Slasher X Reader Oneshots | Book 1

8. Michael X Reader

It was late. Michael was out and you had stayed up far longer than you should've waiting for him, wanting to be there to greet him when he came back. However, when your eyes drifted shut and your head began to droop for the 7th time in a row, you figured you had better just go to bed.

Don't worry, Michael will make it home safely, you reminded yourself.

You always worried about him getting hurt, caught, or worse when he was out. You knew he could look after himself just fine, but the thought rarely soothed your fears. Too often had you lost sleep, worrying and wondering where Michael was, only for him to turn up, albeit at some unearthly hour of the night.

You dragged yourself off the couch, trudging upstairs to your bedroom. You didn't bother even changing into pajamas as you pulled back the covers and fell into bed. You were practically out as soon as your head hit the pillow.

/ /

You were woken abruptly when the door to your room opened with a bang. You shot up from bed, your heart beating in overdrive, only to see it was just Michael standing in your doorway.

However, you could tell something was off. Michael made no move to come over to you, to sidle up beside you in bed and hold you close under the covers. He merely stood there, chest heaving, blood spattered all over his coveralls and mask. His knife was still in his hand, blood also covering the blade, dripping onto the carpet.

"Michael...?" You called out to him tentatively, hoping to get some sort of response from him.

You got nothing. He was like a statue, the moonlight streaming through the window casting him in an eerie glow. A quick glance at the clock showed you that it was just after 3am.

Both concerned and unnerved, you slowly got out of bed, cautiously walking towards Michael. You needed to see his eyes, needed to get some sort of clue as to what was going on in that head of his. As you approached him, you noticed how tightly he was gripping the handle of his knife, his knuckles turning a deathly white.

"Michael," you tried again, hoping to get some kind of sign that he was hearing you. "Michael, look at me."

He didn't move. Those dark eyes were trained on something, something you couldn't see. They were blank. Nervously, you chewed on your lip, reaching out and carefully setting a hand on his shoulder. Again, he didn't react, but you could feel how he was shaking, practically vibrating.

  "Come on, Michael," you said, hoping he would hear you if you kept using his name. "Come with me."

  You attempted to guide Michael towards the bed and you were somewhat successful. It was as if his body was on autopilot as he stiffly walked with you as you lead him to the bed. You tried to get him to sit, but it seemed that was asking too much. You sighed, accepting that you'd have to be content with Michael simply standing in front of the bed while you took a seat on the edge of it.

  Gingerly, you took his hand, the one that wasn't holding the knife, giving it a gentle squeeze. You were at a loss of what to do to bring him back from wherever he was lost in his mind, to ground him back in reality. You ran your thumb over his knuckles, trying to soothe his ever increasing trembling.

  "You're okay, Michael," you reassured him quietly, gazing up at the expressionless white mask he wore. "You're okay." 

  Suddenly, the knife fell from his death like grip, landing on the carpet with a dull thud. His shaking grew too intense and his legs seemed to give out. Michael fell to his knees in front of you, body slumped as though he were exhausted. In an instant, he had violently ripped off his mask, slamming it to the floor. You were shocked. Everything about this situation was so out of character for the Michael you had grown to know and love.

His head was bowed, his unruly brown hair still hiding his face from view. His breathing was still heavy, almost laboured, and his shaking still hadn't ceased. You were worried. What was going on with him?

"Michael, what's wrong?" You asked him, hoping desperately for some kind of response. "Look at me, please."

  At first, he made no move to comply. But then, slowly, he began to lift his head until his eyes met yours. Moonlight washed over his features, revealing his face. He looked so angry.

  However, you could tell this wasn't a normal kind of anger. The way his eyes burned might have misled others, but not you. In that moment, you understood what was happening. It was his rage, his incessant bloodlust, taking over the whole of his body in a way that Michael could no longer manage. All of his thoughts, his feelings, had spiraled out of control tonight, causing him to massacre like never before.

  Michael had hoped that by killing so many in one night, it would alleviate some of this white hot rage. But it hadn't. And now, when he was in the presence of someone he had sworn never to hurt, he was falling apart at the seams.

  He was at war with himself. And this inner turmoil was pushing Michael into a full on breakdown.

As soon as you came to this realization, you reached out to him, wanting to run your fingers through his tangled mess of hair, but he flinched away so violently, he fell back. He pushed himself across the carpet, almost frantically, in an effort to put some distance between the two of you. You frowned. He was afraid.

You carefully slipped off the bed, sinking down to your knees. Michael had backed himself against a wall, knees drawn to his chest, dark eyes glued to some spot on the carpet. He was still trembling and you could see his lips moving, almost as though he wanted to say something, but the words were just out of reach.

Slowly, you began inching towards him. You didn't want him to be scared, to be afraid of hurting you. You knew him, you loved him, and most importantly, you knew that he also loved you.

You managed to make your way across the carpet, settling beside him. Michael didn't move, didn't even look at you, but you knew that he knew you were there. He was tense, still wary of being around you in such a state.

Once again, you tentatively reached out to him, simply setting your hand on his shoulder. Michael flinched again, but he didn't scramble away. It was an improvement, no matter how small.

  Little by little, Michael let you scoot closer to him. After some time, he eventually let you wrap your arms around him in a tight, secure hug. You felt him bury his face in your neck, his shaking hands coming to rest on your back.

  "It's okay, Michael," you whispered to him, holding him close. "Everything's going to be okay."

  You continued to hold him for the rest of the night. Neither of you moved the entire time and by the time the sun had risen into the sky, Michael's trembling had finally ceased.

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hnngnh i love love love this

i needed some angst with my boy michael

hopefully i didn't hurt y'all too much xD

i hope y'all enjoyed it nonetheless! leave me some feedback if you'd like!☺️ let me know just how much i ripped your heart apart xD