Toji raises an eyebrow, skeptical. His eyes drag up and down the girl’s costume, fingers clenching and unclenching like he’s debating whether to give her a lot or nothing at all.
Ugh. Typical Walmart costume. Cheap-ass fabric. And the girl herself is a brunette. He scoffs, “You’re not even blonde. How’re you supposed to be Cinderella? She’s a blondie, y’know.”
“But my mommy said everyone can be Cinderella, Uncle.”
clearly yo mama lied.
“You sure?” he asks again, lips twitching when she frowns and mumbles something to her mom. The woman gives him a look before guiding her kid away from the porch without candies from Fushiguro's.
He leans back on the porch steps, whistling low as he watches the street fill up with kids screaming trick or treat! loud as hell. Guesses he can tolerate it as long as he gets to judge their little costumes.
The first group finishes at the neighbor’s house, buckets full, then moves to his.
“Trick or treat, Mr. Fushiguro!!”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. Could hear you from the damn cross street,” he mutters, already eyeing their outfits. A witch. A ghost sheet (with ketchup stains, gross). A pumpkin head. Nezuko from Demon Slayer. boring.
“Don’t ya got anything else? these’re lame as hell.” He sighs, like he’s been personally betrayed by their costume choices. “You get one. just for existing.” He tosses one piece of candy into the ghost kid’s bucket.
“That’s not fair! this is literally trending right now!”
“Okay? I’m the one giving it, right? Take it or leave it.” He grins, satisfied when the kid huffs under the sheet. Then he turns to the witch. “You get nothing. Go.”
The witch’s mouth drops. “That’s not fair too!”
“Yeah whatever you say, green. minus one point for the no-effort outfit.”
“That’s not fair!!” they all yell, stomping off but he’s already waving them away like a smug asshole.
“Baby— oh my god, what the hell? why’s the bucket still full?! it’s already nine p.m.!” Your voice cuts through the night, and he flinches, groaning as you stomp toward him.
“What? I gave them to the kids, babe. You’re so loud…”
Your mouth drops. “You— stupid. give me the damn bucket.” you snatch it out of his hands, slap his arm and plop down beside him on the stairs. He just grunts, dropping his head on your shoulder, arms wrapping around you.
“I did give ‘em candies, baby. Just that their costumes were too basic. Didn’t deserve my hard-earned money.”
You scoff. “Okay? this is our first halloween as a couple. did you have to be that difficult?”
“Whateverrr.”
By 9:30, you’ve slapped his chest, his mouth, his hands basically everything just to stop him from judging kids out loud. Worse, he keeps crossing his arms and furrowing his brows like some halloween version of simon cowell even when their parents are right there. That's the worst shit ever he has done tonight.
Thankfully, the bucket’s finally empty. the last kid— wearing a Jason mask at least decent effort walks away happily and you’re waving goodbye before toji can open his mouth again.
“See? not so bad for our first halloween, right baby?” he teases, grinning as his arm curls around your shoulder, pulling you in his warmth.
You roll your eyes. “Right. not so bad because you had fun making fun of innocent kids.”
He chuckle, “Well, if it makes me happy, i’m doing it again next year until i get a group of kids crying.”
okay so hear me out, mob!buckys girlfriend who’s all sweet and innocent throws a halloween party and she’s insistent that her and bucky have to do matching costumes and he’s not really been home much so he goes along with it to make her happy and and suddenly the scariest man in the city is dressed in a ridiculous costume to make his girl happy
guys i've been living for mob bucky lately
----------
It starts the same way all of your bad ideas do—with excitement, Pinterest boards, and Bucky Barnes saying yes before realizing what he’s agreeing to.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the couch one evening, candles flickering, soft music playing, when he finally walks in after another long day. He’s still wearing his suit, jacket draped over one arm, gun holster peeking out just long enough to make your stomach flip before he sets it aside like it’s a briefcase. You rush to greet him, because no matter how long you’ve been together, he always feels like something out of a movie—the slow smile, the gravel in his voice when he murmurs “hey, doll.”
And he looks exhausted tonight. Dark circles under his eyes. Shoulders tense from carrying an empire on his back. You know he’s been gone more than he’s been home lately, the weight of his world pulling him further and further from the soft life you build around him.
So you soften your voice. “You’re home early.”
He huffs a tired laugh. “It’s nine, sweetheart.”
“That’s early for you.” You grin, tugging him down by his tie until his lips find yours. He melts, like always. Big, calloused hands cradle your face, his thumb swiping just beneath your jaw before he rests his forehead against yours.
“Missed you.” His voice is a confession.
“Good thing I’ve been planning something to make up for all that time you’ve been gone.”
That’s where the trouble starts.
You host the Halloween party every year—well, you used to, before your life got tangled up with the city’s most dangerous man. The first year you’d been together, Bucky had insisted you skip it. Too many people, too many risks. But this year you begged. And because guilt still clings to him for missing dinners, for nights spent handling problems that never seem to end, he caves.
He even offers to help.
Which, in mobster terms, means he tells his men to set up extra security, orders a catering team that owes him favors, and casually threatens to make anyone who gets too drunk disappear.
It’s endearing, in its own unhinged way.
But when you mention matching costumes, he hesitates for the first time.
“Matching?”
“Matching.” You nod solemnly, scrolling through your phone. “Like, couple’s costumes. Cute ones. I was thinking—”
He cuts you off with a groan that sounds halfway between pain and surrender. “You want me to wear a costume?”
“Yes, Mr. Barnes.”
The title earns you a twitch in his jaw, but he doesn’t argue. Just sighs and says, “Fine, doll. Whatever you want.”
And that’s how the scariest man in Brooklyn ends up standing in your living room three nights later, glaring at himself in the mirror, wearing cat ears.
“They’re black, at least,” you say, struggling not to laugh.
“They’re fuzzy.” His tone is pure disdain.
“Fuzzy is cute.”
“I don’t do cute.”
You grin, stepping close enough to adjust the little pink bow on his chest. “You do now.”
Your costume—the matching half—is a sleek black bodysuit with whiskers drawn on your cheeks, a tail pinned to the back, and glitter eyeliner that catches the light. You look adorable, which would be fine if he didn’t look like the world’s most reluctant house pet beside you.
“Sweetheart,” he mutters, voice dangerously low, “if anyone other than you makes a joke tonight, I’m puttin’ a bullet in their pumpkin.”
You swat his arm, giggling. “No bullets tonight, please. It’s Halloween, not a hit job.”
He just grumbles something under his breath, but his arm still slips around your waist as you head toward the door. You know he’ll complain the entire way there—but he’ll go, because you asked.
The party is a hit. The house is warm and full of laughter, music, and the scent of pumpkin candles. You made caramel apples, Bucky ordered cases of wine, and somehow, despite his reputation, half the guests are openly whispering about how “sweet” he is to you.
Which is ironic, considering he just finished scaring the absolute life out of some guy who made a comment about your costume being “tight.”
The guy had barely finished the sentence before Bucky’s hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to remind him who runs this city. “Compliments like that’ll get you buried, pal.”
You had to drag him away before it turned into a crime scene.
Now he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, still in those ridiculous fuzzy ears, looking like the world’s most lethal bodyguard at a children’s costume contest.
You sneak up behind him and slip your arms around his waist. “You know,” you murmur against his back, “you’re doing really well for a man in cat ears.”
He tilts his head down, one eyebrow arched. “You laughin’ at me, doll?”
“Never.” You hide your grin against his shirt.
He turns in your arms, crowding you against the counter. “You owe me for this.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.” He taps the bow on his chest. “This. All’a it. You better be plannin’ somethin’ sweet for later.”
You pretend to think about it. “Maybe I’ll let you take off your tail before bed.”
He smirks. “I was hopin’ you’d leave it on.”
It’s chaos after that.
The music’s loud, the snacks are disappearing, and every time you try to host, Bucky’s hand finds you again. On your hip, your lower back, the nape of your neck—silent reminders that he’s there, that no one touches what’s his.
And the thing is… you love it. You love that people see him this way—dangerous, untouchable—and yet here he is, carrying your drink, adjusting your costume strap, and letting you paint whiskers on his face.
At one point, you catch sight of him through the crowd, holding a bowl of candy like it’s a deadly weapon. He’s surrounded by a few of his men—big, tattooed, mean-looking guys who are trying not to laugh.
One of them points at Bucky’s ears. “Boss, uh—nice look.”
The silence that follows could end nations.
You hurry over, hand slipping into Bucky’s before he can respond. “Isn’t he adorable?” you chirp, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “He’s my kitty tonight.”
Every single man in the room suddenly finds something else to do.
Bucky leans close, lips brushing your ear. “You’re lucky they’re still breathin’, sweetheart.”
“You love me.”
“Yeah,” he admits, quiet. “I do.”
Later, when the last of the guests are gone and the candles have burned low, you find him outside on the balcony, the city glittering behind him. He’s finally taken off the ears, holding them loosely in one hand.
You step up beside him, blanket around your shoulders, and he looks down at you with that small, tired smile that’s only yours.
“Had fun tonight?”
You nod. “You didn’t?”
He huffs. “You know I don’t like crowds. But—” He glances at you, eyes soft. “You were happy. So yeah. Worth it.”
Your heart squeezes. You reach up, pluck the ears from his hand, and place them right back where they belong. “Now it’s perfect.”
He laughs quietly, wrapping an arm around your waist. “You’re somethin’ else, doll. Got me out here lookin’ like a damn fool.”
You rise on your toes and kiss him, slow and sweet. “My fool.”
His mouth curves against yours. “Yours,” he agrees, before deepening the kiss.
The sound of traffic hums below, and for once, there’s no violence, no tension, no empire to run—just you, him, and the faint jingle of the ridiculous pink bow you made him wear.
And if the city could see its king right now—rumpled shirt, soft smile, cat ears crooked on his head—they’d never believe it.
But you would.
Because you know that beneath the blood and power and danger, Bucky Barnes is just a man who loves his girl enough to look ridiculous for her.
The scariest man in Brooklyn, brought to his knees by a woman with glitter eyeliner and a heart too big for her own good.
And honestly? That’s the sweetest kind of terror there is.
Pairing: Clark Kent x Female!Reader
Word Count: 962
Tags: soft!clark, fluff, established relationship, cozy romance, fall vibes
Synopsis: You and Clark make costumes for The Daily Planet Halloween party. @flufftober, day 17.
Read on Ao3
Clark Kent loves Halloween. There’s something about the holiday that has always felt like home: the scent of caramel in the air, jack-o’-lanterns flickering in windows, and the warm glow of orange string lights. Metropolis might celebrate in flashier ways than Smallville ever did, but he doesn’t mind. He’s just glad the magic’s still there.
Parties, on the other hand, he's never been too fond of.
So, when you bring up the upcoming Daily Planet Halloween party, he's immediately hesitant. "You know I'm not great with big crowds." He's smiling that bashful smile that almost works on you. Almost.
"C'mon," you reply as you lean against his desk. "It's just the team. Lois is going. Jimmy's already bragging about his costume. It'll be fun."
His glasses slip down his nose before he pushes them back up. “I don’t even have a costume.”
“Then we’ll make one!"
He tilts his head, resigned amusement in his eyes. “Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?”
“Because you don’t,” you tease, already reaching for your coat.
⋆˙𓍊₊ ⊹˚
About an hour later, you're at the craft store, Clark trailing dutifully behind you as you load a basket with fabric, buttons, and spools of thread.
“You want us to be what now?” he asks.
“A farmer and a scarecrow,” you say, smirking. “It’s perfect. Cozy, cute, and a nod to your farmboy roots.”
He groans softly, but doesn’t protest. "If you're the farmer, does that make me the scarecrow?"
"Obviously."
"Figures," he mutters, unable to hide the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
⋆˙𓍊₊ ⊹˚
Later that night, your apartment is a war zone. Not only is there dried hot glue stuck to the coffee table from your failed attempts at sticking patches onto his flannel, but there's loose straw everywhere.
Halloweentown plays quietly in the background as Clark sits cross-legged on the floor beside you, sleeves rolled up. He's embroidering tiny sunflowers along the pocket of your overalls with almost comical focus. You, however, have given up on crafting for the night and are not-so-subtly staring at his nimble fingers instead.
"You're really good at that," you say softly.
He shrugs, smiling shyly. "Ma used to make all my costumes when I was a kid. I helped."
You can't help but laugh. "Let me guess. All farm-themed?"
"One year I was a bale of hay," he replies with a grin.
⋆˙𓍊₊ ⊹˚
The night of the party, you insist on adding a few final touches before heading out.
"Hold still," you tell him, cupping his jaw as you paint freckles across his nose and cheeks, then a few stitched lines along his face.
He’s pink to the ears, his voice low. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.”
“You think I look silly."
You shake your head, eyes warm. “No, Clark. You look adorable.”
He doesn’t have a response to that, just ducks his head and laughs quietly, like he doesn’t know what to do with the warmth rising in his chest.
⋆˙𓍊₊ ⊹˚
At the party, you’re instantly everyone’s favorite. Lois snaps a picture the moment you walk in while Jimmy yells something about “Smallville chic!” across the room.
"Honestly, I think we might have a shot at winning the contest," you tell him, adjusting the straw hat on your head.
Clark glances around at the other costumes—a half-hearted ghost, someone just wearing cat ears—and smiles, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. "Maybe."
He doesn’t stray too far from you throughout the night, but he relaxes with each passing minute: laughing when Steve makes him try on a foam football helmet, complimenting Trish’s witch hat like it’s couture, and helping Cat fix her crooked costume wings. By the time you catch him chatting with Perry about pie recipes, you realize he’s stopped glancing toward the exit entirely.
“You were right,” he admits eventually by the snack table, leaning down so only you can hear. “This isn’t so bad.”
You bump his shoulder. “Told you I’d make it worth your while.”
⋆˙𓍊₊ ⊹˚
Back at Clark's apartment, the two of you curl up on the couch together, still in costume.
“I still can’t believe we didn’t win the costume contest." You swat at the straw poking you from his sleeve. “Jimmy won dressed as Perry. He just drew wrinkles on his forehead and yelled ‘Great Caesar’s ghost!’ every ten minutes.”
Clark laughs so hard he nearly snorts. “You have to admit, he committed.”
“Committed to losing his job, maybe.”
“You’re just mad because he beat us.”
"Well, yeah," you respond sarcastically. "We looked great. Especially you."
That earns you a quiet smile, the kind that lights up his entire face and makes you melt.
“You know, for someone who didn’t want to go, you really went all in,” you say, more softly than you mean to.
He hums. “Couldn’t let my favorite farmhand down, could I?”
You don’t think he realizes how easily he says things like that, like it’s simple, like caring for you is the most natural thing in the world. It leaves you a little breathless. You lean in, close enough to see the faint traces of the freckles you painted earlier. “You still have a little something—” you start, brushing your thumb across his cheek.
Before you can pull away, he catches your wrist gently and presses a kiss to your fingertips. Then another at the corner of your mouth.
“Think I’ll keep the makeup on a little longer,” he murmurs before kissing you properly this time, slow and sweet. He tastes like cider and home.
When you finally pull back, he brushes his nose against yours.
“Next year,” he says quietly, “I’m picking the costumes.”
“Fine,” you whisper back with a smile. “As long as we still make them together.”
He’d been around long enough to see it in half a dozen decades--kids in pillowcase ghosts, teenagers sneaking smokes behind pumpkin displays, candy corn that still tasted like regret no matter the century.
So yeah, he knew Halloween.
He just didn’t get it.
The two of you were walking down the street, your arm looped through his, the October air cool and sharp. Plastic skeletons dangled from porches, and fake cobwebs clung to mailbox posts. Every few feet, another motion-sensor decoration screamed from the shadows.
Bucky frowned at a lawn where a zombie was crawling out of a fake grave. “So lemme get this straight,” he said, dead serious. “People decorate their homes like a cemetery... for fun?”
“Exactly.”
“And everyone’s just cool with that?”
“Yep.”
He gave you a long look. “Babe...people need better hobbies.”
You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder. “It’s tradition. It’s just spooky fun.”
He stopped in front of a giant inflatable spider the size of a small car. “That’s not spooky, or fun,” he said flatly. “That would've been a war crime."
You rolled your eyes as you dragged him along the sidewalk, past groups of costumed kids shrieking happily. Every so often, he’d nod politely at a child in a mask, but there was always a flicker of confusion behind his eyes, like he was still trying to understand how the country had gone from rations and blackout curtains to plastic bats and glitter blood.
“Y’know,” he said, watching a kid in a werewolf costume dart by, “I fought an actual werewolf once.”
You stopped. “You’re kidding.”
He raised a brow. “Hydra did a lot of weird things, sweetheart.”
“Okayyyyy, but now we just buy fake teeth and howl at the moon for candy.”
He stared at you for a long moment before muttering, “Yeah, that’s way less concerning.”
You ended up sitting together on your porch, a bowl of candy between you. Bucky leaned back, still frowning at the trick-or-treaters passing by. Every time a kid shouted “boo!” or a plastic ghoul swung in the breeze, his metal fingers twitched just slightly.
Finally, he sighed. “You’re all actin’ like death’s a game. Like monsters are cute.”
You glanced at him, softening. “Maybe that’s the point, Buck. It’s about taking the scary stuff and making it small enough to laugh at.”
He looked at you then--really looked--and something in his expression shifted. “Never thought about it like that.”
“You don’t have to like it,” you said with a little smile. “You just have to eat the candy and not interrogate the neighbors.”
He smirked. “I promise nothing.”
Later in the night a group of kids in superhero costumes came up the walkway tiny versions of the Avengers. One of them was dressed as the Winter Soldier, little metal arm made from duct tape and tinfoil.
Bucky blinked.
“Trick or treat!” the kid shouted, grinning up at him.
Bucky handed him a fistful of chocolate bars, trying not to smile too much. “Nice arm, kid.”
“Thanks! My mom says I’m a good guy now!” the kid chirped before running off.
Bucky watched him go, quiet for a beat, before mumbling, “Guess I can live with that kind of monster.”
You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Told you Halloween’s not all bad.”
He sighed, eyes scanning the street again--but softer now. “I still think the cobwebs look stupid.”
“You’re allowed to be wrong,” you said sweetly.
He snorted. “Keep talkin’, babydoll. See how much candy you end up with.”
You laughed, tipping your head back against him, the porch lights glowing amber around you. For once, Bucky didn’t look haunted by the night just amused, content, and very much yours.
Note: Bucky has always been one of my favorite characters so hopefully I can start writing more for him. I hope you liked! Kisses 💋
Hello since it’s Halloween tomorrow I have a request!
So Sanji x fem!Reader Halloween fluff. Reader loves pumpkin desserts, so Sanji spends the day making all her favorites from scratch . Later, they carve pumpkins together, but instead of using basic carving tools, Sanji teaches her how to use his chef’s knives properly.
🎃ㅤꨄ︎Sweeter Than Pumpkin Pie
Pairing: Sanji x fem!reader (fluff)
A/N: Thank you for the request, and happy Halloween everyone! 🕸️ㅤꨄ︎
Sanji Masterlist • One Piece Masterlist
The galley was warm with spice.
Cinnamon, nutmeg, and roasted pumpkin hung in the air like a blanket, curling around the windows and drifting out onto the deck. You’d been in and out all morning, catching glimpses of Sanji moving through the kitchen like a man on a mission flour on his sleeves, pumpkin purée on his cheek, and a tray of golden scones cooling beside the stove.
You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re making all that for me?”
Sanji glanced over his shoulder, smirk tugging at his lips. “You said you liked pumpkin.”
“I said I liked pumpkin,” you repeated. “Not that I wanted a full seasonal menu.” You laughed
He turned, wiping his hands on a towel. “Too late. You’re getting it.” He said with a smirk.
You stepped inside, eyeing the spread. Pancakes stacked high, mousse piped into little glass cups, scones still steaming, and a tart in progress its crust already golden, the filling rich and glossy.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said chuckling.
He shrugged. “You’re easy to cook for.”
You reached for a scone, and he caught your wrist gently.“Eat the mousse first,” he said. “It’s chilled just right.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re bossy.”
He leaned in slightly. “I’m a chef.”
You took the mousse. He watched you taste it, eyes flicking to your lips, then back to your face.
“Well?” he asked.
You licked the spoon. “You nailed it.”
He smiled, quiet and proud, a faint blush on his face. “Ah, don’t flatter me, mademoiselle it’s nothing,” he said with a soft chuckle, waving his hand modestly.
As you took another bite of the mousse, you couldn’t help but smile at how shy he looked it was rare to see him like that.
~
After lunch, the crew scattered. Luffy ran off with a bag of candy. Zoro disappeared with a muttered “don’t drag me into this.” Nami and Robin settled into the lounge with cider and blankets. Brook was composing a spooky song. Chopper was carving a pumpkin with surgical precision.
You found Sanji on the deck, setting up a carving station.
Two pumpkins. A towel. A set of knives.
You raised an eyebrow. “Those aren’t carving tools.”
He looked up. “They’re better.”
You walked over. “You want me to carve with chef’s knives?”
He nodded. “I’ll show you.”
You hesitated. “You trust me with your knives?”
He stepped closer, voice low. “I trust you with a lot more than that.”
You swallowed. “Okay.”
He handed you a blade, then moved behind you, hands hovering near your wrists.
“Grip it like this,” he said, adjusting your fingers. “Keep your knuckles tucked. Let the blade do the work.”
You nodded, focusing. The knife was heavier than you expected, but Sanji’s hands were steady, guiding yours with care.
“You’re tense,” he murmured.
“I’m holding a weapon,” you said.
He chuckled. “You’re holding a tool.”
You carved a crescent moon into the pumpkin’s side. Then a swirl. Then a heart.
Sanji leaned in, chin nearly brushing your shoulder. “That one’s mine.”
You glanced back. “You’re claiming my pumpkin?”
He met your eyes. “I’m claiming the heart.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
He smiled. “Can I kiss you?”
You blinked. “Now?”
He nodded. “You’ve got mousse on your cheek.”
You tilted your head. “Fine.”
He leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your cheek where the mousse had been. “Mmm… you taste delicious,” he teased with a smile that made your heart flutter.
You rolled your eyes with a laugh, turning back to the pumpkin. “You’re lucky I like you,” you said, smiling despite yourself.
He stepped away, hands in his pockets. “I know.” He said with a soft smile.
~
Later, you sat on the deck with a blanket over your shoulders, sipping cider. Sanji joined you, setting down two plates one with a slice of pumpkin tart, the other with a scoop of cinnamon ice cream.
You took a bite. “You’re showing off.”
He shrugged. “You bring it out of me.”
You looked at him. “You’re not just doing this for the food.”
He met your gaze. “No.”
You leaned in. “Then what?”
He hesitated. “I like seeing you happy.”
You smiled. “You’re good at it.”
He looked down at your hand, then back up. “Can I kiss you again?”
You nodded.
He did.
And somewhere on the Grand Line, the cook and the girl who loved pumpkin sat beneath a sky turning orange, carving hearts into gourds and warmth into each other.
【Summary】
They’d been planning their Halloween couple costume for weeks—but on the big day, Yuji shows up at Y/N’s door… with absolutely no costume. Luckily, Y/N has a solution: facepaint.
【Word Count】
~1.5k
【Tags】
· fluff · corny but I need tooth rotting fluff · established relationship · yuji being a cute Himbo bf · Halloween · puppy love
When the knock comes at my door, it’s a little later than I expected. I’m just finishing the last touch of my costume when I hear it. I open the door expecting a bunch of kids shouting, "Trick or treat!" Instead, I find Yuji standing there, already smiling, that same adorable grin on his face and... absolutely no costume.
Meanwhile, I’m fully decked out, the costume we’d planned together and, clearly, the one only I remembered.
He stares for a second, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “Whoa. You look-” He pauses, blinking like his brain just short-circuited. “Hot. I mean ... scary! Hot and scary. Like a really… intimidating good-looking.”
I bite back a laugh. “Flattering, Yuji..Thanks. But, uh… where’s your costume?” The second I ask, his face falls. It’s like watching realization hit him in slow motion.
“Oh crap. The party thing! We were supposed to match, Y/N, I completely forgot!” He looks so horrified it’s almost adorable. Hoodie, sweats, sneakers, he might as well have ‘I messed up’ written across his chest. I cross my arms, leaning on the doorframe. “So… couple’s costume without the couple part, huh?”
“I swear I had everything ready,” he says quickly, hands flying. “The shirt, the paint, I just forgot it was today!" I can’t help it. I laugh, reaching out to grab his wrist and tug him inside. “Relax, Yuji. I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?”
“No, but you are letting me fix it.” Before he can even ask what I mean, I push him gently onto the couch and grab my phone.
Pinterest, my beloved.
“Fix it?” he echoes, blinking. “Mhm.” I scroll through a board full of face-paint looks while he keeps mumbling apologies under his breath.
“Uhh, a Skeleton” I announce finally. “I’ll paint it on you. Problem solved.” He rubs the back of his neck, still looking guilty. “I’m seriously the worst boyfriend ever. I forgot our first Halloween as a coup-”
“Hey,” I interrupt, nudging his knee. “You showed up. That’s what matters. Plus…” I tilt my phone toward him, showing a skull design. “You’ve got great cheekbones. It’ll look good on you.”
That makes him freeze, then flush, pink all the way to his ears. “I- uh. Thanks?” I grin, pretending not to notice how flustered he is. “Also, I bought glow-in-the-dark bones. You’re wearing those too.”
“Glow-in-the-dark bones?” he repeats, horrified. “Yep. You’re lucky I love you so much.” He laughs softly, finally relaxing, the guilt melting into something softer. “You’re way too nice to me, you know that?”
I glance up from my phone, smirking. “I know. But if you move while I’m painting, I’m drawing a mustache on you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, bonehead.”
The movie I’d thrown on in the background was something Halloween-ish and half-forgotten to me, creaky soundtrack, pumpkins flickering across the screen. Yuji has already kicked off his shoes and sprawled across the couch.
I brought over my makeup bag, brushes rattling inside. “Okay,” I said, dropping beside him. “Step one, hair out of the way.” He blinked at the fluffy headband I held up. “Wait, you’re really putting that on me?”
“Unless you want paint in your hair.” He sighed in defeat and bent his head forward. I slid the band over his hair and couldn’t help laughing; he looked completely ridiculous and completely adorable. “Wow,” he muttered, feeling around the edges. “I’ve never felt more beautiful.”
“You’re gonna look dead, not beautiful,” I teased, dipping the brush into paint. “Hold still.” He did not hold still. Every time I tried to paint along his jaw, he shifted, trying to peek at the screen or poke me with the glow-in-the-dark bones I’d dumped next to him.
“Yuji.”
“What? They light up!”
“Do you want me to accidentally draw a line up your nose?” He only grinned wider, tapping one of the glowing bones against my shoulder. “Boo.” I swatted his hand away with the back of my wrist. “You’re impossible.”
When he kept fidgeting, I finally huffed, set the brush down for a second, and shifted to sit on his lap so I could reach his face properly. It wasn’t even something I thought about, just the easiest way to keep him from moving.
“There,” I said, picking the brush back up. “Now you can’t squirm.” He went stock-still. I could feel him stiffen, hands half-raised like he wasn’t sure where to put them. “Uh, right. Totally not moving now,” he said quickly, voice suddenly higher than usual. I looked at him, amused. “You okay?”
“Yeah! Yup. Fine. Great,” he rushed out. “Just… wasn’t expecting the, uh, proximity upgrade.” I rolled my eyes, fighting a smile. “Relax, baby. I’m trying to make you scary, not terrified.”
That earned a shaky laugh from him. His shoulders finally loosened, though I could still feel the nervous energy humming under his skin as I started painting again.
The movie’s light flickered across his face while I traced the hollow of his cheekbone, blending white and black. Every few strokes, I had to steady his chin with my hand, thumb brushing just under his lip to tilt his head the right way.
“Almost done,” I murmured, leaning back just enough to check my work. The dark paint framed his face perfectly, shadow catching along his jaw.
When I looked at him again, something had changed. The nervous edge was gone; his shoulders had eased, eyes softer, warmer. His hands, which had been fidgeting at his sides a minute ago, found their way to my hips as if to anchor me there.
“You’re really into this, huh?” he said quietly, voice lower now, almost amused. I smiled, trying to ignore how aware I suddenly was of the space between us... or the lack of it. “Uhm... obviously,” I said, pretending to focus on the next stroke of paint. “Can’t have my masterpiece ruined by you moving again.”
He laughed under his breath, a small sound that made my brush tremble just a little. His fingers tightened just slightly at my waist. “So,” he said, grinning, “how much do I have to pay the artist for house calls?” I snorted. “Payment is you sitting still for five more minutes.”
He hummed, leaning forward the tiniest bit. “What if I tip with a kiss?” I pulled the brush back just in time. “No way, you’ll ruin the paint.”
“Come on, just a little-”
“Yuji!”
He froze mid-lean, lips still curved into a hopeful smile. The white paint on his cheek made his eyes look even rounder when he sighed dramatically. “Ughhh... denied... on Halloween. Tragic.”
“Tragic is exactly what your face will be if you smudge this,” I said, trying not to laugh. He gave the biggest puppy-dog look I’d ever seen, shoulders slumping but still smiling through it. “You’re heartless, you know that?”
“Completely,” I said, brushing a line of black across his temple. “Now hold still, or I’ll make you a sad skeleton on purpose.” That earned a quiet chuckle, and even though he stayed put, I could feel him still grinning underneath the makeup.
Finally, I set down the brush, wiping my hands on a towel. “Done,” I announced. Yuji blinked at me, then tilted his head. “Wait- ...done?”
“Yes. Done,” I said, tugging him by the wrist. “Come on, I need to show you the full effect.” He stumbled after me to the bathroom, hair slightly messy after removing the headband. I reached over and flipped on the light, pointing at the mirror.
“Ta-da.”
His jaw dropped. His eyes scanned every angle, lingering on the hollowed cheekbones, the white-and-black contrast, the glow-in-the-dark bones I’d added.
“Wow,” he breathed. “You… you actually did it. I look-” He paused, searching for the words. “Incredible. Like… really scary but also, somehow… good-looking?” I laughed, brushing a stray hair off his forehead. “You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend.”
“No, I mean it!” he said, stepping closer, eyes shining. “This is… amazing. Seriously, you did such a good job.” I grinned, heart thumping a little. “Thanks… but you know, I have to admit, it does look really, really good on you.”
Before he could answer, I leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips. He froze for half a second, then melted into it, hand going to my waist. When we finally pulled back, he tilted his head, grinning with that infuriating charm. “So… is it ruined now?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Ruined? Yuji, a kiss could never ruin this. I just needed you to stop distracting me before.” He blinked, mock-offended. “Stop distracting you? You mean… I wasn’t allowed to flirt?”
“You were allowed,” I teased, looping an arm around his neck. “Just… in moderation.” He laughed, tugging me closer, eyes sparkling. "Noted. But next time… I’m claiming full flirting privileges"
I rolled my eyes, leaning against his shoulder. “We’ll see about that.”
i love halloween and this adorable idiot so much aaaaaaaa
Hi Amy! May I ask for *purposely suggesting a horror movie (even though they know they themselves hate horror movies) just so they have an excuse to cuddle up for the night* with my boy Reiner pretty please 🥺
hallo-sleepover '24! / accepting.
loveliest thea, you know i'll try reiner for you 💞 thank you for sending this in!! i had so much fun writing it.
wanna watch a scary movie?
pairing: reiner braun x reader
word count: 870
tags: modern au, adult language, new relationships, friends to lovers, fluff, reiner is a big ol' scaredy cat, and you're not much better, horror movie elements
credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics
“Are you sure?”
“Babe, I picked the last two times.”
Taking both of your takeout boxes off of the coffee table, Reiner gives you a look before pressing a doting kiss to your forehead.
“Like I said, I’m down for whatever you want.”
Of course he is.
Technically he isn’t, though, because there’s been a title on your mind for weeks now that Reiner Braun has dipped and dodged like a professional tag player.
Narrowing your gaze playfully to him as he passes, you listen to him open the fridge to set your leftovers on the shelf. It sounds like he’s already filling a cup of water for you, too, which only makes you feel a little guilty for what you’re about to say.
“There’s that new horror movie that came out a few months ago,” you project to him. "It's finally available on streaming."
Reiner pauses for a beat.
Whether it’s intentional or he’s busy is a mystery.
“Horror, huh?”
“Would you be up to it?” You shift on the couch. “We can keep the lights on.”
“Not much of a horror movie if we’re keeping the lights on, don’t you think?”
He returns with a glass for you, arm extended. By the looks of it, he’s either got the greatest poker face in the world or he’s not much bothered by your request.
Maybe he isn’t as averse to horror as you initially thought.
Maybe he wasn’t in the mood at the time of you excitedly mentioning the movie.
Then again, it isn’t like you’re much of a horror fan yourself. In fact, you actually detest it. A scaredy cat through and through; you’ve wanted to break into the genre, dipping a pinky toe into the waters of a universe you typically avoid like the plague.
One creepy kid in a corner and a ghostly slamming door are all it takes for you to press the nope button.
Yet somehow the concept of watching scary things with Reiner makes them less apprehensive to you. Perhaps it’s the Braun charm.
You graciously take the glass from his hand as he sinks back down at your side on the couch.
By now it’s second nature: he raises his arm, and you easily fall into place by his side.
It’s easy, this new relationship with Reiner Braun.
He may have been your friend all through high school, even past college, but sometimes beautiful things need time to properly bloom.
Reiner picks up the remote to flick through the options, typing in the title until the thumbnail appears. His thumb hovers over the select button, as if giving you both one last out before the film begins.
You stare up at the blonde, expectant. “The lights are still on.”
Another pause passes.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Are you gonna get up?”
“You’re closer.”
Pause.
You both stare, waiting. Then—
“...I’m too comfy,” you decide.
“Yeah.”
“It’s all the way on the other side of the room.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We’ll forgo the ambiance.”
“Absolutely.”
Click.
The screen fades to black, loading up the movie.
Your long, fortifying inhale is mirrored by your boyfriend. You see the large expanse of his chest rise under his white t-shirt, his eyes downcast as the credits start.
Granted, you aren’t watching the screen either — you’re watching him — but the suspicion begins to settle in your gut. Even when the studio logos appear, he doesn’t look up.
When the film jolts bright red with a jarring, high-pitched synth to kick off the soundtrack, Reiner jumps sky high. His jumping makes you jump, causing the blanket at your lap to slip to the floor.
It’s barely even started.
“Rei?”
Clearing his throat, Reiner shifts on the couch once more and looks down at you. “Mm?”
“You good?”
He nods, playing with the fabric of your shirt. New focus. “Yeah, why?”
“No reason,” you lie, before slipping your attention to the screen.
Bad idea.
Because there’s a ghastly-looking figure looming in the dark corner of a child’s bedroom, its smile wide and jagged. The sheer opening shot of the film causes you to gasp in horror, your veins icing over in panic.
“Holy shit—”
Instinctively Reiner’s arm cinches you to his side like he’s protecting you from some invisible enemy, eyes squeezing shut.
“Nope. No.”
His hand fumbles blindly for the remote, not only pausing it — but making sure to click out of the movie so neither of you have to see the creepy ghoul.
“Fuck that.”
“Sorry!” you squeak, putting your face in your hands like somehow it’ll bleach the image from your mind. “Sorry, I didn’t know it was going to start like that—”
“Who came up with starting a movie like that?” he interrupts, seemingly as breathless as you.
“I don’t know!”
“That’s damn mean.”
“I know!”
“New plan,” he decides with more gusto, already changing to the genre menu to find a comedy. “What’s your number two pick? And don’t say something from horror.”
“I’m not! I’m not,” you promise, before pointing to a movie you’ve both seen before. “That one. For the love of god, just put that one on.”
“Oh, thank fucking God.”
Yeah — that’ll be the last time either of you attempt to brave a scary movie.
Summary: You and Stiles can’t choose a couples costume
Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x fem! Reader, Scott McCall x platonic fem! Reader
Words: 1.6K
»——•——«»——•——«
Warnings: no use of y/n, fluff, language, suggestive, spicy, implied smut, BUT NO SMUT, kinda a college au!
A/N: This was intended to be released in October, but I could not figure out how to finish it for my life. But hey, better late than never, am I right? Anyway I had no clue that Han and Leia’s ship name was Scoundress, but the more you know. Also, it is my first time writing for Stiles!
not beta read but YOLO
𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵
»——•——«»——•——«
"I don't know why you insist we should be Anakin and Padme! We would fit Leia and Han more for Halloween." Stiles whispered harshly, not looking up from the notebook that he was scribbling in.
You roll your eyes at him, "What are you talking about? I said we could do either, but I'd prefer if we were Anakin and Padme." You whisper to him. His head snaps up to protest, but a chair scrapes along the carpeted floor and interrupts Stiles.
"There you guys are! I was wondering where you were." Scott says a little too loud, and the people at the other tables surrounding you and Stiles give Scott a dirty look.
"Scott, I know you don't visit the library often, but we typically use our inside voices." You whisper as he sits down next to Stiles. Scott shoots you a glare.
"Anyways, I disagree. We should be Leia and Han, and that's final." You can see that Stiles is done with the conversation.
You squint suspiciously at your boyfriend, "You just want to see me in Leia's slave outfit from ROTJ, don't you?" You can see a red flush creep up Stiles's face and the tips of his ear as he stammers, trying to defend himself before giving up and returning to his notes. You chuckled under your breath to avoid disturbing the other students.
Scott looks between the two of you, confused, "What are you guys even talking about?"
"We are trying to figure out what costume we will wear to the party your frat is hosting." You explain, your voice low, "But we are split between two costumes. I want us to be Anakin and Padme, but Stiles-" He snaps up at the call of his name, focusing on the conversation, "-wants us to be Leia and Han." You glare at Stiles.
"I thought Luke and Leia were together?" Scott says cluelessly. Both you and Stiles groan loudly at Scott's words. A girl from a nearby table glares at you and shushes you. You apologize quietly and turn your gaze to Scott.
"We've gone over this before Scott. Luke and Leia are siblings, and Han and Leia are together. Do you just forget the movies as soon as we watch them?" Stiles asked exasperatedly.
"No, I tend to fall asleep halfway through the marathons," Scott says guiltily as he scratches the back of his neck. Stiles closes his eyes and uses his hand to rub his face frustratedly. Stiles murmured something under his breath, and Scott's face screwed up into an offended expression.
"I heard that."
"Yeah, no shit, you did. I'm the one who said it for your little werewolf ears to hear." Stiles scoffed quietly at Scott.
Scott goes to retort, but you snap your fingers twice to get their attention. "As much as I would love to see the two of you bicker, we all know how loud you guys get when you do, and I don't fancy getting kicked out of the library." You smile sardonically at them. They roll their eyes at you but yelp in pain as you lean over the table and tug their ears.
"Could you guys be quiet? Some people are studying." The girl from earlier whispered firmly to you guys.
You wince at her tone, "Sorry, we're leaving now." You whispered. You glared at Scott and Stiles and started to pack up your things to leave the library. Stiles scrambled to pack his things, and the two boys followed you outside the library.
Stiles wraps an arm around your shoulder as you walk through the quad. You thread your fingers through his hand, and he squeezes your hand three times. The annoyed expression melted off your face, and a smile replaced it. You take a quick glance at your phone, checking the time.
Your eyes widen, "Shit! I have to go! My class starts in 10 minutes." You untangle yourself, "Our discussion isn't over." You tell Stiles before separating yourself from him, pecking his cheek, and waving goodbye at the both of them as you speed walk to your class.
»——•——«»——•——«
The sound of a keyboard clacking echoes through your silent bedroom. You're hunched over your laptop on your bed as you work on one of your papers for your English class. Lofi beats play quietly in your headphones as you read through your paper for the final time before returning to it tomorrow to edit it. A knock at your bedroom door catches your attention.
"Yeah, what's up?" You say to your roommate as she peaks her head into your room.
"You have a visitor." She says with a knowing smirk on her face.
You roll your eyes at her, smiling, "Tell him he's actually banned from the apartment, then let him in." You instruct as you remove your headphones and stretch your back from your hunched position.
She nods and closes your door before leaving. You can hear the voice of your roommate and Stiles's voice talking lowly in the apartment's entryway. You hear a scoff from Stiles and footsteps quickly entering the apartment and heading toward your room. He burst through your door, pointing at you.
"You are so mean, you know that?" Stiles says with a slight pout on his face. He removed his backpack and toed off his shoes to leave near your door. He stands in the doorframe for a moment before you see a mischievous glint passes through his eye, and you catch it.
"Stiles." You say his name warningly.
He sends you an innocent smile before quickly running towards you and jumping onto your bed. You yelp loudly, closing your laptop and moving it out of the way of Stiles's landing. He lands on top of you, effectively pinning you to the bed. You can feel Stiles's chest move from his giggling fit as you try to squirm from underneath him. You give up after trying to push him off of you and thread your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp. He relaxes on top of you, settling his total weight on you. After a few minutes, he eventually rolls off you and sits on your bed.
"Any reason as to why you're at my apartment?" You ask him as you sit up and shift until your back rests against your headboard. You go to grab your laptop, but it's quickly moved from out of your reach, and you turn to glare at your boyfriend.
"Oh, don't give me that look, you know what that does to me babe." Stiles sarcastically as he moves your laptop to your desk.
"Besides, I'm here to present my argument as to why we should be Han and Leia for Halloween and not Anakin and Padme." Stiles moves closer to you and boops your nose after he finishes his sentence. You scrunch your nose at his actions and shake your head at him.
"Nope, not going to hear it."
He groans loudly, "I knew I shouldn't have asked you out, you prefer the prequels over the originals." He flops down on your bed, his head landing on your lap as his legs dangle over the side of the bed.
"Is that your way of saying that we should break up?" You raise an eyebrow at him.
He shot up from your lap, "NO! Absolutely not. You're like the woman of my dreams. I'd be an idiot if I broke up with you. Especially with the amount of shit we went through together in high school. I actually had dreams about marrying you, so-" His hands wave wildly as he begins to ramble. You roll your eyes at him and grab his chin to kiss his mouth to shut him up. He immediately shuts up and melts into the kiss. You peck his lips before pulling away.
"You're such a dork." You smile at Stiles.
"You're dating this dork."
"Yeah, maybe Lydia was right. I am out of your league." You joke, and a noise of offense comes from Stiles. You chuckle at his pouty expression and peck his lips.
"I'm kidding babe." You say as you pull away. You move around the bed to straddle him, your thighs on either of his hips, his hands coming to rest on your waist, and you rest your arms on his shoulders.
"How about we make a compromise? We go as Anakin and Padme this year, and then we can go as Han and Leia next Halloween." Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but you quickly put a finger in front of his lips.
"I wasn't done, and to sweeten the deal, I'll wear Leia's slave outfit underneath both costumes." You lean closer to Stiles, "How does that sound." You whisper seductively in his ear and plant a kiss underneath it before pulling back to see his whiskey-colored eyes darkening slightly with desire. His hands tighten around your waist before flipping the two of you around, you landing on your back. At the same time, Stiles settles in between your open legs and hovering above you.
"It doesn't sound fair, but if you wear the outfit often then I'll let it slide." He says lowly, lowering his face closer to yours.
"Deal." You say breathily, your lips brushing his as you speak.
"Deal." He says before smashing his lips against yours passionately. Your hands begin to wander and tug at each other's clothes. The room slowly grows hot and fills with low groans and whines coming from both of you. After you finished, you guys showered, went out to get the costumes, and tried them on when you returned to the apartment.
Let's just say the slave outfit came off as soon as you put it on.
