Okokok, can I request Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt, and Michael Myers with a s/o thatโs just super stereotypically feminine? Like, she hates bugs and getting messy, loves pink and makeup, says words like โtotesโ โadorbsโ and โobviโ, loves shopping, etc.? Sorry if itโs super vague ;-; but Iโd love to see it in your writing style โก
Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt & Michael Myers with a Super Stereotypically Feminine S/O (SEPARATE)
Summary: Imagine Bo Sinclair, Thomas Hewitt and Michael Myers with a stereotypically overly feminine S/O who only wears pink, cute things, hates bugs and dirt and speaks in a city girl language.
A/N: I really loved writing this request, it was great to see the dynamics of these slashers with a super feminine S/O, I wrote it listening to Sabrina Carpenter and Fifty Fifty to get more into the mood. I hope you like it as much as I did.
โIf itโs pink and sparkly, itโs probably already in her purse.โ
Bo Sinclair never expected a girl like you to waltz into Ambrose. Hell, he wouldnโt have believed someone like you existed, much less would stay.
You were all fluttery lashes, bubblegum lip gloss, and sparkly earrings shaped like hearts. When you first stumbled into the wax museum, looking absolutely horrified by the โrustic aesthetic,โ he expected you to start screaming bloody murder. Instead, you blinked at him, tilted your head like a curious little kitten, and said:ย
โYouโd be super hot if you smiled more. Like, dangerous bad boy vibes. I dig it.โ
Bo had no idea what to say. It mightโve been the first time heโd ever been stunned silent.
You hated dirt, bugs, bloodโliterally everything Ambrose was soaked in. You gasped when your heel broke on the cracked sidewalk and clutched him dramatically like they were in a soap opera. โBo, Iโm limping. Youโre gonna have to carry me. This is a whole crisis!โ
At first, he rolled his eyes. A lot. Teased you constantly. Called you "Barbie" and "Princess" with a smug little grin.
But over time, something changed.
He started noticing how you lit up talking about stuff heโd never cared about beforeโnail polish shades, the drama of lipstick undertones, reality TV betrayals. Youโd sit cross-legged on his dusty bed, wearing fuzzy socks and ranting about your favorite fashion influencers while applying glitter highlighter in a cracked mirror. Bo would sit there, arms crossed, pretending not to listen... even though he always was.
You'd make him stand still so you could โfix his eyebrowsโ or โjust a little bronzer, babe, for definition!โ and Bo would grumble but let you do it. The way your eyes sparkled when you were focused on somethingโespecially himโmade it real damn hard to say no.
And as much as he tried to play it cool, Bo adored the way you clung to him when a beetle skittered across the floor, squealing and climbing half up his torso like he was your knight in dirty denim armor.
"You're lucky you're cute," he'd mutter, wrapping an arm around your waist.
"Obvi," youโd giggle, pressing a glossy kiss to his cheek and leaving a shiny mark he never wiped off until you weren't looking.
You gave Ambrose something it hadnโt had in yearsโlife, noise, glitter in every corner of the wax museum (much to Vincentโs quiet suffering). Your pink hairbrush sat next to his tools. Your perfume mixed with motor oil. There were rhinestones on the old radio dials in his car.
And when some poor bastard stumbled into town and made a snide comment about โthat bimbo clinging to Bo like a chihuahua,โ Bo didnโt even give a warning. He just grabbed the guy by the collar, smiled wide, and said, โSay one more word. Go on. I dare you.โ
Heโd never say it out loud, but Bo loved you fiercely. Loved your dramatics, your soft hands, the way you made him feel like a movie star instead of a wax museum reject.
And if anyone touched you? God help them.
Even if youโd never lift a finger yourself (โI donโt do violenceโitโs so bad for the nails, babeโ), Bo was more than willing to handle it for you.
Because at the end of the day, you were his ridiculous, high-maintenance, adorable nightmareโand he wouldn't change a single thing about you.
Bonus: The Shopping Trip (Against Boโs Will)
Bo Sinclair in a mall was the equivalent of dropping a pitbull into a ballet studio.
He was stiff, annoyed, and visibly scowling, while you pranced from one boutique to the next, holding up clothes and saying things like โThis screams me, doesnโt it?โ and โBo, look at this! Itโs like a skirt, but with fur!โ
Every time he tried to retreat to a bench, youโd call him over with a squeal: โBabe! You have to hold my purse, Iโm going to try this on!โ
Bo, standing in a womenโs boutique holding a pink bedazzled purse with a small chihuahua keychain on it, was a sight to behold. Some teenage girls giggled as they passed by. He gave them a slow death-glare that shut them up instantly.
And then you stepped out of the fitting room wearing something way too short, way too sparkly, and totally you.
Boโs jaw tightened. โYouโre not wearinโ that in public.โ
โWhy not?โ You asked, twirling. โToo hot for you?โ
Bo reached for his wallet. โโฆWeโre buyinโ it. But you only wear it in the damn house.โ
You grinned like you won a war. โSo possessive. Kinda hot.โ
โTommyyyy! There's a bug in the kitchen and itโs HUGEโoh my god, baby, I need you to handle it like, right now!โ
Thomas had never met anyone like you.
You waltzedโactually waltzedโinto the Hewitt family's dusty, decrepit home like a princess misplaced in a horror movie. Pink suitcase, heart-shaped sunglasses, fluffy keychains, lip gloss glinting like wet sugar on her pout. Your clothes were always perfectly matched, your hair always done, and you wore perfume that made you smell like cotton candy and cherry soda.
To the rest of the world, you were obnoxiously girly, with your dramatic hand gestures, and constant stream of Valley Girl slang. But to Tommy? You were pure, sweet light.
You squealed at bugs and cobwebs, refused to step into the kitchen barefoot, and definitely did not want to see โwhere the meat was made.โ But instead of being cruel or judgmental, youโd wrinkle your nose and go:
"Ew, okay, Iโm like, gonna pretend that doesnโt existโbut youโre still the cutest murder bear Iโve ever seen."
And Thomas, who had always been seen as a monster, didnโt know how to process someone calling him cute. His usual instinct was to back away, but you wouldnโt let him. Youโd follow him around the house in your slippers with fuzzy pom-poms on top, chattering about skincare and outfit inspo and "how maybe this place could really pop if we added just a little pastel wallpaper."
When you first tried to hug him, Thomas frozeโlike a deer caught in headlights. No one touched him like that. No one wanted to. But you buried your head against his chest and mumbled, โYouโre like a big warm teddy bear... with a chainsaw. So weird, but I love it.โ
From then on, he melted every time you got close.
Heโd do anything to protect you. You never had to lift a finger. If there was something gross in your path? Thomas took care of it. Bugs, messes, even replacing broken heels when you cried over snapping one on the old farmhouse stairs.
You made him feel seenโnot as Leatherface, but as Thomas, the quiet man who liked to sew, who carefully cut fabric, who noticed colors and stitches.ย
One time, you saw the damaged lace curtain heโd repaired in the living room and gasped, "Waitโdid YOU do this? Tommy, thatโs, like, totally impressive! Youโre, like, an artsy murder man!"
It made his ears go pink. He didnโt understand half of what you said, but he loved listening to you talk. Your voice was high and musical and full of love for every silly thingโnail polish, boy bands, weird drinks from the gas station.
And when you grabbed his hand and painted his massive fingernails soft pastel pink? He let you. Quiet. Blushing. Heart pounding behind the mask.
You brought chaos into his life, but it was the kind he never knew he needed. You made the horror of his world feel like background noise, just scenery for you to twirl and sparkle through.
You were scared of messes, yes. But never of him. And that was enough to make him fall harder every day.
Reaction of the Hewitt Family when they met you:
At first, Luda wasnโt sure what to make of you.
You were like a living Barbie dollโheels clacking across the floorboards, constantly asking if they had โlike, anything organicโ in the fridge, and wrinkling your nose at the dust like it personally offended her.
But then she saw the way Thomas looked at you. That softness. That stillness in his shoulders. Like he was finallyโฆ breathing easy.
And when Luda saw you gingerly wiping dust off the kitchen table with a pink handkerchiefโstill gagging, but tryingโshe raised a brow and muttered to herself:
"Well, Iโll be damned. That boy finally found someone who ainโt runninโ."
Within a week, Luda Mae was fussing over you like you were one of her own:
"Now sweetheart, donโt you go starvinโ yourself just โcause our foodโs not from some big city spa store. You need meat on them little bones."
She even started defending your quirks: "If she wants pink lemonade in a wine glass, let her have it. Sheโs happy, and Tommyโs happy. Thatโs all I care about."
Luda eventually took great pride in teaching you โreal homemaking,โ even if your girlie girl instincts clashed hard with rural chores. You made a hilarious duoโ โYou expect me to churn WHAT?โโ but there was affection in every sigh and scold.
Ohhh, he HATED you at first.
All that chirping, that perfume, that attitude. He couldnโt stand it.
"You sure thatโs not some kinda undercover spy, huh, Tommy? They sendinโ in Disney princesses now to take us out?"
He was always grumbling when you were around. Mocking your slang, your style, everything.
"โTotes adorbsโ? What in the HELL does that mean? Speak English, girlie."
But hereโs the thing about Charlieโhe might be a nasty piece of shit, but heโs loyal to blood. And when he saw how Thomas, his quiet, broken nephew, lit up around youโฆ it gnawed at something deep in him.
One day he caught sight of you brushing Thomasโs hair behind his ears, gently humming while he sat still as a statue. Charlie stood there silently, watching the scene for longer than heโd admit.
Did he stop teasing you after that? No. Of course not.
But he started bringing you back things from town.
โHere. Some stupid lipgloss I saw. Said โcotton candyโ or some girly crap. Donโt get used to it.โ (Spoiler: he bought you five more.)
Heโd still act like he couldnโt stand you, but the minute someone outside the family made fun of you, he got real mean real fast.
"You talkinโ to our girl like that? โCause I will rearrange your teeth, sweetheart."
Monty, bless his grumpy little heart, didnโt know what to make of you. You talk a mile a minute, wear hot pink everything, and once screamed bloody murder when you saw a spider crawling near his wheelchair.
But once he got over the initial shock, he actually found you entertaining.
Heโd sit on the porch in his chair, sipping something strong, while you chattered about celebrity gossip or fashion trends, gesturing dramatically with a bedazzled water bottle in one hand.
"Now THIS is entertainment," heโd mutter, smirking.
Youโd paint his nails once, calling it a โbonding moment.โ He grumbled the entire time, but he didnโt stop youโand he definitely didnโt remove the pastel blue polish afterward.
Eventually, Monty became one of your unexpected protectors. If anyone said you wasnโt โtough enoughโ for the family, heโd raise a brow and say:ย
"Sheโs still here, ainโt she? You try living in this hellhole in heels. That girlโs tougher than she looks."
And heโd throw in a wink for good measure.
Despite the glitter and giggles, your place in the Hewitt family became solid. You weren't just Thomasโs quirky girlfriend anymore โ You were family.
Your laughter echoed through the halls, and your energy brought life to the broken-down house.
You painted little hearts on the kitchen cabinets (Hoyt grumbled, but didnโt stop you). You decorated Thomasโs sewing corner with pink fairy lights ("Ambience, babe!"). You even taught Luda Mae how to contour her cheekbones one lazy afternoon, both of you giggling like teenagers.
You were chaos, glitter, pink furyโand somehow, you were perfect for the family. Because despite the perfume, the squealing, and the sparklesโฆ
You loved Thomas. Truly.And they?They loved you for it.
Most people wouldn't dare step within fifty feet of Michael Myers, let alone live with him. But you? You marched right into his life with a pink suitcase, a Chanel knockoff purse, and a lip gloss wand in hand.
You were the complete antithesis of himโbright, bubbly, and loud in all the ways he was cold and silent. The first time you laid eyes on him, you gasped. Not in horror. Not even in fear.
"Oh my god. Youโre, like, soooo tall. And spooky. I love it."
He said nothing. Of course.
Just stared down at you, that pale mask blank and unreadable. You, on the other hand, looked up at him like he was some gothic god.
"You must be, like, a Scorpio or something. So mysterious."
Michael wasnโt sure if you were insane, brave, or just so utterly oblivious that it baffled even him. But he didnโt kill you. Didnโt chase you. Just stood there while you babbled about your pink UGG boots getting dirty and how Haddonfield needed way more aesthetic lighting.
You moved in shortly after that. Not that he invited youโฆ You just kinda never left. And strangely, he didnโt seem to mind. You filled his dark, grimy house with scented candles and plush throws. You left Hello Kitty slippers by the front door. You replaced the broken mirror with one that had LED lights and glitter decals spelling โYou Look Fab.โ
The house smelled like vanilla and strawberry body spray. The silence was filled with your upbeat pop playlists, makeup tutorials, and the occasional shriek when you saw a spider:ย
"Michael! Get it! Oh my god, itโs going to attack me! Babe, pleeease!"
Heโd appear out of nowhere, squash the spider with a boot, and disappear again.
Youโd clutch your chest, dramatically:
"Ugh, my hero. Youโre literally giving Jason Voorhees nothing right now."
He never answered your questions. Never spoke. Never changed facial expressions. But you always knew what he was thinking.
When you forced a pink hoodie over his head one day that said โKiller BF Energy,โ he just stood there for a solid minute, breathing through the mask. You thought for sure he was going to snap your neck.
Instead, he wore it the whole day.
You started taking selfies with him. Youโd pose like an influencer, flashing peace signs with glittery nails while he loomed silently behind you, bloodstained knife in hand.
"This is my spooky little murder muffin. Isn't he adorbs?"
The internet thought it was cosplay. You never corrected them.
Despite the complete lack of words, Michael showed his affection in other ways. You noticed it.
Heโd always show up behind you if someone was bothering you in town; He'd carry your shopping bags in one hand like they weighed nothing, while you skipped beside him in heels; He started leaving strange, oddly thoughtful gifts: a pretty rock, a heart-shaped hairpin, a necklace youโd once pointed at in a shop window.
And one night, after you'd curled up on the couch in a pile of blankets, face mask on and chick flick playing, he sat beside you. Slowly. Stiffly.
You leaned against his shoulder without hesitation. "You're like... the murder version of a golden retriever, honestly."No reply.
But he didnโt move away.
Sometimes you swore you saw his head tilt just slightly when you were doing your makeup. One day, as a joke, you painted his mask with sparkly pink eyeshadow.
No one got it. No one understood why you of all people were still alive. Why Michael Myers let you prance around in stilettos, spraying air freshener and calling him โboo.โ But the truth was simple:
You werenโt afraid of the dark.You made it glitter.
And somewhere in the silence, behind the mask, he found a reason not to kill.