#i have such a soft spot for them actually

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙op(rincess)81 | OP81˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: oscar piastri x princess!reader y/n (she/her)

genre: social media au

warnings: just fluff, idk anything abt royal families i have taken many many liberties so please forgive

summary: in which after bagging a princess, it takes a long while for the fans to realise it actually is oscar

a/n: haven't written for oscar in ages so i picked him!!! also my first royalty smau so hope it's ok

request!!!: could I request a royal princess!reader with Oscar or Lando please and they are spotted and nobody believes it’s actually them until their is a statement made about them being engaged or something!!!!

my masterlist

fc: christinanadin

instagram ->

mclaren 📍 monaco

liked by princessyn, oscarpiastri, and others

mclaren swipe to see our very special guest in monaco!

tagged: princessyn

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user1 NO WAY

user2 omgg i can't believe she was there

user3 and with mclaren too wth??

user4 princess y/n's first f1 appearance!!!! & in papaya too she's jus like me fr

user5 so cute love her

oscarpiastri some might say...... papaya princess

liked by mclaren, princessyn

user6 ??? HES SO CHEESY

user7 oscar trying to flirt?

user8 who is she??

user9 y/n! she's the princess of monaco

user10 tbh i thought she was gonna be in ferrari garage or something

landonorris was such an honour!

liked by mclaren, princessyn

scuderiaferrari can we have her next 😕

mclaren not sure about that

princessyn 📍 monaco

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, and others

princessyn my first experience of formula one!! it was so much fun in the mclaren garage, thanks guys :))

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user11 she's soo humble

user12 love her, so cute

user13 THE OSCAR HAT AND PICCC

user14 taste omg??

user15 she's so real

user16 she said piastri rights

oscarpiastri so fun having you this weekend!

princessyn loved being there! thx again for your hospitality :)

oscarpiastri anything for a princess!

user17 rizz

landonorris thanks for coming y/n! (even tho you werent repping number 4)

princessyn hahah maybe next time 👀

lnfour we hope so

mclaren you're welcome back anytime 🧡

liked by princessyn

yourbff next time invite me

princessyn oh for sureee

twitter ->

messages ->

txts between oscar & lando !!!

instagram ->

yourbff

liked by princessyn, friend1, and others

yourbff can you tell i love my best friend

tagged: princessyn

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user22 we love her too tbh

user23 something something two pretty best friends

user24 oscar piastri's gf?

user25 HAHAH

princessyn love you more than anything

yourbff my princess (literally)!!!

princessyn and u? my queen 👑

oscarpiastri me too apparently

yourbff HAHAHA apparently? are you sure?

princessyn oscar 💀

user26 HAHAHA OSCAR?!?!!!

user27 omg he's a jokester

user28 oh it's definitely not true if they're this comfy making jokes 😂

user29 love this new era of y/n being friends w the f1 grid

princessyn posted a story

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff, and others

user30 going where y/n <3

user31 omg so gorgeous

user32 how do u look so good without even trying

user33 perfect girl

oscarpiastri wow

princessyn shush you

oscarpiastri 😉 see you soon

user34 i wish i was u

user35 come to spanish gp pls 🥹

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by landonorris, danielricciardo, and others

user36 omg who???

user37 OSCAR?

user38 wait...? tan? brunette..?

danielricciardo oh we are lucky enough to be graced with the princess’ presence again? 👀

oscarpiastri you know it

user39 fanning the flames of that random y/n & oscar rumour ..... 👀

user40 a moment for the dress, whoever she is

user41 soft launch much

landonorris making me feel extra single right now

liked by oscarpiastri

user42 WHO IS SHEEE

twitter ->

instagram ->

princessyn 📍 barcelona

liked by francisca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, and others

princessyn back racing!

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user43 ahhh oscar cameo

user44 this is so cute

user45 she's so gorgeous

user46 wish i was a princess 🥹

landonorris god i hope you weren't the one in the car doing the racing

princessyn shut up lando

oscarpiastri shut up lando

landonorris okay okay my bad

user47 HAHAHAHA

yourbff you never miss 😍

liked by princessyn

francisca.cgomes oh to be you 💋

princessyn omg?! if you dont shut up

user48 she's real for that. kika is too perfect already

user49 the wags in her likes & comments ahhhhh

oscarpiastri posted a story

liked by yourbff, landonorris, and others

user50 WAIT IS THAT Y/N???

user51 what

user52 huh? so u are dating her or what

user53 oscar trying to rizz up the princess of monaco lol

user54 so sweet they're all friends now

landonorris good luck 😉

oscarpiastri thanks, i'll need it

alexandrasaintmleux 😍

liked by oscarpiastri

princessyn posted a story

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri, and others

yourbff god it's so so beautiful

princessyn ikr 🥹 still crying

francisca.cgomes congratulations gorgeous

liked by princessyn

alexandrasaintmleux 🥹🥹🥹 angels

liked by princessyn

landonorris one of us now

princessyn ...great

user55 wait huh

oscarpiastri i love you

princessyn i love you

twitter ->

instagram ->

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, princessyn, and others

oscarpiastri my future wife ❤️

tagged: princessyn

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user61 omg what the hell how is this real

user62 WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US YOU WERE DATING

landonorris nah you just didnt look hard enough dont blame osc

user63 LANDO?!?!!?

user64 he cooked

yourbff CONGRATULATIONS GUYS!!!

charles_leclerc congratulations to the happy couple!

logansargeant congrats guys! it was a long time coming

user65 fym long time coming omg how long have they been dating bro

carlossainz55 so happy for you guys

pierregasly hope this means we'll be seeing more of y/n around the paddock!

oscarpiastri did kika hold a gun to your head as you wrote this?

estebanocon such amazing news, congratulations 🥂

mclaren our princess 🧡

liked by oscarpiastri, princessyn

francisca.cgomes congratulations sweeties <3

alexandrasaintmleux most gorgeous couple!

georgerussell63 hope im invited to the wedding !

user66 *crickets*

flavy.barla wishing you a lifetime of happiness 💖

alex_albon congratulations oscar & y/n

lilymhe gorgeous girl & gorgeous ring 💍

carmenmmundt such a lovely couple, congratulations 💕

user67 all the drivers & wags omgg ugh

princessyn ahhhhh i have butterflies!! i love you so much

oscarpiastri i love you so much more

THE END 🧡

[evanbi-ckley]

Buck walks through the automatic doors on autopilot and freezes. It hits him then that the last time he stood here, he was meeting Tommy for Maddie and Chim’s wedding. He had stood almost in this very spot and kissed his boyfriend who was covered in soot after fighting a wildfire all night and most of the day.

Now his boyfriend is somewhere else in the hospital, and Buck can’t kiss him or touch him, and his hands are shaking, and he thinks he’s going to be sick.

He turns toward the nearest bathroom and makes it into the stall just in time. He hasn’t eaten yet today, so he’s only throwing up bile mixed with panic and regret, but it’s just as bad.

It’s Hen who finds him, which -

“Why are you in the men’s room?” he asks, his voice weak and still creaky.

“I thought you might need a medical professional.” When Buck just looks at her, she continues with a sigh, “We could hear you in the waiting room. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.” That’s a little embarrassing. “Sorry. And thanks.”

He gratefully accepts the wet paper towel she hands him to wipe his face.

“Any news yet?”

“Not yet. They took him back for surgery, and it’ll probably be a few more hours before we hear. Bobby and Eddie are in the waiting room if there’s an update. Chim went to pick up Jee from daycare, but he’ll be back later with Maddie.”

Then she produces a water bottle from somewhere behind her.

“How long have I been in here?” Buck asks. Hen seems way too prepared for it to have been just a few minutes.

“About half an hour,” she says. “Actually closer to 45 minutes now.”

“Right.”

So time is still moving awkwardly. He can’t get his bearings. He feels untethered, like he’ll never be on solid ground again.

“Why don’t we get you up and out to a chair?” Hen asks gently. She’s not treating him with kid gloves, but she is being more careful than necessary.

He decides to accept it for the time being. Maybe he does need the softness in her voice and the kindness in her eyes right now.

“Yeah - yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Hen.”

She smiles with something like relief and then stands, offering Buck a hand up.

The waiting room is blessedly empty save for their morose party. Buck tries to sit down, but before he can, Hen is pulling at his turnout coat, trying to yank it off his shoulders. She manhandles the coat off and tosses it to Eddie who adds it to the growing pile of coats on an unused chair in the corner. He’s too tired to fight it or question it, plus it was getting heavy with all of the rain still soaked into the fabric. 

After that, Hen leaves to call Karen, and Ravi goes to get food for them all at a little cafe just up the road that they’ve come to know well. 

Buck sits between Bobby and Eddie, almost a mockery of them standing at the crash site, holding him up. Best not to think about it.

Eddie holds a phone in his hands that Buck recognizes, but it’s not Eddie’s phone. The screen is cracked at the upper corner, spider-webbing its way diagonally down the length of the glass.

“Is that -?” He can’t even bring himself to ask.

“It’s Tommy’s, yeah. A nurse brought out the personal items he had on him a while ago. I was going to see if he has any family in his contacts, but I don’t know his passcode.”

“Oh,” Buck swallows roughly, “it’s um - it’s my birthday. But,” he continues before Eddie types the digits, “he doesn’t have any family in his contacts. At least, not anyone he would want here.”

“Ah,” is all Eddie says before handing the phone over to Buck. He pockets it and tries to think about anything other than his boyfriend a few rooms away getting his arm put back together.

He spends the next few minutes staring off into space thinking of nothing other than his boyfriend a few rooms away getting his arm put back together.

“He’s gonna be okay, Buck,” Eddie says into the heavy silence.

“Eddie’s right,” Bobby adds. “His arm will be fine, and the cuts and scrapes will heal. He’ll be back up in the sky before you know it.”

Buck feels his stomach churn threateningly at the thought, but he does his best to nod and smile. 

When Ravi returns with food, Buck can’t handle the smell, let alone eating anything. But he tries. He can hear Tommy’s low voice in his head warning, “Evan, you need to eat something,” and that convinces him more than Eddie’s prodding.

When Karen shows up along with Chimney and Maddie, Buck feels the need to pull her and his sister off to the side.

He tries to keep his voice steady as he says, “I didn’t get it. Before, I mean. I didn’t get what it felt like to be on this side.” He’s oddly proud his voice only cracked once.

Maddie grabs his hand. “Buck, you’ve been on this side a lot of times. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the 118 isn’t very good at staying out of the hospital.”

He lets out a wet laugh.

“I think he means on the worried partner side of things,” Karen says. “You’ve never had someone you’re in a relationship with get injured like this before. Is that right?”

“Y-yeah.” He chuckles sardonically. “When I saw the helicopter - and his - his hand hanging out the window - I thought - he wasn’t moving, y’know? It took us so long to find him. We were too late. I thought -”

“You thought you’d lost him,” Maddie supplies. He can only nod. “Yep, welcome to the Worried Partners Club.”

“It sucks, but it’s worth it,” Karen adds.

Later, when Athena gets off shift, she arrives at the hospital bearing coffee for everyone. Buck nods gratefully when she hands him one, and the understanding look in her eyes nearly sets him off again. Although, he thinks he might be too dehydrated for tears by now.

“Family of Thomas Kinard?” a voice calls from the doors leading to the OR.

Everyone looks up, but Buck is on his feet before the nurse finishes saying Tommy’s name. He feels people behind him, and the nurse’s eyes widen a bit at everyone gathering around, but Buck’s glad for them.

“He’s out of surgery. Everything went well. He’ll be in recovery for about an hour, but as soon as we get him in a room, you can see him.” 

The last part is directed toward Buck. Maybe he now looks like he’s part of the Worried Partners Club, but that’s fine. He’ll see Tommy soon. That’s what matters.

He catches the end of the nurse’s spiel as he says, “...still be under some sedation, so don’t expect much conversation.”

Buck nods, and the nurse leaves, and then Maddie is dragging him back to their chairs, handing him his coffee, and plopping down next to him to wait until they can see Tommy.

“He’s going to be insufferable,” Eddie says suddenly. He looks at Buck and says, “Remember that time he sprained his ankle while we were sparring? God, he was the worst patient.”

Buck genuinely laughs for the first time since they got the call. “He’s so stubborn, he wouldn’t even let me open doors for him. He just struggled to balance on his crutches so he could do it himself. He almost fell into the bushes twice outside the physical therapist’s office.”

Then everyone is laughing, a sense of lightness settling over Buck. He still doesn’t feel grounded or right necessarily, but laughing with his family helps.

They keep telling stories after that. Most of them are about Tommy, but some are stories or updates about kids or parents or a new recipe gone wrong. They all avoid the topic of work.

“Family of Thomas Kinard?” It’s a different nurse this time, but she doesn’t blink an eye at the number of family Tommy has. “He’s resting in his room. You can go back to see him, but we ask that you keep it to 4 or 5 people at a time. He’s still pretty groggy and probably won’t remember what happened right away, so keep conversation simple.” Then she turns and starts walking down the hallway, not waiting or looking back to see if anyone follows.

Buck grabs Chim and Eddie and gestures at Bobby to come, too. At the last second he grabs Hen’s hand, and the five of them hurry to catch up with the nurse together.

“Breathe, Buck,” Hen whispers.

He can’t. Not yet.

part 1

part 2

part 4

[beenbaanbuun]

blood w/ poly!ateez

so i feel so sane about this… definitely no evil thoughts filling up my brain right now. none whatsoever :)

i want to write so much more about this universe and i’m literally sending the biggest kiss ever to @ateez-main-yapper to requesting this because i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life!

words - idk

genre - smut, horror (there’s a bit of gore i guess)

warnings - vampire!ateez, mafia!ateez, human!reader, smuggler!reader, blood, scarification, collars, ownership, blood, surgery mentions, nicknames (little mouse, princess, sweetheart), dancer!yeosang, security guard!mingi, ripper!doctor!yunho, mommy!seonghwa (don’t look at me like that, i had to), hand kink (mentioned), no actual sex but it’s talked about a lot, hair pulling, i think that’s all??

——————————————————————————

the scent of stale blood haunts the hallway you find yourself walking down, clinging to the back of your throat until yourself gagging on it. no matter how many times you find yourself down here, it never gets any easier to cope with; even a slaughterhouse would be more pleasant than this.

it begs the question why you’re back. by now, you’ve bled them of enough money to never have to work again, so it’s certainly not the pay. the job itself is harder than most, and not at all rewarding when you have to lie and cheat your way into success. there’s no doubt that the stress of hiding a smuggling operation behind the guise of a blood donation clinic has taken a good 20 years of your life from you. you can guarantee that job satisfaction isn’t what’s keeping you here either.

it’s only when you turn a corner and your eyes land upon them that you remember exactly why you’re still so willing to walk these halls. it isn’t something keeping you here but rather someone; multiple someones, in fact.

“mingi!” your footsteps quicken as you get closer the security guard that stands waiting outside of a heavy metal door. despite the fact that you’ve been on the other side of it multiple times, it still sends a shiver of curiosity down your spine. it’s not an anxious curiosity as it was when you first landed yourself in this position, but more of a morbid one. you know the horrors that lie behind it, you’ve experienced a few of them too, yet you still yearn to see more. “long time no see,” you offer a polite smile once you’re close enough to lower your volume from a shout, “san told me hongjoong had assigned you to pest control. is it not going well?”

mingi gives you a slow blink, his jaw set in stone and his eyes steely as he stares you down. he’s always looked far more intimidating than he actually is, although you suppose it serves to his benefit when his main job it scaring away anyone who might wish to disturb the peace. you’re only grateful to have had the chance to see behind the mask he wears; to watch his eyes melt and his lips part in the wonky grin he gets so little time to wear.

“you’ve not seen me in months and the first thing you ask me is about my demotion back to security?” he quirks a brow at you and you have to bite back your grin. in truth, you’d heard all about it from seonghwa over the past few weeks, your main contact within the clan more than happy to share life details with you as though you’re a lifelong friend rather than a mere employee. their favourite employee, sure, but still at the bottom of the pecking order.

“i just wanted to know more,” you lift your arms in defence, not missing the way his eyes flicker to the bandage on your left forearm, “like you said, it’s been a while.”

mingi hums in agreement as he examines the clean cloth. a long finger reaches out to trace the spot where the fabric meets your skin, the touch lingering and soft. it’s more the real mingi than it is the security guard mingi; it warms your heart to see.

“when did this happen?” he whispers, voice barely above a whisper.

“about two weeks ago,” you i pull your wrist back, letting mingi’s hand drop back down to his side, “hongjoong wanted to approach me about it, but i didn’t take much convincing,” actually, it was you who approached him but for some reason that’s much harder to admit, “you guys are much… kinder to me than the other clans i supply, well, supplied to. it was a no brainer to ditch them when given the chance.”

“so you’re ours?” he asks, voice dipping a little too low for the question to be purely innocent.

“i’m mine,” you confirm, “what i supply, however, is all yours.”

there’s a smirk on his lips, not as easily defeated by your sense of self worth as you’d like him to be. he knows as well as the rest of them what the mark on your arm means, after all. he knows as well as you do that there’s no getting away from them now. the moment yunho took his sweet, sadistic time carving their mark into your body it wasn’t just your business that belonged to them.

“sure you are, little mouse,” he whispers as he leans in close, his icy breath fluttering against your face. your stomach drops but you choose to ignore it. this was your decision, after all, “now, scurry along; you wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting, would you?”

with the flip of a switch, the metal door clicks open and your immediately met with a blast of cool air and a wall of sound. you’ll never understand the clan’s need for these constant frivolities, especially when you’re on the other side of this getting your hands dirty, but you suppose it is a good way to hide their more secretive operations. no one is going to notice the door in the corner when there’s so much going on out here, right? it’s an extra layer of security, and a darn good one at that.

when you step inside, the door clicks shut behind you and you immediately get to scanning the crowd of partygoers for a familiar face. amongst the hoard of vampires, they’re harder to spot, their ashy skin and red eyes sticking out a lot less than they would next to a human. instead you look for a familiar hair colour, recalling the angry text you got from seonghwa about the den’s main bathroom turning pink with hongjoong’s hairdye. nothing sticks out at you, though, and so you’re back at square one.

your arms stretch out before you as you go to push through the crowd. it’s moments like this that you’re glad for the metal, almost collar-like band around your neck. yeosang had created it as a way to keep your pulse hidden from any less-well-meaning vampires. he’d insisted that the tag dangling from it with the clan’s emblem engraved was all hongjoong’s idea, but you recognise the same possessive glint in all of their eyes. it’s the same one yunho had given you when engraving that very emblem into your body, and the same one san had given to you when wrapping your bleeding arm up in a fluffy white bandage. yeosang is just like the rest of them, even behind his sweet exterior.

but right now he isn’t crafting some marvel of engineering out of metal scraps and a dream, but instead on the stage at the front of the room. it’s not often he’s up there instead of one of the others, but as you watch him elegantly dangle from a hoop that hangs from the ceiling, you find it hard to see why. he’s utterly ethereal, like a butterfly about to emerge from a chrysalis; one of those blue ones with the wings that seemed designed to capture your attention with their beauty. you’re entranced, much more so than the rest of the party-goers who seem to have grown blind to the creature moving elegantly before them.

his body moves not at all like a butterfly though, instead flowing smoothly like a viper along the branch of a tree. he extends his arms in such a way you’ve never seen before, silken and smooth as he reaches out to his audience. it pulls you in further, your feet shuffling as you push through the final layer of people to get to the stage. you stumble forwards, catching yourself on the edge of the raised platform. if he notices you there, he doesn’t show it; the stoic expression he wears remains steady as he gracefully shifts his body into yet another position.

you watch him like that until the end of his performance, unblinking with your lips parted in awe. even the way he tumbles to the floor and bows to an uninterested audience holds so much more grace than you think you will ever possess. to think that this is the man that spends half of his time smeared in motor oil with a puppy-like grin on his lips is strange, yet it feels so right.

“hello, little mouse,” he echoes the familiar nickname as he makes his way to the front of the stage, crouching down in front of you and running an all-too-confident finger along your jawline to your chin. he snaps your mouth shut in a way that is so far from the yeosang you know that part of you believes this must be his much cockier twin. “hongjoong is out tonight; some trouble on south side caught his attention so he wanted to clean up the mess before the police got there.”

“i’m meeting with seonghwa then?” you murmur, too starstruck for your mouth the form words properly.

yeosang shakes his head.

“seonghwa and san went with him,” the finger from your chin shifts down to the piece of jewellery that fits snug around your neck. his touch catches against the tag, the jingling sound reminding you of a bell on a cats collar. you try to ignore the smirk that rises to his face as sees you make the connection, instead shifting your gaze to the pendant around his neck that shares the same symbol. “yunho is busy with whatever sick shit gets him off, me and mingi are working which means…”

fuck.

“jongho and wooyoung.”

“clever mouse,” yeosang’s tone is venomous, despite his words being soft. clearly performing does something to his ego; inflates it until every sign of the sweet mechanic is hidden behind a thick shroud of confidence. it’s deliciously cruel, mirroring the sick sadism of yunho or the vast overconfidence of mingi, and holy fuck do you want a taste. perhaps later, once business is over.

if business is over.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about those two, though,” he continues, tugging on the tag of your collar—because despite your pride, even you have to admit that there’s no other way to describe it—until you’re face is merely inches from his own, “hongjoong promised yunho their balls if they can’t learn to control them. maybe you’ll finally be able to have a meeting with them before getting your pussy stuffed, hm?”

you feel yourself getting warmer, your face flushing as yeosang so blatantly talks about your track record with the pair of resident trouble makers. it’s not like you’ve let slip about all the times jongho’s had you sitting on his cock with your mouth wrapped around wooyoung’s the second you step into their office which means that they must have instead. it makes you wonder what they talk about whenever you’re not here, and how much each of them know about your less than professional escapades with each of them. it’s a troubling thought, and yet it’s still manages to light a fire deep in your belly.

“see you later, yeosang,” is the only thing you can mumble in response as you pull away from his touch, the tag of the collar bumping gently against your neck as it slips free of his fingers.

——————-

“you told the others about fucking me?” you scoff as you barge your way into the office where the two youngest vampires await your arrival. it’s nice to see them here already, since they usually arrive far later than the agreed upon time. although, you suppose with the delays of mingi and yeosang, you’re also late on this occasion. you let the passive-aggressive comment about time keeping slide, knowing it won’t help you right now.

“hello to you too, mousy,” wooyoung hums from where he lays on the green sofa in the corner of the room, “it’s nice to see you again! we’re doing wonderfully, by the way; thanks for a—”

you let the door slam behind you as you storm your way towards him, completely ignoring the curious gaze of jongho.

“cut the shit, wooyoung,” you grab hold of his shirt collar and lean in close. it’s supposed to be intimidating but the wide grin on his lips lets you know otherwise. “you’ve all been talking about me when i’m not here? what the fuck, man!”

wooyoung chuckles in your face, his dangerous fangs glinting beneath the overhead lights. you know he’d never bite without your permission—people have been killed by hongjoong for much less—but it still sends a shiver through you whenever you see them.

“you’re not exactly discrete yourself, princess,” the office chair creaks as jongho stands, making his way around his desk and towards you. although you keep your gaze firmly on the little rat who still sits giggling to himself, you can’t help but be hyper aware of the presence behind you. a large hand traces its way up your spine, not stopping until you feel his fingers lace themselves with your locks and tug. your grip fall limply from wooyoung’s shirt as you’re hauled back into the soft muscle of jongho’s chest, your neck craned awkwardly over his shoulder to keep you in place. “what do you want us to say when san is asking about who’s cum he’s eaten from your pussy? do you want us to lie to them?”

you squirm, wincing when his grip on your hair doesn’t loosen despite your attempts to break free. they call you little mouse and right now, you really do feel the part—you walked right into a trap of which there’s no way out.

“maybe i should let you fuck me again just so i can watch when yunho rips your fucking balls off your body!” you grunt through gritted teeth.

jongho hums in amusement, “it was hyperbole, sweetheart,” a pair of cold lips meet the hot skin of your cheek for just a second before pulling away, the softness a stark contrast to the harsh grip he still has you in, “he doesn’t care how much we fuck you as long as we get the job done. after all, he’d be a hypocrite to complain about us fucking you when his dick is inside of you twice as often, hm?”

you watch with cautious eyes as wooyoung stands from his place on the sofa, grinning as wide as the cheshire cat. it reeks of danger, yet you’ve never been the type to give into that sort of thing. you’re a human working for a bunch of vampires; danger is just a regular part of your life at this point.

“besides, mousy,” the cheshire cat purrs, “you think we’re the only ones who talk? you don’t think we know just how much you love calling seonghwa mommy when you ride him? or how much you love it when yeosang spits in your mouth whenever he’s fucking you dumb?” wooyoung brings a hand to your cheek, dusting over your bottom lip with his thumb, “you’re ours, little mouse; we can talk if we want.”

[insert-this-fire]

Can I request dating headcanons for poly Deadpool and Wolverine with gn s/o please?

I’m going to assume its based off of the deadpool and wolverine movie and not other content the two are in.

Poly relationship between deadpool x gn!reader x wolverine, movie verse.

It would be hard to tell when the three of you started dating. 

Logan and Wade were already toeing the line, when you were added it just sort of pushed things over the edge. 

None of you really realize you’re dating till Wade’s ex, Vanessa, says something.

Nicknames! We all know Wade is big on nicknames. You’d get really dumb ones, like chicken nuggets, honey butter biscuits. His favorite would be butter or jelly if you’re with Logan. That way it would be peanut butter or peanut and jelly and he’s the bread.

Logan isn’t big on nicknames though, he mostly calls you by name, the generic sweetheart or darlin’. Probably has a third nickname for you based on your looks or name like he did with the x-men. He doesn’t use it often due to the sudden self loathing he feels.

Be ready to always have someone's hand on you, or one of them touching you. Logan more often than Wade actually. 

Logan is always beside you when the three of you are out, he’s gotta protect his partners. He knows Wade can handle himself, but you? Even if you can he will jump in front of you or sneer at anyone he deems a threat.

Logan may not be that physically affectionate with Wade, but he spends a lot of time with him, even if he seems annoyed you always spot that small little smile and soft look in his eyes.

Logans main love language is quality time. Wade’s is acts of service surprisingly. At first you would think Logan’s was acts of service, he always seemed to be that sort of guy. Wade you thought would be words of affirmation due to how much he talks or gift giving. Nope, he likes to do things for you. Might not be great at fixing the holes in your home he has made, but he sure can make up for it by making you some microwaved chimichangas. 

Some say that you’re the glue keeping the three of you together. They’re wrong. Wade is. 

If you and Logan are fighting, Wade is right there ready to throw down with Logan if he’s in the wrong, or annoy the shit out of you if you were. 

Both men are emotionally constipated in different ways, trying to go on dates without something going wrong is rare, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

If you are upset, the two of them try their best to cheer you up. They’re really bad at it.

God forbid you’re physically hurt though. You either get babied or the two of them don’t realize how physically hurt you are due to their healing factors.

When Wade is hurt though, around you, he likes to play it up. If he isn’t having one of his bad days. Logan though likes to make sure you don’t see it.

I hope you know how to cook, these boys don’t, if you don’t, well… y’all order lots of take out then.

if you're gnc it takes Logan a long time to understand it, Wade gets it right away. But at least they're trying?

[evellynssocbrainrot]

I occasionally think a lot about the Crows' parents.

Nina's parents are lost souls. Nina herself barely regards them, so we do the same, but I wonder anyway.

The same applies to Matthias's parents.

Everyone knows that Wylan's father is a prick, but his mother is clearly where he got most of his personality from. I actually have a soft spot for Marya. She deserves better.

And then Jesper's parents. BOY do I adore his parents. Both of them!! Aditi is a gorgeous combination of powerful and compassionate, and I simply adore her, book-wise and show-wise. Colm Fahey is also amazing. He may have made some questionable choices, but he had realistic and sad reasons. Nonetheless, I enjoyed his relationship with Jesper and his presence among the Crows.

And then we have Inej's parents. I know I've already gushed a lot about Jesper's parents, BUT DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON MISSUS AND MISTER GHAFA!!!!! They are my favorite parents of the whole Grishaverse. Despite only being implied or recalled for most of the story, you can't deny that that have a powerful presence. I've seen so much fanart and analysis of Inej and wild geraniums and that all began from Inej's mother. I've seen people refer to the "Many boys will bring you flowers," quote to also analyze, and that all started from Inej's father. You see what I mean? The are barely actually present, but their presence is impactful for both the readers and Inej. (And they birthed the loveliest, bravest, most inspiring girl, I'm infinitely grateful for that ^^)

Kaz's parents are also barely regarded, but I think about them A LOT. And mostly when I do, I feel really sad for some reason. (Whenever I think about any of Kaz's family members, I make myself really sad... 😢😢)

[pretzel-box]

REVERSE AU MASTERLIST HERE

PART 7 : A cure so sweet

Tags: Reverse AU, Fluff, Established Relationship, Lots of cute interactions, sick sebby

Words: 1,3k

If Sebastian hated one thing above all, it was feeling sick. That strange, sickly sensation would settle deep in his bones, weighing down his every movement. His nose constantly ran, and sneezes came out of nowhere, only adding to the misery. Hiding from monsters in a deadly facility was already hard enough, but being sick made it almost unbearable.

Fortunately, he had you—a brilliant partner with a shop filled with a strange assortment of junk, some of it actually useful.

"Aw, come here, Sebastian!" The moment he stepped in, you pulled him into the warmth of your shop. Several heaters hummed along the walls, and Sebastian already knew you’d make him settle in his usual spot, close to one of them.

Sebastian groaned as he slumped into his designated spot near the heater. His head was heavy, and he shivered despite the warmth. You knelt down in front of him as best as you could with a soft, concerned smile, your hands already busy. A blanket appeared out of nowhere (probably pulled out from one of the shelves), and before he could protest, you draped it around his shoulders.

"You're worse than I thought," you teased lightly, brushing his messy raven hair away from his forehead. "You always try to power through it, but not today."

He gave a half-hearted grumble, but leaned into your touch, appreciating the small moments of comfort. "I’m fine," he muttered, but the rasp in his voice betrayed him. "Just need to—"

"Nope." You cut him off, placing a gentle finger on his lips. "Today, you’re resting, no excuses. I’ll handle everything."

Sebastian sighed, but the softness in your eyes melted his resistance. You moved away briefly, returning with a cup of hot tea. "Here, it's ginger. It'll help with your throat. I found it recently in a cupboard down the hall near a break room.”

He took the cup, his fingers brushing against yours. "Thanks," he murmured, taking a sip and wincing at the sharpness of the ginger, but the warmth spread through him, soothing his throat. "You always know what I need."

"I know you better than you think," you said with a grin, settling beside him.

He glanced at you, eyes softening. "I'm lucky to have you."

You leaned in, resting your head on his shoulder. "You always take care of me in the chaos out there. Let me take care of you now."

Sebastian’s lips curved into a faint smile as he closed his eyes, leaning into your warmth. The world outside might be a mess, but in this small shop, with you beside him, he felt a little less broken.

Sebastian let out a long sigh, sinking further into the blanket as you pressed closer to him. The warmth from the heater mixed with the comfort of your touch, and for the first time all day, he felt a bit of the tension leave his body. He placed the half-empty cup of tea on the floor beside him, his hands finding their way to you, pulling a part of you gently onto his lap.

"You know," he whispered, his voice still hoarse, "you make it really hard for me to stay grumpy."

You smiled, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his neck, your noses nearly touching. "That's the plan," you said softly, brushing a light kiss against his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, the simple gesture easing away the lingering weight of sickness. "I like it when you're all soft like this," you teased, your voice dropping to a quiet murmur.

Sebastian chuckled weakly, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. "Only for you," he whispered back, his voice low and rough but filled with affection.

The moment hung between you both, thick with the warmth of shared comfort. You leaned in again, this time pressing a tender kiss against his lips. It was slow, gentle—like neither of you wanted to break the moment. He kissed you back, lazy and soft, as if all the energy he had left was reserved just for you.

When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, and Sebastian's eyes stayed closed, his breathing steady. You shifted slightly, nestling into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck. His arms instinctively tightened around you, his hand slowly tracing circles on your back.

"You know you don’t have to push yourself so hard," you whispered against his skin, your breath warm and comforting.

"I’m used to it," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. "But with you… it’s different. You make me want to slow down. Just… be here."

You smiled against his neck, letting your lips brush against his skin before you placed a lingering kiss there. "Then stay here," you said, your voice tender. "With me."

Sebastian let out a content hum, shifting slightly to pull you even closer. "I think I could get used to this," he whispered, his lips finding yours again in a slow, lingering kiss, as if time itself could pause in the warmth of your embrace.

Sebastian sighed softly into the kiss, his lips barely brushing against yours as he held you close, the warmth between you both making the world outside feel distant. When you finally pulled back, your fingers instinctively moved up to his hair, threading through the soft strands and gently stroking his scalp. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut once more as a content hum escaped his throat.

But then, a small frown appeared on his face as a particular thought hit him too late. He shifted slightly beneath you, as if something was gnawing at the back of his mind. "Hey," he murmured, his voice still raspy. "You should probably keep some distance... I don't want to get you sick."

You paused your gentle strokes, tilting your head to meet his gaze. He looked so torn—worried, even in the middle of all the comfort you'd been giving him. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was already kicking himself for letting you get this close while he wasn't feeling well.

"Sebastian..." you whispered softly, brushing a thumb against his cheek. "You know I don’t care about that."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you silenced him with a gentle kiss—quick, reassuring, filled with all the affection you'd been holding for him. His breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening around your waist, but before he could get another word in, you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said, your voice firm but full of warmth. "You’re stuck with me, sickness and all." You gave him a soft, teasing smile, your fingers resuming their gentle motions through his hair. "Besides, what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t take care of you?"

Sebastian’s face softened, but his concern lingered. "I just… I don’t want you feeling like this," he muttered, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your hip.

"Maybe I will," you shrugged playfully, "but we’ll deal with that later. Right now, all I care about is making sure you feel better."

His heart swelled at your words, and the way you kept running your fingers through his hair was slowly breaking down his resolve. He leaned his head against your chest, his eyes closing again as he let out a deep breath. "You’re impossible," he murmured, though his tone was soft, affectionate.

You grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "And you love it."

"Yeah..." he whispered, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. "I really do."

For a moment, you both stayed like that—Sebastian curled up in your arms, his worries slowly fading as you held him close, your fingers moving rhythmically through his hair. The warmth between you was more than just physical; it was the kind of comfort only you could give him, a sense of peace that no amount of chaos in the world could take away.

"You’re everything to me, you know that?" His voice was quiet, almost as if he was afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you gently tilted his head up so you could look into his eyes. "And you’re everything to me," you replied softly, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and deep, as if you could pour all the love you felt for him into that one moment.

Sebastian kissed you back, his worries finally slipping away as he melted into your touch.

It took exactly two weeks till you were bedridden and absolutely sick, crying out loud for your boyfriend.

[brokenbytheircursedlove]

Lucifer knew something was wrong. He was not fond of how Diavolo had called for you, his tone was soft nearly vulnerable, unlike his 24/7 happy-go-lucky voice. He had a feeling where this was going....

He is a friend nonetheless, and as much as his pride wont let him to confess; he overthinks often.

You were in the living room devilsiting with the others. The serenity manor is huge and with all his brothers there, he could almost mistake it for House Of Lamentation.

He crawls behind your seat on the couch, his hand almost touching your shoulder. almost.

"Mc, Diavolo was looking for you"

His voice calm, contradicting the twist in his guts. He should be above such feelings.

You comply, of course you do, Diavolo's your friend too. He wants to stop you, he almost does.

"Hey Mc..."

"Actually, Nevermind"

He shouldn't. Diavolo is a friend and he wants to see MC, for whatever reason that's none of his concern.

Living with his obnoxious brothers who bring chaos and trouble anywhere they go, no one knows and cherishes privacy and peace like lucifer does.

Then why, he asks himself, why is he trying to spot the both of you from the window and why are his feet leading him to the poolside when he can't see you through the window?

It's too late now, he's already in earshot and unnoticed. As Diavolo starts speaking his ears perk up.

Diavolo confesses about the cursed karaoke room, which was quite obvious, for Lucifer at least. He'll hear a word or two from Lucifer but that's a different thing. He's apologising now-

Lucifer sighs with a tinge or relief he'll refuse to admit. Achieveing that assurance made him turn, ready to head back inside before he got caught.

"Whenever we're together. I have so much fun"

Lucifer halts at the words, a sinking feeling now present in his gut.

"I feel sort of nervous and yet happy at the same time"

Oh did Lucifer know that feeling. That feeling of butterflies, that feeling that drives you to be the best version of yourself, that feeling that gets your heart racing the feeling when you love someone. He was good at concealing them but they're feelings nonetheless. But for the first time in his life, Lucifer wished he was wrong.

"Um, MC... There's actually one more thing I wanted to tell you.."

Please don't.

Lucifer, too focused on the conversation that was playing out in front of him, had his fists clenched so tight, his knuckles were white and his nails were a breath away from drawing blood from his palms. It is also note-worthy, the look he was giving Diavolo, was enough to freeze devildom over.

He didn't get it. Why was he suddenly feeling so intense? Diavolo, like every other, has the right to his feelings, and he himself doesn't have a claim on MC.

"I truly adore you, MC and I..."

He also might have been drugged, cause no way in devildom was he so close to punching Diavolo's face if he continued that sentence while sober.

And thank Barbatos that he made his entrance at the right time.

He wouldn't punch Diavolo, that was just the anger talking.

He lies to himself.

~

[fanaticsnail]

Fic authors self rec! When you receive this, reply with up to five favorite fics you've written (include links, and if you want- a few thoughts about each one), then pass on to at least five other writers if you're up for it. Spread the self-love ✨\o/

Hi Quin! Thank you for this! I have been thinking about these for a little while, and I am grateful for the opportunity to talk about them!

Last One Laughing

This platonic fic was for a mutual going through a hard time, and I wanted to give them something to laugh about. This is also where I truly fell in love with the Heart Pirates enough to want to put an OC in there with them. If you like stupid jokes, this is the fic for you.

Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes

One of the closest fics I've come to enemies to lovers. This fic was one of my favourites to write, simply because I enjoyed the idea of making Doflamingo a love-sick, yandere, subby mess. Chuck in the pollen trope and I'm just in love.

Shameless

A three-part series that was only meant to be a mini fic for Eustass Kid. This was where I first fell in love with the big guy and I began slipping away from the love of the Red Hair pirates. Of the fics I've written, I actually reread this one because I enjoy the second-hand embarrassment from the reader character I created. I don't think I've made a reader I've felt that internal shrieking at as much as this one.

Hey Doc

The way this was meant to be a silly writing exercise for an exhausted and exasperated doctor and their crew, it has now dived into something completely unexpected. I love writing this series so much, it's like a little bit of joy all wrapped up in a mess of silliness. The Kid Pirates need someone like this gn!reader, and I was happy to fill the spot. Just purely platonic shenanigans with a crew full of unhinged idiots.

Daughter of the Sea

Benn Beckman needed a small fic about what it was like to aid Shanks in raising baby Uta. I really wanted that softness from him, and I remember exactly how I was feeling when I wrote this in one sitting. I remember I started this at 6am with just a general idea, wrote various parts throughout the day between my duties and my job, and sitting in the bath until about midnight getting it all done. It played out like a movie in my head, and I adored the company it kept me.

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 3) | Michael x Reader

just when i was finally starting to feel better physically, i tanked mentally :') so i'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. i hope this was worth the wait though! i promise i Do plan to work on other stuff besides just MoH but rn i just. needed to write Michael for a bit

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

PREV || NEXT

Halloween in Haddonfield was always a high-strung time for the town.

Ever since the Halloween killings a few years ago, the town had taken a hesitant approach to the holiday. Parents made a point to accompany their kids everywhere or just simply stay home with them. If phones went down or power went out, babysitting teens were told to cross the street and get help, no matter what. Despite the horrors, people still dressed up, still went looking for candy, and still snuck out to make out with their respective partners.

Halloween for you had been quiet. You'd gone to a small costume party with your friends and tried to stay busy. You knew Michael was out working since news of his crimes reached your party, people whispering and gasping at the reported murders coming from the televisions.

You tried not to think about it.

By the time you got home, it was nearly 2am and you were exhausted. As though sensing your arrival, the Boogeyman stepped out of the shadows of your kitchen, bloodstained and breathing heavily. "Busy night?" You'd called to him with a tired smile. He tilted his head in lieu of any response.

With the holiday over, you wondered what Michael would do next. For many nights after, you lay in bed and bore holes in your ceiling as you tried to come up with a plan. Would he leave? Go back to Smith's Grove? Surely he couldn't keep killing, right? There'd be no people left in Haddonfield eventually. But was that the point?

You didn't know. You didn't like not knowing.

But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, he'd sit on your couch and watch television, intrigued by the cartoons, or follow you around the house. If you left, he'd stalk you from a distance just out of sight. He joined you for dinner and movies in front of the television and seemed to enjoy watching horror films when you put them on. You knew him well enough to notice he had a soft spot for The Thing so you tried to put it on as often as possible.

It became the new normal. Domestic and quiet.

Months passed. Fall oranges faded to browns and whites as winter approached. You'd leave out food for Mayhem in hopes he'd come home but you began to lose hope. All you could do now was pray he didn't suffer or that he hadn't been eaten by some other animal.

Michael always watched you when you did this, stood in the doorway of the backdoor while you sat on the narrow steps, hoping your kitty would come home. It might've looked silly to him but he never tried to stop you. You appreciated that.

During all this, he didn't kill anyone. At least, not that you knew of. You tried to avoid the news and, with your dad gone, you didn't have much insider information anymore. Who knows if they were even still looking for him.

So you made a Thanksgiving feast. Michael was familiar with the concept but you knew it had likely been a long time since he'd actually gotten to participate. So you went all out - turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, gravy, the whole nine yards. The two of you ate together on your couch and watched Charlie Brown episodes, eating your weights in food and falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

When you'd woken, you had been taken aback by how peaceful he looked when he slept. Curly hair ruffled from the awkward angle he lay against one of your throw pillows, his face still but not tense. Pretty, you thought to yourself not for the first time.

It was nice. Everything felt perfect.

One afternoon when you'd gotten back from work, you saw Michael masked up and standing on your front porch cradling something wrapped up in an old towel. "What is that?" You gasped, fearing the worse as you hurried closer.

But you broke down into tears, immediately recognizing Mayhem. Cold, trembling, and most certainly sick in so many ways but alive and home. You'd taken him to the vet's office, a sobbing mess in the waiting room. He'd need surgery for his infected wounds and have to be on antibiotics for a long time but you were just relieved he was home and safe now.

Michael never told you how he found him. You didn't ask, just baked him a pumpkin pie as thanks.

November browns turned to December blues as snow and frost began to make appearances. The first snow day, you'd bundled both yourself and Michael up and dragged him outside to see the falling snow. He wore the mask much less now, often leaving the thing in the corner of the closet, hidden away like a bad memory.

You didn't really understand that. Your best theory was that the mask compelled Michael to kill and now that Halloween had come and gone, he was back to some semblance of normal. He still wore masks from time to time - rustic paper mache ones crafted at your kitchen table on quiet afternoons - but significantly less now. Maybe it was just a Halloween thing and he was relatively normal the rest of the year? You weren't sure. Obviously, you knew better than to push about what happened with his sister but you wondered if the killings were a reenactment of the trauma.

Psychology has always interested you.

It wouldn't surprise you if the great Dr. Loomis neglected to acknowledge that Michael was traumatized, quick to demonize him rather than provide him proper care. That he didn't put together Michael went from a normal boy to suddenly completely nonverbal and monotonous after killing her. It had affected him, even if people didn't want to admit that. Michael himself included.

But wearing the classic mask a little less meant you could slip a cute wool hat on his head and drag him out, mitten-clad hands clasped together as you charged outside. "Come see, come see!"

Michael looked up at the falling snow, squinting against the snowflakes that began to freckle his face. You'd laughed and nudged him. "Try this," you said before opening your mouth and letting the snowflakes fall on your tongue.

He'd given you a bewildered look but tried it. Only because he'd grown so fond of you, you assumed.

Days passed. Mayhem made a full recovery and now spent his days lounging in the winter sun. Sometimes he'd brush against Michael for attention and the man had gotten better at returning it, fingers brushing soft black fur occasionally. It was sweet, you thought, how he'd slowly begun to reintegrate into your life.

When you caught him drawing on looseleaf papers, you decided to get him paints and canvases as an early Christmas present and cleared out your dad's old room to let him have an art studio to paint and work on his masks in private. You'd layed down old newspapers to keep the floor relatively clean when you revealed it to him. He'd spend hours up in there, painting or making masks. You'd helped him hang some up on the wall of the room with little thumbtacks as hooks. He was getting good, you'd thought as you examined a bright orange mask that resembled a jack o' lantern.

Michael didn't show you his paintings very often. That wasn't really the point anyways so you didn't mind. But there had been a few times when he'd leave a dried canvas outside your bedroom door or atop your bed like a cat offering dead animals. Your favorite so far was one of the winter sky painted with fluffy whites and cold blues with your own profile looking up at the sky. The way he painted was streaky, like his hands shook, but it was still beautifully detailed despite the messy lines and bleeding colors.

It was interesting seeing yourself through someone else's eyes translated to art. You'd kept the painting in your room and you'd trace your fingers along the raised streaks of paint, fingers running along the lines of your face. You wondered, fleetingly with bright red cheeks, if he painted you often and just never showed you.

There was a chance. You liked to think he did.

It was around the middle of December as you attempted to get ready for a holiday party. Attempted being the key word. “Michael,” you sighed, adjusting your elf hat. “I told you, I’ll be back later tonight. I’ve left dinner in the fridge and I promise I’ll call when I’m coming home.”

It was nearing Christmas when you'd gotten invited to a holiday party. You were attempting to get ready, dressing up as a cute little elf. Attempting being the key word. "Michael," you sighed, adjusting your stupid looking elf hat, "I told you, I'll be back later tonight. I've left dinner in the fridge and I promise I'll call when I'm coming home."

Michael glared at you behind the accursed Halloween mask. He had a habit of being a bit of a brat and you found it equally annoying as you did endearing. He'd put the mask on when he'd learnt you were leaving but you'd expected that. Whenever he was generally stressed out or upset, you'd find it covering his head. The symbolism there wasn't lost on you but you had more pressing things to worry about then the possible metaphor of Michael masking himself literally and figuratively.

"If you're so upset, why not come with?" You snorted to yourself as you focused on doing your eyes in a dark green with white mascara. "I can do your makeup, dress you in a cute sweater, no one would know it's you. Could be fun, yeah?"

You paused to do your lips in a dark red. Makeup wasn't really your preference but it suited the costume you wore - a dark green tunic with red and white striped knee socks with brown boots. The hat was a matching green and jingled stupidly from the little bell on the end. You'd done your face with a heavy blush and had drawn little white snowflakes in liquid eyeliner. It was cute.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching you had you spinning around. Michael stood directly behind you and tilted his head when you made eye contact. "Wait, are you serious?" You blinked in surprise. You'd gotten good at reading him in the few months you'd spent living together and you could tell he was accepting your offer.

He gave you a blank stare before putting a hand around your neck and squeezing. You noted his tense shoulders and tried to relax. A few months ago, this gesture would have terrified you. Now you knew that it was just his way of expression. A knife and a violent hand was all he could use to convey things so you'd learnt to just roll with it, knowing that his intent wasn't to kill you.

So you didn't panic.

"I'm not making fun!" You insisted, lifting a hand to push lightly at his chest. "I just need to be sure you're actually interested in going. There'll be people there, you know that right?" Silence. "People you can't kill." More silence. "I'm not kidding either, you can't hurt or kill anyone if you come with me." It had been a long time since he'd killed anyone but you could never be totally sure of his motives. He could still be unpredictable from time to time.

Michael let you go and marched towards the dresser. You watched curiously as he fished out a black shirt and black jeans - clothes you'd gotten for him when he couldn't be in the jumpsuit - before offering them with outstretched arms. He gave you a curt nod and you smiled.

He didn't do that often so you knew he was serious.

"Alright then, c'mere big guy," you motioned for him to sit on the bed as you began gathering up makeup supplies. You kept your head turned away as he changed to offer him some semblance of privacy. Growing up in an institution meant he didn't have a lot of shame left but you always felt bad when you thought about that. 

You missed the way his hands shook as he took off the mask, too busy searching for a colored contact for his injured eye. You found a pretty jade green and figured that'd work. Heterochromia was uncommon, not unheard of. Some red eyeshadow for his eyes would help cover up the scar and would also be cute for a Rudolph nose. You collected your supplies and turned to Michael with a wide smile.

That smile fell when you saw him sitting on your bed, dressed up nice as he stared at the mask clutched tightly in his hands. He stared into its face with wide, terrified eyes and that made you freeze. You'd seen that look only once before: when you held each other in the bathroom after you'd saved him from being shot.

"You don't have to go." Your voice was soft and reassuring. He looked up at you slowly and you continued. "I know this isn't something you normally do, but-" Michael blinked slowly as you rambled. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me." The last thing you needed was him snapping and killing people at the party. You'd both be in trouble for that.

But you also wondered if he was unfamiliar with being given choices. You never forced Michael into things he didn't want to do and it was possible he wasn't used to that.

He stared at you for a long time, fingernails digging into latex, before he unclenched long enough for the mask to fall to the floor with a soft crunch. The two of you stared at it for a long time and he blinked rapidly as he stared. You could tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he was fighting something off.

You wanted to make it easier for him.

So you took a seat beside him and reached for his face with slow hands. His flinch made your heart break and you cooed to him softly. "It's just me," you soothed as you clicked open the container with the contact lens inside. "I'd never hurt you."

Michael relaxed slowly, watching you with something storming in his eyes. You cupped his cheek with one hand and his eyes fluttered briefly. "Have you ever put contacts in?" You asked, smiling warmly at him.

He shook his head once. This was going to be tricky.

It took some time to get the contact in. Neither of you really knew what you were doing and you kept worrying it'd roll back to his brain. But, with your combined efforts, it now sat comfortably in his eye. Pretty green-hazel heterochromatic eyes that you fought to not get lost in. Even with the scarring he looked… normal.

"Should I even ask if you've ever worn makeup?" You teased as you took out the eyeshadow. "I'll be brushing your face and around your eyes. Is that okay?"

Michael blinked slowly, which you took as a yes.

"Stop me if it gets to be too much, okay?" You said softly before dabbing the brush in the dark red and swiping it gently over his lids, relieved it covered the scar pretty well.

You weren't sure how familiar people were with his actual face. When people thought of Michael Myers, did they just see the pale, masked face of the Boogeyman? Or did they see his mugshot, televised on the evening news as they reported his escape and recapture?

When you moved to his next eye, his hand shot out to clench your hip tight. He hated feeling vulnerable. You were the only exception to his no touching rule because you'd proven your loyalty. In exchange, he'd given you protection. But he still disliked giving over control and holding you like a stressball was the only thing he could do to abate his anxiety.

You dusted some red on the tip of his nose and smiled to yourself. "So a few of my friends will be there," you hummed as you added the finishing touches on the raccoon-style eyeshadow you'd given him to hide a lot of the scars. Since he was wearing darker clothes, you reached for the black eyeshadow next with the intent of dusting it around his lids to give him a smokier look. It made him a tad intimidating, black soot that petered out into a dark red. "They'll probably try to talk to you but I'll try and take over. If they ask, we'll say you got in a car accident when you were young and haven't been able to talk since."

He gave your hip a squeeze in confirmation.

You brushed some red on the tip of his nose with a hum. "My friend Leslie is the chattiest so at least we won't have to worry about him. He's always rambling on and on about the horror novel he's writing. To his credit, it's really interesting." You began to brush a heavy blush on his cheeks, chuckling at the way he squinted against the sensation. "It's about some boy who was thrown over a waterfall before rising to take revenge on the town? I think? I mean, he'll certainly tell you all about it. I think he's calling it Behind the Mask or something, I'm not sure."

Michael opened his eyes when you finished with the blush and you froze. He looked good and you couldn't help but stare. Tight fitting shirt, half-lidded eyes decorated in smoky colors, and messy brown curls that you made a note to fluff up before you left. He looked painfully normal and pretty and you wanted to-

You cleared your throat and grabbed the white eyeliner pen. "This'll be colder but try not to move." Gently, you held under his chin to keep him steady as you began to dot little freckles along his cheeks and nose, pausing to draw larger snowflakes at the corners of his eyes. That way you two matched!

When you pulled back, you realized he'd been staring at you.

There were a few times in the time of you knowing Michael that you wondered if he could read minds. If, in order to be the scariest thing possible, he knew exactly what scared someone. But, you reminded yourself, this wasn't some Stephen King novel. Still, it unnerved you to consider he knew what you thought of him privately.

"Oh! I know!" You hopped up and hurried back over to your vanity, grabbing a brown headband decorated with felt horns wrapped in tiny bells. They were painfully cute and you spun to show him.

He squinted at you and you giggled. "Trust me, it'll look super cute." Sliding it atop his head, you finally got to fluff his hair out to disguise the band better. When you stepped back, you gave him a once-over and a smile.

Michael fucking Myers dressed up as a reindeer. Cute little nose, horns, and all.

"You think we should use nicknames to be less suspicious?" You hummed, tilting your head - a habit you'd picked up from him. "I could call you Mike." He glared at you and you smiled with a faux-innocence. "Aw, don't like it?" He glared harder and you laughed. "Well, if they ask for your last name, I'm making something up!"

He got up wordlessly and made his way to your vanity, examining himself in the mirror. As expected, he didn't say anything. But he did touch lightly at his eyes, curious when the powder came off on his fingers. You joined him, looking you both over in the mirror. From the outside, you two looked like any normal young couple heading for a Christmas party.

“Well Mikey,” you said as you grabbed your bag, “Shall we?”

You laughed at the slow, unimpressed blink he gave you.

You were honestly impressed Chrissy managed to get so many people to come. She'd been very popular in high school - a cheerleader who'd dated the quarterback of the football team, well-liked, and clearly still riding that high despite graduating out of high school cliques. Chrissy had been a year above you but had always been one of those girls to try and invite everyone she knew to any events she threw. So you weren't exactly close friends but you'd helped her with a school project once and apparently that was enough for her.

The house was decorated to the nines, lined in little white lights that glistened against the freshly fallen snow. Little reindeer animatronics made of the same lights "grazed" in the front yard and little candy cane lights lined the pathway. It all felt a little magical. A small flurry had picked up when you and Michael got out of the car and made your way up to the front door.

Michael paused to look up at the sky while you rang the doorbell, listening to the melodic chimes ring out inside the house. You swore he almost smiled, his hair dusted in little white flakes when he looked down at you. Your heart seized at the sight and you were struck with the urge to k–

Chrissy opened the door, smiling wide and dressed in an inappropriate Mrs Claus outfit. She surveyed you both and let out a surprised gasp, the corners of her mouth curling in delight. "And who's this hottie?" She whispered at you while giggling like a schoolgirl. "I didn't know you knew any cute guys. No offense." She twirled her hair, shamelessly looking Michael up and down.

Jealousy shot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He's my boyfriend."

"Oh," she seemed almost disappointed, which you tried to brush off. She'd always felt a little entitled towards whomever she determined was the most attractive guy. It was just how she was, even if it pissed you off in the moment. "Well, I'm happy for you!" She spun on her heel and led you both into the house, gesturing for her butler to take your coats. "Feel free to mingle, lovebirds! We've got drinks, food, and our chef made a bunch of cookies."

Michael seemed to notice the lovebirds comment and you flushed, giving a nod and smile to Chrissy while trying to ignore his stare boring into the back of your head. "Thanks. Oh, um, here!" You reached into your bag and held out a small, nicely wrapped gift. "For the Secret Santa."

She lit up and took the box enthusiastically. "Ohmygosh, thank you! I was just going to ask." Chrissy added the box to a nearby table and clasped her hands together excitedly. "Alright, perfect, you're free to go!"

You led the way to the kitchen, dodging a few familiar faces with smiles and waves and promises to return once you'd gotten some food and drinks. Michael held your wrist the whole way there, squeezing harder and harder the more people spoke to you.

The kitchen was huge, white, and perfectly pristine. The maid who cleaned everything always made their house look like an interior design catalog rather than an actual home. A large plate of highly elaborate sugar cookies lay atop the countertop, a large amount already missing with only trails of crumbs indicative of their place there.

You grabbed a candy cane shaped cookie and gestured for Michael to grab one. "I think you'll like these." He just stared at you, eyes widened ever so slightly. "What?" You asked through a mouthful of cookie. His head tilted slightly and you swallowed nervously. "Sorry for the, um, boyfriend comment. It just, uh, it felt like a safe alibi, y'know?"

Michael stared at you, eyes calculating. You prepared a million apologies in your head before he reached for a snowman cookie and bit into it, never breaking eye contact. You weren't sure if that was approval or disapproval so you both just stood there, staring awkwardly at each other and eating sugar cookies. Your fingers drummed anxiously on the cold marble tile of the kitchen counter as you tried to stand your ground.

When he finished his, Michael stepped closer to you and placed a hand at your waist. He leant forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, making you gasp in surprise. It wasn't exactly a kiss but the intent was there and the message was clear. You swallowed when he pulled back and you swore his eyes softened. "Okay, okay, cool," you said quietly, trying - and failing - to hold back your smile.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and smirked to yourself about the faint lipstick stain there. You snagged another couple cookies and a glass of cider. His cheeks were a soft pink when you passed him one of the cookies. "Shall we brace the music?" You grinned as you took his arm and led him out the door back into the party.

Everything went perfectly, all things considered. Of course, everyone you knew wanted to meet your new boyfriend. "It's a recent development," you'd say as Michael took a drink to avoid talking. "I met him when my car broke down and we just… hit it off, y'know?" You'd smile as though recounting the memories through your pleasant buzz from the cider.

"How long have you been dating?" You were asked a few times.

"Oh, a month and a half now, I think. It feels like it's been longer." You'd say while Michael chewed on cookies.

It had been, if you thought about when the starting point of your relationship could've been. Maybe not long after he'd gotten sick and you'd cared for him in a way he hadn't had since he was a child. Or maybe after you'd both made a wordless pact to each other while your father lay bleeding on the kitchen floor. Hard to say. But calling him your boyfriend had come so easily that you questioned how long you'd considered him that in your subconscious.

When Chrissy announced her parent's arrival with a few of their friends in tow, you went to greet them without a second thought. You froze in fear when you caught sight of her father: John Kallas. Officer Kallas. A friend of your father's who had been part of the team searching for Michael around Halloween.

You clutched Michael's arm and steered him to a quiet hallway of the house. "Don't let her dad see you," you whisper-yelled. When he tilted his head, you ran a nervous hand through your hair. "He was one of the cops looking for you. He might recognize you."

Michael didn't visibly react but you did notice him clenching his jaw. "I didn't know he'd be here! I hadn't thought of it until I saw him." You sighed, frustrated with your own anxiety rising. "I'm sorry. Do you want to leave?"

He seemed to think it over but you were interrupted by heels clicking on the tile floor. In a panic, you grabbed his wrists and put his hands at your waist. "Act like we were kissing." You whispered as you leant in, bumping your foreheads together.

His head tilted askew slightly and gave you a moment to mess up your lipstick a little. The footsteps came to a halt and you heard a familiar laugh that made all the anxiety in your body melt away in an instant.

Kalei stood with their arms crossed, looking you both over with an amused expression. "So is this the guy you were telling me about back in September?" They laughed at seeing the way you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

Michael gave you a quizzical look and you groaned. "Yes, yes, he is." You confessed with an exhausted sigh. "But shh!" You waved a hand at them to try and quiet them.

They didn't back down though. "He would gush about you at work to me all the time," they drawled out, ignoring your flustered protests.

"I didn't-!"

"You better treat him right!" Kalei said, crossing their arms over their chest. "I may not look it but I can pack a serious punch."

Michael blinked slowly before looking back at you. "What do you need, Kalei?" You sputtered, trying to change the topic before your impromptu boyfriend decided to make a scene.

"Oh, the Secret Santa's starting. Came to getcha." They gestured for you both to follow with an impish smile growing on their face. "Better hurry up before people start making assumptions." They teased with a waggle of their eyebrows.

Your face lit up like a torch and you gently pushed Michael away to march down the hall. "N-no, wouldn't want that, yeah." Your voice sounded far away to your own ears, too much blood pounding through your head.

Michael followed on your heels like a loyal dog and you tried to ignore the way that made you feel.

You and Michael took a seat on one of the couches and you held his arm almost possessively, especially when you noticed some of the other girls at the party kept looking at him with bashful faces. It pissed you off just how shameless they were even when they knew he was dating you. Was it that hard for people to believe?

The absence of John Kallas made you think that he and his buddies had gone into one of the other rooms. Which put your mind at ease, at least a little.

The Secret Santa was relatively uneventful. You clapped politely as people opened their gifts and were surprised when Chrissy handed you your gift from her. A book on growing vegetables with a tab already inside on a picture of a tomato plant. "You think I should grow tomatoes?" You gave her an amused smile.

"Well, duh! It, like, suits your whole vibe, y'know? I'm surprised you don't grow more vegetables." Chrissy had nudged you gently as you began leafing through the rest of the book, skimming the words as Michael watched over your shoulder.

As it finally came time to leave, you were saying your goodbyes to Chrissy when you spotted Officer Kallas leaving the kitchen. You pulled Michael out of there quickly, hoping that the stumble the officer gave was simply him tripping and not because he'd seen The Boogeyman as your date to his daughter's party.

Your walk back to the car was brisk and silent. White snow was like stars as it fell overhead before coming to rest on your shoulders and the ground below. "Thank you for coming," you said, reaching over to squeeze Michael's hand. "It was nice having you there."

Before you could pull your hand away completely, he gave you a squeeze of his own before climbing into the passenger seat.

Oh, you thought to yourself. Oh.

For Christmas, you'd gotten Michael a drum set.

It had been an impulsive buy, a decision you had made while walking past a thrift store and noticing a decently priced set on display in the window.

He enjoyed doing things with his hands - be it painting, making masks, or, most recently, helping you decorate Christmas cookies. So you figured he'd get a kick out of drumming. You lived far out enough that he could afford to be loud without worrying about waking the neighbors up and you had a detached garage he could play in. Maybe when the weather got warmer, he'd move outside.

And it might help him to let energy out. You'd caught him giving death glares to random postmen who came to your door and he'd already begun the habit of wearing the accursed Halloween mask around the house again. So you didn't want him to get bored.

“Here,” you said as you passed him the drumsticks. He examined them curiously and you gestured to the drums. When he gave you an empty stare, you took one of the stucks and whacked on the cymbals. That made Michael’s eyes widen and he moved around to take a seat. “You can be as loud as you want with them. No one’ll hear soooo… go crazy!”

Michael took the stick back and held them both in hesitant hands. With a few bangs that seemed exploratory coupled with getting the hang of pressing his foot to make a lower noise, he seemed to catch on pretty quick. His banging grew in speed and volume as he gained confidence and you laughed, covering your ears when the sound echoed off the walls of the small space. "You got it!" You called over the crashing cymbals.

A loud bang signified the end of his "song" and he stared at you with wide, crazy eyes, panting heavily. "Fun, right?" You smiled at him. "They're all yours so you're free to come play them whenever you want."

His lips curled into an almost feral smile that made you smile back. You'd never seen him smile before, much less like that.

Over the next few days, Michael continued sneaking – literally sneaking, like he'd be in trouble if you spotted him – into the garage to play the drums. His disorganized, chaotic banging was slowly starting to take form. Organized chaos, you smiled to yourself. The loud sounds and movements gave Michael a chance to express himself with noise which was quite the contrast to his usual quiet self.. You also found it exceptionally cute when he'd go play and come back inside hours later with his wild brown curls disheveled and a crazed grin on his face.

It had been unsettling at first seeing him smile the way he did but now it just made your heart seize. His fingers would drum on things to a tune you couldn't hear and he was painfully human now, relaxed around you and genuinely happy, from what you could tell.

So you made a mixtape for him that focused on heavy drum sounds, steady but loud beats the way he liked. At first he didn't seem too interested in it but you'd since caught him listening to it a few times, eyes closed and posture relaxed. Music wasn't something Michael had a lot of exposure to so you had fun introducing him to various bands and musicians.

Metal music seemed to be his preference, which made a lot of sense.

It was New Years when things really changed.

You and Michael had the television on with the channel turned to watch the ball drop. It wasn’t typically a tradition you cared about but you could tell your housemate was intrigued. He’d been upstairs painting for most of the day while you cleaned the house up a bit. "Spring cleaning," you said to Michael as he watched you from the kitchen. "Cleaning makes me happy. It's nice to get everything back in order after the holidays. 'sides, it's still too cold out for gardening."

Michael tilted his head but retreated back upstairs with his water jar for his paints.

Once the sun set, you made hot chocolate and ordered pizza. Michael preferred just plain cheese but you’d gotten yours with olives - something Michael always gave you looks for. "Don't knock it 'till ya try it," you'd snickered through a mouthful of pizza.

His brow furrowed in distaste as he took a bite of his own pizza.

It was cute. He had a lot of personality once you knew where to look. And he’d clearly gotten very comfortable with you during the time you’d been living together. It felt like a great honor to get to see Michael Myers do something as mundane as eat pizza in lounge clothes.

The two of you watched cartoons for a few hours until 11:57 hit. You flicked to the news channel and let your head loll to the side and rest against the back of the couch. "It's not the most exciting thing in the world," you said as you glanced at Michael, "But it's fun. It's nice to see everyone around the world get together for something like this."

Michael had just stared at the television with a slight tilt to his head. 11:59 struck and you felt your throat tighten as an idea came to mind. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Chrissy a couple years back where she'd told you about her favorite New Years tradition.

50 seconds…

It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

45…

“Hey, Michael?” Your voice was barely a whisper. You kept your eyes trained on the TV even when you felt his eyes on you.

40…

Swallowing was a challenge for you. “There’s, um, a kind of New Years tradition. That, um, it means-”

30…

“-you’ll have good luck for the rest of the year.” Your words were slow and methodical. It felt like you had to really sell him on the idea, even if you were afraid to tell him what it was. You weren't even sure you wanted to admit to yourself how badly you wanted to-

25…

“Want to do it?”

Michael just stared blankly at you. His eyes darted between yours, calculating. It made you feel flayed open despite the fact you were pretty sure he didn't know what you were talking about.

20…

He gave you a single nod. You quickly darted your tongue out to wet your lips. Now or never, you sighed internally.

“Trust me,” you said more than asked. His eyes widened slightly but he didn't pull away. You knew he trusted you and all you could do was hope he didn't react poorly.

15…

You swallowed around the heavy lump in your throat and tried to not look too worried. If he got the impression it was something bad, you may lose your chance. Lifting a gentle hand, you let your fingertips graze his cheek before slowly settling to cup his face properly.

It was like you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding even over the cheering on the television.

10…

"This okay?

9…

Michael's eyes softened and he gave a slight nod, as though worried he'd dislodge you entirely.

8…

You scooted closer, the both of you adjusting so you were sat facing each other, opposite shoulders brushing the back of the couch. He sat perfectly cross-legged while one of your legs braced against the floor.

7…

Slowly, you reached over with your free hand to tangle your fingers together in a loose hold.

6…

His eyes widened more and his lips parted. A look of realization flashed in his eyes and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped.

5…

"Still okay?"

4…

Michael gave a small nod again, eyes darting all over your face as he searched for…something. You weren't sure.

3…

2…

1…

You leant forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. The sounds of cheering that came from the television felt far away and underwater. Every sense in your body was focused on Michael - the warmth of his hand, the residual taste of hot chocolate on his lips, and the soft intake of breath you heard when your lips met.

It felt like the cheering was for you two.

At first, Michael didn't seem sure what to do with himself. With some gentle guidance, you tilted his head to the side to let him lean into the kiss better. He was clearly trying, so you scooted closer and let him set his hands on your hips to lift you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

When you parted to catch your breaths, Michael was staring at you with half-lidded, glassy eyes. It felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest

You pulled him back in, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. His arms wrapped around your waist and you sunk into his hold. Being with him felt warm and safe.

So yeah. Things changed on New Years. But neither of you were complaining.

The snow finally began to clear up, being replaced smoothly by sleet and rain. It was honestly far more preferable to you, since it made walks in the forest more enjoyable. You'd always preferred the rain.

It had been a few weeks since the New Years and you and Michael were in some type of relationship. The word "dating" had come to mind but it wasn't really accurate. It was more than dating. You were partners in crime - literally and figuratively - as well as good friends, housemates, close confidants, and, more importantly, you saw each other. Really and truly. You'd both picked up on the others wordless sentences and slight shifts in your bodies were like loud declarations. Sure, you two held hands and he let you touch him more but that wasn't what was important to you.

Michael smiled more. He'd watch you with soft, sleepy eyes, stopped tensing whenever you cut his hair, and you'd caught him dozing off on the couch a few times.

You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

Today, you needed to run down to the store to grab a few things. The rain had finally let up enough that you felt comfortable driving. "Michael? I'll be back around 5:30, alright?" You called into the house as you fastened your shoes.

Ever since the Christmas party, he'd gotten better about you leaving the house for short periods of time. So long as you promised to come back, that is. If you didn't, you knew he'd hunt you down with a knife and a bloodstained jumpsuit. Of that, you had no doubt.

Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen staring at you. You shot him a grin and grabbed your bags. "Be back soon!" You called over your shoulder as you ventured outside.

Looking back on it, you wished you'd stayed home…

You were examining a box of cereal for dents when someone approached you. "Hey," Chrissy's voice came from behind you. When you turned, she looked tense with her arms around herself and her smile was tight. Forced. Alarm bells began ringing in your head but you smiled back.

"Hey, Chrissy. Uh, you okay?"

"How's your boyfriend? What was his name, um, Michael, right?" She looked like she'd be sick and you felt white-hot adrenaline shoot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He, um, is he around?"

You swallowed, keeping your movements slow and casual. If you cracked, then she'd know. So you made a show of putting the cereal box into your cart and took the chance to look around. The aisle was empty but you caught the sign of movement near the end. Blue police uniforms, likely Chrissy's dad and his partner.

"No, he's traveling." You gave Chrissy an exhausted smile. "Y'know I'm not gonna pass your number along, right?"

She looked pale but her smile got wider and she took a small step back, like you terrified her. "Did, um, did someone die?" Her fake pout made you want to punch her in the face. Her faux sympathy oozed from her tone and you couldn't help the way your eye twitched. "Maybe his sister-?"

You froze in place. She knew. You don't know how she found out but there was no doubt she knew. Why the hell Officer Kallas had waited so long to act, let alone use his daughter as bait, was beyond you. Had he seen pictures from the party and asked Chrissy to identify him? Had he compared it to his mugshot? The thought of that made you irrationally angry.

"His dad is sick." You grit out through clenched teeth.

"You're sick," Chrissy shot back like a viper. "You've been sleeping with the fucking Boogeyman! You brought him to my house, oh my god, what if he killed-!" She choked back a sob, having the audacity to look betrayed.

Like a Barbie doll with mascara tears.

Enough was enough. You spun on your heel and marched away from a sobbing Chrissy like a man on a mission. You heard Officer Kallas call your name and you took a steadying breath before spinning, swinging the metal cart full of boxes and cans behind you and watching the two officers stumble and trip. Chrissy shrieked in fear and you took off towards the sliding glass doors. The crackle of a walkie talkie behind you was loud, too loud for you to make out any words being said. Everything in you was hyperfocused on running.

You heard heavy footsteps hot on your heel and you wished, momentarily, that you had a weapon of your own.

All you had to do was get to your car, the little piece of junk like an oasis in a hot desert. All you had to do was get in and you could get away, get to a phone booth and call Michael. Tell him to get Mayhem, pack bags, and get out. You'd promise you'd pick him up. Something. Anything.

But you’d never get the chance. 

The officer tailing grabbed you around your middle and lifted you up like a bratty child hauling a cat around. “Put me down!” You shrieked and began to slam your fists on his arms.

"You're under arrest for disrupting justice, harboring a criminal, and assaulting an officer," his robotic words fell on deaf ears as you continued to fight for your life. Cornered animals bit and he was finding that out the hard way as you twisted to claw at his face.

But he easily overpowered you, shoving you into the backseat of his police cruiser and slamming the door. Tears began to fall down your face as you began to panic. Michael wouldn't know they were coming. They surely knew to check your house. They'd catch him there and then what? Would they kill him? Shoot to kill, like you remembered hearing on the radio all those months ago?

You felt like throwing up. All you could do was curl up on the leather seats and sob your heart out.

All you could do was hope he'd be okay.

Dr. Samuel Loomis considered himself a brilliant man.

He was assigned to Michael Myers' case when the young boy had first been admitted to Smith's Grove when he'd just been a young, non-speaking child. His mother had brought him in, her eyes red rimmed and pleading to help her son.

And Dr. Loomis always loved a challenge case. Every 'difficult' patient he ever had while working in this institution had eventually cracked under his methods. So he studied Michael, subjecting him to various medications, talk therapy, and tried everything to trigger any kind of response out of him. At first, Michael seemed to truly want to be helped. His mother visited every week and talked with him about home, about his life after the institution.

Michael took well to art therapy, much to Loomis' frustrations - he had strongly advised against giving the young boy access to making masks - and he started to make progress in sorting through what happened to him.

Then his parents died. It was like everything in Michael shut down after that. Walls were built up high and became impenetrable the longer Dr Loomis poked and prodded for a reaction. 

Years went by and no more progress was made. It was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall with eyes like the devil, as far as Loomis was concerned. There was no way a child could commit such atrocities without an ounce of guilt, no confession of sin. He'd advocated strongly against Michael being released on parole, insisting he was soulless and dangerous.

So Halloween came and Michael escaped, killing teenagers and reenacting the horrors he'd committed to his sister fifteen years ago. And now he had escaped yet again. This time was different though - Michael had gone missing for several months now. Too long had passed without any new murders and Loomis was becoming anxious and impatient. Police had let the case go, grateful at the idea Michael moved on to terrorize a new town.

But Dr. Loomis knew Michael Myers all too well.

He stood in his dimly lit office, watching a police car drive up through the large open window. Watching you get unloaded from the car and observing the way you fought so viciously, Loomis felt like he hit the jackpot. It was no wonder Michael was so obsessed with you. There was a darkness to you that had yet to grow anywhere. Surely he was just biding his time, playing house with you while he waited for you to snap and join him in his killing sprees.

He couldn't have that though. Michael had to be returned to Smith's Grove before he caused any more devastation.

“Doctor?” Officer Kallas’s voice broke the psychologist from his stupor.

“Come in.” He turned, looking over his shoulder and smiling when he lay eyes on you.

There you were. In handcuffs with tear tracks on your face. Your lip was split from where you'd nicked it while trying to bite Officer Kallas. “We apprehended him like you asked. We’ll head to the house to retrieve-”

“Don’t,” Loomis held up his hand to still the room. “No. We’ve got all we need right here.” He approached you slowly, like you were something to behold. You felt slimy under his fascinated stare. “Michael will come looking for him. Then we’ll catch him. We can’t give him any home-turf advantages.”

Officer Kallas nodded and shoved you forward into the room before closing the door behind him. You felt like a muzzled dog, glaring down the doctor with such hate that it reminded him of Michael.

Dr Loomis took a seat at his desk. “Tell me,” he hummed, “What was it like being held captive by Michael?” You looked at him, brow furrowed. Held captive? Was that the narrative they were running with? He seemed to misinterpret your confusion and gave you a sympathetic smile. “I know you were held by him for quite some time. Your friend Chrissy told her father about it. You were seen-”

“I wasn't a prisoner.” You spat, almost offended.

“So you were simply afraid.” The doctor clicked his pen, beginning to write something down. His scribbling felt grating on your nerves and you felt the urge to strangle the man, cuffs be damned.

But you just glared at him instead. “What is this, an interrogation?”

Dr. Loomis lifted his head and you could see the arrogance in his eyes. “I’ve studied Michael for sixteen years,” he said slowly, “And I’ve never seen him so fascinated by another human being.”

“Maybe you’re just shitty at your job.” You scoffed.

If you weren't already glaring daggers, you would have missed the disapproving look Loomis gave you. "In good time, my theory will be proven." He gave you a smile and gestured to one of the chairs sat in front of his desk. "Michael will come for you. And when he does, I will finally rid the world of that potent evil." He said with a menacing, teeth-filled smile.

You wish you’d stayed home.

[teamdilf]

In Which Solas Learns Rook's First Name

“If you are done intruding upon my private time with my girlfriend, may I ask you a personal question?” 

“If it’s about Davrin's dick, absolutely. If it’s about anything else, maybe.”

He walked right into that, he supposes. “What is your first name? You’ve told me that you took your last name from your late mentor, but I do not know your first name, despite our mental connection and I find that strange.” 

“Can we not talk about Davrin's dick instead?” Ah. A sensitive spot, then.

“You need not tell me what it is if you would prefer to keep it to yourself.”

“It’s not exactly that. More… I don’t want you to call me by it and if you know it, you might because I, like, don’t exactly always call you by your, um… preferred name, which is your actual name.” 

“If it genuinely bothered me you would not do so.” In truth, he finds it charming and there’s something refreshing about being treated as a man, even though she’s been aware of his identity from the moment they first encountered one another. Whenever he’s made his own sore spots clear, she’s prodded at them with a sensitivity she lacks in all other areas of communication or avoided them entirely if the topic at hand is irrelevant to their mission.

“You got annoyed that one time Lucanis called you ‘wolfy’.”

“He is not you.”

Rook smiles at this; a soft sort of smile lacking any hint of mischief. “Aww, do I get special treatment, wolfy?”

“If you would consider calling me by a childish nickname special treatment, then yes.”

“It’s ‘Melody’,” Rook says, staring down at her joined hands in her lap. “I don’t remember much about my parents - just that my mom sang a lot. I was six when I came into my magic and found myself dragged away, but she sang, and I think maybe she might have liked it if I could sing too, but joke’s on her: I can’t sing for shit. Not like your sweetheart - she’s a pretty fucking bird. I can’t even talk pretty; I’ve got this pretty fucking name and it’s just not me, y’know? Some folks called me ‘Mel’ in the circle and I guess I can tolerate that but Marcel called me ‘Rook’, and I figure he knew me better than my mother ever could, so he knew how to name me proper.”

[prettygirl-gabi]

The Heartbeat of the Island

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Rating: Teen And Up

Warning: reader being called out of name: "cunt" (ONCE), reader calls rafe a cunt, Angst, !soft rafe (whattt), slight fluff, happy ending, lmk if I missed any

Category:F/M

Fandom: Outerbanks (obx), Netflix TV series

Relationships: S1 beginning of S2 rafe x !Pogue f plus-size reader

Summary: Rafe and a plus-size Pogue reader clash as enemies from opposite sides of the island, but simmering tensions ignite unexpected passion, leading them from rivalry to a slow-burn romance.

Thinking about making a pt2... lmk

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"Rafe Cameron". Even his name felt like a punch to the gut. Every time I heard it, every time I saw him, my insides twisted. He was everything I wasn’t. Tall, lean, golden-haired, and rich—the epitome of a Kook. And me? I was a Pogue. Curvy, hip dips, no thigh gaps,dark-haired, a little rough around the edges. I worked at a local surf shop, spent my evenings with my friends by the beach bonfires, and wore my outsider status with pride. But there was no denying the fact that the Kooks ruled this island. And Rafe Cameron? He was their king.

I first ran into him—literally—during the off-season. Tourists had gone home, leaving the island to the locals. It was a brisk morning, and I was jogging down to the pier. My mind was lost in the rhythm of my steps, the ocean breeze tugging at my hair, when out of nowhere, someone barreled into me.

“Oof!” I stumbled back, landing on the rough wooden boards of the pier. Pain shot through my elbow where it had struck the ground.

“Watch where you’re going,” a deep, irritated voice barked.

I looked up, and there he was. Rafe Cameron in all his infuriating glory, standing over me with a scowl on his perfect face.

“You ran into me,” I shot back, scrambling to my feet. I wasn’t about to let him intimidate me, even if he was towering over me like some kind of Greek god.

He sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy daydreaming, you wouldn’t have been in the way.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could, he was already walking away, his long strides carrying him down the pier as if nothing had happened.

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

***

A few weeks passed, and I did my best to avoid Rafe Cameron. It wasn’t hard. Our worlds rarely intersected, and that was fine by me. But the island wasn’t that big, and fate—or whatever twisted force controlled this place—had other plans.

It was late afternoon when I found myself back on the pier, sitting on the edge with my legs dangling over the water. The surf shop had closed early, and I’d needed some time to think. The sky was a watercolor of pinks and oranges, the sun slowly sinking into the horizon. The peace of the moment was shattered by the sound of footsteps behind me.

“You’re in my spot,” a familiar voice drawled.

I turned, my heart sinking when I saw Rafe standing there, hands in his pockets, looking at me with that same annoyed expression.

“Last time I checked, this pier didn’t have assigned seating,” I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady.

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he walked closer, stopping just a few feet away from me. His eyes were locked on the ocean, not me, and for a moment, I wondered if he was going to ignore me and sit down anyway. But then he surprised me.

“You always hang out here?” he asked, his tone oddly neutral.

I blinked. Was this Rafe Cameron actually making small talk? I shrugged, not sure where this was going. “Sometimes. It’s quiet, and the view’s nice.”

He nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “I come here to think,” he said, almost to himself.

I studied him for a moment. His usual arrogant air was missing, replaced by something almost...human. It threw me off, and before I knew it, I was asking, “What do you have to think about, Rafe?”

He let out a harsh laugh, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

Silence fell between us, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the pier. It was strange, being here with him, not fighting. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I found myself speaking before I could stop myself.

“You know, you don’t always have to be an asshole.”

His gaze snapped to mine, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place crossing his features. But then it was gone, replaced by that infuriating smirk. “And you don’t always have to be so sensitive.”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. “I’m not sensitive, Rafe. I just call it like I see it.”

“Is that right?” He stepped closer, and I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “And what do you see?”

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. His blue eyes were locked on mine, and for a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. This was not how I’d expected this encounter to go.

“I see a guy who thinks he owns the world because he’s a Cameron,” I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. “But I also see someone who’s more than just a Kook.”

His smirk faltered, just for a second, and I wondered if I’d said too much. But then he surprised me again.

“You don’t know anything about me,” he said quietly.

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But I’m willing to bet there’s more to you than you let on.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to figure something out. Before i could open my mouth again he says "Go fuck yourself, cunt." And then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me more confused, pissed than ever.

***

Our interactions didn’t stop there. Over the next few weeks, we kept running into each other—at the pier, in town, at the beach. And every time, there was a little less animosity, a little more...something else. We argued, sure, but it was different now. There was a tension between us, one that neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge but couldn’t quite ignore.

It all came to a head one night at a party on the beach. The bonfire was roaring, music blaring, people dancing and laughing. I was sitting on a log, nursing a drink, when I felt someone sit down next to me. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“You’re not exactly the life of the party,” Rafe commented, nudging my shoulder with his.

“Neither are you, cunt” I shot back, but there was a smile tugging at my lips.

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Why do you hate me?”

The question caught me off guard, and I turned to face him, searching his eyes. There was no trace of his usual arrogance, just genuine curiosity.

“I don’t hate you,” I said slowly. “You just...you make it really hard to like you sometimes. You know like when you called me a cunt for example.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “I guess I deserve that. I do genuinely apologize for calling tou a cunt, you were right and it hurt to have a pouge tell me something ona deeper level.”

I bit my lip, debating whether or not to say what was on my mind. But in the end, I figured I had nothing to lose.

“You know, Rafe...you don’t have to be the person everyone expects you to be. You can be...more.”

He looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a vulnerability in his eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. “And who do you think I can be?”

I hesitated, then reached out, taking his hand in mine. His fingers were warm, strong, and for a moment, I just held on, feeling the connection between us. “Someone who’s not afraid to be himself. Someone who doesn’t have to put on a front.”

He stared at our hands, then back at me, something softening in his gaze. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” I admitted. “But it’s worth it.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the firelight flickering around us, the sound of the ocean in the background. And then, slowly, he leaned in, his eyes never leaving mine. My heart was pounding in my chest, but I didn’t pull away. When his lips finally brushed against mine, it was soft, tentative, as if he was testing the waters.

And then, just like that, the kiss deepened. His hand came up to cup my cheek, and I melted into him, all the tension, all the animosity between us dissolving in that moment. When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard, our foreheads resting against each other.

“Maybe I’ve been wrong about you,” Rafe murmured, his thumb brushing against my cheek.

“Maybe we’ve both been wrong,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled then, a real, genuine smile, and I felt something warm bloom in my chest. Maybe this was the beginning of something new. Something real.

And for the first time in a long time, I found myself looking forward to what came next.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

‐Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-Gabi✨️🎀

[amoural]

I wanna slow dance with you / I just wanna slow dance with you (Slow dance) / I know all the other boys are tough and smooth / But I just wanna slow dance with you - slow dance by evil

[treasureplcnet]

(lia voice) rolan you're 26. you should be at the pub

[fairandfatalasfair]

"Edwin can help" says Charles.

Crystal raises an eyebrow at him. He smiles sunnily.

"Edwin would sell me to Satan for one corn chip," she says.

Edwin, from his spot at the desk, lowers his book enough to give her a longsuffering look. "This feels like one of your obscure internet references," he says. He still says "internet" like the word doesn't belong in his mouth.

Crystal gives him a bland smile. "The internet isn't obscure," she says. "You just don't know anything about it because you're a million years old."

"One hundred twenty four," he says, because he's a pedantic little shit.

Charles is chuckling in the corner, because he has low tastes and thinks Edwin being a pedantic little shit is hilarious.

"At any rate," says Edwin crisply, "As a fugitive from hell, negotiating with Satan would hardly be in my best interests. Also, as a fugitive from hell, I have no interest in seeing anyone sent there unjustly, much less someone I have grown... attached to."

She feels her smile warm a little at that, and turns her head so that Edwin won't see. Love you too, Edwin.

"Finally," he concludes, "I am dead, with no need to eat, and therefor have no use for corn chips. This accusation does not make sense."

Crystal chokes at the affronted dignity in his voice, but pulls her expression back under control, only turning back to Edwin when she's sure she can look disdainful without her lips twitching. Charles dying of laughter in the corner isn't helping, but she manages.

"It's a meme," she says loftily.

Edwin's longsuffering expression turns pained. "Half the time, I am sure you are making these things up to aggravate me," he informs her.

She isn't, but only because the reality aggravates him plenty without any embellishment.

"Is it working?" she asks, and finally lets herself laugh when he picks up his book again and glares daggers at her over the top of it.

[yubriamakesart]

Shortly after uploading this I saw a post where someone mentioned how Mr. Qi is canonically a creepypasta character now. And like. Surely. If you've read my webcomic. You know I can't resist that.

[raticalshoez]

Solace for the Lonely

This was an AU idea I had just aptly named "Life Series Therapy Session" where it stemmed from a stupid headcanon that after a while, Grian started to feel bad for how the games were taking a toll on his friends so instead of being an eldritch horror he uses Watcher like abilities to like.....make therapy for his friends???

Joel was his guinea pig.

Basically the premise for Joel's session was he had to find closure in his past as one of the lonelier members by helping other members who were cursed with loneliness in other life series' and help them come to terms with things.

With LL!Scar, Joel is a bit awkward because it's the first person he's conversing with so there's this sorta of whiplash and this season was the one where him going red left them both alone.

Scar is also shocked at the sight of a Joel who isn't mental, and given Scar's track record in later seasons of unfaithful soulmates and forced villainy, Joel finds him the hardest to comfort.

He opts for telling him that one day he'll meet people he can call family, hinting towards the Clockers, but never outright saying it. He thinks back on his time with the Bad Boys, and his unwavering loyalty to them. He thinks the season might've been a step towards a less solitary life for them both.

When he sees DL!Pearl is his next "client," he's much more confident. He's teamed with Pearl at this point, and he knows that she will not have to suffer her Double Life fate again.

He has to tiptoe around specifically mentioning the Mounders and the fact that they are a group that forms because he doesn't want the Butterfly Effect to take place. Being as vague as possible, he assures Pearl that one day she will find people to be devoted to again (even if he does leave out the part about them all dying before her...for her own wellbeing).

Pearl is naturally skeptical. She's been isolated on this server that's meant to be about love and in this world where DL!Joel is purposefully antagonistic, here he is uncharacteristically telling her everything will turn out okay in the vaguest nature possible. And she's just expected to believe that?

Even so, as he walks away, she can't help but feel a little more hopeful.

The last person Joel encounters is SL!Lizzie, and this one stings a bit more. Joel knows Lizzie's fate in this world, and it's not pretty for her. Lizzie didn't particularly have a happy story in Last Life either, so something about this is extra unfortunate.

Joel just goes straight in and tells her that he will always be there for her because that is the full truth and he knows Lizzie needs to hear it. Maybe not at this point; maybe at this point SL!Lizzie is completely content and nothing particularly bad has happened to her, and she's wondering why her husband is at her doorstep looking so sympathetic.

But when Joel remembers a certain party, and the way he was still attacked even after being her sole supporter, he feels he has to comfort her, and tell her that he loves her, and somehow make it so her cold and lonely death in the end doesn't feel so bitter after this is all done.