriend.”

You look away, unable to keep a smile off your face. “I will never get tired of hearing that.” As you busy yourself with placing the popcorn on three separate bowls, Sam observes the group on the living room.

“I think we should tell them.”

“Huh?”

“About us. It’s time, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” You take Sam’s hands in your own, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’m ready.” You look at her lovingly. “How should we do it?”

Sam sports a mischievous smirk, “I know just the right way.” She ‘accidentally’ drops another plate (which, amazingly, didn’t break as well), drawing the attention of Tara, Chad, Mindy, and Anika. She gives you the go signal and you kiss her, bringing your bodies closer.

“TARA, SOMETHING’S HAPPENING IN THE KITCHEN!”

“WHAT ARE YOU- OH MY GOD!” Tara exclaims.

“CHAD, GIVE ME THE CAMERA!” Anika flails her arms chaotically for Chad’s phone, instantly snapping pictures of you and Sam the moment the device is handed to her.

Chad grins, giving you a thumbs up.

When you pull away from Sam for air, Tara runs up to you with questions at the ready. Sam did most of the talking. You added a few things here and there, looking back at how far you’ve come. The grief never went away. It’s still lingering. Except this time, you don’t feel the panic. You focus on the memories - the good and the bad. Those things are the reason why you’re where you're at right now. Although you’d have liked some of it to turn out differently, you can’t change the past, hence why you don’t shy away from what happened as much as you used to. You hold on to the memories the way you’d want to hold on to the love of your life.

“You okay?” Sam asks, rubbing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You realize that you’ve been crying. “Yeah, they’re happy tears. It’s just. . .” You breathe out, feeling the weight of hopelessness on your shoulders disappear.

It felt like finally coming home after a long journey.

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter #scream 6 #scream vi #scream #tamber #tara carpenter #amber freeman #anika kayoko #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #stu macher

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reddeaddamnation · 5 months

Text

"Possession vs Obsession" - Sub-Zero x reader x Scorpion- Chapter III

Summary: An arranged marriage between clans in the name of peace ironically disturbs the peace of the two brothers who find themselves in a new feud. This time between themselves. Betrayal and heartache had been destined for them since she entered their lives. Y/N of the Shadow-weaver clan, promised to Bi Han, future Grand Master of the Lin Kuei, stands in front of the difficult decision- to end the war between their clans or end the war within the Lin Kuei temple.

"Outworld scum." Bi Han growled quietly watching the four armed creatures settle around a campfire, where some kind of meat was roasting. They sounded animalistic, talking in sounds only a beast would make. They didn't suffer from Tarkat. No, these beings didn't look like Tarkatans either. They had human like arms, long legs with backwards facing joints and elongated faces with jaws of a wasp or beetle. They had small, atrophied bat wings, which seemed to be useless, as they only walked. "We have to destroy their camp and kill them."

Bi Han briefly explained that they posed a threat to Earthrealm, as they poured in bunches out of some kind of portals and kidnapped lonely travelers and helpless people from their homes in villages. In front of the ninjas at the moment were only a dozen. Thankfully, from their position up on a cliff, they remained unseen, so they could create a plan. At least that was what Y/N was hoping.

"I will not be standing around you at all times like over a child." He glared at her briefly "So I hope you can fight and not hold me back." During their day of travel to this location, he had not uttered a single word to her if she had not started a conversation. And even then, he still replied with as less words as possible. It was getting on Y/N's nerves at this point. "You won't even hear a yelp from me." She glared back at him. "Come on then. Let's see if you're worthy."

The man jumped down, followed closely by Y/N, who took the form of a mist of shadow to safely land behind one of the beasts and slash it's throat. Black blood oozed out of it and the guttural noise it made startled the rest who immediately jumped from their places to attack. Conjuring spears from shadows, two were impaled straight to the ground. Sub Zero punched his way through several and smashed one's head with an ice hammer.

Y/N disappeared again, evading swords slashing at her and passed through the small croud, confusing them. Again, appearing from behind, she impaled two more on her shadowy blades and threw them to the ground. She turned around to see one of the monsters raising its sword to strike at Bi Han and with lightning reflexes, she threw a shuriken at it, making it stumble just in time for her companion to notice. He briefly looked at her with an expression she couldn't quite make out before finishing the job.

A scream gave out the position from where the next attack would come from and she managed to grip the armed hand that was swinging at her by the wrist. She could not protect herself from the punch that followed tho, making her let go and stumble backwards, allowing the sword to slash her arm. A kick to the stomach sent her flying back.

Y/N raised a figure of a robed shade skeleton, which flew right into the mouth of one of her own attackers. Moments later, he exploded in a heap of black blood. She could not escape, however, from the surprise attack from behind her back. An arm wrapped around her throat and another held onto her arms. Her attempted kicking was futile. A blade flashed in the side of her eye, pressing into her throat and drawing blood.

A chill ran down her spine then. The creature froze in place, quite literally at that. Its head was frozen and crushed, making both of them drop to the ground. When she regained her breath, she looked up at Bi Han, ready for a mouthful about how he wasn't going to save her and whatnot. That did not happen. He hesitantly extended his hand for her to take and pulled her up from the ground. The unexpected behavior caught her off guard.

"Are you hurt?" He asked quietly, looking at her face... anywhere but her eyes... meek like a kitten. She shook her head no. "Just some cuts and bruises. Nothing serious." Bi Han's eyes lingered on the deep cut on her arm which was bleeding quite a bit. "You're bleeding!" He stated, raising his voice, just barely. "I said I can handle it!" Y/N insisted.

Attempting to step away, she felt light headed all of a sudden. Bi Han noticed her stumble and quickly closed the gap between them to catch her before she fell. Her wound was deep...deep into the muscle and close to the bone... and bleeding. Fast. There was no way they would make it to the temple in time. He needed to stop the bleeding. Or he would never hear the end of it from his father and brothers...

"Bi Han..." the girl looked into his eyes with her own, half lidded, weak... He laid her down next to the fire to keep her warm. Gripping one of the metal rods from inside it, he pressed it to the wound to cartherize it. The smell of burning flesh and blood filled his nostrils. Y/N shrieked in pain, digging her nails into his bicep. "Listen to me, assassin." He commanded through gritted teeth, wincing from the pain "Stay with me. Don't give up."

Sub Zero threw the rod aside and ripped a piece of his cloth to wrap it around the wound. Thankfully, the bleeding had stopped for now. He held her close to his chest, allowing her to rest as much as needed before they depart. "You are a good fighter." He spoke "I underestimated you." Just to keep her listening to his voice so she stays conscious "And I thank you for saving my life. I return the favor to you." Just to stay conscious...that's what he thought... "You risked your own for mine..."

#mortal kombat #mk1 2023 #sub zero x reader #sub zero #mortal kombat sub zero #scorpion x reader #scorpion #mortal kombat scorpion #kuai liang x reader #bi han #bi han x reader #kuai liang

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