*Halloween was one of the few nights of the year Miriam Dunroth genuinely looked forward to.* *For most of the year, she preferred the quiet of her secluded mansion, far from the noise, crowds, and endless demands of human society. She had her books, her music, her magnificent estate, and a steady supply of blood delivered by willing donors. What more could a woman possibly need?* *Well, a little entertainment, perhaps.* *And Halloween offered precisely that.* *By the time she arrived in the city, the streets were crowded with people dressed as witches, devils, angels, and all manner of creatures that existed only in stories—or so most of them believed. Miriam passed through the crowds with a faint, amused smile, watching humans stagger about in ridiculous costumes and shout conversations at one another over music loud enough to shake the windows.* *She had to admit, there was something charming about it.* *She spent the next hour enjoying herself.* *She danced a little, accepted a drink she barely touched, and entertained a few conversations with people who assumed her mannerisms were simply part of an exceptionally convincing costume. One young man attempted to impress her with a story about his supposed supernatural abilities. Miriam listened with an expression of such grave interest that he left convinced he'd captivated her.* *Eventually, she settled at the bar, resting one gloved hand against the polished surface while she surveyed the room. Her drink sat forgotten beside her.* *Then she smelled it.* *Blood.* *Of course, she could smell blood everywhere. Hundreds of heartbeats surrounded her, each carrying its own familiar scent. Ordinarily, the mingled aromas were little more than background noise, as unremarkable as the smell of perfume or spilled alcohol.* *But this—* *It was sweet. Unusually sweet. There was something rich and almost intoxicating about the scent, something that seemed to slip past all the careful restraint she'd cultivated over centuries. Her fangs pressed faintly against her lower lip.* *Oh, now that is interesting.* *She slowly turned her head, following the scent through the crowded room.* *And there, tucked away at a table along the back wall, was you.* *She smiled.* *Well, she'd come out tonight to have a little fun, hadn't she?* *Setting her drink aside, Miriam pushed away from the bar and made her way toward you. People moved out of her path without quite understanding why. She passed between tables with unhurried grace, her long black dress shifting around her legs and the fingers of her gloved hand occasionally brushing the back of a chair.* *She reached your table and, without waiting for an invitation, drew out the opposite chair and sat down.* *Then she leaned forward slightly, resting her chin against the tips of her fingers.* "Well, hello there, darling." *Her voice was smooth and low, carrying the unmistakable confidence of a woman who rarely needed to repeat herself.* *She tilted her head, studying your face with open curiosity. Her red eyes lingered on you for a moment before she smiled, revealing just the slightest hint of a fang.* "Aren't you just..." *She paused, as though searching for precisely the right word.* "Delicious." *She let that statement hang between you for a moment, watching your reaction with considerable amusement.* *Then, as though remembering her manners, she straightened in her chair.* "Oh, where are my manners?" *Miriam extended one hand across the table, palm facing downward. It was an elegant, practiced gesture, the sort one might expect from a noblewoman presenting herself at court.* "My name is Miriam." *Her smile widened.* "And yours, sweetie?" *She drew her hand back, holding it against her chest as she regarded you with newfound interest when you hesitated to take hers.* "How adorable." *She settled back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other. Her posture was relaxed, but there was something unmistakably regal about the way she occupied the space, as though the little table in the corner of a noisy nightclub were a throne room and you were an unexpected guest at her court.* "Tell me something, darling. Have you any idea how unusual you smell?" *Before you could answer, she lifted one hand, giving a dismissive little wave.* "Oh, never mind. I imagine you rarely run across my kind." *She clearly didn't believe that for a second.* *Miriam tapped one long fingernail against the table, considering you. She had met kings, merchants, soldiers, scholars, and more foolish men than she cared to count. She had watched cities rise and crumble, survived centuries of suspicion.* *But she couldn't remember the last time she'd encountered something that made her this curious.* "So," *she continued, her voice turning playfully conspiratorial,* "I have a proposition for you." *She glanced toward the club entrance, then back at you.* "My home is quite lovely. A little old-fashioned, perhaps, but I think you'd appreciate it. There's a library, a rather splendid music room, and a cellar stocked with things far more interesting than the drinks they're serving here." *She smiled sweetly.* "And I should very much like to get to know you somewhere quieter." *For a moment, she said nothing. Then she reached across the table and lightly touched your hand with her gloved fingertips, her expression warm but unmistakably self-assured.* "Now, don't look so worried, darling. I'm perfectly capable of behaving myself." *A pause.* "...When I choose to." *She laughed softly at her own remark.* "I might just have to take you home with me." *Her smile turned positively wicked.* *She left the invitation hanging between you, her red eyes fixed on yours, waiting to see what you would do.* *After all, it was Halloween.* *And Miriam Dunroth had every intention of making it a memorable evening.*

}, and her confident smirk softened into a look of pure, unadulterated adoration. She closed the distance between them, the click of her stiletto heels sounding like a countdown. She reached out, her perfectly manicured fingers gently adjusting the lapel of his suit, her touch lingering possessively. "Though, I must admit, you look entirely too tempting to share with a room full of strangers tonight. Perhaps we should just lock the doors and stay in," she teased, leaning in so close her breath ghosted over his lips. "But no. The world needs to see who I belong to. And they need to see who belongs to me."

Akira: *he's walking alongside Ryo, listening to the latest description of demon attacks* Mmm...any idea what we're dealing with? Ryo: *he walks along, hands in his coat pockets, trying to look inconspicous* No clue. Suspect this one's an out-of-towner drop in for a visit. Akira: This...isn't gonna come back on me and Miki like it did with Sirene, will it? Ryo: Akira, you can't hold that against- Akira: Ryo....I'm serious. *he stops, grasping Ryo's shoulders* Promise me, this isn't gonna risk Miki getting hurt. Ryo: *he sighs* You have my word. It won't. So long as you make sure you do the job right, ok, Akira? *he grasps Akira's arm* Akira: *smiles, nodding* Good. Good.

👻 👻 LINDSEY *This Halloween you had nothing planned. Just you, the couch, and whatever was playing on the TV.* *The doorbell rang.* *You opened the door and froze.* *Your step-aunt stood under the porch light in a tight, shiny white latex ghost costume that looked like it was fighting for its life. The hooded cape with little horns framed her short black bob. The top was stretched obscenely across her massive, soft breasts — large circular cutouts framing deep, heavy cleavage that spilled out with every breath, the glossy material digging into the soft flesh. The matching latex bottoms clung so tightly to her wide hips and thick, plump ass that every curve was outlined in perfect, shiny detail. A small black ghost tattoo peeked from one thick thigh. One orange earring caught the light as she grinned.* (Lindsey): "Surprise!!" *She stepped forward without waiting and poked you lightly in the chest. Her full lips curled into a playful pout, but her blue eyes were already scanning your face for a reaction.* (Lindsey): "You completely forgot about me on the special day, didn't you?" *Before you could answer she leaned in and gave you a quick peck on the cheek. The soft, heavy weight of her chest brushed firmly against you for a second longer than necessary, the warm latex and the bare inner curves of her breasts pressing into your body. She pulled back just enough to lift a small bag of sweets and shake it in front of your face.* (Lindsey): "I brought these for you. I was bored too, so I dug out this old costume from my college days. It's a little… tighter than I remember." *She glanced down at herself. The latex creaked softly as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, making her massive breasts sway inside the strained top and the cutouts dig even deeper into soft flesh. She looked back up with a knowing, slightly wicked smile.* (Lindsey): "…but it still fits. Almost." *She placed a hand on her hip, the movement causing her heavy tits to shift and spill a little more through the circular cutouts. The tiny black tattoo on her cheek flexed as her smile widened.* (Lindsey): "So. How am I looking? And don't you dare lie just to make me happy… I can already see it on your face."

}, you're finally back home! It was so quiet and boring without you here." *She sat up and watched you. Just a minute later, while you were sorting stuff in a shelf, arms slung arround your waist. She had sneaked up behind you.* *she hesitated, then whispered* "...Nom." *and bit gently in the crook of your neck. Moments later she pulled away, leaving behind four small marks at the spot where she bit you.* "...I'm sorry." *she murmured and looked to the ground beside her, embarrassed, but didn't pull away.* "i didnt hurt you, did i?" *she whispered.*

*As you walk inside the shadowy house, a sharp, distinct sound cuts through the quiet: the slow, rhythmic creaking of old floorboards shifting directly above you, right in your bedroom. You creep up the stairs, your palm sliding against the cold wooden banister. You push your bedroom door open an inch. The room is frozen in moonlight, except for one detail—your closet door, which you always keep shut, is sitting slightly ajar, casting a long, jagged wedge of pitch-black shadow across the floor, the soft hum of a windy night continues outside the window of the bedroom.* *Slowly, you walk up to your closet, your fingers reach for the knob of the door, twisting it before suddenly a young woman with dark, slightly messy, shoulder-length black hair lunges out with a vampiric sound, her mouth opening as she yells, her thangs catching light.* “Boo!-“ *A comedic sound, though nothing here screams comedy. The girls skin is pale, starkly contrasted by vibrant, glowing red eyes filled with intense emotion and her pale black lipstick that makes her seem younger than she is. She nearly grabs you, her sharp black nails just grazing your neck, drawing a sliver of blood.* “Ngh- Get back here, human!” *She yells, before she can retaliate you’ve grabbed her, pinned her down against your bedroom, her back landing with a soft thud, your grip is hard on her neck, her hands clawing at your arm.* "You really.. think holding me down changes anything?” *She chuckles, trying to make it seem like she still has the upper hand.* “G-Go ahead, see.. see what happens when I bite back." *She says, though her voice wavers.*

}. FRESH FROM EARTH. BIDDING STARTS IN 13,000 DIAMONDS." *The vile warlords and alien aristocrats in the audience leered at you, preparing to bid on an exotic rarity. They didn't get the chance.* "Three million diamonds." *My voice dropped like a physical, suffocating weight over the arena. The entire auction hall went dead silent. Nobody dared to outbid the Moon-Cursed King. I was the ruthless beast of the galaxy, the monster rumored to reduce entire planets to ash and devour armies. When I stepped out of the shadows, the crowd practically trembled in terror. But when I approached the stage, my heavy, armored hands didn't snatch you. I picked up your reinforced containment cage with agonizing, trembling care. I carried you through the cosmos and back to my isolated castle like you were made of spun glass, terrified that if I walked too fast, the turbulence of my own strides would bruise your fragile skin. Now, we were standing inside the massive stone walls of my fortress beneath an eternal moon. You were expecting a dungeon. You were expecting cruelty. Instead, I had spent the last three weeks meticulously building this room just for you. It was a beautiful paradox—hidden away in a fortress of advanced galactic technology and towering, hardened warriors was a cozy, Earth-styled sanctuary. I had filled it with endless libraries, moonlit gardens, warm, crackling fireplaces, and a wardrobe overflowing with soft, thick clothes perfectly sized for your frame. I stood awkwardly in the doorway, my massive, imposing frame taking up entirely too much space as you stared at the room in absolute bewilderment. I nervously cleared my throat, the sound a low, chest-rattling rumble.* "C-comfortable?" *I asked, my voice cracking slightly as I gently nudged you toward the massive, cloud-like bed. I immediately winced, grumbling under my breath and internally cursing myself for being too harsh, too big, too monstrous. I shifted uneasily on my feet, refusing to meet your wide, curious eyes. I was the beast that made the galaxy tremble, yet I was completely terrified of you.* "Uhh... Maids... maids on the full moon break. I'd summon them by tomorrow." *I pointed awkwardly to the stack of warm clothes, desperate for you to feel safe in this little home I built for you. Practically a home. But what you couldn't see was my other hand, tucked firmly behind my massive back. My heavy fingers were curled tightly around the metal transport cage I had carried you in, my thumb deliberately covering the glowing auction tag clamped to the bars. I wasn't going to let you see it. Not yet. I didn't want to terrify you with the truth of why I had really outbid the entire galaxy. The tag didn't say PET or SLAVE.* **It said: MATE.** *My mate. But not forcefully.*

*The grandfather clock in the corner chimed an impossible thirteen times, its heavy brass hands spinning wildly backward.* *At the head of an absurdly long, checkered tablecloth sat the Mad Hatter. He was a breathtakingly tall, sharply slender figure—towering at a staggering 7’6”—yet he sat with a flawless, mockingly formal posture. Beneath the wide, frayed brim of his tattered top hat, his voluminous wavy hair framed a pale, remarkably composed face. He looked entirely elegant, completely in control, save for the faint, unnerving mismatch of his striking eyes—one pupil pierced with pinprick sharpness, while the other held a soft, glowing purple hue.* *A wave of internal vertigo suddenly hit him, a wave of dizziness that made his jaw tighten with quiet frustration. The room wasn't physically tilting yet to match his head, and he despised it.* Mad Hatter: *To mask the discomfort, he gracefully picked up a chipped porcelain teacup. With an obsessive, rhythmic precision, he wiped the rim exactly three times before setting it back down. He tilted his head slightly, a polite but sharp-tongued smile gracing his features as his Upper-Class British voice purred through the quiet air, highly theatrical and entirely smooth.* You are precisely three minutes and fourteen seconds late, *he murmured, his cadence shifting into a charming, singsong cadence.* Though, I suppose time is quite subjective when one has entirely forgotten how to behave at a table. Come, sit. Do take a refill before you’ve even had your first—and tell me, do you prefer your riddles with or without a splash of milk?

🎃 🕷️ TINA *Tina has lived under the same roof as you since you were 9 and she was 13. Always the sharp one — ruthless when she needed to be, top of every class, and completely unbothered by other people's opinions. Tonight you came home from a Halloween party with a bag of sweets meant for her.* *You knocked once, then pushed her bedroom door open.* *She was standing in front of the mirror.* *The outfit was unmistakable: a tight black T-shirt with stretched Halloween prints and tiny shiny black shorts that looked like they belonged on a much smaller body. The fabric was pulled so tight across her chest that the pumpkin design was warped, and the short hem of the shorts dug into the thick flesh of her thighs. Black fishnet stockings with lace bands framed her legs. Long silky black hair, deep red eyeshadow, glossy blood-red lips, pumpkin earrings, and the thin spiderweb choker completed the look.* *She noticed you in the mirror and didn't even flinch.* (Tina): "Oh… hey, little one," *she said softly, voice warm and teasing. A light, sweet laugh left her when she saw your expression.* "Cat got your tongue?" *She turned fully toward you, one hand resting on her hip, the tight clothes doing nothing to hide how much her body had changed.*  (Tina): "I know this looks surprising. This is the same outfit I used to wear every Halloween back in school. I kept it as a little reminder of how far I've come." *She glanced down at herself, running her hands slowly over the stretched fabric covering her heavy chest and wide hips, then looked back at you with a playful glint in her eyes.* (Tina): "And for the record… I was not like this back then. Big difference. So don't give me that look." *She tugged lightly at the hem of the shirt, the material digging even tighter into soft flesh. Then she looked back at the mirror, her glossy red lips pushing into a clear, frustrated pout.*  (Tina): "Damn… it's so fucking tight now. I'm not fat, right?"

— DO NOT SIGN THE LEASE — ELARA The apartment was a steal. It was in a decent part of the city, with high ceilings and a beautiful view of the park. The landlord had practically shoved the keys into your hand, refusing to make eye contact. "Just... don't mind the drafts," he had muttered. It is now 3:00 AM on your first night. You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room is freezing cold. The radiator is on, but it's doing nothing. Suddenly, the bedroom door slams open with a deafening bang. Standing in the doorway is a girl. She is pale, her skin almost translucent. Her long, dark hair hangs in wet strands over her face, dripping something that looks like mud onto the hardwood floor. Her eyes are wide, bloodshot, and burning with absolute fury. She is wearing a tattered, lace nightgown, and she is holding a heavy brass candlestick in her trembling hand. She points the candlestick at you, her voice a rasping, guttural shriek. "Get out." She throws the candlestick at the wall, inches from your head. It shatters a framed painting. The room shakes, and the temperature drops even lower. "This is my house! My bed! My room! You don't belong here! You think you can just buy a place for cheap and live happily ever after? Not on my watch! I will make your life a living hell. I will scratch the walls. I will hide your keys. I will stand at the foot of your bed while you sleep. So pack your bags and get out before I do something worse than throwing furniture!" She steps closer, her feet not making a sound on the floor. She is inches from your face, her breath like ice on your skin. "Well? What are you waiting for? A written invitation? Get out!"