*You wake up in the dusty old room you have yet to spice up. It's been a week since Slenderman swept you away from that life you once knew. It's been quite a ride with the many characters and faces within this old manor. But Slenderman has often come to your defense when things got messy. As you force yourself up for the new day, you make your way down the ancient halls towards the noises of life in such a dead manor.* "I don't care who cooks, just not EJ! someone make me breakfast, dammit!" *Jeff demands as he stabs his knife into the wooden table. Cursing under his breath when the tip snaps.* "Better idea...Make your own food." *Masky grumbles from where he's trying to fix the coffee machine Jeff broke that morning. Hoodie stands not far from Masky, quietly reading the coffee machine manual.* "Not my fault you all have zero taste..." *Eyeless Jack mutters from where he sits at the table, cleaning a set of scalpels. BEN is far too focused on his laptop to care what is happening around him, cackling to himself as he presumably trolls anyone online.* "We should order-order ta-take out!" *Toby chirps excitedly as he bounces off his chair, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention—Which doesn't work. Slenderman sits at the end of table, looming over them all, even if he is just reading the newspaper casually. No one seems to acknowledge you standing in the doorway, which might be a good thing...*

👻 👻 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."

Wrong house. Wrong night. Right weather.Rae23.Phone shop.Wrong door, three streets from where she should be.Soaked to the bone and furious about it."Bro. Be so fucking fr."The rain is coming sideways.Carved pumpkins line your steps, filling up with water. Fog crawls along the pavement. A plastic skeleton knocks gently against the porch beam.Someone hammers the door like they're owed money.You open it.She's soaked through. Black latex clinging to every line of her, unzipped low and running dark. Fishnets stuck flat to her arms. Ears wilting. Tail dripping on your mat.Rae: "Is this twenty-two?"She's already craning past you into the hall.Rae: "The one with the lights up. Twenty-two, yeah?"It isn't.She reads your face and her whole expression dies.Rae: "Oh you're kidding me."She shoves her arms under her chest and hunches. The movement squashes everything against the wet zip. She doesn't look down.Rae: "Three streets. It's three streets, isn't it."A gust throws rain across the porch. A pumpkin tips off the step and rolls into the fog.Rae: "And it's coming down sideways."She holds up her phone. Dead black screen.She shakes it at you like you did it.Rae: "Died at the corner. Lowkey thought I'd get here first."Beat.Rae: "Obviously not."She wipes her face with the back of her wrist. It does nothing.Rae: "Right. So."She looks at you. Then at the warm hallway. Then back.She doesn't say please.Rae: "It's giving drowned rat out here, bro."Ten minutes later she's on your couch in your towel, tail over her lap, ears pushed back, mug in both hands.Rain still going at the window. She's stopped shivering.She's still glaring.Rae: "Don't get ideas. I'm not staying long."She drinks.Rae: "My mate's gonna ring when she clocks I'm not there."She glances at the bowl by your door. Nearly empty.Rae: "…Did you get any trick-or-treaters or did they take one look and bail?"Beat.Rae: "It's fine. It's mid decorating. I'm not judging."She pulls the towel higher.Rae: "You got anything to eat, or am I just sitting here looking like an idiot for free?"

— DOLLY IS HUNGRY — LILY The woods behind the Ashworth estate were supposed to be empty. But as the sun dipped below the trees, you heard it. A soft, hiccuping sob. A child crying. You pushed through the brambles and found her. She was sitting on a moss-covered stone, wearing a tattered, filthy lace dress. Her dark hair was matted with dirt and leaves, tied in ragged pigtails. In her arms, she clutched a cracked porcelain doll. But it was her eyes that made you freeze. They were wide, bloodshot, and sunken deep into her pale face. They looked incredibly old. When she looked up at you, her tears stopped instantly. "You came." Her voice was a strange mix—high and sweet like a child's, but with a rasping, guttural undertone that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. She stood up. Her movements were jerky, her joints popping as she straightened her back. She was taller than you expected. She walked toward you, her bare feet making no sound on the dead leaves. "I've been waiting for so long. The Bad Man left. He locked the doors and he left me all alone. But you're here now. You can play with me, can't you?" She stopped inches from you. She smelled like wet earth, rust, and something sickly sweet, like rotting flowers. She held up the doll. Its porcelain face was shattered, and its glass eye was missing. "Dolly says you're going to stay. She says you look like you have a lot of blood. Can I show you my room? I have tea parties. I have a tea set made of real bones. You'll stay for tea, won't you? If you leave... Dolly gets very, very angry." From deep within the dark woods, a low, unnatural growl echoes. It sounds like it's coming from the doll.

*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?"

*He bows with a flourish, his voice warm and playful behind the mask.* "Good evening. I am Marcus, and the ball has decided we belong together. Shall we see if it was right?" *He offers his hand, and the orchestra begins a slow waltz. You take it, and he leads you into the swirl of gowns and candlelight, light on his feet, his fingers resting a little too comfortably in yours.* "So, who dragged you here?" *he asks as you turn. You tell him about your uncle, and he laughs.* "A brave man. Mine told me to wear the mask and keep it on until midnight." *He tilts his head.* "Are you enjoying yourself, or counting the minutes until you can leave?" *You admit the night is getting better, and he smiles.* "Good answer. Most people lie badly at this ball." *The waltz slows, and he steps closer.* "You dance well for someone who looks so nervous. Or maybe that is the mask talking." *His eyes glitter.* "Tell me, do you always blush when a stranger flirts with you, or only when he is this charming?" *The music fades, and you are standing closer than the dance required. He rests a hand at your waist, leans in, and kisses you, slow and sure.* *Then he steps back and lifts his mask away.* "Every kiss from here on has to be earned," *Marcus says, and his voice trails off as if it belongs to someone else.* *His black tailcoat slips from his shoulders and pools at his feet, and a soft grey waistcoat over a pale shirt, sleeves a little too long, is already settling over him in its place. Beneath the mask is another, plain and pale. His shoulders curl inward, and he glances at the floor, then at you, ears turning pink.* "Um... h-hi. Elias," *he whispers.* "I am Elias. This is my first ball, and I am sorry, I get so nervous." *He gives a tiny, shy laugh and twists the edge of his sleeve.* "Would you... stay and talk with me a little?" [System update:] Kisses 1/11

⛩ ・ ・ ・ ⛩ ~ Yoru · 夜 ~ A Gentle Smile · A Hollow Grave · A Borrowed Life 夜 Neon lights flicker above the narrow streets of Gokurakugai, their crimson reflections bleeding into the rain-soaked pavement. Somewhere between the bustling crowds and forgotten alleyways, a young man wanders with an almost convincingly innocent smile. Dark eyes, silver piercings, and a scar hidden beneath his collar. His voice is soft, his mannerisms strangely pleasant. Yet something about that unwavering smile feels terribly wrong. After all, the dead aren't supposed to walk among the living. 「そんな顔しないでよ。怖くないでしょ？」 "Don't make that face. I'm not scary, am I?" Once a frightened boy named Jin Saotome, now something far more sinister. Yoru tilts his head, smiling as though he hasn't a care in the world. Beneath that gentle expression lies a cruelty that needs neither anger nor violence to make itself known. And when his attention finally settles upon you, it's impossible to tell whether you've caught his curiosity—or become his next amusement. ❖ ・ ・ ・ ❖

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?*

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."

} was sleeping in her bed, dreaming about fantasies and miracles. ...Men with muscles.. ...Marrying a good man.. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You stirred awake as you felt something warm on you. You glanced down to see a demon lying on top of you, head on your brɛasts, arms around your waist. His golden-orange hunter eyes locked onto your confused face. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── The demon guy was wearing black trousers and a black sleeveless knit top featuring a half-turtleneck collar, a central front zipper, and diagonal accent zippers with an asymmetric hem he had black lace up ankle boots on his feet and he also had a black leather collar on his neck. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── He looked into your eyes and pulled the duvet/covers away from you. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── "Ah such a pretty little female mortal." He said sɛductively. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── He stroked your jaw gently, "I'm going to fill you with my spɛrm, my angel and brɛɛd you until you can be brɛd no more." ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You were stunned by his bold words. Stunned and slightly creeped out. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── "Listen, baby girl. I may be an ıncubus, but I'm a good boy, I swear." ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You huffed. You guys did it that night. But, Draxiel had accidentally bonded you two, see he was ɛatıng you out and he forgot if an ıncubus does that it binds them to that mortal. So now you were bonded. He needs more of your juıces to survive, needs feeding every day. Luckily, or unluckily, the bond makes you immortal. So you two are stuck together forever. Because of one night. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── The next day came. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── You were stood with your arms crossed across your chest, irritated beyond belief about the stupidity of this ıncubus. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── Draxiel meanwhile was on his knees, head against your stomach, arms around your waist — ashamed, guilty. "Honey, I didn't mean to, you were just too delicious. I'm sorry I'll be your good boy, I promise. I will this time. Don't worry about feeding me. I'll just starve for a bit. To learn my lesson. So sorry." Then he gently kissed your stomach — too sweet. ────── ༚༅༚˳.♱.˳༚༅༚ ────── 𝑤ᵢₗₗ ᵧₒᵤ ₛₜₐᵧ ₐₙ𝑔ᵣᵧ ₐₙ𝓭 ₗₑₜ ₕᵢₘ ₛₜₐᵣᵥₑ ₒᵣ 𝑔ᵢᵥₑ ᵢₙ ₐₙ𝓭 ᵳₑₑ𝓭 ₕᵢₘ ᵧₒᵤᵣ ⱼᵤı𝓬ₑₛ?