Hi!! I'm Not Sure If You'd Be Comfortable With This, But Would You Be Able To Do Something With Billy

hi!! i'm not sure if you'd be comfortable with this, but would you be able to do something with billy loomis x reader where the reader is possibly plus sized and has old sh scars? if you're not comfortable with the last part i understand.

Billy Loomis x Reader: draw stars around my scars

Warnings: Swearing (probably), self-harm topics, self-harm scars, reader did self-harm but now is better, bad reaction at first, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THESE TOPICS ARE GOING TO TRIGGER YOU.

Tags: healing, reader can be read as plus size, reader has stretch marks, reader has self-harm scars, projecting heavily

Reader pronouns: Non stated.

Word count: 1122

Summary: Billy sees Reader's self harm scars for the first time, on accident.

Author’s note: hi, thank you for requesting! this was healing to write, to be honest. as someone who dealt with self-harm for very long years, all i can say is that it does get better, you have to believe for a better way out for yourself and be very focused on your goal on staying clean. no one deserves to hurt themselves, i promise. if any of you reading this is at a very bad moment, if you self-harm, please know that my inbox and dms are always open for you to rant, even if we've never ever talked before. you can send whatever you want, do it with anonimity if you want through my inbox. but please, know that you're not alone. please, you need to do your best to get help, and if you can't, you must believe in yourself.

i never got help, and i'm still here, and honestly, i thought i would have ended all of this more than two years ago. please, please, stay strong. find your passion, stick to it. i'm leaving this my chemical romance song, because they really got me through my worst times, and the lyric "I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scars. Give a cheer for all the broken. Listen here, because it's who we are." really resonated with me and made me believe there was more than hurt. i'm always here for you <3

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

Having Billy over wasn’t weird, in fact, you had grown so used to him sleeping around and staying until very late hours in your bedroom, that not having him there sometimes got lonely and awkward. You didn’t know much about the situation between his parents other than they had been fighting a lot lately, but that was enough, and you didn’t need to know more to offer a place for him to stay.

That night, you had just come out of the shower with the warm towel around your body when you heard some sounds outside your window. They were the kind of sounds stones made against wood, the kind of sounds Billy made to let you know he was outside, but you still got closer to the window to check if it was him. You saw him outside, with his denim jacket closed around his torso and his hand holding little stones he had gathered around your garden, waiting for you. When he saw you, he waved slowly and gestured to the window, for you to open it.

Making him a sign to wait, you stepped away from the window and hurried to put some clothes on before opening the window for him to climb and enter your bedroom. You settled for a simple t-shirt and cotton shorts, leaving the towel on top of your bed so you could finally let him enter.

Once you opened the window, you stepped back knowing he would climb up without any difficulty — he had really grown to master the art of climbing through your window. Billy was fast, and no longer holding the stones since you had finally realized he was outside, he appeared by your window and jumped inside with ease. 

“I’ve been outside for fifteen minutes.” He grunted as he cleaned his palms against his jeans, then pushed the rebel strands of his black hair away from his eyes.

“I was showering, I didn’t hear you.”

That made him look up, that little but still sweet smile of his appearing in his lips because God, did he like being with you — and it disappeared when his eyes landed on a particular place on your thighs, and you knew what he was looking at as soon as his eyes snapped back onto yours, something close to rage filling them up.

You had always been so careful hiding your scars. Lately, it was more because of not wanting to have difficult and awkward conversations and not because of being a constant in your life — the self-harming had stopped some time ago already, you had outgrown it, realizing that hurting yourself was something that you did not deserve. The scars were tricky to see, considering they were placed high on your thighs, and even if you wore regular shorts they were almost impossible to see, but these cotton shorts were shorter than usual. 

“Billy—”

“Tell me you’re not doing any of that shit to yourself.” He demanded, and his voice sounded as cold as ice, as hard as steel. Billy wasn’t going easy on this, and you didn’t expect less out of him.

“It was a long time ago.” You said, your voice remaining calm. It was for a few seconds, but your eyes followed him in the path to your thighs, to the scars matching the stretch marks. They were part of you now. “I’m alright now.”

The breath that Billy let out was shaky, which surprised you. He got a step closer to you, then regretted and backed away slightly. You knew his eyes were now scanning your arms, and you knew that, if he looked hard enough, he could also see the ones there — that, or you were the only one who could see the invisible traces the razor had carved into your skin in your worst moments, which was also possible. Some sights were impossible to forget.

“You are okay?” Billy asked softly, with a reason to doubt you. You had been dating him for months, being friends for years, but you still hadn’t told him — you had let him figure it out, by accident. 

You nodded. “I promise. I am. I’m clean, I’ve been clean for more than a year.”

Billy nodded slowly, almost like he wasn’t paying attention — but you knew he was. His steps were quick when he walked towards you and pulled you into a swift, loose hug, his chin resting on your shoulder. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms tight around him. You wished you could go back and show that moment to your past self, as a promise that everything would work out, that you deserved better. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked in a whisper, and if you didn’t know him better, you could have sworn his voice was strained with emotion. It was. “I could’ve… fuck. Don’t ever do that again, please.”

“I know, I know, it was just…” You shook your head and let yourself hug him a little bit tighter. “It was difficult, bad timing and all… I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry I wasn’t there—”

“Billy, it’s not your fault.”

Billy pulled back slightly from you, looking into your eyes in earnest. “It’s not yours either.”

You smiled softly, and caressed his cheek with tenderness written all over your face. You hadn’t loved anyone more in your whole life. “I know.” You said, nodding your head, and it was true.

Billy watched you again, carefully, from head to toe, and only closed his eyes once he convinced himself that you were alright. It wasn’t something violent to see, it was calming — his worry for you, although at first rather rough and unmoving, healed the open wounds in you that always tried to lead you back into your old ways. The sickness of the addiction had been the worst, wanting to stay clean but slumping again, and again and again, but you were better now. You should have believed when you had heard that things would get better.

In silence, Billy pointed at your bed with his head, as his hand slid into yours firmly but softly. You only nodded, and put the towel away before you two slid into your covers. His hand wrapped around your hips, and it took you a little to realize that his fingers were deftly tracing your scars around, small tickles caressing your skin.

“I’m okay.” You muttered with a little smile on your lips, looking up to him.

Billy hummed lightly, and his lips came to your forehead, kissing you tenderly. You searched for his free hand and shifted around to find a comfortable position, snuggling against him, and feeling calm for the little, incoherent drawings his fingers made into your skin.

the scream fandom is starving from lack of mickey altieri fanfiction and it looks like it's my job to fix that smh

Heyyyyyyy can you do a Mickey Altieri x gn!reader and they are both in the same film class and the reader and Mickey are rivals and they get paired on a project together and after they get a good grade on it they realize that they really like eachother and they kiss at the end 😍

But if you do end up doing this thank you so much!!!!!

Also the reader and Randy are besties

I will be back with Stu and Billy requests later ☺️

Mickey Altieri x Reader: happy fools

Warnings: Swearing (probably), mentions of food (no ed), reader doesn’t eat because they have no money to afford it (no ed), reader has money problems, reader has a scholarship that pays for a big part of their living, sucky boss, money problems, mentions of the theater murders and the woodsboro murders, no mentions of mickey being part of the murders but no mention of him not being part of the murders either.

Tags: academic rivals to lovers dynamic, reader dislikes mickey more than mickey dislikes reader, mickey is annoying but loveable, randy is reader’s best friend, cici is perfect and we love her for that, reader ends up liking mickey, group project

Reader pronouns: Non stated.

Word count: 3767

Summary: Mickey and Reader have been rivals since they started college, but they’re paired up for a Film Theory project together.

Author’s note: SORRY FOR TAKING THIS LONG @alexhostghost. i loved this req!!!!!! rivals/enemies to lovers all the way!!!!!! i think i made this reader a bit more specific with the whole schoolarship and money problems thing, but i hope it's still good and liked <3 also i listened to happy fools on a loop so there you go. graphic is mine !!

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

“No, it’s a perfect example of life imitating art, imitating life.” Mickey interrupted Cici matter of factly, with that assholish grin you had learned to roll your eyes at. Cici opened her mouth to debate that, but Mickey was faster, following with his reasoning. “It’s really not that difficult to understand, guys.”

It all had started when Professor Robinson had asked all of you if you had heard the news of two campus students getting murdered in the opening for the new, flashy slasher film, Stab. The movie was based on true events, which had transcurred at a town called Woodsboro less than a year ago — your friend Randy, from your same major, had been one of the key survivors of that same massacre —; and its reality had quickly become a topic of discussion for your classmates. 

Mickey, one of Randy’s friend and who you barely could handle during classes because God was he always trying to be better than you, and other boys had started arguing that the murders had been a direct consequence of the nature of the film, to which Cici Cooper had instantly replied calling out their absolute bullshit. You couldn’t agree more with Cici, but Mickey’s attitude diminishing what your friend tried to very politely explain had made you scoff and straighten in your chair.

“Life doesn’t and shouldn’t imitate art.” You found yourself saying, rather loudly. Mickey’s eyebrows shot up your way, and you guessed you could continue talking, as now Professor Robinson was looking at you expectantly. “And also, calling that Stab movie is such an overstatement — it’s trash. Even the book on which is based, The Woodsboro Murders? It sucks dick. ”

“It actually happened.” A girl from one of the front rows said, and you clicked your tongue.

For a second or two, your eyes drifted to Randy, who only scrunched his nose slightly to show he was actually listening. You couldn’t imagine how discussing the murders he had seen less than a year ago felt for him, but you weren’t about to stop — and Randy wasn’t one to stop a good debate from happening, either.

“No shit?” You inquired, sarcasm dripping from your tongue, and Cici by your side laughed as the girl that had spoken just rolled her eyes. “What I’m trying to say it’s the writing itself sucked, I can’t do anything about the real story. The thing is violence, and less along murder, can’t be excused by the argument of ‘they watched too many movies’. It just doesn’t work like that.”

Cici pointed at you with a smile on her face. “Thank you!”

“Whoa, there.” Mickey called out from the back of the class, forcing you to turn your head slightly to look at him. “Nobody was trying to excuse it.”

Your head cocked to the side. “Why won’t you just admit that you’re wrong?”

Humdrum bursted into the class, as light whistles and laughter could be heard from your comeback, slowly easing a little grin into your face while you stared back at Mickey. His lips corners also raised, amused with how you had slightly caught him red handed, and you ended up turning your head to the front of the class when Professor Robinson took everyone’s attention by coughing fakely.

“Well, I’m just going to chirp in during my class to remind you that you guys can actually share your opinions outside of class.” Mister Robinson said with a smile on his face. 

When Cici chuckled under her breath, like many others, and nudged you in your side, you just rolled your eyes. You could tell the class was close to end as people around you started subtly gathering their things, and also by the way Mister Robinson glanced at the clock in the classroom before he stopped leaning onto his desk.

“Before you all go,” he said, stopping everyone’s movements. His hand pointed at the cork board in the back of the classroom, rather lazily. “I wanted to tell you that the pairs and subjects of this term’s project are already available for you to check in the back of the classroom. Remember you must do well on your presentations, since it will not only count as half of your grade, but your classmates’ too considering all the subjects will be parts of the upcoming exam.”

Most groaned, but you just looked away and started gathering your things calmly, knowing most of your classmates would rush to the cork board and wouldn’t let you see until some minutes had passed. Mister Robinson had already left the classroom when complaints about the partners or the subjects started to rise between the students, and you only heard half of what Cici was telling to the other girl about her subject, Auteur theory. 

Once you had your things, you lifted from your seat and dodged the other desks and chairs to reach the cork board where, among others, was Randy. You knew you hadn’t been paired up together from the moment he turned to look at you with a funny expression you couldn’t quite crack, and that was truly a pity — you two had grown pretty close for the last couple of weeks since your first project together, in that same Film Theory class.

“You’re gonna like this.” He muttered once you placed yourself by his side, making you frown.

“Why?” You asked, but before he could answer, your eyes started scanning the list printed and hung on the board, searching for your name. Oh. Your lips pursed instantly, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh, fuck.”

You could already feel his presence behind you, his stupid and annoying grin as Mickey said, “Looks like we’re gonna have to stop fighting.”

“You could be a great team.” Randy agreed softly as he searched for your eyes, but you rolled them again — it’s funny, you realized as he chuckled softly. It’s funny for him, because Randy didn’t have to work with his so-called rival, you did.

Without saying anything to either of them, you turned around and walked out of the classroom with your mind too occupied with all you have to do other than stay around with a jerk and your friend. Your rent is due and the money from your scholarship is not coming for some reason, and you also have a ton of homework and extra shifts to cover for the lack of money — you literally did not have the time.

You were already out of the building, deep in your thoughts, when you heard someone calling out your name. You recognized the voice, so you barely turned to see Mickey jogging towards you with his backpack on only one shoulder and his dumb camera on his left hand — you didn’t even stop walking, which absolutely made him call out your name again.

“Hey, hold up!” He chuckled with that wide grin of his, the one you were used to rolling your eyes at. However, this time you held yourself back, having done that too many times in the last minutes, and now you actually listened to him, stopping your walking to let him catch up.

Mickey flashed a smile when he reached you, accommodating the strap on his shoulder to make sure his backpack wasn't falling to the ground. “We have to cooperate now, we’re a team.”

“Lucky me.” You muttered, and after checking he was finally willing to walk, you resumed your pace with him by your side.

“When are you free?” He asked, choosing to ignore your lack of enthusiasm. 

You truly didn’t understand it — you didn’t hate Mickey, or you guessed so. He was just annoying to you, always saying the exact opposite of what you said just for the hell of getting under your skin. Just a few weeks of classes, and he had finally won the position of your rival, so his amusement for the situation wasn’t really something you could understand.

“Not today.” You chose to say, head shaking to get rid of your cavilations. If you hadn’t known Mickey better, you could have sworn he looked taken aback, so you added, “But Formalism is an easy theory, so we can start researching by ourselves meanwhile.”

“We still have to pick a date.” Mickey insisted, his head cocked to the side and without taking his eyes away from you.

You snorted softly. “What, do you really have a busy enough life to need everything planned to the minute?”

“You’re not getting rid of me.” He replied with a sing-song, without answering your sarcastic question.

“Do I have to tell you now?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Fine.” You stopped dead in your tracks, surprising him, but he immediately turned to look at you, your arms crossed on top of your chest. “Tomorrow after lunch, outside of the library.”

A smile crossed his face, and you could have sworn he blinked at you as he walked away, saying, “Perfect. See you there, then!”

You were late, you knew, and it irked you. It hadn’t being your fault, if you saved the part in which you had agreed to do an extra shift at your job to get some extra money — you were in dire need of cash, and still, your boss hadn’t paid you after that, arguing he would give you all the money he owed you when the official time had come. So, you were tired, late to your date for the project with Mickey, hungry because you hadn’t eaten in the whole day and with no extra money.

At least you hadn’t been late enough to make Mickey leave from the library doors, which relieved you as you quickened your pace to reach him. Mickey watched you without his usual smile, probably annoyed because of the solid fifteen minutes he had been waiting for you; but he only frowned when you folded once you arrived to his side, catching your breath. Have you been running? — Mickey searched for traces of sweat in your forehead and skin, and he found them, little pearls of rushed sweat that exposed you to him forming near your hairline.

“I’m sorry.” You said, before he could open his mouth, and you tried your best to straighten yourself so you could look into his eyes. “I’m late, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Mickey assured with a curious glimmer in his eyes. His head tilted to the side as he watched you breathe heavily. “Is everything alright? You shouldn’t have run.”

“I didn’t run.” You lied rather dryly, and you pushed your hair off your shoulder and away from your face. The sound that came from your starving stomach wasn’t too loud, but Mickey heard it, which only mortified you more — how more could you embarrass yourself? “Sorry, I haven’t eaten anything today. Anyways, should we–?”

Mickey interrupted you quickly. “What do you mean you haven’t eaten?”

You blinked once, processing his question. “I’m running low on money and skipped lunch to do an extra shift at work.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Mickey, drop it. I had no time, and it's not like my fridge is full. We need to work now, I’ll eat something later.”

When you tried to dodge him to finally go into the library, his hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you. “You’re not going in there without eating something first.”

“Excuse you?” You hissed, a frown becoming visible between your eyebrows, astounded that he would have the audacity to tell you what you could and couldn’t do.

“If you die, I’ll have a bad conscience.” Mickey replied, with a little smirk that was even more annoying than the way he was trying to control you. It was for a good reason, sure, but still. “We’ll work at a café, where you can have something to eat.”

You scoffed, and moved your hand away from him so he would let go, which worked. “What part of I’m running low on money you didn’t understand, Altieri? I can’t afford lunch at a café.”

“My treat.” He insisted, as his smirk dropped. It made you realize, that gesture, that he was completely serious about what he was saying.

But for some reason, owing him money of all people made you feel terrible. “I’m not letting you buy me food.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, now as equally annoyed as you were. “Then you’ll pay me back once you get your hands on your money, alright? Please? We’re wasting time here.”

You couldn’t help but click your tongue, but when you took a glance at the watch on your wrist, you realized he was right. With your lateness and the bickering, you two had already lost more than twenty minutes in which you should have been working on your Formalism project. He was right, and you hated that.

“Fine.” You grunted lowly, and he only smiled, before he led the way to one of the cafés outside of campus.

It was awkward, having him buy you lunch. You had always liked to think of yourself as a very independent person, and honestly, you thought you were. College life was stressful but a blessing in this aspect, although the money and tuition fees were certainly something worth bawling your eyes for. You had always had money problems and managed and planned your life on campus around that, but it was also true that you had never gone without having something for breakfast or lunch because of having to save money for something more important. Fortunately, that very same morning you had received a warning that your warning would come late but still come, but that didn’t make the fact of having Mickey behind you and watching what you would choose for him to pay any better.

“You can choose whatever.” He said, after you spent five slow minutes trying to figure out which sandwich from the ones displayed in the cafe’s counter would be less expensive. You looked at Mickey from the corner of your eyes, but he wasn’t looking at you, maybe to make things easier for you. “It’s not like I’m gonna go broke for buying you lunch.”

With a hum, you acknowledged his words. You stared at the sandwiches ahead, and murmured, “Thanks.”

After you had chosen two different sets of sandwiches and some juice that looked delicious — and after Mickey had ordered a coffee with a ridiculously little amount of milk —, you carried your tray to one of the empty tables in the back of the establishment while Mickey paid. You put the folder of information you had found about Formalism next to your tray and started eating without waiting for him.

You watched him walk towards your table, coffee mug in his free hand, while the other carried his black wallet. Now that you were eating, you no longer felt embarrassed for having someone paying for your food once, and for a second, you forgot how little you were used to getting along. It’s not like you hated him — if you did, you wouldn’t have let him buy you anything.

“Better?” Mickey asked as he slid into the seat across from you.

Shortly, you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“There’s no rush.” He said, before he took a sip of his coffee. When you found yourself staring at him too much, finding his unshaven stubble more attractive than usual, you forced yourself to look away. “I know how expensive tuition fees are.”

“Yeah, well, I have a scholarship. The money should be coming, that’s the thing.”

Mickey watched you curiously. “I did not know you had a scholarship.”

“I do.” You murmured. Outside of class, you had never really talked to him much. He was close friends with Randy, sure, but the timing had never been right between you two — and you were always busy, something for which Randy always teased you. “Anyways, I have been doing some research about Formalism. It’s an easy subject, but we’re going to have to explain it really well.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mickey nodded, agreeing with you, and he once again took a sip off his coffee. “Is that folder what you found? You finish your food and I’ll start reading.”

With a hum, you nodded your head and Mickey leaned in to grab your folder and open it. His eyes started scanning over the documents you had printed, and you went back to focusing on your sandwiches, but you noticed the slight smile that appeared in his mouth once he saw your calligraphy in between the documents.

Mickey was actually someone nice to be around, and you slowly discovered that your rivalry had been wrongly directed to a fake image you had of him. If he had ever been annoying with you, arguing for absolutely every single thing you said, it was because he was that kind of funny; and it was rather easy to befriend him after the hours you spent together on the Formalism project. Sooner than later, your project was finished, and college life continued like it always had before that.

Mister Robinson took a whole two weeks to mark all the projects after all the pairs’ presentations were done. Randy had actually confessed to you, after you and Mickey had explained the theory that had been assigned to you with a slide presentation that had been his idea, that you two had probably been one of the best presentations — after his, of course. It was still a compliment, coming from him.

“Star Trek is better than Star Wars, I don’t care.” One of the girls in your class insisted, prompting a bunch of booing and another bunch of claps.

When you lifted your head from laughing at the improvised debate that had formed something Mister Robinson had said while explaining the main themes in film for the last few years — the poor man was probably sick of these debates, but he always listened, aware it was important for his students to communicate their ideas eloquently —, you found that Mickey was profusely shaking his head at what the girl had said. 

“Star Wars is just George Lucas inserted into a different, low budget and worse Star Trek universe.” Another boy said, backing the girl up, and now it was Randy who was shaking his head.

“Comparing Star Wars to Star Trek is absurd.” Randy said, pitched raised slightly so he would be heard. “Not because of one being better than the other, that’s not the point at all. You wouldn’t compare The Godfather with Goodfellas, would you?”

Even Mister Robinson laughed at that, finding that Randy was right — once again. You just shook your head as you laughed when Cici turned to look at you with an incredulous eyebrow raised, like you could actually control all the shit that came from Randy’s mouth.

“Before you leave.” Mister Robinson called out, his eyes raising to the clock on the wall, like he was used to doing now due to the constant introductions during his classes. The humdrum around you, caused by the people gathering their things, didn’t stop you from listening to what he had to say. “You can find the marks for your projects in the cork board.”

You waited seated, recalling the time in which he had said the opposite — that the pairs and subjects could be found in that same place —, and knowing that you wouldn’t be able to see anything if you went with all the people who wanted to see it right then. It surprised you seeing that Randy and Cici made their ways into the masses of people, and then left once they had taken a peak at their marks.

Once the classroom started to empty, you got up from your chair and walked to the cork board, dodging Mickey and another boy talking back at the first’s desk. Before you made your way to the board, the boy left the classroom, and it was only you and Mickey.

“Mickey.” You called out as soon as your eyes identified your names together, your voice almost coming strained. “We got the highest grade.”

“We did?” Mickey laughed, getting up from his desk and walking towards you, his eyes focused on the sheet of paper. “Oh, holy shit, we did.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, but your voice came out as a mutter. “Wow.”

“We make a hell of a good team, then.”

Holding back your smile, you looked up to him — Mickey wasn’t hiding his smile, letting it shine over you, and you didn’t feel the need to roll your eyes anymore. Lately, as you spent more and more time with him, you had forgotten about your need to be annoyed by him, and instead grew into an urge to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him. It was like a positive intrusive thought, although still scary.

You blinked once when he called out your name. “You’re staring.”

“Is that bad?” You let out before you could stop yourself, but you started to feel embarrassed.

Before you could look away or cringe at what you had said, Mickey’s smile turned softer as he looked at you. “You tell me.”

You chuckled softly and looked away while shaking your head slightly. It was weird feeling your heart beat so fast against your chest, but you pushed through the feeling.

“Listen, I still have to repay you for that lunch and I was thinking…” Your head lifted again, so you could lock eyes with him, and you almost went breathless when you saw the intensity with which he was looking at you. “Would you have dinner with me?”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Mickey asked, his smile growing impossibly wider.

The nerves got the best of you, as you started to stumble, “I mean, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a date but yeah, it could be if you wanted to–”

“I’d love to go on a date with you.” He said, interrupting your embarrassment, and you smiled as a thank you. Mickey looked so pretty as he lowered his head slightly, like he was telling you a secret. “And I’d really like to kiss you right now, if that’s okay.”

Oh, what a rush of dumb happiness was your body receiving right now.

“Yeah, you can kiss me.” You muttered, and as soon as you said it, Mickey moved closer to you.

His hand rested on your waist, pulling you even closer to him, and his lips pressed against you in the exact same way you had imagined — just a few times before — they would. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed him back.

since you wrote xmas how about halloween with Mickey pls?

Mickey Altieri Heacanons: Halloween.

Warnings: Maybe there's swearing?? It's me, so...

Edited?: Like always, no.

Reader's pronouns: Not stated, gender neautral.

Summary: Halloween with Mickey Altieri

Author's note: HIIII thank you for requesting <3 i decided to do these in form of headcanons since i had a brain rot and couldn't think of anything to write as a story. hope you like them!!

criticism, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! requests are open, especially for scream! hit that anon button and tell me your ideas.

in the scream fandom, i write for billy loomis, stu macher, mickey altieri, chad martin-meeks, mindy martin-meeks, tara carpenter, anika kayoko, laura crane

you bet mickey celebrates halloween like it’s bigger than christmas

it’s not that he doesn’t like christmas, he actually likes that one

but halloween is so underrated and dumbed down, in his opinion

he’s organizing a marathon of scary movies/movies that have anything to do with halloween for you too

even special episodes from tv shows he rarely ever watches,,,

MATCHING COSTUMES

not like a couples costume, MATCHING.

listen,,, this man would be down for having his costume match with yours in some way

even if it's different costumes from different movies, something like you wearing something red and him wearing the exact same thing

does that make sense????

oh and if you don't like dressing up, you bet this man is going to try and convince you to dress up with him

"just for me, this once? pleeease. it'll be fun!"

the scarier the merries, as he says.

you bet he’s volunteering for haunted house or corn maces or whatever implies being around people during the halloween time, especially if it’s with little kids

(i headcanon him as someone who does like little kids lol)

he’s so good with telling scary stories, the type you hear in camps or from older brothers that just want to freak you out

get ready for jumpscares, because he’s not stopping until christmas

he doesn’t like carving pumpkins, in fact, he hates it

it’s the smell, for him…

mickey is also rereading every single stephen king book he can get his hands on

halloween is a longer period for him, also… it starts the first day of october and ends in december first. the halloween night is just the top of it

every week, it’s a theme for the movies. like, week one it’s zombies, week two is vampires, week three ghosts, week four slashers… mickey is very organized with this.

scooby doo. that’s it, that’s the headcanon.

probably attends every dressing up party he can, and he’s dragging you with him. 

“we’ll have a great time, babe!”

actually, him saying "it'll be fun!" is a constant when it's halloween

don't be fooled, it's always a constant with him.

lectures people about the slasher genre

LIKE FULL HOURS OF LECTURES about how the slasher genre is amazing and groundbreaking and even though now it's kind of considered boring, it's actually really important because---

please save whoever he's lecturing because he's not moving on from the topic and whoever he has cornered isn't escaping unless you drag mickey away

BEAMS when in film class they start talking about horror movies because of halloween

decorates his dorm with all kinds of halloween ornaments — fake webs, skeletons, bats, fake blood, you name it.

the fake blood.

the motherfucking fake blood.

mickey will casually go to class with fake blood in his clothes and just smiles when anyone asks him.

he can’t bake shit, but if you can, get ready to be annoyed with your baking having to be decorated with halloween colors or things.

he can get annoying, but we love his enthusiasm for halloween

one day he’ll probably make a short movie during halloween, the type with very corny dialogue and shiny blood, the type that it's rather cringy and embarassing, but a good memory still

i feel like he would be surprised that not many people actually find halloween fun outside the drinking and partying

i mean not surprised,,, but why isn't anyone else appreaciting it??

as a person who loves halloween, i might be projecting.

mickey would be so fun to be around with, though. he's like a kid in christmas

or a kid in halloween lol

but like, more excited

you BET he'd like to have a house in a nice neighborhood and keep lots of candy for the kids trick or treating

he wants to have kids and go trick or treating with them

well, that escalated quickly.

no kids for now

just having fun watching movies and being dumb during the best time of the year !!!

art is done with a purpose --- mainly, that purpose is to serve people, to be liked/enjoyed/experimented. when talking about fanfiction, this purpose intensifies.

i'm not guilt tripping anyone, but when you don't comment and just like, you're not helping our motivation. most of us love the validation we get from someone obviously enjoying our work so please --- comment. even if its key smashing. we appreacite it, A LOT.

most of us, if not all of us, are friendly. i've made countless of friends with the people who have appreciated my stuff, requested more and enjoyed it. i will always answer kindly to anyone who has supported me, who has believed in me.

I have a request! If that's alright.

Could you do a oneshot where reader is around 18-19 years old and they're ghostface and jill roberts younger adopted sibling, and they basically did it for revenge for what happened to Jill (and they wanna carry on her legacy by getting famous off this), and they plan on going after everyone sidney knows, which means they're after any survivor of ghostface. So basically instead of having a whole reveal and quinn and her dad being ghostfaces, it's just ethan and reader that are ghostfaces and they frame Quinn and Bailey but the core 4 and gkirby and gale don't know because they had arrived after ethan and reader were done setting up the "aftermath" of the reveal (yk like they injure themselves purposely, and make It look like quinn and Bailey did it). So flash forward a week or two ethan and reader gather the core 4, kirby, and gale at readers house or apartment, and ethan and reader reveal themselves as ghostface (you can decide whether they lose or not, also can reader and ethan be dating secretly but reader betrays him like Jill did Charlie)

Also if there's anything unclear in this ask just tell me I can send another clearing up confusion

Hi! I'm so sorry to turn this very detailed (and good) request down, but I do not write for Ethan --- not even platonically. In Scream, I write for Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Randy Meeks, Tatum Riley, Sidney Prescott, Mickey Altieri, Kirby Reid, Chad Meeks Martin, Mindy Meeks Martin, Tara Carpenter, Anika Kayoko and Laura Crane.

You can find all the fandoms and characters I write for here, and my rules for requesting here; where you can see that I have a strict policy of not accepting requests for the characters I don't write for, even if they're very detailed. Still, thank you for requesting, and if you do have a requests for any of the characters I do write for, don't hesitate to send them my way.