Aug 13
the bitch is back
working on a Scream (1996)xThe L Word au where the main cast is a bunch of lesbians. lol. y'all miss me?
seen from Georgia
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seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Sweden
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
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seen from China
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seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Russia
seen from Saudi Arabia
the bitch is back
working on a Scream (1996)xThe L Word au where the main cast is a bunch of lesbians. lol. y'all miss me?
Stu Macher fic IM BEGGINGGGGG, idc what but I'd prefer a smut but 🫣🫣🫣
𝑻𝒐 𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 ꨄ︎ (Stu Macher X FemReader)
Content: Smut, Billy Mentioned, Jealous Reader, Homoerotic Friendship Mentioned, Ass Slaps, CreamPie, Spitting
You sat cross-legged on your bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm shadows across the room. The bottle of deep crimson polish rested between your thighs as you carefully dragged the brush over your left ring finger, the smell of acetone sharp in the air. Outside, Woodsboro was quiet for once. Too quiet.
The phone on your nightstand rang.
You didn’t jump. You didn’t even flinch. A slow, knowing smile curved your lips as you set the brush down, wiped your finger on a tissue, and reached for the receiver.
“Hello?” you answered, voice low and almost bored.
A distorted, mechanical rasp answered you.“Do you like scary movies?”
You rolled your eyes, leaning back against the headboard, the phone pressed between your ear and shoulder while you examined your half-painted nails.“Jesus Christ, Stu. You’ve used that line on me, like, twelve times this week. It’s getting sad.”
There was a beat of static, then the voice filter cut out with a soft click, replaced by a familiar, breathless laugh.
“Fuck, baby. You’re no fun tonight.” Stu’s real voice came through, low and rough, the kind of voice that always sounded like he’d just been running or laughing too hard. Or both. “You busy?”
“Painting my nails,” you said, lifting your hand to inspect the glossy red. “Trying to look pretty for my boyfriend who currently has his hands full of someone else’s blood, I’m guessing.”
“Guilty.” You could hear the grin in his voice. Somewhere in the background there was the faint sound of fabric rustling, maybe a knife being wiped clean. “Billy’s still finishing up. Kid’s a fucking perfectionist.”
You hummed, deliberately slow. “Mm. You and Billy again. Spending more quality time with him than with me these days. Should I be jealous of this little homoerotic crime partnership you’ve got going on?”
Stu barked out a laugh, loud and unrestrained. “Baby—”
“I’m serious,” you cut in, voice dropping into something softer, meaner. “You two are always together. Sharing the costume. Sharing the kills. Sharing those little looks when you think no one’s watching. Next thing I know you’ll be fucking in the woods while I’m sitting here painting my nails like a good little alibi.”
There was a sharp inhale on the other end of the line.
“Fuck,” Stu muttered, the word thick. “You’re such a bitch when you’re horny.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong that I we share all that,” he said, voice dropping lower, rougher. “But Billy’s not the one I’m thinking about when I’ve got a hard-on in this stupid fucking costume. You are. Always you.”
You smirked, settling deeper into the pillows, the polish forgotten.“Prove it,” you murmured. “Tell me what you’re doing right now. And don’t you dare hang up on me for him.”
Stu’s laugh came out rough and a little breathless on the other end of the line, like he’d just been running.“No, baby—fuck, no. Don’t start with that jealous shit,” he said, voice dropping into that low, coaxing tone he only ever used on you. “You know it’s not like that. Billy’s just… useful. That’s all. You’re the one I come home to. You’re the one I’m thinking about when I’ve got blood on my hands and a hard dick under this stupid fucking robe.”
You heard the soft rustle of fabric, the faint clink of metal, and then the sound of a car door slamming.“I’m already on my way to your place,” he continued, the filter completely gone now. His real voice was rough, almost desperate. “I swear to God I’m gonna make it up to you. I’ll go to hell and back for you, you know that. I’ll crawl through the fucking woods on my knees if that’s what it takes. Just keep that pretty mouth of yours ready for me.”
You smiled slowly, twisting the phone cord around one finger as you watched the wet polish on your nails catch the light.“Yeah?” you murmured. “And how exactly are you planning to compensate me, Stu? Because I’ve been sitting here alone while you’ve been out playing dress-up with your boyfriend.”
He groaned, the sound filthy and frustrated.“Jesus Christ, you’re such a fucking tease. I’m gonna walk through that door, pin you to the bed, and remind you exactly who I belong to. Mouth, hands, cock—all of it. I’m gonna fuck you so deep you forget Billy even exists. You’re gonna feel me for days, baby. I promise.”
In the background you could hear the engine starting, the low growl of his car pulling away from whatever fresh crime scene he’d just left behind.
“Keep the door unlocked,” he said, voice tight with urgency. “And don’t you dare finish those nails. I want them wet when I get there. I want to smear that pretty red all over your thighs while I’m between them.”
You bit your lip, heat already pooling low in your stomach.“Hurry up then,” you whispered. “I’m getting impatient.”
“I’m coming,” Stu answered, almost growling. “And when I do, you’re not gonna be able to walk straight for a week.”
Time dragged after you hung up.
You set the half-finished bottle of polish on the nightstand and got to work. The sheets got straightened, then deliberately messed again so they’d look lived-in. You lit the cheap vanilla candle on the dresser, cracked the window just enough to let the cool night air in, and left the door unlocked like he’d told you. Your reflection in the mirror looked flushed already—hair down, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, bare legs, still-wet crimson nails catching the light every time you moved.
You were smoothing the last pillow when the phone rang again. You answered on the second ring, already smiling.
The distorted voice filled the line, low and mechanical.
“Hello, Sidney… wait. Wrong number.” A soft, static-laced chuckle. “Did you miss me already, baby?”
You leaned back against the headboard, phone tucked between your ear and shoulder.“You’re still doing the whole cheap-ass Ghostface routine? Really?” you asked, voice dry. “Instead of worrying about your little killer performance, maybe worry about not getting blood all over my window when you climb through it. I just cleaned that shit last week.”
There was a beat of silence. Then the filter cut out completely and Stu’s real voice came through, rough and dark with laughter.“Oh, you mouthy little fucking thing…”
You heard the engine of his car grow louder, closer.“I’m gonna fuck that attitude right out of you,” he growled, the words thick with promise. “I’m gonna walk through that door, pin you down, and make you choke on every single smart-ass comment you’ve got left. By the time I’m done with you, the only thing coming out of that pretty mouth is my name and maybe a few desperate little ‘please’s. Blood on the window? Baby, I’ll paint the whole fucking room if it means I get to watch you take it the way I know you love it.”
Your thighs pressed together on instinct.“Then stop talking and get here,” you whispered.
“Two minutes,” he answered, voice already dropping into something feral. “Keep that attitude warm for me.”
The window slid open with a soft scrape.
You didn’t even have time to stand before a black-clad figure swung one long leg over the sill, boots hitting the carpet with a dull thud. The Ghostface mask tilted toward you, empty black eyes catching the candlelight. For half a second the room felt colder.
Then Stu yanked the mask off in one sharp motion.
His hair was a mess, face flushed, that wild grin already splitting across it like he couldn’t wait another second. Blood—someone else’s—smeared faintly across the knuckles of the hand still gripping the mask.“Miss me?” he breathed.
You opened your mouth to answer, but he was already on you.
He closed the distance in two strides, dropped the mask somewhere on the floor, and crashed his mouth against yours. The kiss was all teeth and heat—hungry, messy, claiming. He bit down hard on your lower lip, hard enough to sting, then soothed it with a swipe of his tongue before sucking it between his teeth again. You tasted copper and adrenaline and him.
A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as his hands found your waist. Without breaking the kiss he spun you, walked you backward, and shoved you hard onto the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the oversized shirt riding up your thighs. Stu followed immediately, climbing over you, knees bracketing your hips, one hand already fisting in your hair to tip your head back so he could kiss you deeper, dirtier.“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, voice rough. “You look so goddamn good waiting for me like this.”
He ground his hips down once, letting you feel exactly how hard he already was under the black robe, then leaned in to bite your lip again—slower this time, deliberate, like he wanted the mark to last. Stu broke the kiss with a wet sound and sat back on his heels, that manic grin still stretched across his face. Before you could catch your breath he grabbed your hips, flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing, and yanked you up onto your knees. The oversized shirt rode all the way up your back. Cool air hit your bare ass for half a second—then his open palm cracked down hard across one cheek.
The sharp sting bloomed hot and sudden. You gasped into the sheets.“That’s for running your fucking mouth about me and Billy,” he growled, already delivering a second, harder slap to the other side. The sound was filthy in the quiet room. He laughed under his breath, low and delighted, rubbing the smarting skin with rough fingers like he was admiring his own work. “Not even because of the homoerotic shit—though that was cute—but because you kept pushing. Kept teasing. Kept trying to get a rise out of me while I was elbow-deep in someone else’s guts.”
Another spank, slower this time, lingering. He squeezed the heated flesh, then delivered two more in quick succession until your ass was stinging and warm under his hand.“You have no idea,” he continued, voice thick with laughter and lust, “how hard it is to wipe down a crime scene when your dick’s already throbbing because your girl is on the phone talking shit. I was cleaning blood off the walls with a fucking hard-on, baby. Trying not to leave prints while thinking about bending you over exactly like this.” He leaned over your back, one hand still gripping your hip to keep you in place, and pressed his mouth close to your ear. His breath was hot.“Maybe I should’ve just asked Billy to suck me off real quick so I could focus,” he mocked, the words dripping with wicked amusement. “Would’ve been faster. But no… I saved every single drop for you. And now you’re gonna take it.”
His palm came down again, harder, the smack echoing. You felt him grind the hard line of his cock against the back of your thigh through the robe, laughing softly when you pushed back into him on instinct. Stu didn’t give you a second to recover. He shoved the black robe off his shoulders in one rough motion, letting it pool on the floor behind him. The rest of his clothes followed just as fast—boots kicked aside, pants shoved down and kicked away until he was completely naked, hard and flushed and already leaking. The candlelight caught the faint smear of someone else’s blood still on his knuckles as he gripped your hips again.
He didn’t push inside yet. Instead he lined that thick, heavy cock up between your cheeks and started dragging it slowly back and forth, the slick head catching on your entrance every time he rolled his hips. Precome smeared along your folds, mixing with how wet you already were, turning the friction filthy and wet. He kept the rhythm lazy, almost lazy-cruel, just enough pressure to make you rock back for more.“Look at you,” he laughed under his breath, voice low and mean with affection. “All that smart-ass attitude and now you’re dripping down my cock like a desperate little brat. You talked all that shit about Billy, about me forgetting you… and the second I get my hands on you, this is what happens.”
He ground forward harder, the underside of his cock sliding right through your folds, the head bumping your clit on every pass. Another wet smear of precome. Another soft, mocking chuckle.“I’m gonna ruin you for that mouth of yours,” he promised, one hand sliding up your spine to fist in your hair and tug your head back. “Gonna fuck you so deep and so mean you forget how to talk back. Every time you try to be cute and jealous I’m gonna remind you exactly what happens to brats who tease killers while they’re still covered in blood.”
He kept rubbing, slow and deliberate, coating himself in you, the wet sounds of it filling the quiet room. His free hand squeezed one stinging cheek, then delivered another sharp spank just because he could.“Keep pushing that pretty ass back on me,” he ordered, voice rough with hunger. “Get me nice and wet. Because the second I decide you’ve had enough teasing… I’m burying every inch inside you and I’m not stopping until you’re crying.”
He grabbed the thin waistband of your pajama shorts with both hands and yanked. The fabric tore with a sharp, ugly rip, elastic giving way under his strength. He didn’t stop there—fingers hooked into the crotch of your panties next and shredded them too, dragging the ruined scraps down your thighs and tossing them aside like trash. Cool air hit your bare, dripping cunt for only a second before the thick, flushed head of his cock nudged right up against it.
He didn’t push in. He just stayed there, pressing the tip against your entrance, rocking his hips in tiny, shallow movements that stretched you just enough to feel the threat of it. Every time you tried to push back he pulled away a fraction, keeping you open and empty and aching.
“Uh-uh,” he laughed, low and mean, one hand still fisted in your hair to keep your head pulled back. “You don’t get it until you ask nicely. Come on, baby. Use that bratty little mouth for something useful.” He nudged forward again—just the tip, just enough to make you clench around nothing—then eased back, smearing more wetness over himself. The head caught on your entrance, teasing, refusing to give you more than that shallow stretch.
“I can do this all night,” he murmured against the back of your neck, voice thick with amusement and lust. “Keep rubbing against this pretty cunt until you’re shaking. Keep you right on the edge while I talk about how good you’re gonna look with my cock buried in you. Or…” He pushed the tip in the tiniest bit deeper, then stopped. “You can beg.”
You were already trembling, thighs burning, the sting on your ass mixing with the unbearable emptiness. The wet sound of him nudging against you again made your breath hitch.“Stu—”
“Louder,” he ordered, delivering another sharp spank to the cheek he’d already marked. “Beg me to fuck you. Tell me how bad you need it after all that shit you talked.”
He kept the head of his cock right there, pulsing against you, refusing to give more until the words finally tore out of you—desperate, broken, exactly the way he wanted.
Your voice cracked on the first try.“Stu—please—”
He only hummed, the sound dark and pleased, and rolled his hips again so the thick head of his cock nudged just a fraction deeper before pulling back. The stretch burned and vanished just as fast, leaving you empty and shaking.“Not good enough,” he murmured against the side of your neck. Another slow drag of the tip through your soaked folds. “You were so fucking mouthy earlier. Talking about Billy. Talking about me forgetting you. Now look at you.”
Your fingers twisted hard in the sheets. Heat burned behind your eyes. The ache between your legs was almost painful now, every shallow tease making your thighs tremble.“Please,” you tried again, voice higher, thinner. “Please, Stu—I need it. I need you inside me. Don’t—don’t keep teasing, I can’t—”
He laughed softly, the sound filthy, and delivered another sharp slap to your already-stinging ass. The impact made you jolt forward, then rock right back against him on instinct.“Almost crying already?” he taunted, voice thick with hunger. “Fuck, that’s hot. Keep going. Beg like you mean it.”
A broken sound tore out of you. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as you pushed your hips back, chasing the pressure he kept denying.
“Please, Stu—fuck me. I need your cock. I’ll be good, I swear, just—please put it in. Please, I’m so empty, I need you to fill me up, I need you to fuck me hard, please—” Your voice finally cracked completely, the last word coming out wet and desperate. You were shaking under him, forehead pressed to the mattress, almost sobbing with how badly you needed him to stop teasing and take you.
Stu’s breath hitched. You felt the thick head of his cock press more firmly against your entrance, still not giving you what you were begging for—but closer. So much closer.“There she is,” he whispered, almost reverent. “That’s my good little brat.”
The second the broken plea left your mouth he slammed forward in one brutal thrust, burying every thick inch inside you to the hilt. The stretch was sudden and overwhelming—your cunt forced open around him, the wet sound of it filthy and loud in the quiet room. A broken cry tore out of your throat as your body struggled to take him all at once.
He didn’t give you time to adjust.
One hand fisted hard in your hair, yanking your head back until your back arched sharply. The other clamped down on your hip hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into the flesh he’d already spanked red. Then he started moving.
The pace was wild from the first stroke—deep, punishing, relentless. His hips snapped against your ass with wet, filthy smacks, the force of each thrust shoving you forward on the mattress only for him to drag you right back onto his cock. He fucked into you like he’d been starving for it all night, like every second he’d spent cleaning blood off a wall with a hard-on was being paid back now.
“Fuck—yes—” he growled, voice rough and broken with pleasure. “Take it. Take every fucking inch, baby.” He yanked your hair harder, forcing your head back even further so he could watch the side of your face as he drove into you. The headboard started knocking softly against the wall. Your soaked cunt clenched around him with every brutal stroke, the wet sounds of how desperately you were taking him filling the room. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t ease up. He just kept fucking you harder, deeper, like he was trying to carve himself into you permanently.
Your hands shot forward, fingers twisting hard into the sheets until your knuckles went white. You needed something to hold onto—anything—because every brutal thrust was driving him straight into that spot deep inside you that made your vision blur.
Stu knew exactly what he was doing. He adjusted the angle of his hips just slightly and the next stroke punched right against it. A broken, high sound tore out of your throat. Your whole body jerked. Tears stung the corners of your eyes as pure, overwhelming pleasure slammed through you, sharp and almost too much.“There it is,” he growled, voice rough with triumph and lust. He yanked your hair harder, forcing your back into a deeper arch so he could keep hitting that same perfect place over and over. “Feel that? That’s the spot that makes you fucking cry for me.”
He didn’t let up. The pace stayed wild, relentless, each deep thrust grinding against that sensitive place until your thighs were shaking and your breath came in wet, desperate gasps. Tears finally slipped down your cheeks—not from pain, but from how intensely good it felt. Your cunt clenched hard around him every time he bottomed out, the wet, filthy sound of it filling the room.
You clung to the mattress like it was the only thing keeping you grounded, forehead pressed into the sheets, almost sobbing with every perfect, punishing stroke.“Stu—fuck—right there—” your voice cracked, high and wrecked. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
He laughed, low and dark, and only fucked you harder.
He kept driving into that perfect spot with the same wild, punishing pace, one hand still fisted in your hair while the other left your hip just long enough to deliver a sharp, open-handed slap across your already-stinging ass.
“I can’t tell—”
Smack.
“—if I’m punishing you—”
Smack.
“—or just motivating you—”
Smack.
“—to keep being a fucking brat.”
Each slap landed between thrusts, the sharp sting blooming hot over the deeper, relentless pleasure of his cock grinding into that sensitive place. Your body jolted every time his palm connected, the dual sensation making your cunt clench hard around him.
You were past coherent words. Broken sounds spilled from your mouth with every thrust—half-formed pleas, his name, soft broken sobs of pure overload. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you clung to the sheets, babbling nonsense between gasps.
“Stu—fuck—please—right there—don’t—ah—god—yes—harder—please—I can’t—Stu—”
He laughed, dark and delighted, and delivered another stinging slap right as he bottomed out again.“Listen to you,” he groaned, voice rough with lust. “Can’t even form a full sentence anymore. Just my name and ‘please’ and that pretty little fucked-out babbling. That’s what you get for running your mouth earlier.”
Another sharp slap. Another deep, perfect thrust that made your vision white out for a second. You could only sob his name and push back onto him, completely gone on the pleasure.
The pressure inside you finally snapped.
One particularly deep, brutal thrust ground right against that swollen spot and your entire body seized. A broken, high cry tore out of your throat as the orgasm ripped through you—violent, messy, overwhelming. Your cunt clamped down hard around Stu’s cock and then you were squirting, wet heat gushing around him in hard, pulsing waves that soaked his thighs and the sheets beneath you.
You couldn’t stop babbling.“Stu—fuck—oh my god—I’m—ah—coming—don’t stop—please—Stu—Stu—fuck—”
The words tumbled out wet and broken between sobs of pure overload, your voice cracking as another strong pulse of fluid spilled out of you. Your arms gave out. You collapsed forward onto the mattress, face pressed into the sheets, still shaking and babbling his name like it was the only word left in your head.
Stu groaned loud and filthy behind you, the sudden gush of wetness around his cock clearly pushing him closer to the edge. He didn’t slow down. If anything he fucked you through it harder, chasing every last tremor, the wet, filthy sounds of him slamming into your squirting cunt filling the room.“That’s it—fuck—look at you making a mess for me,” he growled, voice rough and almost reverent. “Keep coming. Keep soaking my cock. Let it all out, baby.”
You could only sob and babble, completely wrecked, another smaller gush spilling out of you every time he bottomed out. A raw, broken groan tore out of his throat as his hips stuttered, then slammed forward one last time—burying himself to the hilt as he came hard inside you. Thick, hot pulses flooded your already-soaked cunt, the wet heat of it spilling out around his cock with every twitch. He kept grinding deep through it, milking every last drop into you, one hand still fisted in your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave bruises.
“Fuck—baby—” he gasped, voice wrecked. “Take it. Take all of it.”
He stayed buried inside you as the last tremors faded, chest heaving against your back, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades. For a long moment the only sounds in the room were both of you trying to catch your breath and the soft, filthy drip of everything he’d left inside you.
Then he eased his grip on your hair, smoothed the tangled strands with surprising gentleness, and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck.“You did so fucking well,” he murmured against your skin, voice still rough but softer now. “Took every inch. Came all over my cock like a perfect little mess. I’m proud of you, baby.”
He carefully pulled out, watching the thick mix of his cum and your wetness spill down your thighs, then rolled you both onto your sides so he could pull you against his chest. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other stroking lazily over the red marks he’d left on your ass.
“Rest,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you.”
I lowkey need a Mindy x reader where reader gets hurt by ghostface (you will be getting a few Mindy requests from me sorry lol!)
𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈'𝒔 𝑮𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑯𝒖𝒓𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 ఌ︎ (Mindy Meeks X FemReader)
Content: Angst, Violence, Stabbing, Chasing, GhostFace Call, During Scream 5, Bad Ending
You stood at the kitchen counter of the Meeks house, the late afternoon light slanting through the half-drawn blinds as you measured kernels into the old pot. The smell of butter already lingered from the first batch you had melted, and you kept your movements slow and deliberate so the soft sizzle would fill the quiet instead of the news still echoing in both your heads.
Mindy sat on the edge of the couch behind you, legs pulled up, phone face-down on the cushion beside her. She had not touched it in twenty minutes. Tara’s name still glowed in the notifications she refused to open again. You could feel the tension radiating off her like static shoulders locked, jaw tight, eyes fixed on nothing.
You shook the pot gently, listening to the first kernels begin to pop. “Hey,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Movie night rules still apply even with a killer . No checking the phone until the credits roll. Doctor’s orders.”
She huffed a soft, almost reluctant sound that might have been the beginning of a laugh. “You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m the person making the popcorn. That gives me temporary authority. And besides you do know I want to be a doctor” You glanced back at her. “Come here. Help me salt these before they get cold.”
Mindy unfolded herself from the couch and crossed the short distance to stand beside you. Her shoulder brushed yours as she reached for the salt shaker. For a second she just stayed there, close enough that you could feel the residual tremor she was trying to hide.
“She’s okay,” you said quietly, not looking at her. “Tara’s okay. Sam’s with her. We’re here. We’re safe. Just… popcorn and a dumb movie for a little while.”
Mindy nodded once, sharp and small, then tipped salt over the growing mound of white. Her fingers brushed yours when she handed the shaker back. You let the contact linger a second longer than necessary.
The last kernels finished popping. You dumped everything into the big blue bowl the two of you always used, added another thin drizzle of butter the way she liked it, and carried it to the couch. Mindy followed, curling into the corner with her knees drawn up. You settled in beside her, close enough that your thighs touched, and set the bowl between you.
She reached for a handful, chewed slowly, then leaned her head against your shoulder without saying anything. You felt the rigid line of her body begin to ease, just a fraction, as the opening logos of the movie started to play on the screen.
The soft crackle of the movie filled the living room when the phone started ringing on the cushion beside Mindy’s hip.
You reached across her without thinking and pressed your palm over the glowing screen.“Nuh-uh, babygirl. I told you no phones until the credits roll.”
Mindy’s eyes flicked to yours, already restless.“What if it’s Wes or Chad or Sam? What if he’s calling with news about Tara? I have to—”
She twisted the phone free before you could stop her and answered on the second ring, voice already tight with worry.“Wes? Did something happen? Is Tara—”
The voice that answered was not Wes. It was low, distorted, and wrong in a way that made the air in the room go still.
Mindy froze mid-sentence. Her free hand found your wrist and locked around it hard enough to bruise.
You leaned in, close enough to hear the mechanical rasp through the speaker.
“Hello, Mindy.”
The number on the screen was unknown.
She had not even looked.
The distorted voice kept talking, slow and almost playful, like it was enjoying every second of the silence that had swallowed the living room.“So… how’s the little romantic homicidal evening going with your girlfriend, Mindy? You two look cozy. Popcorn, movie, soft lighting… very domestic. Tell me, is there going to be sex later? would it bother you if I joined? I promise I’ll be quiet. Well… mostly.”
A low, static-laced chuckle scraped through the speaker.“Or are you still sticking to your precious little rule? The one about people who have sex not surviving? Funny how that works. Although… you two are the wokes of the group, right? The progressive ones. For the lesbians I guess that rule doesn’t apply. How convenient.”
You watched Mindy’s face the entire time. The color drained from her cheeks. Her free hand tightened around your wrist until your bones ached. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
You leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper.“Mindy… what’s happening? Who is that?”
She turned her head just enough for her eyes to meet yours.
Her mouth formed the word without sound, slow and terrified. “Ghostface.”
You kept your eyes locked on Mindy’s pale face and forced the words out as steadily as you could.“Put it on speaker. Let me hear him. Maybe he’ll slip.”
Mindy’s thumb hovered over the screen for half a second, then she tapped the button. The distorted voice flooded the living room, louder now, filling every corner.“Well, well… look at that. Y/N speaking up. Wow. You’re actually smart when you’re not three fingers deep in your own pussy… or Mindy’s. Anyway. Really? Bottoms again? I mean, I get it, the chaos, the rage, the whole ‘fuck the patriarchy while making out in a bathroom stall’ vibe, but come on. You two are predictable.”
Your stomach dropped. You stared at the television, where the opening of Bottoms was still frozen on pause from when the phone first rang.“How the fuck do you know we’re watching Bottoms?”
The laugh that answered was low, wet, and delighted.“First reason? Because I know you. I know what you like. Uncomfortable queer cinema. The kind that makes straight people squirm and makes the two of you feel seen. You put it on every time the world gets too loud. Every single time. Second reason…” A soft, deliberate pause stretched out, long enough for the silence to start screaming.“…because I’m standing in your yard right now.”
You both went completely still. The only sound left was the faint static of the open line and the distant, almost polite crunch of footsteps on dry grass outside.
Then the living-room window exploded inward in a shower of glass and black fabric. Ghostface stepped through the shattered window like he had all the time in the world. Glass crunched under his boots. The black robe settled around him with a soft, almost casual swish. He lifted one gloved hand and gave the two of you a little side-to-side wave, fingers wiggling, as if he had just walked into a party instead of a murder scene.
Then he lunged.
You grabbed Mindy’s wrist and yanked her toward the hallway. The living room was suddenly too small, the couch and the coffee table becoming obstacles instead of furniture. Ghostface’s boots thundered behind you, the knife flashing once in the low light before disappearing again into the folds of the robe. You slammed into the narrow corridor that led to the kitchen. Mindy’s breath was ragged in your ear. You could feel how close he was—close enough that the fabric of his robe brushed the back of your arm when you risked a glance over your shoulder.
He reached for Mindy’s hair. She twisted hard, ripped free of your hand grip for half a second, and snatched the heavy ceramic vase from the side table without slowing down. In one fluid, furious motion she spun and brought it down across the side of Ghostface’s masked head with everything she had.
The vase exploded on impact. White shards and water and the last of the dying flowers sprayed across the hallway. Ghostface staggered sideways into the wall with a low, startled grunt, the knife dipping for a crucial moment.
Mindy didn’t wait to see if he stayed down. She grabbed your hand again and pulled. You didn’t stop running until the top of the stairs.
Mindy shoved you ahead of her into the narrow upstairs hallway, then spun toward the heavy wooden wardrobe that stood against the wall. Together you dragged it with everything you had, the legs screaming against the floorboards as you angled it and tipped it sideways. It crashed down across the top of the staircase with a solid, final thud, blocking the entire width. For a moment the only sounds were your shared breathing and the distant, furious scramble of Ghostface recovering below.
Mindy pressed her back to the wardrobe, chest heaving, eyes already scanning the dark hallway like she was drawing a map in her head.“Okay. Listen to me,” she said, voice low and fast. “He’s not going to stay down long. That vase only bought us minutes. Maybe less. Windows are too high on this floor to jump without breaking something, and the front door is right in his line if we try to go back down. Attic access is in the ceiling of the spare room—too slow, too loud. Fire escape is on the far side of the house, outside Chad's old window. That’s our best shot.”
She grabbed your face with both hands for half a second, forcing you to meet her eyes.“We stay quiet. We move together. If he gets past this wardrobe before we reach that window, we split—you go for the bathroom and lock yourself in, I try to draw him. But we don’t split unless we have to. Understood?”
You nodded once. Your heart was slamming so hard it felt like it might crack your ribs.
Mindy’s hands left your face and found your wrist instead, grounding, firm.“Then we move. Now.”
You were already moving when you saw it.
Ghostface had somehow forced the wardrobe just enough to squeeze through the gap at the top of the stairs. He came up silent, almost careful, the black robe blending with the shadows until the silver of the knife caught the light behind Mindy’s shoulder.
She was still turned toward the far end of the hall, whispering the next part of the plan, completely unaware.
The scream that tore out of you was raw and broken, the kind that scraped your throat bloody on the way out.“MINDY—!”
You threw yourself forward without thinking. Your body collided with hers just as the blade flashed. The impact sent both of you staggering sideways into the wall. You felt the sharp, wet heat of the knife slide across your side instead of hers—deep, immediate, wrong. Pain bloomed white-hot and then went strangely cold.
Mindy’s eyes went wide as she registered what you had done. Her hands flew to you, but you were already shoving her behind you, one arm locked across her body like a shield, the other pressed hard against the spreading warmth soaking through your shirt.
Ghostface tilted his head, studying the two of you for a beat as if the interruption amused him.
You barely had time to draw another breath before the knife came down again.
Ghostface drove the blade into your shoulder, the force of it slamming you back against the wall. The steel punched through muscle and scraped bone with a wet, grinding sound. He didn’t pull it straight out. He twisted—slow, deliberate, the serrated edge tearing a wider path as he turned the handle. White-hot pain exploded through your entire upper body. You screamed, the sound breaking into a choked, animal noise.
Mindy was still behind you, shouting your name, trying to pull you away, but you kept your body locked in front of hers.
The second thrust landed lower, just beneath your ribs on the right side. The knife sank in deep. You felt the tip drag against something soft and vital. Ghostface leaned in, putting his weight behind it, and twisted again. The blade rotated inside you with a sickening, meaty resistance. Blood poured hot and fast down your side, soaking your shirt, your jeans, the floor. Your knees buckled. You slid a few inches down the wall, still trying to stay upright, still trying to keep him away from her.
He yanked the knife free with a wet rip and immediately drove it into your thigh. The third stab was savage. The blade buried itself to the hilt, then he wrenched it sideways, carving a longer, uglier wound. Your leg gave out completely. You collapsed onto the hallway floor, the impact sending a fresh wave of agony through every injury at once.
Ghostface followed you down.
He straddled your hips, pinning you. The fourth stab went into your stomach. He pushed slowly this time, watching your face as the steel sank inch by inch. When it was fully seated he twisted the handle in a full circle, the knife grinding against tissue and muscle. You arched off the floor, a broken, wordless scream tearing out of you. Blood bubbled up between your lips.
The fifth and sixth came in rapid succession—once into your upper chest, once into the soft flesh just above your hip. Each time he twisted. Each time the pain climbed higher, sharper, until it stopped feeling like separate wounds and became one continuous, screaming fire that filled every part of you.Your vision tunneled. The edges of the hallway went gray. You could still hear Mindy’s voice somewhere far away, raw and desperate, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater.
Ghostface paused only long enough to tilt his head, studying the damage. Then he raised the knife one more time.
He drove it down between your collarbones with brutal precision. The blade sank deep, the tip scraping bone before punching through the soft tissue beneath. He twisted it once—hard—then ripped it free in a single, savage motion. A fresh spray of blood painted the wall behind you. Your body jerked once and then went slack against the floorboards, the last of your strength spilling out with the warmth pooling beneath you.
For a moment the only sound was the wet, uneven drag of your breathing. Ghostface straightened. He looked down at you, head tilted, as if deciding whether the work was finished. Then he turned without another word, strode to the shattered upstairs window, and climbed through it in one smooth motion. The black robe disappeared into the night. Glass still clung to the frame where he had passed.
The hallway fell silent except for the faint drip of blood.
Mindy had been frozen against the far wall, eyes wide, hands pressed over her mouth. The shock had locked every muscle in place while the knife rose and fell. The second the window frame stopped rattling she broke free.
She scrambled across the floor on her knees, sliding through the dark smear of blood, and gathered you against her chest with shaking arms.
“No—no, no, no, stay with me—look at me—” Her voice cracked on every word. She pressed both hands hard over the worst of the wounds, trying to stop what would not stop. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Just keep looking at me. Please.”
Your head rested against her shoulder. The hallway lights seemed to dim at the edges. Her tears fell warm onto your face as she rocked you, still whispering the same broken promises over and over. You tried to speak. Your lips parted, but the only sound that came out was a wet, broken gurgle. Blood rose in your throat and spilled over the corner of your mouth, warm and metallic, sliding down your chin. The words you wanted—something simple, something to tell her it was okay—never made it past the damage.
Mindy’s arms tightened around you instantly. She pulled you closer, cradling your head against her chest, one hand still pressed desperately over the wound between your collarbones as if sheer will could hold everything inside.“Don’t—don’t try to talk,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Just breathe. Please just breathe. Stay with me. You have to stay with me.”
Her tears fell freely now, dripping onto your face and mixing with the blood. She rocked you gently, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking against your skin.“You can’t leave me alone. Do you hear me? You can’t. I need you. Please… please resist. Just a little longer. Help is coming. Wes is coming. Someone is coming. Just hold on. Please hold on for me.”
Her voice broke completely on the last words. She kept repeating them, softer and softer, like a prayer she was terrified the universe would ignore. Mindy’s hands were still slick with your blood when she fumbled for her phone. She nearly dropped it twice before she managed to unlock the screen and hit Chad’s contact. The second the call connected she didn’t wait for a greeting.
“Chad—Chad, listen to me—get back here right now. Get the fuck back from the bar. Ghostface attacked us. He was in the house. He—” Her voice cracked into a raw, panicked shout. “He stabbed her. He stabbed Y/N over and over. There’s so much blood. She’s not—she’s not responding right. Tell Wes. Tell him to get Judy on the line and get an ambulance here immediately. Judy’s the sheriff, she can make it priority, she can make them come faster. Please, Chad, please, there’s no time. There’s no fucking time—” She was crying so hard the words kept breaking apart. In the background you could hear Chad’s voice rising in alarm, already shouting for Wes, but Mindy just kept talking over him, desperate and fast.“We’re upstairs. The hallway. I blocked the stairs but he got through. He left through the window but I don’t know if he’s still out there. Just—please hurry. Tell them to hurry. She’s dying, Chad. She’s dying and I can’t stop the bleeding.”
Her free hand never left the wound between your collarbones, pressing harder even as her whole body shook.
Mindy’s voice had gone quiet and steady, the panic stripped down to something raw and desperate.“I’ve got you,” she whispered against your hair, rocking you slowly. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me. Keep breathing. That’s all you have to do. In and out. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Her hands never stopped moving—pressing, adjusting, trying to hold the worst of the wounds closed even as the blood kept seeping between her fingers. She kept murmuring the same soft promises, over and over, like the sound of her voice alone could keep you tethered.“You’re not alone. You’re not. Help is coming. Just a little longer. Please… just a little longer.”
Somewhere outside, far down the street at first and then closer, the rising wail of sirens cut through the night. The sound grew louder, layered, urgent. Red and blue light began to flash faintly against the broken window glass.
Mindy lifted her head at the noise, a broken sound of relief escaping her, then she immediately lowered her face back to yours.“Hear that?” she whispered, tears still falling. “They’re here. You’re going to be okay. Just hold on for me. Please hold on.”
She kept pressure on the wounds, kept rocking you, kept talking until the first heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs and the hallway filled with voices and light.
Autistic Wes who loves teletubbies and the reader cook tubbitoast and tubbicustard with him
𝑻𝒖𝒃𝒃𝒊𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒆 ♡︎ (Wes Hicks X FemReader)
Content: Fluff, Hyperfixation, Drabble, TELETUBBIES!!!, Cooking Date, Judy Cameo
A/N: He's literally me
You finished the last bite of scrambled eggs and set your fork down on the plate. The morning light filtered through the kitchen window in soft stripes, and Judy was already clearing the toast crumbs from the counter with the kind of quiet efficiency that never felt rushed.
You watched her for a second, then spoke.“I still don’t know what to do for Wes’s birthday.”
Judy glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifting in mild curiosity rather than surprise. She rinsed the pan under the tap and turned the water off before answering.“You’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“Yeah.” You traced the rim of your juice glass with one finger. “Everything I come up with feels either too much or completely wrong. I don’t want to plan something loud or crowded. And I really don’t want to spring anything big on him that he didn’t know was coming.”
Judy dried her hands on the dish towel and leaned against the counter, facing you fully. Her voice stayed even and warm.“That’s already a good place to start, honey. Ruling out the big parties and the big unexpected surprises is half the work. A lot of people never even get that far. They just assume louder equals better.”
You let out a small breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.“I just… want it to feel right for him. Something quiet. Something that actually makes sense.”
Judy gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth lifting.“Then keep thinking in that direction. You’ll land on it. You usually do when it matters.”
She reached over and gave your shoulder a brief, steady squeeze before turning back to the sink. The kitchen stayed quiet after that—just the soft clink of dishes and the low hum of the refrigerator—while the idea of Wes’s birthday sat gently in the back of your mind, still unsolved but no longer quite so heavy.
You were still standing near the kitchen doorway when the bathroom door opened and Wes stepped out, hair damp and a little messy, wearing an old soft t-shirt and sweatpants. The moment he saw you his whole face lit up.
He crossed the short distance in a few quick strides and immediately started pressing soft, rapid kisses all over your face—cheeks, forehead, the bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth—murmuring quiet little “hi”s between them like he couldn’t quite stop.
“Hi,” he said again, finally pulling back just enough to look at you properly, still smiling. “Missed you.”
You were about to answer when a familiar bright, bouncy melody drifted down the hallway from his room. The television had been left on, and the unmistakable opening notes of the Teletubbies theme filled the quiet house.“EH-OH”
Wes froze. His eyes went wide. “OH MY FUCKING GOD—TELETUBBIES!!!!!”
He spun on his heel so fast his still-damp hair flung tiny droplets across his shoulder, and then he was running—actually running—down the hallway toward his room, bare feet thudding softly against the floorboards. As he went he let out a rapid, happy stream of sound under his breath, the same little vocal stim he always did when something good and familiar hit him all at once:“Miumiumiumiu—miumiumiumiu—”
You could still hear it fading as he disappeared into his room, the theme song growing louder for a second before the door swung mostly shut behind him.
You stood there for a moment, smiling to yourself in the sudden quiet of the hallway, the ghost of his kisses still warm on your skin. You stayed in the hallway a little longer than you needed to, listening to the bright, cheerful theme song still playing faintly behind Wes’s mostly-closed door and the soft, happy “miumiumiumiu” that kept slipping out of him every few seconds. Something warm and steady spread through your chest until it felt almost too full—like your heart had simply decided it couldn’t hold any more affection for him in that exact moment and was trying anyway.
Judy appeared at the end of the hall with a clean dish towel still in her hands. She followed your gaze toward Wes’s room, then looked back at you with a quiet, knowing expression.“You’re the first girlfriend he’s ever had where he doesn’t mask,” she said softly. “I mean it. I’ve never seen him this… open. This happy. Not even close.”
The words landed gently but firmly. You felt your throat tighten for half a second before a sudden, crystal-clear idea slammed into place so hard you almost laughed out loud.
“Oh fuck,” you whispered. “Oh fuck—Judy, I already know what I’m doing for his birthday.”
Judy smiled, slow and satisfied, like she’d been waiting for exactly this.“See?” she said, tipping her head toward Wes’s door. “I told you the idea would show up.”
You pushed off from the driveway on your bike, the afternoon air cool against your face as the neighborhood slipped past in quiet stretches of sidewalk and low fences. The pedals turned steadily under your feet, and with every rotation your mind circled back to the same place it had been circling all morning: Wes.
You loved him in the steady, unshowy way that had become your favorite kind of feeling—the kind that lived in the small details. The way he let the happy sounds spill out of him without checking first. The way he had kissed your face like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he never seemed to measure or edit himself around you anymore.
Gratitude sat warm and quiet in your chest. You knew how rare that kind of openness was for him, and how carefully he had once kept the softer, brighter parts of himself folded away. That he let them out with you—freely, without apology—felt like something precious you never wanted to take for granted.
And you knew, better than almost anything else, how much the Teletubbies meant to him. Not as a joke or a passing joke-reference, but as something steady and comforting that had been his for years. The bright colors, the simple songs, the gentle world that asked nothing complicated of anyone.
Making Tubby Toast and Tubby Custard together wouldn’t be loud or surprising or overwhelming. It would just be the two of you in the kitchen, doing something small and familiar and completely his. It would be a quiet way of saying the thing you felt most clearly in that moment: I see you. I hear you. I know you—maybe even better than I know myself sometimes—and I love every single piece of it.
You locked your bike outside the little grocery store and pulled out your phone before you even went inside. Standing in the shade of the awning, you opened TikTok and typed the words you’d been turning over since the bike ride: Tubby Toast recipe. Tubby Custard recipe.
The first few videos confirmed what you’d already guessed. Tubby Toast was straightforward simple pancakes cooked into soft rounds, then more mix to do mouth n eyes Happy-face pancakes. Easy. Comforting. Exactly the kind of low-pressure thing Wes would light up over without any of the sensory landmines that bigger birthday plans always seemed to carry.
Then you switched to the custard videos.
Most of them started the same way: eggs, milk, sugar, a careful tempering process. You watched one all the way through, then another, and felt the familiar quiet click of understanding settle in your chest. The texture. The way the eggs thickened and turned slightly glossy. Wes had never been able to handle that particular mouthfeel—he’d told you once, matter-of-fact and without embarrassment, that it made his whole body want to pull away. You weren’t about to put him through that on his birthday.
You closed the egg-based recipes and searched again.
Strawberry pudding. Instant, smooth, no eggs, bright pink if you wanted it to look close enough to the original Tubby Custard. You could even pour it into little bowls and pretend they were the official ones. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be kind. It would be something he could actually enjoy without having to mask discomfort for your sake.
You slipped your phone back into your pocket, already rewriting the mental shopping list: pancake mix, chocolate chips, strawberry pudding mix, milk, maybe a small bottle of pink food coloring just in case. Then you pushed open the store door, the soft electronic chime greeting you like a quiet yes.
You wandered past the baking aisle and into the craft section almost without thinking, still smiling to yourself. The shelves were quiet and a little dusty, but exactly what you needed sat right at eye level: a small pack of plain plastic headbands and a sleeve of colorful pipe cleaners.
You picked up the darkest purple ones first. Tinky Winky. Of course. You already knew he was Wes’s favorite—had known it for months, from the way his voice went soft and fond whenever the purple Teletubby appeared on screen, from the tiny worn plush that still lived on the corner of his desk. You twisted a couple of the pipe cleaners together in your mind, picturing the simple triangle antenna that would sit on top of the headband. Nothing fancy. Just enough to make it real.
Then you reached for the red ones.
Po.
You weren’t even trying to be subtle about it. Matching headbands felt right in the same quiet way everything about this birthday plan had started to feel right. You dropped both colors into your little hand basket along with the pancake mix and the strawberry pudding, already imagining the two of you standing in the kitchen later with ridiculous antennae bouncing every time either of you moved.
A soft giggle slipped out before you could stop it. You could already see Wes’s face—the way his eyes would go wide and bright, the way the happy little “miumiumiumiu” would probably tumble out of him the second he realized what you’d made. The thought alone made your chest feel warm and full all over again.
You paid for everything at the register, tucked the bag carefully into your bike basket, and started the ride home with the headbands and pipe cleaners nestled safely between the pancake mix and the pudding, still quietly laughing to yourself every time the picture of Wes in a Tinky Winky antenna popped back into your head.
You stayed up long past midnight at the little desk in your room, the only light coming from the small lamp and the soft glow of your phone. The purple pipe cleaners twisted easily between your fingers as you shaped Tinky Winky’s antenna, careful to make the loop sturdy enough that it wouldn’t flop over the second Wes moved. Then you made Po’s in bright red, a little shorter, a little rounder, exactly the way you remembered her.
When both headbands were finished you lined a plain cardboard box with tissue paper and nested the ingredients inside: the pancake mix, the chocolate chips, the strawberry pudding packets, a small bottle of milk, and the two finished antennas resting on top like they belonged there. A few extra little gifts went in around them—a soft new pair of socks in Tinky Winky purple, a tiny notebook with a smiling sun on the cover, and a short handwritten note that simply said I see you. You closed the box, tied it with a piece of ribbon, and finally let yourself sleep for a few short hours.
Morning came pale and quiet. You rode your bike the short distance to Wes’s house with the box balanced carefully in the front basket. The porch steps creaked under your feet as you climbed them. You took one steadying breath, lifted your free hand, and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
Wes stood there in the same soft t-shirt from the day before, hair still a little messy from sleep, eyes widening the second he saw you.
You grinned, lifted the box a little higher, and called out in the brightest, warmest voice you had:
“Eh-oh! Happy birthday, my love.”
Wes’s whole face lit up the second the words left your mouth. His eyes went wide and bright, and for a moment he just stood there in the doorway, smiling so hard it looked like it might actually hurt.
“Is that—?” He didn’t finish the question. He just reached for the box with both hands, careful but eager, and carried it straight to the little table by the door. You followed him inside and watched as he lifted the lid.
The second he saw the purple antenna sitting on top of the pancake mix, a soft, delighted sound escaped him. Then he spotted the red one, the pudding packets, the chocolate chips, the little purple socks, the notebook, the note. His hands hovered over everything like he didn’t know what to touch first.
“Oh my god,” he whispered, voice already climbing with pure, unfiltered joy. “Oh my god—Tubby Toast? And—and the custard? And the antennas? You made—?” He looked up at you, eyes shining, and before you could answer he stepped forward and wrapped you in a tight, warm hug, burying his face against your shoulder for a second. You felt him laugh into your shirt, the happy little vocal stim tumbling out of him in a rapid, rhythmic stream. “Miumiumiumiu—miumiumiumiu—”
When he pulled back he was still grinning, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Yes,” he said, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Yes. We’re doing this. Right now. Best birthday breakfast of my entire life. Come on.”
He grabbed your hand and the box in the same motion and started tugging you gently toward the kitchen, the purple antenna already clutched carefully in his other hand like it was the most precious thing he’d ever been given.
Can’t Lose You // Ethan Landry
request: none!
prompts: none!
summary: your boyfriend being ghostface wasn’t exactly how you planned this relationship to go. but how far would you go to protect the man you love?
warnings: major character death, stabbing, minor gore, injuries, angst
word count: 1.7k
a/n: i’m backkkkk
join my taglist!
You were cornered, trapped in the old movie theater with Sam and Tara. The smell of mildew filled your senses with each panicked breath you took. Everything had happened so fast. Chad had been stabbed so many times you were sure he was dead. You didn’t even have time to mourn your best friend, because Ghostface was still after you. How could Kirby have done all of this? Why? You still couldn’t wrap your head around it.
“Stay the fuck back!”
“We know it’s you, Kirby!”
Ethan and Mindy still hadn’t shown up yet. They were probably dead too. Your stomach sank into a swirling pit at the thought. Kirby had taken everything from you. You didn’t even know who you were without Ethan. How were you supposed to live the rest of your life without him?
“How could you?!” you yelled at her, edging closer to Sam and Tara, seeking safety within your friends.
Kirby looked confused, blood trickling down her forehead from a fresh wound. The gun in her hands shook from how hard she was trembling.
“No, one of them knocked me out,” you didn’t hear the rest of her explanation, the sound of the theater doors creaking open behind you pulled your attention away. Detective Bailey ran inside, his gun aimed at Kirby.
“Kirby, stop! Get away from them!”
The next few moments were a blur. The gun went off, your hands instinctively covering your ears. Kirby fell to the ground. You all turned to look at Bailey, Sam’s glare hardening as she realized he was Ghostface. They were talking, but you didn’t hear a word they said, your ears still ringing from the gunshot. Two people walked up behind him, both wearing Ghostface costumes. There were three of them?
You watched as one of them removed their mask. Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. The ringing in your ears faded, but you still couldn’t hear, the sound of your heart pounding thrumming dull in your ears. The sight of your own boyfriend standing there with a bloody knife in his hand, you couldn’t think and the word shocked didn’t even begin to describe how you were feeling.
How could Ethan do this? He had always seemed so perfect. Surely it couldn’t all have been an act, right? The whole time this had been going on, you never suspected him. Not once. It had seemed so unfathomable. You had been so sure he was harmless.
He wouldn’t look at you. The whole time Bailey was ranting, Ethan didn’t look at you. Not once. Had it all been a lie? Maybe you really were just a means to an end, a way for him to get closer to Sam and Tara. You couldn’t read his face. For the first time in your relationship, you had no idea what he was thinking. A million questions spun around in your head, but for some reason the only one you could focus on was: did he ever really love me?
You watched in horror as Ethan slashed at Sam’s arm. You barely ducked out of the way in time, slinking away as the fight ensued. Hiding in a corner, you watched as Ethan and Quinn chased after Sam and Tara. The squelching sound of metal cutting flesh made your stomach churn. You couldn’t look. You didn’t know how they hadn’t spotted you yet, but you knew you wouldn’t last long in a fight like this. Sam and Tara could handle themselves, they didn’t need you.
Tara was slipping, her hand desperately gripping the railing as she dangled over the edge. Ethan stood below her, holding his knife out, awaiting Tara’s fall so he could stab her. But you saw something he didn’t. Sam handed her a knife. Tara was going to hurt him. You don’t know why you cared. Ethan had hurt so many people, maybe he deserved to be stopped. But, he was still your boyfriend. And you had no idea why, but part of you still loved him.
You were up and moving before your mind could catch up to what you were doing. Tara fell right onto Ethan’s knife with a sickening squelch. She raised her knife, but before she could plunge it into Ethan, you tackled her, knocking her off of him and the knife out of her hand.
“Stop!”
Tara struggled beneath you. “What’re you doing?! Get off!”
You forced her down, barely keeping control over her. Tara was stronger than she looked. “I can’t let you hurt him!”
“You can’t really still love him after knowing what he did,” Tara said, almost pushing you off. “You don’t have to help, but you need to let me do this.”
You shoved her back down, your free hand reaching out for the knife she dropped. “I won’t let you kill him.”
You wrapped your fingers around the knife handle, grasping in tightly. You pulled it back, stabbing Tara in the neck. She tried to push you off, but it was no use. Her strength slowly faded as she choked on her own blood. You choked on your tears as you watched her die.
You looked down at your hands in shock, Tara’s blood coating them. You scampered off of her, panic flowing through you. You couldn’t catch your breath. Tara was dead. You killed your own best friend to protect your boyfriend, and you weren’t even sure if he actually liked you. Your hands trembled. Arms wrapped around you from behind, you tried to fight them off, but you weren’t strong enough.
“Stop. It’s me.”
Ethan’s voice. You stopped fighting, letting him hold you. Your body instinctually leaned into him, as if it suddenly forgot everything you just learned. How could a murderer still make you feel so safe?
“Ethan…” your voice trembled.
You looked over at him. There was blood on him and your stomach sank when you realized it was his.
“Is it true? Did you really do it?” You choked on your words. You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the word murder, the idea of your awkward boyfriend killing people still feeling so inconceivable.
Ethan nodded, the crazed look on his face gone. He started to look like the boy you knew. But the more you thought about it, you never really knew him at all. You just knew the version of him that he decided to show you.
You bit your lip hard to force back your encroaching tears until the taste of your own blood filled your mouth. You knew what you had to ask him, but you were terrified of the answer.
“How much of it was real? Do you even love me?”
Ethan’s gloved hand gripped yours tightly, your friends’ blood staining your skin. You should’ve been nauseous, but the feeling of him holding you so tightly gave you butterflies.
“All of it. I never lied about how I felt for you. I love you so much and I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
“Then why did you?”
You flinched at the sound of another gunshot, this time a bullet whizzed by you, barely missing your head. Ethan pulled you out of the way just in time. You looked around, panicked, trying to find out where it came from.
Sam, still standing on the balcony, glared down at you, a cold and detached look in her eyes. She must’ve seen you kill Tara. And you knew Sam, she wasn’t the type of person to let someone get away with hurting her family.
“Look, I’ll explain everything to you later. I promise. But it’s not safe for you here.”
Ethan pulled you up to your feet, his arm tightening around your waist to make sure you stayed with him. Before you could even take a step, you heard Sam scream before she fell over the balcony. You flinched as she landed next to you, a knife embedded deep in her back. She must’ve used her last bullet on you, leaving her vulnerable to Quinn. Sam and Tara were dead, and it was all your fault.
“Oh my god…” you whimpered, your hands clinging to Ethan tighter.
“It’s okay. I’m getting you out of here.”
You didn’t get very far before you heard footsteps approaching you from behind.
“Ethan, stop! What’re you doing?”
It was Bailey. You tensed up, holding Ethan tightly, terrified his dad would kill you. Ethan turned around, still holding you against him.
“I won’t let you kill them. They’re not a part of this.”
Bailey shook his head dismissively, already reaching for his gun. “You know we have to. We can’t leave any witnesses.”
“I agreed to help you kill everyone involved with Richie’s death, they weren’t there. This has nothing to do with them.” Ethan pulled you closer to him. If Bailey tried to shoot you, he would hit Ethan too. “They killed Tara to protect me. They won’t turn us in, you don’t have to do this.”
Before Bailey could speak again, Quinn interrupted. “It’s true. I saw it.”
Reluctantly, Bailey put his gun back in the holster. “Fine. But if they try anything—,” Bailey started before you cut him off.
“I won’t, I promise.”
Bailey sighed. “Alright. You three get out of here, the cops will be here soon. I’ll deal with it.”
Quinn walked away, headed off to the hospital to make sure Mindy and Gale were dead. You and Ethan lingered near the entrance of the theater for a few moments longer.
“Thank you, for not letting your dad kill me,” you said softly, your hand holding Ethan’s tightly.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. You saved my life.”
You winced at the memory, glancing down at your hands that were still covered in your best friend’s blood. Tara was dead, because of you. And yet, you still felt like you made the right decision. You could find another best friend, but no one could ever replace Ethan.
tags: @anglswoe @hyeyulove @abbyluvsjackchampion @mariaflor873 @shad-ade @ethan-landrys-left-scrotum @rose3heartzzz
my fic should be up in a day or two, but here’s a little sneak peak :D
stu macher. but he’s sweet.
1980'𝒔 𝑯𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒎 ♡︎ (Stu Macher X FemReader)
Content: Fluff, Sidney as a Matchmaker accidentally, Popular Stu n Nerd Reader, Silly jokes, Thriller n Slasher movies in like insane amount, Stu being Chaotic but Nonchalant in the reader's mind, idk what else to tag lol,
You wiped the dusty counter of the video store with a rag that had definitely seen better days, humming absentmindedly under your breath. The afternoon shift was usually quiet, which gave you plenty of time to overthink everything — especially him.
“Seriously, Sidney,” you muttered, stacking returned tapes, “can you please tell Randy that if he doesn’t bring back Halloween today, Mr. Johnson is actually going to ban him? He’s three days late already. Three! GUESS WHO'S GONNA GET CHARGED FOR IT”
Sidney leaned against the counter, flipping through a magazine with a knowing little smirk. “I’ve told him twice. He says he’s ‘studying the film for academic purposes.’”
“Yeah, right,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “The only thing he’s studying is how many times he can watch Jamie Lee Curtis scream before—”
The little bell above the door chimed cheerfully.
Your heart immediately did that stupid fluttery thing it always did whenever he walked in. Stu Macher stepped inside, tall, messy-haired, wearing that signature goofy grin like he owned the entire planet. His eyes scanned the store lazily until they landed on you and Sidney.
Sidney didn’t even try to hide her amusement.“Oh look,” she said sweetly, loud enough for him to hear, “there’s your boyfriend.”
Your face burned instantly.“Sidney!” you hissed, elbowing her hard. “Shut up. He’s dating Casey Becker, first of all. And second, he wouldn’t even notice me. I’m just… the girl who organizes the horror section.”
Sidney raised an eyebrow, still smiling like she knew something you didn’t. “Um… you didn’t hear? They broke up like two days ago.”
You froze mid-wipe, the rag hanging limp in your hand. “They… what?”
Before Sidney could answer, Stu’s loud voice cut through the store.
“Yo! Ladies! What’s good?” He strolled over, hands in his pockets, that chaotic energy radiating off him like usual. “Please tell me you guys finally got the new Nightmare on Elm Street in. I’ve been dying to rewatch it but was kidnapped by Randy like every good movie in here .”
His bright blue eyes flicked to you for a second longer than usual. Or maybe you were just imagining it. Probably imagining it.
You swallowed hard, trying to play it cool even though your stomach was doing Olympic-level gymnastics.
“Uh… yeah, it’s on the recently back shelf,” you managed, pointing vaguely behind him.
Stu grinned wider. “Sweet. Thanks, babe.”
Babe.
He said it so casually it made your brain short-circuit.
As he wandered off toward the shelves, Sidney leaned in close and whispered: “See? This is exactly why I’m playing matchmaker. You two are exactly the same brand of weird. Just wait.”
You groaned and hid your burning face behind the rag.“Sidney, I swear to God…”
You stood there frozen behind the counter, rag still in your hand, mind spinning after what Sidney had just dropped on you.
They broke up? Stu and Casey actually broke up?
Your brain immediately started playing dangerous little scenarios. What if Sidney was right? What if… no. You shook your head. Stu Macher was still way out of your league. Popular, loud, ridiculously cute Stu who probably only saw you as “the nice girl who works at the video store.” Nothing more.
You were so deep in your daydream that you didn’t even notice him coming back until a tape case landed on the counter with a loud thump.
“Yo, this tape is broken,” Stu said, leaning on the counter with that signature crooked grin.
You blinked, snapping out of it. “Huh?”
“Yeah, I opened it and instead of Nightmare on Elm Street there’s some Thai porno inside. Wild, right?” His eyes sparkled with pure mischief.
You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “I doubt Randy returned a Thai porno instead of Nightmare on Elm Street, Stu.”
He shrugged dramatically. “Hey, it’s a possibility! Guy’s been weird lately.”
You were about to reply when he suddenly leaned in closer, voice dropping into that playful tone that made your knees weak.
“But honestly? I mostly came back ‘cause I heard Sidney say I’m your boyfriend.” He tilted his head, grinning. “I didn’t know we’d been dating this whole time. Why didn’t you tell me, babe? That was rude”
Before you could even process, Stu gently took your hand and pressed a soft, dramatic kiss to the back of it, looking up at you through his messy hair with fake-serious heartthrob eyes.
Your face went nuclear. “I’m going to cut Sidney’s tongue out,” you muttered, mortified but unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.
Stu let out a bright laugh, still holding your hand.“I adore that homicidal impulse. Super hot.”
He finally let go (reluctantly) and straightened up, though his grin stayed firmly in place.
“Alright, real talk though — I actually came to ask for a movie recommendation. Billy wants Nightmare on Elm Street but he’s banned from here… thanks to you, by the way.” He pointed at you playfully. “And because the idiot didn’t return Back to the Future on time. So hook me up with something good. Something we could maybe… watch together?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
You stared at him, heart hammering so loud you were sure the whole store could hear it. Stu was still leaning on the counter, looking way too pleased with himself after that hand kiss.“Wait… are you asking me out on a date?” you asked, voice coming out higher than you intended.
Stu blinked once, then his grin stretched even wider, all teeth and playful energy.“Nah, not exactly,” he said casually, tapping the counter with his fingers. “I’m just saying you should recommend me a movie so we can watch it together at my house.” He shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s just a date, no going out. ‘Cause we’re not going out… we’re staying at my house.”
He said it so smoothly, so matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t just flipped your entire nervous system upside down. His blue eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting, that mischievous sparkle making it impossible to tell if he was joking or half-serious.
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.“So… you want me to come to your house… to watch a movie… and you’re calling that a date?” you clarified, cheeks burning.
“Exactly!” Stu pointed at you like you’d just solved a puzzle. “See? You get me. No pressure, no fancy dinner, no parents around… just you, me, a killer movie, and probably way too much popcorn. What do you say?”
He tilted his head, giving you that puppy-dog look mixed with his usual chaotic charm. For a second he almost looked nervous under all the confidence — or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Your brain was screaming. This can’t be real. Stu Macher is asking you (sort of) on a not-going-out date.
You bit your lip, trying to play it cool even though your heart was doing cartwheels. Stu was still waiting for your answer with that ridiculous hopeful grin. “Okay… how about Possession?” you suggested, voice a little shy. “The one with Isabelle Adjani. It’s from 1981. Super intense, weird as hell, and kinda underrated.”
Stu’s eyes went wide like you’d just told him the meaning of life. “Wow. Not only do you have my full respect for picking an underrated gem… but a ‘80s horror film? That’s connoisseur level right there.” He placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “It’s not like I would’ve canceled if you picked something from the ‘70s or even Chucky, I’m not that pretentious… but damn. You got me on my knees.”
And then, without warning, Stu Macher actually dropped to one knee right there in the middle of the video store, looking up at you like you were some kind of goddess.
You couldn’t help it — you burst into giggles, covering your mouth with both hands. He was so expressive, so extra, so completely ridiculous… and somehow exactly what you wished you could be if you weren’t so painfully shy.
“Stu, get up!” you laughed, face burning bright red.
He stayed down for a second longer, grinning up at you.
You shrugged, still giggling. “I just know a lot about movies because… well, it’s my job. And when the store’s empty I usually sneak into the backroom and watch whatever I want. Last weekend I watched Cannibal Holocaust back there.”
Stu’s jaw dropped. He dramatically clutched his chest with both hands.“Marry me. Please. Right now. You’re a diamond in the rough. Marry me, I’m serious.”
Stu stayed on one knee for a dramatic second longer before standing up, brushing off his jeans with a sheepish but still playful grin.
“Okay, maybe the marriage proposal was a little sudden,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s only fair, right? I only found out we were already dating because Sidney announced it.” He leaned on the counter again, eyes soft but sparkling. “But for real… would you wanna watch the movie with me? Please?”
You couldn’t hold back the giggles anymore. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He was ridiculous… and you loved it. “Yeah,” you said softly, still laughing. “I’d like that.”
Stu’s whole face lit up like a kid on Christmas. “YES!” he shouted at the top of his lungs in the middle of the store. “She said yes! She said YES!”
He immediately started doing the most ridiculous victory dance you’d ever seen — flailing arms, shaking hips, spinning around like an idiot while knocking into a display of horror movie standees. One of the Cardboard Freddys almost fell over.
You were giggling so hard you had to hold onto the counter for support, face completely flushed. “Stu— oh my god, stop—”
“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE?!” Your boss, Mr. Johnson, stormed out from the back room, red-faced and furious. “Get back to work! This is a video store, not a damn circus!”
Stu instantly flipped him off behind his back while still grinning at you. Then he leaned in super close, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper:“Just ‘cause of that, I’m stealing the movie.”
“No!” you whispered back, still laughing. “They’ll deduct it from my paycheck!”
Stu gasped like that was the worst news ever. “Well then… I guess I’ll just have to steal a kiss instead.”
Before you could even react, he cupped your face with both hands and leaned over the counter, planting a quick but warm kiss right on your lips. It was playful, a little clumsy, and tasted like cherry soda and pure trouble.
When he pulled back, he was smirking like he’d just won the lottery.“See you tonight, babe.”
The second Stu walked out the door (still doing a little happy dance on his way to his car), you spun around so fast you nearly knocked over a stack of tapes.
“Sidney,” you whispered, voice shaky with disbelief, “please tell me all of that was real and I didn’t just hallucinate the last ten minutes.”
Sidney came out from behind the horror aisle with the biggest, most satisfied smirk you’d ever seen on her face. She looked way too proud of herself.
“Well…” she started, trying (and failing) to look innocent, “maybe it slipped out that I told Billy my best friend is head-over-heels in love with his best friend… and he told Stu. So… I guess you’re welcome?”
She reached over and gave your shoulder a gentle, supportive pat like she’d just fixed your entire life.
Your mouth fell open. “Sidney Prescott!”
“What!” she laughed, raising her hands. “You two have been staring at each other for months like lovesick puppies. Someone had to do something! And honestly? After watching Stu drop to one knee and then steal a kiss like that… I think my work here is done.”
You covered your burning face with both hands, peeking at her through your fingers.“I can’t believe you. I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die before I even get to his house tonight.”
Sidney grinned and bumped your hip with hers.
“You’re welcome, by the way. Now stop panicking and go pick out a cute outfit after your shift. Stu’s house, movie night, and Possession? This is straight out of a rom-com. My best friend is finally getting her moment.”
You groaned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. Your stomach was doing flips just thinking about it.
i’m like deathly sick rn so i’m so sorry that i haven’t got fics out 😭