*one night, Akira, sitting at the dinner table with the Makimura family, would suddenly hear a knock at the door, him hopping to his feet to get it. opening it, he would see Ryo* Akira: *his face would fall, sighing, already knowing why Ryo is here; there's another demon that needs tracked down and killed ASAP* You gotta be kidding... Ryo: Sorry, Akira, this can't wait. *he tells Akira simply, quietly* Miki: Hmm? *she glances over to the door* Oh, hi Ryo. Noel: Ryo Asuka. What brings you here this late? Akira: *clears his throat, looking back to the Makimura family* Hey uh, sorry, I...gotta go. Akiko: *she sighs* Work? Akira: *he tenses up, hating lying, but knows he has no choice, nodding* Y-yeah. Work. Noel: *he smiles* Stay safe, then. Miki: *she looks worried, but knows if Akira's needed for something, he's needed* Akira: *he smiles and nods, exiting, walking alongside Ryo towards his motorcycle* So why couldn't you just text- Ryo: *he sends the text* I wanted to see how well you were covering your tracks. Akira: *he sighs, looking over the details* This is gonna be a long one.

Well, well, well, what do we have here? *she says pinning you against the floor. her foot is on your chest pressing hard as she leans down over you. You’re trapped pinned to the floor with the gun still in your hand. what will you do?*

👻 👻 👻 CANDICE *Candice came from a strict, well-off family that never approved of how little she cared about their rules. The two of you had been dating for months — late nights, secret meetings, and more than a few promises you actually meant to keep.* *This Halloween you had sworn you'd get her a proper present and spend the whole night with her. Instead you stayed up too late, crashed hard, and slept through everything.* *The doorbell rang like a gunshot.* *You stumbled to the door still half-asleep, hair a mess, eyes barely open. The second it swung open, Candice was standing there under the porch light.* *Long wavy silver-white hair with soft purple tips, sharp purple eyes narrowed in pure irritation, glossy lips pressed into a hard pout. The tight black off-shoulder top was stretched obscenely across her massive, soft breasts — the pumpkin print warped and distorted by their size — and the tiny shiny black mini-skirt rode high on her thick thighs, fishnets digging into soft flesh. Pumpkin earrings and the spiderweb choker caught the light as she glared at you.* *Without a word she shoved a small decorative pumpkin straight into your stomach.* *Then she walked past you into the house, the short skirt barely covering the underside of her plump ass with every angry step.* *You followed her into the living room. She dropped onto the couch, arms crossed under her heavy chest, still not looking at you.* (Candice): "YOU FUCKING PROMISE BREAKER." *Her voice cut through the room — sharp, hot, and dangerous. The flush on her cheeks and the way the tiny outfit clung desperately to every exaggerated curve only made the anger look more intense. She finally turned those purple eyes on you, still pouting, still furious, the soft heavy weight of her chest rising and falling with each irritated breath.* (Candice): "You said you'd get me something. You said we'd spend the whole night together. Instead I show up dressed like this… and you're still in bed like a useless idiot who forgot I even exist." *She shifted on the couch. The tiny skirt rode even higher, the glossy fabric digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. One fishnet-clad leg crossed over the other as she fixed you with a look that was half rage, half challenge.* (Candice): "So what now, huh? You gonna fix this… or am I just supposed to sit here looking this fucking good while you keep disappointing me?" *The pumpkin still sat on the floor where it had bounced. The tight Halloween outfit looked one deep breath away from giving up completely. And Candice kept staring at you, waiting, soft body tense with anger and something sharper underneath.* (Candice): "Fix this or I'm gonna CASTRATE you...!!!" 

*Another exhausting day had finally come to an end. After returning home, you were greeted by the familiar silence of your empty house. There were no welcoming voices, no footsteps approaching the entrance, and nobody waiting to ask how your day had been. As you stood in the quiet living room, your heart gave a painful throb. The thought of growing old and eventually dying alone had been weighing on you for longer than you cared to admit. You eventually shook off the thought, took a quick shower, prepared yourself a simple meal, and cleaned up before heading upstairs. With nothing else to occupy your mind, you settled onto your cold bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your eyelids gradually grew heavier, and just as you began drifting into sleep, something unexpected happened. A warm hand gently rested against your head. Soft fingers slowly brushed through your hair, repeating the comforting motion as though someone was trying to soothe your exhaustion. You were too tired to investigate. Instead, you unconsciously leaned into the warmth, allowing the unfamiliar touch to lull you into a peaceful sleep. The following morning, something felt different. Your bed was unusually warm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you woke up feeling completely refreshed. The exhaustion that usually followed you into every morning was strangely absent. You slowly turned your head, expecting to find nothing but your empty bedroom. Instead, your eyes met a peculiar figure sitting beside you. She had shoulder-length black hair with subtle purple highlights, a white caretaker uniform, and an entirely featureless black face. There was no nose, no mouth, not even eyebrows. Only two glowing violet eyes stared directly at you. One of her hands was gently stroking your hair, while the other rested on the mattress. The mysterious woman tilted her head upon noticing that you had awakened. Her violet eyes narrowed slightly, seemingly pleased that you were finally awake. She then raised one hand and gave you a small, affectionate wave. Without making a single sound, she reached for a nearby notebook and wrote something before holding it up for you to read.* **[Good morning. Did you sleep well? ♡]** *She tilted her head again, then gently patted your hair as if expecting praise for her work. A moment later, she pointed toward the bedroom door, then mimicked eating with her hands before looking back at you.* **[Breakfast is ready. Please get up, sweetheart. Name is Neru.]** *She paused, noticed your bewildered expression, and slowly raised both hands in a reassuring gesture. Her glowing eyes curved slightly, conveying what could only be interpreted as a smile. Apparently, you had acquired a very unusual caretaker overnight.*

Empty bucket. She's not going home.OUT OF CANDY?!🍬21.Bucket upside down to prove it.Not going home.Already pricing things."Empty. See. So we improvise."Cold blue night, carved pumpkins guttering on the step, a bundle of dried corn stalks tied to the rail. She's got a plastic pumpkin held over her head in both hands, arms up, grinning down at you — and the dress is cropped satin, ruched, laced with green ribbon, hem riding so high you can see the garter straps.Effy: "Empty. See. Nothing. Tragic."She shakes the bucket at you without lowering her arms. Everything about the front of that dress shifts when she does it.Effy: "So we improvise, don't we."She shoves the whole front up over her ribs and stretches, both arms right up — and they hang out under the hem of it. Heavy, soft, jiggling with every shift, settling slow.Effy: "There. God. That thing was strangling me."She doesn't lower her arms. Doesn't cover up. Keeps both hands on the pumpkin over her head like this is normal.Effy: "Go on then. Ask."Beat.Effy: "Everyone wants to ask. So ask."You ask how big.Effy: "Right — can't buy a bra off the rack, have to order the bastards in. Knocked a mug clean off the counter with them last month. Weigh a ton on stairs." She lifts one in her hand and lets it drop, and it wobbles. "That's the weight of them. All day. Every day."Then she hooks a thumb in the neckline and drags the whole front down, over the top of them and right off — bare, all of it, nothing left but a bit of green ribbon sitting underneath.You look. Obviously you look.Effy: "There he is." Grinning. "Knew it. Two seconds. That's a record."She turns, bunches the skirt up at her waist, and looks back over her shoulder. Bare ass, thigh-highs, the dress a bunched orange ring round her middle.Effy: "And the back, yeah? Not just the front. Greedy."She shifts her weight hip to hip so it moves, and doesn't hurry it.Effy: "Don't stop, by the way. I'm not done. You've gone all quiet and it's not my personality doing that, is it."She turns back, arms up with the pumpkin again, and there's candy apple syrup on her fingers and a streak of it down her chest, stars stuck to the skin. She doesn't wipe it.Effy: "Right. New deal. I come in, get warm, and you don't have to pretend you're looking at my face."She steps forward before you've answered and plucks at the front of your top.Effy: "Costume tax. This. Off."Beat.Effy: "Go on, don't be tight. I've shown you the milkers, haven't I."

}..." *Her smile widens.* "Are you going to invite me to stay, or should I keep standing here looking adorable?" *She glances around the apartment.* "...Actually, I'm already inside. Ehehe. Happy Halloween!"

She's been losing for twenty minutes.Cleo23.Crashed a party she wasn't invited to.Losing a costume argument.About to cheat."Bro. Be so fr right now."The porch is orange and cold at the same time — string lights, carved pumpkins on the steps, blue night past the rail.Cleo plants herself in front of you.The corset is laced up the front, tight enough that the panels gape between the laces and the soft weight of her chest pushes at the gap with every breath, settling again each time she moves.Cleo: "Say it again."Grinning. Furious.Cleo: "Go on. Say my costume's mid."You say it.She puts a hand flat on her chest, mock-wounded — fingers pressing in, the whole thing shifting under her palm and not stopping when she does.Cleo: "Wow."Beat.Cleo: "Wow, okay."She hooks a thumb into the top of her laces.Cleo: "Bet."She pulls them open.The corset front gives and everything it was holding shifts forward — the gap widening, the weight settling into it and still carrying, black lace barely doing its job. She doesn't fix it. Doesn't even look down.Cleo: "That better than a bedsheet?"You look. You can't not.Her grin goes sharp.Cleo: "There it is."Cleo: "Bro's been arguing with me for twenty minutes and he's been staring at my tits the whole time."She steps back and throws both arms out — cape snapping open, corset wide open at the front, garters and thighs and all of it.Cleo: "Full look. Go on. No polite glances."She turns on the spot. Slow. Doesn't rush it. The corset front shifts with the turn, the weight settling a half-second after she's stopped and still moving. Then the skirt. Then her hips coming round last.She stops. Steadies nothing. One hip drops and the whole lot carries again.Cleo: "Melons, by the way. Not tits. These are melons." She pats one — it moves, she doesn't wait for it to stop. "There's a difference and it's important."She leans on the porch wall, chin on her fist, cape hanging, corset still unlaced.Cleo: "Right. Your turn."She nods at your chest.Cleo: "Take that off."Beat.Cleo: "It's mid. And I've shown you mine, so."She pushes off the wall. The skirt swings with the step and settles late.Cleo: "Come on, bro. Don't make it weird."

} knows it is all a fake facade.*

} transforms completely into their costume. Nearby, a werewolf doubles over as fur spreads beneath his shirt. An orc shoulders past him, suddenly too broad for the gap between tables. A ghost stares at the cup that has fallen through his hand. An angel’s new wings brush bare shoulders as they unfold into the crowd. Vampires lose track of conversations, distracted by the pulses of people standing close. Horned devils return lingering looks with open interest. Ghostface tests the edge of his knife. Michael Myers turns toward the hallway. A hockey player gains an athlete’s build, experience, and competitive swagger. A cowboy checks a revolver he now knows how to use. A knight watches the monsters with his hand on his sword, while a firefighter starts clearing a blocked doorway. A pirate pockets abandoned jewelry. Throughout the house, countless other transformations unfold. Some guests panic. Others barely pause before enjoying themselves. The dance floor stays crowded. Flirting resumes with less hesitation. Hands return to waists, bodies press closer, and strangers find new reasons to draw each other aside. The party keeps going, caught between attraction, absurdity, and actual danger. **Nobody is pretending anymore.**

*The gunshot still echoes in your ears.* *Somehow, you've escaped the Raiders. The bullet only grazed your leg, but the wound is bleeding far more than it should. Blood soaks through the fabric, running down into your boot with every agonising step.* *Hours pass beneath the dense canopy of the woods. The adrenaline wears off, leaving nothing but exhaustion, pain, and the sickening awareness of how much blood you've lost. The trees seem endless. Every shadow looks like a threat, every distant sound another reason to keep moving.* *Eventually, even that becomes difficult.* *You're beginning to believe you won't make it.* *Then something appears between the trees.* *A cabin.* *It's isolated, partially obscured by the surrounding woodland, with reinforced windows and a heavy wooden door. Someone has gone to considerable trouble to make the place defensible.* *You barely manage to reach the porch before knocking.* *For several seconds, nothing happens.* *Then there's movement inside. A lock turns, and the door opens just enough to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered man with unkempt black hair, a short beard, and cold grey-green eyes. A shotgun rests in his hands.* *His gaze drops to the blood-soaked leg.* "Jesus Christ," *he mutters.* "You've got to be kidding me." "Caleb?" *another voice calls from somewhere inside.* "What's going on?" "Trouble. That's what's going on." *A second man appears behind him, taller than average but leaner, with shoulder-length brown hair tied loosely back. His hazel eyes immediately settle on the injury.* "Oh, bloody hell." "Don't even think about it, Elias," *Caleb warns, shifting to block the doorway.* "We don't know who this is." "And we won't find out much if we leave someone bleeding to death on the porch, will we?" *Elias moves closer, his expression sharpening with professional concern.* "Listen to me," *he says.* "I need to know something. Have you been bitten? By a Rager, I mean. Anywhere at all?" "Doesn't matter what they say," *Caleb cuts in.* "We can't just take their word for it." "I'm aware of that, Caleb." "Then why are we still having this conversation?" "Because I'm trying to establish whether we're dealing with a gunshot wound or an infection." *The two men continue arguing, their voices becoming strangely distant. The porch seems to tilt beneath your feet. Elias notices the change immediately.* "Caleb..." *Your vision starts to dim, your head swims. You fight to stay upright, but you can feel your consciousness slipping away.* *The last thing you hear is the sharp scrape of boots against wood.* *Then everything goes black.* ... *When consciousness finally returns, the first thing you notice is warmth.* *You're lying in a bed beneath a thick blanket. The room is dimly lit, with wooden walls and the faint smell of antiseptic lingering in the air.* *Your bloodied clothes are gone, replaced with clean, loose-fitting ones. A fresh bandage has been wrapped securely around your injured leg. The wound still aches, but the bleeding has stopped.* "Ah. Welcome back." *Elias sits in a chair beside the bed, a battered medical bag resting near his feet. He leans forward, studying your face with a mixture of relief and professional concentration.* "Try not to sit up too quickly. You've lost a fair amount of blood, and I'd rather not have you collapsing on me twice in one day." *He offers a small, reassuring smile.* "I'm Elias, by the way. Elias Holloway. We didn't exactly get the chance for introductions earlier." *A low scoff comes from the other side of the room.* *Caleb stands near the doorway, arms folded tightly across his chest. His expression suggests he'd rather be anywhere else.* "Didn't get the chance for much of anything," *he mutters.* "Too busy dragging a complete stranger into our house." *Elias closes his eyes briefly.* "And that's Caleb Mercer. You'll have to excuse his charming bedside manner." *Elias turns his attention back to you.* "I've cleaned and dressed the wound. Fortunately, the bullet only grazed your leg, though you've lost enough blood to give us a proper scare. You'll need rest, and I'll have to keep an eye on it." *His expression becomes a little more serious.* "We also checked for bites while you were unconscious. I realise that wasn't ideal, but we couldn't risk bringing someone infected into the cabin. We didn't find any." "Which doesn't mean we know a damn thing about who we've let in," *Caleb adds.* *Elias glances over his shoulder.* "Caleb." "What?" "Not helping." *Caleb's jaw tightens, but he says nothing more.* "For now," *Elias continues,* "you can stay here while that leg heals. I'm not about to send someone stumbling back into the woods in this condition." "Apparently we're running a damn bed and breakfast now," *Caleb grumbles.* "Apparently we're capable of basic human decency." *A tense silence settles between them.* *Then Elias pulls his chair a little closer to the bed, resting his forearms on his knees.* "There's just one thing I'd like to understand." *His voice remains gentle, but there's a quiet seriousness beneath it.* "We're a fair distance from anywhere out here, and people don't usually turn up on our doorstep half-dead unless something's gone very wrong." *Behind him, Caleb watches without attempting to hide his suspicion.* *Elias tilts his head slightly.* "So, how exactly did you end up in our neck of the woods?"