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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 

I'm a little late with my review, but I made it 😌 In Part 3, we see a glimpse of Wells being weird with that comment of 'What happened to all those little girl dresses?' 🤢 Also, the fact that Gloria and Y/n live with Wells? I thought Gloria and Y/n lived together, but Y/n being forced to live with Wells kind of explains more why she's uncomfortable. She lives with him; therefore, she is being forced to be around him. I'm just surprised too that Gloria moved in with this guy even though I think they've only been dating a few months? 😬 If that's the case, Gloria and him move fast and I feel like maybeee this is hinting the relationship was rushed.

It's stated that Gloria and Y/n used to live in Texas...so how did Gloria even meet this guy? Maybe online? But why would she be so willing to just pack up and force her daughter to leave everything behind? It's safe to assume they both grew up in Texas, so to date a guy for a few months and move in with him is a huge leap.... Maybe love makes you do crazy things? 🤡 It's stated in ch 1 that Y/n has only known Wells for a few months, so maybe the reason Gloria was so comfortable moving was cause her and Wells had been dating a while, but maybe Y/n never met him until a few months ago? Thats definitely a possibility.

Idk something just doesn't feel right with that relationship 🤣 I love how medically accurate chapter 3 was. I literally had to do concussion research and reread ch 3 just to catch all the symptoms since I missed them all lol the tiredness, the headache, the way Y/n was falling asleep in Billy's car, the way Y/n got moody with Stu and Billy in the car...all of those showed that something was wrong. Billy and Stu picking Y/n up was cute and all, but we all know they secretly want Y/n fully dependent on them. Cute how they both quickly knew something was wrong in the car tho 🥺

The Stu vs Y/n staredown was unexpected. Y/n shouldn't have snapped, but Stu shouldn't have been condescending. The fact that he had the audacity to be like "You couldn't even last a couple hours in the hospital" just shows his lack of empathy for what Y/n went through and he's trying to show her that she 'needs' him.... don't make me laugh bro, she doesn't need NO MAN 😭🙄 'DOn'T COME CrYinG tO ME' Nah bro, I'll go cry to my mom instead 🙃

Not me leaving 4 paragraphs long review 🤪 Idc if this chapter was a filler, I loved it ❤

anon i love u so dearly :) i saw the start of your message while i was in class and got so so excited!! thank you so much this, i was feeling so unsure about part 3 bc of how messy my life has been!!

Yes the Gloria and Wells situation is weird!! That's part of the reason Y/n is so bothered by it, but let's just say Gloria's smart! They're there for a reason and it'll get revealed soon! but yeah, Gloria's def the type to date a guy for awhile before he lets them meet Y/n.

Also thank you for noting the medical accuracy 😭 my dad is a neurologist so i've been told quite a bit about head injuries!! i also did a bit of googling to confirm everything lol

i'm glad you liked the car moment!! i wanted something a little cute and domestic, especially bc they are definitely trying to make Y/n dependent on them so that she can't leave, plus it's not like they can make a real move on her, dating Sidney and Tatum is important for their plan and they know that Y/n isn't the type to (knowingly) be a side piece...but that's going to be shown a little more clearly in the next part :)

Also I feel like both Billy and Stu are so good a perceiving people, especially the one person they consider worthy of their genuine care, that they just instantly knew something was up. They can read Y/n better than she can read herself at this point.

also yeah both Stu and Y/n were being problematic that morning! Y/n's attitude was a combination of a lot of things. She was stressed and concussions can lead to mood swings so that was the main reason, but let's just say that Billy and Stu knew what they were doing when they were being a little touchy with their girlfriends. And, even though she doesn't fully realize it, it kind of worked. She was a tiny bit jealous and she's never really felt jealous over a guy before (especially the boyfriends of her best friends) and that, paired with some subconscious guilt and her concussion led to a bit of a tantrum. She wasn't the center of Stu and Billy's attention for one minute and she immediately chose violence😭 she's so real for that lowkey.

And on Stu's side, at first the fact that she was uncomfortable was kind of good for his ego. Like aw, she's jealous, she cares🥺, but then when she saw that she was actually unwell, he felt a tiny bit bad. Not guilty, just a tiny bit worried that something was going on with her head injury. So when he finally decided to ease up, and Y/n's reaction was to not only reject him but then to straight up not listen to him?? Stu was not having it, and it bothered him so much he low key forgot to act 'normal' and exposed his lack of empathy for a second.

also you’re actually so funny 😭 humble him!! he wishes he could go cry to his mom 🙄

thank you so much for the review!! it really made my day :)

final girl chapter 5 “spoilers” with no context

bc i need to motivate myself a little lol (they’re in no particular order)

not really spoilers, just memes that fit the vibe and will be funny once chapter five is finally up

Bonus that i found by accident that works so well on more than just the obvious levels and lowkey works as a secondary joke for chapter 6 lol: 

Loving how you write the dynamic between Billy, Stu, and Y/N! They seem much more possessive of her (in a "not yours, not mine, but OURS" kind of way) than they do their *actual* girlfriends, which I'm really enjoying!

Makes me wonder if they used to butt heads over who they chose to date previously. Like, gotta keep up appearances of being Normal Heterosexual Boys, but it sucks when your partner's girlfriend isn't your type.

Anyway, lovely work! Have you posted it on Ao3?

ahh thank you!! and no, i don't write on Ao3 yet, but i've been thinking about it,, i have a wattpad but this is updated a lot more frequently and wattpad is more for the occasional OC idea (might be making a scream one on there soon tho! i have some ideas lol, if anyone's interested)

i really do feel like what makes y/n special to them is that she's theirs in the sense that they both want to have her and keep her around

ohhh i love that concept...i definitely feel like the whole dating thing has definitely caused some conflict between them, especially when dating first comes up

like they've been getting closer and neither of them are big about talking about their emotions, and then billy gets asked out by a girl or stu's parents bring up that they'd love to see him with a nice girl and so they both look into it, and at first they both swear up and down that they couldn't care less bc it wouldn't really change anything

but after stu "accidentally" scares off a perfectly nice girl (it's not his fault, billy, how was stu supposed to know that she'd freak out after seeing a gutted frog the first time she came over to stu's place? he was just practicing for bio class, and technically he didn't threaten her, stu just pointed out that she and the frog had some similarities) they both come to a sort of silent agreement to not bring home anyone the other wouldn't like

which kind of leads to an era of just checking out the same girls, but more in a fantasy sense, maybe even making a game out of who can hook up with a specific girl first, and maybe picking out public girlfriends for each other to make sure no one doubts their ability to be attached to other people or their ability to be heteronormative

and its not like they never have feelings for other people at the same time, but they know their silent boundaries, and as long as they're each others top priorities everything's fine <3

i think they might've given up on the idea of finding the perfect girl worth keeping around, mainly bc of their lack of attachment to other people, but then y/n pulled up and when they both brought her up at the same time they were like 😳 (omg i think it'd be fun to write a fic/drabble that's in the final girl fic universe about billy and stu's thoughts on y/n , specifically that first discussion about her and how she caught their attention)

First Impressions

First ever final girl fic universe seperate fic!! all that means is that even though this is canon in the final girl fic world, it is a separate fic that stands on its own!! you don't need to read any part of final girl first!!

also if you’d like to request a fic that’s set in the final girl world, feel free too, just know that as of now there won’t be anything directly couple-y between Y/n and the boys, just specify in the request!

this is not part 6 of final girl, it's a separate little sort of prequel??

Summary: How Billy and Stu's feelings for Y/n first developed

----

Billy doesn't know when the official switch first flipped. He isn't sure when you went from being a pretty face with a sense of humor that he found a little more objectively funny than most to someone that started taking over his thoughts.

Maybe it did start that first day, when Stu kept making jokes that forced him to keep bringing up the 'hot new girl that Tatum wouldn't shut up about.’ After about the third comment about you, Billy realized that it wasn't really a joke. It was a testing of waters, Stu's not-so-subtle attempt to gauge Billy's opinion of you.

It wasn't like Stu wanted permission to like you, the two of them understood how they felt about others, about girls. But you were different, a thought that made something unfamiliar flare up in them. Feelings too possessive to be categorized as simply want. And too protective to be considered just ownership.

Maybe it did start the day he met you. The first words he ever heard you say didn't quite fit you, but they intrigued him enough to look at you twice.

----

Today is dragging on. It's not even lunch yet and Billy's trying to calculate if he can get away with skipping the rest of his classes. Maybe he'd grab Stu at the start of their shared 5th period and just go. They could get high or drive around for awhile or just cut early to watch a movie. Billy doesn't really know what he wants, he just knows that he doesn't want to be here. Looking through his locker and waiting for Sid.

Being around her is all hot and cold. Some days playing the good boyfriend is barely painful, making it easy to even actually listen to some of her stories. But on days like today, he has to be aware of all of his thoughts and impulses in order to avoid blowing up their plan. The one year mark is coming up soon.

"You know that much planning can make you sound like a psychopath." That's Sid. Billy can't see her yet, but she's still rounding the corner and her voice sounds light. The irony of her saying something like that only steps away from Billy would almost be amusing on a normal day.

"Psychopaths get shit done." A voice that's completely unfamiliar. Normally, he'd brush it off. He doesn't bother keeping up with many people outside of their inner friend group. He could point out a few faces from over the years, but no one else ever really stands out to him.

Just as Sid and the stranger round the corner, the unknown voice speaks again. "Uh--that's not the kind of joke you can make in front of someone you just met. Swear I'm not planning a mass murder, I'm just extra about planning my class schedule."

Billy turns away from his open locker, deciding that since he's this bored and the comment was somewhat amusing before the stranger started backtracking, he's intrigued enough to really look at them. Plus, Sidney seems to like them, so it's probably a thing he should be putting effort into anyways.

You're not what he was expecting. A true new girl. The true new girl. The girl most people glanced at a little too long this morning because when does anyone ever move to Woodsboro? And when does anyone start school here about a month into the school year?

You're holding a stack of heavy textbooks that seem like over kill and blinking up at him with eyes he doesn't think he'll immediately forget about. It's different than noticing someone he finds attractive. This is more intrusive.

Billy doesn't like that he doesn't instinctually dismiss you as high school background static.

His eyes eventually snag on what you're wearing. A sweater that doesn't seem to fit you that he recognizes instantly. He nearly tore it off Stu this morning before school when they both had half a mind to skip.

Billy's jaw clenches and he isn't sure if the sweater has him feeling territorial over Stu or if it has him looking at you a little differently. Maybe the sweater was a little situation Stu created for Billy to notice. A tiny, well orchestrated way to rile Billy up to get back at him for this morning. Or maybe a way to tag you, to tell Billy that he should look at you twice. It doesn't matter, he now knows for a fact that you'll be coming up later, the second Stu and him get a second alone.

"I believe you," Sidney breathes easily, a half laugh in her voice as she breezes past him, likely walking you towards their group's usual lunch spot. He doesn't like that a part of him hopes that his assumption is right.

----

Mr. James has been ranting about who knows what for the last fifteen minutes, and Stu hasn’t heard a word of it. He hasn’t even had a fully clear thought since you stumbled in three minutes late, mumbling an apology as you beelined for the first available seat you could find. It happened to be right next to him. So close Stu can see the doodles in your notebook. They’re cute, scribbled stars and swirls, but disappointingly un-telling. He didn’t expect to see you so soon after Tatum befriended you in the parking lot, and he didn’t think you’d look like this.

“I like your shirt better like this.” You look up at him like a deer caught in front of a moving car. “The neon green brings out your eyes.”

You let out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Oh, thanks, that was the goal.” You glance down at your shirt, crossing your arms in front of your chest self consciously. “This is a result of my annoying habit of not looking both ways before crossing the hall. Some guy ran into me and spilled his energy drink all over me, and he didn’t even stop to say sorry.”

“Wow,” Stu humors you because there’s just something about the irritated pout of your lips, “Rude.”

“I know!” You whisper-yell before cringing slightly at your volume. 

“Exciting first day so far.”

Shifting in your seat again, you blink once, pen tapping against your notebook. “No kidding.”

“If I give you my sweater, does that count as me bailing you out twice today?” 

Your lips part as you glare at him in a way that’s almost shy. Before you can tell him that pointing out a classroom doesn’t count as bailing you out, the two of you are interrupted. 

“Mr. Macher, since you’re so interested in talking today, why don’t you tell us how many delegates attended the Constitutional Convention in 1787?” 

Stu remains unfazed, turning away from you and towards the teacher. You begin writing something else down, and then, in a move so subtle and quick Stu almost thinks he imagined it, you tap the side of your foot against his. His eyes flit down towards the notebook that you’ve pushed to the edge of your desk.

“55,” Stu says confidently, reading the circled number off of your notebook.

Frowning, Mr. James continues, “That’s correct.” Pacing towards the bored, he asks another question, “And which state wasn’t represented?”

You’re quick to write out the next answer in order for Stu to read it out loud, “Rhode Island.”

Getting frustrated, Mr. James begins to press, “Where did they meet?”

“Philadelphia.”

At that, Mr. James lets out a sigh that’s more frustrated than it should be. Deciding that he can’t push this interrogation any further, Mr. James lets it go and moves on. 

Stu smiles despite himself, finding it a little...cute that you outed yourself as a bit of a nerd. It’s something about who you are that you’ve finally revealed. He glances back at your notebook as you inch it even closer to him. He reads over the last thing you wrote: who’s bailing who out now?

You’re smug about it, too. It’s adorable, like being near a puppy. A puppy that Stu isn’t sure if he’d keep around or accidentally squeeze just a little too hard. He just met you, but something about your demeanor is just so innocent and you seem so soft. It’s distracting and oddly riling and he hasn’t quite made up his mind if he’s going to hold it against you or not. 

God, if Tatum decides to really befriend you, this could be interesting. And if Billy were to meet you? Stu’s convinced that he’ll pick up on the fact that you’re something else just as fast. That realization leads to a train of thought that has him struggling to focus on acting normal. 

----

Stu knows two things. The first is that something is definitely on Billy’s mind, and the second is that Billy can tell that Stu’s focus is elsewhere. Stu also knows that right now is a terrible time to get caught up in some girl just because he can’t stop thinking about your eyes and the cute little turn of your lips that was almost a smile.

And seeing you in his sweater for the rest of the day just did something to him. 

Okay, technically that’s more than two things. 

“You wanna order takeout?” The question comes out perfectly casual in a way that Stu knows Billy will interpret as suspicious. “We can save the movie you rented for when the food gets here.”

Billy nods once, absentmindedly, “Sure.” His fingers press into the cushion of the couch, but that doesn’t do anything to relieve his tension. Billy moves his hand, squeezing the back of his turned over arm and letting his nails dig into the soft skin of his inner wrist. The pinching pain is meant to snap him out of it. “What do you think of the girl Tatum was all over today?”

The question nearly sends Stu spiraling. It’s rare for Stu to be unsure on what kind of reaction someone’s looking for, but he’s out of practice with Billy. He can’t remember the last time he cared about monitoring his reactions in front of Billy. “What about her?”

“Do you think Tatum will keep her around enough for her to be a factor?”

Oh. It’s about the plan. Of course it is. Stu thinks of your face, your eyes, the almost smile. It makes his blood rush in a specific way, and he’s not sure if he’d rather see you tremble out of fear or arousal. Maybe there’d be time for both.

“Don’t know. Tatum thought she was nice, didn’t shut up about her, but she’s a little book-y, y’know?” Stu shifts slightly, just enough to seem like he’s slumping further into the couch. “She’s probably too naive to be a factor either way.”

Billy half shrugs. “Not sure, she’s reading Carrie.” 

Stu almost points out that Billy isn’t usually the type to note details like that about people he doesn’t know or care about. “Think she likes scary movies?”

“There’s an easy way to find out,” Billy mumbles, only somewhat serious. He then drops his gaze towards his lap, nails digging just a little harder into his skin than before. “She doesn’t seem like the victim type. You know what she reminded me of with her too-nice-for-her-own-good, girl next door thing?”

Already piecing together what Billy’s getting at, Stu decides to play along. “What?”

At that, Billy throws him a somewhat scolding look. It’s a gentle chiding for trying to get away with bullshitting him. “A final girl.” With a slight sigh, Billy decides that he’s ready to bring up his real point, “You definitely thought so.”

The nail in the coffin hits Stu harder than he thought it would. Billy’s called him out on a lot over the years, but Stu’s never come this close to feeling embarrassed. He doesn’t get this difference, he doesn’t get why he didn’t just say something at the beginning. The two of them talk about girls they find hot all the time. Why are you the exception that makes him feel kind of awkward?

“What?”

Billy rolls his eyes before pointedly glaring at Stu in a way that can only be described as bitchy. “You think I can’t tell when you like a girl?”

The word like settles uncomfortably in Stu’s chest. “Jealous?” It’s a sad attempt at deflecting. “Like you didn’t think she was cute with the way you jumped in to save her just as I was getting her a little worked up.”

“You were making fun of someone and trying to make her uncomfortable.” 

“Since when does that matter?”

Billy pauses, thinking through his potential responses. “I didn’t give her my sweater.” It’s a flat comment, barely more than an observation. “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’s eyes darken slightly as his posture stiffens and Billy struggles to not look smug openly. “Surprised you didn’t come in here trying to get me to jerk you off to the thought of her all bloody and begging you to let her live. I bet you’ve been thinking about that since you saw he in the parking lot this morning.”

Stu finds it in himself to keep it together enough to say, “You’re there too. She’s crying and looks over at you with those wide eyes like she needs you.” 

The comment serves as a ceasefire of sorts. A reminder that neither of them has a true upper hand when it comes to this kind of thing.

----

Maybe the change came the first time Billy was completely alone with you. The hall was empty, school had ended long enough for most club meetings to have started. Most of the people that linger after school have moved to the parking lot or behind the bleachers. 

Billy recognizes the back of your head instantly. You’re starting to become more and more noticeable. It’s a new development, something he still isn’t sure how he feels about. It’s good to be aware, but it’s more than that. A small part of him seems to jump whenever he realizes you’re in the same room. It’s ridiculous. If Stu knew about the pinch of warmth that rises in him whenever he realizes that you’re around, he’d never hear the end of it.

He almost walks away, leaving you there as you groan in frustration at your locker. “You okay?” 

You look up, eyes rounder than usual. You’re always a little fidgety, but today, you’re jumpier than ever. Stu threw his arm around your shoulders during lunch after making a joke that made you both seem like an old, married couple. It’s not rare for Stu to find an excuse to touch you, and you react to it a lot more casually than you used to. But today, you almost flinched. Something’s going on, maybe it has something to do with your mom’s boyfriend. 

You called Sid up the other night late, asking her if you could sleep over because your mom was out and you didn’t want to be alone with him. Maybe your mom isn’t back yet and the thought of going back to that environment has you on edge. Billy gets that feeling. 

“I think this locker has a personal vendetta against me.” 

He nods, trying not to focus on anything particular about you. Still, though, there’s something a little endearing about your dramatics. “A vendetta? Intense.” 

You pull on the lock again, trying to balance a bunch of binders and books in one arm. “Extremely.” 

With the way you’re struggling, it’s only a matter of time before everything collapses. “Here.” Billy pushes the lock in, holding it in position for a second before pulling it down. “It wasn’t still locked, just jammed. The lockers here do that.” 

You let out a relieved sigh. “You’re my hero.” It’s casual praise, a comment you’ll likely never think about again, but it leaves that strange warmth flaring through him. 

“Do you need any help?”

“I’ve got it.” The shake of your head is polite, but the fact that you’re clearly struggling to keep your hold on everything is apparent. You don’t always accept help easily. Suppressing an eye roll, Billy takes the top two books from your stack. You give him a look before admitting defeat. “Thank you.” 

You finish putting away the items in your arms before taking the textbooks back from Billy and making them fit into what’s left of the space. You then move to look through your backpack, taking out different colored sets of sticky notes and highlighters. It’s not really noteworthy until you start taking different sticky notes and highlighters out of your locker and putting them into your backpack. 

“Didn’t you just put those--” 

“Those were the note color combos for history, science, and english. These are the note color combos for my journalism class and math, plus my additional sticky notes for english reading that’s a book and not a textbook. I also like to use different highlighters for different levels of--” Billy’s watching you carefully as you cut yourself off. “I’m way more normal than this makes me look, I swear.” 

It’s that half thought out defense that has Billy practically frozen in place. There’s just something so you about the way you cut yourself off, and Billy’s practically lost in it. You’re an open book when it comes to feelings, but he always finds himself trying to guess what you’re going to say before you actually say it.

Billy fights against a smile. “I don’t believe it.” Your mouth opens in a mock gasp. “Do you have a ride home?”

You zip your backpack shut. “I was gonna walk.” 

He’s yet to see you drive and he’s starting to think you don’t have a car. It’s an unseasonably chilly day and you’re wearing something short with no jacket. Billy also doesn’t love the idea of you walking alone while looking like that. Too pretty, too noticeable, and there are some fucked up people out there.

In an impulsive move, Billy says, “I can take you.” The offer surprises you, you clearly weren’t expecting that from him. Billy can’t blame you for your confusion. It’s not that he’s cold towards you, he just hasn’t let himself get too close to you.

You’re a breath of fresh air to not just him. With the way everyone’s always all over you, Billy has let himself step to the sidelines a little. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but if he’s being completely honest, his thoughts around you are flighty and unsure. Sometimes if he thinks about it too hard it makes him feel like he’s a kid desperate for his mom to beam at him to make everything go away.

It’s twisting and weird and he’s not sure if it makes him want you closer to him or if it makes him want to just give in and force a knife through you just so that voice in the back of his head will stop. You can’t exactly reject him if he buries a knife into you first. But he’s been trying a little more recently. 

It’s only been a short time and you’ve already gotten so comfortable with Stu and his brazenness. It’s starting to make Billy a little more relaxed. Enough to crack a smile every once in awhile and partner with you for a project in English class.

“Oh,” you hum after a second, “Thank you.” You take your time zipping your backpack up to avoid needing to look at him. “But you don’t have to do that. I’d hate to put you out.” 

Billy knows that it’s likely you trying not to be an inconvenience. You never do accept help the first time it’s offered. You don’t know what you need. Despite Billy’s awareness, the slight rejection stings. That warmth you make him feel twists in his stomach in a way that burns. 

“It wouldn’t be putting me out.” He pauses, trying to think through what he can say to get you to agree without making his offer sound too significant. “It’s cold, I can’t let you freeze.” 

You shut your locker, letting yourself consider his offer. It was the right thing to remind you of. Even though it’s not exactly freezing here, it’s hotter in Texas and you’re not used to September feeling all that different than July. “One condition?” 

“I’m doing you a favor.” 

Playfully, you roll your eyes dramatically. Billy smiles at the gesture despite himself. “Don’t go around telling people I’m like some kind of weird sticky note freak?” 

“Weird sticky note freak?” Billy repeats the words like he’s seriously weighing the pros and cons of your request. “Nope. Sorry. Have to tell everyone.” 

The tension of uncertainty behind your stance disappears and the way you’re looking at him changes entirely. His joke surprised you in a good way. It’s a flash of a side of an easier going side of him. “Everyone, huh?” You tilt your head slightly as you consider what to say. “Wish I knew something embarrassing about you to...ensure your silence.” 

He almost laughs. “Ensure my silence? You’d blackmail me?” 

Shrugging comfortably, you reply, “I’d do what needs to be done.”

Billy takes a step forward, angling himself so that there’s a subtle implication that you’re trapped between him and your locker. You seem to pick up on it subconsciously, because the pure humor leaves your eyes. “Didn’t think you could be so mean.” 

You blink, a tiny bit of shyness making itself apparent. Your proximity to each other is just as significant to you as it is to him. Billy can tell by the way you struggle to hold his gaze. The fact that the nerves are mutual makes Billy feel a little easier, a little warm in a good way. 

“I’m multifaceted.” It’s practically a squeak and it sends a thrill straight through Billy.

He’s never been this close to you and yet it still feels so far. The urge to do something with his hands, to touch you just to know what the warmth of your skin would feel like beneath his fingertips, hits him hard and fast. Billy straightens in an attempt to break the spell.

It’s not enough, so he starts walking forward. “Come on before I see you do something really embarrassing like color code tabs in your binder.” 

You turn quickly, trying to match his long, even strides. “That’s actually--” Silencing yourself with a slight huff, you glare at him. “And...that was a joke. You’re making fun of me.” 

Instead of answering the question, Billy decides to push just a little more. “You know this isn’t exactly a sticky note level secret, but sometimes I color coordinate my pens based on each class I’m in. The ink matches my folders.” 

“Haha,” you breathe sarcastically, heat rising to your face. “You have a really underrated sense of humor.”

----

Now that you’re here, so casually taking up space somewhere that’s just his, Billy doesn’t want you to go. Your uncertainty melted away after the first two minutes and you’ve been casually chatting away ever since.

You tried making fun of his music, but ultimately had to admit your disappointment that Billy’s taste isn’t worse. He apologized and promised that next time he drove you somewhere, he’d make sure to have nothing but the cheesiest pop top 20 available, that way you could bully him to your heart’s content. He also made sure to tell you that if you really want to make fun of someone for their choice of music, you should ask Stu to show you his CD collection. 

After saying that, Billy watched your reaction carefully through the rearview mirror. You seemed to like the promise of future car rides.

You’re tapping your fingers against your knee casually, eyes focused on the window. The two of you are getting close to your place now, and something about your energy is beginning to shift downwards. You don’t want to go home.

Screw it, you don’t want to be home and after Stu’s stuffy energy today, Billy realizes that both of you could use a bit of a pick me up. 

"Today’s Thursday, right?” 

Turning your attention back towards him, your hand stills on your lap. “Yeah, why?” 

“I forgot I told Stu I’d be at his place by 3:30 today. We were supposed to go get something to eat.” It’s a partial lie. It was an assumed thing that Billy would make his way over to Stu’s at some point, especially since it’s been a little while since they both had a free day. Between school and their girlfriends, it just hasn’t worked out. But they never indicated a time and Billy isn’t actually late. “We’re about to pass Stu’s house.” 

Billy pauses, pretending that this idea just came to him. “Want to come with us? I can drive you home after and that way Stu won’t get into his whole thing when I’m late.” 

You’re intrigued by the offer, he can tell by the way you’re cautiously studying him from the corner of your vision. “I don’t need to crash your thing.” 

“You’re not crashing.” You don’t look convinced. “You’re our friend.”

At that, your demeanor seems to soften. The word friend leaves you beaming and that feeling flickers in Billy’s chest again. 

“You’re sure Stu won’t mind?” You’re watching him freely now, eyes cautious. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“As long as you don’t bring out the sticky notes and try to color coordinate anything.” 

Fighting down a laugh, you roll your eyes. “Sounds tough, but I think I can manage.” 

----

Stu’s laying against his couch, Texas Chainsaw Massacre playing on the living room television. He’s only half paying attention, strangely apathetic. 

The call had come this morning, right before he left for school. His parents were rescheduling their return, claiming that business was just too good for them to fly home already. Apparently someone offered his dad an in on some deal, and now they’re in negotiations for that. Stu barely believed them, considering that the business trip was in Vegas, and his mom has a pension for shopping in large cities. 

He didn’t call them out for it. He never does. Lie or truth, it doesn’t make a difference why they’re not coming back. The point is they’re just not. 

When Stu was younger, he used to complain a little, but that was quickly nipped in the bud by his father reminding him that he’s a man. He shouldn’t really need anything from his parents except assurance that his needs would be taken care of, and that’s definitely a problem they’ve never had. A large and safe roof over his head and enough pocket money to keep himself fed and entertained. What else could a teenage boy want? 

Stu was half expecting some kind of call. It had been a little over a week with no communication and they always announce their return home a few days in advance. They never tell Stu about their delays until the day before they’re supposed to come back. 

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about this or why it’s getting to him a little more today than usual. Maybe it has to do with the fact that his parents are coming close to beating their record for longest time traveling without so much as a weekend pit stop at home to change out their luggage. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s barely gotten any time with Billy this week. It doesn’t matter. The fact that he’s phased at all is stupid.

A knocking at his door snaps him out of his train of thoughts. Weird. A spike of hope strikes him with no warning. It could be Billy, but Billy never knocks. He walks in and doesn’t even bother to greet Stu verbally before sitting down next to him. It could be Tay, but he can’t remember making any plans with her or the last time she spontaneously popped by his place without at least calling first. 

Stu opens the front door casually, because this is Woodsboro, and an unexpected knock is no reason for concern. His eyes immediately land on Billy, who’s standing there like there’s nothing weird about him knocking. 

“You kn--” He cuts himself off after noticing that Billy’s not alone. Excitement pulses through him at the realization that it’s you. Stu has no idea how Billy pulled this off, but it’s a good surprise. A good enough surprise to get him to shake off the weird way he’s feeling. “Look who wandered onto my doorstep.” 

Ignoring the consuming way he’s looking at you, you greet him normally. “Hi to you too.” 

“Picked her up,” Billy jumps in, catching Stu up on his innocent enough lie as casually as possible, “She’s a stray, so she’s coming with us to grab something to eat.” 

That paired with the subtle look Billy sends him is enough for Stu to piece together enough of the story to go along with it. “You’re late, but since you brought me a gift, I’ll let it go.” 

You practically laugh at that. “Dramatic.” 

Stu turns towards you, grinning at the excuse to grab you. He tugs on your arm, ignoring your protests as he pushes you against the doorframe. The sudden shift in mood isn’t something you’re expecting, but Stu can’t help it. Especially when he knows that he has your full attention. He can take seeming pushy if it means he’s the only thing you’re focusing on. 

“Stu.” It’s too surprised and amused to be scolding.

His smile widens at the way you’re looking at him. “Take it back.” 

You bite back a grin, watching him carefully. There’s an edge to his usual brand of chaos, but it’s not unnerving. If anything, a part of you feels the need to prove him wrong. “No.” 

It’s not so much the blatant defiance as it is that smug look behind your eyes that sets Stu off. His hold on you tightens, and the way he tilts his head leaves a feeling you don’t understand pulsing through you. It leaves your face warm. 

“No?” You blink at the question, chin sticking out just slightly in an attempt to hold your ground. “Brat.” 

Still not giving him the satisfaction of your panic, you keep your voice steady as you react, “Dra-ma-tic.” 

Billy straightens, watching the exchange cautiously. He understands that look behind Stu’s eyes better than Stu does. You’re teetering on the edge of either Stu forgetting that this is a delicate situation and crossing a line or something even more dangerous. But this is the most like himself Stu’s been all day and you’re smiling. It’s a moment that’s so domestic Billy’s not sure how he hadn’t managed to get you here sooner. 

Releasing one of your arms, Stu places a hand on your side. Billy studies the contact carefully before Stu starts to move. His fingers move quickly, up and down your side as you laugh and squirm. It’s cute and easy going, but considering Stu’s mood today, Billy isn’t sure how long it’ll stay that way. 

“What were you saying?” 

“That--” You cut yourself off with a loud laugh that’s almost a gasp as Stu’s hand brushes against your side. “That you’re the--the most even temper-tempered, understa--understated person I’ve ever met.”

Stu pauses, hands squeezing your hips once before releasing you, but he makes no move to put any distance between you. “I’d love to believe you, babe, but you don’t really seem sorry.” 

That does frazzle you enough to get your eyes to widen. You laugh or maybe even yelp as Stu’s hands move to grab you again. You turn quickly, nearly stumbling as you try to dodge him. 

Stu could probably grab you and force you back into place easily, but he lets you have your small victory. It’s more fun with a little bit of a chase, anyways.

Billy places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you steady as you fight against a nervous giggle. “Help.” 

He’s never had such a good excuse to pull you towards him. Maybe Billy should have been the voice of reason. After all, this is your first time all doing something after school and scaring you off really is a possibility. But he can’t help himself. In one smooth movement, Billy turns you and presses your back into his chest. “You know in the movies nothing gets you killed faster than begging for help.”

You’re barely given a second to register his words because Stu’s on you in a second, tickling you before you can read too much into the lowness of Billy’s voice. He rests his chin against your back, briefly hiding his face into your neck as you squirm.

Billy looks up, meeting Stu’s gaze as you fondly tell them that they’re, “Literally the worst,” in a voice that’s so sweet they’re surprised they hold it together.

It’s in that moment, that silent exchange, that they both come to a mutual decision. You’re theirs now, and even though you don’t know it yet, nothing’s going to change that. 

Final Girl (Part 6)

A/n your comments, reblogs, and likes have helped me through this rough patch immensely :)) not to be pushy but,, comments really make my day :)

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: The aftermath of Ghostface’s phone call leaves Y/n a little reliant on some good friends. 

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

----

Billy’s breathing doesn’t reveal enough about what he’s feeling, but considering how silent the two of us have been, I have absolutely nothing else to go off of. 

I should leave him alone, I stomped on his foot, locked him outside while a murderer was watching us, threatened him with a knife, and accused him of being a murderer. It’s a miracle that he doesn’t hate me, I really shouldn’t push. 

If it wasn’t for Billy, I don’t think I would have gotten through the aftermath of the phone call. He convinced me that the police wouldn’t care that I had been drinking and when I couldn’t form the words, he gave them the information over the phone. He also helped me call my mom. 

When Dewey finally got to the house, he seemed a little more like an older brother asking me what happened with genuine care and compassion instead of some kind of officer desperate for answers. It was nice, the kind of energy and patience I needed. He even offered to take me to his house so I could sleep over with Tatum, but remembering how drunk she was at the party, I had a feeling she might not be coming home. I don’t know what she told her parents and I really don’t want to get her in trouble or interrupt her time with Stu (since he threw such a hissy fit this morning), so I insisted I could tough it out. Dewey didn’t seem convinced until Billy offered to stay the night, just so I wouldn’t be alone. 

The offer comforted me as much as it annoyed me. All I wanted was to prove that I didn’t need anyone, and now Billy’s weird group date night party thing has been cut short because of me. Technically, it’s not my fault. It’s not like I asked some murderer to call me, and he’s trying to be nice. Or at least, I think he is. And it’s not like he was the one complaining about me today, he even tried making me feel better by saying he’d take me to the bookstore tomorrow. 

Despite knowing all of this, my awkward and uncomfortable emotions that have been amplified by both panic and alcohol would have had me sending Billy home if I had the chance. But Billy’s offer was the only thing that seemed to get Dewey to relax and before he left he made both of us promise that we’d stay put and keep a phone on us in case of emergency. I couldn’t kick Billy out after that, not with the way Dewey physically eased. 

I guess it’s fair. Two is always better than one in these kinds of things, that’s why splitting up in a scary movie is always a bad idea. And if I had to make a cursory assumption about Billy’s physical appearance, he seems kind of strong, I guess. Not that I’ve ever paid attention to his physique or anything. And it’s not like he’s going fight off a killer, or whatever. But Dewey seemed to be comforted by the idea, and after tonight, if I have to choose between potentially bothering Billy and potentially bothering Stu by stealing Tate from him... 

And, if I’m being completely honest, the thought of being alone is absolutely nauseating. Before leaving, my mom always drills me on self defense. The whole ‘gun’s in the safe’ talk. Honestly, I’m pretty sure the fact that my mom’s been taking me to the shooting range since I was legally old enough to in Texas is the only reason she felt comfortable leaving me alone. But I’ve been drinking, and shooting at a target is nothing compared to shooting at a person. 

Also, unfortunately, I’ve come to realization that Billy’s presence is comforting. He lingers, sometimes at a distance, sometimes close. Like a cat.

“What are you thinking about?” It’s a fair question, I guess. We’ve both been through some stuff tonight, and we’re both tense, but it’s not like we can both sit at an awkward distance from each other and stare off into space until morning. 

Not trusting myself to not stare at him, I drop my gaze from the wall and onto my lap. My mind is racing a mile a minute, and a weird combination of dread, panic, and guilt have been drowning out all rational thoughts since Dewey left, but none of that feels like the right thing to say, so I go with the literal answer. “Nothing much, just that you’re kind of like the cat my mom never let me get.” 

He lets out a breath that could be annoyed or amused. I’m too much of a coward to look up at him and check. “You’re not that predictable.” 

His tone is so specific it takes a second to sink in. The words came out low and cautious, like he was admitting some kind of weakness he didn’t expect himself to express. But they also felt a little like shy praise.

 “Thanks, I guess, weirdo.” Finally looking up at him, I realize that he’s already looking at me. “Thought I was easy to read.” 

Billy tilts his head downwards, a strand of hair falling across his face. “You can’t hide what you’re feeling, but that doesn’t make me a mind reader.” 

Did Billy move closer to me at some point and I just didn’t notice? Or did...I somehow move? “That was a very polite way of telling me that I say weird things.” 

“No,” if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was smiling, “I meant it in a good way. It’s...refreshing.” Billy pauses, eyebrows just barely drawing together like he’s debating something, “You’re refreshing.” 

The admission comes out almost soft. I grin at his awkward wording. “Keeping you on your toes, just how I like it.” 

My bad joke lands even though Billy tries to hide his slight smile behind a controlled smirk. “One minute you’re accusing me of murder and the next you’re making jokes. I’m definitely on my toes.” 

I can’t tell if the switch is meant to be lighthearted, but I react regardless. Turning my head away, I clasp a hand over my mouth a little too dramatically. “I am so so sorry about that. Did I apologize for--” 

“Yes,” he cuts me off easily, “Relax, I was joking, and I get that you were scared and Stu told me that Noel said Casey’s name in front of you.” Billy hesitates, voice dropping slightly, “And I know that I said the wrong thing, but it was a lot to know that you thought I could do something like that to you.” 

Guilt feels like a spear cutting through me. All of my other feelings are small in comparison. One conversation with someone that only knows surface level Billy and that’s all it took for me to get that freaked out? And right after I started wondering if Stu could have done it just because he happened to date Casey at one point? 

Maybe it was the alcohol or the desperation to have some sense of closure. There’s a chance that I was just mad at them and my subconscious ran with that.

I let myself watch Billy openly. There’s a strange flicker of vulnerability adding a quality to his features that makes him feel less sharp. If I squint, it’s similar to the way he looked when he mentioned his mom earlier.

That strand of hair is still out of place, just barely brushing against the tip of his nose. I don’t know what gets my hand to move, but while I’m imagining how satisfying it’d be to have that strand pushed back into place, my arm extends. My movements are slow as I tuck his hair behind his ear. 

Billy lets me, only reacting to wrap long fingers around my wrist once I’ve accomplished my goal. There’s a lot I could say about my down spiral. I could tell him that he was my second suspect during a 10 minute trail down a dark rabbit hole. I could tell him that I was so out of it that I wanted to go to Casey’s house alone at night while drunk. 

Instead I say, “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” It’s the truth, and somehow it feels like the only thing worth saying. 

He holds my gaze for a little too long. With no warning, Billy moves my arm, pressing a quick kiss to the inside of my wrist. 

Ignoring the strange warmth that follows the gesture, I turn my head. “I was so out of it and desperate for answers I wanted to go to Casey’s house. You were right to make me go home.” With a self deprecating laugh, I pull my hand back. “I just wish I could’ve proven that I could go one night without having some sort of crisis.”

“I like your crises,” Billy says after a beat, “They end up making me look like a good guy and it’s nice to be needed every once in awhile.” 

I look over at him, glaring as he grins. His sudden lightheartedness is shocking, and a tiny bit infuriating, but not unwelcome. I like the way he gets when it’s just us or us and Stu. 

The thought of Stu hits me a little too hard. It’d be nice to know that things with Stu are okay. Plus I...begrudgingly kind of, maybe miss him a tiny bit.

Billy being around is great, but after tonight, it’d feel settling to have our trio all together and safe. 

Rolling my eyes, I adjust my position on the couch. “One, I don’t think you need me to make you look like a good guy, and two, I’d keep you around even if I was completely stable.” 

“Really?” There’s a bit of smugness behind the humor in his voice. “Keep me around?” 

I halfheartedly glare at him, shoving his arm. “Maybe I like you.”

“Maybe?” 

“Don’t make it weird.” 

He grabs my hand, squeezing it slightly. “You okay?” 

Ugh. Of course he’d notice that tiny shift. Billy’s so perceptive it’d unnerve me if he was anyone else. “If I admit something you have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone.”

“I can keep a secret.” 

It’s not exactly the assurance I wanted, because him being able to and willing to keep a secret are separate things. Something tells me not much goes unshared between him and Stu. “Is it weird I kinda miss Stu?” The admission is embarrassing, but it’s probably the least awkward thing I’ve said all night. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at him and he was a total asshole, but he’s like my asshole, y’know?” 

The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upwards. There’s something about his expression that I don’t understand, but it’s not a bad thing. “I get it.” He shifts slightly without letting go of my hand. “You should call him tomorrow, he’d like it more than he’d admit. Not a lot of people go out of their way to reach out to him first.”  

I’m not wasted or naive enough to not notice how intentional Billy’s final comment feels. I can see why he’d want Stu and I to make up sooner rather than later. No one likes it when their friends are fighting. I have half a mind to call him out on it, but decide against it. Sure, it might have been a point he kept to himself under different circumstances, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

It’s hard to picture Stu, who’s always so outgoing and himself as lonely or unwanted. He’s always throwing parties and included in things. But parties don’t necessarily mean a lot of friends. Anyone would be willing to spend a Saturday night drinking free alcohol in a parentless house. And it’s possible to feel like you’re not important while surrounded by a large friend group. Plus his parents are always gone. Two nights without my mom and I’m losing it, I can’t imagine what coming home to an empty house every day must feel like.

But it’s no excuse. It’s not like I’ll be mad at him forever, but it’s deserved for now. “I will when I feel a little better.” 

Billy pauses, thinking through what I just said. “He’ll cool off. It’s more about this week than you.” Right. His sister, his parents.

I must be more tipsy than I realized because I blurt out a question that I’ve managed to keep to myself for awhile, “What is the whole thing with his sister?”

A switch immediately flips. He doesn’t really move or do anything, but there’s a shift behind his eyes. A change so slight and certain I wouldn’t have noticed if it had felt any less harsh. I don’t know why, but I know that that was the wrong thing to say. I’m pushing us towards what’s considered unsteady territory.

“I-I just mean that I know they don’t get along because of that time at his house with the picture, remember? I’m not saying it’s anything, just that I--I don’t have any siblings, so for all I know all siblings are like that.” I scratch the back of my wrist, vaguely reflecting on that cliche expression about cats. “I-I have a step-sister, technically, and I can barely stand her and I only see her on holidays, so actual siblings must be...”  

He turns his head enough to watch my expression. There’s something about the draw of Billy’s eyebrows that eases me. Something in my jumble of words has intrigued him. “You have a step-sister?” 

Ugh. I think I’d rather him be mad at me. Shrugging, I answer honestly, “My dad got married when I was nine. His wife had a daughter that was ten.” 

“You don’t like them.” 

It’s not a question, but I can feel that he’s expecting some kind of elaboration from me. “Not particularly.” It’s not what he wants, but I’m not exactly chatty when it comes to my step family. Maybe that’s how Stu and Billy feel about the parents they live with. The thought leaves me more sympathetic than before. “It killed my mom.” 

“I didn’t ask about your mom, I asked about you.” 

Wiping my palms on the couch, I stare off at nothing in particular. There’s no nice way to summarize the whole step family thing. The competition, the terrorizing while adults weren’t looking, the feeling of being replaced. The feeling of knowing the kind of dad my dad would have been to me if he had just had me a little later.  There’s an anger there that’s hard for me to acknowledge.

“The whole thing with my dad’s fucked up, and I can’t talk about it without sounding fucked up, too.” My voice is both too harsh and too honest and I regret it instantly. “Sorry, that was a lot.” 

Billy’s quiet for a long moment, expression unreadable. “Fucked up doesn’t bother me.” 

He sounds so genuine and patient that I believe him wholeheartedly. I don’t think that’s a good thing, but I tell him everything regardless. My dad, the on and off addiction, locking myself in the bathroom while he dealt with withdrawals, the way he completely changed for Charlotte and her mother, and watching my mom fall apart for someone that never loved her as much as she loved him. And, for the first time ever, I don’t keep it just factual. I tell him how it all made me feel, even though it’s not pretty.

Drinking and emotional conversations never go well together. By the time I’m done with the story, my eyes are watery. Maybe I could have blinked the tears away and played them off in front of someone else, but Billy notices everything. I take a settling breath before gently wiping my thumb across the corner of my eyes.

 “...Sorry, this is stupid. I’m too old to get this upset over my dad and his family.” I’m too self conscious to look at him, so I stare at my lap instead. “It’s extra stupid, because my mom’s so great, she’s more than enough, but it’s always been just us, and sometimes that gets lonely. Especially now that she has someone else and I--” 

It’s ridiculous. I’m not jealous of my mom having a boyfriend, but I do miss the way things were before Wells. She’s never had a super serious boyfriend before, and it’s starting to feel like she’s getting more family and I’m not.

Billy’s arm moves around my shoulder. I don’t think twice about the gesture until he pulls me into his side. His strength is surprising, but his touch isn’t harsh or overwhelming. It’s actually kind of nice. After a second, I relax into the contact.

“You don’t need him.” His body is as rigid and tense as his voice. The change in mood is fleeting. Billy recovers so quickly I nearly get whiplash as he teasingly taps his knee against mine, “You do have someone else.” 

He watches me for a long second, dark eyes taking in every detail of my expression. Up close like this, there’s something nearly soft about his features. I can make out the individual hairs of his lashes and a faint touch of barely-there freckles beneath his left eye. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed the slope of his lips before. 

I don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for in my expression because all at once, his intensity retreats with the drop of his head. “Two someones,” it’s practically shy, “Stu might be an asshole that doesn’t think before speaking, but the good thing about him is that he’s always there.” 

The sincerity and obvious fondness  that’s just so thinly veiled I know better than to call him out on it leaves me warm in a different way. It clutches at my chest. 

“Maybe for you,” I hum, hoping that my tone lightens the mood, “But I don’t think Stu’s in the mood to be there for me.” 

Letting out a slight sigh that I can’t interpret, Billy rests his head against the back of the couch. He keeps his head turned in my direction. We’re close enough that this new angle doesn’t create any distance, it just changes things a little. His breaths just barely reach my lower cheek. 

“He’s just moody because of his parents and sister. They’re both in town at the same time maybe twice a year.” Sympathy’s fangs graze against me, ready to sink in. “He cares about you, you know that.” When I don’t react immediately, Billy continues, “You’d have to considering the way he babies you.” 

Did he just? Shock and embarrassment twist oddly in my chest, making it impossible to take a full breath. My scoff comes out too small as a result. “He. Does. Not.” 

The corner of Billy’s mouth turns upwards. Great. I’ve given away that he’s struck a nerve. “You let him.” 

It’s a second bullet wound. “What? I--he doesn’t try--I wouldn’t if--you’re just making stuff up.” 

Billy takes my stuttering and inability to decide where to look like he has all the time in the world. “He peels your oranges, angel.” 

“I don’t ask him to.” My answer escapes me too quickly, too defensively. Stu does peel my oranges, but he only dos that so he can make a joke about not minding getting his hands dirty. He also does it so he can steal as many orange slices as he wants. “I--I don’t, he does it because he has a whole bit about getting his hands dirty. That’s it.”

“He waits with you by your locker at the end of the day.” 

That is not the big deal Billy is making it out to me. Stu stands next to me while I sort through my books before going home and sometimes he’ll hold things for me for a second to make things easier...but that’s not babying me. 

I open my mouth to tell Billy all of that. Before I can get the words out, a realization that I could have gone my entire life without strikes me in the chest. Hard and fast enough to nearly knock the breath out of my chest. 

Because, yes, Stu peeling oranges for me and hanging out by my locker while I go through my backpack doesn’t add up to him babying me. But that paired with Stu walking me to our shared first period after homeroom because one time a super rude football player ran into me; Stu always offering to wait up with me on the phone after a bad dream; Stu caring about my class schedule more than he cares about his.

“That’s just being a friend.” Maybe that defense could have worked if I had managed to say it normally, but I can feel my own awkwardness. There’s no way that Billy didn’t pick up on it.

He’s enjoying this too much. “I’ve been friends with him for years and he’s never peeled an orange for me. Maybe it’s because I’m not as pretty as you.” 

Stu’s reputation for flirting often outshines Billy’s. I think that’s something Billy relies on, it lets him get away with a little more. Rolling my eyes instinctually, I move to shove Billy’s shoulder. 

My fingers have just barely grazed against the fabric of his shirt before Billy’s hand wraps around my wrist. He holds me there for a second, staring at where our skin meets. In a move so quick I barely notice it, Billy pulls me closer by my arm. 

His grip tightens in a way that feels instinctual. It doesn’t hurt, but there’s something almost panicked about it. Billy’s jaw seems to lock but I can’t convince myself that it’s not just the lighting. “You should go to bed.” 

The words feel strained by something I don’t get. I’m too lost to his proximity to care. He’s so warm and there’s a sense of safety radiating off of him that I can’t think to question his intensity. It’s too relieving, too comforting. I want closer. 

That realization is worse than what we were joking about earlier. That thought scares the shit out of me. It’s a sign that I should jump back. Get away. But I--

“Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

He blinks. My reaction seems to ease him enough to let his hand relax. His fingers ghost down my forearm. “Should still go to bed. You need rest.”

I nod, thinking that that’s my cue to scoot back, but Billy’s still holding onto my arm. This close, the bags under his eyes seem so much more prominent. A tiny pinch of guilt flares through me. He’s the one that could have been murdered because I’m slowly going insane. “So do you.”

“Then go to bed so I can.” The correlation only somewhat makes sense.

Right. He’s staying over. “You can stay in my room and I’ll sleep in my mom and Wells’s.”

It feels awkward, but there’s not much else I can do. Despite the decent size of the house, the only guest room on the property was turned into my room. The other rooms are mainly storage that Wells hasn’t gotten around to cleaning out. I guess his grandparents and great grandparents were hoarders. Maybe that’s just what happens in family homes, the stuff that’s saved to be passed down just gets shoved into back closets and unused rooms.

“You don’t want to have another sleepover?” His slight smile reveals that he does want to fluster me. That should make it less effective, but I still struggle to hold his gaze.

I try to glare, but I really doubt it comes off right. “Not sure us falling asleep in the same bed because we were too drunk to think ahead counts.”

Billy gilts his head forward. The shift is small but still oddly noticeable. I guess that’s how it is when you’re this close. Any movement closer or farther is noticeable because it feels more significant. “You’re saying you need to be drunk to get into bed with me?”

It’s just cheesy enough to get me to laugh. “You know what I mean.”

At the somewhat serious answer, Billy straightens slightly. “I want to know that you’re there.” His words are so hushed, so unlike him in their closeness to nervousness that my heart stills. “That you’re okay.”

He’s regarding me with a sharpness that doesn’t fit the low way he’s speaking. I’m struck with the feeling that there’s another layer to what he’s asking me. I almost feel like I’m being tested. If he seemed any less vulnerable I’d question it.

“You don’t think Sid would...” I don’t even know what I’m asking. Am I asking if she’d mind? If she’d think that there was something weird about it?

“No.” Billy’s answer is quick and hard, leaving no room for argument. His fingers tighten around my forearm. The change is so quick it almost feels needy. It’s different than when Stu holds on a little too authoritatively. It’s more desperate and that makes it feel more volatile.

All at once, he softens again. His hold returns to bearable. Not quite as casual as before but no longer unsettling. “She wouldn’t. She’d understand.” He says it so simply, like he has absolutely no doubts. 

He’d know better than me, I guess. They’re the ones dating, which means Billy knows Sid’s boundaries about this stuff better than I do. Which means it is really up to me.

I don’t know what I want, but I know what I don’t. I can’t take anymore grief tonight, anymore worries or arguments. I also know that I don’t want to be alone and that latching onto Billy like this is the most peace I’ve felt all night. “O-okay.”

He exhales, something in him relaxing at my answer. “Okay.” Billy’s voice is more sure than mine. It’s comforting enough to cut through my uncertainty. “Let’s go to bed.” 

---- 

Rationally, I know that technically this is my second time having Billy stay in my room, but it feels a lot different without excessive alcohol. I’m not completely sober yet, I don’t think it’s physically possible to sober up that fast.

The call and panic definitely cut through my buzz, leaving me only with sluggishness that follows drinking. A tired that I can’t give into because of anxiety. 

Billy’s laying next to me, and from what I can tell, he’s breathing easily but I’m not convinced he’s asleep. Despite that, I can’t bring myself to even glance at him from the corner of my eyes. Billy has a way of noticing things like that no matter how subtle I try to be.

He moves, the hand that’s closest to mine brushes against the back of my palm. It’s likely an accident but the small rush of warmth that runs up my fingertips until it reaches my chest is so soothing it nearly gets me to ease. Or jump. Those two feelings are often hard to tell apart around him. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

He hasn’t moved any more so I remain just as still, eyes trained on the ceiling. “I’ll pass out eventually.”

“Might help if you close your eyes.” 

The way Billy just knows things would be scary if it wasn’t so annoying. “Wow, a crystal ball and a deck of cards and you could have your own booth at the fair.” 

Billy lets out a quiet laugh that’s meant to be a scoff. “The fair?” 

I roll my eyes before dutifully returning my gaze to the ceiling. “Come on, don’t tell me that there’s no fair here. It’s not like Woodsboro is some metropolitan, crowded--” 

“Sometimes I forget you’re from Texas and then you start talking about--” 

“Shut up.” 

He sighs in good humor again, his fingers stretching and brushing against my knuckles. “Then go to sleep.” 

If only it was that easy. Ever since what happened at Casey’s, sleep is more of enemy than an escape. When I don’t have dreams that make my stomach turn with guilt, my mind goes over everything that I did wrong. And when I’m spared from that, my thoughts panic over what I’m not sure I remember. 

Sometimes I think that doubting my mind is the worst of it and then the guilt doubles. At least I’m alive. I bet Casey would give anything to feel like she’s going crazy if it meant she could be alive. 

With no warning, Billy turns his hand, pressing fingers in between mine so naturally that I instinctually adjust so that we’re loosely holding hands. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.” 

Promises like that, promises that no one can guarantee, are the most gentle. They come from such good intentions. “Can I ask you something?” Before I can back out, I blurt out the important part, “And you’ll be honest? Promise you’ll be honest?” 

A small moment of silence followed by the squeezing of my palm. “I promise.” 

Slowly, I turn, pulling my hand away. Billy’s hold briefly tightens, but when I persist he lets go. He moves to face me after a second and when he sees that I’m now holding out my pinky, something about his expression softens. He covers his reaction with a pointed look meant to make fun of what I’m asking.

He links his pinky to mine. “You think this actually makes people not lie?” 

It’s a light comment, probably meant to help me shake my mood, so I ignore it. “Do you think I’m crazy?” He’s watching me in a way I can’t interpret. “Or going it?” 

“You’re hurting and you need time.” Billy’s answer isn’t careful or fragile or overly sweet like the sympathetic answers I’m used to. It’s straight forward and blunt enough to pass as honest. “You’re not crazy. You’re smart and that’s the problem.” I draw my eyebrows together. “Smart people always want answers but this isn’t about that. Answers won’t fix anything or bring anyone back.” 

I nod somberly, surprisingly relieved. When my mood doesn’t get better, Billy pulls my hand towards him by my pinky. He presses his lips to my knuckle quickly. It’s enough to make me crack a tired smile, which I guess was his goal. “Thank you.” 

“For telling you you’re not crazy after you accused me of murder?” 

Partially glaring at him, I answer, “Just thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles, “Now go to sleep.” 

“You sound like a mother.” 

His lips press together briefly. “Like your mom has ever had to ask you to do anything twice.” 

That joke’s getting old. “I’m tired of the jokes. So I listen to my mom, she deserves the lack of stress.”

Billy hesitates, “She’s a good mom.” 

“It’s weird without her around.” My mom is the life of the house. She’s always on the phone with friends or playing music or yelling at the TV when characters on a TV show she likes do stupid things. “Quiet.” 

He drops his gaze towards our hands. Our pinkies are still together. “There are worse things than quiet.” His tone reminds me of the way he was when he mentioned his mom. It’s a flash of something wounded. “Quiet’s easier.” 

Another tally in a column about his home life. “What are you thinking about?” The question is a surprise for us both.

“My mom knew how to keep things quiet.” 

I must be in total shock because after a second I ask, “What happened?” His eyes snap up and I regret not swallowing my words. “Not that--I just--I know it’s just your dad and it wasn’t always just your dad.” It’s my turn to stare at our hands. “You don’t need to tell me. Honestly, I--I didn’t mean to ask.” 

He turns over my hand, something about the motion feels strained. Billy’s pointer finger traces patterns against my palm. “It’s fucked up.” 

“Fucked up doesn’t bother me.” My repetition of his earlier words is awkward and much less sure than the original.

Billy’s quiet for a second, an odd tension floating through the room. “Not much to tell. Some whore fucked my dad and my mom did what she had to. My dad didn’t take it too well.”  

Oh. His words hit me a little too hard. I don’t know if the story or the unexpected harshness is what gets to me. Before I can react, Billy places a hand on my shoulder. With no warning, he pushes me so that I’m laying flat against my bed. A tiny yelp escapes me, but Billy doesn’t move. “Now that we’ve done the whole deep dark secrets thing, go to sleep.”

His voice leaves no room for argument but his touch is harder to ignore. “You know the deep dark secrets thing is a major part of girl’s sleepovers. One minute everyone’s painting their nails and the next we’re all crying over our dads or moms or the messed up things we did in middle school.” 

“Go to sleep,” he sighs, hand that’s not pinning me down sliding downwards, just barely touching my hip.

I nod slowly, not trusting myself to speak again. Satisfied, Billy takes his time moving back to the position he was in. This time, he stays closer than he was before.

Hating myself for it a little, I break the comfortable silence, “Billy?” He huffs slightly, like I’ve woken him up after a deep sleep that only took him minutes to find. “If you ever want quiet and can’t get it anywhere you can come over.” I already regret this. “Not--not in a pity way, just a--just so you know, I guess.” 

He shifts closer, pulling my arm towards him. “Might end up moving in then.” 

His muffled words make me let out a partial laugh. “Should let you know it’s like a metaphorical quiet because half the time you can hear my mom talking on the phone to her friends or talking to the TV.” 

“Might have to rethink it then.” The edge in his voice is ruined by the slight smile that I can feel through his tone. 

Billy’s hold on my arm is an anchor I’ve gone too long without. Thoughtlessly, I move my free hand towards his back. My fingers brush against his skin gently. “Did you offer the same thing to your boyfriend?” 

It takes me longer than it should for me to realize what he’s talking about. “Noel?” His silence is enough of an answer. “No, I guess that means I like you more.” He stays quiet. “And he’s not my boyfriend. I just--” 

“Weren’t getting enough attention?” 

With a sigh, I let my hand rest on his back. “I can still kick you out.” He doesn’t move. “And for the record, I just...I thought it’d make me feel normal.” 

“Did he?” 

The question sits with me for longer than it should because I know the answer immediately. It sinks into my chest like a weight threatening to suffocate my lungs. “Not as much as you.” I shut my eyes as if that will save me from his reaction. “I’m going to sleep.” 

---- a few days later ----

“You fucking love it.” Stu makes no attempts to hide petty bitterness as he pulls a joint back to his lips. The whole point of smoking was to stop thinking about you, but weed doesn’t always work the way you want it. “At least admit it.” 

Billy lifts his head enough to reach over for the joint, taking it from Stu. “What’s there to love?” 

Stu sighs. “Fuck off.” Billy breathes in slowly, letting smoke fill his lungs. “You love that Y/n can’t do anything without you. That she lets you sleep in her room more than you sleep in yours.” 

“Just say you’re sorry, give her one of your looks, and say something about your parents.”

Dropping his head back, Stu frowns. “You remember how quick she was to go after some other guy. Like she didn’t give a shit.” Billy patiently watches Stu, noting the way tension continues to expand across Stu’s demeanor. “Even Casey used to--” 

“She gives a shit.” When Stu scoffs, Billy sits up a little more. “She does. Asks about you all the time and then makes me promise to not tell you.” 

There’s only the tiniest shift in Stu’s demeanor, but it’s a start. Your little spat has lasted longer than Stu thought it would, and with each day that you go without initiating conversation, the more the sting of silent rejection bubbles. Billy’s had to keep up with his moods, making sure that Stu’s feelings remain contained. 

“It’s cute,” Billy continues, “Like she has a crush she doesn’t know what to do with.” When Stu stays silent, Billy decides to keep going, “She likes you and she misses you. Use that.” 

“With the way Tatum’s always breathing down my neck now?” 

Maybe if Stu was in a better mood he’d make a joke about how even he can’t really blame Tatum. Stu’s been in a shitty mood for almost two weeks now, which means he hasn’t exactly been devoted. “I’ve got an idea that’ll get you alone with Y/n. No friends, no class, just you and her somewhere she can’t avoid you.” 

At that, Stu manages to crack a grin. “Sounds like my type of situation.” 

----

Taglist: Tags: @cole22ann @womenarecannibals @fand0mskullfa1ry @princessleah129 @i-amnotokaywiththis @fvcking-gxddess @suckmyass-things @im-better-than-your-newborn @michibuni @bigenargy @marli-lavellan @mushy-mushroom04 @neenieweenie @lone-ray @the-ruler-of-death @andthevillainshallrises 

Time of Need

had to give yall some halloween content (technically it's past midnight but whatever, also it's not really a halloween drabble bc halloween isn't mentioned, it's more just something i've written on halloween)

Summary: i've done drunk reader a lot but tipsy Billy and Stu being all clingy?? territory i've been desperate to play with

warnings: lowkey implies Stu has a bit of a thing for blood (we been knowing tho) but not really detailed (he basically licks a paper cut while tipsy lmao)

----

On good days you consider the way they make you feel when it's just the three of you in that little world you make silly. On bad days you think that feeling is straight up weird.

There's just something about Billy and Stu. Your two best friends, the only two people you trust in a way that you don't understand, a way that scares you because they're embedded so deeply in your life what is there to keep from them?

As much as it unsettles you when the realization that maybe you do need them catches you off guard, it's even more comforting during moments like this.

You're laying on Stu's bed, somewhat awkwardly pushed against Billy because Stu flopped on the bed with no warning, taking up as much space as possible. He's covering at least half the mattress and still more on top of you than not.

It's as nice as it is physically a little uncomfortable because you aren't sure you're supposed to breathe. You're not sure you're supposed to be in this position. It's been minutes now, and if they've noticed your hesitance, they've made no comment. Actually, they've done nothing to imply that there's anything weird or unusual about the two of them focusing on you silently like you might disappear.

The realization that they're both at the very last pretty tipsy hit you a little too suddenly. It took embarrassingly long for you to realize what about them was off, but in your defense, Stu's bad taste in jokes and touchiness are usual of him even when he's sober. It was Billy's blatant staring and pout when you moved your legs off his lap so you could grab your soda that gave them away.

Your realization that they had been drinking wasn't a big deal. It was noting that they were actually properly tipsy that got to you. At first it was funny, great, a way to get back at them for all the times they teased you about being a lightweight. You were amused and distracted until your thumb scraped against the jagged aluminum that once connected the little tab to the can (Stu ripped it off by accident and nearly choked on a laugh about it).

It was a tiny cut, but the thing about the edges of tinfoil is they always dig a little deeper than you thought it would. Blood bubbled upwards, a perfect bead of crimson that didn't even have the chance to drip down the side of your thumb before Stu grabbed your hand. You couldn't even ask him what he was doing before his lips covered the side of your thumb. You felt something oddly warm, Stu's tongue.

When what he was doing settled, you yanked your hand back instinctually. It was more ridiculous than unsettling and just the kind of strangely gross thing Stu would do for a laugh.

You vaguely registered Billy sitting up a little more before your snorted, an ungraceful, hyper sort of laugh escaping you. Later, thinking back, you'd realize it was the kind of panicked squeak an animal of prey lets out before playing dead. An instinctual attempt to appease. "You're so fucking weird sometimes."

Instead of laughing with you, Stu just held your gaze, something dark shifting behind his eyes openly. Without responding to your words, Stu grabbed your hand and pulled it towards him. He ignored your confusion, pulling your thumb into his mouth and swallowing just enough for you to notice. Like he wanted more blood to come out. The way his eyes watched you while he did it, emotionless, sent a chill straight through your spine.

You pulled your hand back again, a little firmer. Stu let you go with a slight pop, a subtle way of pointing out that you didn't break free. He let you go. You tried laughing it off again despite the way your stomach turned. Billy's hand lazily tracing patterns against bent knee made it a little easier.

After a minute of your heart slamming in your chest in a way you didn't understand, you decided that you needed to get out. To find a subtle, unoffensive way to go. To leave them until they're a little more under control.

Billy, who knows your instincts better than you do, was on the defensive. Instead of reacting in a way that emphasized the unnormalness of what just happened, Billy sat up fully, shoving Stu's shoulder just a little too harshly. A message to Stu, a change of subject to you.

"You're not funny," he mumbles, voice bored like the urge to leave flickering behind your eyes didn't make his stomach twist. To ease himself more than you, Billy reaches out, tugging on your arm. "Stu's an asshole." You almost soften at that, and that window of hesitance is all he needs. "That's why I called you," he pulls on your hand again gently, more of a request than a demand, "Needed you to see what I deal with."

A pinch fo humor twists its way between your caution, and that's all Billy needs. He squeezes your hand, pulling you down so that you're practically on top of him. You let out a sound, more of a laugh than a yelp and that's good enough for now. "You're just as weird sometimes, you know that?"

You're smiling, and that panicky, uncontrollable instinct of his is nearly satiated. It's pathetic, the things your proximity does. His mouth falls open in a mock gasp just long enough to make you fully grin. "As weird as him?" Billy lets his head fall back against the pillow supporting his back, "No way, he's a real freak."

Your small laugh is worth Stu's only somewhat serious, "Fuck you."

Stu's hand finds your other arm. You're tempted to jerk away, but his long fingers trail up your forearm so slowly you take it as a promise, a cease fire. "My girl gets that I'm joking, right, sweetheart?"

Wow. A 'my girl' and a 'sweetheart' in one sentence. Alcohol really does just make Stu more Stu. "You're such a weirdo." It's said too fondly, too easily. It doesn't get rid of all of Stu's uncertainty, a pinprick of rejection settling in his chest. But then you beam like you just can't help it, "But you're my weirdo."

Stu grins, fingers wrapping around your wrist, "Your weirdo?"

"Mhm," you hum, content. "Both of you."

Billy moves his hand, letting his open palm settle against your knee. "What did I do?"

"Besides call me over to Stu's house because you're both drunk?" He frowns, you laugh. "Kidding. I'm glad you called." You don't love admitting it, don't love letting them peak into the well of fondness you feel for them. "Was just starting to miss you guys. It's nice to remember that you're both..." You trail off with a wide smile.

Billy keeps his expression neutral, hand moving off of your leg and reaching forward to squeeze your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. "Be. Nice."

Heat rushes up your neck. You barely manage to blink calmly. "I'm always nice."

He raises an eyebrow at that, enjoying how easy it was to get you flustered.

Stu's hand slides downwards, his fingers loosely making their way between yours. "You've got a bit of a mean streak."

You turn your head, rolling your eyes. "Name one ti--"

"The way you almost bit off poor Randy's head because he said--"

"If he's going to have opinions that are that bad about the best movie of all time, he deserves what he gets."

The return of your attitude makes Stu grin. "See, sweet cheeks? You're just as weird as the rest of us."

You roll your eyes, resting your head against Billy's shoulder. "Passion is not weird."

Billy lets out a breath, the noise is something you can't interpret. "Why do you hang out with him so much if all you two do is bicker?"

Bicker is the polite understatement of the century. You and Randy are fine, practically best friends until you're not. Your fights are weird and brief and petty and all in good humor. "Because he's like the annoying brother I'd never ask for but secretly would never get rid of."

"Ouch," Stu hums, sharp enough to make you cringe, "Brother zone. Harsh. Didn't realize you were such a heartbreaker, babe."

"What?" The genuineness of your question takes a second to settle, and once it does they both laugh once. "What?"

Billy extends his arm, resting comfortably around your shoulders. "He's in love with you."

The comment is so jarring you nearly blank. "What? You guys are--" They're too smug, too in sync. It's messing with your train of thought, your ability to focus. "I think I'd know if a guy was in love with me."

"Apparently you wouldn't."

You roll your eyes, half heartedly bumping your knee against Stu's. "Shut up." It's a weak argument, but you don't think you'll be able to do any better. They're both too stubborn even when sober. "I have to leave soon, but apparently not soon enough to not have to hear theories on stuff I never want to hear theories on."

Neither of them return your joke. Billy's fingers press into your arm. "You're leaving?"

"Homework, parents. You didn't give me a ton of notice."

Billy slumps downwards, pulling you with him slightly. You can't tell how intentional the move was. "Say you're sleeping over at Sid or Tatum's."

"You're drunk." Stu moves your hand, settling it on his lap comfortably. "Both of you are drunk."

"So stay," Stu mumbles easily, not an argument, just a statement, "Take care of us in our time of need."

You roll your eyes despite the way that an awkward feeling settles in your chest. Both Billy and Stu have put in their fair share of time making sure that you were okay after drinking. Even if you're not a danger or feeling particularly sick, they stick around, soothing you, making sure you're okay until you're sober.

Stu drops his head onto your shoulder, and the weight of it is nicer than it should be. All three of you are a tangle of limbs and comfortable warmth. You like when the world is just this, the three of you in your own makeshift web. You'd never admit that out loud, though.

"You two don't seem that in need," you mumble, a final shot at a losing battle. "Fine, I'll call my mom."

I’m obsessed with your final girl series! I couldn’t stop reading it since I found it! But I have a question. Are billy and Stu like a thing or are they just besties? Cuz like billy seems territorial over Stu and like he did jack him off so…just wondering!

Can’t wait for the next chapter!!🫶🏻

hi! saw this ask while on my way to work on final girl lol

anyways i do go into some depth about this in a little ramble that's linked here

but the concise answer is basically that i see them as together in an unsaid way, a sort of friends with benefits but they're both pretty aware of the fact that they're the only person the other really cares about (with y/n as a relatively new exception) but they don't really talk about it outside of the occasional possessive burst just bc they don't like/need to talk about feelings

side note, i can kind of see them talking about their feelings a little more through y/n, meaning that their endgame goal of running off into the sunset after committing murder so that it can just be you three cements the permanence on how they feel about each other.

i do, however, try to leave it open for some interpretation so that readers can project how close they are more or less

hope that explains it!

what if the first thing i do when i get home from school for the holidays is take a deep breath of final free air and write a holiday themed billy stu and reader fic, what then? what if there’s christmas decorating or cookie making or gingerbread decorating,, what then

Hi! I understand if this isn’t something you’re interested in but I was wondering if you could write the boys being possessive/protective over the reader. I was just rereading final girl chapter 5 and I’d just love to see her rip them a new one in her own way about boundaries and stuff and seeing them manipulate/grovel there way in to her good graces again or like how she would’ve reacted to the boys scaring away the boy who took her to the party if Billy wasn’t in one of his moods I don’t know if I asked this right I’ve sent asks so many time to you now and I’m all ways worried I don’t convey/explain what I mean properly and it’s just confusing for you but anyway have a good day/night and whether you can or can’t,thank you anyway :)

*set in the same world as the final girl fic series but can be read as a stand alone with little to no context lol

A/n hi!! there's still some manipulative vibes in this bc i just feel like one of them is bound to trauma dump as a way 'in' when y/n's mad at them but i still feel like it's mainly nice! especially bc there's some emotional growth

----

You're still on the phone, moving in and out of their line of sight. The intention was never to watch you from the sprawling tree they use to get to your window, but there was something about your focus on the whatever conversation you're still having that left Billy telling Stu to wait.

Billy's not sure what he's waiting for. Maybe it's a form of masochism, to see how long you'll talk to whoever's on the other end.

"She's still on the phone." Stu's voice has taken on that hollow, detached quality that's never an indicator of self control. Billy says nothing, not in the mood to defend you or deflect the stinging. "He wouldn't call her..."

There's a second part of Stu's sentence that's just implied. He wouldn't call her after what happened in the locker room. "She found out. She might have called him."

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The fact that Jack McCarthy didn't permanently fade back into obscurity after he and Stu made it clear that while you might buy the whole study-buddy act, they can see straight through him is pounding inside his head. Again and again, the start of a headache.

"If you don't want to..." Stu presses his palm into bark, so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he pulled his hand away bloody. "If you're not in the mood to talk to cutie in there, there's always another way to see if she's talking to him."

Even though it's a barely an idea, a soft suggestion, the knot in Stu's chest loosens with the words. Just checking in on Jack could easily turn into calling Jack...which would lead to the most mind clearing thing Stu can imagine. Thoughts of tearing him apart, piece by piece until it's impossible to tell that the mess of red and guts was ever the teenager with the letterman jacket that threw his arm around you during your study period rush to the front of Stu's mind. It's so soothing that he almost moves to the lower branch that lets him reach the ground.

Stu thinks about bringing it up again, a little less subtle and more desperate but he wants it too bad to care. Needs it. You pace back into view as his lips part. You're now holding the phone against your other ear, meaning that the receiver is no longer blocking your face. He pauses, taking the opportunity to watch you more openly than he normally lets himself.

Your lips are slightly parted in a just barely-there pout and your eyes are locked on something in front of you. There's something about the slight, halfhearted irritation in your expression. It takes Stu a second to place why he can't stop staring and then it clicks--it's twistingly cute...and you're...pretty.

Not that Stu doesn't regularly see you as attractive or hot, but pretty's different. At least, different in the way it's sticking out to him now, like a splinter that breaks off beneath the skin before you can pull it out. You're pretty in a way that Stu never thinks about. Pretty in a soft way that reminds him of domestic shit and makes his chest feel tight.

"We uh--" It's not the first time they've popped by with a backpack with a few things to do, but this time it's different. They took their time thinking about what you'd like, what'd work as a sort of peace offering. Now, watching you chat away without a care in the world over your fight, it all feels pathetic.

Everything becomes a soft buzz of background noise as you press you sigh. Billy wishes he knew how to better read lips because you sigh, say something, and then dramatically fall back on your bed.

You shift onto your stomach, propping your head up with an elbow. The oversized T-shirt that you're in slides down your shoulder and your hair's a little fluffier than before due to your movements. There's a softness to your appearance that leaves an odd feeling flaring in Billy's stomach, a sensation that could be considered butterflies if it felt less like being stabbed.

The in-between of too close while still being so far is oddly overwhelming drawn out like this. Billy swallows as you laugh at something from the other line. "We're already here."

It's a different level of sad to get here and then turn around, so Billy shift forward and finally reaches for the window. The move has grown so familiar Billy even knows at what point he needs to push a little harder because of the way the sides stick to the frame. He moves his hand an it doesn't budge. To add salt to the wound, you've locked the window. You never lock the fucking window.

A dangerous wave of flighty rejection coils in his stomach. The part of him that knows how to think in the long term knows that he should leave while he still can. The last thing anyone needs is for Billy to start associating this with you.

The window creeks and your head snaps towards them. Your eyebrows draw together and you sit up fully, even more of your shoulder and collarbone exposing themselves with the motion. You mumble something into the phone, a beat passes, and then you stand. you approach the window begrudgingly, placing a hand on your hip before cradling the phone between your neck and cheek.

Your lips are pressed together in a way that seems to lull the violent mindset of them both. It's the kind of look you get when you're trying not to smile. After a second, you lean down, undo the lock, and open the window.

"You won't belie--" You sigh, moving to hold the phone again, "Stop enjoying this." Whoever's on the other line must really be annoying you, because you shift back enough to let Billy and Stu in through the window. "Seriously, I'll hang up."

Billy and Stu exchange a look. They're here, trying to get you past something only you think is an issue, and you're still on the fucking phone. Who could be that important?

"No! You are so not talking to them."

There's a brief silence as you wander back towards your bed. The growing discomfort in Billy's chest wins his silent, internal argument. "Who wants to talk to us?"

At that, you finally pause, breeziness briefly leaving your eyes as you look at him. That look pinches at Billy's flightiness and soothes a part of him that he doesn't quite get. You're so good at that, at detecting whatever you want in him. The inability to twist and fully control your perception of him is overwhelming sometimes. Too similar to the way that his mom could--

"Hallie." Your normal expression has come back, like it always does. The awareness that Billy doubts you understand outside of a subconscious level never lingers on your face. But your voice delivers the answer so gently it feels like an olive branch. "You've subjected her to a super long rant about your betrayal."

Despite all the aggression you forced into your words, that relaxes something in them both. Hallie--the completely harmless childhood best friend that's still in Texas. States away, way too far to come between the three of you, even if she wanted to.

"Hallie," Stu repeats, and Billy can feel Stu's shift to something much more genuine. "The super hot girl from your vacation pho--"

"Do not start." You hold up a finger in warning and there's something in the reaction. You'd deny it if anyone ever brought it up, but Stu's noticed the way you get when he goes out of the way to hit on anyone. Even Tatum. You're subtle about, but you get a little quieter as you pick at your nails or try to focus on something else. This time, though, there's none of that, just a bit of urging annoyance. "She has a big enough head as is."

There's a sound from the other line and you roll your eyes. "What? It's true." You're listening to whatever's on the other end intently. "Okay--fine--bye, loser." Another wave of chatter from the other line. "Uh--it's--" You glance over at the two boys still lingering in the corner. "Love you, too. Bye."

You hang up, making a point of keeping your back to them as you set the receiver back onto the machine on your nightstand.

Stu breaks, laughing once. You snap your head in his direction. "Shut up."

Stu takes a tentative step towards you, already liking how quickly you're easing. Maybe all you needed was to feel a little more in control by ranting to someone that isn't here. "Why don't you ever tell me you love me?"

You glare at Stu's exaggerated pout. "You do not get to make fun of me while I'm mad at you." You stand a little straighter. "Why are you guys even here?"

"Not making fun of you." Stu reaches your bed, flopping onto your mattress like he lives with you. He casually picks up a fluffy pillow and squeezes it to his chest. "Genuinely hurt that you don't love us."

Confusion cracks at your annoyance, "Us?"

"If you said 'I love you' to grumpy before me, I don't wanna know." He squeezes the pillow a little tighter, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut like he can't take the agony. "Too painful, bug."

You cross your arms again, eyes awkwardly falling to the ground. It's not Stu's dramatics that get to you, but you never like it when anyone reduces Billy into something negative and angsty. "He's not grumpy."

"Oh, defensive." Stu absentmindedly weaves his fingers through the pillow's layer of fluff. "Didn't think you'd still care."

You sigh, annoyed at his passive aggressiveness as if they didn't come to your room while fully aware of how mad you are. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"Is it?" Billy mumbles the question, low and almost unsure. "We--we weren't sure if you'd talk to us again."

The comment leaves you feeling like the intruding force. Something about their somber mood makes it seem like you're what's unfitting even though they came to your room. "Just because I'm mad right now doesn't mean I'll be mad forever."

You're not sure you could be. Sure, you have other friends you really care about, but they're all linked to Billy and Stu. They're dating Sid and Tatum and Randy's usually with the group. It's not that you think the three of them would cut you off, but it wouldn't be the same. And even if everything without Billy and Stu could be perfect, you still wouldn't be happy. Not fully.

You'd miss them, miss the way that Stu can always make you laugh no matter how you're feeling and how comforting Billy's presence can be. They might really push boundaries sometimes, but they're still your best friends.

"I get that you--" Sighing, you scratch the back of your wrist. "Hallie and I were talking about it and she reminded me that you guys have good intentions, and I get that, but this is the second time I have to find out that you threatened someone behind my back."

Stu's moved onto his side, head propped up on an elbow as he watches you. Billy's still lingering near the window. Both of them are quiet and that's getting to you. "I'm not a little kid and I don't need you guys to approve of everyone I'm friends with."

"They didn't want to be friends with you." There's no argument in Stu's voice or aggression, just a factual flatness that leaves your face hot.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. Noel wanting more than friendship's something that makes sense. He was flirty, you went out on a date, and he's known for being an insensitive player. But Jack didn't seem like that at all. Sure, he's a quarterback and hangs out with the guys that never shut up during class, but he had a reason to study with you. Your english teacher assigned him to be tutored by you because his grades were dropping to the point where his coach was threatening to bench him. Sure, he was nice to you, but that's probably because he was worried about his grade. No star player wants to be benched during recruiting season.

The implication also leaves a hard feeling in your stomach. It picks at an insecurity that rooted itself into you around that time in middle school where kids pair up and start dating. Naivety is a weak spot when it comes to teenagers and your inexperience translates into that. Part of it is your mom, the way she's been open about what it meant to become a mom at 17. The rest of it is genuine interest and practicality. You want to go to Princeton, dating is distracting and you haven't really met anyone you like enough to sacrifice studying or time with your friends.

And it doesn't bother you. Not usually. You know life is long and eventually the whole relationship thing will click and work its way to you, probably with some college guy that's majoring in something artsy, but then things like this come up and it makes you feel so stupid.

"Doesn't matter what they want." That feels like a mature enough answer, and it's not a lie. Teenage boys want sex. You're not so out of the loop that that's some kind of revelation. But what they want or think they're getting doesn't change you. "I'm not an idiot and I'm not that naive."

Even if you were, it's not their business to get involved without you asking. For all they know, maybe you want to hook up with someone. That's your choice, not theirs. "And even if I was, it's still my choice."

Billy angles his head downwards, eyes a little darker than you remember them being. "So our big crime is not wanting you to get hurt?"

Ugh. That's more or less the argument Hallie made while playing the devil's advocate. It must have taken a lot for Hallie to defend anyone that isn't you, but she knew that blowing up your friendship with Billy and Stu over a guy you barely knew would only hurt you more in the long run.

"It's--" Trying to explain your issue with the situation is getting exhausting. They're not capable of focusing on anything besides their intentions. "It's a boundaries thing. You can't threaten anyone you don't like into not talking to me behind my back."

Stu's sitting up now, the plush pillow on his lap. "We didn't think of it that way, angel. We just--we know those guys and know what they're like and what you're like, and--" He's fidgeting, fingers tangling into the synthetic hairs of the pillow. "We don't want anything happening to you."

The sentiment's there, forced out almost shyly. It's almost enough to distract you from the weird intensity there. Something happening to you. Over some guy. You get that heartbreak can be a pretty intense thing, but it can't be that bad.

"Nothing's--" You cut yourself off with a sigh. At this rate, they'll eventually be more protective than your mom. They're both weirdly quiet. "What's the big deal if I'm 'hurt' by some stupid guy? It's not like I'd lose it and stop talking to my friends or like it'd effect us or...anything."

Billy lets out a low scoff. The sound is so cold and unlike him you don't know how to react. "Really?"

You hesitate before reminding yourself that it's still just Billy. "...Yeah?" The single syllable falls flat. "I mean...why would it?"

Billy steps forward. "All it took for me to lose--" The sudden movement makes you stiffen until he sits at the foot of your bed, next to Stu. "My mom was her being hurt by some 'stupid guy'.'

Stu freezes. There are a lot of ways this could have gone, but he didn't think that Billy would drop that. Not tonight, with the way Billy tiptoes around his mom's absence and the reason behind it. It's not the kind of thing he'd throw away just to get you to make up with them a little faster...and the rawness in Billy's voice...

Jack might have to end up on their call list anyway.

You're silent as you study them with an expression that would be completely unreadable if it wasn't for the tiny crease between your eyebrows. Billy's hinted at stuff with his mom before, but the way he talked about her always framed her in a way that made it seem like she had passed. You also didn't think he'd ever say anything about what happened so bluntly...or that something that seemed so small to you could have been forcing him to think about those things.

Billy's eyes are focused on nothing in particular, one of his knees pressed against Stu's. His insides feel like they're at war with each other. That bleeding honesty took over with no warning and it's blinding him to everything else. The reminder of the abandonment gnaws at him.

The mattress dips. You don't know what the right way to react is. While this makes their behavior make a little more sense, that doesn't make your point wrong. They did overstep. But that's nowhere near as heavy as Billy's thing. And it couldn't have been easy for Stu to watch his best friend's life fall apart over something like that.

There's something you should say, you're almost sure of it, but nothing feels good enough. Pointing out the differences in the situation feels callous and any promises you could make would likely make it seem like you blame his mom. You might not know much about their relationship, but the way Billy talks about her, like her memory's this fragile thing, you know better than to risk it. An apology also doesn't feel like the right answer, you haven't done anything wrong and you don't want to risk bringing up the fight.

You stretch out a hand silently, letting your fingertips brush against the back of his palm. He briefly tenses, but doesn't move away, so you take it as an okay to rest your hand over his.

Your touch is warm and unexpected, an anchor Billy's torn between latching onto and running away from. It's overwhelming, the amount of influence you have over him. Sometimes if he thinks too much about how that uncertainty feels he has to fight to not hold it against you.

"I know it's..." Billy speaks slowly, trying to force himself to believe what he's saying, or at least, focus on it enough to act like he does. "Different, it just..."

You brush your pointer finger across his knuckles. "I know." A warmth that's hard to accept burns through his chest. Billy turns his hand over before loosely linking your fingers together. "Just boundaries, okay?"

Billy nods, a bit more color returning to his face. You straighten your spine to look past Billy's shoulder and at Stu. "That goes for you, too."

"You've got it, babe."

"That means no more threatening guys just because they talked to me." You keep your expression serious in an attempt to stare down Stu. It's probably no where near as menacing as you want it to be. "I'm serious."

He lifts an arm to his chest, drawing an uneven cross over his heart. "Scout's Honor."

You roll your eyes. "You were never a boy scout."

Stu frowns, "How would you know?"

It's not so much information as it is his vibe. Stu seems way too active and focused on what he'd find fun to have wanted to stick to boy scouting and you doubt his parents have ever been around enough to make him. But that's way too much to answer his question with. "Were you?"

"Ye--"

"He got kicked out," Billy interjects, "After terrorizing a camping trip."

You laugh before you can stop yourself. It's easy to picture Stu a little younger and a lot more impulsive. "That tracks."

"Fuck off," he mumbles before slumping down until he's flat on his back.

Billy turns his head, giving you a look that seems to ask why you two put up with him. The expression is so familiar you can't help your relief. You're still a little rightfully annoyed at them, but the desire to keep them lighter beats that irritation out by an inch. "What'd he do?"

The real answer isn't anything too traumatic, but it involved newly learned pocket knife skills, a frog, and a pathetically squirmish tent mate. But that's not the kind story of you'd be particularly into. It might even make you a little more closed off. They learned early on that while you might be able to handle most scary movies and gore like a champ, you draw a line at anything happening to an animal.

"Imagine that at age 10." Billy vaguely gestures in Stu's direction, Stu lifts an arm to shove Billy. "What didn't he do?" You smile, a little more amused than you want to be. "And you've seen his house...the way he lives..."

Another wave of laughter rises up your throat before you can help it. The implication that Stu was too spoiled to get through a camping trip is a little too fitting.

Stu groans, reaching back for the fluffy pillow. He smacks Billy's arm with it, a passive display of aggression. "It was not like that." Stu turns his neck, "Don't listen to him."

You laugh again, briefly forgetting that you're still supposed to be annoyed with them as you lay down. "I've been to your house, your bathroom has more amenities than a hotel, so I believe him."

He twists his neck to glare at you. It's more of a pout than anything else. "You have a hundred things in your bathroom."

Stu's technically right, but it's different. He's counting in your perfectly reasonable--and reasonably(ish)--priced makeup, skin care, and hair stuff. Not all things you use everyday or necessarily need, but it's different. He has fancy hand soap that leaves skin extra soft and lotion for guests that's nicer than anything you own for yourself. "You're deflecting."

He scoffs, "Can't hear you over the beauty store in your bathroom."

It's said so seriously it circles back to kind of ridiculous. Especially because of how pointless it is. You wrinkle your nose, fighting down a grin. "That doesn't make sense."

Stu's lips part like he's going to instinctually jump to defend himself. Your smile stops him. "It doesn't."

After a beat, the two of you exchange a look and laugh. Billy sighs, shoving Stu's leg and your arm. "You two aren't funny."

"Maybe you're just boring."

Billy looks over at you, glaring. "Really?"

You nod, a little too smug. "Really."

"Don't listen to him." Stu halfheartedly pushes Billy. In retaliation, Billy extends an arm without looking, grabbing Stu's forearm in a way that, to you, looks surprisingly gentle. "He's jealous."

You smile as Stu sits up. "I can so see that."

Billy's eyebrows draw together. "Jealous of what?"

"Our not-boringness." You push yourself so that you're sitting again.

"Yeah, you two are super cool and not weird."

Scoffing, you pull your legs onto the bed and cross them beneath you. "I'm not weird."

Billy tilts his head in the direction of your desk. "How many sticky notes are in--"

"You promised not to use that against me." You cut him off, not overly thrilled at the mention of sticky notes. Early on in your friendship, he found you going through your locker while you were sorting through sticky note and highlighter combos for homework.

His eyebrows pull together, his nose wrinkling a little in a way that's painfully endearing and surprisingly casual. "I promised not to tell anyone." He angles himself towards you, tilting his head downwards. The movements were subtle, but something about the shift makes him feel a lot closer than before. "That's different."

Your breath tangles itself in your throat at his lower tone. You need to say something, because if you don't you'd just be staring and that's--You force out the first thing you can think of, "Technicality."

"Still counts." There's nothing else you can think of and he still feels closer than normal. Before your thoughts can turn into total panic, Billy turns towards Stu, who's digging through his backpack. "What are you doing?"

"Almost forgot." Stu finds what he's looking for. It's small from where you're sitting. He reaches behind Billy's bag to extend whatever he's holding towards you. "Here."

A bag of gummy candies. You take it skeptically, because it's been twisted shut oddly. Smoothing out the wrinkled plastic, you open the bag and look at the contents. A part of you is surprised that it actually does have gummies...only they all look the same. Confused, you shake the bag once and the candies move, confirming it is what it looks like. They're all your favorite.

"I don't like the red ones," he mumbles, not quite looking at you, "But you do, right?"

You grin, pulling a gummy bear out of the bag and biting off its head to put it out of its misery humanely. "The red ones are the best, you're weird for that."

He scoffs, "The cute ones always have bad taste."

"I think you're complimenting yourself with that one." You pop the rest of the gummy into your mouth. "Orange lover."

"The orange ones are objectively--"

"They're all the acidic parts of a real orange without the orangey-ness."

Billy looks over at you. "Orangey-ness?" He's convinced he's heard this argument more times than anyone else alive, but your points are usually a little better.

You glare, pulling another gummy out of your bag. "You're not a part of this, you like the pineapple ones."

Stu laughs, "He also likes grape flavored stuff."

You gasp like Stu just outed Billy as a criminal. "No way."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, already tired, "Make fun of me."

And after a second, he realizes that he really means it. If you're not mad at them, he can handle it.

----

A/n i never know if i should use the final girl tag list for fics that are set in the final girl world (if that makes sense), bc it's an update technically but also not bc it's not the main fic??

idk i've seen other writers on here tag for more than just the main fic and i'm always happy to be tagged in stuff but idk if that's for everyone lol,, lmk if you have any thought!

Hi! You asked us if you should keep the tension or let the bubble pop and all I have to say is KEEP YHR TENSION. 1. It does seem more realistic bc it doesn’t seem like the reader is the kind of person who would do that to her friends, and 2. The casually intimacy they all display with the bubbling tension of something more constantly keeps me going on the hard days, I NEED IT‼️ Like desperately (im so normal about this fic and is in no way unhealthy attached to it, why’d you ask?🙂*eye twitch*/j kinda) this actually got me thinking I wonder if other people ever notice how casually intimate they are? Like Stu’s naturally touchy but the way he dotes on her and the way Billy is just different from normal Billy when he’s with her,like not even just Randy, tate, and sid like other people who have known them for a while but they aren’t friends, like aquatints I’d love to see that

I’m sorry this spiraled, anyways all im saying is i personally love the tension, I love this story and I love you and you’re brilliance *MWAH <3* sorry for any spelling mistakes I was kinda rushing

a/n this ask is so sweet!! <3 also love the chance to expand on the final girl universe!!

i love this ask especially bc i feel like billy and stu have gotten so relaxed around final girl fic y/n that she probably just thinks they're like that and doesn't pick up on anyone finding it different 😭

the fic under the cut is in the final girl fic universe but it isn't a part of the main fic so it can be read as a stand alone

i think all the context needed is in the ask :) anyway here are some moments that made the people around billy, stu, and y/n raise their eyebrows a little 😭

----

"Billy." That's all it takes to snap him out of sludgy version of auto pilot he lets take over on days like this. Days that drag on in their mundaneness in a way that makes it hard for him to keep up the version of himself he's crafted for public display.

He turns his head, a strange type of fondness pinching his chest a little harder than usual thanks to the fact that you've saved him from whatever the peaked-in-high-school-quarterback-in-the-making was droning on about. Some party Billy would dip out of at the last minute or a recap of his last game.

You're smiling at him, casual but warm. He can take your appearance in more openly now than he did this morning when you were rushing to class. You're in a tank top that's a little low cut, paired with a cardigan that seems thin for today's weather. You're also wearing a skirt that's short enough to make him wish he had insisted on picking you up this morning instead of letting you walk.

Maybe he could get you to agree to a ride home. He could suggest it casually, bring up the idea of getting something to eat after school. Today's your least favorite lunch day, so it'd be an even easier sell than usual.

"Hey," he finally says when you're close enough, keeping his tone indifferent.

You stop farther than usual, eyes darting towards the walking varsity letter. It's a shift in attention that has the potential to jab at him, but the stiffness in your demeanor keeps Billy from spiraling in that direction.

"Uh...guess what?" A rhetorical question, probably an attempt to keep yourself from seeming too excited in front of the intruder. "Ms. Johnson paired us up for group projects today and this time she was a lot less mean to me...so that's cool."

Billy can almost feel the details that he's not getting because you're not alone. It's enough to make his apathetic feelings about the unwanted third party take on a violent tinge.

He wants to hear you talk more than usual today because it forces him to be present. It makes the aggravating need for patience go down easier. "So no more cheeto fingers?"

For a brief second, Billy's feels the comment in his chest. A call back to a joke you had only made a few times awhile ago. There's a chance you won't remember. A chance he remembers more than--you laugh, it comes out quick and clearly takes you by surprise.

You clamp your mouth shut, eyes glancing to the left again. "No more cheeto fingers on my notes or on my final project. I got paired with Stephanie McDonald, who I don't know for sure won't do the same thing, but she gave me a hair tie during PE one time so she doesn't seem the type."

Billy makes a mental note of the name, not being able to recall anything specific about anyone named Stephanie, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know her. It's Woodsboro, even if he's never met her he'll be able to find out something if he needs to. "Classy."

You tilt your head, eyes briefly squinting in that way that means you're trying to decide if he's teasing you or not. "You might be making fun of me, but she didn't even let me give it back."

"Not making fun of you." He shakes his head once, keeping his expression innocent, silently promising that he could never.

"Nah, that seems nice." A new voice that has you angling your body closer to the lockers. Billy fights the instinct to glare, wondering why he didn't give the guy a reason to leave as soon as he saw you. "Johnson's AP history, right?"

You nod instinctually, a small dip of your chin Billy can't fully read. "Yeah."

Billy knows the guy well enough, but they're not exactly friends. The guy's name is somewhere in Billy's head. After a second of thinking, all he can come up with is that it probably starts with a D. Damian? Or is Damian the other football player that's in his math class and always nods at Billy in the hallway?

"Cool," varsity jacket says it in a way that makes the word feel void of its typical meaning. Billy isn't sure where he's going with it, can't remember if he's one of those self proclaimed jocks that use high school as a four year power trip or just a guy that likes football. "You tutor?" The guy tilts his head, Billy presses his nails into the skin of his palm to resist the urge to step closer to you. "'Cause I wouldn't mind learning a thing or two from you."

The blatant line is finished with a bit of a laugh. Billy wants to role his eyes--a cop out in case you reject him. A built in safety net that makes it seem like he's almost making fun of you so he can laugh off your reaction if you don't instantly drop to his feet.

Your eyebrows draw together and even though your lips are neutrally set, something about your eyes makes it feel like you're frowning. Anger or annoyance for the sake of someone else is rare, Billy doesn't know how to handle the spike of defensiveness he feels. He's used to passiveness, never caring about who's messed with.

"Ignore him," the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, "He has a hard enough time keeping his GPA high enough to not get benched."

Billy doesn't know how factual that dig was, but the guy's face falls enough for Billy to assume his guess was accurate enough. The satisfaction of being right is nothing compared to what he feels when he looks at you.

Your lips are still pressed together, now in a way that's more amused than sad and your eyes are wide. The comment wasn't the kind of insult that Billy finds particularly cruel or hurtful but he knew you'd find it biting. Your reaction's enough to ease the tightening feeling in his chest without fully alleviating it. He needs to get you away before the guy says something else and more of Billy's control slips.

"You seen Stu?"

Billy knows the answer. "Yeah, this morning before homeroom." You stand a little straighter, one hand gripping the strap of your backpack. "His next class is next to mine, so I'll probably see him again in a second, why?"

"Good," he mumbles, reaching into his locker and grabbing a random notebook, "Can you give his notes back to him? He needs them back before fifth period and I missed him this morning."

Not true in the slightest, Billy knows Stu will go with it anyway. "Sure." You take the notebook, fingers brushing against his. "I'll go find him. See you later."

Billy nods as you turn away, "See you."

You're now gone. The guy who can't take a hint is still there. Maybe he's waiting for some kind of apology or explanation. Billy's turning on him does seem random considering that most of their conversation has revolved around Billy placidly agreeing to whatever. Instead of bringing anything up, varsity letter laughs. Billy raises his eyebrows, silently asking what that's about.

"Look, man, I get it, she's cute." That heavy feeling that Billy's always struggling to work with rises. The dark feeling twists its way around his lungs, making it hard to breathe without giving into impulse. "But she's so...nice and school...y." Cute, nice, and school-y. Those are the adjectives he's using to describe you. Billy was right to assume his grades are suffering. "It'd be like hooking up with a middle school try hard. Not worth whatever you're putting on."

The anger grows in density, a physical force expanding in his chest in a way that borders on painful. Rationality attempts to lighten the pressure, reminding him that it's a good thing this guy doesn't want anything to do with you. Logic tries to convince him that his focus should be on hardening himself, on making this guy and everyone else think that you're just another friend to him and that he's fully committed to Sidney.

Billy shuts his locker, harder than he meant to. "Good thing she'd never fuck you then."

The last of his patience and civility has been scorched, leaving nothing but bitter ash in its place. Billy walks away, already trying to think of an excuse to find you and Stu.

----

Stu turns angles his head to the side, just enough to look at you without really looking. You're content, watching some trailer with a measured level of investment. He focuses on that as you absentmindedly extend a hand to grab a few pieces of popcorn from the bag that he's still holding.

You're happy, he's here with you, that should be enough. It's no one's fault that more people that both of you know are here than he expected. That's the hard part of Woodsboro, one slip in front of the wrong person and the rumor mill will have an exaggerated version of events spread to over half the school by the next day. The guy that glommed onto Stu the second he noticed him in the theatre definitely falls into the category of wrong person.

Jacob whatever-his-last-name-is is a try hard. He's been searching for some kind of in, some kind of leverage on anyone that seems even slightly cooler than him since middle school. This need to be bigger and better has forced him into a permanent act that even good old, 'high school stereotypes are bullshit' Randy finds off putting.

You hadn't looked particularly bothered when Jacob stood up and waved Stu over, forcing the two of you to sit closer to the center of the theatre than Stu wanted. After realizing that the screening he had expected to be empty on a Saturday afternoon was crowded, Stu wanted to sit towards the back. It was a strategic goal, it would have given him the permission to be a little more openly touchy.

Stu had to actively focus on not holding it against you. You didn't complain or give any indication of feeling ambushed because you're nice to a point of fault.

"What'd you think of that one?" Stu shrinks down in an attempt to make whispering to you easier.

Your eyes shift away from the screen and towards him. "Hm..." You're debating, analyzing, "Not as good as the one before, but it doesn't look bad." You reach forward, taking another piece of popcorn and popping it into your mouth. "You?"

Honestly, Stu had been more focused on you than the trailers, but this last one had felt like a flat attempt to balance out horror with something artsy. But the chance to get to you is more appealing than just bashing a movie with a title he can't remember. "This one is so much better than the last one."

You snap your head away from the screen. "No." He presses his lips together to keep from grinning. What do you mean 'no'? You asked for an opinion. "You just want to start an argument."

He lets out a breath that's meant to take the place of a laugh. Is he getting that predictable? That transparent? "I never want to fight with you." You narrow your eyes, skeptical. "If Billy was here, he'd agree with me."

Your lips pull together in what's almost a pout. For a second, you're quiet, one hand coming to your opposite arm, smoothing the exposed skin quickly, like you're trying to keep warm. "He wouldn't and you know it."

"Okay," Stu's voice is suspiciously innocent, "We'll call him when he gets back from that thing with his dad."

Stu knows that Billy's dad tends to keep him out until late on weekend trips to the boat. When it gets too late to fish, he likes to keep them out on the water, spewing bullshit about Billy's mom because Billy can't escape.

"What are we going to do? Describe the movies over the phone or...?"

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging and letting his shoulder bump into yours, "Sounds like you're scared."

You grin, adjusting in your seat to make it easier to cross your arms. "Fine. If it's gonna be like that, we'll call him."

You're cold. You have to be. "Told you to bring a jacket," he sighs, already unzipping his hoodie.

"I'm fine, it's--" Too late. The jacket's already off and only somewhat awkwardly being pushed onto your lap. You touch one of the sleeves, oblivious to the way Stu struggles to look at you. "C'mon, Stu, now you'll be cold."

It's said so softly, so earnestly, Stu has to fight the urge to squirm. He can never tell if the nervous energy he feels makes him want to draw you in closer or force you away.

He ignores the touch of warmth rushing to his face. "I'm good." Stu shakes his head once, almost dismissively. "Run hot," he mumbles, finally glancing at you before nudging you with his elbow, "You know that."

You roll your eyes, smiling more than you mean to as you shrug on the jacket. The fabric is warm and criminally soft. "Totally." He'd call you out on your sarcasm, but you're already pulling on the jacket. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"Sure you don't want to pick up some twizzlers before the movie starts?" You pause for a second too long and Stu knows that the suggestion has hit. Your eyes had lingered on the red plastic while buying tickets even though you insisted you didn't want them after accepting the fact that Stu wasn't going to let you pay for anything.

Scratching the back of your wrist, you give in with a sigh. "Okay." You start reaching for your purse. "I'll grab some." Stu reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out some cash. "Stu."

"What?" He already knows where this is going. You're always trying to pay your own way. Every once in awhile, he lets you win just so that he can justify buying you something else. This is one of those things he probably should let go, but the additional shadow has already downed his mood. "I want them more than you do."

You sigh, pulling your purse onto your lap. "I have twizzler money."

"Oh, I'm sure, but my dad left me a bunch of cash before his latest trip and you're too pretty to buy your own twizzlers." Your resolve is cracking, like you often do whenever Stu mentions his parents. "C'mon, get me some milk duds, too."

Another sigh, the sound sharper as you let go of your purse. "You are so annoying." Stu smiles at the lack of bite in your tone as you stand, finally accepting the cash and putting it into the jacket's pocket.

"You love me, I keep you supplied in twizzlers."

You gasp, jaw dropping in offense. "Asshole."

He laugh as you turn away, "Remember the milk duds."

You glare, passive aggressively setting your bag on his lap. Stu takes it, adjusting his hold on it comfortably as you walk down the aisle.

"That's a fun thing you've got going there."

Stu can feel himself immediately tense even though Jacob's comment should feel innocent enough. There's just something about the way he says it, the hint of an edge implying more. Stu should be bothered because Jacob's the kind of guy who could turn this into a story for Tatum because he wants to have something over Stu. Instead, Stu's feeling defensive over Jacob looking at you like that.

Stu shrugs, "It's just Y/n."

Jacob's eyes briefly leave the screen before refocusing. "That was friendly even by your standards."

Feeling even more defensive over you and the way he acts around you, Stu sits up straighter. "We're friends."

"Yeah," Jacob concedes, amusement in his voice that Stu doesn't quite get, "And she's turning you into a softie."

That hits him in a different way. Sure, Stu's nice to you, nicer than he is to some guy that doesn't get that no one likes him. Stu can also admit that he's touchy with you and likes taking any excuse to be close to you. But he's not soft about it.

"What?"

Jacob laughs, the sound restrained, like he's scared he'll forget where he is and give in fully. "You're cold, here's my jacket."

Stu scoffs. That wasn't--you're--whatever, it's not like Stu cares about what Jacob thinks. He'll do what he wants, treat you however he feels like. You're the only one that comes close to getting him outside of Billy, Jacob could never get that.

"Whatever, man." Stu mumbles, hoping that you'll come back before he can get too caught in his own head. The lack of aggression in his own comment surprised him and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep it up.

Another preview begins to play on the screen and for a brief second, it feels like that might be the end of the conversation. "If my friends looked like that, I wouldn't mind acting like that either."

Stu tightens his grip on the arm rest. "Maybe if you didn't make everything a thing, you'd have some."

"You're the one holding her purse," Jacob mumbles, attention turning back to the screen as if that proved something.

Stu's knuckles strain white. There's nothing sensitive about the way he feels about you. It's not Stu's fault he can't pursue right now the way he wants to, and if this asshole knew half the stuff you let him get away with he wouldn't be so smug. "Fuck off."

Maybe the comment could have been played off if Stu's tone had been lighter, more relaxed. But he didn't. It landed with the same intensity a threat would, and Stu's not completely sure he didn't mean it that way.

Soft. Hard to call someone that's pulling out your insides soft. He'd have to wait for Billy to get back, talk the idea up to him and explain why someone they've tolerated on and off since middle school deserves a call. It'd be worth it, though, because should they really leave someone that talks about you like that? Why shouldn't Stu treat you in a way that's totally normal?

"Hey," you whisper, slipping back into your seat, "Guess who got the last box of milk duds." Stu's attention shifts to you, that bloody itch becoming a lot more bearable as you smile a him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he eases, "Commercials are just getting worse."

You stop tearing into the top of the box enough to look at Stu and wrinkle your nose. "I feel you." You shake out a few pieces of chocolate into your cupped palm. Stu expects you to take them, but you don't. You just extend both hands, the box and the candy you had gotten out. When Stu doesn't react, you prompt him, "Here."

Stu moves his hand, letting you spill them into his palm, the edge of your pinky briefly resting against his. The gesture is so gentle he almost feels like he's being suffocated by it. Stu takes his hand back silently. If you notice the change in his demeanor, you don't comment on it. Instead, you just take your bag back and hand him the unopened pack of twizzlers and box.

The latest commercial comes to an end and the screen fades to the start of the opening credits. "Okay," you whisper, "Last chance to predict if this movie's going to be good or not."

"I picked it," Stu says, moving his hand enough to have the milk duds roll into each other, "Why would I think that it's bad?" He's not acting normal enough, he can feel it. "Why would you come if you think it'd be bad?" A weak question, considering that Stu knows sometimes you purposefully watch the worst movies you can find for entertainment.

You don't point out that sometimes trashy movies are worth the suffering, you just shrug. "I don't know, I kinda just wanted to hang out with you."

Something in Stu's chest cracks. His face feels warmer than it did a second ago. He's not one to feel mushy or look into tone the way Billy does from time to time, but you had said it so innocently.

"Aw," he hums, finally coming back to himself, "You like me."

"Shut up," your response is immediate, "Movie's starting."

He leans down, placing a hand over the one you're laying on the arm rest. "You like me."

You roll your eyes, "Give me a twizzler."

----

He knew. Even when Stu was still insisting that they were capable of keeping it together enough to keep the circle of people small, Billy knew that the night would turn into a party.

Billy's annoyed and slowly becoming genuinely irritated thanks to the beer and pot mixing together on an empty stomach and the drowsiness that came for him with no warning. Everything feels louder now, heavier.

He shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose harder than he should. Another 20 minutes, half an hour tops, and he'll get Stu to start shutting it all down.

The only good thing about nights like these is that you crash with them. You always choose to sober up at Stu's even though your mom doesn't seem like a hard ass when it comes to drinking. You still don't want her or your practical step dad seeing you drunk and you can't help that other people are smoking, which is something you've made clear your mom would kill you over.

It'll take some time getting you into bed. Unless you're drunk enough, you'll offer to sleep on the couch, like the three of you haven't justified sleepovers before. Sometimes drunk you has a tendency to get a second wind out of nowhere. If you get all hyper on him then it'll take even longer.

"Billy!" He opens his eyes and you're there.

He smiles easily, watching as you walk towards him. "Hey."

You stretch out an arm slowly, open palm gently pushing his arm. There's something sluggish about the movement and something else in the way you nearly miss him all together. Are you that drunk? Stu said he'd watch your drinks.

"Hay...is for horses," you state blankly, almost like some external force had possessed you to get the thought out coherently. And then you burst into a fit of tired giggles.

Billy presses his lips together. He knows you, knows how you get when you're not handling your alcohol. This isn't exactly that. It's more like you at the beginning of...

Ugh. You didn't--Stu didn't--With a sigh, Billy grabs your arm and glances around the room. Everyone's caught up in their world, and even though Sid's around here somewhere, there's nothing inherently suspicious about Billy checking on you. Especially while you're like this.

Still, better safe than sorry when Billy's not in the mood for self control. He tugs you forward, you follow as he leads you two to a nearby corner. You barely protest when Billy angles you so that your back's against the wall.

Billy squeezes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head so that you have to look him in the eye.

"Hey--" You mumble, protesting a second too late, "Oh, I just," you laugh, "--I said the horse thing."

Great. Your eyes are tinged red and considering the fact that Billy saw you take a few shots earlier...

He told you at the start of the night to pick one, and the easy decision for everyone had been for you to stick with alcohol. Drunk you can handle crowds and the general party atmosphere. High you is clingy and easily startled and usually more complicated to deal with.

Billy watches you intently. It only takes you a second to still in his hold, staring at him in a way that makes it harder to keep his edge. "You're high." It's not an accusation, it's a statement. "And drunk."

Your eyebrows pinch together briefly. It'd be easy to lie for the sake of it. "Not high," you defend weakly, "I smoked a little, but not--it wasn't that--I'm good. Not high."

He sighs, letting go of your face. "I told you to stick to one."

"You and Stu smoke and drink at the same time all the time." Billy just stares blankly. It's not a strong defense, but it's all you have. "'S'not a big deal."

Not a big deal now. Just wait until later when it's hitting you harder and tomorrow morning, when you're hungover. Then it'll be a big deal and it'll be his big deal.

"No?" You tilt your chin down in a barely there nod, trying to solidify your stance. "You do whatever you want now?"

You sigh, lips pulling downwards in a slight pout. "It's not like that."

"Who gave it to you?"

Your eyes won't meet his. "I don't--" You cut yourself off, still aware enough that trying to hide things at this point is the quickest way to make things take a turn for the worst right now. "Stu let me use his--a little--but it wasn't like that. It was only a little."

Yeah, considering how red your eyes are and how much slurring and concentration it took for you to get through that, Billy really doubts it was as little as you're trying to convince him. "You're going to feel sick tomorrow."

To be fully honest, you can see that, a tiny bit of off-ness already starting to pull at the edge of your current buzz. You also don't love the way the usual giddiness of alcohol is blending with the easy uncertainty of your high. But Billy doesn't need to know that right now.

"'M okay." True enough, since you're not actively spiraling, "But I believe you."

He hasn't eased and a part of you is now starting to feel bad. You know you're not the easiest person to deal with when you're like this, but you also don't think you've done anything particularly annoying. His sour mood is starting to make what's wrong about your buzz feel magnified. Yeah, Billy told you to stick to one thing but he didn't make it sound like it was a big deal to him.

You swallow once, ignoring how dry your mouth feels. "C'mon." Billy's still close, within grabbing distance. The second you realize that it'd be easy to touch him, you reach out and place a hand on his arm. "Don't be mad."

He tenses under your touch, but you don't move your hand away. "Thought we didn't listen to each other." You half-sigh-half-groan as you drop your forehead against Billy's chest. He doesn't push you off, which has to be a good sign.

Billy places a palm on your back, rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of your shirt. "Let's get some water."

That feels okay enough, so you straighten, nodding once. "Okay."

He keeps a hand on your back, leading you back towards the main area of the party and into the kitchen. You're quiet as you walk, instinctually following Billy without question.

"Hey, I was looking for you--" Stu cuts himself off as soon as he sees Billy's expression. "You guys good?"

You nod placidly, "'M good, he's--"

"You gave her some?"

Stu holds his hands up in defense, "She was begging for it."

Begging is definitely an exaggeration. You want to explain, to defend the situation and take just enough blame to keep the peace without making yourself look like the bad guy. The words jam themselves in your head, twisting until they're in such a knot that all you can manage to get out is, "Nuh-uh."

Stu turns to glare at you, "So when I'm the bad guy it's all 'please' and 'I thought we were best friends' and 'it'll be our secret' but the second it goes a little bad you run to Bill--"

"Didn't run," you defend, but it doesn't matter, it's like you didn't say anything.

"You told her not to tell me?"

"No." The single syllable is so urging you can almost imagine that the question sobered him up. "I didn't say that."

There's a weird wave of tension between them, so thick and tangible a small part of you can't believe that the rest of the party continued, unaffected. You get why Stu snapped back to normal so quickly. "Guys," you try, even though you have no idea where you're going with this, "I just--I asked--asked like a lot--but I didn't beg. And it's--" You squeeze your eyes shut, really wishing you had been better at hiding your high. "It's not worth fighting over." Squinting your eyes open, you cross your arms across your stomach, hoping it'll make you seem more awake. "I love you guys, 'm good, let's just chill out for a second."

Billy and Stu both blink, exchanging a look that you don't get. You know you wouldn't get it if you were sober, either. It's one of their moments, a silent exchange you can't imagine anyone else ever getting.

Stu breaks the silence with a laugh. "She's way more out of it than I thought." You glare at that, not finding anything funny in what you said. You were nice, you diffused the tension. They're such assholes. And you always hate when they talk about you like you're not right there.

You glare. Maybe ditching them's still an option. They'd eventually accuse you of pouting, but there's a chance it'd be worth the future teasing. You could find Sid and Tate again, hang out until you calmed down.

"Aw," Stu hums, reaching for you, "She's pouting."

You push at the hand on your shoulder, too tired and distracted to be good at getting him off of you. "Am. Not." Stu squeezes harder. Normally, that'd just get you to fight back more openly, but now your stomach feels tight and things are starting to feel too warm. "Stu, knock it off--I'm nauseous."

Billy presses his hand against your back, the pressure comforting. "Give her a minute."

Stu lets go but makes a point of staying close. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Nodding slowly, you focus on feeling the words coming out of your mouth. "Yeah, yeah."

"You need to step out? Get some air?"

You shake your head once. You're okay, stable. "I'm good."

Billy's hand moves up and down your back gently. "You need to drink water."

The fighting risk is gone now. You should be completely happy, but the conflict rubbed you the wrong way and you're starting to feel like you might need space from them. "I kinda want to look for Sidney and Tatum."

"C'mon, cutie." Stu takes your hand gently, squeezing it softly. "Don't be like that." You're torn between arguing that you're not being like anything and telling them that they started it. "Do what you want, but no one's going to want to put up with you like this."

The comment stings more than it should. It's been mentioned before, that you're the the lightweight, the one that can't handle their substances and takes over without meaning to. Never cruelly, but it still hurts. "Mean."

"Not that mean," Stu pulls on your hand, "Because you love us."

You roll your eyes, hating past you for letting that come out. "Not right now."

Stu starts walking forward, you follow without complaining. "Don't say things you don't mean."

Billy's stays close as you walk, one hand on your back as you're guided to the kitchen. There are some people lingering around the fridge and the bar, but it's a lot less crowded than the main living room.

You stop at the island counter, moving to push yourself onto it with no warning. It takes Billy less than a second to pick up on what you want, he keeps a hand on your waist to stabilize you as you sit.

"Here." Stu hands you a glass filled with ice water.

You take a few long sips before setting it down next to you.

"Better?" It worked a little too well, and a part of you hates them for it. You reluctantly nod. "Told you."

More like Billy told you, but you're not opening that up again.

A small half-scoff-half-laugh snaps the three of you out of your bubble. Stu turns his head towards a semi-familiar blonde holding a beer bottle, "What?"

"Nothing." The voice is also familiar. A girl named Marley that used to hang around freshman year. "Just remembering the first time I got high and freaked out, you told me to get it together."

You crane your neck to look at the stranger, unsure if her comment's meant to attack Stu or you. "I'm not freaking out."

"Yeah," Stu defends, placing a comforting hand on your knee, "It's just water, Marley, if that's an issue, go be bitter somewhere else."

The girl scoffs, "Not bitter, just different."

You soften a little at that. Maybe she hadn't meant to come off as that hostile.

Stu shrugs, "I've grown." You watch the exchange curiously, wondering how well they know each other. There's a chance they met in kindergarten or on the first day of middle school or in some random sophomore class. Sometimes living in a small town that you didn't grow up in is the constant fear of becoming a third wheel in a matter of seconds. "In more ways than one."

Marley pretends to scoff, "Yeah, I'm out." She holds her hands up in a display of surrender before walking away.

"You know she used to be obsessed with me."

There's a 50-50 chance he's exaggerating. A more sober, more adjusted you would be able to make an educated guess, but right now you can't and for whatever reason that twists your stomach. You reach for your glass, taking a few sips to stabilize yourself.

"He's delusional," Billy corrects, voice so low you think you might be the only one that hears it. "She used to hang around, mainly for Sidney and Tatum, but never stuck." You nod absentmindedly. "No one else did before you."

The comment is small, muttered like saying it felt like pulling teeth. You smile regardless, way more warmed by it than you should be. Billy finally looks back at you. For a second, you let yourself openly watch him. A wave of casual drowsiness hits you with no warning, so you lean forward, resting your forehead against Billy's shoulder.

"You okay, angel?" Stu places a hand on your back. "Jealousy making you feel a little sick?"

You let out a breath that's almost a laugh as you force yourself to straighten. "You're right," you look at Billy, "He is delusional."

"Hey," Stu makes a point of poking you in the shoulder, "Don't be mean."

"You're right, I'm totally obsessed with you and--" A yawn breaks your sentence into two, "Close to bursting into jealous rage."

Stu's fingertips brush up and down your arm. "You're staying over, right?"

You nod, "Mhm, if that's okay."

He almost rolls his eyes. You're always prone to formality, always wanting to make sure that you're not bothering anyone. "I'd never kick you out of bed, sweetheart." You try to glare at him, but you're too tired to seem bothered. "You should go lay down for a little, I'm going to start kicking people out."

Hm. You are tired, but you never like being the first to go, the first to head upstairs and be left alone. You're about to protest, insist that you're fine when Billy speaks up, "I'll go, too." Billy straightens, holding out a hand to help you hop off the counter. "Over it."

You take his hand, getting off the counter with minimal complications. Billy moves an arm around your shoulder, deciding that that'd be the quickest way to help you get to the stairs.

⋆｡°✩ yesimwriting's masterlist⋆｡°✩

Below the cut is a full list of all my work :) (updated 10-10-23)

*pls limit interactions if you’re a pro ED/ana acc :)*

SCREAM 1996

Final Girl 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 

Chapter 5

Chapter 6 

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 

Chapter 10

To be continued.

Final Girl fic-verse:

First Impressions 

Sick Day

———————

Final Girl fic-verse blurbs:

Drunk Y/N 

Stu saying the L word

Billy saying the L word

Little Rituals  

Time of Need

Talking about Y/N

Stu’s thoughts about Y/N and POV

Gingerbread

Billy Loomis x S/O with Panic attacks 

Stu waiting for Y/N and Casual Intimacy

 Billy and Stu with S/O who cries a lot 

Billy and Stu Scaring Guys Away

People noticing their friendship 

Driving with Stu 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SCREAM VI 

Ethan Landry 

One of Them

Ask about Ethan 

Noticing they like Y/N

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

LAST OF US 

Joel Miller

First Rule

What Follows

Y/N gets hit on - Protective Joel 

Purpose 

Pulling Away

Pulling Away similar story

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

STAR WARS 

Anakin 

More Than This 

Promise

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AMERICAN HORROR STORY 

Tate Langdon 

Modern day fic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DC TITANS 

Jason Todd

Resurgence 

Slow Nights

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ELVIS THE MOVIE

Business Practical

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

STRANGER THINGS 

Steve Harrington

Movie Club

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Times Have Changed

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

DAREDEVIL

48 Hours

Chapter 1

A Red Widow

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SPIDER-MAN 

This Time it’s Different 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

TASM Peter 

Domestic Assertiveness 

Hobbie Brown 

Ask about Hobbie

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

YOU

Bloodroot in the Suburbs 

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Babysitter 

Chapter 2: Kill Habits, Not people 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SIX OF CROWS SERIES:

Searing Starlight

Searing Starlight Chapter 1

Searing Starlight Chapter 2

Searing Starlight Chapter 3

To be continued.

—————-

Kaz Brekker:

Blurb series: The Promise of Rain (i define a blurb series' as a series with shorter chapters where each chapter correlates but can technically be read as a stand alone)

The Promise of Rain (blurb 1).

The Promise of Rain (blurb 2).

The Promise of Rain (blurb 3)

To be continued.

—————

Falling Angels:

Falling Angels Chapter 1

Falling Angels Chapter 2

To be continued.

———

Anastasia (Prologue) 

Bookworm reader 

A Knife in the Back

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SHADOW AND BONE:

The Darkling:

Solace (part 1)

Solace (part 2).

———————

To Be Alone (smut).

Solutions

All the Good Dreams (might be getting a part 2)

—————

The Needs of Pain (part 1)_

The Needs of Pain (part 2, smut).

—————-

Corridor Moments

darkling x shy! reader HC

Comforting the darkling HC

Playing Vices

Darkling x anxious! Reader

Kirigan x Soft Girls/Similar personality 

Crossing Lines 

Darkling x Pregnant! Reader 

Possessive/Breeding 

Nikolai Lantsov:

Tranquility.

Handmaid reader x nikolai. childhood best friends to 

lovers fic

Enemies to lovers Nikolai HC (i'm thinking of making a series based on this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SHADOW AND BONE X SIX OF CROWS:

The Problem With Light Chapter One

To be continued.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RED QUEEN:

Maven Calore:

Dying Starlight

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."

Is Y/n closer with Tatum or Sidney?

good question!!

i think y/n gets along with both of the girls really well,, but at the end of the day, y/n and tatum click more

idk why but i've always seen tatum as the kind of high school girl that acts really mature/cool at school/around friends she's not super close with, but when alone or in smaller social settings, she'll embrace things that seem a little younger/"cringy"

not anything crazy, but in small fun ways, like maybe tatum still subscribes to some tween magazines and keeps stuffed animals on her bed,, also could see her being the kind of girl that says she stopped playing with barbies long before she actually did lol

and i see y/n being similar in the sense that she likes the excuse to embrace those things (in private),, they definitely have sleepovers where they watch teen/tween romcoms their other friends would make fun of and listen to mainstream pop

also this might sound weird, but i think tatum would also remind y/n a little bit of her mom so that would subconsciously make her feel closer to tatum

i wouldn't say y/n and sidney's friendship is less, it's just a different vibe, i feel like they'd have a similar sense of humor and bond over only having one parent in their lives (even though y/n's situation with her dad is different than sid's mom dying)

big bad wolf - Diokophobia is the irrational and extreme fear of being chased.

starring: Logan Howlett as the monster in the woods

wicked influence - Daemonophobia is the intense fear of demons, demonic possession, and otherworldly influence

starring: Stu & Billy as our devoted men of the cloth

wicked influence

Poly!Ghostface x fem!reader

a/n: I’ve wanted to write for Scream for forever and have never gotten around to it. Well, it’s slasher season baby! I finally have my reason. (When I tell you that this movie was my sexual awakening as a child, I mean it. That’s not necessarily good, but it’s true. )

Summary: Visiting a Halloween carnival with your two best friends doesn’t seem that bad until you reach the haunted house. You’ve never been able to explain your fear of demons to anyone before, you have no idea where it comes from. But you do know, going into a hell themed house with teenagers screaming shitty Latin at you is one of your worst nightmares. You think everything’s okay until, suddenly, your nights are filled with visits from a strange shadowy entity and you don’t recognize the look in Stu’s eyes anymore. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

“Hey! Demons are a perfectly rational thing to be afraid of.”

Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, nudging you further toward the haunted house. “Alright, alright, would you calm down and just move it.” You stare into the gaping jaw of the devil that serves as the entrance to the house. You know this is all just a way for people to make a quick buck. 

There’s not going to be anything in there except teenage actors and shitty SFX makeup. But that doesn’t make the looming doorway any less menacing. It doesn’t make your heart stop racing or your breathing any easier. 

Billy frowns as some people shove past you all, tired of waiting for you to move inside. They cut the line and you can’t help but be grateful. Your nails dig into your palms until you feel the warmth of blood and have to swallow down bile. 

Stu and Billy both lean towards you, varying looks of confusion on their faces. “Holy shit,” a grin breaks out on Stu’s face and he smiles widely at you. “You’re terrified, aren’t you?” He pokes you like you might be a statue, unmoving and solemn. 

You stumble back and are effectively broken out of your terrified stupor. You swat at Stu’s wandering hands and glare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” you snap. But in your anxious state, it all comes out as one jumbled mess. 

Billy lets out a disappointed sigh and gives you a funny look. “Alright, let’s just go. You’re not going in and it’s stupid to just stand out here all night.” Stu opens his mouth to argue but Billy shoots him a sharp look. You hate how sensitive they think you are. You can handle one stupid fucking haunted house. You’re not completely useless. 

Still, you practically gulp as the Devil’s eyes bore into yours. You feel like your soul is being sucked out through your feet, leaving you startlingly cold. “I,” you clear your throat, waiting until it feels strong enough to speak. “I can do this,” you grit out, sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself more than them. 

Stuf lets out a brief chuckle and Billy throws his elbow into his gut. Stu doubles over dramatically and you can’t help but laugh a little. Billy gives you a raised brow and you nod your head. “I just need a little nudge,” you mutter, glancing back at the house. 

Stu grins and creeps behind you. “I got you babes,” he tells you in a ridiculous voice. You barely have a second to process what’s happening before he’s lifting you up and practically tossing you inside. Immediately, there’s a fake chainsaw in your face and a screaming Bubba Sawyer. You stumble back with a gasp, falling into Stu’s open arms. 

“How’s that for a nudge?” Billy mutters as he brushes past you. You grab onto the back of his shirt and follow behind him. He glances over his shoulder at you with a knowing smirk and continues forward. None of the scares get him, but they get you. 

The actors catch onto that. They also catch onto how fake and dramatic Stu is. Half of them target you for a good scream and the other half avoid you because of how obnoxious he’s being. You can already tell how bored BIlly is. There’s not enough gore in here for him. 

He needs more blood splatter and fresh corpses, while you’re pleasantly surprised by the contents of the house. You’d really been dreading the demonic themes, but it seems like that’s not a huge factor. So far it’s just a few overzealous teens and some spiders on a string. 

Sure, it’s still scaring the bejeezus out of you. But there’s a difference between a quick scream and a deeply rooted phobia. 

You don’t know when this supernatural fear of yours began. Maybe your parents let you traumatize yourself with the crucifix scene in The Exorcist too young. But you know it’s been with you nearly your entire life. 

You think you’re safe, that you can just relax and let yourself have fun, then you reach the final door. The lights are flickering so hard you think you might have a seizure, but you can see enough to know what’s before you. A red, rotted door, with three upside-down nines barely hanging onto it. 

“Oh god,” you whisper and you think the boys can’t hear you. But then you feel Stu’s hands suddenly clamping around your neck and you leap into Billy with a shrill scream. Billy flinches away from the noise, turning to glare at you. 

Stu doubles over, laughing his ass off at your expense and grinning wildly at you. “Jesus, we’re not even in there yet. What is wrong with you?” He says it like a joke but you can hear the truth of it lingering. It stings, the slight cruelty in his tone. 

There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of something. Fear is healthy. The absence of fear is idiocy. You shove past Billy and turn to Stu with a mean glare. “I’m going to go in here and when I get out, I’m fucking leaving you.”

You shove the door open and take a step inside. You put on a brave face for about five seconds before you turn to see if they’ll follow you. You see just a glimpse of them before the door creaks closed. Billy is leaning against the wall, watching you with a half-amused expression. But Stu looks odd. 

That doesn’t even seem like the right word. His face is completely devoid of any emotion. He looks expressionless and you’ve never seen Stu like that before. Whether it’s for good reason or not, he’s always making a face. Right now, you don’t even recognize him. Were it not for the outfit he was wearing you would think someone else had snuck up behind Billy. 

The door is closed before you can call out to him and you find yourself plunged in complete darkness. There’s no noise for a long few moments. You can’t tell which way is the door and which is the exit. 

At first, you worry you went in the wrong direction and entered an empty part of the house. A sudden cackle breaks through the air, and you leap forward, stumbling into the wall. You can already feel your heart beginning to race. Even though you can hear the static of a speaker and you know, deep down, that it's fake, you’re frozen in fear. 

There’s a brief flash of light, just enough for you to see torn wallpaper and upside-down crosses. And something standing in the corner. “All alone?” A voice rasps and you whimper, pressing yourself up against the wall. You can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed, it’s too dark to know. You hope they’re closed. Whatever’s about to happen is going to traumatize you, you just know it. 

A door creaks behind you just as the lights begin flickering on and off. Through brief flashes of illumination, you see something running towards you. They’re screaming Latin at you, water hits your face and you begin screaming uncontrollably. Footsteps pound towards you, egging on the racing beat of your heart. 

A jarring grip lands on your shoulder and you swing out wildly. Your fist connects with something hard and you hiss in pain. There’s a brief pause where the only thing you can hear is your panting. 

“Ow!” Someone snaps, an irritated raspy voice. The lights flick on and you squint against the sudden glare, blinking rapidly to try and lessen the burn on your eyes. 

Billy and Stu stand on either side of you, astonished looks on both of their faces. A teenage boy in a shitty priest costume and red face paint stands before you. He’s rubbing his eye and cussing at you. “You fucking punched me!”

“You ran at me!” You yell back immediately, glaring at the little asshole. “I don’t think you’re supposed to touch me.”

He glares at you through one eye and points to Stu and Billy. “I didn’t!” He shouts and you flinch back, grimacing. “Your fucking friend did.” You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. Both you and Billy turn slowly towards Stu. His face is as red as the kid’s as he struggles to contain his laughter. 

“Unbelievable!” You snap at him, slapping his shoulder roughly. He jolts, narrowing his eyes down at you. 

“Hey!” He protests, “I was joking around. You’re the one that punched him.” He points the blame to you and you can’t argue. You did, technically, punch him. But it’s Stu’s fault. If he hadn’t snuck up on you, you would have just kept on screaming. You never would have touched the kid. 

In awkward silence, you walk the boy out of the haunted house and buy him a cold drink to press against his steadily swelling eye. You can see purple shining through the fading paint and grimace. He throws himself down on a wooden picnic table and sighs forlornly. 

“Thanks a lot, lady,” he mutters bitterly. Stu’s lips twitch as he watches the kid tug at his costume. You glare up at him and shove him away. He stumbles behind the table shooting you a sharp glare. You’re taken aback by the look. 

It’s not like you’ve never gotten a little pushy with him before. His love language was manhandling. But the look on his face is unrecognizable. You’d thought you’d imagined it earlier, how off he had seemed. But it’s not fake now. You’re looking it clearly in the eye and you can’t deny the truth of it. 

“I’m gonna sue,” the kid grumbles and you’re snapped out of your stare-off. You try and shake off the chilling feeling of unfamiliarity but it’s nearly impossible. You’re still wound up from the haunted house, you’re sure you’re just imagining things.

Billy shoves his shoulder and the kid falls back onto the table. “You’re not suing.”

He puffs his chest up and glares at Billy, “I could.”

Billy places his hand on the table, leaning in on the kid’s space until he’s flinching back. You avert your eyes, uncomfortable with the sudden display of dominance. Yet, you don’t stop him from bullying the kid out of a lawsuit. “You won’t,” Billy tells him, a clear threat. 

The kid gives a shaky nod of his head, but Billy still doesn’t let up. There’s a slight curl of malice to his lips, you glance over to Stu for support. His attention is rapt upon Billy, something like hunger in his eyes. You feel like you’re watching two lions corner a gazelle, you can practically see the boy’s hands trembling from fear.  

“Alright,” you clear your throat and tug Billy back by the shirt. He resists you at first and you know he only backs off because he wants to. It’s not for you. You look at the boy and give him a weak smile, “I really am sorry,” you can hear Stu laughing behind him and roll your eyes. The kid takes the drink off his eye and glares at you. 

“Yeah, whatever lady. Why don’t you take a valium or something and chill the hell out?” He gets off the bench and brushes past you, shaking his head. You glance down at your fist and hiss at the pain shooting along your fingers. The skin of your knuckles is split and aching from hitting him. 

Billy huffs out a laugh and takes your hand in his. “Really got him, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you argue petulantly. 

Stu finally collects himself and rejoins you both, throwing his gangly body on the wooden picnic table. “Why don’t you tell his face that?” He practically snorts, looking down at your hand and then laughing all over again. It’s really not that funny. Even Billy looks confused by his boisterous nature. 

He’s a dick, but this is a lot. You and Billy exchange a confused glance before looking back at Stu. But he’s silent now, already staring back at you both. Again, chills go up and down your arms at the empty look in his eyes. His lips are smiling, but his eyes are devoid of anything. 

“Maybe we should just go home.” You suggest, trying to keep the suspicion out of your tone. “Carnival’s a bust,” Billy exchanges one last look with you before nodding. 

“We still doing movies at Stu’s?” You desperately want to say no. Right now, all you want is to get as far away from him as possible. Earlier, with them and the kid, that’s normal. They’ve always had a bit of a mean streak when it comes to people weaker than them. 

The way his eyes are boring into you right now is anything but normal. You’ve never felt quite so uncomfortable near him, but you can’t ignore the feeling. Every primal instinct of survival is screaming at you to run, but you can’t. You can’t say no. All you do is nod, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. Stu’s eyes brighten slightly at your words, but it’s still nothing compared to how it should be. 

You get ahead of Billy, not wanting to walk next to Stu. All you need is a good night’s sleep and you’ll be over this whole thing. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of too many eyes lingering on you as you make the trek to the car. The wet straw beneath your feet swallows the sounds of your steps and you try not to be discomforted by the quiet. It’s a carnival, where did all the people go?

The black-and-white static of the TV is the only thing to illuminate the room. It shines upon your face, makes it so you can only see in that square of light. You assume Billy is on the ground, passed out. And Stu is probably curled up in the overstuffed armchair. 

Yet, you can’t look. As much as you try to crane your neck, try and find some comfort in their presence, you can’t move. Your body is pinned down by a weight you can’t see, only feel. This isn’t sleep paralysis. It’s like being held down by someone stronger and bigger than you. 

You have no control over your body. You have no control over anything. Your breathing kicks up, coming in short panicked bursts. Your eyes roll around wildly, trying to find something, anything, to focus on. 

You find yourself depressingly devoid of any distractions. Until a shadow creeps along the ceiling. At first, you think it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you. Like when you stare at one spot in the dark for too long and start to see impossible shapes. 

But this is different. No matter how many times you blink or look away, it keeps moving. You whimper as it crawls over you. It dangles from the ceiling. You see nothing, only feel its eyes on you. There is no clear shape lurking within it, just malevolent malice. 

It drops down behind the arm of the couch and you open your mouth to scream, hoping to wake one of the boys. Nothing comes out but a strangled gasp of air. You struggle for noise but the more you try, the harder you find it to bring air in. 

Your eyes swim as you go lightheaded. You almost miss the tendrils creeping over the fabric of the couch. You almost don’t see it covering your feet. You wish you had missed it. You wish you just closed your eyes and never opened them again. But it’s like something is keeping those pried open too. 

You can’t feel your legs. That’s the weight. It’s not someone holding you down. Your body is completely limp. It’s as though your bones were replaced with metal, you’re sinking so far into the cushions they’re rising around you. Even your fingers are too heavy to twitch. 

You begin to feel it in your head, a sudden sinking feeling as it tips further and further back. Soon, you can only watch the shadow through your peripheral. Cold terror washes over you and fills your veins with something ill. 

It covers your legs like a veil, slithering on them. Your thighs shoot apart and the blanket goes flying across the room. You can only let out a choked whimper as it dives between your parted limbs. 

You shoot up with a gasp, sunlight peers through Stu’s living room windows, filling the room with much-needed warmth. You glance down, fisting the blanket and tugging it up to your chest in relief. Your heart is still racing and there’s sweat caked along your neck. But you can move your body freely again. It must have just been an awful nightmare. 

You glance to the side and nearly scream. Stu lounges in the armchair, Billy’s still asleep on the ground. Stu stares right at you, empty eyes, wide smile. “Good dream?” he inquires, but the tone of his voice tells you he already knows the answer. 

You swallow, fighting the sandpaper feeling of your throat and shaking your head. “No,” you croak, afraid to speak much louder than a whisper. 

His smile widens and you feel your head feeling heavy again. “I love a good nightmare,” he admits, like it’s an awful secret. He leans back in the chair and turns towards the TV, mindlessly flicking through the channels. 

With his gaze off you, you glance down and pull the waistband of your shorts down. You swallow down your tears and bile. Your underwear, like you feared, is gone. You glance towards Stu and narrow your eyes at the back of his head. You have an idea who took them.

Your parents are out of town for the week. Normally that means Billy and Stu infesting your home like pests. They’re being oddly evasive when you call, though. Not that you’re complaining. You haven’t been interested in being around Stu since the carnival. 

He makes you feel unsafe. As much of a dick as he could be, never, have you ever feared him before. But you do now. You’re terrified of him. Even thinking about him makes you want to get up and check your closets for unwanted intruders. 

However, as much as his absence is a relief, it brings with it its own problems. Nothing with Stu can ever be easy, can it? 

You keep having the same nightmare. Except each night it gets closer and closer. You feel more of it than you ever want to. They’re turning into uncomfortably sexual dreams. You wake up wet and without any underwear. You can’t blame Stu for that when he’s not even in your house, though. Which leaves you fucking petrified when you wake up. 

Because you know, deep down, you know someone wasn’t in your house. Something was, though. A heavy presence lingers over you during the day and makes you terrified to walk around the open spaces of your home. You’d lock yourself in your room all week if you could, but even that doesn’t feel safe. 

The door slams behind you and you jolt forward with a scream. You stare at your backdoor with a horrified expression, glaring at it like it might start talking and reveal its secrets. Your house is old, there’s nothing odd about doors occasionally closing on your own. 

Except, that hadn’t been open. You’ve kept it firmly locked all week, terrified of a possible home invasion. You need to stop watching scary movies on your own. 

You pull your knees into your chest, staring at your door until you’re satisfied it’s not going to slam shut again. Slowly, you turn back towards your TV and keep watching the only good sitcom you could find at this time of night. 

The second you let yourself get comfortable, however, you hear your bedroom door upstairs slam shut, followed quickly by rushing footsteps. Your eyes widen in terror and you mute your TV, glaring up at the ceiling and hoping you just imagined it. 

Footsteps behind you, running across the linoleum. You whip around, nearly shrieking when you spot something black darting into your pantry closet. You scramble for the phone beside you. You slam 911 into the keypad and press it against your ear, keeping your eyes riveted on the pantry closet. 

There’s a steady beep on the other end. The line’s dead. Someone cut your phone line. That’s okay. You can work with that. You can beat something real, but you’ve got no hope against something otherworldly. 

You stand slowly, unmuting the TV so the laugh track will cover your movements better. You creep towards your linen closet, reaching for the bat your dad keeps in there for this very reason. He’s got different weapons placed all over the house and you blame him for some of your paranoia. But right now, you’re eternally grateful for the protection it’s providing you. 

You slip into the kitchen, sliding quietly across the tiles on your socks. You position yourself behind the pantry door, your hand shaking as you reach for the handle. Just as you rip it open, the lights go out. 

You scream wildly, waving the bat around with as much force as you can, hoping to just hit something solid. Glass crashes against the floor and you feel the bat connecting with something. The lights flip back on and your mother’s vase is shattered along the ground. There’s no sign of the intruder and you think you might throw up when you hear more footsteps upstairs, two sets this time. 

But then someone darts through the living room, another flash of black before they’re gone. Three? How are you supposed to handle three?

Something titters behind you, bordering on a giggle, and you whip around, bat waving through the air recklessly. No one was there, no sign anyone was. And there’s no possible way for you to have missed them running past you. There’s nowhere to go or hide. 

You think of the shadow you’ve seen in the closet and the lights flicker like they’re agreeing with you. The thing that’s been haunting your nightmares, it’s in the house with you. The lights flicker again and your stomach drops to the floor. Your heart is in your throat as you hear your voice chanted from upstairs.  

It’s like staring at the Devil’s eyes at the circus again. You feel like there’s something being taken from you. You feel cold, empty, like you’re missing something you need. Something’s toying with you. Making you it’s twisted little plaything. 

You can feel the tears clawing their way up your throat. The call of your voice gets louder and louder until it feels like it's being screamed straight into your ears. You want to run, want to fight, want to do anything but stand here and you can’t. 

You can’t move. It’s just like your dreams. Your bones are metal and you are stuck. There’s a rough shove to your back, though you don’t feel physical hands on you. And then someone’s moving you, your legs are puppeteered as you’re directed up the stairs. 

You stub your toes on every step, crawling up them like a child learning to use them for the first time. Every time you slow down or try and stop, you’re dragged forward again. Your bedroom door creaks open and warmth carves its way down your cheeks. 

You stumble inside, the bat thudding to the floor as your hand goes limp around the handle. You want to call out to the entity, but your jaw is wired shut. You stand in the middle of your room, sobbing and terrified and completely alone. 

Your closet door slowly creaks open and you brace yourself for the worst. Billy comes flying out, shouting nonsense at you as you scream until your throat feels bloody. Stu follows behind him, ripping off his stupid mask and giving you a wide-eyed look. 

You crumple to the floor, covering your head and crying as you come down from the fear that you are being haunted. Stu kneels before you, hands gentle as they take your arms away from your head. 

He looks like Stu now. He looks like the boy you grew up with. His eyes are full of worry as he pushes wet strands of hair off your cheeks. “Hey, hey, alright,” he tugs you into his chest and you throw your arms around him wildly. You cling tightly to him, taking in heaving breaths and trying to find some comfort from his touch. 

“You fucking dicks,” you sob into his sweater. “I thought I was going to die.”

Billy scoffs as he stares awkwardly behind him. “Yeah,” he mutters bluntly, “I can tell.” He watches you cry for a little while longer before he gets irritated. “Hey, this was supposed to be fun. Would you lighten up?”

You suck in a deep breath, astonishment at what he just said temporarily stopping the tears of terror. You rip yourself away from Stu, ignoring the way his hands linger. “Excuse me?” You demand, glaring up at Billy.

He shrugs, “It was just a prank, chill out.”

You scoff, taking in a sharp breath and nodding your head. “Right, no, you’re right. It’s not like my friends used my biggest fucking fear against me!” You shout, shoving him backward. He stumbles into the corner of your desk and you glare at him and Stu. 

“You’re horrible fucking friends, you know that.” You storm out of your room and pause at the top of the stairs. They linger in your doorway. Stu looks like a kicked dog and Billy looks like he’s about to blow the hell up. 

“I don’t even know how you guys pulled all that shit off, but fuck you.” You give them both an astonished glare before shaking your head and going back down the stairs. “I hate you,” you scream, your voice shrill and full of uncontrollable rage. 

Billy almost follows after you, probably to give you a shit apology and then let everything smooth over naturally. But he stops, foot hovering over the top of the stairs. He glances back at Stu and frowns, “What the hell did you do?” Stu gives him a confused look and Billy glares. “She wasn’t supposed to be terrified for her life, fuckwad. What the hell did you do to her?”

Stu shrugs and gives him a too-wide grin and for the first time, Billy finds himself disturbed by his friend. “Magician’s secret man, cannot, will not tell.” He zips his mouth shut and tosses the key, winking at Billy. Billy gives him a disgusted scoff and follows after you. They can hear you ranting in the kitchen, slamming your drawers shut, and shouting vile insults at them. 

Stu watches Billy go down the stairs, his smile slowly fading from his face. Something dark passes over Stu’s face, something wicked, something unnatural. Perhaps it was all just a trick. 

Or maybe that kid’s Latin wasn’t so fake after all. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Scream, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

wicked influence

Poly!Ghostface x fem!reader

a/n: I’ve wanted to write for Scream for forever and have never gotten around to it. Well, it’s slasher season baby! I finally have my reason. (When I tell you that this movie was my sexual awakening as a child, I mean it. That’s not necessarily good, but it’s true. )

Summary: Visiting a Halloween carnival with your two best friends doesn’t seem that bad until you reach the haunted house. You’ve never been able to explain your fear of demons to anyone before, you have no idea where it comes from. But you do know, going into a hell themed house with teenagers screaming shitty Latin at you is one of your worst nightmares. You think everything’s okay until, suddenly, your nights are filled with visits from a strange shadowy entity and you don’t recognize the look in Stu’s eyes anymore. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

“Hey! Demons are a perfectly rational thing to be afraid of.”

Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, nudging you further toward the haunted house. “Alright, alright, would you calm down and just move it.” You stare into the gaping jaw of the devil that serves as the entrance to the house. You know this is all just a way for people to make a quick buck. 

There’s not going to be anything in there except teenage actors and shitty SFX makeup. But that doesn’t make the looming doorway any less menacing. It doesn’t make your heart stop racing or your breathing any easier. 

Billy frowns as some people shove past you all, tired of waiting for you to move inside. They cut the line and you can’t help but be grateful. Your nails dig into your palms until you feel the warmth of blood and have to swallow down bile. 

Stu and Billy both lean towards you, varying looks of confusion on their faces. “Holy shit,” a grin breaks out on Stu’s face and he smiles widely at you. “You’re terrified, aren’t you?” He pokes you like you might be a statue, unmoving and solemn. 

You stumble back and are effectively broken out of your terrified stupor. You swat at Stu’s wandering hands and glare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” you snap. But in your anxious state, it all comes out as one jumbled mess. 

Billy lets out a disappointed sigh and gives you a funny look. “Alright, let’s just go. You’re not going in and it’s stupid to just stand out here all night.” Stu opens his mouth to argue but Billy shoots him a sharp look. You hate how sensitive they think you are. You can handle one stupid fucking haunted house. You’re not completely useless. 

Still, you practically gulp as the Devil’s eyes bore into yours. You feel like your soul is being sucked out through your feet, leaving you startlingly cold. “I,” you clear your throat, waiting until it feels strong enough to speak. “I can do this,” you grit out, sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself more than them. 

Stuf lets out a brief chuckle and Billy throws his elbow into his gut. Stu doubles over dramatically and you can’t help but laugh a little. Billy gives you a raised brow and you nod your head. “I just need a little nudge,” you mutter, glancing back at the house. 

Stu grins and creeps behind you. “I got you babes,” he tells you in a ridiculous voice. You barely have a second to process what’s happening before he’s lifting you up and practically tossing you inside. Immediately, there’s a fake chainsaw in your face and a screaming Bubba Sawyer. You stumble back with a gasp, falling into Stu’s open arms. 

“How’s that for a nudge?” Billy mutters as he brushes past you. You grab onto the back of his shirt and follow behind him. He glances over his shoulder at you with a knowing smirk and continues forward. None of the scares get him, but they get you. 

The actors catch onto that. They also catch onto how fake and dramatic Stu is. Half of them target you for a good scream and the other half avoid you because of how obnoxious he’s being. You can already tell how bored BIlly is. There’s not enough gore in here for him. 

He needs more blood splatter and fresh corpses, while you’re pleasantly surprised by the contents of the house. You’d really been dreading the demonic themes, but it seems like that’s not a huge factor. So far it’s just a few overzealous teens and some spiders on a string. 

Sure, it’s still scaring the bejeezus out of you. But there’s a difference between a quick scream and a deeply rooted phobia. 

You don’t know when this supernatural fear of yours began. Maybe your parents let you traumatize yourself with the crucifix scene in The Exorcist too young. But you know it’s been with you nearly your entire life. 

You think you’re safe, that you can just relax and let yourself have fun, then you reach the final door. The lights are flickering so hard you think you might have a seizure, but you can see enough to know what’s before you. A red, rotted door, with three upside-down nines barely hanging onto it. 

“Oh god,” you whisper and you think the boys can’t hear you. But then you feel Stu’s hands suddenly clamping around your neck and you leap into Billy with a shrill scream. Billy flinches away from the noise, turning to glare at you. 

Stu doubles over, laughing his ass off at your expense and grinning wildly at you. “Jesus, we’re not even in there yet. What is wrong with you?” He says it like a joke but you can hear the truth of it lingering. It stings, the slight cruelty in his tone. 

There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of something. Fear is healthy. The absence of fear is idiocy. You shove past Billy and turn to Stu with a mean glare. “I’m going to go in here and when I get out, I’m fucking leaving you.”

You shove the door open and take a step inside. You put on a brave face for about five seconds before you turn to see if they’ll follow you. You see just a glimpse of them before the door creaks closed. Billy is leaning against the wall, watching you with a half-amused expression. But Stu looks odd. 

That doesn’t even seem like the right word. His face is completely devoid of any emotion. He looks expressionless and you’ve never seen Stu like that before. Whether it’s for good reason or not, he’s always making a face. Right now, you don’t even recognize him. Were it not for the outfit he was wearing you would think someone else had snuck up behind Billy. 

The door is closed before you can call out to him and you find yourself plunged in complete darkness. There’s no noise for a long few moments. You can’t tell which way is the door and which is the exit. 

At first, you worry you went in the wrong direction and entered an empty part of the house. A sudden cackle breaks through the air, and you leap forward, stumbling into the wall. You can already feel your heart beginning to race. Even though you can hear the static of a speaker and you know, deep down, that it's fake, you’re frozen in fear. 

There’s a brief flash of light, just enough for you to see torn wallpaper and upside-down crosses. And something standing in the corner. “All alone?” A voice rasps and you whimper, pressing yourself up against the wall. You can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed, it’s too dark to know. You hope they’re closed. Whatever’s about to happen is going to traumatize you, you just know it. 

A door creaks behind you just as the lights begin flickering on and off. Through brief flashes of illumination, you see something running towards you. They’re screaming Latin at you, water hits your face and you begin screaming uncontrollably. Footsteps pound towards you, egging on the racing beat of your heart. 

A jarring grip lands on your shoulder and you swing out wildly. Your fist connects with something hard and you hiss in pain. There’s a brief pause where the only thing you can hear is your panting. 

“Ow!” Someone snaps, an irritated raspy voice. The lights flick on and you squint against the sudden glare, blinking rapidly to try and lessen the burn on your eyes. 

Billy and Stu stand on either side of you, astonished looks on both of their faces. A teenage boy in a shitty priest costume and red face paint stands before you. He’s rubbing his eye and cussing at you. “You fucking punched me!”

“You ran at me!” You yell back immediately, glaring at the little asshole. “I don’t think you’re supposed to touch me.”

He glares at you through one eye and points to Stu and Billy. “I didn’t!” He shouts and you flinch back, grimacing. “Your fucking friend did.” You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. Both you and Billy turn slowly towards Stu. His face is as red as the kid’s as he struggles to contain his laughter. 

“Unbelievable!” You snap at him, slapping his shoulder roughly. He jolts, narrowing his eyes down at you. 

“Hey!” He protests, “I was joking around. You’re the one that punched him.” He points the blame to you and you can’t argue. You did, technically, punch him. But it’s Stu’s fault. If he hadn’t snuck up on you, you would have just kept on screaming. You never would have touched the kid. 

In awkward silence, you walk the boy out of the haunted house and buy him a cold drink to press against his steadily swelling eye. You can see purple shining through the fading paint and grimace. He throws himself down on a wooden picnic table and sighs forlornly. 

“Thanks a lot, lady,” he mutters bitterly. Stu’s lips twitch as he watches the kid tug at his costume. You glare up at him and shove him away. He stumbles behind the table shooting you a sharp glare. You’re taken aback by the look. 

It’s not like you’ve never gotten a little pushy with him before. His love language was manhandling. But the look on his face is unrecognizable. You’d thought you’d imagined it earlier, how off he had seemed. But it’s not fake now. You’re looking it clearly in the eye and you can’t deny the truth of it. 

“I’m gonna sue,” the kid grumbles and you’re snapped out of your stare-off. You try and shake off the chilling feeling of unfamiliarity but it’s nearly impossible. You’re still wound up from the haunted house, you’re sure you’re just imagining things.

Billy shoves his shoulder and the kid falls back onto the table. “You’re not suing.”

He puffs his chest up and glares at Billy, “I could.”

Billy places his hand on the table, leaning in on the kid’s space until he’s flinching back. You avert your eyes, uncomfortable with the sudden display of dominance. Yet, you don’t stop him from bullying the kid out of a lawsuit. “You won’t,” Billy tells him, a clear threat. 

The kid gives a shaky nod of his head, but Billy still doesn’t let up. There’s a slight curl of malice to his lips, you glance over to Stu for support. His attention is rapt upon Billy, something like hunger in his eyes. You feel like you’re watching two lions corner a gazelle, you can practically see the boy’s hands trembling from fear.  

“Alright,” you clear your throat and tug Billy back by the shirt. He resists you at first and you know he only backs off because he wants to. It’s not for you. You look at the boy and give him a weak smile, “I really am sorry,” you can hear Stu laughing behind him and roll your eyes. The kid takes the drink off his eye and glares at you. 

“Yeah, whatever lady. Why don’t you take a valium or something and chill the hell out?” He gets off the bench and brushes past you, shaking his head. You glance down at your fist and hiss at the pain shooting along your fingers. The skin of your knuckles is split and aching from hitting him. 

Billy huffs out a laugh and takes your hand in his. “Really got him, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you argue petulantly. 

Stu finally collects himself and rejoins you both, throwing his gangly body on the wooden picnic table. “Why don’t you tell his face that?” He practically snorts, looking down at your hand and then laughing all over again. It’s really not that funny. Even Billy looks confused by his boisterous nature. 

He’s a dick, but this is a lot. You and Billy exchange a confused glance before looking back at Stu. But he’s silent now, already staring back at you both. Again, chills go up and down your arms at the empty look in his eyes. His lips are smiling, but his eyes are devoid of anything. 

“Maybe we should just go home.” You suggest, trying to keep the suspicion out of your tone. “Carnival’s a bust,” Billy exchanges one last look with you before nodding. 

“We still doing movies at Stu’s?” You desperately want to say no. Right now, all you want is to get as far away from him as possible. Earlier, with them and the kid, that’s normal. They’ve always had a bit of a mean streak when it comes to people weaker than them. 

The way his eyes are boring into you right now is anything but normal. You’ve never felt quite so uncomfortable near him, but you can’t ignore the feeling. Every primal instinct of survival is screaming at you to run, but you can’t. You can’t say no. All you do is nod, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. Stu’s eyes brighten slightly at your words, but it’s still nothing compared to how it should be. 

You get ahead of Billy, not wanting to walk next to Stu. All you need is a good night’s sleep and you’ll be over this whole thing. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of too many eyes lingering on you as you make the trek to the car. The wet straw beneath your feet swallows the sounds of your steps and you try not to be discomforted by the quiet. It’s a carnival, where did all the people go?

The black-and-white static of the TV is the only thing to illuminate the room. It shines upon your face, makes it so you can only see in that square of light. You assume Billy is on the ground, passed out. And Stu is probably curled up in the overstuffed armchair. 

Yet, you can’t look. As much as you try to crane your neck, try and find some comfort in their presence, you can’t move. Your body is pinned down by a weight you can’t see, only feel. This isn’t sleep paralysis. It’s like being held down by someone stronger and bigger than you. 

You have no control over your body. You have no control over anything. Your breathing kicks up, coming in short panicked bursts. Your eyes roll around wildly, trying to find something, anything, to focus on. 

You find yourself depressingly devoid of any distractions. Until a shadow creeps along the ceiling. At first, you think it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you. Like when you stare at one spot in the dark for too long and start to see impossible shapes. 

But this is different. No matter how many times you blink or look away, it keeps moving. You whimper as it crawls over you. It dangles from the ceiling. You see nothing, only feel its eyes on you. There is no clear shape lurking within it, just malevolent malice. 

It drops down behind the arm of the couch and you open your mouth to scream, hoping to wake one of the boys. Nothing comes out but a strangled gasp of air. You struggle for noise but the more you try, the harder you find it to bring air in. 

Your eyes swim as you go lightheaded. You almost miss the tendrils creeping over the fabric of the couch. You almost don’t see it covering your feet. You wish you had missed it. You wish you just closed your eyes and never opened them again. But it’s like something is keeping those pried open too. 

You can’t feel your legs. That’s the weight. It’s not someone holding you down. Your body is completely limp. It’s as though your bones were replaced with metal, you’re sinking so far into the cushions they’re rising around you. Even your fingers are too heavy to twitch. 

You begin to feel it in your head, a sudden sinking feeling as it tips further and further back. Soon, you can only watch the shadow through your peripheral. Cold terror washes over you and fills your veins with something ill. 

It covers your legs like a veil, slithering on them. Your thighs shoot apart and the blanket goes flying across the room. You can only let out a choked whimper as it dives between your parted limbs. 

You shoot up with a gasp, sunlight peers through Stu’s living room windows, filling the room with much-needed warmth. You glance down, fisting the blanket and tugging it up to your chest in relief. Your heart is still racing and there’s sweat caked along your neck. But you can move your body freely again. It must have just been an awful nightmare. 

You glance to the side and nearly scream. Stu lounges in the armchair, Billy’s still asleep on the ground. Stu stares right at you, empty eyes, wide smile. “Good dream?” he inquires, but the tone of his voice tells you he already knows the answer. 

You swallow, fighting the sandpaper feeling of your throat and shaking your head. “No,” you croak, afraid to speak much louder than a whisper. 

His smile widens and you feel your head feeling heavy again. “I love a good nightmare,” he admits, like it’s an awful secret. He leans back in the chair and turns towards the TV, mindlessly flicking through the channels. 

With his gaze off you, you glance down and pull the waistband of your shorts down. You swallow down your tears and bile. Your underwear, like you feared, is gone. You glance towards Stu and narrow your eyes at the back of his head. You have an idea who took them.

Your parents are out of town for the week. Normally that means Billy and Stu infesting your home like pests. They’re being oddly evasive when you call, though. Not that you’re complaining. You haven’t been interested in being around Stu since the carnival. 

He makes you feel unsafe. As much of a dick as he could be, never, have you ever feared him before. But you do now. You’re terrified of him. Even thinking about him makes you want to get up and check your closets for unwanted intruders. 

However, as much as his absence is a relief, it brings with it its own problems. Nothing with Stu can ever be easy, can it? 

You keep having the same nightmare. Except each night it gets closer and closer. You feel more of it than you ever want to. They’re turning into uncomfortably sexual dreams. You wake up wet and without any underwear. You can’t blame Stu for that when he’s not even in your house, though. Which leaves you fucking petrified when you wake up. 

Because you know, deep down, you know someone wasn’t in your house. Something was, though. A heavy presence lingers over you during the day and makes you terrified to walk around the open spaces of your home. You’d lock yourself in your room all week if you could, but even that doesn’t feel safe. 

The door slams behind you and you jolt forward with a scream. You stare at your backdoor with a horrified expression, glaring at it like it might start talking and reveal its secrets. Your house is old, there’s nothing odd about doors occasionally closing on your own. 

Except, that hadn’t been open. You’ve kept it firmly locked all week, terrified of a possible home invasion. You need to stop watching scary movies on your own. 

You pull your knees into your chest, staring at your door until you’re satisfied it’s not going to slam shut again. Slowly, you turn back towards your TV and keep watching the only good sitcom you could find at this time of night. 

The second you let yourself get comfortable, however, you hear your bedroom door upstairs slam shut, followed quickly by rushing footsteps. Your eyes widen in terror and you mute your TV, glaring up at the ceiling and hoping you just imagined it. 

Footsteps behind you, running across the linoleum. You whip around, nearly shrieking when you spot something black darting into your pantry closet. You scramble for the phone beside you. You slam 911 into the keypad and press it against your ear, keeping your eyes riveted on the pantry closet. 

There’s a steady beep on the other end. The line’s dead. Someone cut your phone line. That’s okay. You can work with that. You can beat something real, but you’ve got no hope against something otherworldly. 

You stand slowly, unmuting the TV so the laugh track will cover your movements better. You creep towards your linen closet, reaching for the bat your dad keeps in there for this very reason. He’s got different weapons placed all over the house and you blame him for some of your paranoia. But right now, you’re eternally grateful for the protection it’s providing you. 

You slip into the kitchen, sliding quietly across the tiles on your socks. You position yourself behind the pantry door, your hand shaking as you reach for the handle. Just as you rip it open, the lights go out. 

You scream wildly, waving the bat around with as much force as you can, hoping to just hit something solid. Glass crashes against the floor and you feel the bat connecting with something. The lights flip back on and your mother’s vase is shattered along the ground. There’s no sign of the intruder and you think you might throw up when you hear more footsteps upstairs, two sets this time. 

But then someone darts through the living room, another flash of black before they’re gone. Three? How are you supposed to handle three?

Something titters behind you, bordering on a giggle, and you whip around, bat waving through the air recklessly. No one was there, no sign anyone was. And there’s no possible way for you to have missed them running past you. There’s nowhere to go or hide. 

You think of the shadow you’ve seen in the closet and the lights flicker like they’re agreeing with you. The thing that’s been haunting your nightmares, it’s in the house with you. The lights flicker again and your stomach drops to the floor. Your heart is in your throat as you hear your voice chanted from upstairs.  

It’s like staring at the Devil’s eyes at the circus again. You feel like there’s something being taken from you. You feel cold, empty, like you’re missing something you need. Something’s toying with you. Making you it’s twisted little plaything. 

You can feel the tears clawing their way up your throat. The call of your voice gets louder and louder until it feels like it's being screamed straight into your ears. You want to run, want to fight, want to do anything but stand here and you can’t. 

You can’t move. It’s just like your dreams. Your bones are metal and you are stuck. There’s a rough shove to your back, though you don’t feel physical hands on you. And then someone’s moving you, your legs are puppeteered as you’re directed up the stairs. 

You stub your toes on every step, crawling up them like a child learning to use them for the first time. Every time you slow down or try and stop, you’re dragged forward again. Your bedroom door creaks open and warmth carves its way down your cheeks. 

You stumble inside, the bat thudding to the floor as your hand goes limp around the handle. You want to call out to the entity, but your jaw is wired shut. You stand in the middle of your room, sobbing and terrified and completely alone. 

Your closet door slowly creaks open and you brace yourself for the worst. Billy comes flying out, shouting nonsense at you as you scream until your throat feels bloody. Stu follows behind him, ripping off his stupid mask and giving you a wide-eyed look. 

You crumple to the floor, covering your head and crying as you come down from the fear that you are being haunted. Stu kneels before you, hands gentle as they take your arms away from your head. 

He looks like Stu now. He looks like the boy you grew up with. His eyes are full of worry as he pushes wet strands of hair off your cheeks. “Hey, hey, alright,” he tugs you into his chest and you throw your arms around him wildly. You cling tightly to him, taking in heaving breaths and trying to find some comfort from his touch. 

“You fucking dicks,” you sob into his sweater. “I thought I was going to die.”

Billy scoffs as he stares awkwardly behind him. “Yeah,” he mutters bluntly, “I can tell.” He watches you cry for a little while longer before he gets irritated. “Hey, this was supposed to be fun. Would you lighten up?”

You suck in a deep breath, astonishment at what he just said temporarily stopping the tears of terror. You rip yourself away from Stu, ignoring the way his hands linger. “Excuse me?” You demand, glaring up at Billy.

He shrugs, “It was just a prank, chill out.”

You scoff, taking in a sharp breath and nodding your head. “Right, no, you’re right. It’s not like my friends used my biggest fucking fear against me!” You shout, shoving him backward. He stumbles into the corner of your desk and you glare at him and Stu. 

“You’re horrible fucking friends, you know that.” You storm out of your room and pause at the top of the stairs. They linger in your doorway. Stu looks like a kicked dog and Billy looks like he’s about to blow the hell up. 

“I don’t even know how you guys pulled all that shit off, but fuck you.” You give them both an astonished glare before shaking your head and going back down the stairs. “I hate you,” you scream, your voice shrill and full of uncontrollable rage. 

Billy almost follows after you, probably to give you a shit apology and then let everything smooth over naturally. But he stops, foot hovering over the top of the stairs. He glances back at Stu and frowns, “What the hell did you do?” Stu gives him a confused look and Billy glares. “She wasn’t supposed to be terrified for her life, fuckwad. What the hell did you do to her?”

Stu shrugs and gives him a too-wide grin and for the first time, Billy finds himself disturbed by his friend. “Magician’s secret man, cannot, will not tell.” He zips his mouth shut and tosses the key, winking at Billy. Billy gives him a disgusted scoff and follows after you. They can hear you ranting in the kitchen, slamming your drawers shut, and shouting vile insults at them. 

Stu watches Billy go down the stairs, his smile slowly fading from his face. Something dark passes over Stu’s face, something wicked, something unnatural. Perhaps it was all just a trick. 

Or maybe that kid’s Latin wasn’t so fake after all. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie Scream, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Ghostface’s fan#1 (part I)

Hello everyone! So this idea came to me and I just couldn’t stop myself from writing 4 parts for it. Basically it’s female reader being obsessed over Ghostface and they decide to not kill her because of that. This is Billy Loomis x female reader x Stu Matcher, even though it’s only Billy Loomis x reader for this first part. I really hope you’ll enjoy this, because I loved writing for it.

Female reader but no physical description.

Warnings: very morally grey reader (you are obsessed over Ghostface and the way they kill), bad relationship with your parents, mention of bullies at school, mention of loneliness, mention of wanting to be killed by Ghostface, Billy being turned on by you and thinking you’re hot, NSFW, clit play and penetrations

Keep reading

Ghostface’s fan#1 (part I)

Hello everyone! So this idea came to me and I just couldn’t stop myself from writing 4 parts for it. Basically it’s female reader being obsessed over Ghostface and they decide to not kill her because of that. This is Billy Loomis x female reader x Stu Matcher, even though it’s only Billy Loomis x reader for this first part. I really hope you’ll enjoy this, because I loved writing for it.

Female reader but no physical description.

Warnings: very morally grey reader (you are obsessed over Ghostface and the way they kill), bad relationship with your parents, mention of bullies at school, mention of loneliness, mention of wanting to be killed by Ghostface, Billy being turned on by you and thinking you’re hot, NSFW, clit play and penetrations

Keep reading