Hello! Not Really A Ask But I Just Wanted To Say I Love Your Writing. I Just Binge Read Your Final Girl

Hello! Not really a ‘Ask’ but I just wanted to say I love your writing. I just binge read your final girl series of what you have so far as well as some other ones. Thanks for all the time and effort you put into them for lack of better words <3

thank you love !! nothing makes me happier than knowing ppl are enjoying my writing :)

Hi! I'm back with another request and it is stu again(I'm sorry I'm in a phase rn) . In this request I was wondering if we could get Stu walking the reader from class to their locker, waiting for them at their locker, and then walking them to their next class. I know you've mentioned it before yk with Stu waiting for the reader and I'd just love to see the casual intimacy like in the last request (and also I hope you're feeling better after the break down you went through I'm not sure if this is a good time for request for you and if not thats so understandable I'm so sorry take your time, obviously if you do do this request I'd appreciate it but if you don't thats so okay i mainly sent this in bc you said you were in your Stu era and what kind of loyal reader would I be if I didn't indulge one of my favorite writers by tricking them into writing/talking about one of there current favorite characters :)

A/n hi, i'm feeling better now :)) i'm home so that always helps and done with school until close to late january so that definitely helps lol

also side note, i try to keep the appearance of the reader as vague as possible but at the beginning i do mention the reader having long enough hair to be tied back/up with a hair tie 

this took a minute but i hope it’s worth it!! 

----

You're practically bouncing on the balls of your feet once the bell rings, more akin to a little kid getting ready to run across the park than a student simply getting a few minutes to move from second period to third. It feels a little silly, especially when you intentionally keep your freshly graded test on top of your folder instead of tucking it away, but it's become a bit of a habit.

You'd think about breaking it if it wasn't for the fact that no one ever gives you a reaction quite like Stu. Sure, he's purposefully over the top, oversaturating his enthusiasm with his tone and teasing humor, but it's nice. Comforting in the way it never dwindles no matter how many things you bring up that you don't think anyone else would have the energy to even pretend to care about.

Out in the hallway, you adjust your hold on your math textbook and the plastic folder that's resting over it. Your head turns left, towards the row of lockers that he's always waiting near. Only, this time Stu's not there. Not looking through his actual locker or talking to Billy or Tatum or anyone. He's not there. At all.

You're more confused than you should be, it's not like Stu owes you his presence, but it is weird considering that this is the first time he's ever not been there since your tradition started. You frown, a little offended by his absence. Things with Stu are more intentional than he wants them to seem, a fact you picked up pretty quickly after meeting him, but something insecure within you twists at the thought that maybe he just forgot. Or decided he just didn't feel like it today.

Even though the hall is quickly flooding with teens, you crane your neck in the direction of Stu's second period. Stu has a tendency to stand out, too tall and too much of a force to blend in if one makes up their mind to look for him. It shouldn't be hard to--you bite your tongue to avoid yelping as some firm force settles on your upper hip.

You've heard too many stories, seen too many girls rant or tear up in the bathroom after some entitled guy thought it'd be funny to grab or grope under the guise of accidentally bumping into someone thanks to overcrowding. For a brief second, the contact feels pointed and wrong. You turn stiffly, eyes wide until they settle on a familiar grin.

Panic fading almost immediately, you exhale. "Stu."

When you don't melt , Stu drops his arms, offering you a halfhearted, "...Boo."

You roll your eyes, half stepping back. "You scared me."

“Should’ve been paying more attention,” he mumbles, expression slightly scolding. 

A retort about how you were just looking for him because he’s always waiting across the hall rises and dies on your tongue. There’s no normal way to explain that, and even if the fact that you were waiting for him wasn’t totally mortifying, your sure he’d find a way to tease you. One of those jokes about how he didn’t realize the two of you hadn’t gotten so serious and since when were you such a ball and chain? 

So instead of saying anything like that, you tilt your chin up, “You snuck up on me on purpose and we both know it.” 

“I’ll make it up to you later.” The suggestive wink earns him an eye roll. 

“Sure,” you mumble pointedly, “Guess what?” The question is rhetorical enough that you don’t even have to wait a full beat to answer, “We got our tests back!” 

You lift your paper, careful not to cover the red A+ circled on the first page. Stu’s mouth falls open briefly in a look that’s just a little too amazed for a reaction to a math exam. “Wow,” he takes the packet from you, leafing through it without taking it in fully, “This is some complex shit, too.” 

He sets the test back down over your folder before ruffling your hair in a way that’s nearly too affectionate, harsh enough to make your head move at an angle that strains your neck. “Harvard bound.” 

You brush him off with a barely contained smile, softly pushing against his hands before attempting to smooth out the mess he made. “Okay--knock it off, I actually liked how my hair looked today.”  

“It’s not fair that you’re the smartest person in the room and the prettiest.” The blatant compliments without their usual layers of implication and subtle-not-so-subtle innuendos are enough to get you to pause. 

Stu briefly squeezes you to him before taking the textbook from your hands. It’s easy to let go now that the habit’s been established. You rarely carry anything in between classes anymore, Stu either making up a silly excuse to take your textbooks or doing so silently. "Someone’s too smart to carry things.” He forces mock irritation into his voice. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” It’s half accusing, but you make no move to take your books back. 

“Uh-huh,” he hums dismissively, “Whatever you say, smarty.” 

----

You can’t remember the last time Stu’s house felt so hot, maybe it has to do with how overly humid the outside world is today, but you’re struggling to feel fully comfortable despite your contentment.

Stu’s talking, reiterating everything wrong with some low budget horror film he stumbled onto last night. You’re listening a little less than you’d like to and you honestly feel bad about it, but you can’t help the way the heat on the back of your neck distracts you. 

Billy sits up a little more, “I’m not surprised, your movie instincts are awful.” It sounds like the start of one of their debates that are better off without your interference, and you’re okay with that. This week has been long and this is the first moment that’s allowed you to really breathe. You don’t mind absorbing that for a second and just taking in their presence and the easiness it brings you. 

“They’re not worse than yours.” 

“Even Y/n picks better.” 

Something about the way Billy’s eyes focus on you makes you feel like it’s a genuine attempt on Billy’s part to bring you in a little more. Even though you don’t feel insulted, you still sit up a little more, “Thanks.” 

“Ouch, man.” The fact that Stu’s basically dropping the argument in order to add to the jab at your taste is enough to get you to turn your head. 

You glare, shoving his shoulder. “My taste is not bad.” They exchange a look that has you feeling like you’re on the outs of some joke. “You guys are the worst, I have no idea why I hang out with you.” 

“’Cause you love us.” Stu nudges his foot against yours, bumping your knees in the process. 

The additional closeness reminds you of the warmth of the room. To avoid crossing your arms or doing anything that would get them to accuse you of pouting, you begin to pull your hair away from your neck. The hair tie against your wrist smacks against your skin. Loud and stinging a little too noticeably. It’s not painful, but surprising enough to make you drop your hair. “Stu.” 

He ignores the harshness of your voice, instead choosing to chase after your wrist with one hand. “Give it.” There’s something about the way he says it that stands out to you. It’s reminiscent of a child noticing a brand new toy and instantly deciding that they want it. 

Before you realize what he’s asking for, Stu pulls the hair tie off of you and takes a second to stretch it between his fingers. What he’s trying to do finally sinks in when Stu slides the band up his wrist. You’re not in the mood to redefine how tender scalped you consider yourself to be, but there’s no way to say that in a way that won’t make Stu moody. 

“Turn.” It’s a command so gentle you listen instinctually despite your reservations.

You barely have a second to adjust before Stu’s pushing your hair back. “Are you--” His touch is surprisingly focused, not tugging on the strands in the way you’d expect him to. “Are you putting my hair up?” 

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’ casually, like there’s nothing weird about this. 

He drags his palms against the top of your scalp a little clumsily. It’s not that weird. Not really, you decide, just different. Any type of ponytail or loose bun would have never taken you this long and it’s clear that Stu doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but it doesn’t hurt. He’s being restrained, gentle.

“You’re letting him do your hair?” 

You shrug at Billy’s comment, feeling a little awkward as Stu finally reaches your scalp. “The good thing about hair is that it always grows back.” Stu tugs at your hair pointedly. “Ouch.” 

"Rude.” 

“Billy started it.”

Billy half scoffs. “Just asked a question.” 

A pointed question. You’re about to point that out, but then you hear the tell tale snap of a hair tie being pulled off of a wrist. Stu twists it around your hair carefully and you ease. He lingers, fingertips brushing against your neck before releasing you.

You tilt your head slightly, surprised at how well your hair is pulled off your neck. Not tight enough to feel pulled or like the start of a headache but not loose enough to be annoying. Even though there was some hesitance, he did a lot better than you thought he would. Better than most boys would have done. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have assumed he had never done anything like this before. You know about his older sister, and while she’s a sore subject now, maybe there was a time when she wasn’t. And even if that’s a stretch, Stu’s a total flirt that’s been circling around a relationship with Tatum for a minute now. 

 Your fingers brush against the end of your hair. “You did good.” 

“Give me some credit, babydoll.” You wrinkle your nose at that and Stu grins. “I’ve had a lot of practice. When a girl gives he--” 

“Ew.” And just like that, the moment ends. “You’re gross, I hope you know that.” 

“He knows,” Billy mumbles, tone extra casual to compensate for his slight smile, “Gets off on it, too.” 

You snort, an ungracefully sharp laugh as you sink further into the couch. Stu lets out a sound of protest, shooting a glare in Billy’s direction. “Fuck off.” You laugh again. “Both of you.”

Stu scoots away from you. With a sigh, you reach forward. He plays up his pain for a second but eventually relents, letting you tug his hand into the space between you two. 

---- 

It’s twisting--the world, your mind, the blank spot of the wall you’re tying to focus on. All of it. Swirling at a rate that’s practically nauseating as emotions you can’t fully label in your current state spur on the feelings. They’re a fog, disorientating and complicated. You don’t want to figure out each hue of your feelings so you label them under one umbrella: bad. 

You take a breath that’s meant to settle you, but it does the opposite. Your unsteadiness leaves you instinctually wanting to reach over, to grab Stu’s arm and stabilize yourself. But he’s standing there with that same illegible, yet clearly irritated expression. You’re not sure if it’s the beer on an empty stomach or what happened five minutes ago or the silence, but the yellowish tinge of the bathroom’s light adds something to Stu’s features. Something bordering on eerie. 

Part of you wants to speak, the rest of you feels like the best thing you can do is just keep standing there. You’re not convinced that Stu’s anger is fully directed at the third party. He’s at the very least annoyed at you. 

Leave it to Stu to think that you’re taking the side of the guy that kept hitting on you despite how visibly uncomfortable you got just because you didn’t want things escalating. It wasn’t worth it. Was the guy an annoying asshole? Yes. But you had it under control and Sidney and Tatum were right there. It wasn’t exactly dire. 

The quiet is ebbing at your patience. There’s probably some perfect thing to say to shatter the tension, but you can’t think of anything clever or tactful and the last thing you can handle right now is a fight. Your mind tunes into the music that’s softened by the closed space. The thumping base is both terrible and familiar. “I hate this song.” 

Stu blinks, gaze shifting towards you. He doesn’t quite ease, but he lets out a breath that could be considered a form of lighthearted acknowledgment. You’ll take it. “Last one was worse.” 

You let yourself smile. “Definitely competition.”

He pretends to gasp. “No argument,” he shoots his reply back so quickly you nearly get whiplash, “Color me shocked.” 

The theatrics do little to take away from the lethal levels of aggression pressed into his words. That did seem too easy. “I--I didn’t--” You don’t want to explain. You shouldn’t even need to. You were keeping his ass out of trouble. “I just didn’t want you to get in trouble. It wasn’t worth it.” He’s silent for a second, which you can’t make your mind up about. “He wasn’t worth it.” 

Stu scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall. “You’re defending hi--” 

“I am not.” Ugh. Can he not hear you? If there’s anyone in this situation that you’re trying to defend, to protect it’s Stu. You try to swallow, but your throat still feels overly dry. 

“You heard the shit he said about you.” 

Okay, speaking calmly is not working. “I don’t care about the shit he said about me, I care about you.” The blowup immediately fills you with regret. “It wasn’t that big a deal. You’ve said worse while we were literally in class.” 

Stu straightens in a way that makes his full height unignorable. You doubt that it’s intentional--he can’t help that he’s objectively tall, but noticing it now...And the way he’s looking a little beyond you with a hardened stare that feels more sober than it did a second ago. “The way he was looking at you and then he grabbed your arm.” Stu’s voice changes with no warning, taking a dark edge that nearly startles you. 

You blink, biting your tongue to keep from admitting that you had barely noticed. That sounds like purposefully playing oblivious, but it’s true. You had hardly looked at the guy until his clammy fingers were around your forearm. That had been scary. Even Sidney and Tatum had reacted. “Thanks for getting him off of me, by the way.” It feels awkward, but saying it takes a weight off of your check. “Even though the weird, testosterone match the two of you had after was totally unnecessary, it was nice of you.” 

Stu tilts his head, taking in your inability to look him in the eye. A flash of genuine shyness despite what you’ve had to drink. He can imagine your thoughts, the running of different words together to make sure you don’t say anything that he could turn into something embarrassing. It’s cute. You’re all fidgety and still a little tipsy. A rush of fondness strikes him with no warning. It’s dangerous, distracting when paired with the little alcohol he did let himself drink. 

It’s too much and he’s not used to it. The feelings are a web and his mind tangles around all he could say. A mix of the obscene kind of jokes that always make you role your eyes fondly and genuine comments that all burn down to the same, general meaning: “I’d kill for you.” 

Great. The words come out at the exact second Stu recognizes the truthfulness of it. He scrambles for some kind of joke he could make to change the subject before you can think about it too much. The more you know, the more at risk you are. And this is the exact kind of slip up Billy always gives him shit about. 

You smile, either unaware of the intensity behind his words or just choosing to ignore it. “Then it’s a good thing I wouldn’t ask you to. You’re too pretty for jail.” 

Your casual acceptance makes it easy. Stu lets himself smile for just a second before letting his mouth fall open in mock hurt. “I wouldn’t get caught, babe. I’m slasher material.” You raise your eyebrows in a silent challenge. “And you’ve seen these guns.” He flexes one arm, waiting for your attention to settle on that before reaching for you with his still free hand. Your yelp is more of a laugh than anything else. “I’d be fine.” 

Stu pulls you away from the bathroom door and towards his chest. You halfheartedly fight against him, twisting your wrist back in a way that’d be more efficient if it wasn’t for your laughter. “Stu.” 

“What?” You push back, Stu’s fingers tighten just slightly. “Just proving my point, sweetheart.” Another laugh as his first hand finds your waist. “Practicing what I preach.” 

After a second of play fighting, Stu gets you close enough that there’s no point in resisting. It’s somehow farther and closer than a hug, especially when Stu angles his head downwards. 

You like the closeness more than you should. It makes your head feel too jittery, but the rest of you so warm you almost don’t mind the awful music. “This party sucks.” Stu’s eyes focus on the slight pout of your lips. “Want to go and watch a movie or something and then pretend that we stayed here until later so Billy never has to know that he was right about how much this party would suck?”  

Stu tugs on your arm, placing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Trying to get me back to your place?” You bite your tongue to avoid giggling again. The last thing he needs is encouragement. “Trying to take advantage of me? Because I promise you won’t have to work that hard at it.” 

You roll your eyes, half debating pulling away. “I’m taking back my offer.” 

“Hey--no take backs,” he squeezes your arm slightly and you resist for the sake of it, “C’mon, I’ll let you pick the movie if you sleepover.”

The offer surprises you as much as it doesn’t. Stu invites you more and more the longer his parents are out of town. He never says it, but you feel like it’s his way of keeping people around, reducing the quiet in his almost perpetually empty house. 

“Deal.” 

Gingerbread

 A/n small christmas drabble i talked about earlier,, just a cute little holiday snippet 

Summary: Billy and Stu don’t particularly care about Christmas, but they like being around you.  

----

His words are sinking in because it’s been long enough and you can’t just stare at Stu forever, but you can’t think of a way to react. After all, one of the most enthusiastic people you’ve ever met just casually admitted to not being super into the holidays. 

The holidays aren’t something people are or aren’t into. They’re a state of mind, a ritual, a time of year to put aside the pretext of angst in order to take joy in the simple things like decorating little cookie people and walking around to look at everyone’s lights.

“You’re ‘not into the holidays’?” Stu blinks, a pinch of humor playing into his expression at your disbelief. “What do you mean you’re ‘not into the holidays’?” 

“What I said, sweetheart,” he hums with a casualness that’s nearly suspicious because you’re still not convinced, “I’m not nine so I’m not super into it.” 

It. “What’s there not to be into?” You feel a bit like a kid with your insistence, but come on--it’s weird that Stu, who’s all energy and pro anything that gets him time off school is indifferent about the holiday season. 

Who’s indifferent about the holiday season? You get why some people might hate this time of year and you don’t expect everyone to be all deck the halls, tinsel coming out of every crevice of their being, or anything--but this much flatness? It’s weird. Especially from him. 

Stu’s eyebrows pull together. He’s clearly enjoying something about your shock. “It was fun when I was a kid, but you grow out of the holly jolly. The decorators come, Leslie pops in, and we get gifts. It’s nothing world changing.” 

The bit of insight only vaguely helps, shifting your total disbelief into something a little more downcast. His apathy seems to stem from his family dynamic at least a little. “Well, what about you?” 

Billy angles his head in your direction, leaning against the island of your family’s kitchen. His pause is cut short by Stu, “Oh, don’t even try with Billy. He’s the real Grinch here.” 

Your head snaps towards Billy. “You hate Christmas?” 

“Hate’s a strong word,” Billy answers, his flatness ruined by the slight amusement at your total shock. When you don’t ease, Billy shrugs, eyes dropping to focus on the granite countertop instead of your face, “Christmas was my mom’s thing.” 

You have to bite your tongue to keep from asking if you heard correctly. Billy mentioning his mom in any capacity is shocking enough, but hearing him talk about her so casually and with such blankness is something else entirely.

“My dad and I just aren’t that into it.” 

Nodding once, you’re not sure there’s a good way to continue. “So no baking cookies? Got it.”

Stu leans forward, nudging you with his elbow. “I didn’t say that, princess, I’ll play house with you.”

It takes a second of reflection, but you guess you can see how Stu found a way to weasel in that angle. You weren’t thinking of it when you brought up the cookie thing, but you should have expected it. Stu has a talent for reading between lines in a way that makes it easy to translate subtext into anything he wants it to be. You don’t think you get why he’d want to perceive it that way, but decide that a dip into psychoanalysis will derail the afternoon.

It’s not too weird, you guess, at least not too weird for Stu. His parents aren’t around much so all those little things need to be found in friendship. It’s the defense you use for a lot of Stu’s tiny comments and actions. It’s a fair excuse, and not the worst way his potential parental issues come out, and--

Okay. This is the exact psychological deep dive you didn’t want to take. If you think too hard on it, you feel bad about it. What kind of friend needs to over observe and read into everything like that? 

“Yeah?” You tap your nails along the granite, “Willing to wear an apron and everything?” 

Stu tilts his head, leaning forward and lifting his hand to your cheek. He pinches the skin of your cheek too quickly for you to protest. “You’re the one with the legs for it.” 

It’s dumb enough that you should be able to think of some kind of retort, but the way he says it, voice all low and eyes too focused, derails your train of thought entirely. “And you’re the one with the legs that can reach the top shelf where the flour is.” 

----

“I’m doing it right.” It’s little more than a huff and it’s quickly followed by a full, unashamed pout. “You just like being bossy.” 

Glaring at Stu as he squishes the dough between his fingers instead of fully flattening it, you cross your arms across your chest. It’s a bad idea, because flour is coating both of your hands and more powder smudges against your shirt. You’re surprised that you didn’t think to expect such a mess.  “Do not.”

“The power trip’s adorable.” 

“And how cute will you find it when I kick your ass?” 

He does the most offensive thing possible. He grins, full teeth and not even the tiniest bit menaced. “Yeah? You’re gonna kick my ass?” 

His reply is equal parts teasing and something you’ve never been able to name but have always known not to push too far. Winding Stu up is fun until it’s not and the line shifts with little warning. “Maybe,” it feels more like a retreat than you’d like. 

“I wouldn’t try her,” Billy’s voice comes out half disinterested as he continues to mostly do as told, evening out the dough Stu un-smoothed. “She can be mean.” 

You fight a smile, “Not mean--fair.” 

Billy pauses in a consideration so deliberate it almost feels like he’s making fun of you in a lighthearted way. “Tough.” 

Nodding once, you move to press your palm into the dough. “I have to be to keep two specific people I can never shake in line.” 

“Two people you can’t shake.” Billy’s thumb presses into the side of the dough stiffly, flattening the dough too thinly. “Sounds like you have some stalkers.” 

You move your hand to adjust the distribution of the dough, your fingers brushing against the side of Billy’s hand. “Nah,” you hum casually, “They’re nice in their own weird way.”

Billy turns his hand, skin settling against yours in a way that’d feel intentional if it wasn’t for the way he dutifully returned to evening the dough. “Weird?” It’s said softly enough, a touch of lightheartedness etched into the word. 

You’re about to make some joke about how weird is a total understatement when you’re yanked back with no warning. Your body has barely moved a full step, but the sudden, firm grip on your waist and left forearm forces you to bite your tongue to avoid yelping. Flour puffs into a cloud that gets all over you and up your nose.

“Stu!” 

He laughs, not letting go. “What happened to keeping us in check?” 

The jab makes you feel like you could kill him in order to prove a point. You squirm aimlessly, too offended to manage anything else. Stu’s relentless in his hold as you twist until you’re facing him. His expression leaves something in your stomach on edge. It’s not genuine panic or comfortability either. You can’t decide whether that makes you want to move or stay in place.

Stu angles his head downwards and you slowly raise a hand. He doesn’t question it until it’s too late and you’re opening your palm in order to let out a quick, sharp breath. Flour strikes Stu in a way that seems to genuinely catch him by surprise. It’s enough to make you laugh until his stillness sinks in. His hold on you feels firmer now and you’re not sure if the change is new or if you had been too distracted to notice before. Your lower back presses into the kitchen counter as you instinctually shift back. 

The bubbling of your internal awkwardness combines uneasily with the humor of earlier. It sits and builds with no where to go until you blurt out, “You in check yet?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Don’t get a big head, babydoll.” 

You’re not sure you get the framing of his words and their uncharacteristically stiff undertone. Before you can dwell, Billy sighs. “You two are little kids.” 

Any hint of edge that had just started building up vanishes as Stu turns his head. “Moody.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, feeling like your proving Billy’s point, “We should dump flour on Billy.” 

“An entire bag,” Stu angles his head to face you again, slowly releasing you, “We could wait for him to go to the bathroom and ambush him.” 

“You hide around the corner and I’ll hide behind the couch. No escape.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “You’re conspiring in front of me.” 

“Maybe I’m just trying to lure you into a false sense of security and I’m actually planning something a lot worse.” 

His eyebrows draw together, a desperate attempt at annoyance. “You wouldn’t make a good bad guy.” 

You let out a sound of mock offense. “You have no idea what I’m capable of plotting. I could be a total evil mastermind.” 

With a loud snort, Stu brings attention back to him. “You’re better off sticking to the cookies.” Before you can protest, Stu challenges your irritated expression with a question, “Okay--slasher movie, how do you take out your first victim?”

You’d point out that you weren’t trying to prove you’d be a fantastic killer in a scary movie, but they’d take that as giving up. Especially since you should have known that one of them would go there eventually. “Those things are unrealistic because half the time not getting caught isn’t a priority.” The answer feels a little bit like a cop out, and so you take a second to actually think it through, “But, I guess, off the top of my head I’d take out the first victim way before the others to make the crimes seem disconnected.” 

Billy asks, “Then what?” 

Ugh. You don’t love being put on the spot and this could easily turn into a sore subject with how seriously they take their scary movies. You’re not in the mood to be made into a joke as they pick apart your murder plan without taking into consideration that they gave you no notice. “I don’t know--take out the second victim alone to allow suspense to build and then attack the last of them all at once at some place I’m supposed to be at and then injure myself to make it easier to frame someone close enough to the victims to already have the police’s eye on them.” 

“Boring,” Stu exhales, dragging out the two syllables, “You left out the good, bloody details. Think you’d look cute all stabby--” 

“You want to see me stab happy? Because I guarantee you won’t like the outcome.” 

“Ouch,” Stu drops his head onto your shoulder, feigning a pain to rival an actual wound, “I’d let you live if I was a killer.” Not breaking at what’s clearly a compliment, you cup some more flour into your hand before blowing it into his face again. “You’re mean.” The whine is followed by him burring his head into his shoulder as he pretends to cry, affectively forcing the flour all over your shirt. 

Billy leans forward, grabbing a cloth rag from the other side of the counter before dropping it in front of you. “Clean up before you get it on me.” He catches the look behind your eye before you even realize what you’re doing. “Don’t.” 

His warning isn’t serious to constitute a threat or ruin the mood, but you’re not in the mood to make this painful. He’s already precarious enough when it comes to Christmas as is. “You’re no fun.”

----

Baking cookies has never taken you this long in your life. You’re sure that you were a better cookie assistant when you were a toddler than Billy and Stu were today, but you don’t mind. 

You had to take a quick shower while the cookies were in the oven because there was no other way to get all of that flour off. Stu did the same once you got out of the bathroom. Though, according to Stu and his never ending jokes and little comments, the truly practical thing would have been to shower together.

But now you’re dry and clean and Stu finally put on the shirt you stuck in the wash back on, you’re all left with a tiny army of gingerbread men. Yours are decorated a little cliche, gum drop buttons and crooked frosting smiles. Stu took creative liberties in the making of his thanks to help from the red food coloring he found in the back of the kitchen cabinet. Billy’s was surprisingly the neatest but was only decorated as an average guy in order to be a victim to Stu’s axe wielding gingerbread man. 

You rolled your eyes, but the amount of background and voices that went into the production of the mini massacre that only spared your cookies was funny.

"So, sugarplum.” The nickname forces your nose to wrinkle and you fight a laugh the same way a parent who doesn’t want to encourage bad behavior in a toddler would. That much affirmation could lead to sugarplum joining the already lengthy lineup of pet names Stu rotates through on a regular basis. “What’s your heart’s Christmas wish?” 

Okay--you’re not made of stone. A laugh that’s a little too loud slips out. “You don’t need to be that cheesy, all I did was get you to bake cookies.”

Stu forces out a mock gasp, eyes flitting towards Billy. “Can you believe her?” 

“I can’t believe you used ‘sugarplum’ and ‘Christmas wish’ in the same sentence.” Billy lifts his head up from the couch long enough for you to catch his slight smile. You laugh again, a little more comfortably. 

“Yeah, yeah, gang up on me,” Stu says this like he has never been this tired or this victimized in his life. He moves to sit on the couch, taking a second to comfortably adjust before patting his thigh. “If I get one of those hats will you sit on my lap and tell me what you want?” 

You roll your eyes, fighting against the burning sensation in your face. “Yeah,” flopping onto the couch at what you consider a safe distance, you continue, “And then if I’m lucky you’ll put me on the nice list.” 

“There’s an easy way to g--” He’s cut off by a pillow hitting the edge of his chin before smacking against his chest and landing on his lap. Stu gasps with an over the top level of offense. “What? I was going to say all you had to do was get me another cookie from the kitchen.” 

It’s blatant bullshit. “Mhm,” you cross your arms, settling on your spot, “I’m sure.” 

“Cross my heart.” He makes a point of tracing the ‘X’ motion over his chest. “I’m easily pleased.” 

Billy gently kicks his foot against Stu’s. “Since when?” 

“Since always.” Stu sits up, turning his full attention back to you. “But seriously, princess, what do you want for Christmas?” 

The question makes you feel awkward despite it’s casualness. “Um...” Every time people ask it, your mind instantly wipes and you can’t think of anything you’ve ever desired or needed. Besides, gift buying is inherently awkward when it’s talked about. “Nothing really, as of right now, I guess.” 

Stu practically whines like your response is a seriously, deeply personal issue. “Don’t pretend, it just makes Christmas shopping harder.” 

“You don’t have to get me anything.” 

“Like I’m not getting my best girl anything.” 

Sitting up a little further, you’re not sure what you to say to that. Sometimes Stu’s joking flirting is a little hard to laugh about when it’s that blatant. “You guys should help me put up some lights in my room. Last year I almost broke the curtain rod so now I’m banned from doing it alone.” 

You stand before any further comment can be made, fully aware of how transparent and flimsy the transition feels, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’d much rather be playing with colored lights as Stu gets too comfortable climbing up stepping stools and furniture than having whatever that conversation would have been. 

I NEEEED to know what happens next, please do a part 2 to What Follows, I am foaming at the mouth!

so happy you liked it!! joel is so grumpy, accidental boyfriend to me (in my dilf era and there is no shame in that)

i'm working on a part 2 and maybe some other fics with him :)) (down so bad i briefly considered writing actual smut,, blaming that on period brain,, not saying i won't but definitely not saying i will 😭)

thank you for including me in this list of lovely work :))

recommendations

burn for me - joel miller x f!reader by @psychedelic-ink comment: I have read this more than I care to admit. (At least once every three days). It’s very well done. I could only wish to write a male character this desperately. It tapped into my love of dark characters that aren’t just mean to be mean, but delusional. It’s not enough to be obsessed but to prove that through extreme measures and Joel in this story is all my favorite tropes rolled into a beautiful story. I no doubt will be revisiting this one-shot periodically like an old friend. favorite quote: You open your mouth to speak but as soon as you do something whirs past your head and shatters against the wall. Shards of glass sprinkle down the couch. With wide eyes you turn back to look at Joel, he’s hysterical, pacing back and forth, crimson red crawling up from his neck to his cheeks. (if I speak, i’ll be put onto a stretcher)

a loyal dog’s reward. - yan!criston cole x fem!targaryen princess reader by @venus-maneater comment: This is another story I will be doing a line-by-line breakdown of because it makes me actively shake when I think about this plot line. The characterization is most definitely my favorite thing, and it seems to be the driving force as to why it elicits such a strong emotional reaction when I read it. I feel as though my preference for a specific type of dark character is incredibly obvious because of my inability to not be entirely obsessed with Criston having killed a man in his delusional haze favorite quote: “Is that a ‘no’? Do you not want a kiss from your princess?” […] "Can’t." He eventually sputtered, his forehead resting against yours. (i feel like someone just squeezed my heart tightly and violently. good.)

undisclosed - lumberjack!bucky x reader by @pellucid-constellations comment: Just reading this story caused me to smell fresh pine trees and hear the sounds of boots crunching fallen snow. I had the privilege of reading this during a rainy day after a rough week. It was incredibly therapeutic. I love the world-building because the town feels so lived in that I get this weird sense of nostalgia for it every once in a while. Bucky in this story was just so prince-like and I love it. Additionally, the twist and then the ending were incredibly entertaining, and I was scrambling at the climax. favorite quote: But Bucky wasn’t used to pretty girls walking him through the library. And he certainly wasn’t used to walking pretty girls home. (this makes me smile a whole lot)

first impressions - billy x reader x stu by @yesimwriting comment: The way that Stu and Billy’s psyches are written so casually along with their falling in love is the best part of this. Every time Billy would be awestruck by the reader, I would get a jolt of electricity. And how could I forget about Stu and him always being a slightly good cop to Billy’s bad cop approach to having a crush. Stories like this, make me love them both dearly. favorite quote: “I wasn’t the one looking at her like I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pin her against the wall or hold her there with a knife.”  (stu, i think billy was right for looking at someone like that.)

top girl - blue jones x shy! reader by @h0unds-of-h3ll comment: I haven’t seen Sucker Punch a day in my life but this story… wow. I just keep coming back to it to relive those emotions. The description, the prose, the characterization. All there! But of course, what really gets me is Blue. Could he have been written any better? Absolutely not! He just grovels and stews in his own self-pity so much that I can’t help but be seduced. It is my fault that he thinks I’m beautiful and I think that’s great. favorite quote: “I just lost a hundred thousand dollars.” He smiles, shaking his head at how insane this all was. Losing such substantial money over a girl. Over you. […] He points the cigar at you. […] “Because of you.” (i- i-i am overcome with desperation for the chance to be at his beck and call)

bloodletting - aemond x reader and what lingers - joel x reader by @softcoreparadise comment: Nepotism has a hand as to why my dearest wife has two entries on this list, but that’s okay because why not? I think that the Aemond fic single-handedly convinced me of the Aemond hype. I wouldn’t say I didn’t like him. I just didn’t understand it but I was willing to put it aside and just read this and I’m glad I did. And the ending was so expected of him that I shouldn't have been let off guard, but for a moment I was. Like wow, he is far gone. And then when I went onto the Joel fic, it was just a double hit of men and their unresolved trauma resulting in their unnatural obsession. And that’s wonderful. Give me more time to read your new Rafe work and all will be right in the world. favorite quote: [bloodletting] Loneliness isn’t easy but you’ve grown so accustomed to it that you feel naked without it echoing your every step.  (how I feel all of January) favorite quote: [what lingers] You nameless?” he asks after a moment, voice dry. [...] You say your name quietly, voice scratchy from disuse and from the brutality your throat underwent just a few hours ago. Joel hums. “That’s nice.” (that was excruciatingly painful)

by the water’s edge - namor x reader by @cherienymphe comment: An enticing and well-written story. Namor in the movie was enough to send me spiraling, but the way he acts in this one especially is just so... pathetic. Amazing. My favorite. Honestly, this writer never disappoints and made my winter months bearable by keeping the dash well-fed with so much quality content that none of us deserve. It's not enough to recommend a namor fic but the whole masterlist. favorite quote: “…but of all the reasons to envy this place… I never expected it to manifest in the form of a woman.” (the quote that encapsulates the essence of this writer's strengths. dialogue and characterization.)

purpose was so good!! i love your writing ahh you write these characters so well 😭

ahh thank you love!