Slasher Fic - Tumblr Posts

Final Girl (Part 3)

- Final Girl Series Masterlist (updated part 1 - 9 and extras) 

A/n yall have been so kind!! all of the messages, likes, comments, and reblogs for this series have made me so happy! this chapter is a little bit of filler bc my original idea for this part was way too long especially with how busy this week is supposed to be, so i sort of split it!! 

also if this has pacing issues, i’m sorry, i had a panic attack yesterday and a really bad migraine today so it’s been kinda rough lately but i wanted to get this out!! Part 4 is going to have a little more going on :)

if this is messy pls don’t give up on me 😭 i promise the next part will have more going on i just didn’t want to leave y’all waiting forever and we needed a bit of a filler

also if anyone wants to leave me an ask about this series pls do:) i’ve had so much fun talking about Final Girl

Series Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Chapter Summary: Y/n’s first day back after the incident. 

----

My reflection has never bothered me more. I know vanity is such a stupid thing to worry about now after what happened to Casey, but I can’t help the way I scrutinize my appearance. 

The attention drawing cotton-y bandaid that was placed on the gash on the side of my temple has been (thankfully) downgraded to a regular bandaid. That’s fine--I can accept that. What I can’t accept are the stupid cuts caused by all of that glass.

After being released from the hospital, it took no time for me to learn that it’s going to be awhile before I can comfortably wear pants again. My arms are a little less cut up, so the white, long sleeved shirt I picked out covers my injuries without irritating them. I tried on a pair of leggings and I barely got them to my thighs without wincing.

So now I’m wearing the most comfortable skirt I own. Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice about it, I wear this skirt so often, but it barely covers any of the cuts on the back of my legs. God...people are going to think I’m doing this for attention, especially since media outlets keep calling my house. 

Ugh--this is as good as it’s going to get for my first day back. I pick my backpack up from my bed. My eyelids feel so heavy I have to fight the urge to collapse back into bed. 

The walk downstairs is painfully slow. Once I’m finally in the hall that leads to the kitchen, I stop. A vague confusion clouds my thoughts. Was I going to the kitchen? What did I want from the kitchen?

“Mornin’, kiddo.” I blink at the sound of Wells’ voice. At least it’s offering me a sense of a direction. 

Stepping fully in the kitchen, I greet back, “Good morning.” 

He eyes me for a long second, piercing blue irises lingering in a way that makes me feel uneasy in my own skin. “Skirt’s a little grown, ain’t it?” When my only reaction is to furrow my eyebrows, he continues, “What happened to those little girl dresses you used to wear? I liked those.” 

I grab the strap of my backpack, shifting slightly. I stopped wearing those dresses after he had been dating my mom for a few months. “Outgrew them, I guess.” 

Wells nods once, the motion gruff as he moves to grab his mug. He lets out a curt, gruff noise. 

“Oh, Wells.” Like always, my mom’s voice chases away all the tension. “Don’t you know better than telling a girl what to wear? Especially a teenager. Now ease up, 16-year-old me would make Y/n look like a saint.” With that, my mom finally looks at me. “You look pretty, like always, I especially like your top.” It takes me a second to realize that my mom’s referencing the fact that I stole this shirt from her closet. I let out a soft, slow laugh. “You okay?” 

I nod drastically. “Yep, just want to get the first day back over with.” 

“I can’t believe you only took one day off. When I was your age, I’d have taken half a week off for less.” 

“It’s going to be bad no matter when I go back. My name’s been all over the news.” I release the strap of my backpack, scratching the back of my wrist. “Plus it’s junior year and that one day off already has me drowning in makeup work. I can’t afford to fall behind. Junior year is the year colleges look at most. This year could make or break whether or not I get into Princeton.” 

My mom holds her hands up in defense. “Yes, I know, you ranted to me about it yesterday. Just promise me you’ll listen to your body. I don’t love that you haven’t had your follow up appointment yet to confirm whether or not you have a concussion.” 

“Mom, I’m fine, promise. I’ll let you know if I start to feel weird.” 

She watches me for a long second, likely attempting to scan me the way an MRI machine would. “Fine, you need a ride or--” 

“Actually, a friend’s picking me up.” 

At that my mom tilts her head in a way that’s so knowing I feel the urge to confess even though I’ve done nothing. “A friend as in one of those two boys that spent all weekend calling and checking in on you?” 

My mom spent the last two days at my side. Normally it would have annoyed me, but it was actually nice. It reminded me of life before Wells. There was one downside, though. She saw how often Billy and Stu called. It wasn’t terrible and she probably would have picked up on it anyway, but it’s opened the ground to a lot of jokes and comments on her part.

“You’re the one who brought them into this. I would have never thought to call Billy while I was at the hospital.” That’s true. Even though we were friends before the incident, I wouldn’t have thought to call anyone except my mom. “And they’re just trying to be there for me like good friends.” 

At that, my mom leans against the kitchen island. “Y’know when I was your age, I had a guy that just wanted to be a good friend and drove me to school. Now I have a daughter.” 

I roll my eyes, “Haha. Yes--I’m going to get pregnant in the less than 10-ish minutes we’re going to have before we need to get to class.” 

“It only took about 8 minutes to make you, and that includes me getting dressed and fixing my hair after. Just saying.” 

I make a point of fake gagging. “Bye mom, Wells.“

“What? I was joking!” 

I walk towards the front door. A hand on my shoulder makes me nearly jump out of my skin. “Mom! You scared me.” 

She offers me a sheepish smile, “You know I’m kidding, right? They’re nice for caring.” 

“I know, mom.” 

With a sigh, she continues, “Just be sa--” 

“Oh my God, mom! I’m not having se--” 

“Easy, pumpkin,” she laughs off my outburst, “I mean in general. Don’t strain yourself and don’t feel like you need to push through. You want to go home early and I’ll pick you up.” 

I smile softly. “Yeah, I will.” 

With that, I open the front door. The sun is so bright I have to drop my head as I walk down the driveway. Wells’ house is objectively nicer than the house my mom and I lived in when we were still in Texas, but I still find myself missing the familiarity of our old front porch. 

Squinting, I look up and notice a car waiting next to the mailbox. How did I miss that? Rubbing my eyes with one hand, I approach the vehicle. 

I pull open the door to the backseat. Two sets of eyes turn towards me. “You know you guys didn’t have to wait for me.” I push my backpack into the car before sitting down. “You could’ve honked or something,” 

“We just got here,” Billy says easily, but I’m not sure I believe him. 

Stu turns in his seat to face me better as I shut the car door. “Plus we don’t mind giving you time to get all dolled up. Especially since today’s going to be a total bloodbath.” 

His wording leaves me more confused than upset. I draw my eyebrows together, shifting awkwardly. “What do you mean?” 

“Everyone’s gone crazy over what happened. I think more people were talking about you than Casey, and Casey’s the one that got gutted. It’s all over the news. They hung her from that tree in--” Billy moves his hand from the console in order to smack the side of Stu’s head. “Ow, man--what was that for?” 

“It’s not even 8 yet, at least let her wake up first before you traumatize her.” 

The thought of Casey makes my stomach twist, but I’m not focused in on anything enough to really react. Tiredly, I pull my backpack onto my lap and squeeze it to my body. “It’s fine,” I’m not sure if I’m talking to them or myself. 

Stu and Billy exchange a look that I barely register before resting my chin on my bag. “Are you okay? You didn’t even do that cute, little glare thing you do when you want me to shut up.” 

“I’m fine,” I answer a little too quickly, forcing myself to sit up some more, “A little tired.” Stu’s watching me a little too carefully and I catch Billy glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “Seriously?” Sighing, I shift in my seat, “First my mom and now you guys. I’m fine.”

My reaction is just a little too angry. Maybe if I felt a little more rested, I would have known better. Stu moves until he’s siting in the passenger seat normally. “Crying over the fact that you’re a total mommy’s girl.” 

Rolling my eyes and ignoring the way the motion irritates my migraine, I lean back in my seat. “Put on a seatbelt, asshole.” 

Even though that’s said with more bite and irritation than anything I’ve ever said to him, Stu laughs. It’s light and terribly offensive. I frown, looking over at Billy as heat crawls up my neck and towards my face. He’s just barely fighting down a grin. “It’s not that funny.” 

“No,” Stu sarcastically agrees, “That was so mean of you. I can’t remember the last time someone insulted me and tried to take care of me at the same time.” 

I cross my arms around my backpack. “Why did I agree to getting into a contained space with you two so early in the morning?” 

“Because you don’t have a license.” Billy looks way too smug as he turns the wheel as we move down a curb. 

I glare at him. “You extorted that information out of me while I was super out of it and half asleep.” 

“You said it yourself, it’s not like one of us asked.” 

He’s right and I hate it. I sink further into the seat, tempted to shut my eyes, but knowing that there’s no guarantee that I won’t fall asleep if I do. “Whatever.” 

Stu half laughs at that before starting to talk about a new scary movie that’s coming out. The plot sounds kind of basic, but I’m not one to judge until I see the movie. Normally, I’d be totally invested. I kind of like when Stu rambles about something he’s interested in, but now I’m struggling to hold my head up. 

I don’t register that we’re in the school parking lot until both Billy and Stu get out of the car. Once they’re both out, I shake my head once in an attempt to clear my thoughts. Get it together.

When I step out of the car, I make a point of keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me. Stu may exaggerate every once in awhile, but I don’t think he’s wrong about school. My mom has been fielding calls since the morning I was discharged from the hospital and last night while I was flipping through channels, I saw my face three times.

Before I can even think, a bright flash makes me flinch. The light is like a punch behind the eye thanks to my headache. That is followed by a series of other equally bright and irritating camera shutters. 

Shit. 

Billy steps towards me, dropping his voice so that only I can hear, “You know we don’t have to.” 

Taking a settling breath, I tilt my chin up a fraction of an inch. “It’s fine,” I say, hoping that I’ll convince myself, “Can’t hide forever.” 

We walk forward, me a few steps ahead of Billy and Stu. My fast pace is a sad attempt at ripping off the bandaid. 

“Excuse--Excuse me, miss!” I squeeze the strap of my backpack so tightly my knuckles must be white from the tension. “Miss Y/n L/n.” The woman that waves me down is holding a large microphone. She barely glances at me before turning her attention back to the camera man that followed her as she chased me. “Hi. Gale Weathers. I covered the last one of these.” 

I wince. “I’m sorry, when you say ‘the last one of these’ do you mean the last murder or--” 

“...And we’re rolling!” In nature, bright colors are meant to warn living things of poison. I think that logic could be applied to Gale Weathers and her auburn hair and blood red lips. “I’m Gale Weathers and I’m bringing you an exclusive with the lone survivor of what some are calling the worst murder in Woodsboro history.” She then turns towards me, “Now, Y/n, our viewers want to know exactly what you’re feeling.” 

Her microphone is way to close to my face. “Well, Gale, I’m glad you asked,” I’m speaking in the polite tone I used to reserve for rude customers when I worked in the mall last summer, “I’m feeling fan-freakin’-tastic!” 

The false enthusiasm jars her the way I hoped it would. She brings the microphone back to her. “Really?” 

“No, you vulture. Ambush interviewing is as tacky as that suit.” 

With that, I turn away and attempt to storm into school with an aura that scares away reporters. I’ve only ever seen that kind of confident magic come from my mom, but she’s half my genetic material, that means it must be in me somewhere, right?

Apparently wrong, because the cameras continue to flash. One man gets so close to me that his rapid photographing leaves me dizzy. 

“Okay,” an arm quickly wraps around my side, stabilizing me, “You got your pictures, now leave her alone.” The scent of Tatum’s perfume is comforting as she guides me the rest of the way inside. Once we’re inside, we’re granted the semblance of some privacy. “And I thought they were bad yesterday. Are you okay?” 

I nod, relaxing a little at her casual expression. Maybe if I try hard enough, I’ll be able to pretend that this is an average Tuesday. “I’m fine, I’m just tired, and I can’t believe how obsessed everyone is.” 

“Of course they’re obsessed.” For the first time ever, Randy’s voice is completely unwelcome. “You’re the sole survivor, the only witness to tell the story, the--for lack of better term--final girl.” 

Being in a friend group with so many people that are really into horror movies is all fun and games until they summarize the great trauma of your life in a movie trope. “Really? I never would have thought of it that way.” 

Sidney glares at Randy in defense of me. I appreciate it, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “It’s too soon for those kinds of jokes.” 

My sarcasm was pure venom and Sidney’s reaction, though well intentioned, only made me feel sorry. Randy offers me a sheepish sort of look that immediately makes me feel bad for being so snippy. His comment wouldn’t have bothered me so much if it wasn’t for what just happened, and he wasn’t really trying to be mean. That actually might have been an attempt to lighten the mood, especially since he knows that the final girl storyline is one of my favorites. He’s always recommending movies that end like that. 

“Thanks, Sid, but I came on a little strong. I’m sorry, Randy, I’ve been a total nightmare all day. Just ask Billy and St--” I look around, a little surprised that they’re not right behind me. Aw, I lost them in all that commotion. “Weird--they were just behind me.” Shaking off the slightly lost feeling with the turn of my head, I move on, “Ask them later. The point is, I’ve been awful. It’s not your guys’ fault that this is my life right now.” 

Randy’s expression morphs from being almost hurt to something that’s even more of a punch in the gut. He seems sympathetic. “It’s okay, you’re holding it together way more than I would be. I don’t even know how you’re at school today.” 

“Yeah, how are you even here, Y/n?” Tatum echoes, her voice a little softer than before. 

It’s a good question. Now that I’m here all those points I made about school and grades and Princeton feel so far away. “It had to happen at some point, I might as well rip off the band aid. I just want everything to go back to normal.” I shift awkwardly, watching them watch me. “And the man that did this doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of my fear.” 

After a moment, Randy prompts, “...And?” 

“And what?” 

He half smiles. “Come on, Y/n, if you want this to feel normal, you’re going to have to give us the Princeton rant.” 

I roll my eyes before scoffing. “I do not talk about Princeton often enough for you to warrant naming it a specific rant.” 

Randy raises an eyebrow at my obvious lie. “You must have really hit your head hard.” 

“Rude.“ I turn towards Tatum, “Tate, you don’t think I’m like obsessed with Princeton.

She parts her lips as she debates the way she wants to respond. Before she can say anything, Stu walks up from behind me and pulls Tatum into a hug. He then gives her a soft kiss that feels linger-y. Wait--why am I noticing that? That’s...that’s weird of me. And why does this feel more uncomfortable than the time I caught them full on making out in the girl’s bathroom? Why is that tiny display of affection sitting in my chest in a way that makes it hard to look at them? 

More annoyed at my thoughts than the way Stu cups her face, I force my myself to stare at the locker in front of me. There are polaroids of people I don’t know tapped to the front of it.

Ugh--screw the guy that threw me into that wall. My head must be totally messing with me. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Billy’s sudden appearance surprises me more than it should. At this point, I should know that when I see one the other isn’t too far behind. He has an arm around Sidney’s shoulders, and she’s leaning into his touch just enough for it to be noticeable. Since when is Billy so into PDA? 

Oh my god, what’s wrong with me? Maybe my mom was right to think I have some kind of brain injury. My eyes snap back to the locker. “Nothing.”

“Y/n’s obsession with an Ivy League school in New Jersey.”

After a moment of silence, I realize that everyone’s waiting for me to speak. “Not an obsession.” My response lacks my usual level of conviction when talking about Princeton in any capacity. I can feel the fragile way they’re all looking at me. My eyes focus on the polaroids in front of me until everything else blurs into the background. 

The polaroids have my eyes watering and I don’t know why. They’re just stupid pictures of people I don’t know. Casey’s voice echoes in my head. It’s a punch in the gut.

Stu’s voice cuts through the static of my thoughts. “Y/n? Are you o--”

“I think I remembered something.” The admission is so low I’m surprised anyone hears it. “Randy, do you have a copy of the news article? Not the first one, the second one that lists everything found at the crime scene?” 

“Yeah,” Randy admits it like it’s an apology, “In my backpack.” 

“Can I see it?”

Everyone stays quiet at that. There’s an energy in the air that makes me feel as trapped as I did in the hospital. “Come on, guys, I don’t need to be babied. The pictures aren’t going to freak me out, I was kinda there for the real thing.” 

“At the hospital, didn’t you say you were unconscious for most of it?” Billy’s remark earns him a glare so harsh that he moves his hands to hold them up in defense before dropping them to his side. 

“Fine. Whatever. Don’t show me the newspaper, I’ll find my own copy, it’s everywhere. There’s a good chance some jag-off shoved one into my locker anyways.” Ugh--why is everyone so impossible? I turn on my heels, unsure if I’m fuming or ready to burst into tears.

I don’t even make it a full step before something locks around my upper forearm. My head snaps back as the hand’s sudden grip softens. “Come on, bug.” That leaves me hesitant. Stu called me that the day after we first met. Since then, the nickname has mainly been reserved to calm me down. I’ve asked him about it before, but he always refuses to explain it. “You’re just going to make yourself sick.” 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I frown. The group learned about my weak stomach early on in our friendship. My first night drinking with them ended with me throwing up in Stu’s bathroom. That wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if I was totally wasted, but I was objectively way too sober to get that sick.

There’s some underlying quality to his words. A quality that’s too knowing, too sure. He’s being more condescending than sweet. “I think I can manage.” I pull my arm away, ignoring the way his expression blanks. “I’m not a vase or a little kid, I don’t need you all treating me like I’m that unbelievably fragile.”

Stu angles his head to the side. I force myself to tilt my chin upwards in an attempt to stand my ground. I don’t fully get whatever face off we’re in, but I’ll be damned if I lose it this quickly. “Since you’re all grown up, Y/n, look at whatever you want, but don’t come crying to me about it.” 

I take a step forward, indignation leaving my spine straight. “When have I ever--” 

“You couldn’t even spend a few hours by yourself in a hospital.”

The unfairness of his statement forces a scoff from my lips. I take a step forward. “I didn’t ask for your help then and I’m not asking for it now.” 

“Stu.” Billy’s voice is level, bordering on neutral. 

At that, Stu exhales, but he doesn’t stop staring at me. “It’s fine, Billy.” 

“Yeah,” Stu echoes, shifting towards me, “Y/n’s fine, she doesn’t need anyone.” 

A sarcastic, half thought out reply rises up my chest and jams itself in my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about how much taller than me Stu is. He’s looking down at me with an intensity that hits me straight in the stomach. Great, another feeling I don’t understand. “Whatever,” I mumble, “I need to get to class.” 

The bell rings a moment after I turn. I walk to homeroom, not thinking twice about it until I’m sitting in front of an empty desk. 

My face is hot, my head hurts, and Mrs. Ramirez’s announcements are drowned out by a ringing in my ears. When the bell rings, I can’t get out of the room fast enough. Normally, Stu’s around right after homeroom, ready to walk me to math. 

I don’t know what that weird argument was in the hallway, but I’m not ready to deal with it yet. So even though I’m gripping the straps of my backpack so tightly it hurts, I take the long way to class. There are no memories of Casey in AP Calc AB, so this time when I sit at my desk, I can breathe.

By the time I’m pulling out my notebook, the bell rings. Mr. Williams walks to the front of the classroom, “Alright, everyone in their seat. For today’s exam, you are permitted the use of a graphing calculator.”

Shit. The test. I forgot about the calc test. Mr. Williams begins to hand out the exam. When he gets to me, I stop him, “Mr. Williams, I-I was wondering if I could possibly take the exam on another day? After the events of this weekend, I--” 

“Ms. L/n, I made it clear to the entire class that I do not believe in scheduling a makeup exam the day of.” 

My fingers nervously scratch at the back of my wrist. “And I understand that, and normally I’d never ask, but if you’ve seen the news--” 

“Ms. L/n, do you want to take the test or would you rather me put a 0 in the grade book?” 

I could scream. I want to scream, but instead, all I do is nod, “Take the test.” 

And with that, he places the packet on my desk. The sound it makes feels like a death sentence. The next 50 minutes are a nightmare. I don’t remember how to do half the problems, and what I do remember, I can’t seem to do right. By the time the bell rings, I’m in full on panic mode. Mr. Williams collects the test and I leave the room like it’s on fire. 

The sharp pain in my head has never been this bad. I reach my locker, unlocking it to grab my bottle of ibuprofen. I take two Advil without any water. Today totally, unbelievably sucks. I need to splash some water in my face. 

The bathroom is thankfully empty. Pushing my backpack off of my shoulders and onto the counter, I turn on the sink. The water is cool against my fingers, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe. My bandaid is sticking out to me too much so I force my gaze downwards. 

There’s a long abandoned copy of a newspaper on the counter. Its corners are so wet that the words at the start and end of the article are unreadable. The page it’s opened to has no photos. I’m sure if I flipped through it I’d find something listing everything the police found inside the house that night. 

Stu’s earlier claim echoes in my head as I pick up the newspaper. I’m not sure if I’m more motivated by spite or the desire to answer the question in my head, but I guess it doesn’t matter, because the end result is the same. I turn the page, skimming the article. The intro is so long that I still haven’t gotten to the murder, let alone what the police found after. I flip ahead until I find what I’m looking for.

I read the section about everything that was found twice. They mention everything down to the burned jiffy pop and the tube of lipgloss Casey left in the living room. The paragraph never mentions the polaroids from the kitchen.

He took pictures of me from the crime scene. 

Unease leaves my stomach in knots. The killer, who talked to me on the phone like we were best friends and chose to not kill me took photos of me. 

I turn the page frantically, desperate to see if the polaroids are mentioned there. Big mistake. Casey’s photo is staring at me, but she’s not her in it. She’s hanging from that big tree in her yard and her--her intestines... 

Cold sweat leaves my hands clammy. My body knows what’s happening before I do. A stall door gets thrown open just in time for me to throw myself onto my knees. Bile and whatever’s left of last night’s dinner burn as they come up my throat. I wretch. 

An unexpected but not unpleasant touch is pressed into my back as my hair is pushed out of my face. More bile leaves me. 

After a second passes and I don’t throw up a third time, I turn my head just enough to see who’s next to me. Billy. He doesn’t say anything at my recognition, he just moves his hand up and down my back gently. 

“...I found a newspaper.” 

“Yeah, I assumed after i heard the…”

He’s trailing off to be nice. I shift in order to sit cross legged on the floor. “Right. That’s fair.” 

His hand stalls against my back. “I didn’t mean it li--” 

“I know.” My voice is too small.

Billy moves his free hand. I don’t know what he’s doing until he’s pulling the paper away from me. I let him take the newspaper and place it somewhere on the other side of him. “Why’d you look?” 

“I--earlier, I was looking at this locker in front of us and it had polaroids taped to it, and-and that made me remember that on Saturday, Casey took a bunch of pictures of me. Polaroids.” I wipe at my face with the back of my palm. "The article’s super detailed, but it didn’t mention any pictures. I-I think that means that the person took them.”  

Billy’s eyebrows draw together. The corner of his mouth turns downwards. “You’re making yourself sick over this.” 

“Because it’s a big deal!” My reaction is harsher than it should be. He’s being nice to me after I blew up at everyone this morning and they were just trying to be good friends. And after this, I’m in no position to talk about what I am and am not able to handle. “It’s a big deal that I’m alive and Casey isn’t.” Taking a shaky breath, I continue, “And I should--I have to make it right somehow. Casey’s dead and I’m alive because it fit whatever plot he wanted to make. It was total chance, the killer probably flipped a coin while outside of her house to pick which one of us would live and which one would end up like...” I gesture vaguely in the direction of the newspaper, “That.” 

He’s quiet for so long I think he may not respond at all. His hand begins to move up and down my back again in the form of small circles. “Do you really think that?” 

Shrugging, I lean into his touch. “I mean, it’s probably either that or a stalker scenario.”

“You don’t have to figure it out. Just because you’re the one that survived doesn’t mean you need to put yourself through this. Especially now. It just happened, give yourself some time.” His voice is so assuring and oddly comforting I feel my eyes water. “What’s wrong?” 

Despite myself, I almost snort. “I think you know what’s wrong.” 

He gives me a semi bitchy look. “Something else happened, I can see it on your face.” 

Frowning, I let my gaze drop to the ground. “Am I that transparent?” 

Billy moves, the hand that’s not on my back coming beneath my chin. I let him tilt my head upwards until our eyes meet. “You have no idea.”

Warmth crawls up my face. He smiles. “Fine, I’ll tell you but it’s stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve had a really bad headache all day and then I get to first period and Mr. Williams starts talking about an exam. And that’s how I realized that I completely forgot about the calc unit test. I tried using the whole almost murdered excuse--I kinda hated myself for it, but it doesn’t matter, because he didn’t even go for it.” With a dramatic, deprecating sigh, I start to pick at a loose thread in my shoe lace. “Mr. Williams doesn’t believe in getting out of the test the day of. There’s no way I didn’t fail it, and it’s an AP class so that’s going to mess with my entire GPA.” 

He doesn’t comment on my teariness or the way that I almost sniffle, he just continues to softly rub my back. The gesture is starting to feel somewhat maternal, but it’s nice. “He made you take the test?” 

“Mr. Williams’ is a total asshole.” 

Billy’s mouth turns upwards, “He sounds like it.” I smile, leaning into his touch. “You should go back to the doctor.” He frowns when I move away from him. “Your head hurts, you’re moody--” 

“Am not.” 

“Right, because that stand off with Stu earlier was like you.” 

Right--that weird moment in the hallway. Great, Stu’s probably mad at me, and there’s no way that me going out of my way to not see him before math is something he’s going to take lightly. “He’s probably so mad at me.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Billy says, “He can’t stay mad at you.” 

I give him a look. “He’s petty.” 

Billy smiles after a second. “He’ll be petty about it, but he won’t actually be mad.” Before I can respond, Billy stands, “Come on, you need to go to a doctor.” 

After a second, I stand, taking his hand. “Fine.” 

----

Taglist: @cole22ann @i-amnotokaywiththis 

Hi there!

If you accept requests, could you write a Halloween themed fic about y/n, Billy and Stu?

Like them going out to choose their costumes and decorating Stu’s house for a party, stuff like that

Hope you are doing well! Thank you very much ☺️

A/n omg i loveee holiday fics and halloween <3

----

You're staring down an aisle of plastic faces etched into neon bases. The differences between them are superficial, just a variety of colors and two or three alternainge expressions. Nothing distinct enough to warrant this level of analysis and yet...

You decide on one from the top shelf. Orange with simple triangle eyes and a double toothed smile. A classic.

You place your chosen plastic pumpkin into the cart that's slowly but surely being filled up by Halloween decor that's only somewhat cheesy. Okay, to be fair, the contents of your pile range in their levels of cheesiness...but still, mostly non-cheesy and perfectly fitting for a classic Halloween, high school rager.

"Really?"

There's nothing about Billy's voice that's worth getting. No soft lilt to indicate teasing or harshness to imply actual judgement. It's the factualness of the statement that leaves you doubting your choice, even though nothing about this is that deep. "What?"

Billy lets out a partial sigh, irritated by the way that fondness pinches his chest. There's something soft about your question, like his opinion on your choice of decorations could actually crush you. It soothes that part of him that's always searching for a reason to believe that those around him are flighty. "You just--you spent so much time looking and then you picked the orange one."

Shrugging, you place a hand on the side of the cart. "I was deciding."

"You picked the poster child of pumpkins." A pointless stance for a pointless argument. You beam at him and Billy starts to feel a little less ridiculous for entertaining this.

Still smiling, you start, "Pumpkins have poster children?"

"Hey, sweetheart." Stu appears halfway down the aisle.

You blink, instinctually squeezing the side of the cart tighter in your shock. For someone so larger than life, Stu can move quietly when he wants to. "Stu." Carefully, and only somewhat halfheartedly, you try to shrug him off. "Did you at least find the cups?"

Stu lifts his free arm, showing you the plastic covered set of solo cups. "You give me a job, babe, I get it done."

Billy rolls his eyes, "Since when?"

Stu scoffs, fingers pressing into your upper arm a little more firmly. "Since Y/n asked." His hand shifts up and down your arm. "Maybe if you looked like her, I'd listen to you."

There's nothing inherently wrong with the gesture, but there's an undertone of stiffness in his touch. That paired with the way Stu's attention remains on Billy makes you feel a little more like a prop than equal participant in the conversation. Deciding to shake off the feeling, you poke Stu's side.

"Ouch." A sound that's forced out much too harshly. Stu retracts immediately, like he's in agony. "What? I was complimenting you."

You roll your eyes. "I barely touched you."

"I'm wounded." He makes a show of clutching his side. "Kiss it better?"

Billy sighs, shifting his attention towards you, "We can't take him anywhere."

You nod understandingly, "We really can't."

Stu scoffs, offended, "Fuck you guys."

"We're kidding." Your concession comes quicker than usual, but you really don' mind giving in to keep the peace right now.

Today has been fun in that simple way that people forget about around middle school. Stu had called last night and mentioned something about wanting to up his party game for Halloween and a few things about decorations. He insisted that he couldn't go with just Billy because Billy has the decorative taste of someone that's color blind. Even though that's the strangest insult you've ever heard, it made you laugh and you agreed to tag along to cancel out any potential color vision deficiency.

They picked you up the next morning, swinging by your usual coffee place before stopping by a grocery store and then finally, the Halloween pop up store.

"You can't be mad," you mumble, "I need your held defending my pumpkin." Stu blinks, a little too surprised and confused to know how he wants to react. You gesture towards the cart as if that should answer everything. "Billy called it basic."

"I said you spent a long time looking at different pumpkins just to pick the orange one."

Stu turns his head, giving you a look that makes it clear that he has no idea how you've been putting up with this. "It's a classic."

"Thank you."

Billy's eyebrows pinch together. He's aware that there are few things you could say that Stu would publicly disagree with, but there's nothing to oppose. "I didn't--" He sighs again, giving in, "You should get a friend."

You tilt your head slightly in a way that's hard to read. "I'm not eight." Even though your tone leans towards argumentative, you walk towards the shelf and grab another orange pumpkin. This one's eyes are ovals, not triangles, and its dark smile is more lopsided and smaller. A variant that sticks close to the source material. "Two does look better, though."

With the pumpkin debacle settled, Billy begins to push the cart forward. You and Stu remain about two steps ahead of it, pointing out different decorations from time to time, most of them unserious suggestions.

"What do I have to do to get you in this?"

That sentence, coming from Stu, is enough to make you scared to turn around. The only reason you eventually do is because you can't justify staring at the wall that's stocked with costume add ons--fangs of both the glow in the dark and regular variety, cellophane wings, horn and halo headbands. You're also painfully aware of the fact that the more you resist and fluster, the more Stu will commit to his bit.

So you force yourself to remain casual as you look behind you. He's holding up a prepackaged angel costume that makes you feel like you're offending some religion by just looking at it. A corset top, small, frilly skirt, and white fishnets. It's not so much that makes the costume feel like something that belongs on stage at a failing Vegas show, it's the material and the styling.

"Uh..." In a way, you're glad that he decided to make the joke about something so blatantly not an option, because there's no way he's serious. It makes joking back easier, a little safer. "...Have a roll of one's ready?"

He doesn't miss a beat, "Deal."

Now that sounded a lot more genuine. You blink, struggling to hold your ground. Instinctually, your attention flits towards Billy.

"You should've known what he'd do with a stripper joke."

It's only a partial out, but you appreciate it greatly, "I have no one to blame but myself."

Stu scoffs. "I'm not that predictable."

You and Billy exchange a look. Stu pouts, turning enough to hang the plastic packaging back on its metal hook.

Instead of reminding him that if anyone should be offended about that last joke it should be you, you decide to shift focus. Your attention falls on the consistently growing contents of the cart. It might be a little much, but Stu's house is large. You'd need this many things to make the whole space feel decorated.

"You think we're good or are we missing something?"

Billy tilts his head downwards, taking an unofficial inventory of the cart's contents. It's more for your sake than actual interest. "You didn't get the lights. The twinkly ones."

There's something about hearing Billy say the word twinkly that's more entertaining than it should be. You smile despite yourself. "Say twinkly again."

He glowers, "No."

Billy starts pushing the cart, nearly running over your toes. You bounce back quickly, holding onto the side of the cart like a little kid as you follow him forward. "Why not?"

"The way you asked."

Rude. "He's no fun."

Stu turns his head just enough to look back at the two of you, "Billy?" His hand latches onto the front of the cart. Now, all three of you are clinging to the shopping cart like pre-schoolers that use those plastic rings to stick together. "He's moody."

The comment is meant to dig at you. "I didn't say that."

You'd never say that. If anything, oversimplifying Billy like that is one of your pet peeves. He likes to come off as a little closed off, but it's not such a basic teenage boy thing on him. You've never said anything explaining your defensiveness...you don't even think you'd be able to put it into words, but with Billy, any pretext of angst feels like a type of shield.

"He's just above entertaining me now."

Billy's eyebrows draw together sharply. "Now?"

Reaching the end of the aisle, Billy starts to turn the cart. It's a little awkward to make it around the corner without anyone releasing the cart, but you manage. "We all have to out grow our friends at some point."

"Mhm," he hums dryly, "Especially the dramatic ones."

Eyes widening, you turn on your heels to glare at him. He keeps his head angled downwards, a few strands of hair falling forward to hide the brunt of his reaction. That doesn't stop you from seeing part of his smug smile. If Billy's casualness wasn't always welcomed, you'd likely be a little more annoyed.

"The you that corrected the barista that misheard my coffee order before I could would have never spoken to me like that."

"That was this morning."

You shrug off his response, deciding that a comment about simpler times would over extend the bit. You're in the right aisle now, anyway, shelves full of decorations that require hooks or nails or something else to keep them attached to the wall.

Stu wanders away from the cart, picking up a cardboard box that displays a picture of purple lightbulbs strung up on a suburban house. "These?"

You shake your head. "Too bright, I think they're meant for outside." Stepping towards the shelves, you pick up a rolled up cord of smaller, darker purple lights and another set of boxed lights. "You need... mood lighting."

The cord for the boxed ones are way too long for a living room or kitchen and the bulbs seem way too bright and project a harsh, unflattering orange in their picture. The label on the other set says that they alternate between dark blue and purple and the bulbs are shaped like stars. Definitely a winner.

You look up, ready to say as much, but the words cram their way back down your throat before you can. Stu's closer than you realized, a lot closer than you ever expected him to be.

"Mood lighting?" You know that dropping your head and backing away would only make this worse. Stu likes to know when he's getting something. "What's the exact mood?"

He's grasping at straws in an attempt to fluster you. While mood lighting may hint at something suggestive, it's obvious that you meant the kind of chill, dim lighting that makes people comfortable yet energized. Party lighting. You should say that, laugh off his proximity and his energy. But for whatever reason, you can't quite think.

You press your lips together. "Exact mood," you repeat, still a little unsure, "I had more of a general mood idea."

Stu takes a partial step forward before extending his hand. He takes the wound cord, gently pulling it from your fingers. Slowly, he undoes the thick twist tie holding the cord together. You watch, more curious than you'd like to admit as he unravels it. With no warning, Stu pulls the string of lights over your shoulders.

He takes his time adjusting the string of lights over your shoulders. "I get what you mean."

Warmth you don't get crawls up your neck. It has to be about looking weird in a secluded, but still public, aisle. You tilt your head, trying to ignore that feeling you can't name. "You're tangling them."

"They're fine," he dismisses easily, twisting a part of the cord between his fingers. "We'll get Billy to untangle them later."

You laugh at that. Stu frees you from the confines of the string lights. Billy throws a look at Stu as he halfheartedly rolls up the lights before dropping them in the cart.

"So I'm un-fun and the light de-tangler."

You walk towards him before Billy can fully start pushing the cart again. "I take it back." You reach forward and squeeze his forearm without thinking twice about it. "You're fun." Billy briefly stiffens, gaze trained on what's directly in front of him. "Sometimes."

Billy hates the wave of fondness that that's trying to crawl its way out of his chest. "Like when I'm untangling string lights?" It's meant to be sarcastic in that biting, casually detached way.

If the shift in tone bugs you, you give no indication of it as you smile at him. "And some other times."

Mickey Altieri x Reader: Umbrella Link.

Words: 1706

Warnings: bad date.

Summary: you are alone in the rain because you forgot to brin an umbrella. mickey has one, though.

Author's note: OKAY SO I’M OBSESSED WITH SCREAM, and i’ve been writing in ao3 instead of in here because i wanted to get away from my responsabilities and numerous dodge mason request. sorry, i got overwhelmed, but i’m back, and i’m bringing all of my pieces in ao3 with me. here you go. you can find the link to ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39859458

Criticism is appreciated and request are open! Hit that anon button and tell me your idea!

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

College was definitely better than high school. You had never believed your friends back in your hometown whenever they talked about how great university was going to be. How it would change everything, how no one disliked college. You had never had, on the other hand, too much faith on this idea, though. Middle school had been hell and high school hadn’t been any better. Instead of thinking positively, theorizing that college couldn’t be worse than what you had already lived, you stayed on the half empty view. So, arriving at Windsor College and discovering that you had been wrong all along was a pleasant surprise that Derek Feldman, your old friend, would never allow you to forget.

Derek and you had been friends since kindergarten. You wouldn’t know what to do without him, and neither did him without you, so it had been a relief to find out both of you had been accepted into the same high school. Your friendship, however, hadn’t stopped either of you when it was time to find some other friends, and slowly but firmly, the new group of friends strengthened with the friendships that lasted after the first weeks of class. Randy, Derek, Mickey, Hallie, Sidney… You’ve all become inseparable and that’s everything you know by now. 

That, and the fact that it is raining like it’s the last day on Earth and you have no umbrella.

Hallie and Derek told you earlier, before you went on your date, that you should take an umbrella with you but you hadn’t listened. There were no clouds in the sky and you were convinced you would come back to your dorm before the sky could get cloudy. As you had expected, the date hadn’t gone well for you, but the guy talked a lot about himself — so much, you had loathed the sound of his voice only half an hour in. Still, you hadn’t found a valuable excuse to leave earlier than supposed to, and he literally gave you no time to tell him that it was already late and you should head back home. He had offered to walk you home, making a brilliant observation about you not having an umbrella when it was raining cats and dogs, but you had nicely told him you would wait in the coffee shop’s doorway until it stopped. You had no intention of spending more time with that person, ever again, and it had been a relief seeing him finally walk away. It wasn’t a relief, though, that it was still bucketing down with no intention to stop. You were cold, and tired and a bit annoyed by the result of your date.

“Nice weather, isn’t it?” The voice near your ear made you jump on your place, not knowing someone had approached you from behind. You gave Mickey Altieri a dirty look when you recognized him behind his umbrella, a grin in his face. “Whoa, relax, Y/N. It’s just me”

Mickey had been Derek’s first friend on campus. He was his roommate and the two of them had quickly hit it off. He also turned out to be a film student, just like you, but you were closer with Randy Meeks. Mickey was everything opposed to Randy, which meant he was everything that got you a little nervous. His nonchalant playfulness, his flirtatious comments, his easy going but intense personality — it was all nice until you two were alone, when those things focused on you more than usual. 

“Yeah.” You scoffed, burying your hands in your hoodie’s pockets. You avoided his eyes for some seconds before looking back at him, finding he moved from behind you to next to you. “For a duck, it might be”

Mickey chuckled softly and his face lightened up when he did. You didn’t need to look at him to see the wrinkles that formed in his eyes, you’ve already memorized them. He happens to laugh a lot. “Where’s your date, uh?”

“Gone, thankfully.” You said, and that made him chuckle again. Your lip corner twitched gently and you crossed your arms. “No, I mean it. He was so… he only talked about himself, I swear. He literally began by saying he loved how his voice sounds”

“Sounds like a jerk.” Mickey agreed, his smile still shining bright.

“Well, he was pretty sure he was awesome”

This time, you joined Mickey’s chuckles. It was sweetly contagious, and if you looked at the situation with a little bit of humor, it was actually really funny. How many chances did someone have of going to a date where the date was only going to talk about themselves? Self-love was definitely something important, but this guy had crossed some serious boundaries. Mickey’s brain came up with a thousand jokes about what you had told him about the date, but he held himself back from saying them. It was already hard for him to make you laugh, he had no intention of screwing up the little good time you two had together. 

“So.” Mickey pointed at the rain with his chin and then looked at you. “You need some help getting home?”

You nodded softly, and grabbed his free arm when he offered it to you, so you would be better covered by the umbrella — and closer to him. Mickey was warm, probably because he hadn’t been standing outside in the cold like you had been doing. It actually made you pull impossibly closer to him, to feel the warmth and stop being cold. If you had looked up at him to check if he was okay with the proximity, you would have found Mickey smiling as softly as ever, comforted by your easygoing attitude.

“Why aren’t you in your dorm already?” You asked, not wanting the walk to be an awkward, silent one. 

Mickey shrugged his shoulders. “I was taking a walk. You know, calming down and stuff”

You hummed, understanding what he was saying. Mickey had been in an odd mood lately, and he had snapped during the morning, bickering with Hallie about something you hadn’t paid so much attention to due to your Film Theory homework. Him storming out of the cafeteria had been the only thing that had made you look away from your paper, both confused and curious. Hallie looked too angry to ask her anything, and Derek’s eyes had promised telling you what had happened later, but he never did. Sidney and him had a date, and you had been too busy with helping Randy to choose some films to think about what had happened. You had only remembered the incident after Mickey’s answer.

“If you need to talk I’m here, okay?” The words left your mouth without you thinking them twice. You didn’t need to, however, because it just made sense. Friends were there for you whenever you needed them, or they were supposed to. “You’re my friend”

Mickey looked away shortly before flashing you with a well practiced smile. “I know, Y/N”

Once again you hummed, and you allowed the silence to settle between the two of you. As much as you didn’t want silence during the walk, you couldn’t force a conversation on him, and it actually turned out not to be as awkward as you had imagined. Mickey’s aura just kept it from being awkward.

By the time you arrived at your residence hall, the rain had calmed down a bit and changed to a slight drizzle that bothered more than soaked. It was ironic thinking that, if Mickey hadn’t been there to walk home with you, you could have just waited a bit more and come home by yourself. You were still grateful he had decided to take the route he had taken.

You held the door open for him to come inside the building, knowing he wouldn’t have plans for tonight and would rather just stay in his dorm. Mickey thanked you with a smile as he closed the umbrella, and stepped inside with you. 

“Um…” You played mindlessly with your hoodie’s sleeves. “Should I worry about you, Altieri? You seem off”

That was by far Mickey’s brightest smile since you had met him. It actually confused you to see him smiling that hard when he had been so weirdly silent, but you smiled back at him. There was just something about him that set you in a good mood whenever he wasn’t making you nervous. 

“You definitely shouldn’t.” He assured, nodding his head as a thank you. 

“Then I’m going to, uh,” you pointed at the hallway to indicate you were going to leave. Mickey smiled “Yeah. Night, Y/N”

“Night”

You waved at Mickey before turning around. You hadn’t even taken the fifth step when you heard him take a quick step into your direction. “Y/N, wait!”

“Yeah?” You turned around in your heels, tilting your head to the side as you watched Mickey. You saw him hesitate for a second, like he shouldn’t have said anything. “Mickey?”

Mickey scratched his neck and laughed under his breath, nervously. His confidence shattered for those seconds, before he looked back at you with his characteristic, charming smile. 

“I wanna take you out on a date,” Mickey said, surprising you. Your eyes must have widened, because he chuckled shortly. “Is that so weird to you, Y/L/N?”

You scoffed, thinking his joke wasn’t funny at all. That made him raise an eyebrow, which shed doubt into you “Like, for real? A date, date?”

Mickey smiled like you were hilarious. “Yes, a date, date,” he mocked, and you felt the heat rush into your cheeks. “What’d say? Tomorrow morning at the cafeteria?”

Crossing your arms, you licked your bottom lip before letting your teeth nibble at it. You stared at him like he would eventually crackle up, saying it was a joke. But he didn’t, because it wasn’t. “Um… yeah, sure”

“It’s a date, then.” Mickey finger-gunned you as he started to walk towards the other hallway, without turning away. 

“A date,” you repeated, nodding. A smile slid into your lips. “Yeah”

Billy Loomis x Stu Macher: The Horror of Our Love.

Words: 1266

Warnings: homophobia, strong period homophobia, internalized homophobia, use of the f slur, father beating his child, abusive household and accurcate descriptions of it. the whole story is like this and the f slur is used A LOT so please if you are triggered by this, don’t continue reading.

Summary: The world blurred before his watery eyes as he walked through the streets, a restlest, miserable soul trapped in an aching body that screamed for help. One step, another step, step — everything he could hear was the screaming of his infuriated father, all he could see was his angry red face contorted in disgust.

Author's note: OKAY SO MY SCREAM OBSESSION IS STILL STANDING, and i’ve been writing in ao3 instead of in here because i wanted to get away from my responsabilities and numerous dodge mason request. sorry, i got overwhelmed, but i’m back, and i’m bringing all of my pieces in ao3 with me. here you go. you can find the link to ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40767120 also go ahead an listen to the horror of our love by ludo, great song, very scream vibey.

Criticism is appreciated and request are open! Hit that anon button and tell me your idea!

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

The world blurred before his watery eyes as he walked through the streets, a restlest, miserable soul trapped in an aching body that screamed for help. One step, another step, step — everything he could hear was the screaming of his infuriated father, all he could see was his angry red face contorted in disgust. 

The cut on his lip stung, a bruise was developing strongly around his right eye, and Billy was able to feel every single hit his father had thrown at him. But what hurted the worst were the words — faggot, faggot, faggot, FAGGOT, FAGOT, FUCKING FAGOT! Billy couldn’t stop trembling, the voice of his dad still in his head, screaming that terrible word at him while kicking his ass.

His mind was fuzzy from the beating and the humiliation, and Billy hadn’t found a better option other than going to Stu’s, and he felt terribly bad about that. Him and Stu were the reason his father had found out that he was… that he liked men, and now, after being called names that he loathed, he was going back to the man that he… He had nowhere else to go, though. If Billy had stayed in his house, maybe his father would have killed him. 

Billy thought he could pass out once he saw he was already close to the Macher’s house, and he blabbered under his breath, as he kept walking, for Mr. and Mrs. Macher not to be home, because he was completely sure he wouldn’t be able to climb to Stu’s window — not when his head hurt like that, not when he could barely see what he had in front of him because of the tears that he was still holding back from his eyes. 

My own son! A… homo! He didn’t know how he did it, but Billy managed to make his way into the Macher’s porch and press his hand against the door bell for maybe too long, but he couldn’t care less. Billy pressed his head against the door frame, holding back a sob and biting down on his lip. He tasted his own blood, salty and warm, and when the door opened he couldn’t bring himself to look up. 

“Billy!” Stu exclaimed, and by his tone, he knew he was smiling widely. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight, man, if I had… Billy?”

With a shaky breath, Billy forced his head up and locked eyes with Stu. He was barely able to hold back the tears. “Can I—?” His voice was hoarse from screaming, and he had to clear his throat. He had tried to get his father to stop. Stu looked terrified. “Can I stay here? Please.”

Stu nodded, speechless, and he slid his hand against Billy’s, to hold it carefully. Billy shook violently when he felt Stu’s touch, and when Stu was ready to move his hand away, thinking he shouldn’t have held it in the first place, Billy squeezed it for reassurance. Fucking fagot.

Although Billy knew the way, Stu guided him through the set of stairs and the hallways, taking him to his own bedroom. It wasn’t like Billy had the strength or confidence to do it by himself, anyways. Stu was extremely careful while holding his hand, and he helped Billy sit at the foot of his bed as the smaller one hissed, then scrunching down before him so they could be at the same level. 

Billy’s eyes didn’t meet Stu’s, instead he was staring at the floor, spacing out, terrified, hurt. Stu’s heart ached just because of that sight. He had never imagined he would ever see Billy so hurt, and not just physically. 

“What happened?” Stu’s voice was barely a whisper, a plea for him to talk to him, to open up — his father would hate him for it.

As an answer, Billy pursed his lips together, not wanting to say anything. He shouldn’t — he couldn’t. Not to Stu, not to anyone. Stu sighed softly. “Alright, babe.” Fagot. Stu got up and looked down at Billy. “Imma search for something to patch you up and some ice for those bruises, okay? You sit tight.”

Stu stared at him, wanting for a sign of confirmation that he had heard him, and he didn’t move until he caught the way Billy nodded his head, almost minimally. 

Billy stood there, without moving, finding himself just a little bit calmer than he was before arriving at Stu's. Everything still hurt, of course, and now that he was sitting he identified the pain on his ribs — he knew his father hadn’t broken any, or else he wouldn’t be able to deal with the pain. It wouldn’t have been the first time he broke a rib.

Stu came back with everything he had said he was going to get and with a beer, which Billy guessed it would be to calm his nerves — a hypothesis proven when Stu took a quick sip of the can before sitting next to him in the bed, the items he will be needing displayed by his side. 

“Here, hold these against your eye.” Instead of an ice pack, Stu had brought frozen peas. Billy barely registered the detail, though, because he slowly picked up both bags of peas and put one against his eye and the other one against his left side, the one that hurt the most. 

Billy knew Stu was trying to be the most careful his goofiness would allow him in order to clean his wounds and scratches correctly, but it still stung every time he pressed cotton and alcohol against the open ones. He tried not to whine or complain, but he couldn’t stop from trembling from time to time. The silence was something Billy actually thanked, because he did not want to break down crying when Stu asked again what had happened. 

It was also in silence the way Stu made him get up to surround the bed and lie down in it, alone until Stu joined him from the other side of the bed. His long arms wrapped around Billy with ease, and the familiarity of his scent calmed Billy’s mind as Stu pulled him closer to his body, to shield him from the world and anything that can hurt him. Billy could have started crying, but because of the love and care in Stu’s actions.

“You’re safe now.” His voice was soft, caring, smooth. Stu’s blue eyes shone brightly when he looked down at Billy, clinging closer to him for comfort. “I’ll take care of you. You know I love you, right?”

Every single word made Billy flinch, reminding him that his father is right. He is… he… — but at the same time, all he wanted was to hide in Stu’s desk and never come out ever again. When he spoke his voice sounded all muffled, but Stu understood what he said. “My father found out.”

Stu’s smile faltered for some seconds. The idea of Hank Loomis beating his own son’s ass just because he likes a boy made him want to go absolutely batshit crazy right in the spot, but instead, Stu took a deep breath and nuzzled his nose against Billy’s forehead. 

“You can stay here as long as we want.” Stu said, honesty flooding through his words. “That’d be actually great because I just rented some horror flicks, y’know.”

He didn't say anything particularly funny, but Billy laughed softly. Stu smiled against his jet black hair when he heard Billy laugh, and for some seconds, Billy felt okay. Like nothing wrong had happened, like everything would be alright.

★Billy Loomis & Stu Macher headcanons★

𖦹Warnings: afab reader, mentions of panty stealing, nothing else really this is incredibly tame

⋆｡°‧Requests are open! Comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated ♡

Billy ⁀➷

୨୧―You honestly thought he hated you for a bit, whenever you'd hang out as a group he seemed to almost avoid you

୨୧― Little did you know he was just so infatuated with you that he didn't think he'd be able to compose himself if you guys did talk

୨୧― Absolutely asks Stu for tips on you because he has negative rizz

୨୧― Slowly warmed up to each other over time

୨୧― Gets jealous very easily and it almost feels suffocating

୨୧― If he notices guys staring at you he'd hold you a bit closer and harder while staring back at them

୨୧― Pretends not to like PDA but secretly loves it

୨୧― Would (quite literally) kill anyone that hurt you in any kind of way

୨୧― Is incredibly protective, follows you from afar anywhere you go, "just to make sure she's safe."

୨୧― Sneaks in through your window at night just to watch you sleep

୨୧― When you aren't there, he snoops around and takes a pair of panties if he's feeling extra brave

୨୧― Loves you too much to ever tell you he's ghostface

୨୧―But is also obsessed with the idea of corrupting you and making you his final girl

Stu ⁀➷

୨୧― Immediately warmed up to you as soon as you were introduced to the group

୨୧― Openly flirts with you in front of anyone and everyone

୨୧― You secretly love his morbid humor

୨୧― Passes you silly notes in class like, "Do you have a crush on me yes or no"

୨୧― His love language is absolutely physical touch and gift giving

୨୧― Genuinely cannot keep his hands off you no matter where you are

୨୧― (Not so playfully) Threatens people that even just give you a dirty glance

୨୧― Would kill anyone for you the second you said the word

୨୧― Talks about you to anyone he can the second he gets the chance to

୨୧― Loves letting people know you're his

୨୧― To the point it annoys Billy

୨୧― Talks to your stuffed animals when you aren't paying attention to him

୨୧― Loves just staring at you in adoration while you read or do homework

୨୧― Tries everything he can to convince Billy to let you in on the plan

★Billy Loomis & Stu Macher x Bimbo!Reader headcanons★

𖦹Warnings: slightly suggestive if you squint

⋆｡°‧Requests are open! Comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated ♡

Billy ⁀➷

୨୧― You aren't really his usual type but when he met you he just couldn't get you of his mind

୨୧― Loves how different both of your aesthetics are and how they clash (but would never admit it)

୨୧― Gets slightly possessive whenever guys stare but also loves it

୨୧― He gets so touchy when someone's staring a little too hard

୨୧― (Somewhat) Playfully asks you to cover up a little more

୨୧― But also says things like, "Wear whatever you want, you know I can fight."

୨୧― Adores how clueless you are on so many things

୨୧― Loves the way he sticks out like a sore thumb in your room; completely covered in pink decorations and plushies

୨୧― Pays you random visits through your window just to see you in your skimpy night gowns

Stu ⁀➷

୨୧― Instantly fell in love with the way you carried yourself and didn't seem to care what others thought of the way you dressed

୨୧― Loves helping you pick out your outfits

୨୧― Buys you things he'd think you'll like whenever he's out

୨୧― Does not care how revealing you dress, if anything he encourages it and lives for it

୨୧― Begs you to let him pick out your next nail design

୨୧― Keeps an eye on you at gatherings and parties just to make sure no one gets handsy

୨୧― Loves gossiping with you, always comes up to you with something like, "You will not guess what I overheard in class today" in such a dramatic tone

୨୧― Defends you like his life depends on it whenever someone says something negative about the way you dress

★ Ethan Landry headcanons ★

𖦹Warnings: a little stalker!ethan, panty stealing, slight sexual references, very vague mentions of murder

⋆｡°‧Requests are open! Comments and reblogs are welcome and appreciated ♡

―୨୧⋆ ˚ A/N: Kinda short but I had to get this out of my system, will probably go back and edit later on, this was meant to be a general headcanons but it kinda turned into a Stalker!ethan so :p

This has not been proofread ^_^

୨୧― Is so so sweet and affectionate but is also incredibly jealous and almost possessive

୨୧― Knows your schedule like the back of his hand; he knows exactly what time you wake up at and when you're out of your apartment

୨୧― Sneaks into your room when you're not there and snoops around, feeling like the hit the jackpot when he found your panty drawer; and obviously couldn't leave without taking a pair

୨୧― Leaves you little notes and gifts on your bed when he sneaks in

୨୧― Found the perfect spot to watch you through your window, completely clueless to the fact that you were being watched. You should really close your blinds

୨୧― When he finally builds the courage to sneak in your room while you're there, he just stands at the end of your bed watching you sleep

୨୧― Sometimes even snapping a few pictures of you while you're sleeping

୨୧― He can't help smile when he overhears you complain about what seems like the 10th guy ghosting you before a date, "mysteriously" disappearing and never calling back

୨୧― Follows you to and from class everyday from afar "just to make sure you're safe"

୨୧― Sneaks in your room and finds a small box that contains all the small gifts and notes he's left you for weeks now

୨୧― Finding that box confirmed his suspicion that you secretly liked the scary attention, encouraging him to get bolder with his behavior and bringing back one of the panties he took; dirtied with a fresh load