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mrsaltieri-real · 10 months

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Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Mickey Altieri x Reader fic where the reader is his girlfriend and at the finale Mrs. Loomis shoots the reader and Mickey goes absolutely nuts. You chose the ending :)

Oh my god I loveeeeee this! Absolutely!

I have a really long (like 5k words) Mickey fic I’ll be posting asap but I saw this request an absolutely had to do it, such a good idea!

I got excited and wrote it fairly quickly but I hope you still love it!!

Til’ Death (Mickey Altieri x Fem!Reader)

Warning/s: language, blood, gore, character death (reader dies whoops), betrayal, pure angst. There’s nothing happy here) etc.

I changed a lot from the ending of Scream 2 to make this work. Hope you enjoy!

“Told you I had a partner, Sid,” he looked almost unrecognisable to her as he spoke, teeth glinting menacingly in the bright light. Gone was the quirky, funny guy she’d let herself become friends with. It was almost as though he was a completely different person. The person that had killed Derek, killed Hallie. Killed all of those innocent people, “surprise cameo just for you.”

Sidney let out a small whimper as she heard the stage door behind her open and Gale stumbled in, looking completely stunned.

“Gale.” Sidney said, feeling the anger inside of her begin to bubble. But Gale shook her head, eyes flickering to Mickey as the door opened again and the second killer walked through the doors, a gun in one hand and your hair gripped between her bony fingers in the other, dragging you beside her.

Mickey’s gleeful expression faltered as he took you in. Your eyes met his and you let out a small gasp of horror, physically trying to recoil away before the woman sharply tugged you forward causing a small yelp to fall through your lips as she practically threw you beside Gale who quickly took your arm, helping you regain your balance. Your eyes seemed to be glued to Mickey’s ruined face, looking as though he was surprised to see you come through those doors. He looked almost unrecognisable, a bleeding gash on his forehead and a bright red slash from just above his eyebrow down to his cheek.

“Mickey?” You whispered in disbelief.

Mickey didn’t speak, but his mouth opened and closed as though he were trying but just couldn’t find his voice.

“Mrs Loomis?” Sidney said, voice laced with confusion.

“What?” Gale whispered, turning around to look at the woman. “Billy’s mother? That’s not possible, I’ve seen pictures.”

You were too focused on Mickey to listen to the three of them, tears welling in your eyes as realisation seemed to hit you over and over again, feeling like a repetitive kick to the gut. Your boyfriend, your Mickey, was the killer.

Mickey hadn’t moved since Nancy had dragged you through the door but now his eyes shifted agonisingly from you and moved to her. The way he looked at her was something you’d never seen before. Pure, unfiltered rage and disgust.

“Nancy,” he suddenly growled from between his teeth, tearing her away from her monologue. The woman’s eyes flitted to Mickey and she tilted her head at him. “I told you she isn’t part of it.”

“Oh, Mickey,” Nancy tutted, shaking her head, “you knew this had to be done. You just did. It’s not like you really cared about her, I mean, just tell her your motive for god's sake.” The woman laughed, stepping forward again so she was right in front of you. Gale instinctively took a step back so she was beside Sidney and Mickey had slowly moved closer, still a fair distance behind the women as his eyes never left Nancy as she moved, finger hovering over the trigger of his gun so he was ready just in case. “You want to tell her or shall I?”

Mickey ground his teeth together, trying not to lose his temper. He needed to time this right. He could give less of a fuck about Sidney or Gale but you… he needed you.

It had started out as you simply being a pawn in the game to get close to Sidney but much to his own surprise, he’d really fallen for you. There was something about you, the way you spoke to him and touched him as though he was the only man in the world for you, with so much undiluted affection it made his head spin. It had killed him to keep this a secret from you but he knew that when he succeeded in his trial, not only would he be famous but you would be too. He wanted you to be there with him, walking out of there a free man. He got the fame, he got the girl. But in the meantime, he couldn’t risk you getting spooked and running away to tell anybody.

“Nancy.” Mickey's voice was ice cold and menacing, eyes flickering down to you and back to her. “She has nothing to do with this.” He repeated, his tone even harder than before.

“She has everything to do with this.” Nancy snapped, making you jump and step back. You felt Sidney’s comforting hand touch your back and you glanced around at her. She looked anxious, but it wasn’t for herself. It was for you.

“This girl,” she spat the word as if just saying it disgusted her down to her very core as she looked you up and down, “was nothing more than a distraction. You could’ve been so much better, Mickey. She held you back from reaching your full potential and you know it.”

Mickey scoffed at her before looking down at you.

“Baby?”

You turned to look at him, shaking your head. “Why?” You whispered, taking a small, hesitant step toward him. “Why would you do this to her?”

Mickey’s eyes flickered from you, to Sidney and back to you.

“Mickey isn’t who you thought he was.” Nancy spoke up, trying to get your attention but your eyes didn’t move from Mickey as she spoke. “There’s only an estimated 97 active serial killers in the country today, so Mickey here was quite a find. He just needed a little guidance and nurturing ....”

“As only a mother can do.” Sidney finished, expression unreadable.

“None of that matters now.” Mickey snapped suddenly, dragging everyone’s attention back to him. “You crossed a line by getting her involved, Nancy.” Mickey looked pointedly at you and back to her, moving forward a few more steps. “That was my one fucking condition and what do you do? You fuck me over? Me?” Mickey’s voice slowly raised until he was practically screaming at Nancy but she remained unphased, looking at him with an expression that seemed almost amused.

“Oh, Mickey.” Nancy sighed, shaking her head as if what she was about to say saddened her. “If only you left the poor girl alone then I wouldn’t have had to do this. You really only have yourself to blame.”

You heard a deafening bang and then a scream that didn’t come from you but from one of the girls beside you and for a brief second, you were confused as to why everyone was looking at you, Sidney and Gale in horror and Nancy with an almost cocky indifference as you heard a blood curdling scream coming from Mickey’s direction.

Then you felt it.

You let out a small, wheezing gasp as your hands clutched your torso, looking down at the thick scarlett blood seeping out from between your fingers and staining the ground beneath you. The pain was excruciating, like somebody had reached inside of you and cut open your lung with a thousand razor blades. You felt your knees buckle as you let out a cough, blood spraying out of your mouth as you crumpled to the ground, still clutching your stomach.

Mickey was across the stage before Nancy could even look up from you, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her into one of the prop pillars. Your eyes were blurry as you felt a Sidney drop to her knees beside you, Gale close behind her and you heard a sob fall from your best friend's lips as her hands pressed over yours, trying to keep pressure on your gushing wound. The metallic smell filled your nose and you let out a small whimper, your other hand reaching to clasp over Sidney’s.

“I- I’m sorry, S-Sid.” You whispered, choking over your words as blood filled your mouth. Sidney shook her head at you, tears spilling down her face. “It’s not your fault.” She assured you, free hand smoothing over your clammy forehead.

Your eyes dragged to the sound of choking, and you watched with unfocused eyes as Mickey held Mrs Loomis by her throat, the gun in her hand falling to the floor as she gasped and struggled, trying to pry Mickey’s strong hands off of her, but her strength was nothing compared to his. The white hot rage fueled him on as he dropped her to the ground, reaching for the knife in his belt and straddling her before she could attempt to scramble away, snarling like some kind of sadistic monster as he brought the blade down to her throat, stabbing her relentlessly over and over again until you heard a gargle and a burst of air escaping the woman’s mouth.

Sidney looked at you desperately and you knew what she was wordlessly asking. You nodded weakly, eyes flickering to Nancy Loomis’ discarded gun a mere couple of feet away. Sidney glanced at Gale, giving her a small nod and Gale moved quietly toward the gun, trying to prevent Mickey from seeing her.

You felt your eyes flutter a little as you coughed again, feeling the blood dribbling down your face. It didn’t hurt anymore. A numb black cloud seemed to have taken over your entire body. You welcomed the darkness, knowing on the other side there’d be no pain, no Ghostface, no betrayal.

No Mickey.

#i love writing angst #it’s so fucking fun idc #no but fr #obsessed with this req #scream #please send me more Mickey reqs #mickey altieri x reader #also some others #mickey altieri #mickey altieri x you #scream 2 #timothy olyphant #Mickey Altieri angst

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florrysgf · 1 year

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NOT PART OF THE PLAN! stu macher x fem!reader

SUMMARY: in which you discover your boyfriend, stu is hiding a dark secret, which leads to you crumbling his and billy’s plan

WARNINGS: swearing, mentions of drugging, manipulation, blood, murder, mentions of death, gunshots, stabbing, mentions of vomit

WORD COUNT: 1.9k +

You muttered a low “Fuck,” under your breath as you forced open your eyes. Your eyelids were heavy. You struggled as you lifted your head up from the pillow, it felt as though it weighed a ton. It took a couple of seconds for your eyes to adjust to the bright light, and for you to realise where you were. The digital clock on the bedside table was the first thing to catch your eye. Shit, how much did you drink? It was past 1AM, and Stu was nowhere to be seen.

You internally scratched your brain for any recollection of the previous night. You remember drinking, a lot, which you presumed caused you to pass out in Stu’s bedroom. But what confused you the most was the fact that Stu wasn’t lying beside you. There was no way the party was still going on. There was a curfew in place, and you distinctly remember having to drag a girl out of the house by her hair because she was so drunk.

You forced yourself up out of the bed and trailed down the hall to Mr and Mrs Macher’s bedroom, where you hoped to find your boyfriend. Instead, when you opened the door, you were met with a rather stomach-churning sight. You let out a gasp, a peculiar feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. Blood. Everywhere. Up the walls, on the floor, splattered across the bed.

“Oh my god. No, no, no.” You repeated to yourself, immediately rushing to sprint down the staircase. If you ran any faster, you’d go flying.

Just as reached the bottom of the staircase, the scene infront of you stopped you in your tracks. Randy was lying unresponsive on the floor of the foyer, blood seeping out from his chest whilst a hysterical Sidney stood over him. By the door, you locked eyes with Billy, but this was not the same Billy you once knew. He stood smirking, scratching the side of his head with the barrel of Dewey’s gun. His white cotton shirt was soaked in blood, and the barbarous look in his eyes was haunting.

You felt sick to your stomach. Was it Billy all along? All this time, your best friend was the one you should’ve been scared of and you were blinded to it. “What the fuck is going on?” You croaked out.

“You know, Y/N. I always thought you were smarter than that.” Billy chuckled, referencing the gun in his hand, “C’mon. Put two and two together.”

You were trying to process too much at once, and it was beginning to get too much for you. The masked killer running around was right under your nose the entire time, and he just shot one of your best friends. Fuck! You trudged your way over to where Randy was lying. The carpet beneath him was quickly turning red with his blood, and his skin was growing more and more pale by the second.

“Is he dead?” Sidney asked between sobs.

You found his wrist, frantically searching for a pulse. You felt the tears prick in your eyes as you were unable to find one. Your emotions built up, a sudden wrath took hold of you, prompting you to pick up a vase that was placed on a table by the front door. You tipped the flowers out onto the floor and ran up behind Billy, smashing the ornament over his head. “You sick fucking bastard!” You cried.

The brunette boy screamed out, using his free hand to grasp hold of your ankle, dragging you down to the floor with him. You whined, trying to wriggle out of his grip, but it was no use.

Instead, you used your right leg to kick him the torso, causing the gun to fly from his hand. A small, yet determined smirk formed on your face as you extended your arm out the grab the weapon, at the hope of freeing yourself. You were so close. Just a few inches fur—

“Bitch.” The Loomis boy spat, stomping his foot on your wrist, stopping you from reaching the gun and causing you to yelp out in pain.

You were forced to put all of the pressure on your other arm as you forced yourself to stand up and attempt to tackle him again. You lunged forward at him, only for the loud ring of his shotgun to fill your ears. You audibly gasped as the bullet tore through your skin, deflecting off your right rib. It felt like your insides were burning out. As though it were a reflex, your hands cupped the bullet hole in your side, your vision blurring at the sight of blood pouring out.

Stu came running into the room at the sound of the gunshot. The beige sweater you once bought him was now red with blood, the cotton torn to shreds. You didn’t even notice the kitchen knife in his hand.

He watched your body collapse against the wall, his face dropping instantly as he turned to the brunette, who looked just as shocked as you did. “What the fuck, man?!” He spat.

Sidney rushed to your side, tearing off her denim jacket and holding it to your gunshot wound, trying her best to apply pressure to it and stop the bleeding. She’d already lost Randy and Tatum, she sure as hell wasn’t going to lose you too.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Your boyfriend shrieked, staring aimlessly at Billy, who simply cocked his head to the side. “We had an agreement, man! You promised me she wouldn’t get hurt!”

The Loomis boy simply shrugged his shoulders. “She got too cocky.” He supposed, “I told you if she got in the way, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill her.”

“You promised, you dick.” Stu whined, dropping the knife to the floor and kneeling down beside you. His hand reached for yours, only for you to slap it away.

“Don’t touch me!” You snapped, causing him to tense up. More tears began to fall down your already stained cheeks. This couldn’t be happening. How could he do this to you? You grabbed the jacket from Sidney’s fingers, pressing it harder to your torso with a wince as you tried to stand up, using the wall to help you.

Once you were up, you stumbled into the kitchen with a stiff Stu traipsing behind you. Sidney tried to follow, but Billy was quick to grab hold of her, pulling her to his chest and holding the gun to her head.

“It was you. It was you all along. It was all you.” You muttered, mostly to yourself, pacing up and down the kitchen. Even saying it out loud, you couldn’t comprehend it. You turned around, gawking at him through glossy eyes, silently begging for an explanation.

Stu frowned, attempting to get closer to you again, but you took a step back, gripping the counter with your fingers. “Y/N, please. You don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it?” You scoffed, tightening your grip on the marble counter as the pain in your stomach started to become unbearable. You weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to stand. “Then explain it to me, Stu! Explain to me why you killed all those people! Casey, Tatum, Himbry, Randy - why’d you do it?”

The tall, blonde boy was unable to look you in the eye. God, he felt so ashamed. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, this wasn’t the plan. “It was Billy.” He mumbled, causing the brunette on the other side of the room to roll his eyes. “It was all Billy’s idea, he made me do it. I swear it, Y/N, please. You have to believe me.”

Peer pressure? Was that his motive? Did he really expect you to believe that? You knew Stu was easily led, he always had been, but now it all made sense. The sick jokes, the slasher references. There had always been something about him and you were too stupid to notice it. Either that or he was too good at hiding it.

His fear grew bigger as you stayed silent. It made him feel uneasy, he didn’t know what you were thinking and that terrified him. He had to get you on his side. He had to make you believe him. “He promised to leave you out of it if I helped him. That’s why we put you upstairs, to protect you!”

“Oh my god…” you whimpered, tears falling from your eyes as the realisation washed over you like a wave. The beers. Holy shit, the beers. “You— you drugged me.” You whispered somewhat sternly.

Stu’s eyes, too glistened with tears. He shook his head, neither conforming nor denying your statement. “To protect you!” He repeated, defending himself, his voice dropping down to the usual soft tone you knew and loved.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You gawked at him, eyes wide.

“You weren’t supposed to get hurt!” He whined, throwing his arms in the air, eyeing your gaping wound. “You weren’t supposed to get shot, that was not part of the plan. All I wanted was to keep you safe, that’s all I wanted! Fuck, if you had just stayed upstairs like you were suppo—”

You cut him off, almost laughing at what you’d just heard. “Are you saying this all my fault?!”

“Y/N, honey, I love you—”

“You’re psychotic.”

“It’s not my fault—”

“You’re a murderer!”

“I did it for you!”

You let out a groan, clutching your stomach with your arm. Your entire body ached, you were exhausted. “What do you expect me to do, Stu?” You sighed in defeat. “Drop everything and forgive you so we can run off into the sunset together? Act like none of this ever happened?”

Stu ran out of words. He couldn’t think of anything else to say to convince you to be on his side. He didn’t want to lose you, that was the last thing he wanted. You were all he had left. He could tell you were tired, tired of everything. You just wanted it all to stop. As harsh as it may sound, in that moment, you wished you never met him. The boy inched closer to you, holding his arms out. He just wanted to hug you, hold you in his arms and inhale your scent, without a care in the world.

You flinched as his fingertips brushed against your skin. You felt sick. In a panic, you reached out behind you, swiping a kitchen knife from the block on the counter, and holding it out infront of you.

Stu took a rapid step back, gawping at your shaking hand. “Baby, what are you doing?” He carefully asked.

“I said… don’t come… near me.” You whispered. Now Stu was scared. Not because of the knife in your hand, but because you were turning pale. You were sweating. Your entire body was trembling, relying completely on the counter behind you to stay upright.

“Y/N, baby, give me the knife.” The blonde pleaded, looking at you with begging eyes.

Suddenly your eyes felt incredibly heavy. You let out a gasp, your grip on the side loosening. The knife slipped out of your hand with a loud crash, and your body collapsed to the floor with it. “Shit! Shit!” The Macher boy cursed, kneeling down bedside you at an instant. He picked up your head, placing it on his lap. His stomach churned as you began to spit up blood.

Once he was preoccupied, searching frantically for something, anything, to stop the bleeding, using the little strength you had left, you reached for knife, grasping it and plunging it straight into his back. “Bastard.” You spluttered, dropping the knife to the floor, lying back down as your boyfriend face-planted the ground, the kitchen knife poking out of his back.

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river13245 · 3 months

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Scream

Navigation / Main Masterlist

Characters

Gale Weathers (none yet)

Dwight Riley (none yet)

Billy Loomis (none yet)

Stu Matcher (none yet)

Sidney Prescott (none yet)

Ghost Face (none yet)

Roman Bridger (none yet)

Mark Kincaid (none yet)

Mickey Altieri (none yet)

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bizarrescribblez · 1 year

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Information people probably don’t care about but i think it’s sad so take it i suppose anyways I like to imagine me and Mickey were dating prior/during scream 2 so that makes ghostface reveal even sadder .. I’d probably feel really stupid cuz of all the times Randy said “Um yea he’s creepy so he might be it” and me going “STOP BEING RUDE!!” but I’d also feel really 💔💔💔 because I do think he really did love me.. he was just clouded by his issues that ghostface/his motive stuff took over his mind.. (aka ghostbun destined to not be canon in main canon/cottonbun reigns supreme no matter what but it’s sad to think about…) (bonus sadness if I ended up doing the final blow @ Mickey rather than Sidney and Gale and it was mainly him wanting me to just :( get it over with so I didn’t have to see him die more brutally)

#IT JUST HIT ME LAST NIGHT GHOSTBUN HAS A LOT OF ANGST POTENTIAL #ah he would never hurt me so realistically the only ghostface who’s after me is miss loomis #🦔🐇 hey mickey #self shipping #self ship #self shipping community #self ship community #fictional other #f/o community #s/i x f/o #self insert x fictional other #mickey altieri #f it we Ball im using his tag

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luwritesomething · 1 year

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Billy Loomis x reader

Reader is having a horrible day and.billy comforts her

Billy Loomis x Reader: bad day (good life)

Warnings: Swearing (probably), bad day, billy climbing through your window

Tags: fluff, lowkey domestic, established relationship, a single kiss, bad day but good outcome, pre murders, ooc for billy (i don’t think so but he’s definitely not in his psychotic breakdown here)

Reader pronouns: Non stated (reader is referred to as ‘doll’ once).

Word count: 1109

Summary: Reader had a bad day, but good thing Billy boy is there to save the day.

Author’s note: i love him your honor :’) jesus christ it literally makes NO SENSE how much i love this man. please, keep the billy requests coming, i love writing for him!!!! pre murders, during murders, post murders, fluff, angst, you name it!!! i’ll write anything for him at this point <3 thank you for requesting @manyfandomsfanvergent, i loved writing this one and i really appreciate people sending requests :)

criticism, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! requests are open, especially for scream! hit that anon button and tell me your ideas. in the scream fandom, i write for billy loomis, stu macher, mickey altieri, chad meeks-martin, mindy meeks-martin, tara carpenter, anika kayoko, laura crane

The only light in the room was the one that came from the little lamp by your nightstand, barely enough to make certain corners of the bedroom visible enough. A soft but chill end-of-summer breath sneaked through the slightly open window, chilling the room down and forcing you to cover even better with your bed’s covers, since you had no energy to get up and close it.

The comforting covers’ weight wasn’t enough that day to make you feel anything different than the despair that had attacked your day since the moment you had woken up, and all you wanted was to fall asleep and face a new, better morning. But of course, nothing could go correctly, and your mind wouldn’t stop spinning and spiraling, keeping you wide awake instead of letting you drift into a sweet dream. Just great.

Billy hadn’t really noticed you were having a bad day, you had played it cool enough during your time together at school for his careful eye not to catch anything out of character, so his visit wasn’t really justified apart from wanting to get out of his house and possibly spend more time with you. When he saw that your window was open, he didn’t even try to warn you of his arrival, instead choosing to climb like he was already used to — he had probably used the door to your house once, that time he had come to check how you were feeling during that day you had skipped class because of being sick.

His eyes scanned the room from outside before he finally lifted himself with the help of his arms and slid into your bedroom, not used to so much darkness. Billy was surprised to not see you sitting on your desk, doing the English essay you had due tomorrow — he knew you hadn’t started because you had mentioned during lunch while you talked with Sidney. His eyebrows raised slightly when he saw you coddled on bed, covers and sheets almost completely covering your head.

“Everything alright, doll?”

His presence and voice triggered you so badly — given that, during your laments, you hadn’t heard him, especially considering how stealthy he always tried to be —, that you sat up, letting the covers fall around you as your heart beated desperately against your chest. You relaxed when you saw it was just Billy, but your heart continued to furiously attempt to break out from its place.

“Jesus, Billy, don’t ever scare me like that.” You muttered rather quickly, and then you let yourself go back to your previous position in bed. Billy smiled to himself as he made his way to your bed, slowly. You felt the mattress dip down when he sat by the end of it, and you sighed. “It’s just… a bad day.”

Billy looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “Hm?”

You gave in, letting your voice come out all muffled as you pressed your face against the pillow. “Terrible, actually.”

“Oh, no.” He chuckled, and you knew he wasn’t laughing at you when his weight shifted and he crawled to your side, mindful of not letting his boots touch your clean covers. When you moved your face away from the pillow, you saw his face just some inches away from yours, boring his eyes into yours. “What are we gonna do about that?”

A soft smile blossomed in your lips while his hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb lovingly brushing against your skin. “Come cuddle?” You whispered hopefully.

Billy just hummed, and the two seconds you had to wait for him to get rid of his boots was excruciating. Once he was barefoot, he slid next to you under the covers, his arms coming to surround you and press you closely against him — you wished more people knew this version of him. He looked gloomy and even scary from the outside, but his sweetness was betrayed by his eyes and his actions, not only with you, but with those he loved.

“There.” He said softly when your head came to rest in his chest. His heartbeat was slow, grounding, comforting, but most of all, familiar. “I missed you.”

You dismissed the fact you had seen each other throughout most of the whole day, and instead tried your best to lift your gaze to him. “Did you really?”

“Mhm.” Billy hummed softly, his fingers rubbing circles against your arm. “Thought about you the whole day. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Your day?”

“Oh.” Your head instantly started to shake, a silent no that was quickly followed by, “Not really.”

You only knew he had acknowledged that because of the way he hummed, the vibrations reverberating against your head pressed to his chest. It was a warm feeling, fuzzy, that made you smile softly. You inhaled his scent slowly, letting his perfume surround you in that comfort your covers hadn’t been able to give you.

“You’re comfortable.” You muttered after some seconds, hiding your smile.

Billy couldn’t help but snort. “You’re not using me as a pillow.”

“I already am.”

“But you’re easy to shove.”

Laughter spilled from your mouth, and your arms came to surround his waist, under all the sheets covering you. “No!”

With a soft smile you didn’t see, Billy heard your laughter continue and eventually die, leaving just the trace of a genuine smile in your pretty face. His breath could have caught in his throat if this had been the first time he had ever seen you like this, but instead, he recognized the sight and the familiarity it brought him almost overwhelmed him.

“You laughed.” He said, after some minutes.

You frowned slightly. “Uh?”

“I made you laugh.” Billy pointed out, and you could hear the boyish grin in his lips. “Even when you were sulking so badly.”

“Get over it.” You said with a roll of your eyes, but not moving an inch from him. “It was a bad day, not a bad life.”

Billy just shook his head, his smile growing with every passing second, and holding you impossibly closer to him. You could get used to this, you thought, as you closed your eyes to focus on the heartbeat beating happily because of you. You’ve gotten used to this, you realized when Billy’s hand lifted your head with just tapping your chin, getting you to look at him with stars in your eyes that he certainly reciprocated.

“Kiss me?” You muttered, like asking for a promise.

He smiled, watching you for a few seconds before he finally leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips. It was a promise.

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bisexual-horror-fan · 8 months

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I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September.

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse?

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.”

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?”

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to.

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious.

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that.

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.”

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?”

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.”

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.”

He was such an insufferable asshole.

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.”

He lets you go.

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?”

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.”

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?”

He knew just how to really fucking bother you.

You know how to bother him, too.

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.”

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?”

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.”

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?”

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?”

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!”

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!”

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other.

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.”

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?”

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

“Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.”

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.”

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering.

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.”

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.” Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-”

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.”

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?”

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy.

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.”

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree.

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that.

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does.

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal.

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.”

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing.

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would.

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that.

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain.

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.”

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.”

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks.

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it.

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away.

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified.

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex.

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.”

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.”

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups.

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better.

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.”

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted.

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do.

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again.

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure.

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared.

There is a moment that you keep coming back to.

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it.

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.”

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly.

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength.

You move.

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!”

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage.

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.”

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red.

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care.

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least.

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him.

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run.

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who.

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight.

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet.

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand.

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you.

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

#Mickey Altieri X reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE #HAVE IT #ENJOY IT #FUCK #FINALLY #Been working on this one for a WHILE

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thefanficmonster · 2 months

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Scream Masterlist <3

*- Fluff

⨀ - Angst

Full-length Fics:

Old Friend (Sidney Prescott x Reader) *

Cracks (Gale Weathers x Dewey Riley) *⨀

My Hero (Dewey Riley & Reader) ⨀

Wooing Tactics (Poly!Ghostface x Reader) *

The One Flaw (Billy Loomis x Sidney Prescott) ⨀

Finer Things (Mickey Altieri x Reader) *

Good company for the end of the world (Billy Loomis x Sidney Prescott) ⨀

Wise Words (Sidney Prescott x Reader) *

Things Unsaid (Sidney Prescott x Reader) ⨀*

Headcanons:

Sidney Prescott x injured s/o ⨀*

Dating Randy Meeks *

Dewey x Sidney's older sister *

Gewey domestic fluff *

Friends since childhood (Dewey Riley & Reader) *

Sidney and her s/o being parents *

Gewey Valentine's Day headcanons *

Sidney x sick x/o headcanons *

Sidney Prescott Fluffy Headcanons *

Comforting Sidney after the Woodsboro Murders ⨀

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samcarpentersgirlfriend · 11 months

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I REMEMBER IT ALL TOO WELL || MICKEY ALTIERI X READER 𖤐₊˚.

summary: you can’t understand any of this - least at all how mickey could do this to you.

warnings: past relationship, dead / ghostface!mickey, angst, swearing

word count: 1k

a/n: okay this came to me at like 4am and I wanted to write it all before I lost all inspiration so sorry if it isn’t any good or has any errors (also I suck at titles so ignore that too thank you <3)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

A part of you still doesn’t believe it.

Because there’s no way in hell that Mickey - sweet, attentive Mickey, the boy you loved more than anything in this world, was the same person who had brutally murdered your classmates. And he’d enjoyed it, from what Sid had said.

She hasn’t told you anything directly - no, Sidney Prescott was much to good of a person to do that. You’d heard her describe the whole thing to the police whilst you yourself awaited questioning. They’d thought you were an accomplice, the Bonnie to his Clyde - and you couldn’t exactly blame them. Even you could admit it was all too convenient: you were still alive without so much as a scratch, a fellow film student and long-term partner of Mickey himself. If you were an outsider, you probably would’ve thought you were in on it too. Many still did - you didn’t miss the whispers and stares as you shuffled through the hallways.

Sidney - the one who arguably should’ve distrusted you the most - was surprisingly the one fighting your corner, claiming she could see how much you’d truly loved Mickey. That you were just as much as a victim in this as she was. You personally thought that was complete and utter bullshit, but you appreciate the sentiment nonetheless.

Some sick part of you envied Sidney and selfishly wished you were there to see Mickey unmask himself - at least then you’d have the chance to ask him all the questions you’d never get the chance to now. Because Mickey- your Mickey - was dead, his bullet-ridden corpse lying God knows where. You hated yourself for mourning his death, what with all the pain he had caused. He’d killed your friends, he’d killed good people, and you should hate him. You should be glad that he’s dead.

But how could you be when he’d had the biggest heart you’d ever known, determined to make you smile even in the darkest of times? How could you hate the boy who promised you the world, who looked at you like you were the most valuable treasure there ever was? How could you pretend like he didn’t kiss you like you were oxygen itself and he was positively drowning without you, like he didn’t make you feel safe and excited and absolutely adored all at once?

No. The Mickey you loved couldn’t possibly be the killer. He was funny and carefree and gentle, not sadistic in the slightest. It just doesn’t make sense. In your mind, they were two different people - your beloved boyfriend and the twisted murderer. There was no overlap, there couldn’t be. You know it’s stupid; Mickey didn’t magically transform into this - this monster overnight. He was going on dates with you by day and throwing girls off of balconies by night, leading a complete double life at once. You loathed yourself for not seeing it. You didn’t know what signs to look out for when your boyfriend was a homicidal psychopath, but you were sure that you must’ve missed a dozen. You were too caught up in the fairytale that was you and Mickey, too caught up in perfect pictures of shared apartments and romantic getaways.

Maybe if you hadn’t been such a fool, you could’ve stopped this whole mess sooner. You could’ve turned Mickey in to the police, and he wouldn’t have been a threat to anyone.

No. Deep down, you know that isn’t true.

Mickey was so convincing, so charming, that you would’ve done anything for him. He would only have to ask with that perfect fucking smile of his and you would lie for him. Protect him. He’d spin a story about how he was doing this for the right reasons, doing this for you, and you’d capitulate. You had no idea how he did it, but Mickey just had something about him that made it easy to see things his way. something that made you willing to twist your morals just enough in the wrong direction. You despise that fact, and you’re suddenly grateful that he didn’t ask you to cover for him - shit, ask you to join him - because at least now you can pretend that you know for certain your answer would be a resounding “go to hell.”

You wonder if everything you knew was a lie. It had to be, right? Mickey must’ve been using you, there was no other explanation for it. Except for the fact that you were truly of no use to him. He didn’t need you to get close to Sidney - you’d met her through him to begin with. You weren’t some genius mastermind he could use to help with his plans, and he hadn’t even used you as an alibi. Maybe you were just a bit of fun on the side, a silly little plaything to keep him occupied whilst he wasn’t actively on his murder spree.

But it felt all too real. You think back to the times you were laying on Mickey’s chest, watching bad action movies whilst he picked them apart the entire time. The times he’d stayed up all night to help you with some last minute essay you’d had due the next day. What reason would he have to to do all of that?

Unless he truly did love you. That somehow is even worse. It means that adored you as much as he claimed he did yet he still did what he did; he threw your entire relationship away over some stupid fucking trial. The infamy obviously meant more to him than you ever did.

Everything about this is so damn unfair. You want to scream. You want to sink to your knees and sob. You want to bring Mickey back to life so you can kill him all over again yourself. You want him to hold you close and whisper into your ear that it’s all going to be okay.

You want your boyfriend back.

#scream x reader #scream x you #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri x y/n #mickey altieri x you #scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri #scream 2 x reader #scream imagine #timothy olyphant #timothy olyphant x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

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Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

♡ 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇 ➳ 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕 ❥ 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 ❦ 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 ❥♡

summary - mickey fucks you instead of answering your questions

೫˚🖤❀ *ૢ🥀೫˚🌑

#imyourbratzdollwork #imyourbratzdollmasterlist #mickey altieri fic #mickey altieri angst #mickey altieri fluff #mickey altieri fanfiction #mickey altieri #mickey altieri imagine #mickey altieri x you #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri fanfic #mickey altieri imagines #mickey altieri au #timothy olyphant fanfiction #timothy olyphant x reader

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mrsaltieri-real · 4 months

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His Perfect Victim (Mickey Altieri X OC!Dahlia Levine)

Chapter Seventeen: Three Little Words

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: language, angst, smut, first time, fingering, multiple orgasm, teasing, praise, dirty talk, riding, spit, biting, nipple play, arguing, gaslighting, a little fluff.

A/N: WE’RE FINALLY HERE FOLKS! The long awaited smut chapter, but with a twist at the end. This one has feeling, I felt so much writing it. Next few chapters are going to be rather intense, after that it’s borderline smut and then we’re pretty much at the end! Can’t believe how fast this is going but it’s just so much fun! Let me know what you guys think and I hope you enjoy!

Thank you to @bisexual-horror-fan for editing and beta reading. You’re really my rock and are helping me get through this so much! I wouldn’t have gotten this far if it wasn’t for your constant encouragement and help!

@lizey-thornberry

(Here’s a moodboard for Dahlia I made a while back that I completely forgot about!)

Campus was almost completely deserted, most people had gone to visit their families at the end of the semester. Randy offered again for me to go with him, saying his parents wouldn’t mind if I wanted to stay, but I told him no, there were things I needed to sort out here.

I’d been avoiding Mickey like he was the fucking plague, and he’d noticed fairly quickly.

I’d cancel plans, tell him I was under the weather, which wasn’t really a lie. Not only that, but I felt sick to my fucking stomach every time I thought about talking to him, having to undoubtedly lie to his face.

Lexi’s words played on my mind nonstop. “He isn't okay, there’s something dark about him, be careful.” It was driving me crazy. When I did see him, I found myself cautious and on edge for weeks. The sinking feeling was coming back and this time, it was more painful than ever.

The feeling that something bad was coming was one I could not shake. Every time he looked at me, I could tell he knew something was wrong, and I knew it bothered him that whenever he asked I would tell him it was nothing, I was just tired, I’d just had a long and busy day. It didn’t help that the few weeks till the next semester had raced to an end, and I’d hardly spoken to him.

About a month into break, my door was practically being hammered off its hinges and I groaned, mumbling out, “Fuck off,” at the noise, pulling my blanket over my head, but it didn’t stop, just grew angrier and more persistent. I forced myself out of bed and dragged myself to the door, pulling it open ready to shout at whoever it was.

Mickey looked furious. Angrier than I’d ever seen him before.

“So, you met Lexi?” He all but spat the words, glaring down at me.

I froze, still half asleep and a little dazed. His eyes were on fire, his hand gripping the door frame so hard it’s a wonder he didn’t splinter the wood.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Dahlia.” His voice was sharp, instantly waking me up, and I took him in properly. I’d never seen this in him before. His eyes were burning, his jaw set rigid and tight as his stare blazed down at me. Mickey was always tall, but now it felt he was towering ten feet above me, and it took everything inside of me to not cower away like a kicked dog.

How the hell could he possibly know?

I asked him as much, voice small and my eyes refusing to meet him. He held a small piece of paper up to me as he walked past me into my dorm before snatching it away before I could see what it said.

“I got a note under my door this morning. What the hell is wrong with you?”

This caught my attention. My head snapped in his direction and I felt myself getting angry with him. “What’s wrong with me? Maybe I should be the one asking you that.”

He scoffed, turning on his heel to face me. “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, glaring back at him with my arms tightly crossed across my chest.

“Oh, did she tell you some things about me? What an awful, awful person I am? How much I ruined her life? Did it never occur to you that she’s nothing more than a spiteful bitch who wants nothing more than to ruin whatever happiness I have because I couldn’t find it with her?” I could see his anger gradually begin to fade and twist into something different, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“She just…” I trailed off. Looking at him now, looking at Mickey, made me feel different. He looked almost sad, but that sadness was something I’d later find out to be nothing but a show. He knew he was a bad person, and he knew what he’d done. “-told me to be careful.”

His brow furrowed in confusion before he sighed, walking past me and sitting down on my bed, putting his head in his hands. “Right. I’m sure she did.”

Something in my mind told me to protect her, not tell him what was really said. That thought came too late, but I decided to attempt altering the truth. Not just for Lexi, not just for me, but for him too. I had to do the one thing I hated doing most in the world. I had to lie.

“I didn’t listen to her.” I said as smoothly as I could. “I know you. You’re a good person, Mickey.”

“Why did she come? How did she find you?”

“I didn’t ask.” I lied again, moving to kneel in front of him. His hands were shaking, I took them gently in mine. He felt ice-cold and burning hot at the same time. “I just told her to leave.” I didn’t see the point in mentioning this Debbie person to him. What would it achieve? It would just give Mickey another person to be angry about, and seeing him angry sent a cold feeling of dread crawling across my skin.

“Fuck, you don’t actually expect me to believe that, do you? My ex-girlfriend knocks on your fucking door, and you just told her to leave? Don’t treat me like I’m that fucking stupid.”

The venom in his voice would have made me flinch a year ago. But now, it just pissed me off.

“Oh, right! Yes. My mistake, Mickey. I forgot everything fucking revolves around you! Jesus Christ, what the hell is your problem?” I shouted the words at him bitterly, moving to my feet. This time, I was looking down at him, my hands curled into fists and my nails biting into my palms.

“I fucking-“ Mickey cut himself off, and I could see in his face he was trying to search for the right words, “It wasn’t a good relationship, Dahlia. But I’m not that person anymore. So whether you talked to her or not, don’t tell me. I could give less of a shit. But if you did, that guy she told you about wasn’t me.”

I didn’t say anything. I crossed my arms across my chest, turning my head to focus my glare out of my window.

“What? What are you thinking?” He asked. I could feel him staring at the side of my face intently, but I ignored his gaze.

“That now you’re lying to me.”

I felt his eyes boring into me further, but I continued to ignore it, focusing on the soft waving of a tree branch outside instead. It kept me grounded and calm, making it easier to have this conversation with him.

“I have never hurt you, Dahlia.” His voice was too calm, it unsettled me.

“Yeah, you did. When I didn’t kiss you at that party, and you fucked that girl right in front of me-“

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He shouted this time, throwing his hands in the air, making me jump and my arms curl around myself, focusing more intently on the tree branch eyebrows creased with worry while I fought the urge to close my eyes and shy away from him.

“That was practically a year ago, Dahlia! We weren’t dating, fuck, we weren’t even friends!”

“I know but I- I fucking… Cared.” I struggled with my words, still not wanting to look at him. I knew if I did, I would break. “I wasn’t okay back then. In a lot of ways, I’m still not. You were the first real person I’d met here, and it just showed me that if I even upset you the slightest bit, you can just turn, Mickey! I’m terrified every single day that we’ll fight, and you’ll do something like that again! I wouldn’t be able to handle it, Mickey!”

“You’re… You’re scared of me?” His voice was smaller, pretty much unfamiliar. If he wasn’t sitting right in front of me, I would have assumed it wasn’t him speaking at all.

The words were hard to put together, they felt heavy and difficult on my tongue, but I told him with surprising clarity and confidence, “No, I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of the things you could do.”

“Dahlia, you’re talking like I cheated on you or something. I didn’t. Okay, I admit, I was trying to get a rise outta you and yes, I did just want to see how far I could push you but… Dahli, I don’t think you know just how much I care about you.”

His words were so intense, so real, I could feel tears stinging my eyes and threaten to spill. I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head and sniffled once. “Come here.” He said, voice softening.

“No.” I don’t say it with any conviction whatsoever.

He laughed once, standing up and walking to me. I felt his hand circle my wrist and pull me to his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist like a vice. I buried my face into his chest, fingers clinging to the soft material of his grey sweatshirt.

“You mean everything to me.” I mumbled into the material, unable to stop myself.

He pulled back just a touch to look down at my face, the smile I loved creeping onto his face. His eyes met mine and I could instantly tell he believed me.

“Really?” He asked. I could see the hint of hesitation in his eyes. It made me smile. I always saw Mickey as a confident person but maybe in his own way, he was insecure too. I watched the relief on his face as I nodded my head.

“I’m sorry for coming in like that. You just… You’ve hardly spoken to me in weeks, and when you do, it’s like your mind is somewhere else entirely. Then I found out about Lexi and I just.. just made an assumption. I’m sorry, baby.” He spoke softly, much more sweet, calm but not unjustly so. It fits the current moment much more.

The thing is, I wasn’t nearly as convincing as I thought. Mickey knew I was lying. I found out a few years later that Lexi Castro had been reported missing in mind to late 1997. The dates added up to when she’d come to Windsor and warned me off of Mickey, and it explained why I never heard from her again, especially after… Everything.

“It’s okay, baby.” My hand cupped his cheek, my thumb gently grazing under his eye. “Mickey, you know there isn’t anything you could do to scare me away, right?”

He scoffed, lips turning up a little for a second as he placed his hand over mine, our fingers twisting together as he pulled me back toward my bed and sat down. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

What surprised me is that I wasn’t trying to convince him of it. Regardless of what Lexi had told me, I wasn’t scared of him. Not my Mickey. His rapid change from furious to loving was enough to give anyone whiplash. Maybe I was still so broken inside I genuinely couldn’t tell that he wasn’t a good person. Or maybe I knew, but I simply didn’t care. One of the things I learned during my relationship with Mickey is that love can make you really fucking stupid.

“I’ve been thinking about Stu a lot lately.” I told him, trying to change the subject away from Lexi as swiftly as I could. “Wondering why he did what he did. Then I realized, he cared for Billy so much he would’ve and did anything for him, even the very worst thing you could possibly do.”

Mickey looked confused as I spoke, watching as I stood up and straddled him, my hands gently touching the base of his neck. “I couldn’t imagine caring about somebody like that, not before. Then I realized I would do anything for you.”

His face entirely softened, his finger grazing my healed over scar once before his hands settled on my waist.

“He told me once to wait for the right person because when I do, it’ll be worth it. I never thought I would meet anyone, that I was being stupid by putting it off.”

“Dahl, what are you-“ I placed my hand over his mouth quickly, shaking my head.

“I want to.” I insisted, taking my hand away from his mouth and pressing my lips against his instead.

I could feel his hesitation through his kiss, almost as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. His hands gripped my upper arms, keeping me at somewhat of a distance. “Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Depends on if it’s working.” I said with a half smile. I felt his grip relax, allowing me to pull myself closer to him, my hand locking behind his neck.

He really was beautiful. He seemed more keen now, hands gripping my ass and making me roll my hips down against him. The sensation made me let out a small moan into his mouth, which only prompted him to do it again. His lips were soft, careful. Too careful. I couldn’t help but think of how Lexi had described him. Intense, angry, violent. With how tender and gentle he was being, it was hard to imagine him being that way with anybody.

I needed this, I needed him. I pressed myself closer to him, fingers twisting in his hair and he chucked against my lips, hands sliding up my shirt and his fingers dancing across my back. So gentle. But I didn’t fucking want gentle.

“I’m not glass.” I mumbled, pulling back just slightly. He cocked an eyebrow at me, brown eyes curious before he said gently, “Dahli, it’s your first time. Don’t worry, I’ve got all the time in the world to fuck you like a whore.”

His words made me blush, which he relished deeply. He looked proud of himself, moving his fingers to my face to touch my pink cheeks. “Mm.” He murmured under his breath. I didn’t bother to ask him what.

I kissed him again, not pulling away this time. It was like I couldn’t.

My first time with Mickey was indescribable. It didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I had built up in my head over the years, but that was due to him. He was so careful and so gentle with me, but not because he thought I’d break. I was still prone to panic attacks, so when he looked into my eyes, when he told me that I was beautiful as he pulled me under him, he was all I could focus on. How he looked, how he smelt, how he felt.

His fingers worked over me for a while, his lips dancing from my lips to my cheeks to my throat as he prepared me. He smiled his dimpled smile as he touched my bare pussy, and I jolted as he made a comment about how ready I was for him that turned me on to no end. I was. I don’t know if the fight had simply turned me on, or if it all just genuinely felt right, but I didn’t care. I could feel him against my bare thigh, so hot and hard.

It just made me fucking hungry for him.

I tugged impatiently at his pants, making him scoff affectionately as he helped me tug them off. “Are you sure?” He asked me for the final time.

“I am so sure.” I said softly, moving my hand up to cup his cheek.

“How bad do you want it?” He asked. His fingers continued circling my clit, determined to make me as wet as possible. I writhed beneath him, pushing myself against the pads of his fingers pathetically, practically preening as I felt them plunge inside of me and begin to curl gently. “Tell me how bad you want it, Dahlia.”

“S-so bad. So fucking bad. Please…” I whined, I begged, already a squirming mess under his skilled hands. He removed his fingers from my hole, forcing them into my mouth and ordered me to, “Suck,” to which I obeyed, tasting myself and sucking my slickness off of his long fingers. He watched my face as I did, favouring my lips as I suckled and swirled my tongue around his digits, looking him in the eye.

“Mm. You taste good, don’t you, honey?” He asked, dragging his fingers away from my tongue to smear my own saliva and wetness across my lips and chin. I sucked in the air, unable to look away from his eyes.

“Not as good as you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes affectionately, pulling me under him more securely. He reached between our bodies, pumping his cock a few times before he settled it gently in my throbbing hole.

He pushed himself into me slowly, carefully watching my face as I flinched and adjusted myself, working past the initial uncomfortableness. I could see that his expression didn’t really change at my pain, more that he somewhat revelled in it, but I didn’t let my mind play on that. Once it subdued, it quickly started to feel good. Really fucking good. My eyes fluttered closed, and I arched my back off the bed as his hand slid down my body, his fingertips lingering for just a moment over my scar to toy with my clit as he carefully rolled his hips.

“So fucking tight, Jesus.” He groaned under his breath, his head dropping to kiss my shoulder. I gasped in response as his hips snapped a touch harder, his fingers adding more pressure onto my clit. His other hand was roaming, palming my bare tit and twisting my nipples gently. “This is the only cock you’re ever going to have, understand?” I moaned, nodding dumbly and tugged at his hair with my fingers. I needed more. I needed him to really fuck me.

He ducked his head, teeth sinking into my nipple sharply. I felt my body twitch, the feeling sending a shoot of arousal straight to my pussy as I gasped when he pulled away. I felt my cunt clench around him as I let out a whimper into his ear, my legs wrapping around his waist securely, pulling my body impossibly closer to his as I pushed myself against him, my nails digging into his toned back and making him groan softly and begin to fuck me a little harder, registering I was more comfortable.

I knew Mickey was good. Too good. We’d done pretty much everything else before, but this was something else entirely. So much more intimate, and I’d never felt closer to anybody in my life. I felt so beautifully full, I’d never felt this stretched to capacity and content before, like he was a missing piece of me, and he’d snapped the final part of the puzzle into place.

I felt complete.

He lifted his head to look at me, his hand moving to grip my hair tightly, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Such a good girl, aren’t you? Taking me so, so well in your nasty little virgin cunt.” He praised me, degraded me, bending to kiss my lips again, to which I eagerly returned. It was a mess of spit and tongues and teeth, moans and sighs, but I never wanted this to stop.

I couldn’t help myself, I splayed my hand on his chest, pushing him onto his back and straddling him, connecting my lips with his as soon as I was on top of him. It took him by surprise, a muffled laugh falling from him as he let out a soft grunt, his arms wrapping around my waist. His fingers dug into my hips before he dragged them to my ass, squeezing the flesh harshly as he began to slowly thrust up into me. I placed mine onto his shoulders, steadying myself on top of him. Fuck, I could really feel him like this. I tentatively ground my hips down, hearing and soaking in the gentle groans falling from his lips as he watched me on top of him before his eye fell to my face again.

I slid my hands to his chest, my nails digging into his soft skin as our movements synchronized. I could feel him throbbing, achingly hard inside of me as my cunt clenched around him, wanting nothing more than to feel him finally cum inside of me. He was like a drug, I couldn’t get enough of him.

Mickey easily switched me back beneath him again, pushing his hand on my inner thigh to already my legs wider for him. “This is for you, not for me.” He insisted as I opened my mouth to dispute the change. I shut my mouth, fingers trailing his jaw as I watched him work over me. From the stories I’d heard about him, I assumed for the longest time that although spectacular at fucking, he was always quite selfish. I wasn’t picking up on that at all.

His hipbone was rubbing against my clit and I could feel the burning sensation in my stomach begin to boil. It felt better than I could have imagined, the combination of my clit being stimulated at his cock making me clench around him with every push, every thrust sent me into an orgasm so intense, he had to pin my body down by my hip. My back arched off the bed as I cried out his name, teeth biting into the flesh of his shoulder, which made him curse softly and his cock twitch.

There wasn’t much talking, I think we were both too lost in the moment. He fucked me through my orgasm, his pace picking up considerably. I knew he was close, that he was holding out for me. He’d told me countless times that when he fucked me for the first time, he was going to ensure that I had, cum all over his cock more times than I could handle, and the thought had made me both embarrassed and unbearably horny. But I didn’t care, I wanted to feel him cum. I craved it intensely.

“Want you to cum.” I gasped out and Mickey looked down at me again, that devastating smile on his face mixed with nothing short of contempt.

“You do?” He asked, voice teasing and light, albeit a little shaky. He was holding back, not wanting to until he’d lived up to his promise. “Now? Why?”

“I want to feel it.” I could hear that my voice sounded a little whiny, but I didn’t care, desperately pulling my body as close to his as I could. At that point, he was practically lifting me up, my ass hardly touching the soft mattress. There was nothing I wanted more than to feel Mickey’s cum cost me from the inside, feel his hot mess completely claim me as his and his alone.

“Oh, you want to feel me cum inside you, is that it? Dirty bitch, you want me to mark my territory?” He bit down on my neck, making me hiss softly, the feeling sending a spasm of arousal to my already hungry cunt before his tongue lapped over the crescent teeth marks he left behind. “Mark my territory, hm?” His voice didn’t have any humour, it was dripping with arousal, just like his eyes. I couldn’t reply, I just mumbled something dumbly at him, focused on his words and now fucking good he was making me feel. When I opened my eyes, he was looking at me like I was a slut, a piece of meat. And I really fucking liked it.

That was until a few minutes later, when I said the most stupid thing you could possibly imagine.

I could feel his cock pulsing and throbbing erratically, could feel the now familiar butterflies begin to flutter in my stomach. I could feel that he was close, his breathing had become more unsteady, his hips began to stutter slightly and his grip on my waist became so tight I had no doubt it would leave bruises. He began fucking me slow and deep, his forehead pressed against mine and so completely connected with him being so passionate, it just felt right.

He moved to kiss me again, so gently and carefully, and when he pulled back I said those three little words. Those three stupid fucking words.

“I- I love you.” I moaned, surely enough, looking into his soft brown eyes.

And what did Mickey say? Absolutely nothing.

He acted as though he didn’t hear it, but I had no doubt that he did. He’d paused for a split second, not looking at me but more at the space above my head before his hand moved toward the back of my knee, pulling it up and sending a new sensation through my body as he began to touch a new place I didn’t know existed, the head of his cock pushing firmly on the spongy tissue again and again, building up a harder and faster rhythm than before, burying his face into my neck. Not only that, but he began kissing it gently as he rhythmically rolled his hips. As good as he felt, I could help a stray tear from falling as I registered what I’d said to him during the most vulnerable state I could have possibly been in, and the fact he couldn’t return it.

He fucked me, he made me cum again at the same time he did. The feeling of him filling me, coating my walls, branding me and his before I felt him leaking out of my cunt was hot, it was satisfying in a way I could begin to describe but at the same time, it didn’t feel right at all.

He didn’t say anything.

I felt stupid, unbelievably embarrassed. I could hardly look at him as he pulled out of me and fell onto his back with a sigh, his eyes focused on the ceiling. I just wrapped myself into my blanket, rolled onto my side and squeezed my eyes closed.

Why did I say it, why did I say it, why did I say it?

Of all times to tell someone you love them for the first time, I couldn’t have picked a worse moment.

“I, uh, I have to-“

“No, yeah. Go.” I managed to keep my voice even, surprising myself. I felt him stand up from the bed, and heard the rustling of his clothes as he got dressed before he headed for my bathroom. I lay there, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

He emerged a few minutes later with a towel and a glass of water, placing the glass on my bedside table and the towel beside me. He squatted down, placing his hand on my face.

I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I focused on watching the condensation drip down the outside of the glass as I could feel Mickey pondering on what he should say.

“I do… You know.” He said softly, pushing my hair out of my face. I saw from the corner of my eye that he immediately frowned when he felt the moisture on his fingers, and he sighed deeply, his eyes closing for a few seconds before opening again. “I just… I can’t say it back. I’ve never said… That to anybody before.”

“It’s fine, Mickey.” I mumbled. I wasn’t angry that he didn’t say it back, I was angry that I had said it before either of us were ready. I knew how I felt about him, but it wasn’t the time or place. And him not being able to say it back made me feel painfully aware that he and I may not be in the same place in our relationship.

That is what hurts.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you.”

I didn’t reply, closing my eyes tightly. He took that as his cue, leaning forward and kissing my hairline softly. He lingered a little longer than necessary, almost making me open my eyes to check he was okay, before he pulled back sharply, straightening up and leaving my room without saying goodbye.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you.

#FINALLY THEIR FIRST TIME #this one gave me so many feelings sighhhh #but just wait for what is coming up #you guys aren’t ready at ALL #scream #mickey altieri #his perfect victim #dahlia levine #mickey altieri x dahlia levine #scream 2 #mickey altieri angst #mickey altieri smut

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bricksduhh · 1 year

Text

Franchises I write for:

- Scream

- Marvel

- The little mermaid

- Resident evil

- Attack on Titan

(More to be added soon)

Character's I write for:

I will write for any character from almost any franchise if requested but the characters named here are my primary focus that I will write for whenever I feel like it!! This list will continue to be added too over time as I decide who I wanna write for :)

Scream:

- Ethan Landry

- Danny Brackett

- Mickey Altieri

Marvel

- Spiderman (Any varient)

- Star lord

- Deadpool

The Little mermaid:

- Prince Eric

Resident evil:

- Chris Redfield

- Leon Kennedy

- Carlos Olivera

- Ethan Winters

Attack on titan:

- Reiner Braun

- Eren Jaeger

- Jean Kirstein

- Levi Ackerman

RULES

- I will write plenty fluff, angst and sometimes smut!!

- I do take requests but do know they may take a while to be done sometimes as I have a lot of things I wanna write!!

- Don't request any weird things (Like piss kinks or feet related shit) I won't write for anything along those lines so don't bother :)

Previous stories:

Scream:

Ethan landry:

Panic room (Ethan landry x male reader)

It's just a crush (Ethan landry x male reader) (Slight NSFW)

Gold rush (Ethan landry x male reader)

Pictures of you (Ethan landry x male reader) (NSFW)

Safe and Sound (Ethan landry x male reader)

Long story short (Ethan landry x male reader)

Love me harder (Ethan landry x male reader) (NSFW)

Danny Brackett:

Welcome to New York (Danny Brackett x Male reader)

Treacherous (Danny Brackett x Male reader)

Chad Meeks-Martin:

Love in the dark (Chad Meeks-Martin x Male reader)

Mickey Altieri:

The way I loved you (Mickey Altieri x male reader)

Innocent (Mickey Altieri x male reader)

Love Language (Mickey Altieri x male reader) (NSFW)

Exile (Mickey Altieri x male reader)

Delicate (Mickey Altieri x male reader)

Marvel:

Soon to come!!

The little mermaid:

Part of your world (Prince Eric x male reader): Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Resident evil:

Soon to come!!

Attack on Titan:

Delicate (Reiner braun x Male Reader)

How to stay with you (Reiner braun x male reader)

Got me started (Reiner braun x male reader) (NSFW)

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icarus-has-falllen · 1 year

Text

Master list

Stranger things

Gareth Emerson

reader gifts Gareth with his flannel

Steve Harrington

jealous steve harrington

reader gets vecna'd

Eddie munson

being eddie's best friend turned lover

Billy Hargrove

very short comfort fic

being billy's bestfriend from cali

reader has powers and protects billy

Artist reader

Nancy wheeler

none yet

Mike wheeler

ghost face!byler x reader

coffee shop au

Angst to fluff

Dustin Henderson

learning how to play DND

Lucas sinclaire

none yet

Max mayfield

none yet

Will byers

ghost face!byler x reader

Will finds out reader is trans

wheeler!reader having a crush on will

Jane "eleven" hopper

none yet

Fred Benson

very short kinda fluff

byers!reader introducing fred to their family

Chrissy Cunningham

none yet

Umbrella Academy

Klaus Hargreaves

family pt.1

family pt.2

family pt.3

family pt.4

Diego Hargreaves

family pt.1

family pt.2

family pt.3

family pt.4

Five Hargreaves

family pt.1

family pt.2

family pt.3

family pt.4

late nights and snacks

Allison Hargreaves

family pt.1

family pt.2

family pt.3

family pt.4

Viktor Hargreaves

family pt.1

family pt.2

family pt.3

family pt.4

FEAR STREET

simon

none yet

Young!Nick Goode

being ziggy's bestfriend and dating Nick Goode

Ziggy

being ziggy's bestfriend and dating Nick Goode

Marvel

Spider man (Tom Holland and Andrew Garfield)

none yet

Star Lord

none yet

Miles Morales

non yet

Scream (the original)

Stu macher

none yet

Billy loomis

none yet

Mickey Altieri

none yet

Sidney Prescott

none yet

Ethan Landry

none yet

Gravity falls

Dipper pines

none yet

Mabel pines

none yet

Stanford pines

none yet

Stanley pines

none yet

Wendy

none yet

Bill cypher

none yet

Richie Tozier

none yet

Eddie Kaspbrack

none yet

Stanley Uris

none yet

Beverley Marsh

none yet

Bill Denbrough

none yet

Ben Hanscom

none yet

Hamilton

Alexander Hamilton

none yet

Thomas Jefferson

none yet

John Laurens

none yet

Lafayette

none yet

Angelica Skylar

none yet

Eliza Skylar

none yet

Peggy Skylar

none yet

Hercules mulligan

none yet

Aaron Burr

none yet

Ghostbusters

Ray stantz

none yet

Egon Spengler

none yet

Peter Venkman

none yet

Winston Zeddemore

none yet

Wednesday

Wednesday Addams

none yet

Xavier Thorpe

none yet

Tyler Galpin

none yet

Enid Sinclair

none yet

Star Wars

Luke Skywalker

none yet

Din Djarin

none yet

Han Solo

none yet

Anakin Skywalker

none yet

Spider-verse

Miles Morales

Gwen Stacey

Hobie Brown

Pavitr Prabhakar

#scream x male reader #stranger things x reader #umbrella academy x reader #wednesday addams x male reader #ghostbusters x reader #hamilton x male reader #it x reader #gravity falls x reader #marvel x reader #fear street x reader #spider verse x male reader

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amazingmaeve · 1 year

Text

mickey altieri fic recommendations

so ive recently rewatched the scream series and have now had an obsession with mickey and im glad im not the only one who does.

these fics are FUCKING amazing and I urge you all to go and read these and give them a like because they deserve. the authors deserve all this support.

anyways also what i interpret things as fluff/angst might be different to other people and it's just an opinion based.

ON TUMBLR.

ೃ⁀➷ angst/dark fic/smut

bad obsession by @venus-haze this author is just amazing at writing anything as you can see how many fics I recommend of theirs. it is a dark fic and I just love it so much.

ೃ⁀➷ angst/fluff/dark fic/smut

better story, improvised effects by @bisexual-horror-fan another amazing fic by another amazing author. obviously I feel for randy but it’s just so good and you all should give it a read.

#mickey altieri #mickey altieri x you #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri smut #mickey altieri fic recommendations #scream #scream x reader #scream x you #scream smut #scream fic recommendations #fic recommendations

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bisexual-horror-fan · 10 months

Note

Ugh it’s really late at night where I am and I can’t sleep and it just popped into my mind that I’m low-key terrified and excited to see what you’re gonna do with the third part of your Mickey-Randy fic. Is Mickey gonna go through with killing him? How will reader react if he does? Will she find out it’s Mickey? WILL MICKEY GET WHAT HE WANTS?

You best believe the moment you post it I’m locking myself in a dark ass room and telling my boyfriend to leave me tf alone for 3-5 business days

Well! I had the past two days off and I finished up this! For those who haven’t read part one or two of this trilogy I would recc that you do! Seriously, I never thought I would love doing this so much but I did! Massive shout out to @applesontheground for going over this and betaing pre-posting! Now then, I don’t wanna waste much time, I just wanna dive in and get deep! The long awaited conclusion of this trilogy is here! Let’s get deep in the paint!

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 6.5K. Mickey Altieri And Randy Meeks X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: So Much Context Needed. Threesomes. Sloppy Seconds. Cuckholding. Semi-Public Sex. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Gagging. Stalking. Murder Plot. Murder. Blood. Gore. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. Death. Grief. Vaginal Sex. Kissing. Confessions Of Feelings. Manipulation.

—

You Need Me Like I Need You.

—

When did shit, namely, his life, get this fucking complicated?

He used to think that sex was pretty straight forward, that he had a good handle on himself, his interests and personal sexuality, even before he brought anyone else into the equation but now all the lines are blurred and muddy. He never knew that it could all be so varied, which seems fucking stupid now. The human experience has untold and truly vast depth, of course sex, something that has existed as long as people themselves have existed, has a million different ways to explore, play with and partake in and Randy had been confronted with all that, thrown headfirst into it with almost no preparation.

Randy has experienced impossibly high highs and some true lows, the emotional roller coaster of it all was a lot to handle but also, shamefully, addicting as hell.

He didn’t know that there could be so much sexual enjoyment derived from such typically and previously negatively associated feeling, particularly, humiliation. He had experienced plenty of humiliation over the years and it always, well, fucking sucked but for some reason, when it cropped up again from that tape and subsequent threesomes with Mickey, it made his heart race in a different way, a much better, albeit, confusing way.

When he first was confronted with that tape he was a mess, when you eventually pulled out what was wrong he was still a total mess, and during that first threesome, he was even more of one. Mickey was an almost intolerable asshole but he had to admit, the things he did to you, the view and picture you both provided him, undeniably hot, much better than any bargain basement dumpster porn tape he ever watched by far. He hated that every boundary he tried to lay down, like Mickey wearing a condom, was ignored. Even further, the disrespecting of said boundaries were usually encouraged by you, as you seemingly craved it too. The shared wants between you and Mickey took precedence over his comfort and boundaries, he certainly didn’t do much to dissuade you both when he let it keep happening, especially when the evidence of how hard it made him was clear as day.

And the rules Mickey did agree to? It turns out he was lying, placating Randy to gain consent and access to you to then do what he wanted in the end. The worst of the worst is that when Randy had you afterwards, totally messy and stuffed with cum, literally subjected to Mickey’s sloppy seconds. It felt so fucking good that he couldn’t bring himself to have a single negative thing to say, any complaints die on his tongue as he buries his face into your neck and himself inside you to the hilt.

Mickey said he would pull out, Mickey was apparently a fucking liar and when Randy was on his back afterwards, sweat slick and panting, still dizzy and high off the hardest orgasm he had in recent memory, he wanted to fucking thank the guy for making him do this and see how good it was. He would never actually thank him, Mickey’s ego was already approaching the size of a supernova from this situation as it was, he is sure if he thanked him for cumming in you when he asked him not to? He cannot imagine how much worse he would become. It doesn’t matter that true the experience was fucking great, the ignoring of his consent was screwed up, thanking him further sends the wrong message.

So Randy put up with Mickey’s comments and overall attitude, he says he puts up with, but really he enjoys it, mostly secretly, he downplays his enjoyment but that damn knowing smirk of Mickey’s makes him think he isn’t as good an actor as he wants to be.

This has been going on for a month.

A glorious, confusion littered, fuck centered, sweat soaked and embarrassment filled month. In the moment and with his dick in his hand it is easier to take, he gets swept up in how filthy it is, finds himself consumed with your new relationship dynamic constantly. In the quiet moments between doing other things his mind wanders to either your last hookup or what might potentially happen in the next one.

The last one he keeps on thinking about is a rather risky semi-public hookup, it was late, rushed, in the stairwell leading up to Randy’s apartment. The sight is burned into his mind, Mickey leaning against the wall, his fingers in your hair as he leads you while you are on your knees, blowing him, right in front of Randy. It is all so striking, so clear, as if it is still happening right in front of Randy when he thinks of it, the low light, the way Mickey’s head tips back and rests against the concrete wall. A bead of sweat rolls down the column of his throat, along with the bob of his Adam's apple from a heavy swallow he took after a harsh inhale of air. He hears the quiet moan, the curse that spills out as he rocks his hips to force himself deeper into your mouth, you gag, Mickey laughs breathlessly with that half sideways smirk and then, he looks at him. Mickey’s head no longer rests and instead brown eyes meet blue and that smile grows into an outright sadistic grin as he drives forward harder, more purposefully and the moan you let around the shaft invading your mouth makes Randy ache in his jeans.

Someone speaks to him, asks him a question and it pulls him out of his head, Christ, he wasn’t listening and he is far too hard over his walk down memory lane while stuck in class still. He needs to stop, he fucking hates himself for thinking and feeling like this so often. He especially hates himself for how he couldn’t wait and ended up cumming in that same stairwell a week previous during that hookup he was just pouring over, he has to fight back the urge to cringe thinking about whatever poor sap had to clean that up.

True, while he is caught up in his head and consumed with all of this often, filled to the brim with negativity more than he’d like to be, things with you had gotten infinitely better. Your sex life together had gotten downright incredible in his opinion, he relishes the time he can be alone just you and himself without Mickey around. It isn’t as dirty as the threesomes you have, it’s softer, sweeter, more intimate and not as intense but he thinks you both need that. He has taken Mickey’s advice to heart and his fingering and oral skills have improved leaps and bounds, he loves when he is able to pull a sound out of you that reminds him of one Mickey has made you gasp out previously.

He wasn’t sure how long this could or would go on for, it couldn’t last forever but this didn’t have to stop anytime soon, there wasn’t any reason to rush, right? Not when it felt so good and it seemed to be actively bettering and strengthening your relationship as opposed to harming it. So the worries are shoved aside, pushed to the back of his mind, a problem for future him.

Mickey is positively elated over how this has all panned out so far. He knew this stage would be fun, he just didn’t count on how much fun it could be. He got to not only fuck you, he got to humiliate Randy while he did it, being balls deep in you while you were moaning like a total whore and your pathetic cuck of a boyfriend was jerking off to it, making eye contact with the sad little redhead in that moment? Making him truly be confronted with the sight of what he could do to you? My lord, he is sure he will never need viagra when he is fifty plus, he can just recall that memory and be good to go.

You were just so intoxicating, he thought he had it bad for you before he got to fuck you that first night Randy pissed you off but he was so wrong, it only got worse when he got to know you in the biblical sense. Now that he knows how you sound when he has two fingers angled just right inside of you, or how you feel when you are cumming on him, his interest grew into a full on crush and became infinitely worse. He couldn’t get you out of his head, how could he push it out of his mind or forget such an experience?

You were a delight, a joy to be around, so funny, so filthy and ready, willing and open. You got him, understood him, the sexual compatibility was a massive plus of course but it was more than that. It was the hushed whispers during class of dumb jokes that make you stifle laughter, it was shared lunches, and those times where you and he would end up crashing together post threesome and wake up side by side before Randy did. He knew you felt more for him than you were saying, the moments you would hold his hand when Randy wasn’t around told him that, the way you looked at him, would brighten when seeing him, it all tattled on your true feelings. He was sure of how you felt.

Christ, he couldn’t wait until he could have you all to himself as opposed to having to carve out these small moments whenever Randy wasn’t hanging off you like he was doing his best impression of a koala bear.

It was so soon. Mickey could hardly contain himself. The last thing standing between you and him being together is your boyfriend that you were still holding onto for some reason. Clearly it was out of some sense of loyalty, he liked that quality about you. So it means that he has to get rid of him and then you will be able to get with him guilt free, it’s the only thing that makes sense. The single option.

You are more than worth him doing this, uprooting and changing his whole plan, Nancy had to go. She just did, no way would she understand or be on board, she was just a means to an end really, she bankrolled him sure but it isn’t like he was attached to her. He believed in his motive, in what he wanted but now that he had you, the idea of risking going to jail wasn’t high on his list of to-do’s. Maybe he could keep a low profile, maybe he would be satisfied being with you, having you and quietly killing people to satisfy those parts of himself from time to time. If he did go through with the original plan there is still a chance it might fail. Was he willing to risk even a slight chance of being separated from you?

He is sure that the high he would get if he could pull it off, kill and spill his guts, blame the violence of movies and not go to jail would be immense, but then that part of his life would be over, that chapter closed. No way he could keep killing. Or, maybe he could, if he could keep getting away with it after that it would be amazing, however if caught that same plea wouldn’t work twice.

Perhaps the real high could be in never, ever getting caught.

Between that and you, he might be just fine.

He should feel worse, shouldn’t he? The thought was on his mind as he was cleaning his knife in the sink after putting an end to Nancy, he should feel something, but he just didn’t. Honestly seeing the look of betrayal on her face was priceless, she never would have thought Mickey would do this to her. She sobbed and begged, going on about how could Mickey do this to her, she needed to avenge her “sweet baby boy-” and yeah, he wasn’t going to listen to her go on about that. He didn’t waste much time on her, didn’t linger or monologue or go on and on, he made it relatively painless and pretty quick.

The important thing is she was gone and now he could focus on killing Randy.

Unlike his previous and now dead partner, he wanted to make it hurt, he wanted to destroy Randy, make him unrecognisable, but he knew that might not be best. Logical thought doesn't usually win out in these situations however. He hated how Randy took you for granted, he hated how you looked at him, that you insisted on staying together, hated every time he watched you kiss or anything else, he wanted to stab the knife into his chest, pierce his heart and twist. Wanted to watch him gasp, struggle, and bleed.

He had a good handle on Randy’s schedule because of your arrangement, he is coming back from a late class, going back to his apartment while Mickey follows far enough behind to not alert him, yet.

Ol’ Randy was so oblivious, he was going to make this way too easy. Mickey felt his anticipation grow with every single step, every heavy footfall makes his mind run with possibility and pure excitement.

He wanted to rush him, tackle him to the ground, end it right here out in the open but that is stupid and way too risky, it still doesn’t stop how his hands itch, he craved to have his knife in his grip, to bury it in something. The urge to penetrate in a violent sense and in a sexual sense are not that different and Mickey finds it so hard to ignore either of those urges. Soon it is just right, soon Randy is unlocking the door to his apartment building and Mickey picks up the pace, he runs forward, he timed it just right, the door opens and he knocks into Randy, causing him to stumble into the building with a shocked, “Woah!”

With him totally off balance Mickey takes the opportunity, hand gripping the collar of his shirt behind his neck, he moves him, comes forward, hauling Randy along, he bursts into the stairwell door in the lobby, that same one that you all hooked up in. He is quickly throwing him with all of his strength against the stairs. It hurts his spine, knocks the wind out of him, he groans feeling slightly dazed and when his eyes open he sees the figure clad in that all too familiar black robe and white mask and his heart drops. Eyes widen and he curses, trying to scramble back on the stairs, “Shit, fuck-”

God he loved that look. Pure and unadulterated terror, totally horrified, there was only one way to make it better, Mickey pulled the knife out, the glint of the blade in the low light flashes over his face, it made Randy’s breath catch. He tried to bolt, tried to turn to launch himself up the stairs, towards the safety of his apartment, away from his would-be attacker and that wasn’t going to happen. Mickey was on him too fast, one hand threads in short red hair and he jerks his head back, making it slam on the concrete, the sound was sickening and it made his struggle so much weaker immediately. Mickey sat on his stomach, knees on either side of him, he took in the view below him. Randy was already bleeding from his head wound, scarlet starting to stain the concrete, holding his own head up weakly, his other hand reaching out, trying to push on Mickey’s torso feebly.

He enjoyed this immensely. He watches him for a moment before it starts, it’s like the calm before a storm, like in the summer when you can feel a thunderstorm brewing, something in the air telling you what is to come, as if you can feel the electricity threatening to crackle and break though.

He lingers for only a moment more, he knows he is pushing it, but fuck, he has wanted this for so long and when he started he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Finally the moment is just right, he raises the knife and there is zero hesitation, it comes down and comes down hard. It embeds into his shoulder first, the air is practically sucked out of Randy, eyes wide, his hand comes up to clutch near the blade but Mickey didn’t take too kindly to that. He twists it and a choked off whimper left Randy and then he yanks the knife up, pulling the blade out, the body below him moving with the force of it, back arching as the struggle to remove steel is won quickly.

Randy is still trying to hold the wound at his shoulder but the angle is awkward and the pain is blinding, he doesn’t think anything could snap him out of the agony, his mind is running a million miles a second, synapses are firing but not connecting to anything. The urge to flee is strong but how? How can he get out, how can he get away, he is stuck, he hurts so much, what is he going to do? He thought he left all this behind in Woodsboro, he should have been more careful, he knew the threat, the risks, he should have taken that tape more seriously and realised he was being watched probably this entire time since he got said tape.

It turns out there is one thing that can pull him out of his head and free him enough from the pain to speak, eyes come into focus as the hurt is numbed with what he is seeing. Ghostface is still seated on top of him and the fingers leave his hair, hand comes up and the mask is tugged off to reveal is pseudo sort of fuck buddy or more accurately, YOUR fuck buddy and the cucker to Randy’s cuckee’, Mickey fucking Altieri.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Randy wheezed out, a cough that sounded too wet coming out after the words left him, “Mickey?”

“Heya Randy.” He dropped the mask, gloved fingers ran through his own hair as he stared down at the body starting to struggle under him once more. It all comes to Randy at once, the cheating, the tape, the “coincidences”, the dark edges to him, the knowing looks, he is the killer, he is Ghostface. Of course he is.

“What the fuck? Why-AHH!” Randy yelped as the knife came back down, settling in the other shoulder, he left it there, holding the handle as he said, “Oh why? Meeks wants to know why-”

Mickey hums and grips the handle harder before starting to twist it slightly, back and forth, digging deeper. Randy is crying now, tears falling down and struggling for breath, “-lots and lots of reasons. I had this whole big motive, this crazy plan, Billy’s mom, you remember Billy’s mom, Nancy Loomis, had found me and brought me here, bankrolled my education while I was meant to do the dirty work-”

Randy could hardly believe what he was hearing over the burning and pulsing pain, Mickey kept talking, “-but thennn, you-”

Mickey pointed down at Randy with his free hand, “-fucked up. You took your girl for granted and I got to swoop in at that party and our whole whatever the fuck you want to call it started and I realized, I don’t want to share her. I don’t want to follow through on that original plan. I just want her. But she’s-”

He ripped the knife out and Randy half screamed, blood splatters over his robe and the wall and when Randy’s scream subsided he was still holding the knife while he made air quotes as he said “-all “in love with you” for some fucking reason.”

Mickey shakes his head, “She’s amazing, but man that shit I just do not understand. I mean look at you! No fight at all! Fuck, you are so pathetic. You find out I fucked your girlfriend and you come to my apartment begging me to do it again while you watch?! Who does that?”

He laughs with a shake of his head, “I know as long as you are around she wouldn’t dump you and I couldn’t ask her to, I would come off like a total dick and then she might push me away and end our fun. That can’t happen!”

The exclamation is loud, angry, and violent. The knife comes back down again, in the ribs and Randy’s body jerks, he coughs, blood paints his chin, he wheezes, he thinks his lung might be punctured. Mickey barks out, “Look at me, Meeks.”

Randy’s eyes open half way, he feels woozy, Mickey looks positively manic, he has leaned down closer, still holding that knife handle so tightly, “I’m doing this because it’s the only way I see that she can be all mine. I’m killing you to fix this little problem. I’m going to be there while she grieves, I’m going to be the one to help her pick up the pieces, she’s gonna cling to me and then I’m gonna have her all to myself.”

Mickey was grinning, “Our little thing was a good time I’ll admit that but I’m ready to move up to the next level, I don’t want to be her classmate, or her friend, I don’t want to be her fuck buddy, I want to be her boyfriend. Not you.”

Randy is shaking his head, his face is so wet, blood, sweat, drool, tears, he is mouthing something, too weak to talk, Mickey thinks it’s “No” but who cares really.

“Yeah. It’s gonna happen and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” Mickey said in a condensing tone as he nodded, “You’re going to die, and soon it seems like!”

Mickey rips the knife out again and Randy jerks once more, nowhere near as strong, “I cannot wait. Not anymore. You should see her when we are alone, the way she looks at me, talks to me, she isn’t yours and hasn’t been for a while. I’m just helping her see it, speeding along the inevitable. She’s mine.”

The silver blade stained red cuts through the air and hits home again, lower this time and a similar reaction is drawn, weaker still, before being pulled out and then it happens again and again. Chest, ribs once more, stomach, stab, cut, rip, tear while repeating that one word over and over again. A quiet chant breathed through gritted teeth on harsh exhales from the sheer amount of exertion and effort, “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Randy is dead.

He didn’t get proper last words but Mickey thinks he didn’t deserve them the same way that he didn’t deserve you. Mickey is sure it happened sometime between the seventh and the seventeenth stab but it doesn’t really matter. He stays there for a moment looking down at Randy, body slowly turning cold, bloodstained and eyes lifeless.

He sits until he is sick of looking at him and then he gets up, the robe and mask are rolled up and put into his bag. He leaves out the back way, the camera is broken on that side of the building so no one can possibly tie him to this. He left with a spring in his step and the bag under his arm and excited for the news to reach him naturally.

The phone ringing is what wakes him up, he is wiping sleep out of his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen, he snatches it up off of the bar and brings it up to his ear, “Lo’?”

It’s you, the voice sounding wrecked, you barely get the words, “Randy’s dead-” before you are sobbing, he lets himself smile. You start trying to talk a mile a minute through your sobs and he listens to you go on for a minute before he cuts in asking you to take a breath before he is apologising, tell you how awful that sounds and as you are sniffing you ask quietly, “Ca-can you come over? I-I don’t wan-want to be alone.”

“I’ll be right there.” He assures and you tell him, “Hurry, please-”

He tells you he will be right there. He hangs up, he throws on clothes and finds himself humming on the way to your place. He shows up with coffee and breakfast, it’s stupid early and he isn’t sure when you last ate, he knocks and calls out, before he can get your name out the door is open and you are throwing your arms around his neck. He almost drops the coffee tray in one hand and the take out bag in the other but he keeps a grip on them. Your face is wet and buried in his shirt, body shaking and he says softly, “Oh hey, hey, I’m here.”

You stand in your doorway for minutes and he doesn’t rush you, he lets you cling to him and God this is already working out so well.

Once he manages to get you inside he sits with you, he makes sure you eat, he listens, holds the box of tissues while you lament, “I wasn’t allowed to see him but they say it was a massacre, they are talking murder Mickey-”

“Murder? Oh my God!”

If only you knew. But you never would.

He barely left your side. You kept asking him to stay, begging him to be close, you told him that he made you feel safe, made this easier to handle, you feared you’d fall apart without him and it made him feel so important. Your grief is intense but he loves how you are like this, how you rely on him even when things are difficult and hard to manage, he loves the desperation. He pokes, he has a small pattern, you are so raw that a small nudge makes your emotions go screwy and when you are in a deep spiral then he helps soothe you, pulls you out of it again and makes sure any positive emotion you feel during this time, no matter how small, is tied to him.

You are so needy, but he has never felt this needed and my God is it nice to feel needed.

No serious suspicion is thrown his way. He doesn’t kill anyone else, lets everything calm and die down and a funeral is planned and hosted for Randy over a month after he died. Everyone was just so scared that whoever it was might strike again beforehand. The fear it was Ghostface was present, kept Sidney and everyone else permanently on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop but it seemingly never does and they all have to start moving on sometime. Mickey had to fight hard to keep the act up, but inside there was such power and joy in doing the receiving line of Randy’s family, shaking hands and giving condolences, everyone unaware that he is the reason and cause of his death. He made the right call, abandoning the other plan for this was amazing. He listens as you cry your way through your turn speaking, he knows he is going to be comforting you hard after this and true, right after you finished you come over and he held your hand, giving you the pack of tissues he had in his pocket.

The casket buried, the wake over, he is with you back at his place. You’d been wanting to spend more and more time here, you hadn’t cleared out all the little pieces of Randy from your space yet and you felt like you couldn’t face them today. Your eyes are red from the crying, your nose raw from the tissues used, sitting on his couch, heels kicked off and in your funeral dress still. You aren’t quite as sombre now, he had seen to that, he got your favourite take out just before the place closed, it was near midnight and you actually ate, half empty boxes on the coffee table along with a few empty drink cans.

You were cradling your current drink in your hand, looking across the couch to him, you were both sitting on the same ends of the couch as before, a mirror of that night months previous that started all this. He was in the middle of telling some story that was making you laugh, the smile on your face was small but steadily growing. “She ended up not even having her wallet after all that.”

“Holy shit, no way! So then what?”

“What do you mean what? I sure as shit didn’t pay for her.” He laughed and you said around an amused exhale of your own, “Alright fair, especially after how she treated the cashier yeah fuck her.”

He takes another pull from his can and you did the same before setting aside with a sigh. You rested your head on the back of the couch as you said, “Thanks for this Mick.”

A questioning hum left him paired with raised eyebrows and you elaborate, “For being here for me. I know I’ve been like a mess, understandably so but a mess all the same. I know dealing with me hasn’t been easy but just…Without your support I dunno how I would have gotten through this.”

“Oh hey, no need to thank me. That is what a good guy does.” He said easily and you nod, “You really are, you’re so great.”

You reach out, a grabby hand gesture and he fills your need, taking your hand and you sigh. “I feel bad.”

“For a different reason other than the funeral?” He asked and you laughed a little, “Yeah. I just…I’ve been having these thoughts that make ME feel like I’m a horrible person.”

“What thoughts could you possibly be having to make you feel like that?”

“I dunno if I should say.” You grumbled and he said, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to but you know you can trust me. I won’t judge you and I sure as shit won’t tell anyone else.”

You are quiet for a moment before deciding that yes, he is right, you can trust him. You might even feel better getting it out, “I loved Randy. I mean I still love Randy but…All this time I have been spending with you and everything from before, how great you are I’ve been thinking about you more than I should. In ways I probably shouldn’t.”

He ignores the first half of your sentence, he is sure that would fade in time, he focuses on the second half, “Like how?”

You give a half shrug and look away, gaze averted and he says your name, stretching it out, he is leaning closer and you steal a glance back at him and say, “Like…”

The tension is thick, you’ve moved closer throughout the conversation yourself, not so much on the opposite ends of the couch now, almost on the same cushion in the middle of the couch you take a deep breath to steady yourself and you open up. You are already raw and vulnerable, why not go all in?

“I’ll be in a class I don’t have with you and I feel this huge hole where you should be. I don’t feel like I can do anything properly while away from you, I can’t eat or focus, the weight of everything else crushes me but when you are around I have, fuck, I have hope. I think I can do this, I feel stronger and better, you do that for me!”

He keeps doing what he has for more than a month, he listens, he squeezes your hand harder and he listens to you.

“I’ll be in bed alone and wish you were with me. My sleep schedule is wrecked but I think I could finally get some good rest with you because I swear to God, if there is one, I only feel safe around you lately.”

You are speaking so fast now, as if you can’t communicate your intense emotion fast enough until the words stop because your other hand that isn’t in his is on his face, tugging him close to you and kissing him. It starts off hot, deep, needy and he is stunned, it takes a moment to match the energy but he lets you lead it. Fuck he has missed this, missed feeling you against him, you start to slow, he keeps pace, from all consuming open mouthed to soft brushes with laboured breathing and you pull back, “That. I have been thinking the most about doing that.”

“And that…Makes you feel bad? Cuz it felt pretty good to me.” You laugh from the tone and his expression, the big smile that is so him, you admit, “No that did feel good but I feel bad because my boyfriend has been in the ground for less than twelve hours and I’m on your couch, kissing you and I’ve been thinking about doing it for weeks.”

You inhale in a way he has come to know far too intimately, that hitch that tattles on you that you are going to cry, you choke out, “How shitty of a person does that make me?”

He lets go of your hand, his hands are on your cheeks and then tracing down to your neck, thumbs stroke over the line of your jaw and he says, “It doesn’t, hey, you aren’t a shitty person. You’re my favourite person.”

Your hands are on his wrists and you shake your head, “I’m pretty sure I am, I-I don’t deserve you, I didn’t deserve Randy either-”

A sniff and he assures further, “No, stop that, you deserve so much. I wouldn’t be here, I wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t.”

It is quiet for a moment, you are trying to breathe through it and stop yourself from seriously crying, he knows just the right thing to say, “I know I’m really stupid but I have good taste.”

You laugh. A nod as you admit, “Okay, you’re right, you do have good taste.”

“We’re gonna ignore you not disagreeing with me calling myself stupid-” You laugh again harder, “But see! So if I have good taste that means that everything I do for you isn't a mistake, it’s not wasted, you deserve this.”

You look into his eyes and ask a bit more seriously, one of the main worries weighing on you, “Isn’t it too soon?”

It’s his turn to laugh, “What? Do you seriously think Meeks would want you to recognize Victorian mourning customs and mope around in all black for a year?” Another laugh spills out of you at the image, “Why does the timing matter on this? If you want it now, then why not now? What is waiting a few more weeks or months going to do?”

He is right. Why does it matter?

The next thing you ask is, “Am I really your favourite person?”

“Easily. No contest.” You are still so close to each other, and you decided fuck it, why does it matter? You’ve been through so much, you are desperate and you deserve to feel good and so you give into what you have been craving.

You kiss him again on the couch.

Neither of you stay on the couch for very long.

It comes out while you are in his bed, your dress on the floor and you are under him, arms wrapped around his neck, you feel like you could cry but not for any of the feelings or reasons that you had previously over this past month. You don’t want to sob because you are sad or missing Randy or anything else, you cry because fucking hell you missed this, you needed this, it feels incredible but it’s more than that. You finally realised it a while ago, but now? You are unable to ignore it, can’t hold it inside, the admission is on your tongue and has been threatening to come out between moans for minutes. Rocking with him, feverish kisses placed over the side of his face as you gasp, Mickey’s hands are all over, like he cannot get enough of you, he is buried deep and he hits that spot that makes your whole body want to shudder and at long last it comes out in a rush, overwhelmed and feeling overflows you tell him-

“I love you.”

That makes him slow, not stop, but slow, rolls of his hips are purposeful, the change in angle is fantastic, the pressure and grinding on your clit makes you want to cry all over again. He has one arm under your neck, the other one runs up your side, there is this expression on his face that can only be described as a cross between joyful disbelief and pure affection, brown eyes are warm as he asks, “What did you just say?”

You repeat it, louder, voice more sure, “I said I love you.” A harder thrust, a shared and hushed moan, your nails biting into the skin on the back of his neck, you make yourself maintain eye contact, it’s difficult but it’s important so you manage, “I am tired of-of feeling it, fuck, and not saying it, I fucking love you.”

He couldn’t be happier, this was better than he ever could have planned or hoped, better than any dream possible, he leans down, kisses you deeply and you return it. Eyes closed you are close in sensation and the moment, in him. He pulls back, close enough his forehead is touching yours as he breathes back the same sentiment, “I love you too, so fucking much.”

A broken moan that could be read as the word “really” but he is picking up the pace, quicker, rougher and your hand falls back, a desperate plea of, “Mickey, fuck, don’t stop-”

As if he would ever.

He did manage to get away with it.

It’s been over a year since Randy’s murder, you are none the wiser and you barely mention Randy anymore. Sure his birthday, his death day and your old anniversary with Meeks was hard but that was understandable and tolerable.

The main and most important thing is that he had you, after the funeral you and he became official, you kept it on the down low, he insisted he wanted you to be spared the judgement, you were already going through so much and any added stress needed to be stomped out. You and he talked regularly about living together and man was he ever excited for when that could happen. Sure it would make his “hobby”, whenever he picked it back up again, more difficult but fuck it, he loved a good challenge. The itch for murder hasn’t been on his mind in so long, much too happy and concerned with you, wrapped up in your relationship but he was feeling that need wriggling in the back of his brain, he can ignore it for the time being. He got away with it and he has you, life is good.

#Mickey Altieri x reader #Ghostface x reader #slasher x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HOOOOOOO #ENJOY

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