Cut me up (slasher x reader oneshots)

Michael ~ Carpet

Requested by: aroselilyforsev

He was coming back home.
And you knew.

He was out on the hunt on this night.
Years ago, you helped Michael Myers.
That, Michael Myers.
You didn't know he was at that time.
He fell off a roof with multiple stab wounds. A certain someone, that you didn't know at the time, left him there for dead. You dragged him off and patched him up back to decent shape.
A shape.
That's what he was.
A shadow lurking in the back of your life ever since the day you helped him.

He repaid your help by trying to beat you to death. Threw you around like a rag doll, you managed to save yourself, and you ended up being another one of his victims.
And he got obsessed.

He got only stronger in body over time.
But softer in mind.

Each hallowed night, when he awoke again, he made sure to pay you a visit.
You never trusted him. He could snap at any moment. A completly unpredictable beast.
That's what the was.
But he acted differently about you.
Mostly crept you out than try to murder you.
Watch you from one spot for several hours, stand in your old house, hold or break things you touched.
Inexplainable mental behaviour.

You bought a new house as soon as possible.
You and Laurie Strode became partners.
You survived Michael.
She survived Michael.
So it only made sense for you to buy off a house he grew up in.
A couple gave it to you for a good price. Nice guys. They didn't know you just saved their lives.

You sat in your living room. The house was clean and tidy. The diner was slowly cooking, and quiet music that played all those years ago, hummed yet again from a CD player.
Your knife was being sharpened, and the guns upstairs were loaded.
You knew Michael was too old to try some fuckshit about entering. Especialy in his own house.
He would come through the front door.

Heavy footsteps.
On the porch.
Speak of the devil spawn.

You sighed with a shaky voice.
The police, Laurie, the townsfolk, even some kids were all searching around for Michael. And you had him here.
The door opened.
You hid the knife at your back.
You could hear the door slowly opening, and his heavy breaths filled the house with immense cold.
You slowly, and quietly moved to the kitchen.
The Shape's awfuly heavy footsteps went through the house, making each floorboard groan in fear.

He sighed, walking into the living room. Everything may have looked different. But it was all the same to him.
His eyes scanned the room, landing on a fireplace that hasn't been used in a long while.
There were pictures.
There were faces. Faces so similar.
His fist suddenly jerked up and punched the few small picture frames, breaking them with no issue.
Shiny glass rained into the white carpet.
He stared at the broken faces.

"I take it you don't like them" You said with an extremly simple smile. Almost unnoticable.
Michael slowly straightened up, turning his head to you even slower.
"I know you know who they are" You sighed, not making any attempt on coming closer.
"They are your kids. But they don't know anything. Never will."
Michael just stared at you.
Not that you expected anything else.
"Should we patch up that bleeding hand? You're gonna be all over my new carpet old partner." The corner of your mouth twitched with a smile.
It was not a happy smile.
You were terrified.

You began walking into the kitchen, and as soon as you entered, Michael stood at the end of the room.
Same posicion.
The quiet music from the living room managed to put you at some sort of ease.
Reminding you that you were still on earth.
You already knew that one of you would get hurt. You prepared a med-kit beforehand.
"Come closer. I'll take care of you"
You extended your shaky hands.

You knew he could just smell your fear.
He knew you were so afraid.
And he aproached.
Each step, each vibration in the tile floor, it made you relize that he's actualy before you.
Music. Listen to the music.
This is reality.

You took his burned, old hand slowly.
Cold. So cold. Like a corpse.
It had a few glass shards inside. Only five or so.
You turned to a cabinet, and without a word went to get a needle. To help you get the shards out.
As soon as you turned around, Michael obviously stood right behind you.
You sighed with nervousness.
You can't let out any emotion or reaction.
Act emotionless.

As you picked the glass out, insane amounts of blood poured out.
He didn't even flinch, or whine.
Only sometimes his fingers wrapped more around the hand that was holding his.
His grasp was steel-like.
Could deblood your hand in a manner of seconds.

You tied the hand up.
"You can let go now" You ordered more than asked.
His grip did not loosen.
"Michael" You repeated.
No reaction.
"Michael" You repeated yet again, trying to pry him off.
He started draging you off into the living room.
You panicked. All plans and ideas you had flew out the window.
You went to reach for the knife at your back but Michael quickly spun back to you, grabbing your other hand.

His bandaged paw slowly slid from your arm to your hip, digging his fingers into it really hard.
The hand that held yours was also gripping far too much.
This dance-like pose hurt.
Your free hand struggled to grab onto Michael's forearm with at least half the strength he was holding you with.

The music.
You tried calming your breaths to hear it.
He was swaying with you from side to side to the hums of the song.
Slowly, but it was happening.
He danced with you.
Like an old sappy man.
"You always had... terrible ways of showing gratitude" You struggled to speak normaly as he sqeezed your side.
His silent breaths were your only answer.

You could hear cars in the distance.
Just like he could.
"We both know they're coming for you Michael" You spoke up again, quieter this time.
You knew you should slow him down. Stop him for the police.
But you couldn't.
"You're gonna have to run again" You said quietly.
Michael's grab on your hand tightened so much. You could promise you heard it crack a bit too uncomfortably.
That's it.
As you heard the police sirens aproach, you pulled the knife from your back and stabbed it into his forearm.
He didn't squirm or scream, only let you go.
He pulled his arm away from you yanking the knife from your hand.
Before you could react, he helf you in a bear hug, squeezing you tight. Even with one arm pissing blood over your carpet.
You couldn't muster up anything other than a bunch of squirms.
His silent breaths into your face told you he enjoyed it.

Enjoyed your reactions.
Not just now, but through the entire evening.
The old beast was happy that you still feared.
He knew he wouldn't kill you, never.
But he also wouldn't allow you to ever live peacefuly.

The police sirens were too close now.
With a louder crack from your back, he dropped you down and dipped off towards the back door.
They were boarded shut but that will only slow him down.
He was gone.
"Jesus (Y/n) are you okay? Why didn't you hit up any of us? We could've come in sooner!"
"That motherfucker stained my carpet..." You whined as you got gently lift up by a friendly face.

"He escaped. And has a knife now." You whispered, regretting ever stabbing him.
Not just because he had a weapon, but because you felt bad.
You actualy felt bad for this monster.
Maybe... just maybe he felt bad too.

1338 words