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.
