Cut me up (slasher x reader oneshots)

Michael - Rice cooker

(The backstory of this fanfic is that you, The reader got into a sanitarium and ended up sharing a room with Mike. After some time, you got out and found you were pregnant)
Suggested by: aroselilyforsev

Finaly bought that house. You've been saving up for a longer time, to finaly buy it, and now it belongs to you.
It was the Myers' old house.
And when I say old... I mean old.
You had it renovated as soon as possible. And most was already finnished. New wallpapers, carpets, floors.
You've tried to match everything to the old house.
You had a hunch that Michael would come here... eventualy.
You met him at an asylum. You've been having extreme issues and your parents often did nothing about it. Then they closed you up. Because there was no free space, they had to close you in a room with a deranged serial killer. They had him eighter chained to a table or a patient trolly. But you still didn't feel safe.
One day, the staff decided to not tie him. See what happens. Nothing did. Mike just kept standing in one spot. Even overnight. He never hurt you and only watched from affar.
That relationship somehow moved more and more, until you were let out, and you suddenly had the information that his child was in you.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking but you wanted to have a normal family. With him.
You, Mike and your little boy.
The kid ran through the main doors right into the house, just as you thought about him, and darted upstairs.
"Hey! Don't run up there, it's still not fully renovated! Something could happen to you!"
You snapped out of your transe and walked into the house.
You heard the boy yell back an apology.
Yeah... you knew Michael would come back someday.
You turned to the kitchen and breathed in. Surprisingly fresh air in the room.
You should cook dinner.
You took out a pot, poured water into it and let it warm up over a hot stove.
As you were cooking, you decided to turn on some TV, as a backround noise. You poured rice into a rice cooker.
"—caped from Smith's Grove sanitarium yesterday night. We ask all locals in that area to lock their doors and keep their windows shut, as the killer may be returning to his former neighbourhood. If you own a weapon-"
"Hey, mom, what's for dinner?" A young child's voice took you out of your listening. Smith's Grove... that. That's where Michael and you were locked up in. Did he finnaly get out?
Will he come home?
"O-oh, we're having rice with sauce" You turned to the boy with a kind smile. He was sitting at the kitchen table, agressively drawing with his crayons, only giving you a nod as he focused on his work.

He always enjoyed doing stuff with his hands. Playing with clay, making dumb paper masks and drawing mostly.
You tried teaching him some sign language, in hopes of having some sort of comunication with his dad. His attention span was short though and he couldn't pay attention. But he knew the important stuff.

The bubbling water brang your attention back to the pot. You grabbed an onion and got to work on the dinner.
After adding all the ingredients into the pot, you had time to prepare the table. You dressed up the table, taking out cutlery while your son struggled to put two plates on the table.
Two plates... you silently picked up one more and placed it on the table in silence. Maybe...
The boy thankfully didn't notice, or didn't have any remarks towards the bonus plate.
After that, you sat your kid to the table and served dinner.
You ate in silence, watching as the kid played with his hand. As if nervous or something.
"What'cha doing with that hand?" You asked after swallowing your rice.
"How do you say home again?" He asked, turning to you.
You sighed with a smile and brang your hand up, connecting all your fingers together.
You tapped your cheek, brang your hand to your ear and tapped your cheek again.
The boy copied your movements, a little scuffed, but managed.
"Why do you want to know?" You asked, eating a spoonful.
"Just because" He said, inhaling more food.
After he was done eating, you made sure he brushed his teeth an hour later and then got to bed.
You hand-sighned him a goodnight and he did the same.
You shut his door and sighed.