I post this here because fucking discord art servers hate me and I hate them too
"don't judge someones art! Every artstyle is unique" mfs when I tell them that spending 3 minutes on the most piece of shit israelgpt oc doesn't deserve 12 reactions â my boyfriend
Drawing I made for my boyfriend once again,,, I vote we call ghostface (dbd) x Michael myers: âMyDannyâ
this art is f2u with creds and not removing my watermark, you can use it as whatever you want,,, reminder: dni proshippers/darkshippers/comshippers,,, so yeah, if youâre anything along those, donât use my art.
Michael myers x Danny âJed Olsenâ Johnson | the ghost face.
Dead by daylight, Halloween 1978.
Tags: Minor violence, non graphic violence, non sexual intimacy, emotional intimacy, predator dynamics, predator/predator(?), unhealthy bonding, mentorship, selective mutism Michael myers, unmasked at some point, 2v8 gamemode.
Ao3 version here.
Danny thinks heâs a good stalker, Michael doesnât agree.
Danny had all the enthusiasm of a serial killer and none of the patience. Always revealing himself too early, stepping on twigs, breathing too loud⊠He always managed to scare his victims away before he could get close.
It seemed like this time, he didnât have to work alone. The âstealthyâ slasher was paired with Michael Myers.
Michael was silent. always lingering behind his victims, watching from the nearest shadow with that blank, unreadable stare.
Danny hated how quiet Michael was, not because it was creepy ( though it was ), but because it made every mistake painfully obvious.
The crunch of leafs beneath Dannyâs boots sounded louder with Michael nearby, his breathing too sharp, too human.
Ahead, their victim wandered down the dim path, completely unaware.
Danny grinned beneath the infamous mask and took another step toward the man.
snap
The victim froze before whipping his head around, catching Danny red handed.
âSeriously?â Danny muttered under his breath as the man bolted.
From somewhere behind him, Michael stood motionless in the dark, as usual. Watching, judging. Danny couldnât see his face but somehow the silence felt insulting.
Danny huffed, turning slightly as if that might make it better. âOkay, yeah, sure. Like itâs my fault he tripped into awareness and decided to sprint.â
Nothing, of course nothing.
Michael didnât argue, didnt react, didnât even acknowledge the mistake. He saw it as an opportunity.
Danny rolled his shoulders, forcing his posture back into confidence. âAlright, I get it. Iâll fix it.â
A pause, and then⊠a shift in the dark. Michael moved. Not rushed, not loud, certain. One second he was behind Danny, the next he wasnât there at all.
Dannyâs head snapped forward, too late to track him properly, too late to do anything except the absence of the sound of where there shouldâve been footsteps.
Ahead, the fleeing victim burst through the edge of the tree line into a narrow stretch of pavement, panicked and disoriented. He looked back, just once, expecting Danny.
He saw Danny, standing still in the distance, observing.
But he didnât see Michael, he never saw Michael.
The man slowed slightly, they all know how fast Danny is to jump to chase his victims, the confusion overtook the fear in him for half a second too long. A mistake.
From the side of the path, darkness shifted once again. Michael was suddenly there, no announcement, no warning,just a presence. The victim froze so hard it looked like his body forgot how to run.
Danny, still several steps behind, went completely still.
âOhâŠâ he muttered.
Because this, this is how stalking was supposed to look like, no crunch of leafs, no heavy breathing, no dramatic sprinting like an idiot who wanted credit for murder.
Michael didnât chase, he didnât need to, he simply stood in the manâs escape route.
The victim stumbled backward, shaking, eyes darting between empty shadows and the shape that shouldnât be there.
Danny felt something uncomfortable in his chest. Not fear, worse. Instruction.
Michael tilted his head slightly, just enough, the smallest correction.
A small lesson: you donât announce yourself, you donât give them time to think, you just exist where they canât avoid you.
The man turned, and Michael was already closer.
Danny swallowed. ââŠokay,â he whispered to himself. âYeah thatâs⊠thatâs actually kind of annoying.â He hated the way Michael just stood there, not because it was strange, since everything about him was, but because it was effective.
The victim was trembling, drowned in confusion and fear, like his breath couldnât decide where the threat actually was now.
Danny shifted forward. âOkay, I get it. Youâre doing the whole âbe the wallâ thing.â
No response, of course.
Danny rolled his eyes. âRight, silent teaching method, very professional.â
He tried to move the way Michael did. Slow, controlled, deliberate. It lasted about three seconds before a twig snapped under his boot. He froze instantly, like that might undo it.
Ahead, the victims head snapped at the sound.
Michael turned slightly, not fully, just enough. It wasnât toward the victim, but toward Danny.
That quiet attention landed heavier than any accusation.
Danny straightened quickly. âIt was an accident, obviously.â
Michael didnât answer again, he never did. And it just made it worse.
Before Danny could recover his victim, Michael moved. Not toward the victim, toward him.
Danny barely had time to react before a hand caught the back of his jacket and pulled him into the trees, not rough, not angry, just certain. âHeyâokay, what was that for?!â Danny hissed.
Silence. Michael released him immediately.
Danny steadied himself, heart kicking harder than it should. âYou canât just manhandle me around like that and not explain it.â
Michael only stared, but didnât move away. He was close, closer than Danny liked to admit he noticed.
The victim lingered out in the open path, confused, breath shaking, like he couldnât tell where the danger had settled anymore.
Danny exhaled, forcing back into place as a grunt escaped his lips. âFine,â he muttered. âIâll do it your way.â
He stepped again, carefully this time. No noise, no mistakes. Even his breathing felt wrong, so he tried to slow that too. It almost worked, almost. Before his breathing got too loud again.
And then not even a second later, Michael moved.
He passed him, not brushing him, not acknowledging him. Just moving through the space like he wasnât an obstacle. Danny felt it more than he saw it, the shift of the air, the certainty in direction. Like Michael already knew exactly where everything was going to end up.
And a second later, Michael was there. Where Danny had been trying to be. The victims turned, saw him, and stopped breathing completely. Danny didnât move, he couldnât decide whether he was impressed, annoyed, or something worse he didnât want to name.
ââŠokay,â he said quietly.
Michael didnât look at him, he didnât need to. Danny stared at him for a long moment. The silence between them didnât feel empty, like Michael had already filled it and Danny was just standing in it.
Danny huffed a small laugh under his breath, shaking his head.
âYeah,â he muttered. âOkay, thatâs cheating.â
Then the victim tried to run. A small, desperate shift backward. He didnât get far, Michael moved first. Not fast, certain. A hand caught the victim by the shoulder and stopped him abruptly. Struggle didnât follow, there was no chance.
The victim stiffened immediately, breath breaking apart in his throat as Michael held him in place. Not hurting him, not finishing him, but containing him.
Danny blinked âoh,â he said softer this time. âSo thatâs what weâre doingâ
Michaels tilted his head slightly, not a command, not a suggestion, just space being left open.
Danny let out a soft breath. âright,â he muttered. âteamwork, got it.â
He stepped forward, this time no twigs snapped, no mistakes gave him away. Just the sound of the victims panicked breathing, held perfectly still by Michaelâs grip.
Danny stopped in front of them both, he hesitated for a second. âYou could have done this yourself, you know.â
The victim trembled harder. Danny exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to laugh but didnât quite get there yet.
âYeah,â he added. âOkay.â
He raised his weapon. The man was still in Michaelâs grip, too shocked to struggle, too aware now to pretend this wasnât real.
Danny paused, for once he wasnât rushing. That alone felt unfamiliar. Michael didnât move, didnât look away, just held the man steady.
Like he was waiting for Danny to either get it right or fail again. Danny exhaled through his nose. âYou really donât make this easy, you know that?â The manâs eyes darted between them, desperate now, like he was trying to decide which one of them was the worse outcome.
âHonestly,â Danny said, quieter, almost conversational, âyou shouldâve run earlier. That was your best option.â
A weak sound escaped the man, something between a plea and a gasp. Danny hesitated for a fraction of a second. And then a fast motion came from his knife, controlled this time.
Michael didnât flinch or interfere, he just held onto the man until it was over.
The manâs strength left him all at once, his weight collapsing out of Michaelâs grip as Danny stepped back.
Danny stood still for a moment, staring down at what had just happened like he was trying to decide whether he passed or failed.
âOkayâŠâ he said quietly. âThat was kind of efficient.â He glanced at Michael, waiting.
Michael stepped back into the trees like nothing had happened, Like the lesson never needed words in the first place.
Danny huffed a small laugh. âYeah,â he muttered. âIâm starting to see the method.â
And this time he followed a little closer than before. The man was the last one left, Danny realized that once the forest fell into complete silence.
No distant footsteps, no panicked shouting from somewhere deeper in the forest, no sound of someone trying to hide poorly behind a rock or broken
A strangle feeling settled in his chest now that it was over. Not satisfaction exactly, but something quieter. He couldnât remember the last time he had hunt someone and didnât ruin it somehow.
Michael stood a few feet away, half hidden beneath the shadows as always.
Danny turned toward him. âYou knew.â He paused. âOf course you didâ
The silence stretched between them, heavy but not empty. Danny could still feel the imprint of Michaelâs grip on the back of his jacket from earlier, the deliberate way heâd been pulled into shadow instead of shoved aside, corrected.
Danny swallowed, glancing away before he meant to. âThatâs why you held him there,â he said quieter now. âYou were waiting for me to figure it out.â
Michael tilted his head, that tiny movement again. This time it didnât feel judgmental, just attentive. Danny hated how much it affected him.
He let out a soft laugh beneath the mask he was slipping out of now, shaking his head once. âYou know, for someone who never talks, youâre kind of intense.â
Michael stepped closer then, not threatening, not sudden.
Just enough to close the distance between them.
Danny went still. It was ridiculous, honestly. Michael barely moved and somehow it always felt important.
The trees shifted softly overhead, wind brushing through the branches while Michael stood there staring at him with that same unreadable expression.
Danny realized, with growing annoyance, that he liked being looked at like that. Like if Michael was evaluating how good of a job he had done.
ââŠdonât do that.â Danny muttered.
Michael remained silent, closer now than before.
Dannyâs pulse kicked awkwardly against his ribs. âSeriously, itâs weird.â
Still nothing. But Michael didnât step away, and neither did Danny.
He was impossibly close, Close enough that Danny could see the faint cracks in the pale mask, the worn edges shaped by years of violence and silence. Most people wouldâve backed away instinctively. Danny stayed exactly where he was.
The forest had gone still around them after the trial, cold air drifting through the trees while the body behind them became less important with every passing second.
Danny swallowed once. âYou know,â he said quietly, trying and failing to sound unaffected, ânormal people usually say âgood job.ââ.
Michael stared at him, unmoving.
Danny let out a nervous little laugh beneath the mask. âRight. Forgot who I was talking to.â
Still nothing.
But then Michael lifted one hand slowly, slow enough that Danny had time to tense before rough fingers caught lightly beneath his jaw. Not forceful, just firm enough to keep him still. Dannyâs breath hitched before he could stop it.
ââŠOkay,â he murmured. âThatâs new.â
Michael tilted his head slightly again, studying him in that same unreadable way that somehow felt more focused now. Intentional.
Danny hated how warm his face suddenly felt. âYouâre really weird after a successful teamwork exercise, you know that?â
Michael moved closer.
Dannyâs heart kicked hard against his ribs as the pale mask hovered inches from his face. There was something deeply unnatural about it, this silent thing standing in front of him like death itself, staring at him like Danny was the only thing worth noticing in the woods.
And somehow, Danny leaned in first. Maybe because the silence was unbearable, maybe because he wanted to prove he wasnât nervous, maybe because Michael had been looking at him all night like he was waiting for something.
The kiss was awkward at first, forcing Danny to push his mask upper with clumsy impatience, but strangely careful once it happened. Brief, Cold, uncertain in a way neither of them were used to being.
Michaelâs hand tightened slightly against his jaw when Danny kissed him properly the second time.
That tiny reaction felt more rewarding than it should have.
Danny pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead nearly brushing the blank white mask he had just kissed.
For once, Michael looked almost still in a different way. Not hunting, not teaching, just there.
Danny stared at him for a long moment before laughing softly under his breath. ââŠWow,â he whispered. âOkay. This is definitely gonna make teamwork weird.â
Dannyâs laugh faded into the quiet woods. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Michael reached up slowly, gloved fingers catching the edge of his mask. Danny went still.
The pale mask slipped off with ease.
Dannyâs breath caught slightly at the sight of him. real, human, close enough to touch.
Michaelâs hand slid from Dannyâs jaw to the side of his neck as he leaned in again, slow and deliberate. Their lips met softly at first, the kiss lingering more than either of the others had.
Danny melted into it almost immediately. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Michaelâs coveralls while Michael kissed him with quiet patience, steady and unhurried enough to make Dannyâs chest ache. The rough brush of Michaelâs thumb against his neck sent warmth rushing through him as the kiss deepened slightly, controlled but impossibly intense.
Danny tilted his head instinctively, chasing him closer, and Michael responded without hesitation, one hand settling firmly at Dannyâs waist while he kissed him harder this time, slower but more certain, like he already knew Danny would follow wherever he led.
Their breathing mixed between kisses, uneven on Dannyâs side and perfectly calm on Michaelâs. Every small movement felt deliberate. the pressure of Michaelâs mouth against his, the slight tilt of his head, the way he held Danny still without force, just quiet certainty.
Danny kissed him back with growing desperation, all sharp edges and impulsive energy, and Michael absorbed it effortlessly, grounding him with every slow, lingering press of his lips.
When they finally pulled apart, it was only barely, their mouths still brushing as Danny tried to catch his breath.
Warm lips against his own, steady and certain in the same way Michael did everything else.
Danny barely had time to process it before Michael pulled back just enough for their foreheads to touch.
And finally, in a low, rough voice unused from silence, Michael spoke.
reminder I donât support mylaurie in the original trilogy,,, theyâre fucking siblings, blood related even plus read fucking dnis ,,, I donât want to see untagged dark ship content under âanti censorshipâ.
hii this is kind of a rant but Iâm just concerned đ, I saw a TikTok of some person and the caption said â he deserves this but Iâd do anything to get him back â, the video was ( what I suppose because of the nature of it ) a private audio of his ex, Iâm sure you can guess what it was. In other videos the poster is shown ignoring their ex for weeks so I just find it weird they did this, Iâm not sure if it could be called grooming but it is definitely abusive n manipulative đđ. I wanted to get ts off my chest because so many people do abusive shit and not get called out for it and it truly pisses me off
First of all, I will allow myself to cancel / delete a request if I feel Iâm not up to the task. Either it is because I donât have the time, I donât feel comfortable, or I just donât want to.
I can write for fandoms out of what Iâve already wrote, most likely will be OOC, inaccurate to the canon and etcâŠ
I wonât write character x reader unless weâre close / I get commissioned for it or something.
I can do NSFW drabbles, likely not full fanfics.
Things I wonât do.
I wonât do dark romance / or however you wanna understand this: abuse, sexual assault, sexual harassment, rape, incest, any paraphilia, kinks revolving explicitly hitting or cutting, mommy / daddy kink, scat đ, transfur / transfurmation / later transformation kink, + more.
Even if it isnât âsexualâ and itâs only romantic, I wonât write about: bullying, abuse, paraphilias, incest⊠etc
thropes im fine with and not.
Iâm fine with: those classic porn thropes ( pizza delivery and shit like that ), threesomes ( or more than 3 people ), semiâpublic sex ( empty forest sex for example ), + more. About non nsfw: I can do thropes like college AU, zombie apocalypse, post apocalyptic⊠etc.
Iâm not fine with: kidnapping, manipulation ( ?, completely public sex ( exhibitionism ), voyeurism, minor x adult, anything deemed com / darkshipping ( ?, + etc.
Im writing all of this off the top of my head so yeah.
WARNINGS: Likely OOC, smut-free, only fluff, slightly dark themes, 3,5K words, both are teens, Michael is 18 and Vitto is 17 in here, no Vitto is not in the movies heâs my irl boyfriend fuck off
What happens when a lonely teenage boy becomes the only human connection of someone who was never raised to be human?
(teen) Michael myers x male teen
âCould the teacher give us an even more boring assignment?â Vitto muttered to himself, slouched low on his chair. Just another teenager trying to survive classes.
Unfortunately, his history teacher had assigned his class to âinvestigate a mysteryâ. At first, he had no idea what to do it about, but he then remembered he lives in Haddonfield; the town of Michael Myers.
Soon, he found himself digging through old police reports dating back years, hikers that suddenly went missing, ruined Halloween house parties. âThis could actually be interesting.â He said, leaning closer to his computer screen.
But the deeper he searched, the stranger the reports became. Neighbors complained of a teenager lurking outside of their house, boot prints appearing in their front yards, muddy glove prints smeared against half-opened windows.
But the same description appeared over and over: the man was tall, silent, and always wore a white mask.
Many of the witnesses were gone years ago, this is one of the reasons many feared Michael Myers. He wasnât the average murderer, he wasnât human.
And this just made it all much more interesting.
Suddenly, an article caught his attention.
1978 â teenage run-away disappears after havoc.
Attached was an old, black and white blurry photograph. Vitto squinted his eyes. the image showed trees, police tape, and an almost invisible shape standing far away in the background.
Watching.
A strange feeling crawled up his spine, he zoomed in the picture. The descriptions he saw matched.
This was the last time Michael Myers had ever be seen before, in Haddonfieldâs woods.
After blinking he felt like the figure was closer. The officers were in the same place, the trees hadnât moved. But it did, slightly closer than before.
âokay, this is creeping me the fuck out.â
But he couldnât stop staring. If anything he was even more hooked now.
Vitto rubbed his eyes and leaned back on his chair, the clock read 1:13AM. âGreat,â he muttered. âIâve officially lost my mind over a serial killer.â
He reached for his soda, now warm from sitting still in his desk for hours.
Outside, the wind pushed softly against the trees in the front yard.
The room suddenly felt too quiet, but he didnât want to think about it.
Eventually, he shut his laptop and dragged himself to bed, the mattress was unusually uncomfortable. Every sound seemed louder. The creaking walls, the wind outside, the faint tapping of branches against glass.
He couldnât sleep. But hey, at least it was Friday, he wouldnât have to wake up early tomorrow.
By the time sunlight pushed through his blinds, he was exhausted.
His eyes burned from staring at his laptop all night, but even after hours of tossing around in bed, he still couldnât stop thinking about the photograph.
The masked face, the uncanny feeling it gave. How the shape felt closer once he blinked.
âYeah,â he muttered tiredly while putting a hoodie on. âIâm losing my mind.â
But even saying it out loud didnât make the feeling go away.
By noon, he had made his mind up. If Michael Myers had really last seen in Haddonfieldâs woods, then thatâs where he would start looking.
Cold autumn air pushed loose strands of hair off his face, dead leaves crunched under his steps
âThis is such a stupid idea.â The silence of the night answered, it was. still, he walked deeper into the forest.
The sound of the town slowly disappeared behind him, until all he could hear was his own footsteps. No birds, no voices, nothing.
The silence could almost feel deafening.
According to old reports, this is area is where that eerie photograph was took.
Then he noticed something hanging from one of the trees ahead. Vitto slowed his pace. He observed what was an old Halloween decoration. Dirty, rotting, nailed directly into the bark.
It felt like a warning, to not step deeper into the murderers territory. But the interest got the worst of him.
A few steps forward made his stomach twist, the leaves had been disturbed recently. Someone walked through here.
Heavy boot prints pressed deep into the mud, still fresh from last nightâs rain.
He observed them as his heartbeat quickened, they didnât lead out of the forest. Instead, they led deeper into its core.
Vitto swallowed hard and followed the tracks. The deeper he adventured, the denser the trees became. Branches clawed at his hoodie as cold wind whispered the night.
Then the faint smell of smoke. He stopped walking immediately, someone was there.
His eyes scanned the trees carefully until he spotted a cabin through the bushes ahead, half hidden beneath the shadows of the night. Old wooden walls, broken windows, but thin trails of smoke still drifted from the chimney.
Vitto knew he shouldâve turned around and go back home, every instinct in his body screamed at him to run. But instead he walked closer to the cabin.
The boot prints grew clearer near the entrance, fresh mud pressed into its ground.
Someone definitely lived there.
The cabin looked abandoned from a distance, but up close Vitto could notice details that spoke otherwise.
Rusted animal traps hanging besides the porch, fresh scratches on the wooden floor, a pile of recently chopped firewood placed neatly against the wall.
Someone was here.
Right now.
Vitto swallowed nervously before taking a careful step foward.
Crack.
His whole body froze.
The sound wasnât his, it came from behind him.
He whipped his head towards the trees, nothing. Just endless woods and bushes pushed by the wind.
His breathing became uneven as his heart raced.
ââŠhello?â
Silence.
Then another crack, closer this time.
A slow crunch of leaves. His pulse spiked.
Someone was moving through the trees behind him, matching his pace.
Every step he took tfward⊠another answered from the trees.
Vitto glanced back toward the cabin for only a second. When he looked at the trees again a tall figure stood between him and them.
White mask, motionless.
Watching him.
ââŠyouâre Michael Myers.â
Michael took one more slow step towards the teen. Tilting his head to the side slightly.
He didnât answer.
âYouve been living here this whole time?â Asked Vitto with a tightened throat.
Michael nodded his head slowly as he took another step.
Vittoâs heartbeat pulsed violently in his ears, the killer was just a few feet away from him. And yet, it wasnât attacking. Just staring, with the same motionless silence from the photograph.
âWhy arenât you killing me?â He asked before he could stop himself.
The masked teen tilted his head again, like he didnât understadn the question.
Up close the mask looked even worse than he imagined. Dirty, cracked, faint mud stains smeared across the pale surface, empty eye holes onto him.
The silence stretched uncomfortably between them. Then Michael moved, Vitto flinched instinctively as the taller teen slowly lifted one gloved hand towards him.
Every muscle in his body tensed.
But instead of grabbing him, Michaelâs finger brushed against the sleeve of his hopdie
Vitto froze.
Michaelâs hand lingered there for a moment, rough and cold against the fabric.
His head tilted downward slightly, attention fixed on the small orange pumpkin pin clipped near Vittoâs pocket. An old Halloween decoration Vitto had forgotten he was even wearing.
Slowly, Michael brushed a thumb over the glossy surface. The movement felt strangely careful, curious, interested.
Vitto barely breathed.
ââŠyou like Halloween?â He immediately regretted how stupid that question sounded.
Michael didnât answer, but didnât let go either.
The forest remained completely still behind them, wind carrying the smoke from the cabin they were inside.
As his finger still rested on the pin, he slowly looked up to the trembling teenager. Their eyes met through the dark holes of the mask.
Vitto felt rooted to the spot. âI read about you,â he confessed.
No response.
âPeople think youâre dead.â
Michaels head tilted slightly.
âOthers think youâre not human.â
Still quiet.
Then Michael suddenly turned his head towards the wood behind them, instantly alert.
Vitto frowned. âWhat?ââ
Distant laughter became clearer from somewhere in the forest. Michael stepped infront of Vitto immediately. The movement was so sudden that made the teen stumble backward slightly. Michael stood perfectly still again, staring into the darkness between the trees. Listening.
He already knew it was the stupid teenagers that came by drunk every other week.
The voices drifted through the trees, seems like they were moving closer than the rest of times. And Michael wasnât in the mood for his cabin to be discovered.
Slurred voices spoke, âDude, Iâm telling you, this is where they found the bodies.â
Another voice laughed drunkenly âMichael Myers is dead, dumbass.â
The group stumbled somewhere beyond the trees, crunching loudly through leaves without any awareness of what stood only yards away from them.
Flashlight beams cut through the darkness in the distance.
But Vitto looked back at Michael, he hadnât moved. But his posture stiffened, and his head was no longer tilting with curiosity.
One of the teenagers laughed again. âYo, imagine if he actually showed up right now.â
Another burst out laughing. Then Michael moved, fast. So fast the other teen barely registered it. The taller teen vanished into the darkness between the trees.
Vitto spun around, panic tightening his chest. Michael was gone. The wood suddenly felt much larger without the tall teen standing infront of him, and the drunken voices kept getting closer. He suddenly also felt scared of getting caught.
Then everything went quiet, completely quiet. The laughter stopped abruptly.
Vitto frowned.
Somewhere deeper in the trees infront of him, a branch cracked loudly. Another one answered farther away. Then another. Circling them.
The teenagers went silent. ââŠdid you hear that?â
A flashlight jerked wildly through the darkness. And suddenly something heavy slammed a tree nearby.
One of the teens yelped.
Another yelled: âwhat the fuck was that!?â
A crack echoed behind them immediately after, closer this time. Too close.
Panic spread through the group instantly. âNah, fuck this!â Their flashlight beams shook violently as they stumbled back the way they came, nearly tripping over roots and dead branches in their rush.
Within seconds the voices and screams faded into the distance. Silence returned to the woods again.
Vitto stared into the darkness, heart pounding.
Then slowly, Michael stepped closer to the cabin again. Emotionless, like he never left.
But this time, something glinted faintly in his hand beneath the moonlight. A knife.
Vittoâs stomach tightened immediately.
The large kitchen knife looked old and worn, dark stains smeared across the blade that he didnât want to think too hard about. Michael held it loosely at his side like it weighed nothing.
ââŠyou scared them off.â Vitto said cautiously.
No answer, Michael lowered the knife slightly.
âYou couldve killed them.â
The masked teen remained still for a moment. Then he slowly shook his head once.
Vitto blinked in surprise.
âYou⊠didnt want to?â
Michaelâs grip on the knife loosened again.
Finally, Michael turned towards the cabin
And understanding slowly settled in Vitto.
Michael wasnât protecting himself, he was protecting the cabin. Making sure nobody discovered where he lived.
Vitto glanced at the old wooden structure again. The smoke rising from the chimney, the traps hanging near the porch, the hidden path through the woods.
This wasnât just a hiding place.
It was Michaelâs home.
For the first time since entering the forest, Vitto felt a sudden ease beneath all the fear crawling through his skin.
ââŠbut I found your cabin, why didnât you kill me?â
Michael stepped into the cabin emotionless, lowering the knife to a desk next to the entrance.
Vitto frowned.
âYou couldâve.â
Silence.
Michael tilted his head again, studying him through the dark eye holes of the mask.
Then he did something unexpected.
He stepped toward the cabin porch and crouched beside an old wooden crate near the wall.
Vitto hesitated before carefully following a few steps behind.
Michael reached into the box silently, rummaging through old objects buried inside. Rusted tools, broken masks, yellowed newspaper clippings.
Then he pulled something out, a folded piece of paper. Michael held it out toward him.
Confused, Vitto slowly took it. His stomach tightened the moment he opened it.
It was an old homework assignment from freshman year. Creased and worn with age.
Vitto immediately recognized his own handwriting.
âPeople treat Michael Myers like he was born evil, but nobody talks about what couldâve happened to him as a kid.â
Underneath it, written in red pen:
Interesting perspective. A little sympathetic, donât you think?
Suddenly Vitto remembered, freshman year. A classroom discussion about murderers. Everyone else had laughed nervously making jokes about Michael Myers being a monster.
But he hadnât.
He remembered saying âheâs a person too.â
The memory sent a strange chill through his spine. Slowly, Vitto looked up at Michael ââŠyouâve known about me this whole time?â
Michael gave a slow nod.
The realization hit, Michael had been watching him long before tonight. The thought of it shouldâve terrified him, it in part did. But another part thought about how lonely it mustâve been. Years hiding alone in these woods. Watching a town that feared him like some kind of ghost story.
Vitto lowered the paper slowly.
âYou kept this?â
Michael only nodded his head, remaining completely silent as always.
Vitto glanced back to the wooden crate beside the porch, something caught his attention. More papers. Curious, he crouched besides and pulled one. His chest tightened instantly, it was another school paper. His.
Then another, a newspaper clipping with his name mentioned for honor roll. And old photograph from a Halloween festival downtown.
Vittoâs hand stilled.
Every single paper mentioned him.
âMichaelâŠâ his voice grew with unease. âHow long have you been watching me?â
The masked teen stood motionless beneath the dim porch light. Then slowly, he raised three gloved fingers.
Vitto stared at him for a few seconds. Three years. Michael had known about him for three years. The realization shouldâve sent him running, but he couldnât stop thinking about how lonely that sounded.
Both teens remained still for a few seconds. Then Vitto carefully set the papers back in the crate. âYou really kept all of this?â
Michael remained silent, then turned away. Vitto stiffened as the taller teen walked towards the door of the small cabin. The old wooden steps creaked beneath his boots. Michael stopped at the entrance before looking back at him. Waiting.
âAre you inviting me inside?â
Michael pushed the door open slowly, warm light spilled faintly from the inside, cutting through the darkness.
Vitto hesitated, every instinct in his body told him this was a horrible idea.
But he still followed.
Surprisingly, looking closer now, the cabin was organized. Hunting supplies lined neatly across wooden shelves, handmade masks rested carefully against the wall, survival books sat stacked beside old Halloween decorations covered in dusk.
The scent of smoke and pine filled the room.
It didnât feel like the hiding place of a mindless monster.
Michael quietly crossed the room before dropping onto the couch in front of the fireplace.
The orange glow of the flames flickered across his pale mask, making the empty eye holes look even darker.
Vitto remained standing near the doorway for a moment, unsure what to even say now. This was insane. He was standing inside Michael Myerâs cabin like this was normal.
Then something suddenly caught his attention.
Taped beside one of the shelves was an old drawing. Crayon, faded with age. Vitto stepped closer slowly, it showed a crooked orange pumpkin beneath a dark night sky. Childish handwritting was scribbled across the bottom: Halloween.
Nearby sat a small stack of worn comic books, old cassette tapes, and carved wooden figures scattered across a table. One of the figures looked unfinished. Another had a badly carved smile scratched into it.
None of it matched the image Haddonfield painted of Michael Myers.
Vitto slowly glanced back toward him. Michael sat silently by the fire, watching him through the mask without moving. Suddenly, the thought hit Vitto hard.
Michael had grown up out here. Alone. No school. No friends. No normal life. Just these woods.
The cabin creaked softly as the fire popped in the background. Then Michael moved.
Vitto stiffened slightly as the taller teen stood from the couch and disappeared into a smaller room nearby.
He returned a few seconds later holding something in one gloved hand. A steaming mug.
Michael stopped in front of him silently before holding it out.
Vitto blinked in surprise. ââŠFor me?â
Michael gave a small nod.
Carefully, Vitto accepted the mug from his hands.
The warmth immediately spread through his cold fingers. âThanks,â he muttered awkwardly.
Michael remained standing there for a moment longer, watching him closely. Then, slowly, he sat back down beside the fireplace again.
Vitto carefully sat down on the opposite end of the couch, still holding the warm mug in his hands.
The fireplace cracked softly in the background, tinting their faces orange dimly.
For awhile none of them spoke, Michael just looked at him sip the tea behind that pale mask. Constantly.
Vitto could feel his stabbing gaze even if he looked away. ââŠyou stare a lot,â he muttered awardly before taking another sip.
Michael tilted his head slightly.
âItâs kinda creepy.â
Silence. Then Michael slowly turned his head towards the fireplace.
Vitto blinked. Somehow, he felt guilty for saying it.
The quiet in the cabin felt strangely comfortable after that. The outside was just dark, cold, endless woods.
But in here, besides the warmth of the fireplace and the smell of smoke and pine, Vitto found himself relaxing despite who he had sitting next to him.
Which honestly barely made sense.
But somehow it felt calmer than being back in Haddonfield.
His eyes wandered around the room until the landed on one of the handmade masks resting near the shelves. Unlike the other ones this one looked cleaner, newer, carefully made. Vitto stood slowly and walked closer to inspect it. Michaelâs gaze immediately followed him.
The mask was simple but detailed , painted dark black with faint orange streaks on one side. The colors of Halloween. âYou made this?â
Michael nodded. The other teen carefully picked it up. âItâs actually really cool.â
The reaction was small, almost impossible to notice. But Michael visibly straightened slightly where he sat. Like the compliment mattered more than he could express.
Vittoâs chest tightened, before he could think about it too hard he set the mask down gently.
âI should head home.â He admitted.
The moments the words left his mouth, the atmosphere changed. Michaelâs posture stiffened, the room fell quiet again. And slowly the taller teen stood from the couch.
Vittoâs heartbeat quickened slightly as he saw Michael walking towards him. He wasnât aggressive, or angry. Just close, too close.
Vitto swallowed hard. âYou donât want me to leave?â
Silence. Michael didnât move.
Somehow that answered his question.
The fire cracked softly behind them. For a few seconds none of them moved, then Vitto sighed quietly. ââŠa little longer wonât hurt me, I guess.â
Michaels shoulders loosened slightly, like a sign of relief. Vitto noticed.
Slowly the taller teen stepped aside. Vitto sat back down onto the couch, pulling the blanket laying across the cushions over himself absentmindedly.
A few seconds later Michael sat down beside him, not across the couch this time. Close. Their shoulders nearly touched.
Vitto stiffened instinctively at first, but Michael didnât do anything threatening. He just sat there silently beside the warmth of the fireplace. The heat of the flames mixed with the cold still clinging to Michaelâs coveralls from outside.
Vitto glanced towards Michael.
âYou like the fire, huh?â
Michael gave a small nod, it made sense. Living alone in the freezing woods for years probably made warmth feel important.
The thought twisted something painfully in Vittoâs chest. Without thinking further, he shifted the blanket slightly towards Michaelâs side too.
Michael paused, then slowly pulled the blanket over himself. The movement felt strangely careful. Lik he wasnât used to people sharing things with him.
The silence, the warmth, the dim orange lighting. It all made Vittoâs eyes grow heavier and heavier. He tried staying awake, really, he did. But exhaustion eventually won. His head slowly tipped sideways against the cushions.
Vitto woke up sometime later to warmth, not just from the fireplace. Something heavier, solid. His sleepy brain struggled to process it at first. Then he realized someoneâs arm was wrapped loosely around his waist.
His eyes widened. Michael.
The taller teen had shifted closer sometime during the night, practically curling up against him like a little bug beneath the blanket.
One arm rested securely around Vittoâs waist, chest pressed against his back, his head burying in the crook of Vittoâs neck. Asleep.
Vitto stayed still in shock, Michaelâs mask rested abandoned on the floor besides the couch. Without it he looked younger. Messy blonde hair fell over his eyes, faint scars scattered across his pale skin illuminated softly by the dying fire light.
He looked exhausted. Human.
Michael held onto him like if he was scared Vitto might disappear at any moment. And he fell asleep holding him.
And somehow, lying there beside Michael Myers himself, Vitto realized one thing.
He was absolutely not telling his teacher about any of this.
Obviously not based on me and my boyfriend hah yeah no way who would do that lol yeah hah.
wrote dis all by myself cheer for me ! ok itâs actually ass do not .
Warnings: nsfw, poorly written, top mafioso, bottom chance, semi-public sex(?, probably OOC, almost 900 words, I didnât write the aftercare because I was lazy.
Chance had always been a lucky gambler.
On the other hand, his flintlock had a much more unfortunate fate.
It misfired more often than it worked, sparks catching too late from the unholy amount of gunpowder that spread unevenly in its barrel. Sometimes it jammed ; sometimes it didn't fire at all.
But this time, it decided to blow up on Chance .
Not enough to sustain serious injuries, but enough to make his ears ring and his palm sting.
The smell of burnt powder filled the cold air in the dark, smoke still curling from both his face and the flintlock's barrel.
âGreat,â Chance muttered.
He leaned forward to the fountain, soothing the burns on his face, though more than anything, it stung more than relieved the pain. Streaks of watery gunpowder and blood ran down his burnt skin.
âI seriously need a new flintlock...â
The night didn't answer, and that was the problem. No wind, no distant voices from his teammates, not even footsteps. Just the sound of the water running.
The quietness made Chance grow uneasy. As the water dripped from his chin, he felt a subtle pressure on his back-not the wind, not the cold.
He could feel the presence of something, of someone. Focused, unmoving. Settled just behind him. He didn't move, and whatever was behind him didn't either. The silence stretched-every second felt longer than the last.
"I'm making things up," he muttered, closing his eyes. He shook his head.
But he hesitated to look behind him, as if he was certain someone was there.
Even with the certainty, he managed to swallow the fear. He looked over his shoulder.
Nobody was there. "Knew it! I'm just para-" he cut off his sentence at the feeling of someone squeezing his wrist.
"Oh, fuck..." he hummed under his breath, a single drop of sweat running down his still-stinging, burnt skin.
It was the feared, the powerful, the killer. Mafioso. "If it isn't my favorite gambler."
He shifted Chance's face with a slight nudge on his chin. "CĂtim, ĆŸe sa chvejeĆĄ" He dropped his tone to velvet .
"What the fuck are you doing..." Chance gritted his teeth, trying to push Mafioso's large build away from him.
Mafioso laughed it off . âYou still have a debt to pay,â he tightened the grip on Chance's chin. âAnd this is your chance to.â
Despite how intimidated Chance felt, he couldn't help his instincts, his primal feelings. The sensation of Mafioso so close to him, so warm, the tight grip on both his wrist and his chin. He could even catch a glance of Mafioso's sapphire-colored eyes.
His breathing hitched. His heart raced , but he wasn't sure if it was from fear or whatever he had in mind.
And Mafioso could totally smell what was going on in Chance's head. âDoes the closeness make you feel strange, gambler?â
Chance pushed Mafioso with all his strength, falling onto his back in the damp dirt behind him in the attempt. âIf you're going to kill me, at least do it quick.â He propped himself up on his elbows , eyebrows furrowing.
âOh, no.â
âNo, absolutely not,â Mafioso laughed.
He knelt in front of Chance. âYou've got it all wrong.â His tone dropped.
His hands suddenly bolted to Chance's waist, squeezing and constricting his movement.
âOh, so this is what you wanted all along, huh?â Chance asked with his usual, confident, cocky grin.
Mafioso's eyes shifted, showing an unusual hunger. He pulled Chance onto his lap. âYou've always been such a goddamn tease.â His voice a whisper in Chance's ear as he leaned toward him, âAnd that's what you're gonna pay for.â His voice a raspy, impatient grunt.
His nails dug into Chance's skin, not enough to draw blood but enough to create a dent. Pressing his cock against Chance, letting the warmth burn him like a brand, his hot breath condensing on the gambler's rough skin. Chance' s ego was failing him because , despite how feared Mafioso was, he couldn't help but be lustful over his chiseled body. To yearn for his touch.
Before Chance could make a move, Mafioso rapidly moved his hands down to Chance's pants, practically ripping them off. âWoah, calm down!â
His breath was loud, desperate, impatient. The grunts were impossible to control. Chance's dick was average-sized, cleanly shaven, and despite the closeness, not completely hard.
Then Mafioso pulled down his own, revealing his cock. Slightly downturned , dripping with precum, absolutely huge and throbbing. He couldn't wait to fuck that goddamned lucky gambler.
With the help of the precum, he managed to slide inside of Chance . All that they could hear were the muffled moans of Chance and the rubbing of fabric together.
Mafioso's cock grazed over Chance's sweet spot, just enough to make him arch his back.
But he controlled himself. Hips bucking erratically soon enough, precum spilling out with every thrust. It felt better than anything-finding pleasure in every rut, every thrust, every grind. The pleasure was addicting to both of them. His hips didn 't stop, not a single break. Chasing the peak of pleasure-the orgasm.
Blabbering in something between Slovak and English , his body arched in pleasure once he finally came inside of Chance. Both of them trembling, shaking, with shaky breaths and hums. A few kisses here and there, just to show their satisfaction.
Both were absolutely wretched-even after just one round, but it was enough for now.
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