spiritslashrrsadie

[spiritslashrrsadie]

or michael-- could you please write some angst from these lines!!! “Just let me go. Please, I want to leave.” “I don’t feel safe with you anymore.”like Michael lashes out at reader and hurts them, reader is horrified and doesn't know if they can trust him :<

The End? (Michael Myers x GN!Reader)

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

It was always meant to end like this. Wasn’t it? With pain, with blood, with tears. He was a monster, what did you expect? He couldn’t always be what you wanted, what you needed. He couldn’t always be kind and gentle and soft.

It was your fault. You knew who- no. You knew what he was. The night you met him, he was covered in blood that stained his coveralls. The metallic scent of remains suffocated you, wrapping around you like tendrils. His eyes had been cold and dead because it didn’t matter to him. None of it did, no human life or death. Not even you.

So when he entered your house tonight, heavy steps creaking against the floorboards, with an air of fury around him, you took notice. He wasn’t quick to anger. He was irritable, sure, but not necessarily angry. You approached Michael with the intention of comforting him.

Pathetic.

Your hand reached out like it had done so many times before. Unlike all other times though, Michael didn’t stay still and allow your touch. No, instead what he did was whirl around furiously and grip your wrist tightly.

An unfamiliar fire roared in his eyes and his grip tightened as he twisted your arm down. His other hand held the handle of his knife the way you had grown accustomed to being held. Carefully and with a familiar trust. He wielded the blade like it was the only thing that could understand him and maybe it did. Its sole purpose was to cut and slice, to destroy. Just like Michael, it seemed.

His hand yanked down hard, throwing you to the floor roughly. The blood soaked knife glinted in the lamp light as he raised it just a bit. He didn’t raise it enough to actually end your life but it was enough to let you know: he thought about it. He wanted to, at least on some level.

Your breath sped up and your heart pounded as you fought against his grip. It wasn’t with full energy, not until you saw the raising knife. That’s when fear overtook you.

“Mi- Michael, let me go. Please.” You pleaded, yanking hard.

He didn’t react.

“Michael,” your voice raised with panic, “let me go.”

He didn’t react.

“Oh god…” you whimpered before yelling out without thinking.

“Help me!”

That got him. You had never called out for help, not even the first time you two met. Yet, here you were. Eyes wide in terror, wrist bruising, and shouting out for someone to save you from him.

So Michael let go and he stepped back. His hands lowered and the unfamiliar ache of guilt began to eat away at him.

You collapsed to the floor when he released you and you scrambled back onto your feet. You held your wrist close and you pressed yourself against the wall like you were trying to hide from him.

“… Get out. Now.” You told him.

Michael didn’t move. He just stared at you, a look of confusion and worry in his eyes.

“Michael, get the hell out of here. Get away from me and don’t…. I don’t feel safe around you so get the hell out of here.” You stated angrily.

He paused for a moment before shaking his head and he took a step forward, reaching out to you.

“Michael. Go.” You repeated tearfully.

“If you don’t leave…” the words felt heavy on your tongue and burned like ash, “then you’re gonna have to kill me because I can’t do this anymore. Not with you. So don’t- don’t make this harder.”

Michael stood silently and his hand dropped. He stared at you blankly, waiting for… something, he wasn’t quite sure what. When whatever it was didn’t happen, he turned and simply left.

For what very well may have been the last time.

It was then that you came to your senses. He was never your Michael, your beloved Michael.

He was always the Shape of Haddonfield.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

another for Vincent - reader trying to get him to dance with them? he doesn't know how so its kind of awkward, reader is trying to flirt but its so bad

Dance The Night Away (Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader)

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

Vincent shifted awkwardly and looked down at his fidgeting hands. A soft love song played from the radio that you found in an old victim's house and you smiled expectantly at him.

"Come on, handsome, dance with me." You told him, wriggling your eyebrows in an exaggerated flirty manner.

Vincent blushed bright under his mask and looked off to the side. You extended your hand towards him and shook your shoulders a bit as you walked your fingers up his arm.

'I don't know how to dance.' He signed nervously.

"It's really easy, babe. Promise! All you gotta do is," You pulled his arms to wrap around your waist, "hold me like this and sway. Got it?"

Vincent paused but nodded, hands shaking as he grips your shirt tightly. Following your lead, he began to sway to the side slowly.

“Then you just step to the side in a circle like this.” You continued.

Vincent took to awkward steps before bumping the two of you into a desk. He sighed heavily and stepped away from you, running a hand through his hair.

‘I told you that I can’t dance.’ He signed, frustration in his eyes.

“You’re thinking about it too much. C’mere,” you grabbed his hand once again and pulled him more towards the center of the room.

“Just sway a little bit and let me do the rest.” You told him as you set a slow tempo for his movements.

Vincent stared at his feet while shifting his weight, trying to get into a comfortable rhythm.

“Look at me, honey.” You whispered.

Vincent looked up and practically melted as he made eye contact with you. His hands relaxed when they found your waist and he stroked at your hip softly. Getting lost in your eyes, his movements grew less stiff and he allowed the music to flow through his bones, melting into his skin like hot wax.

His steps became more sure and slowed with his steady heartbeat. He pulled you closer and you could’ve sworn you heard him humming along softly

“I knew you could dance. You just have to pretend that you like me.” You whispered with a small laugh.

Vincent paused and pulled away with a serious expression.

‘I do love you. More than anything.’ He signed slowly, deliberately.

You smiled and moved back into his embrace.

“I love you too, Vinny. More than anything.”

“Even if you can’t dance.”

I had finals all week 🧍🏻‍♀️ I promise I didn’t go MIA for no reason but tomorrow is my last day of school before summer so I can spend a lot more time writing so yayyysendrequestsprettypleaseyyyyy

[spiritslashrrsadie]

Highkey don’t remember if I already announced this as I have the memory of a three year old getting told no so…

The playlist thing I asked about (number + a character) is open now so absolutely feel free to start sending them :))

[spiritslashrrsadie]

for vincent- can you write some hurt/comfort for him? maybe something based off this line-- “I’ve noticed you avoiding me. Why?”

Undeserving Monster (Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader)

Warnings - Brief mentions of canon-typical violence, cursing.

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

"Why won't you tell me, Vinny?"

You had been sitting on the floor in front of Vincent for what felt like hours. Your legs burned from kneeling, your neck ached from looking up, and the floor left small indents on your palms. Tears stung your eyes as you tried desperately to get your boyfriend to open up to you.

Something happened with this last group to pass through town. Everything had been normal leading up to his confrontation with one of the college kids. Bo had bashed one of the couples over the head to knock them out long enough for Vincent to start the waxing process. Lester had cleared out their vehicle for cash, things to pawn, spare parts, and towed it out to the junkyard. You cleaned up the messes in the street that they had made, took note of repairs that needed to be addressed before going back to the house to cook for the boys. But one of the men had escaped Bo's clutches which resulted in Vincent chasing him into one of the stores.

It took a bit but Vincent emerged victorious, dragging the body behind him with blood splattered across him. Whatever had gone down in the store left the other man unrecognizable, incapable of being used for a wax figure. Vincent's mask had been partially ripped off to reveal his lips and part of his jaw which were both drenched in blood - though you couldn't tell if it was his or not.

Bo gave him hell for being so reckless but Vincent gave no response. At first you just assumed he was too tired to deal with his brother but when he pushed past you and retreated into the basement without so much as a glance in your direction, you knew something was off.

That was four days ago and he still hadn't spoken to you. You weren't sure what to do anymore, you had tried coaxing him gently with patience and food and compliments. You tried ignoring him, though you weren't capable of doing so for more than two hours. You tried getting angry and yelling, throwing a fit the way that Bo did. But he didn't budge, he didn't look at you.

So now here you are, practically kneeling in front of him with tears stinging your eyes as you finally sacrificed your pride to beg.

"Please, honey. You've been avoiding me. Why? Why won't you look at me, what did I do? Whatever it was, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Damnit, Vincent, just-" You sniffled and look away for a moment, "- just fucking look at me, talk to me."

Vincent remained frozen, staring down at his lap where a small sculpture was currently wrapped up in some cloth.

You waited, searching for any sign that he was listening to you. But when he gave you no response, you chuckled bitterly and stood, wiping helplessly at your tears.

"Fine. Never-fuckin'-mind then. Come get me when you're ready to communicate like an adult. Until then," you motioned to the dark and cold room you two resided in, "wallow in whatever self pity you're drowning yourself in because I'm not gonna force you to man up and deal with this."

You turned on your heel and made your way towards the door, anger, hurt, and confusion swirling in your heart. You reached for the door handle when a hand grasped your shoulder and forced you to turn.

Standing behind you, Vincent looked at you with what could only be described as fear. His hand, always so controlled and gentle, shook and gripped you desperately.

'I'm sorry,' He signed slowly, hesitantly.

"For what?" You asked a bit scornfully.

'Everything. I did not want to ignore you. I thought had no choice. It was best for you.' He answered.

Furrowing your brows, you crossed your arms.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

'I'm...' He stopped and let go of your arm.

Vincent paused before reaching up and pulling off his mask and handing it to you.

'I'm a monster. You deserve a good man.' He continued, motioning to his face when he finished.

Your face, and heart, dropped at that.

"... What?"

You took his hand and pulled him closer while you sat down.

"Vinny, what are you-? You're not a monster! Why would... why would you think something like that?" You asked earnestly.

But as you asked, you remembered when it started. After his fight with that college guy.

"Is this- Is this about that last group that came through? What happened between you and that dude?"

Vincent looked down at your question, the memory flashing through his mind.

'The fuck is wrong with you, freak? You and your hick family ain't got nothing better to do than kill people?!' The blond man yelled angrily as he swung at Vincent.

'Well guess what? Once I deal with you, I'm gonna kill your whole freaky ass cult! Starting with that piece of shit that took us to the gas station.'

At that, at the mention of you, Vincent froze and his gaze turned cold. Anger consumed every fiber of his being when your life was threatened so Vincent did what any reasonable person would have done. He lifted his knife up and slashed wildly at the other. The blond's eyes widened at that, mostly out of fear but there was a hint of realization as well.

'Don't tell me you're dating them,' he exclaimed.

'What'd you do? Drug 'em or something? Why would anyone be with a monster like you?' He asked in disgust.

'Just wait, man. One of these, they're gonna kill you just like you deserve. If I don't do it first that is.'

He had no time to follow up on his threat though as Vincent lunged at him, his mask flying off as he did.

‘Yes. He made me realize that you may not be as happy here as you act. I thought that giving you a way out was best, it would make you happy. If you aren’t with me then you would have no reason to stay.’ He explained.

You sighed heavily and set his mask down next to you before grabbing his hands.

“Vincent, listen to me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t love you. I wouldn’t be with you if I didn’t want to be. So first of all, don’t ever think something like that again. Second of all, you are not a monster. You are gentle, intelligent, talented and the greatest man I know. You are not a monster and I sure as hell won’t let you think that.” You replied sternly, looking deep into his eyes as you spoke.

Vincent sat still for a moment, processing your words. Then he looked at you, truly looked at you.

‘I’m sorry. I thought I was helping you.‘

He slowly reached his hand out and stroke your cheek gently, a soft smile pulling at his lips. With his other hand, he signed a simple phrase.

‘I love you.’

“I love you too, Vinny.”

‘I can do better,’ he pulled away to sign, ‘I promise. I’m not the man you think I am. But I want to be. For you.’

I redid this one like four times 🧍🏻‍♀️

[spiritslashrrsadie]

another for michael-- reader showing Michael how to cook/bake since he was never taught growing up, Michael gets bored quickly and decides to smear batter or flour or something on readers face

Lessons in Cooking (Michael Myers x GN!Reader)

A/N - This is highkey just me telling you guys how to (start to) make arroz rojo/mexican rice/red rice, whatever you call it. So hey! Recipe!

⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

Michael wasn’t sure why he let you force him into things like this. Why did he need to learn how to cook when you already do it for him? When you aren’t there, he has candy and whatever food you were saving for yourself that he could eat. He didn’t need to learn how to do this but he was somehow convinced to learn by you.

“It’s just rice, babe! It’ll be easy, I swear. Besides, you like my rice don’t you? So might as well learn if I ever get too sick to make you some.” You told him as you washed your hands at the kitchen sink.

Michael wasn’t sure he appreciated the implication that he would allow you to get sick but whatever.

“Now help me get the rice from the top shelf.” You said, grabbing a large bowl and a strainer.

Michael sighed softly and reached up, pulling down a bag of jasmine rice for you. As much as he did not want to do this, and he really didn’t, Michael wouldn’t turn down free food or a chance to stare at you without you complaining.

“Okay,” you poured about two cups of rice into the bowl and turned on the water, “first - wash your rice. I’m being so serious, you do not skip this step, I don’t care what you were used to eating before me but you always wash your rice, got it?”

Michael nodded as you continued, explaining that he needed to rinse it in cold water until the water runs clear.

“Now turn the stove on, medium heat please.” You gestured towards the stove while you ran the rice through one last rinse.

“Alright, Michael. When the pan is hot, you’re gonna get some oil, I usually use the vegetable oil, and basically pour in enough that it covers the bottom of the pan. ‘Kay?”

Michael nodded again and leaned back against the counter, tilting his head while watching you. His eyes followed your every movement, a look of interest and warmth in his gaze. His fingers drummed impassively against his arms and he sighed as you stirred the rice.

“Come over and basically just let the rice cook until it’s all golden or whatever.” You offered the wooden spoon to him before going to pull out the blender.

“I’m just gonna explain how to make the sauce while you do that,” you added.

“Get two roman tomatoes, about a fourth of an onion, two garlic cloves, a cup of water, a tablespoon of chicken bouillon and a tablespoon of tomato bouillon,” you recite as you cut up and measure the needed ingredients.

Looking over, you smiled as Michael stared intently at the pan of toasting rice. Although he hardly seemed to be listening to you, it was nice that he was doing this for you anyways.

You tossed everything into the blender and held down the lid, turning it on.

“Swap me places and I want you to taste the sauce, lemme know if it’s good.”

You took the spoon from his hand and pushed him towards the counter once again.

Unfortunately for you, Michael had just decided he was done with this. He already knew how to make a sandwich, what more did you want from him?

So your beloved masked murderer opened up the blender, swiped some sauce onto his fingers and turned back towards you.

“Does it taste right, Micha-“ You were interrupted as he smeared sauce across your face.

“Michael!” You gasped, unsure if you were amused or angry.

He didn’t stick around long enough to find out, simply licking the excess off of his fingers and walking out of the kitchen and leaving you to finish by yourself.

Michael didn’t want to learn how to cook nor did he think he needed to. But he did find that watching you was pretty enjoyable, especially when he was able to truly bother you.

He wasn’t very happy when you refused to cook rice for about a month though.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

hello! I saw that your requests were opened and u wrote for Brahms Heelshire so was I was wondering if u could write Brahms x reader where the reader is completely unfazed by everything happening the house. Oh paranomal activity and the likely hood that the doll is haunt? As long as it isn’t hurting me idm. Same thing when Brahms is revealed - oh a man that was living in the walls pretending to be dead? Creepy… but I mean he hasn’t hurt me yet and returned my stuff…. Yea sure let’s befriend him! And this puts Brahms on edge on how calm the reader is and thinks they’re pretending but eventually realized the reader is genuine and warms up to them lol

I hope this isn’t too much and no rush!

And have an amazing day <3

Unfazed (Brahms Heelshire x GN!Reader)

Warning: Murder, mentions of reader being (almost) attacked and blood

Brahms wasn’t sure if he was infuriated or intrigued by you. Truly, no matter what he did, you just… moved on. On one hand, you followed the rules perfectly without complaint and without the rude comments about the ‘weird ass haunted doll’ that the previous nannies had. But you were also no fun.

When you heard him walking around at night, you just rolled over and went to sleep while muttering something about not being woken up by an intruder. When the supposedly haunted doll that you were in charge of would move rooms, you’d hum in acknowledgment and pat it on the head gently before moving on.

The night he broke a plate whilst walking around after you had gone to bed was met with a sigh, a broom, and a reassurance to no one in particular that “accidents happen, just try and be careful next time.”

You were literally the worst main character in the horror movie that is the Heelshire residence. Why can’t you just give him attention?

But he truly couldn’t complain too much, not that that would stop him. You followed all the rules perfectly without complaint, you were kind to the grocery deliverer but not enough to make Brahms jealous, you were very nice to his doll, and of course you were his favorite piece of art to stare at.

You were an enigma to him.

Even after he revealed himself, you were confusing to him.

A rather pushy door-to-door salesman had begun stalking you and when you very politely declined his advances, he became violent. He had raised his voice loud enough to catch Brahms’ attention and when the man lifted his hand to strike you, Brahms had enough.

He practically tore open the painting as he emerged from the walls, fury radiating off of him.

“They’re mine,” that terrifyingly calm voice with a childish pitch coming from the large masked man was enough to make a grown man scream.

Taking a few long strides, Brahms wrapped his hand around the man’s throat and slammed himself to the floor. The anger in his eyes was clear as he began to slam the man into the floor, repeatedly saying the word ‘Mine’ and increasing in volume with each hit.

It didn’t take long for him to succeed in his goal of killing the stranger. Brahms exhaled deeply and stood up straight, slowly turning to look at you.

Blood was splattered across his porcelain mask and stained his hands and sleeves. Tilting his head, Brahms approached you slowly and waiting for your response to this situation, to him.

But when it became clear that you were in no danger, you sucked your teeth.

“Damn. Um. I probably shouldn’t call the police, huh? Well, dinner might be a little late but is there anything in particular you want?” You asked a bit awkwardly.

Brahms just stared at you before turning and returning to the walls.

What the hell is wrong with you?

You had to be tricking him, right? Trying to get him to let his guard down so that you could kill him or leave him. That had to be your plan.

So Brahms waited.

A few days turned into weeks turned into months.

You remained at the mansion as his nanny, as the home’s caretaker, as his.

So Brahms started coming out more. He still spent most of his time in the walls in the beginning, only coming out for dinner once every few weeks. Then once a week. Then lunch and dinner. Until he was eventually eating every meal with you.

You were strangely calm from the very beginning of your time at Heelshire. But Brahms would come to adore that about you. He could be a lot at times but you remained unfazed.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

hi! i hope your day is going well!!!

i was wondering if u could write Brahms x reader where the reader asks him if they want a kiss but it’s actually the chocolate when Brahms says yes

no rush and i love your work!

Share a Kiss (Brahms Heelshire x GN!Reader)

It took very little time for you to decide to make the little joke after you realized that Brahms was used to absurdly expensive, foreign candies. He had practically never heard of anything like ‘Reese’s’ or ‘Whatchamacallits’ or even ‘Red Vines’, much less a Kiss.

So when the next grocery list was sent out, you added the small chocolates to the list. Your intention was to just introduce Brahms to different brands at first and since he hadn’t been as bratty that week, it was supposed to be a little treat for the man. But after the delivery man told you about the amusing interaction that he had seen in the store, you had the idea.

Unpacking the groceries, you ripped open the bag of chocolates and hid one in the palm of your hand.

“Brahms! Honey, can you come here please?” You called out, your voice bouncing off of the walls.

It took a moment but the familiar sound of walls and floors creaking echoed in response.

Brahms entered the kitchen and tilted his head curiously.

Hiding your hand behind your back, you approached the man with a loving smile. You raised your other hand and traced patterns on his chest.

“Would you like a kiss, Brahms?” You asked softly, watching as his eyes lit up.

Like he usually did when you gave him any sort of attention, Brahms melted. His shoulder slumped forward as if he were subconsciously lowering himself down to you, his jaw unclenched and his eyes sparkled.

“Please.” He replied eagerly.

You chuckled and lifted his mask up, just enough to expose his mouth, and leaned forward.

“Make sure you throw away your trash.” You whispered as you placed the chocolate in his hand.

You pulled away and laughed heartily at his confused expression as he looked down at the candy.

“You-“

“It’s candy, Brahms. Before dinner. Are you really going to complain?” You interrupted.

He thought for a moment and shook his head, though the pout never left his lips.

From then on, you were banned from calling Kisses ‘Kisses’. They were only to be referred to as the poor or mean chocolates.

I’ve had rehearsals and final performances the past two weeks I am so sorry :((. I really do appreciate the request love and since I’ve only got two more weeks of exams and finals before I’m out, I can put a lot more time and energy into this blog and writing. This has already been added to my list of requests to re-do when I have more free time, promise!

[spiritslashrrsadie]

if you’re conservative or a trump supporter: get off my blog. horror was and is never meant for you. thank you

[spiritslashrrsadie]

Quick q: Would you all be interested in a music inspired series? So like, you give me a number of times to shuffle my playlist and a character and I write like a oneshot or headcanons based on it? Or is that like, totally dumb? Please lemme know

[spiritslashrrsadie]

hii! can u write a Brahms x reader where the reader is into music and playing? Like before and after meeting Brahms, 9 out of 10 times they will always be humming smth or Brahms sometimes catch them playing the piano? And when the reader needs to find Brahms they always go play the piano bc they know Brahms will come out and want to see them play

Music to My Ears (Brahms Heelshire x GN!Reader)

Just when he thought you couldn’t get more perfect, you had to turn around and be musically inclined

Brahms cannot get enough of your playing

Before he revealed himself, he would move the doll as close as he could to the piano without getting caught when you played specific songs

Thankfully you caught on and understood that it meant he enjoyed those songs in particular

So you took to playing those songs at least once a week

Every chance that he got, Brahms would watch you when he heard those cold piano keys being played or when he heard your soft hums through the walls.

His favorite thing to watch was when you had the radio on while you cooked or cleaned

You would get so enchanted by the music that you never heard or noticed when he would lurk around the corner, pretending that he was dancing with you in the kitchen.

The first time that you picked up the doll and danced with it, Brahms was ecstatic because even if you weren't aware of it yet, the two of you had shared your first dance (kinda)

The most consistent way that you would get him to behave pre-reveal would be to hum or sing to the doll when it was bedtime as you wouldn't hear any bumps in the night afterwards.

After the reveal, his love for your music just became more intense.

Would refuse to go to bed without the proper Night Ritual™; a good night kiss and you stroking his hair while humming or singing whichever song you'd been playing the most that day

Took it upon himself to add "Play piano" to the list of rules and the schedule

Congratulations, you are practicing everyday, whether you like it or not.

It does provide some benefit for you too though

No matter how simple or complex a piece is, Brahms is right behind you clapping and dancing to the song you play

He will also buy you any and every piece of sheet music that you could ever hope for. As long as you don't open the door when the delivery man drops it off then you're fine.

His borderline obsession with your playing also means that even if he's thrown a huge tantrum that day or if you've just been in a particularly bad mood, if you need to talk to him then all you have to do is sit on the bench and begin

Play Mary Had a Little Lamb or an improvised rendition of Mahler's Symphony No. 2, it does not matter

Brahms will come crawling as soon as your fingers begin to fly across the keys

He admires you so much for your skills and would watch you play forever if he could.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains of the study, basking the room in a warm glow. The rays of light sent a wave of warmth to wash over you as you sat down on the piano bench. Your long silk robe that had been so graciously gifted to you by Brahms on your one year work anniversary seemed to float around you as you moved.

Your shoulders relaxed when you took a deep breath, hands reaching out to lift the cover off of the keys. You had a rather restless night after Brahms had accused you of wanting to abandon him when the grocer stayed a bit too long that morning. You were in desperate need of a distraction and turned to that which made you most at peace.

Pulling out the sheet music for a soft love song you had learned shortly after moving to the Heelshire residence, you allowed the sun's light to illuminate the notes. With a practiced ease, your fingers began to press and stroke the black and white keys in a flawless succession that awoke Brahms in an instant.

Crawling out of the wall that he had locked himself in the previous night, Brahms approached behind you silently. He watched your hands fly across the piano, each melodic note floating in the air. It was a song he recognized immediately, it was one of his favorites.

He hesitantly pulled off his porcelain mask and practically curled into himself as he sat on the floor next to you. The guilt in his eyes shone brighter than the morning sun and the slight nervousness shook his voice as he began to hum along.

It didn't take long for your voice to join in, 'la-la-la'-ing in harmony. As frustrating as the man could be, you did adore him and you hated being mad at each other.

Brahms stood up and held out his hand, slowly pulling you away from the piano and swaying with you. He held you close to his chest, one arm wrapped around your waist and the other gripping your hand tightly like he was afraid you would run.

"I'm... I'm sorry." He whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your back.

"I know, Brahms." You replied.

Pulling back, you looked into his eyes.

"I don't know how else to tell you that I'm staying here, with you. You need to learn to trust me. Trust that I'm going to stay and that some delivery guy can't and won't steal from me. Understood." You told him, a stern but loving edge in your voice.

Brahms smiled and nodded slowly.

"Understood."

Spinning you around, Brahms pulled you back against him.

"Do you forgive me?" He asked.

You smiled and shrugged.

"Keep dancing with me and I will."

A/N: I want to start doing requests like those, gives me a decent mix to do I guess. Also this was absolutely done with the purpose of keeping me from practicing piano (It's been way too long omg). Anywaysss, I hope you enjoy it and pls feel free to send in as many requests as you like if you did :))

[spiritslashrrsadie]

I got you for Michael >:) Can you pls do Michael with a fem or gn s/o that is just unabashedly clingy? Like always wants to be around him, hugging him, and is honestly flattered by him following them around everywhere?

Myers with a clingy s/o

Note: ive never done posts in this kind of format, i usually write full on oneshots so this is very different for me. im sorry if its short or lacking

Michael would probably be confused at first, doesn't understand why you constantly want to be around him.

He isn't used to physical affection, so don't expect him to reciprocate. He would push you away at first.

Eventually he will get used to you always hugging him, and will only give you a half hug back. Physical affection isn't his strong suit and he isn't used to it.

Michael is usually the one who follows people around, so when you always end up places he is and you're trailing behind him with a look of curiosity in your eye, there is probably just the smallest blush beneath that horrifying mask, you're either very brave or just stupid for keeping so close to a man who has committed several murders. Either way, he's flattered that you seem to like being around him so much.

If you try to follow him when he goes out he will give you a stern stare and push you back into the house. You're not allowed to follow him when he goes on his sprees. His way of protecting you.

On the rare occasion he sits on the couch with you he will let you lean on him or rest your head in his lap. A lot of the affection is one sided and he doesn't show any discomfort nor like towards your clinginess. He's neutral about it and lets you do what makes you happy.

Overall he is chill, but confused and maybe a little charmed, even though he won't show it.

also my writing discord is still up ^^ join here

[spiritslashrrsadie]

Sweet As Sugar (Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader)

Thinking about Bo Sinclair who thinks you are just the sweetest thing ever.

Bo Sinclair who has a bad day when you don’t sit in the garage with him, fidgeting with a random flat head and rambling about whatever comes to mind.

He wipes the sweat and oil from his face and chuckles at your seemingly endless stories. He approaches you with a predatory gaze and runs his hands up your thighs, gripping them tightly. His eyes are filled with amusement and teasing as he grips your face in his hand and squeezes. He keeps you still as he kisses you deeply, savoring the sweet taste of you when he runs his tongue across your bottom lip.

Bo Sinclair who clings tightly to you at night, partially out of fear that you’ll leave but primarily because you just smell so good to him.

He inhales deeply when his nose ends up near your neck or hair, letting his muscles relax at your scent. He presses soft kisses against your shoulder and holds you close to his chest, thanking whatever God led you to him.

Bo Sinclair that can’t get enough of your voice.

You could talk for hours and he’d hang onto every word, your voice like honey in the air. Every loving statement you made was like a salve on his aching heart. Every laugh that escaped remained his favorite song, reminding him of a memory that he had never experienced.

Bo Sinclair that reserved your actual name for your most intimate names.

“It’s too special to be thrown ‘round, sugar.” He would say whenever you questioned it.

Bo Sinclair that thinks you are the sweetest thing ever.

His sugar.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

hihi, may i request michael x gn!reader who is exhausted from work everyday and mikey takes care of them? ^^

Take A Break (Michael Myers x GN!Reader)

Michael is incredibly, frustratingly, observant

So he noticed something was off immediately

Your eyes were downcast and dim, your shoulders were tense and you didn’t seem as ‘bright’ as you usually were

When he finally found out that it was because of work, naturally his first instinct was to kill your boss

Of course you said no, which confused him

Why are you dating a slasher if you won’t him let him slash?

But Michael being who he is doesn’t really know how to comfort people because he doesn’t truly understand emotion the same way others do

He hadn’t thought he was capable of feeling anything until he met you so when his frame of reference is acting strange, he’s at a loss

He understands physical pain, on some level, at least so he’ll just go off of that

Michael begrudgingly offers you some of his candy from his (not so) secret stash, maybe not his favorites but the ones he doesn’t hate so much

Being a killer, he also has a semi-decent understanding of human anatomy and if you catch him at the right time you can convince him to give you a massage

All in all he is going to be tense and awkward and pretty unhelpful but he does want to try and try he shall

One days that you’re getting worse, he will physically prevent you from going to work

You don’t need a job, babe, you have him why are you leaving?? What the hell are bills

Took to following you to work and might just. Grab you. On your break to take you home

Whenever you have a day off, Michael will not let you out of the bed unless you’re buying him something and if that’s the case then you will be followed

Michael really needs to follow you at all times possible

He can’t always show it but he loves you in his own way and no one else is allowed to cause you any sort of pain: physical or emotional

Just don’t ask him about why your manager went missing the day after you complained about work

I’m sorry it’s so short >_< I’ve had rehearsals and performances this whole week and will continue to until next week so I had to rush it a bit.

Please remember to take breaks when you need to, babes and don’t let yourself get burnt out if at all avoidable <3

[spiritslashrrsadie]

Firstly: Oh em gosh, I'm actually so in love with your writing style it's crazy and thank you a thousand <3

Secondly: Okokok, can I please request Bo Sinclair and Thomas introducing their family to their (Fem or GN) s/o that is their total opposite and/or similarly; Vincent and Carrie introducing their family to their bff!Reader that's their total opposite? Feel absolutely free to do only one of these/include whoever else you'd like to write for, please and thank you sm in advance love ♡

SLASHERS WITH A S/O WHO IS THEIR OPPOSITE

Summary: Imagine Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt, and Carrie White introducing their S/O to their family who are the complete opposite of them.

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt & Carrie White

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in writing this request, I was recovering from wisdom tooth surgery, but anyway, I hope you like it, your ideas are always great. :3

Bo Sinclair

"The Storm and the Sunlight"

The sun had just begun to dip behind the skeletal trees surrounding Ambrose, casting the whole town in an amber glow that made the waxy silence feel even heavier than usual. Bo Sinclair leaned on the hood of his old truck, cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, boots dusted with gravel. The engine still ticked behind him, cooling with little pings and hisses that were the only noise—aside from your voice.

“Bo,” you said softly, fingers laced nervously in front of you. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

You looked so out of place it made his jaw tighten. White sundress, soft curls, kindness practically bleeding from your pores. A gentle soul in a graveyard.

He took a drag and exhaled slowly, eyes squinting at you in the light. “Ain’t about good or bad, sugar. It’s just time.” A pause. “They’re my family. And now… you’re too, right?”

You smiled at that, the kind of smile that made Bo’s insides itch. Not because he didn’t like it—but because it was too good. Too clean for the kind of man he was. For the place you were stepping into.

The doors to the old church creaked when you stepped inside. Dust swirled in the air like ghosts. The pews were empty, except for Vincent in the front, working silently on a wax figure. His hands moved with eerie grace, focused, methodical. He didn’t look up until Bo cleared his throat.

“Vin,” Bo said gruffly. “Got someone I want you to meet.”

Vincent turned his head slowly. His mask caught the amber light like glass, his head tilting with curiosity.

“This here’s my girl,” Bo added. “She’s… well, she’s different.”

You stepped forward—nervous, but not frightened. Your eyes didn’t recoil at Vincent’s appearance. You didn’t flinch. You smiled, gentle and warm, like spring melting snow.

“Hi, Vincent,” you said sweetly. “I’ve seen your sculptures. They’re… breathtaking.”

Vincent stilled. That wasn’t a word people used around them. Not without fear lacing it. But you meant it. He could tell. Bo watched, arms crossed, chewing the inside of his cheek. He expected Vincent to turn away, to ignore her like he did most strangers. But instead, his brother gave the slightest, most careful nod… and reached over to uncover a small half-finished wax sculpture—an animal figurine. A gift in his own language.

Bo was stunned.

Later, Lester showed up, as he always did, uninvited and covered in whatever he’d been dragging through the woods. He eyed you like you were a hallucination.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lester laughed. “Bo, you bring home a Sunday school teacher?”

You didn’t snap back. You didn’t wrinkle your nose. Instead, you chuckled, brushing hair behind your ear. “Not quite. But I do love animals. Do you have dogs?”

Bo tensed, expecting Lester to say something dumb. But instead, Lester’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah, I do! Wanna meet ‘em?”

“Of course,” you beamed.

Bo stared, not saying a word. He wasn’t used to watching someone soothe the madness around him. You didn’t tame it—you didn’t try to change anyone. You just was, like a cool breeze cutting through a humid storm. When night fell, you sat on the Sinclair porch, and you leaned your head against Bo’s shoulder. His arm wrapped around your waist without thinking.

“You sure you’re not scared of us?” he murmured.

You were quiet for a moment. “I think there’s good in all of you… even if the world doesn’t see it. You protect each other. You’re loyal. That means something.”

Bo swallowed hard. “You know what we’ve done. What I’ve done.”

“I’m not stupid,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “But you’ve never hurt me. You don’t scare me, Bo. You confuse me sometimes. You frustrate me. But you also love me… in your own way.”

He looked at you, something raw and unspoken in his eyes. You were sunlight in a coffin. And maybe he didn’t deserve you, maybe you’d end up cracked and jaded like the rest of Ambrose—but for now, you were his

And God help anyone who tried to take that from him.

.

Thomas Hewitt

The old Hewitt house creaked under the weight of the Texas sun. Dust floated through the air, making golden beams from the few cracked windows. Thomas stood silently by the doorway, his massive hand engulfing yours. You were a vision compared to everything inside — clean, bright-eyed, the complete opposite of the world he came from.

As they stepped inside, Hoyt’s voice echoed from the kitchen. 

“Well, well, well... What did we get here, Tommy boy?”

Thomas tensed immediately, his shoulders stiff, but you squeezed his hand in silent reassurance.

Hoyt sauntered into the living room, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth, his eyes raking over you like you were something he'd never seen before. You stood your ground, even though your fingers tightened just a little around Thomas's. Your smile, though small, was steady.

“Hi... I’m, um, Y/N,” you said politely. Your voice was soft, almost too pure for the grime-stained walls around you. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Hoyt chuckled, the sound low and sharp. “Nice, huh? Ain't nobody nice around here, sweetheart. You sure you're in the right place?”

Thomas grunted low in his chest, a warning. His free hand twitched toward the chainsaw by the door, but you stepped forward before things could escalate, brushing your fingers lightly over Thomas’s wrist.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” you said, so gently it almost startled Hoyt into silence.

Monty rolled in from the hallway, his old wheelchair squeaking. His sharp eyes scanned you from head to toe. “Pretty little thing. Bet you ain't used to dirt under them nails.”

Thomas lowered his head in shame, but you just smiled—brighter this time—and knelt slightly so you were at Monty’s level.

“I can get used to it,” you said. “Family’s more important than clean hands.”

Monty barked a surprised laugh and patted you on the shoulder with a rough hand. “Well, hell, maybe you do belong.”

From the kitchen, Luda Mae finally emerged, wiping flour off her apron. Her mouth pressed into a thin line when she saw you, wary at first. But you stepped forward and extended both your hands like a prayer offering.

“I brought something,” you said, pulling a small, neatly wrapped loaf of bread from her bag. “I made it myself. I thought maybe... we could share.”

There was a beat of silence where the whole house seemed to hold its breath. Thomas stared at you, his heart hammering in his chest like a drum. He couldn’t believe it — you weren't just tolerating his family; you were offering them kindness.

Luda Mae took the bread carefully, her weathered face softening. “Well, aren’t you just somethin’ special,” she murmured, her voice catching in her throat. Thomas felt your hand brush against his again, like a silent thread tying you to him, to this broken home he never thought you could accept.

As the evening wore on, you listened to Monty's long-winded stories, even laughed at Hoyt’s twisted jokes when appropriate, never letting go of Thomas for long. You helped Luda Mae set the table, humming under her breath — a soft sound that filled the hollow spaces in the house like sunlight through the boarded windows.

Later, after dinner, Thomas found you sitting on the porch swing, your head resting against the chain, staring up at the stars.

When he sat beside you, the swing groaned under his weight. He didn’t know what to say — he almost never did — but you turned toward him with that same soft smile and tucked yourself into his side without hesitation.

“They’re rough,” you whispered, “but... they’re yours. That means something to me.”

Thomas’s throat tightened, an unfamiliar burning behind his eyes. He wrapped his arms around you carefully, like you were something fragile he didn’t want to break.

In the dark, under the endless stretch of sky, he realized:

For the first time in his life,

something gentle had chosen to stay.

.

Carrie White

Carrie stood nervously by the old iron gate outside her home, twisting the strap of her worn dress between her fingers. Her heart raced as she waited, feeling like at any moment, the world might split open just for daring to do something so bold.

And then she saw you.

Striding down the cracked sidewalk, head held high, a spark in your eyes that never seemed to dim. You were everything she wasn’t — fearless where she trembled, loud where she whispered, fierce where she was soft. You smiled as you saw her — a real smile, wide and warm, and Carrie's cheeks flushed pink immediately. She shifted from foot to foot.

"You look beautiful," you said without hesitation, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

Carrie lowered her head, the praise too much, too overwhelming, but it filled something inside her that had been empty for too long.

"Y-you sure you wanna come inside?" she stammered. "Mama... she’s... she’s real strict."

You only grinned, fearless. "I’m not scared."

Carrie’s breath caught in her throat. Maybe you should be, she thought. But she couldn’t say it. She didn’t want to push you away.

You held out your hand, palm up.

"Come on, Care. I’m here for you."

With a trembling breath, Carrie slipped her hand into yours, and together, you stepped into the lion’s den. The house was dark and heavy, the air thick with the smell of old wood and something sharper — fear, maybe. Religious icons stared down from every corner. Carrie's shoulders hunched automatically, but you walked tall, squeezing her hand in silent support.

From the kitchen, Margaret White emerged, her face pinched and tight as a clenched fist.

"Who's this?" her voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Margaret’s eyes raked over you, judgmental, suspicious — you, with your leather jacket, your confident gaze, your very existence defying everything she believed in.

Carrie shrank slightly, but you stepped forward, your smile unwavering.

"I’m Y/N," you said brightly. "I’m Carrie's friend. It's real nice to meet you, ma’am."

Margaret's mouth twisted. "Friend?" she hissed, like it was a dirty word.

Carrie’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She waited for you to back down, to leave, to abandon her like everyone else.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you slid your arm gently around Carrie’s shoulders, anchoring her, steadying her.

"I care about her," you said simply, your voice low but strong. "A lot."

Margaret recoiled as if slapped. "You'll drag her down into sin," she whispered, voice trembling with fury. "You’ll open her up to wickedness—"

"Or maybe," you interrupted, voice calm but cutting, "I'll lift her up. Help her see she deserves to be happy."

Carrie's eyes widened, tears prickling at the corners. No one had ever — ever — defended her like that.

Margaret’s hands clenched into fists at her sides.

"Get out," she snapped. "Both of you."

You nodded coolly. "Fine by me."

Turning to Carrie, you softened instantly. "You coming with me, sweetheart?"

Carrie froze — torn, terrified — until you gently touched her cheek, your thumb tracing her skin as if she were something precious. And in that touch, she found something stronger than fear: hope.

Carrie nodded, her small hand slipping into yours once more. Margaret screamed, a high, keening sound that rattled the walls, but Carrie didn't look back.

Not this time.

Outside, the night air was crisp and new against her skin. Carrie shivered, not from fear, but from the thrill of freedom.

"You okay?" you asked quietly.

Carrie looked at you — your fire, your light — and for the first time in her life, she believed maybe she could be more than the scared little girl trapped in the shadows.

"I am now," she whispered, and smiled — a real smile, small but brave.

And as you both disappeared into the dark, Carrie clung to you, the total opposite she never knew she needed, the spark that might just save her from the storm brewing inside.

.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

pretty please would you write genuinely anything about thomas hewitt, lowk slowly becoming my fav slasher

Stupid Cupid (Thomas Hewitt x GN!Reader)

Summary: Sunday mornings are for lazing and dancing around.

Luda Mae had been real strict about not working on Sunday's since Thomas was a kid. They were for church only, that's what she always said.

'If the Lord wanted us to work on Sunday then he wouldn't have made it a day of worship, would he?' She would say everytime Monty made a comment about it being lazy.

Of course, after losing his legs, he wasn't exactly opposed to that anymore.

This particular Sunday was different however. One of Luda Mae's old school friends had passed away and she was insistent that they attend the funeral. Now, she wasn't embarrassed of her adoptive son, not in the slightest. But she was protective and she knew how others would react and she just couldn't put her baby boy through that type of judgment.

So she asked you to stay behind with him and you two could keep each other company until the rest of them came back. You had no problem with that of course, looking forward to getting some time alone with your husband without the foul-mouthed Charlie and constantly angry Monty there to yell at you.

When you woke up that morning after everyone else had left, you took to giving the kitchen a proper scrub down and making a meal for Thomas that didn't have a name and job before it made it into the fridge.

As you wiped down the counters, the small radio in the windowsill began to play the Connie Francis song, Stupid Cupid, one of Luda Mae's favorites. You hummed along and bounced your shoulders to the beat of the love song, paying no attention to the kitchen door.

It was only when you heard the creaking of the floor that you turned to find Thomas standing in the doorway. His eyes were soft and full of love as he watched you sway to the music, a stark difference to his otherwise rough demeanor.

Smiling brightly at him, you extended your arm out and began singing along, aiming the lyrics at him. Thomas hesitated but he joined you nonetheless.

You sang loudly and danced around him, making dramatic dance moves and leaning against the man as often as you could. When the quiet giant let out a deep chuckle, your heart fluttered and your mood brightened exponentially when he took both of your hands.

Thomas spun you around and swayed to the side awkwardly but he was dancing with you and that's all you cared about in this moment.

As the song came to a close, Thomas held you close and the smile was clear behind his mask. You smiled up at your beloved and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"I love you, Tommy." You whispered.

Even if the man couldn't talk, the tender look on his face and the way his grip tightened you was more than enough for you. So when he grunted in what you could only call agreement, you chuckled.

"Let's eat some breakfast, yeah? Don't want Cupid to keep me from feeding you."

I restarted this like six times, had two different stories, got way busy with rehearsals and I'm still not happy with this whatsoever. But like, I made you wait forever so here you go and I promise I can write better, and longer, than this.

[spiritslashrrsadie]

Me when my laptop glitches and deletes the one shot I was writing :,)

To the anon that sent in that Thomas Hewitt request pls resend it love, I’m so sorry :(