Samantha Carpenter Imagine - Tumblr Posts

a novel life pt.2

Summary: You're trying to make nice with Sam's little sister, for everyone's sake. Maybe it leads to an interrogation. Maybe it leads to more. And maybe you end up sucked into the unusual events that follow Legacies

Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: swearing, distrust, mentions of past trauma, mentions of blood, mentions of Scream typical violence Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x GN!Reader A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Happy Yule, and whatever holidays y'all all celebrate 🫶 (pt.1)

“Are you sure this is okay?” You asked as you nearly tripped over your feet.

Sam gave you a look that was both sweet and condescending. “Yes, because I said so.”

“That doesn’t seem like solid reasoning,” you mumbled, but nonetheless continued following her up the steps to her apartment.

It was nearing Halloween, with the cooling air finally allowing for the use of jackets. Which you had few of, since Sam had decided to keep them for herself. Not that there was anyone to blame but yourself; it was what you deserved for offering her jackets every time she forgot one. She had simply decided it was rather nice to have an unlimited selection of jackets, both too-large and just right.

In all her wisdom, Sam had suggested the two of you, and Tara and her partner have a movie night. Tara got to choose the movie, and no one could object. All in all it should have been a win for the younger Carpenter; she could make you suffer if she truly wanted, and you couldn’t say a word about it. Which was going to cause the night to be very, very long.

Oh, the things you would do for her.

“Is she going to pick something scary?” You asked before you both approached the door. “Because I don’t like scary.”

“I have no doubt it will be scary,” Sam said with a barely-concealed smile. “I’ll hold your hand to keep you safe.”

“You’re my hero,” you said as you leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to her lips. She tasted strongly of the cigarette she had smoked on the way from your apartment to hers.

You tried to pull away, but she quickly followed, keeping her lips pressed against yours. Every sense was enveloped by her. Her smell, her taste, the feel of her body pressed against yours so tightly it was as if you would float away without her. There was nothing you could have ever wanted more than your Sam.

“We shouldn’t give Tara something to be upset about,” you mumbled against Sam’s lips when she finally pulled back just the slightest distance.

“Tara’s always upset,” she answered before sighing, “but you’re right.”

“Baby steps,” you said with a smile.

“For the big baby.”

“Samantha.”

“I’m kidding,” she tried to argue as she grabbed your hand and started finally moving into the apartment.

You both knew she wasn’t kidding.

“My dude!”

You had barely walked through the door when Tara’s partner called out to you, a genuine, toothy grin visible on their face. They had asked you to call them J, which you had happily agreed to. Sam teased that it was short for Joker - you assumed because of the scars - but the look on Tara’s face told you not to ever bring it up. Ever.

It was a rule you could oblige by.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” you said as you hung your coat on the back of one of the chairs at the dining table. It had only taken you dropping your coat once before you realised the Carpenters saw no need for a coat rack.

How utterly uncivilised.

“They think it’s a pleasure to see me,” J said to Tara, who rolled her eyes almost instantly. 

You would never say it aloud, but you noticed the small smile she sent their way. So, she wasn’t as heartless as she wanted you to believe. Exactly like her older sister. It would be simple enough to chalk it down to their past experiences with the world; it had taught them nothing but hardness. But maybe they both just needed a safe space to let those walls come down.

“What did you choose?” Sam asked. She very quickly made her way to the couch opposite Tara and J.

“Depends,” they said.

“On?” Sam asked.

J turned to look at you and held something up to their mouth. “What’s your favourite scary movie?” The voice came out almost robotic, sounding similar to… something you possibly recognised? Vaguely?

“That’s not funny,” Sam said quickly.

“Lighten up, Sam,” Tara said even though she pushed J’s hand - and the voice changer - into their lap. “We’re watching Hellraiser.”

“Thought you didn’t like that one,” Sam said. She reached over and grabbed your hand the moment you sat down beside her on the couch.

Tara’s eyes darted to where your hands were joined and lingered. “I don’t.” She looked back up at you with a hard gaze. “I picked it out just for you.”

“Oh,” you said, perking up instantly. “Thank you.”

You turned to look at Sam with a stupid smile on your face, missing the look J sent Tara. Well, this was turning into a lovely evening! Tara had picked out a movie just for you! Surely that was progress to the finest degree, was it not? If all it took was watching a movie with them every month, you were more than happy to do so. This was turning out to be a rather lovely evening.

At least you thought so until the movie started and you realised just exactly why Tara had picked the movie out just for you.

It was… well, it was a movie. Filled with hooks and needles and… blood. Oh gosh, so much blood. There was a singular blessing amongst it all; you hadn’t eaten before coming over. Thankfully the popcorn sat untouched between you and Sam as your stomach twisted and turned and tried its best to embarrass you.

Sam squeezed your hand as you did your best to keep your cool. Not that it was such an easy thing with all the… you couldn’t even think the word without feeling queasy. Surely there was no way they all enjoyed this kind of thing, right? It was grotesque! The creatures on the screen, the inhumanity of it all, how was it an enjoyable movie?

The room started to shrink around you. Oh, that wasn’t good, you didn’t want to feel claustrophobic, you were trying to be tough. You couldn’t let anyone know that you had an, um, aversion to blood. What would they say? They were all horror fans, how could you ever possibly mention that you just… didn’t enjoy it? Quite frankly, it made you sick to your stomach, like all those science experiments you had to do back in grade school.

The credits couldn’t have rolled a moment too soon. If anyone were to ask you what you thought, you wouldn’t have been able to answer. The only thing you were aware of was your heart beating loudly in your ear and the saliva that continued to fill your mouth. Maybe it would actually be better if you didn’t try to answer anyone for a few more moments.

“So, Professor,” Tara asked all too soon. “What did you think?”

“I-”

-You cut yourself short. There was a part, a rather significant part of your mind that said you should lie. Tell Tara it was a wonderful movie, and you would love to see more if it existed. But lying had never gotten you anywhere in the past, had it? It certainly wasn’t going to assist you in winning over Tara, not when she was already sceptical of you. How was a lie going to assist you?

It wasn’t. 

“It’s not my cup of tea,” you finally said before swallowing the remaining saliva in your mouth. “I don’t really enjoy scary movies.” You nodded to yourself. “Or blood.”

“Oh my god,” Tara huffed, “why can’t you just lose your shit about something?”

“Tara,” Sam warned.

“No, this is ridiculous,” she continued as she stood up from the couch, ignoring J reaching for her hand. “Why can’t you lose your shit?” She pointed at you. “Nobody is this level-headed about everything.”

“That’s enough,” Sam said as she followed suit, standing up from the couch. Similarly, you reached out for her hand but she moved just far enough away.

“Get out,” Tara said before promptly looking Sam dead in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“Get out,” she repeated.

“Hey, T-”

“-You too,” Tara interrupted J, who froze with a comically shocked expression on their face. “Both of you get out so I can talk to them-” she pointed at you “-alone.”

“Absolutely not-”

“-Sounds reasonable,” you interrupted Sam. She looked at you like you had grown a second head. “I would love to talk.”

“Come on, Baby Ghost,” J said as they stood up. You were starting to feel left out by being the only one still sitting. “I’ll buy you a new pack of cigs.”

Sam looked like she wanted to argue, but both you and Tara gave her a look. Differing looks, of course, but still. While Tara seemed to get her a death stare that was almost permanently etched onto her face, you tried to go the more convincing route. If Tara wanted to talk, who were you to tell her no? Talking was key, that’s what your family had always done and it had never ended poorly.

“Fine,” Sam finally said. She seemed resigned. “But you have 15 minutes and that’s it.”

“Deal,” Tara said. “Now get out.”

You stayed as still as a statue when Sam leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. A little more forceful than usual, but you wouldn’t complain. Any kiss from her was perfect. A sigh came from behind her, and you both knew who it was from, but she took her time before pulling away and standing back up.

“Don’t let her bully you,” she said.

“Sam,” Tara said forcefully. “Get out.”

“Fine,” Sam said, throwing her hands up. “But I mean it,” she said as she and J walked to the door together. “15 minutes.”

You and Tara both watched your partners leave the apartment, practically abandoning you to the force of nature that was the youngest Carpenter sister. It shamed you to admit you were a little afraid of her. You knew there was something going on deep down that she either wouldn’t or couldn’t accept, and you wouldn’t dare fault her for it. But she let her internal frustrations out in a very external way.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tara asked the moment the door shut behind the two. You stayed silent. “You don’t yell, you don’t scream, you don’t even freak out when I put on a movie I knew you would hate.”

You waited a moment to make sure she was finished. “I was raised by two very… pacifistic parents,” you said, gesturing for her to sit on the couch opposite you. “We talked through our issues, we didn’t yell about them.”

Tara opened her mouth as if she was about to argue, or complain, or something. Slowly, her mouth closed and she pursed her lips. She kept looking at you, but slowly took a seat opposite you. There was something going on behind her eyes, you could see it, but you knew better than to question her just yet. Just like your mom had taught you; let them lead the conversation.

“I don’t trust you,” she said slowly. Her eyes stayed locked with yours. “You’re too understanding and too kind.” You stayed silent. “Sam only ever falls for freaks.”

“Didn’t she date an FBI agent?” You asked. You could vaguely remember what Sam had said about her, but she had seemed nice enough.

“Kirby is cool, I’ve always liked her,” Tara said with a dismissive shake of her head. “But she was attacked by Ghostface twice,” she said, “so she’s a freak by proxy.” She looked back at you. “So what’s your deal?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you said, “ask your questions and maybe you can find out.”

It had initially been your idea, but before Tara could even open her mouth you started to second guess yourself. Perhaps allowing her to ask whatever questions she wanted without any repercussions was… not the smartest idea on your part. You had nothing to hide, but what if she really started to ask unusual questions? What if your answers weren’t what she wanted to hear?

But when you thought of Sam, and being with her, you felt that, without question, it was worth the gamble.

“Have you ever used a knife?” Tara asked quickly. It seemed she wasn’t going to wait.

“Not outside of cooking,” you answered just as quickly.

“How about a gun?” So, it would be a rapid fire interrogation. Game on.

“Never.”

“Ever hurt anybody before?” A tilt of her head.

“Not on purpose.”

“What about animals?”

“No.”

“Not even in science class?”

“I-” you attempted to clear your throat to buy a bit of time “-I fell ill that day.”

Tara paused and narrowed her eyes. “Because of blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” you said anyway. “It makes me sick to my stomach.”

“You’re pretty pathetic,” Tara said as she leaned back on the couch. For the first time in… well, ever, you thought you almost saw her smile at you. “That’s exactly Sam’s type.”

“I thought you said it was freaks,” you pointed out.

“Pathetic freaks,” she corrected quickly. That quirk near the corner of her mouth rapidly disappeared. “Why did you choose Sam?”

You paused. It was uncertain what exactly Sam had told Tara about you both meeting. Surely she wouldn’t have overdramatised it, but had she told her the truth? The truth was… well, it was pathetic as well, but you weren’t entirely convinced Tara would approve. Not that it was entirely her place, but the two were the only family each other had. They both had a right to be cautious of anyone new coming into their lives.

But perhaps you could answer the question a little differently.

“She’s kind,” you said with a subconscious nod of your head. “And bold, and intelligent - god she’s intelligent - and brave.” You averted Tara’s eyes. “And she’s really pretty too.”

Tara nodded once. “What are your intentions with her?”

Another question that you believed was potentially a trick. You couldn’t very well say you loved Sam just yet; you hadn’t even told Sam that little piece of information. But there were other intentions with her even if you didn’t necessarily use the word “love.” There were other things that were just as important.

“I don’t want to sound overly self-important,” you started off, looking back up to meet Tara’s eyes. “But I would very much like to be the one by Sam’s side as she continues on this path she’s created for herself.”

Tara looked at you; really looked at you. She was so very difficult for you to read. Unlike Sam, Tara did a better job at hiding her emotions. While Sam would give it away with her facial expressions, Tara did not. No, her feelings came out differently, whether in the slight twitch of her fingers or the impatient tapping of her foot on the rug. You hadn’t been around her long enough to know what exactly those feelings were, you simply acknowledged they were feelings.

“I’ll give you a chance,” Tara finally said, her voice far softer than you had ever heard. At least when it was directed at you. “But if you do anything to hurt her, or upset her, or lie to her, I won’t hesitate to kill you.” You gulped. “I’m not afraid to kill again.”

“I forgot you’ve both killed someone before,” you mumbled to yourself before speaking up louder. “Those are acceptable terms.”

“Good,” she said with a single nod of her head. “But don’t think this means I’ll go easy on you.”

You could both hear the other two finally approaching the door, bickering in a way that mimicked biological siblings.

“I would expect nothing less,” you told Tara as the door opened and the moment ended.

—---

The rest of the semester went by without incident. Tara had stayed true to her word and gave you a fair chance to prove that you could be trusted with her sister’s heart, and it wasn’t something you had taken lightly. You knew how important the both of them were to each other, and you had done your best to prove that not only did you care for Sam, but you cared for Tara too.

She had finally eased up during classes, allowing you to properly teach without an ounce of disdain for you personally. In fact, she had even dared to come to office hours on more than one occasion to discuss certain pieces you had offered as optional readings. The Carpenters were immensely intelligent, no matter what the subject matter was.

You and Sam had fallen into a rather comfortable routine, always going for a date night on Thursdays to whatever new place your colleagues had recommended, and movies with Tara and J on Saturdays. You would spend the night at her place Thursday through Monday morning, and she would stay at yours Monday through Thursday morning. It was comfortable, and you were more than content.

But with school finally over for the semester, you could focus on the real gem; Christmas.

Both Carpenters - and J, for that matter - had been nonchalant with their decorations. A minimal Charlie Brown tree that had, at most, four ornaments on it. It was awfully quaint, and if they hadn’t been so blase about it you would have been content to leave it standing. Nevertheless, they had made it clear they didn’t care if there were any decorations, and you had taken that as a cry for help.

Your own apartment had, of course, been decorated since the day after Thanksgiving. It was a wonderful gift from your mother, learning how to decorate for the holidays, and you weren’t keen on squandering the skills and letting them fall off the wagon, so to speak. Sam had made a few comments, though you hadn’t taken her for a non-believer.

“It’s okay, really,” Sam tried to say when you and J finished bringing in what had to have been the seventh box of decorations from your apartment.

“Oh no, I insist,” you said with a smile. “Besides, my mother would be downright dismayed if she knew the decorations were sitting in my apartment unused.”

“Great,” Tara mumbled as she walked by without even offering to help, “we get to live at the North Pole.”

“Isn’t it exciting?” You said with a smile. “These are more neutral, so you shouldn’t feel too out of place, but they still embody the holiday spirit.”

“Well I think it’ll be fun,” J said with their own smile. “Do I get to hang the ornaments?”

“Why-”

“-the ornaments won’t be the only thing hanging this Christmas,” Tara said, tossing a mini marshmallow into the air and catching it in her mouth. “Especially with those blinding lights.”

You looked down at the ones in your hand and frowned. “I thought they were rather tame.”

“And they’re lovely,” Sam tried to cover, even though you could see the fake smile she had on her face. “You’re doing great,” she continued as she left a simple kiss on your cheek.

The decorating ended up being a one person job, you quickly realised when you discovered J could not, for the life of them, listen to instructions. More than once, the lights had been blown and you had to find the faulty one to fix it. Normally you would chalk it down to bad luck, but when it was only the ones that they were installing? You became a little suspicious.

At least they were all eager to help with the snacks and desserts, and that was something you could live with. Surprisingly, Tara was the one who had the most ideas. You knew you weren’t the best cook; you could follow instructions but that didn’t necessarily mean they would turn out nice. But with Tara at the helm? They were almost as good as your mother’s! Though obviously you would never dare to tell her that.

You also rather quickly discovered that they were not gift giving people. Understandable, you supposed, they had much more important things to worry about in life. It was still unacceptable. The moment you had found out, you had called your parents and told them the tragic news.

Gifts for all three of them - plus a gift each for Mindy, Chad, and Anika - had been delivered to your house within the week. Express shipping to be certain they would arrive before Christmas.

Which led to yet another tragedy; they had no stockings.

“It’s really not worth buying,” Sam attempted to persuade you over the phone on one of the rare nights you two weren’t spending together. “Just stay home tonight.”

“It’s no trouble, Sam,” you argued. “I’m heading out for a bit anyway.”

You didn’t admit you were already at the store, trying to decide which one would fit each person best.

“Just stay safe,” she said. You could hear car horns in the background but thought nothing of it. “I mean it.”

“I’ll be safe,” you insisted, “I always am.”

“Call me when you’re back home,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” you said with a smile that she couldn’t see.

She hung up first, and you continued your search without any second thoughts. In the end, you had decided on a Santa stocking for J, a reindeer for Tara, and a snowman for Sam. They would look lovely hanging underneath the mounted television in their living room. But with the stockings, you needed things to fill them with.

Santa’s work was never finished.

It was dark by the time you finished buying everything you believed you needed. Stockings, fillers, and some snacks to make for a lovely evening. That should surely be enough to give the three of them a very merry Christmas, would it not? Your mother had already sent their Santa presents, and their other presents were underneath the tree, so as far as you were aware of at the moment, everything was taken care of.

You were still going over your mental checklist when you heard a commotion down one of the alleys on the way home. Every cell in your body told you not to bother looking; people got desperate around the holidays and it would do you no good to go poking your head where it didn’t belong. But if someone was getting hurt, then you needed to attempt to help.

Or at least make enough of a scene that someone else would come help.

“Excuse me?” You called out foolishly as you started down the dark alleyway. “Is everyone alright out there?”

You pulled your coat tighter around you as you continued walking. It hadn’t been raining or snowing recently, and yet something started to soak through your shoes and socks. The shocking cold that normally came from liquids in December wasn’t present; it was warm.

There was another noise. It almost sounded like something solid, but it was overshadowed by something metallic. You did your best to see something in the dark, even as your body continued to tell you to move along. But something didn’t feel right; you were feeling queasy again.

Something hissed in front of you, but it wasn’t a snake. No, you knew what those sounded like and this wasn’t even close. This sounded much more human, though that sound would only ever really happen in dire circumstances like if-

-a large white mask faced you. It was the only thing you could see in the dark, thanks to the lights behind you causing just enough radiance to make the mask almost seem luminescent. You weren’t a movie buff, especially not scary movies, but you weren’t stupid. Everyone knew what that mask was.

Ghostface.

All those cells that had been telling you to run? They were silent. Frozen in fear, just like your mind. The killer wasn’t moving toward you, simply facing you, almost as if it was the very reason you were stationary. Which, it was, but not in the typical way that most would be privy to. You felt like a deer in headlights, and if you moved then you died.

You supposed that was how all the movies went.

“Aren’t you going to run?” Ghostface asked, in that same voicebox that J had had during the movie night.

You swallowed the saliva filling your mouth. “No,” you said in a trembling voice.

“Why not?” He continued. “I like when they run.”

“I’m not very fast,” you said. “You’ll catch me before I get to the street.”

He still didn’t move, and your eyes finally adjusted enough to see the silhouette of a body slumped at his feet. Your throat constricted at the sight; you were going to be sick. The very image started to worm its way into your brain; there was a very simple explanation for what was still soaking through your socks. It wasn’t snow.

“You should get home, Professor,” Ghostface said.

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if he could see you. “Yes I should.”

“Stay on the sidewalk next time,” he said.

“I- I believe that’s sound advice,” you said with more frantic nods of your head. Your palms were starting to get clammy.

Ghostface lifted up a hand - holding a knife - and waved. “Good night, Professor.”

“Good night,” you said with your own shaky wave.

You walked backwards out of the alley, keeping an eye on the figure until it was completely out of sight. Your feet were frozen on the ground once you were under a street light. There were no more sounds coming from the alley, not even the sound of someone leaving. Wherever Ghostface had gone, he hadn’t followed you.

In an incredibly brave moment, you leaned over and vomited directly into a storm grate before going back home. You called Sam the moment you got back into your apartment.

You couldn’t find the courage to inform her of the night’s mystery encounter.

---

a novel life pt.3

Summary: You admit a few things to Sam, and finally she starts to feel a little more normal. Almost as if Ghostface was truly a thing of the past. Almost.

Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: mentions of Scream-typical violence, mentions of trauma, light swearing Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x GN!Reader (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3)

Oh you had messed up. You had messed up so badly. Why hadn’t you told Sam about Ghostface all those weeks ago? It was certainly far too late to tell her now, it had happened last year. Okay, slight exaggeration, you had simply passed into the New Year last week but still!

And now it was too late. You didn’t know why, it just was.

“Can you hand me that pen?” Sam asked.

You hummed and handed her what was on the table, still staring off into the distance. The television was on in your apartment and you couldn’t have told a single soul what was on. Perhaps it was the news. It was usually the news, you liked to keep up to date with everything.  If you had time, you would even split the screen between all news stations so you could compare all sides of information.

It was a miracle you had managed to keep Sam as long as you had.

“I think I’ll fuck J on the coffee table in an hour, is that okay?”

“Yes darling, whatever you want,” you said as your mind continued to race through possibilities.

You straightened up and quickly turned to look at her.

“I beg your pardon?” You asked, her words finally forcing its way through the plethora of thoughts to the forefront of your mind. “No, it’s absolutely not okay.”

Sam smiled and placed the remote on the table. Which you supposed you had handed her instead of a pen. Because of course you had, why would you hand her the pen she had so clearly asked for? She placed a warm hand on your jaw and you couldn’t help but lean into it.

“What’s going on in your head?” She asked far softer than she had any right to. “You’re usually not this distracted.”

You didn’t want to tell her. It felt like a betrayal of her trust that you hadn’t told her right after it had happened, how could you come back from it now? What excuse did you have other than you were afraid? Being afraid certainly wasn’t going to win you any favours, not with the Ghostface Murder family.

A mental note popped up to never, never call them that to their faces.

You should tell her.

No you shouldn’t.

Yes you should.

No.

Fine.

“I saw Ghostface the night I was buying your stockings,” you said rather unceremoniously.

Sam looked at you like you had grown a second head. Oh lord, had you grown a second head? Oh you bet you had, you absolute fool. Your mother had told you time and time again, there were consequences to lying. And now that you had finally come clean, you were facing the consequences. You hoped Sam still liked you with a second head.

“You saw Ghostface?” She asked in a whisper.

“I know I should have told you,” you said quickly, “but to tell you the truth, I was too afraid to tell anyone so instead I simply kept my mouth shut.”

Sam still said nothing. She almost looked afraid, which you could understand. You yourself were rather afraid as well. There had been no news of Ghostface running around New York again, but you knew for a fact he was out and about. And judging by the look on Sam’s face, she knew it was the truth as well.

Oh, this was precisely why you had kept it from her! You hadn’t intended to terrify her, oh no, quite the contrary. You wanted nothing more than for her to not fear the masked delinquent that habited wherever she existed. It was rather unfair when you started to think about it. No surprise at all that Tara was untrustful of… well, everyone.

“Promise me you won’t try to find him again,” Sam finally said, her voice far more vulnerable than it had any right to be.

“My dear,” you said, doing your best to emulate her tone. You reached out to hold her hand in a tight grasp. “I would rather defend my thesis a second time than try to find that… hoodlum again.”

Her laugh, though nervous, was beautiful. There was nothing quite like the sound of Sam’s laughter. Even when unsettled, there was a heartiness to it that called to your soul. It touched the deepest parts of you, coaxing them out of their hiding spots until you were laid bare before her, eagerly awaiting her next move.

“I don’t think anyone has ever called Ghostface a “hoodlum” before,” she said before squeezing your hand.

“Well they should,” you said, all joking put aside. “Or perhaps even a coward,” you continued. “Only a coward prevents their victim from seeing the face of their attacker.”

Sam leaned against your arm as she grabbed her textbook again. “You’re talking pretty big for someone who was supposedly terrified of him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t get within one hundred feet of him,” you clarified. “I’m bold, not brave, my love.”

Her weight settled into you a little more as she pulled her knees up and rested the textbook on top of them. She was doing her best to stay calm; that was what gave her away. The faux-relaxation and attempt to act like you hadn’t just been talking about the person that had terrorised not only her, but her family for years.

And shame on you for bringing it back up again.

You wrapped an arm around her, allowing her to truly sink into you as you both continued your studies. It was not, nor would it ever be, an easy thing to live with. You hadn’t experienced it long, but you could already imagine the constant horror. There was something horrific, not about the immediate threat, but about the ever-looming fear that it could be a threat.

Maybe Tara’s suspicion of you was making more and more sense.

—---

Days passed by without even the slightest hint of Ghostface returning. You kept the news on (when Sam was away) in case there was talk of any familiar murders, but there was nothing. Well, nothing outside of the usual murder and carnage that could be found all over New York City. The more you watched the local news, the more convinced you were that you were not living within a safe city.

Then there was the neverending curiosity that desperately clawed itself up from the deepest recesses of your brain. You hadn’t wanted to think of that… that criminal. Not his motives, his history, none of it. There had been an attempt to push it back down. You had even asked your mother for advice, not wanting to bring it up to Sam in an effort - however futile - to keep her away from it all. Again.

She had not been on your side.

“Just ask her, dear,” your mother said. In the background of the call, you could hear Jeopardy playing on the old television. “If you want the knowledge, you ask the expert.”

You sighed as you flopped down on your own couch. “I don’t want to upset her though.”

Subconsciously, you turned on Jeopardy to watch it with your parents. Just like old times.

“She’ll tell you if it upsets her,” she said. Then, quieter, “what is Metamorphoses.”

“Gosh darn, hon, at least give me a chance to guess it,” you heard your father say. It was a faux complaint; his laugh gave him away.

“He needs to guess faster,” you mumbled, not entirely to anyone in particular.

“Did ya hear that?” Your mother started to blab. “Our little Doctor says you need to guess faster.” She barely contained her giggle.

“Don’t tell him that,” you huffed.

“Well I’m sorry we’re not all fancy pants doctors, kiddo,” he said, far too loud. He still couldn’t really comprehend how phones worked. At least he tried. “Takes some of us a bit of time to think, ya know?”

“What is the knee,” your mother said.

“See?” Your dad groaned. “Got me all distracted, I can’t keep up.”

“Then let me let you go,” you said quickly before either one of your parents could say anything else.

“Don’t forget to ask Samantha,” your mother said with an air of nonchalance that you only dreamed of achieving.

“I will,” you said. The commercial had ended and you knew if you waited much longer, you’d hear your parents arguing over the answer again. “I’ll talk to you both tomorrow.”

“Tell Samantha she needs to watch Jeopardy with us some time,” your dad called out.

“Good night,” you insisted.

“Night, hon,” both of your parents mumbled before you finally managed to end the call.

You loved them, you really did. But the last thing you were going to do anytime soon was invite Sam to watch Jeopardy. You wanted to keep a girlfriend, not lose one. Although maybe it would be the mundanity that she needed. There was nothing less exciting than watching game shows with your parents, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Who is Castro,” you mumbled to yourself before the screen showed your exact answer.

It was truly amazing you had kept a girlfriend for as long as you had so far.

—---

“You’re quiet,” Sam said softly.

You looked up from the abyss that was your wine. The restaurant of the week was a bit more luxurious, “fancy,” as J called it. Tara called it “ridiculous,” but you kept your mouth shut; she would be going on a date to the same place within the month. Her opinion didn’t change the fact that it was a lovely restaurant, only made more beautiful by the woman sitting across from you.

“I’m sorry,” you said just as softly. “I’m just thinking.”

She leaned forward on her arms. “Anything in particular?”

Yes, your mind started, would you truly consider yourself a child of Ghostface? After all, Billy Loomis is technically the forefather of the Ghostface lineage, but he didn’t raise you. Would you still consider him your father? Or, perhaps he is your father but not your dad. Some people make that distinction, you know. Does such a thought bother you-

“-My parents are coming to visit in two weeks,” you said with a calm smile that contradicted your internal monologue. “Would you like to meet them?”

Now that made Sam freeze. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at you. If you looked closer, you almost thought you saw her jaw nearly drop. Oh, so she could fight off Ghostface twice and yet she couldn’t meet your parents? They weren’t so bad! Well, not really, just in a different way. Okay, maybe they were a little intimidating, but not in a bad way!

“Are you afraid of my parents?” You asked as you both sat up, sitting back far enough for the waiter to place your food before you. He pursed his lips and attempted not to smile.

“I’m not afraid of them,” she said indignantly. “I’ve just,” she shrugged, “never had to meet someone’s parents before.”

“Never?” You asked. It was easy enough to maintain eye contact - which your mother claimed was important during serious conversations - while picking at your food. “Not once?”

“Not really, no,” she said. She, however, was not making eye contact. “I mean, there was a boyfriend or two in highschool, but I already knew their parents so it doesn’t count.”

“What about Agent Reed?” You asked before taking another bite of your dinner.

Sam smiled softly. “Already knew her parents too.”

“Right, right,” you said with your own nod before finally looking down at your food. You had nearly forgotten what you had ordered to begin with.

You supposed you couldn’t blame her for being worried. No, you couldn’t blame her at all. Though not quite on the same level - although it completely was - you had been as terrified to meet Tara. Though not her parent, Tara was the only family she had left, aside from the twins. That was terrifying enough without technically being a parent.

Then there was the fear that, although you knew Sam would never admit it aloud, she was afraid of parents. Perhaps it was from the fear that they wouldn’t approve of her as her own mother had made painfully clear. There was no gentle way to tell her that her mother was not a good mother. Parents were rarely disappointed in their children, even on the worst days.

Not every family was as tragic as hers.

“Would it help if I told you about them?” You asked slowly. “Then you can decide if you would like to meet them or not.”

Sam chewed her food thoughtfully before looking up at you through her eyelashes. You hated when she did that, truly you did. It made you fold within an instant. She knew it too. Samantha Carpenter knew what she could do to you, and she used her wiles shamelessly. A femme fatale indeed.

“That would actually be nice,” she finally said. There was a raspiness to her voice that she kept reserved for whenever she wanted something.

You didn’t know what exactly she wanted, but you would have given her the world just to find out.

“Alright then,” you said softly, almost inaudibly as you swallowed harshly. “Where to start?”

Throughout the rest of the evening, you told her of your parents. Of their childhoods, or at least what you were aware of, and their accomplishments. You spun tales of their “wild years,” as they had called it back in the ‘70s. She slowly scrolled through the photos on your phone, the ones you had scanned from their physical photos.

By the time you had ordered dessert - a tiramisu that was to die for - you had moved your chair closer to hers. You had told her of their professions; your mother was a librarian at the small elementary school, and your father worked at the local pharmacy. Nothing fancy, nothing to brag about, but they were proud of their jobs.

All the while, Sam listened intently. You could feel her eyes on you the entire time you talked. It was as if she was staring into your soul, trying to pick apart what could be a lie and what was fact. A painful realisation of just how deep her familial trauma ran, even though she and Tara would never admit it aloud.

“That’s about it, really,” you finally said with a shrug. The signed check had been sitting in front of you for far longer than you could say. “My parents’ entire story in the span of a singular dinner date.”

You… wouldn’t think too hard about the fact you had spent an entire dinner date talking about your parents.

“They sound like good people,” Sam said. Her hand was warm in yours.

“They’re rather eccentric in their own way,” you said, “but they mean well.”

You didn’t ask the question yet. It would be up to Sam whether she wanted to meet your parents or not, and you certainly weren’t going to push her one way or another. This was wholly her decision, you had simply laid out enough for her to make an informed decision of her own.

“Would they like me?” She asked softly.

There was a desperation on her face that she rarely let show. Sam was a tough woman; not just physically. But something about this was making her second guess herself and her own abilities. It was preposterous, though you knew one couldn’t fight their own insecurities so easily. The very look on her face broke your heart.

You lifted her hand to cup her cheek, which she eagerly leaned into.

“My darling,” you said gently, “they already do.”

The smallest of smiles lifted the corners of her mouth. Just as with every time you saw her smile, you knew you would do anything for her if she but looked at you the way she was in that moment. All bright eyes and carefree smile and as beautiful as the day you had first seen her.

“I want to meet them,” she said. “If it’s alright.”

You leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. “It’s always alright.”

—---

Your parents loved Sam.

On top of that, your parents loved Sam and Tara. The literal moment they had found out Sam had a little sister, they had demanded you have her over as well. You had done your best not to eavesdrop, but when Sam called it was clear Tara wanted no part of it. However, for better or worse, the decision was made and Sam agreed to bring Tara over the next evening.

Then you all made the mistake of mentioning J. You should have known better, truly you should have. You knew your parents and their proclivity for practically adopting everyone into the family. They had picked it up in the ‘70s and had never gone back. Tara was practically blackmailed into bringing J with her the next night.

Your parents took to all of them like they were blood.

“You three better start practising,” your dad pointed out when the three newest family members were unusually silent while The Price is Right played in the background. “We only take it easy on ya the first time.”

“Dad,” you warned as you continued putting up Trivial Pursuit.

Your mom had wiped the floor with everyone, as usual.

“Don’t listen to him, hon,” your mom said. She was sitting proudly on her Winner’s Chair, as she had dubbed it after only the second win of the night. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“You sure about that?” J asked, their accent almost a comical contrast to your mother’s. “I felt like a fish outta water.”

“Practice makes perfect,” your mom said with a smile that was far too cheery for the humiliation she had instilled upon you all.

You would never forgive her for embarrassing you in front of Sam.

“We should get going,” Tara said rather reluctantly. “We have to be somewhere in the morning.”

“Where?” J asked.

The disappointment on Tara’s face was worthy of a picture.

“Brunch with your parents,” she said quietly.

“Oh shit, I forgot,” J said. Their voice, on the other hand, was far too loud for the situation. It was rather comical; you didn’t know how those two had ended up together, but their contrast was a work of art. “We gotta go.”

“Before ya head out,” your dad said as everyone stood up to tell them bye, “we gotta hug it out since we’re leavin’ tomorrow.”

J and Tara shared a look before looking at you. Right. None of them were really touchy-feely people. Being around your parents for the week had erased that possibility from your mind. With your bunch, you were all touching, hugging, patting each other on the back, whatever you could get away with. There hadn’t even been a thought in your mind that everyone else was a bit hesitant with their physical affection.

“You don’t have to,” you said softly with a shake of your head.

“Oh, are ya not a hugger?” Your mom asked.

“How’s about a handshake, bud?” Your dad said just as quickly.

“Handshake works great,” J said with their stereotypical toothy grin.

Your parents shook both J’s and Tara’s hands, telling them how lovely it was to meet them, inviting them over for Christmas and Easter and 4 of July and every other holiday they could think of. You walked the both of them out of the apartment while your parents continued to shout invitations to them.

Come over if ya need to get away for a weekend.

I’ll mail ya both some homemade cookies soon.

Expect somethin’ for your birthdays.

They didn’t stop offering things until the door closed behind the couple and it was only Sam left. Not that it stopped your parents, of course, they just simply turned their invitations towards her. Your parents were overwhelming, you knew they were. They meant well, they were just… a lot.

Yet Sam managed to handle it with grace and charm, and you simply fell more and more in love with her. She had your parents laughing, smiling, cracking jokes that they normally wouldn’t when they were alone with you. Something about her brought out a slightly less reserved side of them that you didn’t think you had ever seen.

And when she looked up and met your eyes as they continued talking with her, there was a familiar sparkle that you didn’t see as often as you would like, especially after hearing that Ghostface was back. She looked like your Sam, the one who had joked with you and teased you about your proclivity for books. The one you had woken up with last summer without a single care in the world.

The one you were utterly devoted to and would have sacrificed anything to make happy. That was your Sam once again.

—---

It was a beautiful late-winter day. The air was still a bit chilly, and you were bundled tightly in your warm coat that went down to your ankles. One of your hands was shoved deep into the pockets while the other held a small bouquet of flowers. The sweet bodega owner on the corner of your street was notorious for having the most beautiful flowers, and you now had to agree.

You were supposed to be home grading essays while Sam studied. One of the few relegated nights a week where you were both at your own homes. But you had missed her during the day, and you wouldn’t apologise for it. On the walk home, you had decided you would surprise her. After all, everyone loved flowers, didn’t they?

The streets were as busy as they usually were, but that was alright. It was a rather lovely evening, and it gave you more time to think about Sam. There was no doubt in your mind that anyone, possibly everyone would have teased you for how much of a… what did J call it? A simp you were for her. Yet you didn’t mind. You would have done anything for her without an ounce of hesitation.

Your mind started replaying the nights you spent with her. Some more exciting than others, though none of them a bore. The nights you spent together in each other’s bed, keeping quiet at her place while not bothering to do the same at yours. Or the nights you would just lay there, tracing scars and telling stories. Hers were far more interesting than yours, that was for sure.

Would it be too soon to start questioning if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her? It had been nearly a year, if your memory served you well. Not the longest length of time, but you knew plenty of people that had questioned it much sooner. Would you want to spend the rest of your life with her?

Yes. Yes, you would. Being able to wake up to Sam every morning, hair splayed out on your pillow even as she insisted she was on her own. To be there for her when the nightmares and fears became too much. A shoulder to lean on, to cry on, a hand to hold when she needed it. You wanted to be by her side through it all, the good, the bad, the fun, the terrifying.

Nothing sounded better than being able to call her yours for the rest of your lives.

You didn’t bother buzzing to be let in; someone already downstairs let you in, having recognised you, you supposed. It wouldn’t have been too far of a stretch, you had frequented the apartment complex often enough. You were almost certain you knew the Carpenters’ neighbours better than they did.

Each step up the stairs had your heart racing faster. You were of the mind of a giddy school child, seeing their crush for the first time after the weekend. It was a little silly, but you didn’t care. Your parents had instilled in you the ability to be proud of your tendencies that most would find a little ridiculous. And you would never be shamed for wanting to see your girlfriend.

There were a few muffled voices behind the door when you approached the apartment. It wasn’t unusual, they were the centre hub for their friends. Sometimes the twins would come over, sometimes Anika would come around for a short escape, sometimes all three would arrive at once. On occasion you had even seen Quinn, though she had moved out some months ago and only frequented the bigger gatherings.

You opened the door quietly, doing your best not to disturb whoever else was inside. Slowly slipping into the apartment and easing the door shut, you did your best to keep the flowers as presentable as possible. After all, that was the surprise you had spent so long picking out. It would do you no good to mess them up before you could even give them to Sam. You turned around-

-the flowers fell to the floor with a thump.

“Oh shit.”

---

a novel life pt.4

Summary: You were really starting to understand a few things about the younger generation. For example, every time you looked at Sam, you thought "I can fix her." It was happening a bit too frequently for your liking.

Word Count: 4.8k Warnings: Swearing, Scream levels of violence, suggestive themes Pairing: Samantha Carpenter x Reader (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4)

“Baby?”

You kept your eyes on whatever was on the floor.

“You broke it.”

“Tara, shut up.”

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t moving.

“Hey.”

The red creeped and crawled toward the flowers on the ground.

“Baby.”

Hands held both sides of your face and tried to pull you in the other direction. Gentle, but firm. It didn’t matter, they could pull all they wanted, it didn’t stop your eyes from staying glued to the thing in the middle of the living room floor. The shape was familiar, and you were aware that you should recognise it. But the harder you looked, the more the shape seemed to blur and distort.

“Stop looking at it.” Sam. “Look at me.”

You couldn’t.

You opened your mouth to answer, stopped to clear your throat, and started again. “Is that a body?”

Everyone seemed to hesitate.

“Yes,” Sam answered.

You nodded slowly.

“Is it dead?”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

A sigh. “Tara.”

“Yes,” Sam repeated.

You nodded again. The red almost touched your shoes.

“It’s a dead body?”

“Jesus fuck, Sam, get them out.”

“Come on,” Sam said softly, keeping her hold on your face to pull you with her.

Your eyes never left the scene until she had pulled you into her room and shut the door behind you both. There was a dead body in Sam’s living room. A body. A dead one. In the living room. Right there on the floor. Visible to god and anyone who opened the front door. Which included you.

“You need to breathe,” Sam said. “Look at me and breathe.”

You inhaled deeply and blinked slowly. Only when you opened your eyes did you actually see Sam for the first time that evening. She looked stunning, as usual. Her beautiful brown eyes looked lovely in the artificial light of the apartment. You tried not to notice the blood on her arms.

Not even her beautiful, kissable face could distract you from the scene that had plastered itself behind your eyelids.

“There’s a dead body on your floor,” you said.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said with a humourless chuckle.

“It looks like a dead body,” you repeated, “in your living room.”

She sighed. “Maybe it is what it looks like, but I can explain.”

You shook your head and took a half step back. Did you want an explanation? Perhaps you could act like you hadn’t seen anything. That would create plausible deniability, would it not? No, not entirely, you had still seen a body in your girlfriend’s apartment. Your deniability wouldn’t be that plausible.

As you took another half step back, you were finally far enough away to realise what was hanging off Sam’s frame. A black cloak. Or robe. Whatever it was, it was familiar. Very familiar. The only thing missing was the mask. Your head tilted slightly.

Perhaps you liked the robe. It looked… nice.

“Please let me explain,” Sam said as she stepped closer.

You took a step back, but nodded in her direction.

“He followed Tara home because he thought she was a kid,” she said. “It was for good reason.”

Good reason. Someone had died. Horrifically, if the amount of blood was anything to go by. And the amount of knives. Someone had clearly suffered. What about that explanation made it such a good-

-oh.

Okay, perhaps it was a good reason.

“Is this the first…” you sighed and shook your head, “accident?”

The way Sam’s face fell was answer enough.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Okay, I need to go home.” You couldn’t look at her. “I need to think.”

“I can walk you home-”

“-it’s okay,” you said. She stopped moving closer when you held your hands up in front of you. “I promise I’ll call.”

The look on her face was enough to break your heart, but it was sitting backseat to the body that you couldn’t help but look at as you walked out of the bedroom. J was already dragging it to the bathroom. They stopped, smiled, and waved at you before continuing to move. Beside them, Tara gave you a look that was akin to what you would give a dog at the shelter.

You bent down and picked up the flowers from the floor, placing them gently on the table. Blood started to pool underneath the petals as you left the apartment.

—---

Sleep had evaded you since you had gotten home a few nights ago. The world had simply kept turning. You had handed out the graded essays in class; you had introduced new material. You had ordered takeout because the last thing you needed was burnt food from your own kitchen. The world kept turning, and everything kept moving forward.

And you still hadn’t called Sam.

You had turned the volume off on your phone the moment you had gotten home. If you saw the notifications from Sam, you would cave and call her back instantly. Against all your better judgements that told you to think everything through, you would have called her and gone back to her apartment to face whatever trouble came your way.

There was no promise you wouldn’t still do that. But the least you could do was think through every aspect.

And you did. You tossed over every possibility, every facet of truth, every miniscule detail that may or may not have mattered, starting with the biggest fact; Sam was Ghostface. Or she was a Ghostface. Clearly Tara and J were involved to some degree. So on one hand, Sam was the only one, on the other hand, there were three Ghostfaces.

Splendid.

That knowledge forced your hand, and you bought all the books and movies and every little news article you could find, old and new. The movies were on in the background - they were far more disgusting than you had planned, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly pay attention - while you read the books. The majority came from that news reporter, Gale Weathers. They were a little tasteless, but seemed legit nonetheless.

Your handwriting littered the books, pointing out motives, tactics, patterns, anything you could find. Most were petty, certainly not worth killing for. At least Sam had given a fair reason; you could understand that one. Not killing people because your father had cheated on his wife.

Thankfully Sam hadn’t gotten that level of pettiness from her father.

Inevitably you found the online forums that claimed Sam had been the killer after Woodsboro. All the theories were, quite frankly, baseless. From an academic point of view, they would have been tossed out within the first few words. There was no reasoning, no critical thinking, simply everyone jumping at the chance to blame someone else because it was popular.

It was no wonder Sam had thought you were stalking her on the day you met her.

When all your research was said and done, you had what amounted to the entirety of a second thesis at your disposal. Everything from past Ghostfaces, their motives, conspiracies being disproved, all the way up to the most recent sighting not too long ago. In New York City. With J, Tara, and Sam in the news.

Things had added up, and you were ready to face the solution.

Sam answered before the first ring had finished.

“Are you all at the apartment?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said; you could all but hear the relief in that one simple word. “We’re here.”

“Stay there, I’m coming over,” you said quickly. You nearly hung up, but spoke again. “I’ll bring dinner.”

You didn’t wait for Sam to say anything else; you were in the proper headspace you needed for the upcoming conversation, and you couldn’t risk losing it because you missed her. Stay strong, you told yourself, say what you need to say. You weren’t going to get sidetracked, this was going to be solved, and you weren’t going to let anything get in your way.

Except for the rundown pizza place on the way to the Carpenter apartment. It was a rather delicious place, somewhere you wouldn’t have imagined visiting if it hadn’t been for Sam. You grabbed the three pizzas you knew everyone would eat, making sure to tip generously before continuing the trip to the apartment.

You also stopped for some more flowers.

And a few sweets.

And that new game you knew J had been wanting.

But then you were finishing your walk to their apartment because nothing could stop you. You were brave. You were going to talk with Sam, and you were going to talk with everyone, and you were all going to come to some form of conclusion so you could close out this thesis and move forward.

The walk up the apartment building stairs was more terrifying than it had ever been in the past. But you were brave. You took it step by step, giving yourself a pep talk with each flight. By the time you got to the apartment door, you were feeling thoroughly hyped. Nothing could stop you. Not even the… door that you… couldn’t open… because your hands were too full…

You set the bags on the floor to open the door, but then you were walking back into the apartment. A man on a mission, that’s how your dad had always described people that walked with the same attitude you were in that moment. It didn’t matter that you wouldn’t look up just yet even when you knew they were all looking at you. You closed the door, set the bags and flowers and pizzas on the table, and then you looked up.

And oh god, you had missed Sam so much.

When it was all said and done, you had actually only been away from Sam for eight days; barely over a week. No time at all where most things were concerned. But each minute that ticked by had been agonisingly slow, almost painful to the very atoms that made up your being.

“Grab your dinner,” you said with authority. And a shaky voice. “And back on the couch so we can talk.”

Tara tried to hide a laugh, and J wasn’t far from doing the same, but that was okay. They could laugh at your attempts at being brave; as long as they listened. And they did. You got out the plates and handed them to everyone so they could grab their food before they politely made their way back to the living room.

You made sure to give Sam a kiss on the cheek when she passed.

“Now,” you said as you stood in front of everyone on the couch. “We’re going to talk about what happened.”

“Hell yeah,” J said around an already full mouth, “lay down the law.”

“Thank you,” you said. They gave you an enthusiastic thumbs up. “We’ll start with last week.”

Everyone was silent, sans the occasional sound of chewing. That was good, they were going to let you talk. Perhaps they had prepared for such a situation. Surely they had seen this coming at some point, right? It wasn’t like they thought they could get away with murder forever, right?

Right?

“Sam told me the reason you-” you sighed and shook your head, “-and it’s an understandable reason.”

“Understandable?” Tara asked. “I think it was a bit more than that.”

“The Professor is talking,” J said, “don’t interrupt class.”

“Please continue,” Sam said with that small smile that always made your knees weak.

No, focus. You had a mission.

“We all know murder is wrong,” you said. “Illegal, even.” You looked each of them in the eye. J was nodding enthusiastically, Tara rolled her eyes, and Sam… wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Since we’re all in agreement, I have a few questions.”

“I didn’t study for a pop quiz,” J said.

“I’ve seen you study,” Tara said, “it wouldn’t have helped.”

“Have I told you I love when you’re mean?” J asked with a lovesick smile. It was precious.

And unnecessary.

“A few questions!” You repeated a little louder. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sam pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Please just ask,” Sam said without removing her hand.

“Okay,” you said softly, folding your hands behind your back, “when did all of this start?”

“After the New York attacks,” Sam said.

“I’m still salty about that,” J mumbled, quickly taking another impossibly large bite of their pizza.

“They’ve healed well,” Tara said softly. In a rare gesture of kindness - at least in front of you - she lifted her hand and gently brushed her thumb over the scars on their cheeks.

You gave them a moment before clearing your throat to get their attention once again.

“Who all is involved in these…” you bit your bottom lip as you considered your wording, “activities?”

“You mean murders?” Tara clarified.

“Stop it,” Sam said with a pointed look before facing you again. “All of us.”

“I feel like we’re in detention,” J whispered.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Tara asked. The niceties were long gone, it seemed.

You nodded at the information, ignoring Tara’s gibes. “All of you,” you said to yourself. Your feet froze in place, stopping your pacing. “Which one of you did I see in the alley that night?” You asked, turning to face them.

“That was me!” J said proudly with their hand raised high. “Did I scare you?”

“So badly I was sick,” you said instantly.

“Hell yeah,” they mumbled with a cocky nod of their head as they leaned back on the couch. “That was a good night.”

You stood there and watched as they looked at each other with not shame, but abject exasperation. So that was their attitude about the entire thing. You should have known, it wasn’t entirely a surprise. The fact that J had waved at you before you left last week should have been enough of a warning. But it didn’t exactly sit right with you.

There should have been shame from murdering someone. Your research had told you the Ghostfaces of the past had been particularly remorseless in their actions, but the three people in front of you weren’t like them. They were troubled, but they were kind. They had accepted you - even if it took Tara a bit of time - and had allowed you to care for them.

Sam was your Sam. Nothing about her was indicative of some internal Ghostface turmoil. She was soft. Night after night, she sat with you and talked out her feelings from the week. Multiple times she had voiced her frustration at being a Loomis, stating she was better than her genetics.

Nothing was adding up.

You had walked into this meeting with a plan; measure their responses to the allegations and get them to stop. But you very well couldn’t convince them to stop if they suspiciously felt no remorse or shame, could you? There wouldn’t be near as big of an impact if they didn’t agree with your arguments in the first place. That alone left you with very few options.

You stood up straight.

Very few didn’t equate to zero.

“Would any of you be willing to stop?” You clarified.

Sam opened her mouth.

“No,” Tara cut her off. Sam didn’t argue. “We just wouldn’t tell you.”

“Very well,” you said with a nod to yourself. “Then we’re going to come up with a few rules.”

“You’re putting rules?” Tara asked. “On Ghostface?”

“No,” you said, “I’m putting rules on the three of you.”

“Oh shit,” J said while Sam tried to hide a smile, “we got ourselves a mastermind.”

You did your best to hide your visible flinch. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be such a wonderful idea. Would you be connected to all of this? What if they were found out? What if you were found out? You couldn’t hold up under pressure, what if someone interrogated you? No, no this wasn’t going well at all.

But they all sat dutifully in front of you, waiting to hear what you had to say. You couldn’t just leave, or change your mind, and it was far too late to pretend you hadn’t seen what you had. No, you were going to have to be brave. You were brave.

You were brave.

—---

It turned out you were, in fact, not brave.

In the moment, you hadn’t been able to come up with a genuine rule for any of them. The only one you had managed to get out was “please don’t do it in my apartment.” Which, to your delight, they had all readily agreed to. Aside from that, you had stumbled over your words and decided you would come up with rules later.

Tara had laughed. You couldn't even be upset about it.

At least you could see Sam again, which, in the end, made everything worth it. You had missed holding her, and feeling her hands on your neck, and her lips pressed against yours. No one said a word when you stayed the night, doing nothing but holding Sam close and reminding her how much you had missed her.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said from your couch; her books were lined neatly on the table. Something you had loved about her from the very first moment you had seen her study.

“For what, darling?” You asked as you sat down beside her. She mumbled a “thank you” as she took her plate from you.

“Ghostface,” she said softly. You quickly turned to look at her even as she averted her own eyes.

“Oh,” you said before looking back down at your plate. You didn’t quite know how to respond to that. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” she said quickly.

You sighed and placed your plate on the table. Not on her books, of course. Then you took her plate as gently as possible, placing it down as well before turning to face her. Not just look at her, but to properly face her. If she wished to talk, you would give her your full attention.

“You deserve more,” she said.

So that’s where it was going. Okay. Now this, you could handle this.

“Before you go on this tirade of self-abuse,” you said, reaching out to grab her hands and pull them into your lap, “may I say something?”

After a slight hesitation, Sam nodded once.

“You and I are both old enough to make our own decisions, yes?” She nodded slowly. “Then trust I am old enough to know what I do and do not deserve.” Her eyes fell to her hands in your lap. “If I felt you were not what I truly wanted, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

“You don’t need to be brought into all of this,” Sam said anyway with a shake of her head. “You’re better than some traumatised Woodsboro kids.”

“I’m not better,” you said quickly, “just different.”

“Sounds the same to me,” she said with a humourless laugh.

“Samantha Carpenter, my darling dearest,” you said. You waited until she looked back up at you before you brought her knuckles to your lips, leaving the softest of kisses upon them. “I love you dearly and no, ah,” you laughed lightly, “hobby of yours will turn me away.”

There was a light blush on her cheeks when she met your eyes. “You love me?”

Oh.

Oh dear.

“Was that the first time I’ve said so?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a smile.

You sighed. “Far less romantic than I had planned.” Your eyes widened as you looked back up. “But no less true,” you said quickly.

She shook her head before leaning forward, and you eagerly met her halfway. Her lips were soft; they always were. The faintest taste of tobacco always lingered no matter how long it had been since her last cigarette. A constant in the ever-changing lives you both led. If you could have found a way to frame it all to keep with you forever, you would have.

“I love you too,” she mumbled against your lips.

You held still as she moved across the couch, crawling into your lap and kissing you again. Her hands rested on your neck and not for the first time, you did your best to keep your cool. It was something about the contrast between the gentleness of her kisses and the strength in her hands. You were putty under her fingers; she knew it.

It wouldn’t be polite to ravage her before she had eaten dinner. If there was one thing you knew about Sam, it was that she would forget to eat. Often. And as ready as you were for a very particular meal of your own, you couldn’t push back the concern of when she had eaten last. Truly eaten, because everyone knew neither she nor Tara had enough free time to cook for themselves very often.

“Darling,” you said softly. Her nails scratched lightly against your neck as she hummed for you to continue. “You need to eat.”

“I’d love to,” she said, her lips already starting to move across your jaw.

“Real food,” you clarified.

You felt more than heard her huff before her head fell into the crook of your neck. She didn’t like when you laughed at her, so you didn’t. Not out loud, at least. Your thumbs rubbed against her lightly exposed hips until she relaxed a little more under your touch.

“Now?” She asked.

“Now,” you repeated.

Sam sighed again, but lifted her head and looked down at you. The unhappiness was clear on her face. Quite frankly, at that moment, you didn’t care. There was plenty of time left in the evening to have your fun, and she would thank you later for making sure she had eaten something.

“Do quickies require food first?” She asked. Her eyes fell slowly along with her hands, raking her nails lightly along your skin until she reached the first button of your shirt.

“Yes they do,” you said.

She undid the second button.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

You swallowed loudly. She undid the third button, and you could feel her fingers ghosting across your skin. Perhaps she made a good point, perhaps you didn’t have to have food before a quickie. After all, that was the whole point, was it not? To do it before getting back to everything else? And when she bit her bottom lip and looked at you, you knew you were a goner.

She knew it too.

“Maybe we have a little time-”

-the door to your apartment flew open, hitting the wall with a bang. Your hands gripped Sam’s waist as you both jumped and looked toward the commotion. The door slammed shut once again before you could properly get a good look at who was in the two black robes.

“Hey guys, wanna watch a movie?” J asked breathlessly.

“Are you serious?” Sam asked; she still didn’t remove herself from your lap.

“I just wanted to freak him out,” Tara said as she held her arm. You noticed a single drop of blood on the floor. “He had creeped out Anika.”

“There was one rule, Tara,” Sam said.

“It was this or go to jail, which would you prefer?” Tara asked.

“I’d prefer if you were more careful-”

-a knock at the door caused everyone to shut up and freeze.

“NYPD,” the muffled voice said from the other side of the door.

“Fuck,” J whispered.

You couldn’t really argue with that statement. No one had moved, and the police were still right outside the door. Sam’s nails dug into your skin, leaving behind a sting that, in any other situation, would have been lovely. But this wasn’t any other situation, you were all frozen while the police knocked on the door again.

“Go to my room,” you said as you lifted Sam off your lap and stood up. “Lock the door.”  Tara and J nodded before running as quickly as they could to your room. “Stay here,” you told Sam.

You gave her a quick kiss before heading over to the door. Your fingers played with the buttons on your shirt before you decided better of it. Behind you, you could hear Sam stand up. With a deep breath in and a slow exhale, you decided to be brave and opened the door.

The policeman instantly looked you up and down before looking behind you. You hoped he saw Sam in slight disarray. A second policeman was leaning against the wall outside, not even having the decency to look at you before speaking.

“Did two people in black robes come in here?” He asked in a gruff voice.

“No sir,” you said quickly, “no visitors today.”

“You sure?” The first officer asked. “We saw them run into this building.”

You needed to come up with a better lie. Something more convincing. What could be convincing enough? You couldn’t blame the neighbours, you knew nothing of them. If they saw the two coming into the building, you would have to think of something. What would work? Clearly those fancy degrees you had meant nothing.

Ah.

Maybe not entirely useless.

“I’m really sorry, I haven’t noticed anything,” you said. “I’ve been a little, ah,” you cleared your throat and looked back at Sam. She gave you a small smile, and you turned back to the police, “preoccupied tonight.”

The officer looked behind you. You didn’t dare turn away and waited patiently for him to focus on you once again. Hopefully he couldn’t hear your heart attempting to beat out of your chest. He just needed to hurry and leave.

“I’m sorry we interrupted your night,” the officer finally said. “Thank you both for your time.”

You nodded and gave them both a smile. “Stay safe, officers.”

They tipped an invisible hat at you before leaving, and you didn’t wait for them to be very far before closing and locking the door. You let out a heavy sigh and let your head fall against the door with a solid thud. That was… far too close. Was that something they had all dealt with before? Had the police come to their doors before?

You took a deep breath and stood back up. Okay, you were brave, you had been very brave. When you turned around, Sam was still looking at you, but there was a different look in her eyes. You didn’t know what it was; at that moment, you were still too wound up to care.

“Come on out,” you said once you had walked over to Sam and wrapped your arms around her waist.

“They’re gone?” Tara asked while J opened the door.

“Yes,” you said with a nod, “they’re gone.”

“I thought we were fucked,” J said.

“I wish I was,” Sam mumbled softly enough for only you to hear.

You ignored the heat in your face. “Not tonight,” you said.

“Thank you,” Tara said in an uncharacteristic show of gratitude. “We didn’t know where else to go.”

“You can always come here,” you said. Tara nodded and made as if she was going to leave the apartment with J. “Don’t even think about it.”

Sam sighed.

“We need to go get cleaned up,” Tara said.

“You can clean up here,” you said forcefully. Or you hoped that’s how it came out. “Then we’re laying down some ground rules.”

Tara kept eye contact with you. You would have caved at any other point in time; there was nothing more terrifying than a Carpenter. It wasn’t questionable, there was no room for argument, it was a matter of fact. But you had just lied to the police for the first time in your life. Ever! If this was going to be a common occurence, then you were going to stand your ground.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Tara mumbled, but grabbed J’s hand and dragged them to the guest bathroom anyway.

“Thank you,” Sam said softly once she heard the shower turn on.

“Of course,” you said, placing a lingering kiss behind her ear. An idea sparked in your mind. “How long do you think it’ll take them?”

“Tara showers slow,” she said as she turned around in your arms to face you. “And if they’re both in there, it’ll be a while.”

You hummed and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I did tell the police we were preoccupied,” you said as you started manoeuvring her to the couch.

“Yes you did,” she said with a slowly growing smile.

“I’d hate to lie to them,” you continued, followed by another kiss.

Sam let herself fall onto the couch, pulling you down with her. She wasted no time in getting to work on the remaining buttons of your shirt. Her lips felt heavenly. You knew she still needed to eat, but something more important had come up.

Besides, you were happier to eat out anyway.

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