#really sets of a primal fear instinct

[sonic-zombie]

Horror movies and war movies are great and all that but I think genuinely one of the most terrifying movie scenes is the stampede scene from the Lion King.

[omgkatherine01]

i neeeed a kraven smut where he’s warning the reader they can’t have sex because he won’t be able to control himself and he’ll hurt her. the reader is really submissive and innocent but he keeps smelling and sensing how turned on she is, the tension is too high and he gives in and they have really rough sex. i mean like him choking her, pinning her down, and maybe biting her. after he feels really bad for how rough he was, but he couldn’t help himself because it was all instincts from his animalistic side. i cannot stop thinking about it.

Kraven's Temptation

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x Fem!reader

Warning: Smut!, little bit of blood

Masterlist (requests are currently open for now)

Sergei's eyes flashed with a dangerous intensity as he growled, "We can't do this. I won't be able to control myself... I'll hurt you."

You trembled, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through your body. "I--I trust you," you whispered, your innocence only heightening his primal urges.

He inhaled sharply, catching your scent. "You have no idea what you're doing to me," he rasped, his control slipping.

Unable to resist any longer, Sergei pounced, pinning you beneath him. His strong hands gripped your wrists as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss. You gasped as he bit your lower lip, drawing blood.

Sergei's grip tightened as he trailed hungry kisses down your neck. You whimpered, both from pain and pleasure, as he bit down on your sensitive skin. His powerful body pressed you into the mattress, leaving you breathless.

"Mine," he growled possessively, one hand moving to encircle your throat. He applied just enough pressure to make you lightheaded as he roughly entered you. You cried out, overwhelmed by the intensity.

Sergei set a punishing pace, driven by pure animal instinct. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise as he took you relentlessly. You surrendered completely to his domination, lost in a haze of pain and ecstasy.

As the intensity built, Sergei's grip on your throat tightened. Your vision began to blur at the edges as he pounded into you mercilessly. Just when you thought you might pass out, he released your neck, allowing you to gasp for air. The rush of oxygen heightened every sensation.

"That's it, take all of me," he snarled, his voice rough with lust.

You cried out as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. Sergei growled in approval, angling his hips to strike it again and again. The coil of pleasure inside you wound impossibly tight.

"Sergei, please!" you begged, not even sure what you were asking for.

He leaned down, his teeth grazing your ear. "Come for me," he commanded.

With a strangled cry, you obeyed. Waves of intense pleasure crashed over you as your body convulsed beneath him. Sergei groaned deeply, your release triggering his own. He thrust into you a final time, holding you tightly as he spilled himself inside you.

For several long moments, the only sound was your shared ragged breathing. As the haze of passion faded, Sergei's eyes widened in horror at the marks covering your body. Bruises were already forming on your wrists and hips, and angry red bite marks dotted your neck and shoulders.

"Oh god," he choked out, scrambling off of you. "I'm so sorry. I... I couldn't control myself. I told you I would hurt you."

You winced slightly as you sat up, your body aching pleasantly. "Sergei, it's okay," you said softly, reaching for him. "I wanted it. All of it."

He shook his head, unable to meet your eyes. "No, it's not okay. I... I'm a monster. I should never have let this happen."

You reached out to gently touch Sergei's arm. "You're not a monster," you said softly. "Please don't say that."

He flinched away from your touch, his eyes filled with self-loathing. "Look at what I've done to you," he said hoarsely. "I could have seriously hurt you. I did hurt you."

"But you didn't seriously hurt me," you insisted. "I'm okay, Sergei. More than okay."

He finally met your gaze, searching your face. "How can you say that? After what I just did..."

You took his hand, placing it over your heart. "Feel that? My heart is racing, but not from fear. I've never felt more alive." You leaned in closer. "Or more wanted."

Sergei's expression softened slightly. "You truly aren't afraid of me?"

"Never," you breathed.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you as if you were made of glass. "I don't deserve you," he murmured into your hair.

You nestled against his chest, feeling safe and cherished. "Let me be the judge of that."

Sergei's arms tightened around you, his body still tense with lingering guilt. You nuzzled against his chest, breathing in his musky scent.

"I meant what I said," you murmured. "I trust you completely."

He sighed, running his fingers gently through your hair. "Your trust in me is misplaced. I lost control. My instincts took over and I..." he trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

You tilted your head up to meet his troubled gaze. "And you gave me exactly what I needed," you said softly. "What we both needed."

Sergei's brow furrowed. "How can you say that? I was far too rough. I could have seriously harmed you."

"But you didn't," you insisted. "You pushed me to my limits, yes. But you didn't go beyond them." You traced your fingers along his stubbled jaw. "That's the difference between you and a true monster, Sergei. Even in the throes of passion, some part of you was still aware. Still in control."

He caught your hand, pressing a tender kiss to your palm. "I wish I could believe that," he said quietly.

You shifted in his arms, wincing slightly as your sore muscles protested. Sergei immediately loosened his hold, concern etched on his features.

"See?" you said with a soft smile. "You're still being gentle with me now. Your instincts aren't solely about violence or domination."

Sergei's expression remained troubled, but some of the tension left his body. He carefully traced the marks he'd left on your skin, his touch feather-light.

"I never want to hurt you," he murmured.

You caught his hand, bringing it to your lips. "Then don't push me away," you said. "That's the only thing that could truly hurt me."

Sergei's eyes softened as he gazed at you. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he whispered.

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. "You were simply yourself," you replied. "That's all I ever wanted."

As Sergei held you close, his guilt began to fade. In its place, a fierce protectiveness took root. He may not fully trust himself, but he would do everything in his power to keep you safe - even from his own darker nature.

[samcvrpenters]

word count: 1.4k+

pairing: vampire! infatuated! dark! caitlyn kiramman x fem! human! reader

summary: centuries old caitlyn kiramman becomes obsessed with everything about you, leading her to damage the village you reside in and all of your relationships to get you

warnings: stalking, reader has a relationship with a man (at first), murder, burning alive, she terrorises the village to get her hands on you, kind of like nosferatu but not exactly the same, set in the past, fire doesn’t affect vampires, idk i have mixed feelings about this

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her gaze pierces through the iced window of the room that she had found herself in. she had kicked out the previous owner of the room, muttering something incomprehensible about needing the room to birdwatch or something, and had found that the old woman offered no resistance and allowed her the room with no trouble.

of course, it was suspicious enough that an individual that had hardly been seen of in the town had suddenly acted aggressively towards one of the elderly, yet it was worse when all the navy haired woman seemed to stare out of the window.

nobody would blame her and would perhaps justify her actions if they knew why. in her opinion, she was free to do whatever she wanted to and being able to stare at the cottage opposite of her was a good enough reason to her.

she’s waiting. she’s been waiting for months on end. for you.

you’ve been on a trip for ages, and she had been so tempted to just go out and find you, just so she could keep an eye on you, but she somehow managed to restrain her primal instincts and now she just felt so lucky to see you hauling bags out of that carriage.

she wishes she could run down the stairs and help you with that. in fact, she would. but the carriage driver offers a smile in your direction and helps you with your bags, placing them down on your doorstep before bidding you farewell.

she can see every facial feature from where she is. the slight flush of your cheeks because of the cold. the small particles of snow that are scattered on your body and the sleeves of your clothes. she can see how it has melted— only slightly— in your hair, which makes your scalp a little damp.

however, her expression turns into a scowl when she sees the village’s rather eligible bachelor, one of the men with expensive looking clothes and a bouquet of white roses, rushing towards you and almost sweeping you off your feet as he lets them rest in your hands. she can hear the conversation from up in the room. she can hear the surprised laugh and she can almost hear your joy.

“my love,” the man begins, leaning forward as he holds your back, your feet hardly touching the ground because of the way he scooped you up. “how was your trip? satisfactory, i assume?”

“rather so.” your response is sweet. your voice is sweet. everything about you is sweet. caitlyn would do anything to get a taste of you and your blood.

why can’t you be hers already? why can’t you wrap your arms around her neck and tell her that she’s everything you want and adore? why can’t she be the one to sweep you off of your feet and not let go? why is she not the one to do all of those things that she deserves to do?

she could treat you so well. but it’s not like you know her. no, not really. she doesn’t know if you’ve seen her before. but what if you’ve dreamt of someone like her? what if you daydream of some supernatural being to come and save you?

caitlyn turns ever so slightly, forcing her eyes away from the scene from outside, not wanting her mind to distort and her sanity to slip away at the sight.

she fears it may be too late.

night soon comes around, and caitlyn finds herself in the same place. she hasn’t left. not really. she paced around the room, ideas running in and out of her head. they were unstoppable— a force to be reckoned with. she wants to take the candle illuminating the room and shove the wax against the man. watch him scream at the heat. finish him off with a quick bite.

unless he wasn’t worth her mercy. she could drain him. she could bite, leave him, let him bleed out. but he could get help. he could survive.

and she obviously doesn’t want that. she wants him out of the way. if he ends up in some cottage hospital with burns and bite marks, all you’re going to do is get more cautious. you’ll be paranoid, and you’ll worry that some monster was getting too close to you, and you’d demand his protection. and of course he would be willing to accept.

her gaze flickers back towards the window, and she immediately notices that he’s out there. her instincts were right. he’s left. he’s leaving you vulnerable. she doesn’t want you vulnerable.

not to other people, anyway. she doesn’t mind if you’re a little weak for her.

she’s stumbling out of the room, barely closing the door behind her. it’s not like she needs to, she has no belongings and she doesn’t really mind if anyone takes it. because now she has to get to work and you’re the reason why.

the sky is clear— a blue that shows winter is only getting colder. the village is silent. night had passed by in a flash, yet nobody knew anything was different. not until they saw it— the flickering embers in the distance. the way the smoke curled up into what was meant to be a fresh, clean sky.

it seemed it had only just been lit, because it would have been covering the sky in the thick cloud of smoke if it had been set aflame for longer.

and so he hangs, hands tied to wood with flimsy rope, it barely gripping onto the sticks that were positioned upwards. the so-called love of your life was being burnt to a crisp because of some obsession a vampire had with you.

water from the stream had been gathered by the braver people, scooped up in buckets and thrown onto what seemed to be a classic ‘burnt at the stake’ movement, trying to drench the fire and get him down from what seemed to be a rather unpredicted and unfortunate demise.

of course you were upset. he gifted you flowers! he was the one who made you blush. he took care of you. and now he’s gone, and nobody knows why.

rumours began to circulate. bits and pieces of gossip that were strung together to create a lie.

that some extraterrestrial creature had found their village and was creating hell upon it. that they were being prepared for invasion. it was a sick idea, really. one that wasn’t true. but it was the only thing that people could actually string together.

and the worst thing was that it kept happening.

the more rich people of the village started burning, too. sometimes they were in groups. sometimes it was made into a big spectacle. sometimes it was a more lazy act— just throwing people onto what was basically a big fireplace and letting them burn.

of course you’re afraid. you don’t want to go out. you lock yourself in your house, telling yourself again and again that it was secure enough to have that fate put upon you.

but caitlyn would never do that to you.

she’s just getting rid of everyone that cared about you so that you wouldn’t exactly mind it when she dragged you with her.

“it’s a shame you’re so likeable.” caitlyn mutters to herself as she drags a body on the floor. she’s strong, so it doesn’t really tire her out. but of course her thoughts are on you. they’re constantly on you. “so many people have to suffer.”

and she piles it up, on top of another couple of bodies, which were already in flames.

fate is cruel. everyone knows that. the poems write that. the novels write that. everything points towards the fact that fate is cruel. and it truly is, because why does this have to be the one day that you walk out to go and get bread?

why do you have to meet her like this? covered in blood and the fire not affecting her?

she sees the horror upon your face. she wishes she could take it away. but she’s unable to, because you turn and you run. you waste no time, dropping everything in your hands and trying to head to a public place, somewhere anyone would be.

your movements are frantic. she doesn’t care. she will have to get you now. there’s no argument about it. she has no choice.

it just depends on whether you’ll accept it or not.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 3

Word Count: 9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, mentions of suicide, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake @letgobro @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leialmela

AN: It seems like these chapters just get longer and longer xDD. Hope yall don't mind! This is also on my A03 if you feel its too long to read on tumblr. Please heed the warnings and don't read this if you're sensitive to the subjects. Also! Reader has no specific skin tone, I just use images I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you want! If you want to be added to the taglist please let me know, also please make sure your tumblr settings allow you to be tagged! <3

"I hate you," you whisper, your voice barely audible, muffled by his chest. The words come out broken, hollow, lacking the fire they once carried. But it’s all you can manage, the last flicker of resistance in a sea of overwhelming fatigue. "I know," Sylus replies, his voice soft and almost indulgent, as though your hatred is just another part of the game to him. He holds you tighter, his hand continuing to caress your hair. "But it doesn’t matter, sweetie. You’re mine now. Hate me all you want, I’ll still take care of you."

Read Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 4

You ease yourself into the bath, the water just a touch hotter than you'd like, enveloping your skin in a near-burning sensation. It’s almost too much, the heat prickling at your body, but you stay still, letting the warmth slowly settle around you. Steam rises in soft, curling tendrils, and you can feel the tension in your muscles begin to release, even as the heat clings to you, almost suffocating in its intensity. Your breath catches for a moment, but soon you adjust, your body reluctantly surrendering to the soothing, yet overwhelming, embrace of the water.

Despite the searing heat, you slowly begin to lose yourself in thought. When was the last time you'd allowed yourself to truly relax since this whole nightmare began? As much as you hated to admit it, the water felt good—comforting even—offering a fleeting sense of escape. For once, your worries seemed to dissolve into the bathwater, sinking like stones to the bottom. No thoughts of impending doom, no fear lurking at the edges of your mind. Just you, the gentle bubbles, and the soft, soothing scent of cherry shampoo drifting in the steam.

And no Sylus.

Your face twists into a scowl at the very thought of him. No. This was supposed to be your time, a moment for yourself. You can’t let him invade this too. Don’t think about him, you urge yourself. Focus on the bath. Focus on the warmth. Desperate to banish any trace of him from your mind, you sink lower into the water, leaving only your nose and eyes above the surface, your breath shallow as you try to disappear beneath the heat.

But it doesn’t work. His presence lingers in your thoughts like a shadow you can't shake—the memory of his touch, his voice, the sickly sweet promises he’d whisper after those twisted "sessions."

Before you can stop yourself, you plunge fully beneath the water, submerging yourself entirely, as if you could drown his memory along with your thoughts—perhaps even drown yourself if that’s what it takes to make it all stop.

The deafening roar of water fills your ears, muffling the world around you. Instinct keeps your breath held tight, but a dark thought persisted—what would happen if you really… let go? Sylus has made it clear he has no intention of releasing you. Maybe this, right here, is your only way out.

A tightness coils in your chest as your body begins its primal fight for air. The burning need to breathe claws at your lungs, but there’s no panic—just a calm, almost eerie resolve. Slowly, deliberately, you part your lips, ready to let the water rush in. This is it. Your escape. The only freedom Sylus can't take from you.

Death.

You wonder what kind of face he would make when he would discover your barely warm body bobbing in the bath water, having escaped the clutches of his captivity in a way he could not undo.

You wished you'd be around to see it.

Just as the warm sensation of water touches the back of your throat, a sharp tingling prickles across your scalp. A second later, you're violently yanked from the water, gasping for air as the bathroom floods back into focus. You blink wildly, clearing the stinging bathwater from your eyes, only to be met by a familiar face.

"Why willingly subject yourself to waterboarding?" Sylus asks, his tone laced with disappointment, as if you’ve failed some unspoken test. You glare at him angrily, grabbing at the grip he has on your hair.

"Don't tell me I'll have to supervise your baths too?"

"Let go!" you shout, clawing at his fingers, desperately trying to free your hair from his grip. To your surprise, he does, and you quickly retreat to the far edge of the tub, pressing your back against the cool porcelain. Water clings to your skin, dripping down your face as you try to steady your breath. His eyes roam over you, calculating, as if taking in every detail. Suddenly self conscious of your naked figure, you hug your arms around your breasts. You notice, for the first time, the shopping bags dangling from his other hand. He sets them down with unnerving care before casually crossing the bathroom to grab a stool.

You watch warily as he pulls it up beside the tub, seating himself directly across from you, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I wasn’t trying to kill myself," you snap, your voice sharp as you avoid his gaze. "I’d rather not give you more reasons to watch me."

Sylus chuckles softly, clearly unfazed by your defiance, as if your words barely register. Without another glance at you, he begins rummaging through the bags at his feet, his movements methodical and unhurried. After a moment, he pulls out a small white box, and you narrow your eyes, watching as he carefully peels away the packaging. Something small and silver tumbles into his palm, catching the light.

"Nail clippers?" you ask, disbelief creeping into your voice.

He nods, then casually tugs down the collar of his shirt, revealing the jagged red scratches you had raked across his skin during the last time he had forced himself on you. The sight of them makes you smirk—small, uneven lines, but they’re there, vivid reminders that you hadn’t gone down without a fight. You can almost feel your nails digging into him again, that brief moment of satisfaction before he'd pinned you, your resistance crushed beneath his weight.

"The first step in taming an angry kitten," he muses with a grin, "is taking her claws." His voice is disturbingly light, almost playful, as he reaches out toward you.

You hesitate, staring at his outstretched hand. Your instincts scream at you to pull away, but what choice do you have? Reluctantly, you slip your hand into his, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as he curls his hand around yours. His grip is firm but not harsh, his skin warm against your own, the casual dominance in his touch making your stomach churn. He watches you closely, his gaze never wavering, as if daring you to resist.

"Isn't that called declawing?" you mutter bitterly, trying to keep your voice steady as you avert your eyes. You watch instead as he presses the clippers to your nails, the metal cool against your fingertips. The soft snip of each nail being cut echoes in the quiet bathroom, a steady, unnerving rhythm.

Sylus smirks, tilting his head as he replies, "Oh?" His tone is amused, almost mocking. "Would you rather I pull them out instead?" His voice remains calm, and you're unsure if he's joking or not.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. Each clip of the clippers feels more invasive than the last, stripping away not just your nails, but a part of yourself—your small weapon of defiance.

It struck you as odd. Just yesterday, the two of you had been locked in a bitter struggle on his bed—panting, groaning, bodies slick with sweat, fighting for entirely different goals. For him, dominance. For you, escape. And now here he was, calmly and methodically clipping your nails, the act almost tender, as if you were lovers sharing an intimate moment.

Neither of you speaks until he finishes. Sylus turns your hands over slowly, inspecting his work with the same detached precision, ensuring he’s clipped them short enough. Finally satisfied, he releases your hand, letting the clippers fall from his grasp with a metallic clatter against the bathroom floor. You frown down at the newly cut length of your nails, feeling stripped of yet another small defense.

Before you can dwell on the thought, he leans over the bath, his face inching dangerously close to yours. There's hardly any space to retreat, and you’re forced to face him, your breath catching in your throat as his presence looms over you. His lips find the soft skin of your neck, leaving light, deliberate kisses that send a shiver of tension through your body.

Sensing your stiffness, he chuckles under his breath, the sound low and familiar, before cupping your face in his hand. His fingers are firm, cradling your jaw with unnerving gentleness.

"Relax..." he whispers, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, almost teasing kiss. "I won’t do anything now. Didn’t I promise you a break?"

His words echo in your mind, bringing with them the memory of his promise from this morning. Instead of threatening you for obedience, he’d dangled a twisted form of kindness—a reward, rather than punishment. A carrot, not a stick.

Promising that if you didn't put up a fight this morning, that would be the only time he would be inside you that day.

You would have been an idiot to refuse such an offer. Almost daily assaults had left you feeling sore and exhausted. Sure, you knew he was offering you crumbs of kindness as a way to train you into obedience but you were much stronger than that. He wouldn't break you so easily.

You simply hummed and nodded in agreement, giving him a small kiss back. You had come to learn that the quicker you returned his affection, the sooner he would relent. It worked, as he almost immediately smiled and leaned back on the stool. He suddenly reaches is arm up and looks at the watch on his wrist.

"Come on out. I bought a few things for you, sweetie," Sylus says softly, his eyes drifting back to your still-exposed body. You tense instinctively, sinking lower into the water as if it could shield you from his gaze. His words may be gentle, but the weight of his attention feels oppressive, suffocating.

Sensing your discomfort, he lets out a quiet laugh. "I’ll turn around. Just don’t try drowning yourself again," he chuckles, as though reading your mind. True to his word, he turns his back to you, but the tension in the room remains thick, your heart pounding in your chest. You wish, more than anything, that he would just leave, give you a moment of peace, but you know better than to ask.

With a deep breath, you grip the edge of the tub, steadying yourself as you rise from the water. The cool air hits your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the bath, and your wet feet make a quiet slap against the cold tile as you step out. Quickly, you reach for the white towel resting on the sink and begin to dry yourself, moving with an urgency spurred by your skepticism that Sylus will stay turned away for long.

As you dry yourself, you notice something unexpected—when you reach between your legs, your hand freezes. A slight gasp escapes your lips as you spot it: crimson streaks, trailing down your inner thigh. For a moment, you stare in disbelief, watching the droplets of blood slowly slide down your leg. Then, reality hits, and you frantically press the towel to your skin, catching the blood before it can reach the floor.

"What's wrong?" Sylus asks, his voice suddenly alert as he turns his head, catching your gasp. His eyes lock onto the bloodstained towel, his posture shifting as he steps toward you, concern etched across his face. "Are you hurt?"

You swallow hard, a strange mixture of emotions flooding through you. "My period..." you say softly, almost under your breath, but then, a smile creeps onto your face, one you can't suppress.

Relief crashes over you like a tidal wave. You’ve never been so happy to see blood in your life.

You aren’t pregnant. You aren’t pregnant.

Your mind races, the implications still sinking in. It’s not over, but for now, you’re safe. Your hands shake as you pull your gaze from the red stain, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts. Then, a creeping awareness settles in—you aren’t alone.

Sylus is standing behind you. You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of his silence pressing against you. You quickly wipe the smile from your face, the relief vanishing as you turn slowly to face him.

"My period... it’s just my period," you whisper, your voice trembling, barely able to hold steady. You try to read his face, desperate for any sign of how he’s reacting. His expression shifts—concern morphs into a frown, and then... nothing. His face goes blank, like a mask slipping into place. You search frantically for any flicker of emotion—anger, frustration, relief—but it’s as though he’s walled himself off, unreachable.

Was he angry? Disappointed? You couldn’t tell, and that terrified you. Your stomach twists in knots, anxiety bubbling up again. The relief you felt moments ago is quickly replaced by a new dread. One disaster averted, but what now?

"Right," he says calmly, his voice devoid of any warmth, as though this is just another mundane detail in his well-controlled world. He reaches for the bloodied towel in your hands, his movements smooth and deliberate, like nothing about this situation surprises him. "Don’t worry about this. Just finish dressing."

He leans down, pulling open the cabinet under the sink. Your heart skips a beat as he sets several packages of pads and tampons on the counter, each one the exact brand and size you regularly use. A cold chill runs down your spine. How long had he been watching you before bringing you here? How much does he already know? The intimate knowledge of your life, right down to your feminine products, feels like another layer of control—a calculated invasion disguised as care.

"If you don’t want to use these, I’ll have Luke and Kieran get different ones," he says, his tone disturbingly casual, as though this conversation is perfectly normal.

Your throat tightens. "No, these are fine... thank you."

He gives a slight nod, but it’s mechanical, his face still unreadable, and he turns to leave, collecting the rest of your discarded clothes from the bathroom floor. His steps are quick but unhurried, a man always in control of his actions, of everything around him. He leaves you standing there, shaken, and once again, you feel small under his gaze. Whatever he’s feeling, he’s locked it away. You’ll never know unless he decides to let you.

The door closes behind him, and you’re left alone with your thoughts—and the creeping realization that you may never be truly alone again.

After gathering enough courage to leave the bathroom, you cautiously crack open the bedroom door. You peer out, spotting Sylus lounging on the leather sofa, his eyes glued to his phone. His posture is relaxed, casual, as if nothing unusual has happened. But the moment you step into the room, he looks up—his gaze sharp, as though he’s been waiting for you.

"Took you long enough," he says, a smirk playing at his lips, amusement evident in his voice. The cold, distant air he had in the bathroom has vanished, replaced with the easy confidence you’ve come to expect. He’s back to being the Sylus you recognize, the one who shifts between charm and control like flipping a switch.

You force a smile, trying to match his casual tone. "Yeah, well, drowning myself was starting to seem tempting again," you quip, keeping your voice light. You move past him toward the bed, wanting nothing more than to put some distance between the two of you. But before you can get far, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist with a gentle but firm grip. The sudden contact sends a jolt through you, freezing you in place.

His touch isn’t rough, but there’s something in it that holds you captive, a subtle reminder of the power he holds. You glance down at his hand, then back up at him, unsure whether to pull away or let him guide the moment.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, his voice soft now, almost concerned. But the question hangs in the air, heavier than it should be.

"Oh! Uh... yeah?" you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. As much as you wanted to ignore him and crawl into bed, the thought of food was too tempting to resist. Sylus stands, his grip on your wrist still firm, tugging you toward the bedroom door.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him press his finger against the scanner beside the door. Why is he letting you this close? The lock hums and with a soft click, the door swings open. You stare at it, a thousand questions racing through your mind.

He turns back to you, his playful demeanor from moments ago evaporating in an instant, replaced by something darker, colder. His eyes lock onto yours, and suddenly, the atmosphere feels suffocating.

"Behave," he says, his voice low and serious. "Don’t wander off without me, and if you try anything... you won’t leave this room or the bed for weeks. Understood?"

The threat in his words chills you to your core. You're frozen in place, trying to process what’s happening. Is this real? Are you dreaming? Why now? The door stands open before you, a symbol of freedom, but it feels more like a trap, a carefully laid test. The air between you crackles with tension. One wrong move, and you know there will be consequences.

You shake your head quickly, pushing aside any fleeting thoughts of rebellion. Not now. Not yet.

Trying to break the moment, you turn your gaze toward the unopened bags still sitting in the corner of the room. "Didn’t you say you bought me some stuff?" you ask, your voice tentative, eyes flicking toward the bags. "I’m curious about what’s in them."

Anything to steer the conversation away from the potential threat.

"It’s okay, you can look at them later" Sylus says, his voice smooth and reassuring as he swings the door open wider. The invitation seems casual, but there’s something unsettling about how easily he offers it. His hand loosens slightly around your wrist, though he doesn’t let go completely, as if to remind you that the freedom he's offering has limits.

Your eyes flick from the open door to his face, searching for any hint of what’s really going on. His expression is calm, almost too calm, as if he’s in complete control of the situation, confident that you won’t dare make a move without his permission. The open door, the promise of something beyond this room, suddenly feels less like an escape and more like a stage he's set for you.

Every instinct in your body screams that this isn’t as simple as it looks. It’s a test, another subtle power play to remind you where you stand. The reassurance in his voice only deepens the pit in your stomach. He’s letting you out, but on his terms.

You force a nod, trying to swallow the growing unease. "Okay," you murmur, though the word feels foreign in your mouth, like you’re agreeing to something you don’t fully understand.

Sylus smiles—a small, practiced curve of his lips, but his eyes remain unreadable. He steps aside, making room for you to pass, yet the tension in the air doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, wrapping itself around you like a noose tightening with every step you take toward the door.

As you step cautiously past the threshold, the hallway beyond the door reveals a world of striking opulence. The air feels cooler, heavier, carrying the scent of leather and polished stone. Beneath your bare feet, the floor is a dark, sleek tile, almost black, with a high gloss that catches the low light and reflects distorted, shadowy images of the surroundings. Each step echoes slightly, the subtle tap of your feet magnified by the smooth surface, giving the space a cavernous, eerie quality.

The walls are a deep, charcoal black, lined with intricately carved molding that runs up to the high, coffered ceilings. Elegant sconces along the walls cast pools of soft, amber light, their glow bouncing off the glossy tiles, adding an extra layer of depth to the room. The lighting is deliberately dim, creating an atmosphere of perpetual twilight, where shadows stretch and warp across the dark floor, leaving certain corners cloaked in deeper darkness.

To your left, a grand staircase spirals down, its wrought iron railings twisting in elaborate, almost gothic designs. The banister is polished ebony, gleaming faintly in the soft light, while the steps are lined with a deep, crimson runner that stands in stark contrast to the black tiles, offering a rare touch of softness amid the cold, hard surfaces. The staircase seems to descend endlessly, vanishing into shadows that hint at more hidden secrets below.

Expensive art lines the walls—large, dark oil paintings that seem impossibly old, their subjects watching with melancholy or judgment. The frames are thick, gilded with gold, though their luster is muted with age. Between the paintings, mirrors with heavy, ornate frames reflect fragments of the space, but never enough to give you a full view—only glimpses, distorted by the interplay of light and shadow.

Despite the mansions undeniable beauty, there’s a coldness that seeps through the dark tile, a chill that seems to rise from the floor itself. Every detail, from the smooth tile to the velvet drapes, feels curated and perfect, yet it lacks any warmth or comfort. The space feels like a cage disguised in luxury—beautiful, yes, but suffocating in its grandiosity.

"Kitchen is downstairs" Sylus says, nodding in their direction. You quietly make a mental note of everything as you descend. This is your chance to map out the house, make a potential escape route. Even if Sylus was close behind, you shouldn't waste this opportunity gawking at everything. So he's filthy rich, so what?

Your eyes flit from the deep shadows that pool in the corners of the hall to the heavy drapery that conceals what’s outside. Every window, every door, every hallway could be a potential escape route if you ever get the chance. You tell yourself to remember where they are, how the house is laid out. A plan begins to form in the back of your mind, hazy but determined. One way or another, you’ll need to know this place inside and out.

Each step down the staircase feels like a test, a countdown of sorts. The further you go, the deeper you descend into Sylus’s world. The weight of his gaze makes it hard to breathe, but you know you can’t falter now. You keep your pace steady, your face expressionless, pretending that this is just a simple walk down the stairs, but inside, your thoughts race. Every second counts, and you’re not going to let this moment slip away unnoticed.

The rich, savory smell of roasted chicken invades your senses as you reach the last step, filling the air with an unexpected warmth. The faint crackle of fire and the clattering of pans echo from the nearby kitchen, the sounds weaving into the dark, quiet luxury of the house. It’s a stark contrast to the cold, empty grandeur surrounding you—this small slice of normalcy, of life. But the moment feels fragile, like it could break at any second.

Your foot barely touches the last step when Sylus’s hands clamp down on your shoulders. The sudden contact sends a jolt of fear through your body, your heart lurching as you instinctively jump.

"You’re jumpy," he says softly, his voice smooth but carrying a hint of amusement, as though your fear is entertaining to him. The warmth of the kitchen clashes with the cold tension between you, and the contrast makes the moment feel surreal.

Sylus guides you away from the comforting noises of the kitchen, leading you into a room that exudes the same dark, expensive elegance as the rest of the house. The atmosphere shifts as you step into the space—less intimate, more like a showpiece designed to impress rather than to live in. It’s reminiscent of a living room, though everything feels just a little too perfect, too polished.

Your eyes widen as a massive flatscreen TV comes into view, its size nearly absurd against the backdrop of rich, dark wood paneling and plush furniture. "Huh? I didn’t know they made TVs this big..." you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The screen is so large, it feels more like a home theater than a living room—something you’d only expect to see in movies or magazines. While the Hunter's Association paid you well, this level of luxury was foreign to you, something you'd never even considered owning.

Sylus follows your gaze to the screen, his expression unreadable. "Is something wrong with it? Too big? I can have it downsized," he offers casually, though his eyes search yours intently, as if he’s genuinely concerned about your comfort. His suggestion catches you off guard, and you cock your head in confusion. Why would he even suggest such a thing?

"No! It’s fine," you say quickly, shaking your head, still baffled by his willingness to adjust even something so extravagant for you. "I’ve just never seen one this huge."

Sylus nods, seemingly satisfied with your response, and motions toward the sofa. "Sit," he says, his tone soft but commanding. The sofa is deep, covered in smooth leather, and it practically swallows you when you lower yourself onto it.

He wastes no time sitting next to you, checking his watch again. You fiddle nervously beside him, feeling out of place in such a space. First he lets you out of his room for the very first time in weeks, and now the both of you are sitting on the couch casually as if this was routine.

You desperately wished you could tell what he was thinking.

"Chef should be done in a few minutes" Sylus said, interrupting your anxious thoughts. He tenderly intertwines his fingers with yours, lifting your hand up to press a soft kiss against your knuckles. His gaze is unwavering as he looks at you.

Your gaze shifts, briefly breaking away from his piercing eyes, and lands on a shelf in the corner of the room behind him. Something there catches your attention—an old, meticulously cared-for record player. Its polished surface gleams in the low light, a relic of a different time. It’s beautiful in its simplicity, standing out against the modern opulence surrounding it. You wonder briefly about its significance. Why something so old in a house filled with the latest luxuries?

But the question fades as Sylus’s thumb gently strokes your hand, pulling your focus back to him. He's being tender right now, and feeling bold, you start talking.

"I didn't think the leader of Onychinus would live in such a grand place" you say calmly, eyeing his reaction. Instead of anger of irritation, he simply smiles as if he already realized you had figured out his identity.

"Oh? What were you thinking then?"

"Well...I figured you would be in hiding" you say plainly, gritting your teeth a bit. "This place is pretty easy to spot. Lots of hiding places too."

Sylus chuckles as if you just told him something funny. "Sweetie nothing gets in or out of this place without me knowing, that's hardly a worry"

You mentally curse yourself. Of course he has cameras. Why wouldn’t he? A man like Sylus would never leave anything to chance, especially not in a place like this. Escaping wouldn’t be as simple as memorizing the layout of the house. You’d have to make it past the cameras, the eyes constantly watching, recording every move. The realization makes your stomach sink. Even your thoughts of escape feel smaller, less attainable now.

The air grows thick with the scent of steam and roasted chicken as a figure appears around the corner. The chef, an older man with deep-set lines in his face, moves with quiet precision. He says nothing as he places an exquisite spread of chicken and side dishes on the table in front of you. Everything looks impossibly perfect—the golden-brown skin of the chicken, the vibrant vegetables, the delicately arranged plates. It’s the kind of meal you might see in a restaurant you could never afford, yet it feels out of place here, too refined and elegant for the suffocating tension in the room.

The chef doesn’t speak, not a word, but he gives a small nod in Sylus’s direction before quietly retreating from the room. His presence, brief and silent, only adds to the strange, controlled atmosphere. You find yourself wondering if he knows—if he’s aware of the twisted dynamic at play here—or if he’s just another piece of the puzzle that makes up Sylus’s meticulously crafted world.

For a moment, you think about the cameras again. They’re watching, just like Sylus. Always watching. You force yourself to focus on the meal, trying not to give away the panic bubbling beneath your calm exterior. You smile faintly, but your mind races with the next hurdle: it’s not just about getting out of the house, it’s about getting out unseen.

Sylus glances at you, his hand still resting on yours. "Eat," he says softly, his voice smooth but with an edge of command beneath it. The invitation sounds pleasant, but you know better. This isn’t a request.

You nod, swallowing hard, a knot of anxiety tightening in your throat. You start with the green beans, methodically chewing, your mind already strategizing. Green beans—protein and energy for running. Every bite, every move from here on out has to be deliberate, with purpose. Escaping this place was never going to be easy, but now it feels even more impossible. Still, you cling to the idea that preparation is key. You’ll need your strength for when the time comes.

As you chew, you glance at Sylus and notice something unsettling. He hasn’t touched his plate. His gaze is fixed on you, watching, as if he’s waiting for something. The unease that had been simmering beneath the surface now starts to bubble up. You meet his eyes, silently questioning why he’s not eating. He smiles tenderly.

"I’ll be tracking your ovulation window from now on," he says casually, as though he were discussing the weather. "Since you’ve gotten your first period since staying here, now would be a good time to start."

The words hit you like ice water, chilling you to the core. You freeze, your fork halting mid-air as the meaning of what he said sinks in. The casualness of his tone, the way he drops such a personal, invasive statement into the conversation as if it’s nothing, leaves you reeling. He’s watching you, gauging your reaction, his smile lingering in the same unsettling way.

The room, with all its lavish furnishings and exquisite food, suddenly feels more like a cage than ever. It’s not just about being physically trapped anymore—it’s the knowledge that even your body is under his control. He’s tracking you, monitoring the most intimate parts of your life. Any illusion of autonomy shatters, leaving only the cold reality of how deeply he intends to dominate every aspect of your existence.

You force yourself to swallow the bite in your mouth, your heart pounding in your chest. Stay calm, you tell yourself. Don’t react. Not yet.

"That won't guarantee a baby" you retort, trying your best to hide a scowl. You know you’re pushing him, testing the boundaries, but the words slip out before you can stop them. The shift in his expression is immediate. The amusement that once danced in his eyes evaporates, replaced by something darker, more calculated.

His face contorts into a deep frown, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he processes your defiance. For a moment, he says nothing, and the air between you feels charged, thick with unspoken tension.

"Maybe not the first time," he starts slowly, his voice dropping a notch, finally picking up his own fork. His tone is calm, but there’s a cold edge to it, like he’s already several steps ahead in whatever twisted game he’s playing. "Or the second time."

He takes a deliberate bite, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, as if daring you to interrupt. After what feels like an eternity, he swallows and leans back against the sofa, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.

"But it will eventually."

The words hang in the air, a dark promise. His voice is measured, controlled, but beneath the surface, you can feel the underlying threat. Sylus isn’t just talking about biology; he’s making it clear that he will keep trying, over and over again, until he gets what he wants. The casual way he says it, as if it’s inevitable, sends a shiver down your spine.

The words settle in your mind, their dark implications unfurling like a slow, creeping poison. You can’t take it anymore—the calm, the control, the endless power games. Something inside you snaps. The fear, the careful restraint you’ve held onto for weeks, crumbles all at once. Before you can stop yourself, you slam your fist down onto the table, the sharp clatter of silverware echoing through the room.

"Do you even hear yourself?" you shout, your voice shaking with rage. "You think this is some sick game? You can’t just… you can’t control my body like that! You can't just—" Your voice breaks, the dam of emotions bursting wide open. "You think you can force this? That you can just keep me here, like I’m some… some breeding stock? Like I don’t have a say in my own life?"

Your breath comes in short, ragged bursts, your heart pounding in your ears. The words are spilling out now, unstoppable. "You think tracking my ovulation, making your plans—doing whatever sick family fantasy thing you have in mind—is going to work? You have no right! No right to decide what happens to me, no right to decide my future for your delusions!"

Sylus's fork clatters back onto his plate, his face blank at first, but the tension in the air is palpable. He doesn’t interrupt, just watches as you lose control, like he’s waiting for something—maybe for you to exhaust yourself, maybe for you to break down entirely. But you don’t care anymore.

"You’re insane!" you spit, your voice cracking as the emotions surge, unstoppable now. "This whole place—this whole twisted world of yours—it’s a prison. Do you even get that? It doesn’t matter how much money you throw at it, how many things you control, it’ll never make you anything but a monster!"

The words hang in the air, trembling with the rawness of your outburst. Your chest heaves, your hands shaking uncontrollably. You’re on the verge of tears, but you refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not now.

"I'll kill myself before any child of yours ever calls me mom" you say, your words ringing through the still and quiet mansion.

Sylus’s expression shifts, the mask of calm slipping ever so slightly. His eyes narrow, and his lips press into a thin, tight line. For a moment, the room feels like it’s holding its breath. Then, as if something in him cracks open, he smiles. A slow, unnerving grin spreads across his face, the darkness in his eyes momentarily replaced by something even more disturbing—amusement.

You stare at him, dumbfounded, trying to process the sudden shift in his demeanor. The anger you had expected never comes. Instead, a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, growing louder, filling the room with an eerie echo that makes your skin crawl.

"Are you done with your little tantrum, kitten?" he coos, his voice dripping with condescension. The way he says "kitten" sends a shiver down your spine, the pet name laced with eerie sweetness. Without warning, he reaches out, gripping your wrist with an unsettling gentleness, pulling you toward him with ease.

Before you can react, he yanks you down onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. Your body stiffens, the weight of him beneath you both unsettling and humiliating. You feel trapped, like prey ensnared in a hunter’s grasp. His arm wraps around your waist, locking you in place. You try to pull away, but his hold is unyielding.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, his voice soft but taunting as his fingers trail lazily up your back, "you’re just a little ball of anger, aren’t you?" His smile widens as his hand slides into your hair, gently tugging it, controlling even the smallest movements. You feel the tension in your body spike, but any resistance you try to muster is immediately swallowed by the cold reality of his control.

"You know," he continues, his tone light, almost playful, as if you weren’t just screaming at him moments ago, "I could let you keep fighting me. Let you wear yourself out like a kitten clawing at something it can’t catch." He chuckles again, his fingers tightening in your hair, forcing your head to tilt just enough so that you have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark and unreadable, lock onto yours with a frightening intensity.

"But we both know how this ends, don’t we?" he whispers, his voice dropping into something dangerously low. His smile never fades, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens into something cruel. "You’ll tire yourself out. You always do."

A whimper escapes your lips as his grip tightens in your hair, the pressure mounting to the point where it’s impossible to hold back any longer. The tears you’ve fought so desperately to contain now spill freely, streaking down your cheeks. Your body trembles as the emotional dam breaks, the fear, frustration, and helplessness flooding out all at once.

Sylus notices. His expression shifts, softening in a way that feels strange. The cruel amusement that once gleamed in his eyes fades, replaced by something disturbingly gentle. He loosens his grip on your hair, letting his fingers glide down to your cheek. His thumb brushes away the hot tears, wiping them tenderly.

"Don’t cry pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice a quiet coo. The gentleness in his tone feels like a strange juxtaposition to the fear still gripping your chest. His other hand slides down to cradle your face, keeping you close, but no longer with the same force. "It’s okay. I promised I’d take care of you, didn’t I?"

He presses soft kisses on your lips as they tremble and you just let him, the weight of the situation crashing on you. "Just take my cum and have my baby, I'll take care of everything else. Doesn't that sound easy?"

You jerk your head away from him at the mere thought of him impregnating you.

He turns your head back towards him, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your tear-streaked cheek, the touch almost reverent. The sensation makes your skin crawl, the tenderness a cruel mockery of the power he so clearly holds over you. You want to pull away, but his hands keep you there, gently holding you in place as if to soothe the very tears he caused.

His lips move to your hand, kissing your tear-stained fist, as though he’s trying to console you after making you break down. The gesture feels wrong, every soft touch an extension of his control masquerading as care. He’s not only comforting you out of kindness and love but he’s reminding you that even your pain belongs to him, that he can take you to the brink of despair and then pull you back whenever he pleases.

"You can scream, you can break my things, you can throw tantrums, but in the end..." His voice lowers, chillingly calm. "You’re still mine. You still belong to me. Your anger? It’s nothing. It won’t change anything."

The room feels smaller now, his words wrapping around you like a vice, tightening with every breath. You can’t breathe, can’t think, the weight of the situation crashing down on you all over again.

"And as for your outburst..." he says, his lips curling into a faint smile. "It will have consequences."

Your body trembles as his thumb brushes away another tear, his touch tender, almost soothing. And despite the revulsion that twists in your stomach, despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to push him away, you don’t.

You can’t.

You’re just so exhausted.

Without even realizing it, you lean into him, your body betraying your mind. The weight of your exhaustion is unbearable, and the fight you’ve held onto for so long begins to slip through your fingers like sand. Your head rests against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing providing a sick sort of comfort that you hate yourself for needing.

He holds you gently, his arm wrapping around your waist, securing you against him as though he’s protecting you. The irony is suffocating. This man, who has twisted your world into a living nightmare, is now the one offering you comfort. And as much as you despise him for it, for the control he wields over you, you sink deeper into his embrace, desperate for the warmth and the momentary relief from your own anguish.

"There you go," he murmurs softly, his fingers stroking your hair in long, calming motions. "See? It’s not so bad, is it?"

The words cut, each one a reminder of the power he holds over you, but you’re too drained to care anymore. The anger, the defiance, the hatred—it’s all still there, burning under the surface, but right now, the only thing you can feel is the weight of your own exhaustion pulling you down, dragging you into a state of reluctant surrender.

"I hate you," you whisper, your voice barely audible, muffled by his chest. The words come out broken, hollow, lacking the fire they once carried. But it’s all you can manage, the last flicker of resistance in a sea of overwhelming fatigue.

"I know," Sylus replies, his voice soft and almost indulgent, as though your hatred is just another part of the game to him. He holds you tighter, his hand continuing to caress your hair.

"But it doesn’t matter, sweetie. You’re mine now. Hate me all you want, I’ll still take care of you."

You hate him for saying it. You hate him for making you feel like you need him. But in this moment, you’re too tired to fight him. You allow yourself to collapse into the illusion of safety, just for a little while, even though you know it’s a trap.

You wake to the sensation of being moved, cradled like you’re something fragile. It’s disorienting at first, and for a brief, blissful moment, you don’t remember where you are. But then the cold reality slams into you.

Sylus.

Your eyes flicker open, and through the haze of sleep, you realize he’s carrying you. His arms are steady, but the feel of his hold sends a chill down your spine. You try to shake off the drowsiness, to push yourself upright, but your limbs feel weak and uncooperative.

"Shh," he whispers, his voice gentle, though it only makes the situation worse. "Go back to sleep. You’re safe."

Safe. The word rings hollow in your mind. You know better. Even though his touch is soft and careful, even though his voice is low and comforting, you know exactly where you are—exactly who holds you.

Your heart sinks as you hear the faint whirr of a door opening. He’s taking you back to the room, the one where you’ve spent so many weeks locked away, trapped. A lump forms in your throat as you realize what’s happening, but you’re too weak to fight it. You had a brief taste of freedom, even if it was a twisted version of it, but now he’s putting you back in your cage.

Sylus steps into his room, the dim light casting long shadows over the dark, lavish space. He moves with deliberate care, like he’s handling something precious, lowering you onto the bed with a gentleness that feels grotesque in its contrast to what he’s actually doing.

Your body sinks into the mattress, your limbs too heavy to lift. You manage a weak protest, a soft whimper of resistance, but he shushes you again, his hand brushing the side of your face with infuriating tenderness.

"Sleep, kitten. You need your rest."

He moves to the door, and you hear the unmistakable sound of the lock. The finality of it sends a fresh wave of despair through you. You’re back in the same room, the same prison, despite the moments of fragile comfort you had shared. It all meant nothing. You’re still his prisoner.

You turn your face into the pillow, tears pricking at your eyes once more, but you’re too drained to cry again. Your body aches, your mind is foggy, and sleep still tugs at you, relentless in its pull. You hate that you find any sense of comfort in the bed, in the quiet, but there’s no fight left in you tonight.

With the sound of the lock still echoing in your mind, you close your eyes and let yourself slip back into unconsciousness, knowing that tomorrow, nothing will have changed.

You wake suddenly, gasping for air, your skin slick with sweat. The sheets are tangled around your legs, suffocatingly warm. For a moment, you think it's just another nightmare—the kind that leaves you feeling claustrophobic and panicked—but the heat in the room is real, heavy, and stifling.

You sit up slowly, blinking in the darkness, your breath coming in shallow gasps. Something feels off. The usual low hum of electricity, the steady whir of the ceiling fan, the soft glow of electronics—they’re all gone. Silence presses down around you, and the air in the room feels thick and still, almost oppressive.

The power’s out.

It hits you slowly at first, like a distant thought struggling to surface. The heat, the silence... no fan, no lights. And then it clicks. The power’s out. The fingerprint scanner.

Your heart skips a beat, adrenaline spiking through your veins. No power means the security system that’s kept you locked in this room—trapped and helpless—is down. The scanner on the door, the one that’s monitored your every movement, is dead. It has to be.

This could be your only chance.

You stumble out of bed, your legs shaky, still groggy from sleep but jolted awake by the rush of adrenaline. Your hands tremble as you feel your way to the door in the dark, the oppressive heat clinging to your skin. The room is suffocating, the air too thick to breathe, but none of that matters now.

You press your thumb against the scanner, holding your breath. Nothing happens. The small screen remains black, unresponsive. It’s not working.

A flicker of hope flares in your chest. The lock isn’t powered. You press your palm against the door and push, feeling it give under your hand. Slowly, carefully, you ease the door open just a crack and peer out into the hallway.

The corridor is bathed in shadow, darker than when you last saw it. The ambient lights, the security monitors, everything is dead. The house is eerily still, the silence even more unnerving than before. You step into the hallway, your heart racing as you move forward, each step deliberate and cautious.

For a brief, terrifying moment, you expect to hear Sylus’s voice, or the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, but the house remains quiet. You know he has Luke and Kieran stationed somewhere, but for now, the way seems clear.

You make your way toward the grand staircase, remembering some parts of the house from earlier. The front door is just ahead, at the bottom of the stairs. The hallway stretches before you, dark and endless, but your pulse quickens with the possibility of freedom.

You take a breath and descend the stairs as quietly as possible, gripping the banister for balance. Each creak of the wood beneath your feet feels deafening in the stillness. Your eyes dart around the hallway, searching the shadows for any sign of movement.

Finally, you reach the bottom of the stairs. The front door looms ahead, and you move toward it, the air growing cooler as you get closer. Your hand reaches for the door handle, and just as your fingers brush the cool metal, you freeze.

Voices.

You hear them—low, muffled voices coming from outside the door. Sylus’s men.

"Shit, powers out. We gotta start the generators."

Your heart sinks. They're right outside. You cant go this way without immediately being manhandled.

You glance around frantically, your mind racing for another way out. The house is massive, full of rooms and corridors, but you have no idea where the other exits lead. Still, you can’t afford to stand here and think—you need to move.

Then you remember. The kitchen. Maybe there's a way out there?

It’s a long shot, but you don’t have any other options. You turn quickly, darting down the hallway, your footsteps light and deliberate on the smooth, black tile. The shadows seem to stretch and twist around you, and every small creak feels like it’s echoing through the silence. You try to keep calm, but the fear of being caught wraps tighter around your chest with every passing second.

You reach the kitchen, and the oppressive heat of the house seems to lessen as you step inside. The room is large and dark, no light to be seen through the windows. The scent of stale food lingers in the air, remnants of a meal long forgotten, but you barely notice it. Your eyes dart to the side door.

It’s small, barely noticeable in the corner of the room, half-concealed behind shelves and cabinets. The door leads out to the horse racing track—you remember Sylus mentioning it in conversation once.

You rush toward the door, your pulse thundering in your ears. You reach for the handle, your hand trembling as it wraps around the cool metal. For a brief moment, you fear it’ll be locked, that this last chance at freedom will slip through your fingers.

Thankfully, with a twist and a click it opens.

The space beyond the kitchen is nothing like you expected—no trees, no breeze, just the harsh, cold landscape of the N109 zone. The dark, black midnight sky looms over you like an oppressive blanket, thick and unwelcoming. No stars, no moonlight, just an endless void stretching above you. The air is still and stale, a reflection of the lifelessness surrounding you.

But you have no time to process any of it. You can’t stop now. You have to keep moving.

Your feet press into the cracked, uneven ground as you forge ahead, your breath shallow and quick. As you walk, the outline of several horse stables comes into view. The structures are dark, the animals inside unmoving, their silhouettes barely visible in the low light. Thankfully, the horses are all asleep. None stir as you pass by quietly, your body tense and ready to bolt at the slightest sound. The only thing you hear is the quiet crunch of your own footsteps on the rough surface beneath you.

Ahead, a tall fence looms in the distance, a final obstacle standing between you and the outer edges of the N109 zone. You approach it cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest as you study its height. It’s rusted and worn, but still sturdy enough to make the climb difficult. You don’t have time to think—you have to act.

Gripping the cold metal tightly, you heave yourself up, your muscles straining with each movement. Your hands slip slightly, the rough texture of the fence biting into your palms as you scramble to find footing. Panic flares briefly in your chest, but you grit your teeth and push through the fear. You can’t stop now.

Just as you manage to get a decent grip, you hear it—the unmistakable hum of power returning. Behind you, Sylus’s mansion springs to life. Lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the cold, empty halls that only moments ago were shrouded in darkness. The power’s back. It won’t be long before they notice you’re gone. They’ll be coming for you.

It’s now or never.

With a final burst of strength, you haul yourself up the last few feet of the fence, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The metal digs into your skin, but you don’t care. You pull yourself over the top, balancing precariously for a moment before launching yourself over.

You crash onto the other side, landing face-first on the hard, unforgiving ground. Pain shoots through your body as your knees and elbows scrape against the jagged surface, but you don’t let it stop you. You’ve come too far to be caught now.

For a moment, you lie there, dazed and gasping for breath, the shock of the impact making your head spin. The cold ground beneath you feels like both a punishment and a reminder that you’re not free yet. Behind you, you can hear the faint sounds of activity from the mansion—the twins moving, footsteps echoing in the distance.

They know.

Ignoring the pain, you force yourself to your feet, your body protesting with every movement. The fence looms behind you like a dark sentinel, separating you from the life you’re fleeing. You don’t dare look back at the mansion, don’t give yourself the chance to second-guess your next move.

You start running.

The landscape ahead is bleak and dark, with nothing but cold, cracked streets in every direction. There’s no breeze, no noise apart from your labored breathing and the pounding of your feet against the ground. A few tall and bleak buildings reminiscent of a part of a city come into view. You start making your way there.

You’re outside. You’re running. And for the first time in what feels like forever, the possibility of freedom is real, even if it’s still far out of reach.

In the distance, perched on a dead landline, a mechanical crow preens its feathers. Its head jerks toward a running girl, its red eyes locking onto her figure. Without warning, it spreads its metal wings and takes off in her direction, gears whirring as it follows from above.

[kitten4sannie]

𝔯𝔲𝔫, 𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔦𝔱, 𝔯𝔲𝔫

“What do I win?” His voice was just barely above a whisper. “What will you give me, bunny?”

pairing: wolf hybrid! san x bunny hybrid! fem reader

genre: hybrid/omegaverse, smut

summary: your boyfriend’s rut has (un)fortunate timing.

w.c: 3.7k

“All of me, silly boy. Everything.”

warnings: hard dom! san (wolf sannie is so mean ><), sub! reader, possessiveness, pet names (sweetheart, bun, bunny, baby, etc), name calling, daddy kink, san has a massive cock btw, degradation/praise, filthy dialogue (i went wilddd), cnc, primal play (ofc), subspace, face-fucking, brief breath play, manhandling, brief blood drinking, biting/marking, face/pussy slapping, size kink, bulge kink, impreg kink, breeding kink, knotting, multiple positions, creampies, cockwarming, dumbification

a/n: this is a major brain rot moment bc goddamn i just wanna be a little bunny that gets eaten up by big bad wolf sannie yk? ughh esp considering san went full alpha wolf mode in that warriors dance performance vid ksksjd. anywayy thank you to “here me out” anon for sending me that primal play ask — i’m sorry it took me ages to post but this is for you bb <3 okay lovelies: put on some mood music, get all comfy in your beds, and enjoy the ride 🖤

song recs: predator by anomy5 (ty haruuu @stardragongalaxy <3), destroy me by mr. kitty, mascara by deftones

Masterlist

➽───────────────❥

You climbed out of the passengerside of your boyfriend’s truck, taking a deep inhale of the fresh air around you, studying your serene surroundings. There were countless pine trees beyond the clearing you were standing in, going on for miles and miles, swallowing up the land around you. It was the perfect place to have a nice, quiet picnic with the love of your life.

“Oh, bunny,” San called out in a sing-song tone, only the tips of his fluffy black ears sticking up past the top of his truck before he walked around the back and over to you, holding a thick pleated blanket and a picnic basket in his arms. He tilted his head, one of his ears rotating slightly in response to a flock of birds that flew past the red-orange sky above the both of you. “Are you ready?”

“Of course I am, pretty boy,” you returned, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips, only for San to let out a small, though obvious growling sound, nipping at your bottom lip, his ears twitching slightly. Holding back a moan, you opened your surprised eyes, your own ears instinctively standing on high alert. “San?”

Your boyfriend’s once furrowed brows relaxed, along with his features, making sure to give you a soft, dimpled smile. His body was beginning to overheat dangerously fast, but he didn’t know if he should inform you yet. He didn’t want to ruin such a nice picnic date. “Yes, baby?”

You blinked your big doe eyes at him. “Are you okay?”

San’s eyes glazed over for a split second, a prick of uneasiness shooting through your body at the sight of it. It was instinctual fear, reminding you of the way things would be if you weren’t civilized hybrids — though, it sent something else through you that you weren’t particularly familiar with.

“I’m just peachy, baby,” San reassured, running a hand through his dark locks, giving you a toothy smile. “Now, let’s have our little picnic.” His smile grew wider, pointed shiny fangs glinting in the warm evening light. “I’m starving.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what you were feeling, but did you really need to? Not when slick was already leaking out of your cunt and along your inner thighs. Instead of confronting the bubbling situation, you mirrored his smile, showing off your smaller, more rounded set of teeth. “Me too!”

You had shared some fizzy drinks and a small spread of food on your picnic blanket with San, idly chatting about whatever was on your mind, occasionally going into bouts of comfortable silence, your minds unable to stop focusing on the presence of something that couldn’t be ignored. The scent that was radiating off of San was unlike anything you had encountered previously. It was so stifling, so hot, like fire and ember, burning the tip of your tongue and lighting the wick inside your core. Though you hadn’t spoken about it, you were very certain your boyfriend was in–

“Bunny…” he mumbled underneath his breath, his head angled at the ground so that you couldn’t see how flushed his angular cheeks had become, how his eyes were hooded and unfocused, and the drool that was leaving his lips. “Daddy’s not feeling like himself right now.”

Biting your lip, you tilted your head, grabbing onto one of your elongated rabbit ears and stroking it out of habit. “Are…you in a rut, Daddy?” The low growling that San emitted through his clenched teeth gave you all the confirmation you needed. “I don’t mind, you know.”

“Huh..?” San sat up a bit from his hunched position, tilting his head to the side. “You mean that, bun?”

You nodded your head enthusiastically, your ears flopping a bit from your quick movements. Your eager expression softened significantly, looking at San past your long wispy eyelashes, swiping at your lip and making it glisten with your saliva. “Should we play hide and seek, Sannie? Or how about tag? You win if you catch me.” San was leaning in closer to you, just as you followed his lead, your bodies drawn to one another like magnets.

“What do I win?” His voice was just barely above a whisper. “What will you give me, bunny?” His lips were just barely brushing over yours, your combined breaths leaving you a bit dizzy.

You giggled softly, reaching up to caress his cheek. “All of me, silly boy.” Your fingers drifted along his sharp jaw and into his hair, your gaze lowering to his lips. “My body.” You left a small kiss on his cheek. “My heart.” You held his heated face as your pressed your lips onto his. “Everything.”

Something snapped within San in that moment. He immediately stood up, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, like he would run out of air at any second. You knew your time with your gentle, loving Sannie was long gone for the time being, and you couldn’t have been happier.

“I’ll give you on the count of three to run, baby.” San lowered his chin and looked down at you past his black bangs, a distant look in his glazed over eyes. They were bright red and glowing, his pupils forming into small slits. “Three…” he began gruffly, one side of his upper lip twitching up slightly to reveal a pointy, white canine.

“Sannie…” you murmured to yourself, standing up from the picnic blanket and taking a few steps back, leaves and sticks crunching underneath your feet.

“Two…” he continued in an eerily soft tone, pulling at the neckline of his t-shirt, sweat starting to become visible on his smooth tan skin. San slowly started to hunch over, his heavy, uneven breaths causing a vaporous fog to form in the air near his drooling mouth.

Knowing how incredibly fast and agile San was, especially when he was in such an animalistic headspace, you found yourself turning around and taking off into the forest in an instant, your heartbeat already beginning to thump inside your ears from how fast you were running.

“One…” San exhaled to himself, reaching up over his head and pulling his shirt off, ripping through it with his sudden influx of strength. He leaned back and stretched, taking in a deep inhale, able to smell the scent of your arousal from where he was standing, despite you already putting a fair amount of distance between the two of you. It brought a delighted smile to his flushed face, his eyes forming crescent moons. “You better run as fast as you can, little rabbit, before the big, bad wolf comes and finds you.”

You didn’t know if it was your instinctual fear as prey kicking in that made you take off running first, or the sweet anticipation of getting taken down by your ravenous boyfriend and truly being put in your place. It didn’t matter, anyhow. You knew that once he got his hands on you, there was no going back.

Rough pieces of wood and pebbles temporarily embedded themselves in the soft soles of your bare feet as you quickly scampered through the dark woods ahead of you, too busy weaving through nearby pine trees to realize you had lost your shoes somewhere along the way.

You didn’t stop until you found a particularly large tree, one that was far older than the rest, covered in moss and layers of aged bark, the roots coming out like tendrils and burying themselves underneath the foliage and dirt. Pressing your back against it and making yourself as small as possible, you pressed your hand over your lace-covered chest, feeling your heart pound against your sweaty palm, not very concerned with the state of your somewhat disheveled dress. Not so distant sounds of howling drifted through the chilly night air and into your soft, tufted ears. They twitched slightly, the heat that was pooling in your core multiplying at the thought of what was to come.

San’s past warnings swept through your spinning mind. “Bunny, I’m not in my right mind during that time period,” he said with a concerned, though undoubtedly hungry look in his eyes, “I…end up wanting you so bad that I probably wouldn’t hesitate to take you in any and every way I want as long as I have you to myself…”

Yet, San was usually so gentle with you, so soft when he made love to you, lightly brushing his calloused hands along your body like you were made of glass, his brown eyes brimming with tears, using his lips to imprint echoes of love into your skin.

More wetness leaked out of you as if on command, the pheromones radiating off of San’s overheated body even from a distance sending your brain straight into breeding mode, reminding you that your gentle Sannie was no longer there. He was just a wolf that wanted to ravage you. Despite this, you found yourself wanting him. You needed him inside you. Needed him to pump his cum into your womb and make you his over and over again. It would be just like the story books. He’d swallow you up and and leave you knocking at heaven’s door — and you knew one thing for certain. He was going to tear you apart. Your lips curled into a small smile just as a raspy, deep voice broke your concentration.

“Caught you, little bunny,” San proclaimed in an eerily calm manner, his words interrupted by his drawn-out, heavy breaths, his bare chest rising and falling at a much slower, more deliberate pace than before.

“Wh-what? How?” you squeaked, digging your fingers into the tree, breaking off bits of bark underneath your tight grasp.

“My silly bunny.” San chuckled, shaking his head, getting closer and closer to you. “I could smell how fucking wet that cunt of yours is from a mile away.” His eyes were focused solely on yours, but it was like he was looking through you, as if he was already inside your mind and body — already marking what was his with his presence alone. “Do you want me to eat you up that badly?”

There were times that San teased you, of course, but was always playful. Innocent, even. This was…something else. He definitely wasn’t playing around this time. You knew for certain. You could see it in his glowing, blood red eyes.

You nodded your head, pressing yourself back into the tree, finding it hard to swallow. You wanted him bad. Needed him.

San took a step towards you, twigs snapping underneath the weight of his heavy feet. “Now, now, sweetheart. You have to use your words for me, okay?” He ran his tongue across his large incisors, titling his head to the side. “You’ll let Daddy have a taste of his cute little bunny, won’t you? Or are you going to make me take what’s mine?”

“Take what’s yours, Daddy, please, until I can’t take it anymore,” you requested, your words and sad, pathetic whining sending San into a deeper, more animalistic headspace, revealing it to you through the quick lunge he made in your direction.

Suddenly, you were forced down onto your knees, San’s large hand pushing your head down until you were eye-level with his crotch. San took your hand and led it below his belt, letting you feel what was trapped inside, his rock-hard cock throbbing against your trembling fingertips. He gave you a small pout, almost making you forget about your position until he spoke. “See what you do to me when you act like a needy cock-hungry slut, little bunny? See how hard you make Daddy?”

“Yeah, I see, Daddy. Your cock’s so hard it probably hurts, huh?” you mused, giggling a bit, your amusement cut short when San took ahold of your floppy bunny ears, gripping them tight enough to make you whimper.

“Y’know, you’re doing a whole lot of talking when you should be choking on my cock instead, bunny,” San informed, popping his belt open and letting his pants pool below his waist, his overtly large length slapping up into his abdomen and leaving a streak of pre-cum across his tan skin. Before you could have a chance to breathe, San jerked your head towards him, sliding his cockhead past your lips and plunging himself down your throat, not taking a second to face-fuck you like the fate of the world depended on it.

Slick, indecent sounds began to erupt from your occupied throat, along with your loud, erratic gagging, as you tried to swallow San’s cock without choking each time he rammed it down your esophagus, your eyes becoming wet with tears.

“Aww, is Daddy’s cock too big for my bunny’s tiny throat? Guess I need to stretch it out,” San sighed, squeezing his fingers around your soft ears as he fully plunged himself into you, holding you completely still, briefly plugging your nose up with his free hand, just to feel you struggle to breathe, your abundant saliva dripping down his swollen balls. San held you like that until your face grew red, eventually letting go and pulling out all the way to let you take a much-needed breath, just to slap his heavy cock down onto your face, rubbing streaks of his pre-cum into your skin. “Good girl.”

“Thank you, Daddy…” you whispered in a gravely voice, throat wrecked, barely able to see him past your watery eyes, weakly licking up his pre-cum when he rubbed his tip across your lips.

“Open wide.” When you didn’t open your mouth right away, San’s expression darkened, sending a quick, rough smack onto your cheek, growling, “I said, open.” Your lips parted just as a fresh wave of slick dripped down your pussy. With a satisfied grin, San plugged your throat back up, clutching your head on either side, pistoning his hips, quick and rough, reminiscent of a machine going into overdrive. He fucked your face like you were just a hole for him, nothing more, nothing less, and you couldn’t have been more wet. “Ohh, fuck– Oh god, that’s fucking it. Daddy’s gonna knot your slutty throat now, bun. Gonna fill you up with my cum until you drink down every last drop.”

You gurgled on his rapidly moving cock, his knot stretching your throat open until it was there was a visible protrusion in your neck, San’s fingers immediately feeling it up once he locked you in place, his knot bursting, sending ropes of thick, scalding cum down your throat, forcing you to gulp it down until there was no more.

“What a good bunny you are. So obedient when you’re getting used by Daddy like this,” San praised, wiping remnants of spit, tears, and cum from your fucked-out face, giving you a oddly gentle smile, before pushing you to the ground and climbing on top of you.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmured, your voice hoarse from taking his cock like you did, so out of it, you didn’t even react when San ripped your thighs open, causing your dress to pool around your waist, your throbbing pussy on display for him.

San began to drool, hyper focused on the sight of your bare cunt glistening with excess slick, a low groan leaving his lips. “What a slutty little bunny you are, not wearing any panties under your cute little dress.” He ran his hand down your abdomen, his nails leaving light red marks on your skin until he got to your center. “You must’ve known Daddy was going into a rut and just saved him some time, didn’t you, my sweet girl?”

“Y-yes, Daddy.” You sniffled, swallowing roughly, still trying to recover from the abuse your throat took.

“Mm, thought so.” Lifting you up by your hips with ease, San forcefully brought your pussy to his face, taking a deep inhale of your arousal, leaving harsh, warm breaths on your clit, making you shudder. “Fuck. It smells like you came already. Is my bunny that much of a cock whore, that she had her eyes rolling back into her skull just from having her face fucked? Hm?”

You gazed up at him from below, gently rubbing your still stinging cheek. “Mmhmm.”

“Good. Get ready to cum again and again for me,” San announced, licking one long stripe up your cunt, from your hole and up past your clit. He swallowed your arousal down, licking at his lips, before lowering your hips down to his level, guiding his cock to your entrance.

Suddenly and without warning, San shoved himself inside you with one powerful thrust, bottoming out in an instant and leaving you with a dizzying feeling, your thighs trembling against his slim waist. “O-oh my god…”

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna be seeing God once I fuck your whore-hole wide open, lovebun,” San cooed into your ear, putting most of his body weight on you so that you were folded in half, giving you no choice but to take his fat cock in your tiny hole, over and over, until you were indeed, at heaven’s gates.

-

You couldn’t remember how long you had been there, being forcibly spread open for your ravenous boyfriend, his teeth latched onto your neck and drawing blood, your legs, like jelly, trembling profusely as they were held up by your flopping ears, your cum-filled pussy stretching open to accommodate yet another one of San’s knots, fresh tears running down your flushed face.

“Awww, are you crying, baby?” San asked into your ear, his deep voice dripping with faux pity, licking your blood off of his incisors. “What are you crying about, huh? Is it because Daddy keeps fucking his cum into your tiny bunny hole or because of his teeth marks in your neck?”

“B-both!” you cried out, dropping your head back into the foliage beneath you and closing your eyes once San was finished pumping his load into you. “Can’t take it anymore…”

“Oh, yes, you can.” San angled his head down, pursing his lips to send a wad of spit down onto your reddened pussy, immediately slamming his hand down onto your swollen clit. “This cunt belongs to me. No one else. That’s why I’m working so hard to fill you up with my pups, silly bunny.” He smacked your cunt again, harder this time, leaving it stinging, speaking through gritted teeth, “So, I can do with it as I goddamn please. You got it?”

Your nods gave him the go ahead to continue, pulling out to switch positions again, moving your limbs and body to his will until you were on your hands and knees for him, your cum-drenched cotton tail twitching as you took him back inside. "After all this, you still have such a tight fucking cunt, god– you gotta relax for me, bunny, you gotta let me in," San groaned out, looking down to witness the way your hole struggled to stretch around his wide cockhead.

San bred you like the bunny you were, fucking you so viciously, so relentlessly, he broke your mind, just like he was about to do to your bruising body, forcing you into a mind-altering state of bliss.

“It’s so good! Fuck, Daddy, nnnngh–it’s so good!” You began to press your hands down onto your lower abdomen just to feel how prominent the bulge of his slick cock was inside your tummy each time it slammed into your cunt, convinced by the lewd squelching sounds you heard that you were going to have his pups sometime soon. “Your cock’s so heavy inside…it’s gonna break me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, if you break, i’ll just put you back together,” he huffed out, quickly wrapping his thick arms around your abdomen to place his hands over yours, pressing down further, his body flush against your smaller one. “And do it all over again.”

“Fuck–yes–” was all you could verbalize after hearing his heavy handed words, staring down at the ground below past your wet lashes.

He suddenly slowed himself down so you could feel every inch of him inside, the muscles in his abs tightening as he used his core to simultaneously keep himself steady in his bent-over position and your body fitted against him, his cum-covered cock lodged inside your cunt like it’s missing puzzle piece. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me, baby. That sounds good, huh? The thought of me breaking you?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, your eyes starting to disappear underneath your heavy eyelids, only for them to grow wide as soon as San lifted your body up completely against his, holding you by your neck, drilling his cock into you at a new angle, one that forced to you drop down onto him even heavier due to the basic laws of gravity.

“Good, now take my knot, pretty girl,” San huffed, his fingers slipping into your drooling mouth, holding his other hand securely against your lower abdomen, feeling just how full he had made you with his potent seed, shooting more and more ropes of cum once his knot broke, feeling your arousal leaking down his softening length. “That’s it now, that’s a good bunny…”

Your shaking body eventually relaxed against his, melting into him, not able to give anything else. Sensing this, San pulled out and turned you around to face him, pulling you into his lap and back down onto his cock, not to fuck you again, knowing you would actually fall apart if you did, but just to warm him and keep his seed inside so that you would be nice and full for him in the coming months. “My sweet girl, you did so well for me. So, so well,” he murmured softly, pressing kiss after kiss onto your face and lips, gently massaging your bunny ears. “How do you feel, baby?”

Smiling tiredly and ready for a long nap, you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a long kiss back, before resting your head on his sweaty shoulder.

“Full.”

➽───────────────❥

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[hazbin-a-helluvamagines]

How bout angel dust, Verosika and Alastor with a puppy hybrid s/o? Like, they have puppy ears and tail and has some dog like tendencies?

For example: they love to bite and play with dog toys,they bark and growl, they LOVE headpats and being called "good boy/girl"

You can remove 2 characters if it's too much.

"Good Puppy!" ; Alastor, Angel Dust, Verosika Mayday

I'll be honest here: I have no idea how you got this to happen, because this man absolutely HATES dogs, and therefore hated you when he first met you. And he's honestly quite possibly the worst one to be with as a puppy hybrid.

He was exceptionally cruel, calling you a "mangey mongrel", a "rabid mutt", and just about any cruel name for a dog under the sun.

Will try to make you act more human. He'd despise your dog features. Dogs remind him of his death, and that's something he'd rather not deal with.

If you've managed to start dating him, he'll be slightly more polite, but still make his distaste for those features very apparent to you.

"S/O, must you constantly be wiggling that furry abomination?"

It isn't that he means to be mean, but, well, in some primal way, you scare him, and he doesn't know how to cope with feeling that helpless.

If you growl or bark at him, you will ROYALLY piss him off, and he will actually need to leave to avoid either lashing out at you or having a mental breakdown.

Fortunately, with enough time and patience, he will eventually calm down and begin to regard you as safe, and not someone he needs to fear. Then he'll become noticeably kinder to you.

"Well, aren't you just a dandy little pup! Excited to see me, hm? Such a good boy/girl~."

He may have started off cold, but he's trying to be better for you now.

He isn't sure how he feels about dog toys and the like, but hey, he's a literal cannibal and serial killer, who is he to judge? As long as you're having fun.

Eventually, he'll begin to give you those headpats you so crave, realizing how happy it makes you. He can stand a bit of discomfort for your sake.

But seriously... please don't bark or growl at him, he still doesn't like the moment of panic he's forced to feel when that happens.

He wouldn't do it to you, so don't do it to him. That's his one boundary with your dog-like behavior/appearance.

Oh boy. He'd be the one constantly flirting and teasing you for your traits, but in a loving (and very NSFW) manner.

"What's with the tail, Ears? Got a pet play kink or somethin'?"

When he finds out you ACTUALLY enjoy being called a good boy, that actually sets off every single one of his teasing instincts.

Every single day, you'll hear a joke about you having a praise kink, purely because it makes Angel laugh.

But he's only teasing, of course. If you actually tell him you're uncomfortable, of course he'll stop. The last thing he wants is for you to feel uncomfortable with him.

He'll also get you dog toys and chew toys if you find them fun!

And his absolute favorite thing to do is pet your ears and ruffle your tail, especially if they're as fluffy as his chest is! He finds the sensation soothing.

If you growl at him, chances are he'll growl back at you just to mess with you.

Or he'll make a claw motion and do the little "rawr~" thing because he finds it amusing how you react when you don't know how to respond to something.

He'll also definitely tease you if your tail ever wags.

"That a tail or are ya just happy ta see me, baby boy~?"

He's a tease but... very sweet. Toward you, at least.

At first, she didn't really see the appeal of dating a puppy hybrid. She treats Vortex like a guard dog, and she initially expected you to be the same.

But of course, who could resist a cute puppy? She quickly warmed up to you, finding you absolutely adorable. Whereas Verosika is sultry and seductive, you were cute and innocent, and she loved that about you.

She'd often find herself petting your head and telling you what a good boy/girl you were, seemingly without actually consciously meaning to. She just couldn't resist, the puppy eyes were too much for her!

"Aww, S/O! Such a good boy/girl! Who's my good boy/girl? You are! Yes you are!"

Yeah, even after you start dating, that doesn't change. She still calls you that, but her affections now run even deeper.

As in, she buys you a LOT of dog toys. A lot. She doesn't know why you love them so much, but she knows she wants you to be happy, because you absolutely deserve it.

She's also greatly amused whenever you bark or growl, but shh, don't tell anyone. That isn't part of her persona!

Sometimes, when you're cuddling, she'll wrap her tail around yours and slowly wag them both, since she knows it both stimulates you and expresses affection.

She'd also probably use your barking and growling to her advantage to scare people she doesn't like off. Nine times out of ten, it works. Dogs can be pretty scary when they're not being friendly actively, and puppies are no different.

"That was amazing, S/O. You really know how to scare a little bitch off!"

You didn't really mean to scare anyone, but you were happy Verosika was happy.

She did send that person an apology note at your insistence, though, luckily.

[yanderemommabean]

Hey Momma!

I like butterflies, ya got any Yandere Alien Butterfly scenario for me? Or everyone? Cause I'm sure we'd like a nice Yandere Alien Butterfly~ 🦋

“P-Please! Please you have to-Ahh!” You sob, wincing and jerking as more of their invasive fingers inspect your body. It wasn’t a sob of pain either, oh anything but. You’ve been handed over for these insect aliens to inspect as a sort of treaty and well, they’re being /very/ thorough with you. 

Their wings flutter here and there as they murmur and whisper to one another, you assume to speak about notes and what they’ve learned but you can’t help but notice the clipboards and tablets have been set aside for over an hour now, and they simply haven’t bothered to test anything more than your limits on pleasure. 

Weren’t you supposed to be tested on with other items too? Wasn’t this more or less a death sentence from your oh so cowardly government? 

“They react nicely when you press right here-” The one on the left states a bit louder, something you can actually comprehend, but you’re focus is cut off as they demonstrate what they mean-curling their fingers inside you just right and making your body pulse with pleasure once again, your eyes watering as they begin to more or less abuse that spot and make your muscles tense and shake. 

You can’t even catch your breath as the one on the right nods their head, but moves to grab something off of the table beside them. “Yes but do you think their anatomy could handle someone of our size? I think this mating tool is about as large as one of us, shall we try it?” 

Oh god you can’t even bring yourself to look up. You try to catch your breath while you can, laying back on the cold table bringing you back to your senses even if just slightly. You aren’t sure you want to know just how big that toy could be, your mind would simply break. 

“Oh not to worry! They’re quite resilient creatures! But we do have to be careful, I like this one” one says, amused as they grab the item and flick the switch. “We have to be slow, humans can handle sizes better when relaxed and sedated. Our little specimen here should be able to take at least half before we run into any issues”. 

Your walls flutter and pulse once again, and you hate your body for being so eager to start after finally catching your breath. It’s as if your instincts are trying to tell you to just lay back and give in, and really, you can’t fight that urge much longer. That buzzing sound only makes your legs want to squeeze together tighter, but not out of fear this time. 

Oh you’re slowly becoming a mindless toy yourself aren’t you?  

When the head of that large toy enters you, your breath catches and it can’t be helped when you arch up and brokenly cry, that stretch seemingly both painful and blissful. That vibration was only making your fingers and toes curl as the two aliens watched with rapt attention, slowly pressing the toy in deeper and deeper, listening to your feeble noises and adorable moans almost nonchalantly. 

If it wasn’t for the heady scent in the air and the fact you could see their own members sliding out in arousal, you’d think they were genuinely bored with experimenting with you. You catch a glimpse between weak twists of your body, and those dangerous eyes hold something more primal than they did when you first entered the room. 

They were doing this for more than just research, that’s for sure. You’re at their mercy until they get bored, if they even do. 

“Go ahead. Climax. We know you have more in you, we’ve studied your vitals and liquids, you aren’t dehydrated yet” the one on the right bites out, eager and needy as he leans forward to turn the toys vibrations up. “You look so good like this, human. Stuffed and needy, begging to be bred and made into the perfect mate. You must feel so neglected if you’re this sensitive to what we use” 

You can only manage a whimper, eyes rolling back as your breath catches and that thick, pulsing toy hammers inside of you. It’s no use in fighting it, you couldn’t fight the multiple other attempts either. You cave, body lurching and head lolling back as you cry out and loudly gasp for air, feeling your hole clenching down and trying to make sure that large toy doesn’t leave, milking it for all its worth as you rock your hips to ride out the fifth intense orgasm of the day. 

The two butterflies coo and croon in your ear, you think they’re praising you even but everythings so blurry and sounds like it's underwater, you can’t make any of it out. 

“Good job human, such a good job. That’s it, deep breaths…When your breathing is back to a stable condition let’s see if we can’t fit in the rest of the device. I’m sure you won’t disappoint us”.

(-Mommabean, hiya! Sorry for any typos! Anyway I hope you enjoyed, feel free to tell me what you thought!)

[snail-day]

Anxiety

Inspired by Doechii’s song - I just love the vibe.

Yandere! Insert x Reader

TW: Yandere Behaviors, Online Predation/Stalking, Manipulation, Drugging, Noncon/Dubcon, Somnophilia, Horror themes.

WC: 2.2k

Omegle is one of those sleepover staples - the kind of reckless, giddy indulgence that thrives on a mix of boredom and cheap rosé. A laptop perched on someone’s lap, the glow of the screen painting your faces in artificial blue light. The click of the Next button, over and over, sifting through a sea of faceless strangers, dodging the inevitable perverts with their hands sloppily buried beneath their waists.

Mindless fun. Harmless, even.

Until the screen loads him.

A figure bathed in dim, crimson light. A red room. The air around him is thick, suffocating, pressing against the grainy pixels. You can’t quite make out his face - just the vague shape of a man, shadowed and distant, yet present in a way that sets your teeth on edge.

Then he speaks.

"What are you lovely ladies up to tonight?" a voice that is rich in velvet, curling through the speakers like slow-burning embers. It’s the kind of voice that doesn’t just speak but pulls, ensnaring something primal deep in your chest, forming heat on your cheeks. It drags down your spine, coiling in the pit of your stomach. Your friends giggle, but a strange unease presses into your ribs, spreading like ink. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the heat creeping up your neck because, even through the distortion, you can almost see the sharp angles of a handsome face.

"Ever hear of the dark web?"

Your body tenses instinctively. Of course, you have. Who hasn’t? The dark web is whispered about in internet horror stories, in late-night Reddit threads meant to keep thrill-seekers up at night. It isn’t illegal to access, only the things that happen there are. But the way he says it, a slow purr, a drawl of sorts as if you're all children listening to horror stories at the camp fire and he's trying to see who squirms first. The conversation shifts, turning into something colder, heavier. He begins to explain what a red room really is. A place where live torture is broadcasted. A digital coliseum where faceless crowds pay to watch strangers suffer. A world where death is nothing more than entertainment, where pain is a currency traded in cryptocurrency.

His voice, still smooth as honey, lingers too long on every word- Indulgent. Like he’s savoring the explanation, rolling it over his tongue like a delicacy. Your skin prickles with something beyond fear,

"I think we should skip this one," you murmur to your friends, barely moving your lips. "He’s giving me the creeps."

They laugh. Call you paranoid. Say it’s just a spooky story. That it's hard to get a hot guy like him on Omegle. Even he agrees, though there’s something almost teasing in the way he exhales, voice lowering into something impossibly gentle.

"You scared, little dove?"

The nickname sinks into you, far too intimate for your anxiety.

Hours pass.

Somewhere in the blur of the night, one of your friends - drunk on wine and adrenaline - got his number. Sent him a text.

No response.

You assume that’s the end of it.

The party dwindles, sleep creeping in, and you sink into the stiff, lumpy embrace of your friend’s broken couch. A stuffy apartment, filled with the residual warmth of too many bodies and the distant hum of the fridge kicking on in the kitchen. Your eyelids droop, but the unease remains, needling at the edges of your consciousness.

He had a red room.

But morning comes, and the sun filters in through the blinds, scattering gold across the floor. You wake up. Your heart is still beating. Your skin is still unbroken. You suppose it really was just a spooky story. You suppose he really was harmless.

Keeping your head down as you walk home, the rain slicking your hair to your forehead, turning the pavement into a mirrored sheen of distorted streetlights. Each step feels heavier than the last, a slow, dragging weight pressing against your spine. Maybe it’s the hangover. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Or maybe it’s the echo of his voice still curling in the back of your mind, like smoke refusing to dissipate.

"You scared, little dove?"

The words slither through you, unbidden, curling around your ribs like thorny vines, pricking at your skin. You shake your head, as if you can physically dislodge the thought. It’s nothing. A stranger in a red-lit room. A stupid story. A glitchy connection that made him seem more ominous than he actually was. Still, you walk faster. By the time you reach your apartment, your clothes are damp, the cold pressing into your skin like a second layer. The key trembles slightly in your grasp as you shove it into the lock, twisting it with more force than necessary. The door swings open, the darkness of your empty space yawning before you. Safe.

Yet, as you step inside, a whisper of paranoia clings to you. The air is thick, too still, the silence too absolute. You don’t remember leaving the lights off, but the place is shrouded in shadow, the only illumination coming from the streetlamp outside, its glow filtering through your curtains.

You close the door. Lock it. Once. Twice.

The anxiety should ease, but it doesn’t. Must be the hangover. The questionable Chinese food. Perhaps you're just weak to horror.

You're fine.

With a breath, you move to your bedroom, peeling off your damp clothes and tossing them into the hamper. The exhaustion pulls at you, yet when you collapse onto the mattress, your body refuses to relax.

Your laptop sits on your desk, the black screen reflecting the dim light. The cursor blinks expectantly when you open it, your fingers hesitating over the keys.

Don’t be stupid. You should sleep. You should forget.

But your fingers move before you can stop them, typing Red Room Dark Web into the search bar. The results are predictable - articles debunking myths, forums filled with speculation, cautionary tales of users claiming they’ve seen one, claiming they’ve barely escaped.

A chill ripples down your spine. You shouldn’t be doing this. Yet, before you can convince yourself to stop, a notification pops up. A single, unread message.

Unknown: Still feeling ignorant, little dove?

Your pulse hammers, an erratic rhythm against your ribs. It’s a coincidence. It has to be. You must've just picked up a virus. Your friend works in tech, she must be messing with you.

You force a laugh, but it sounds weak, brittle.

Then another message.

Unknown: You looked so lovely in the rain. Wish you hadn’t walked home alone.

Ice floods your veins. Your head whips toward the window. The pale curtains are drawn, but you swear you feel something - a presence lingering just beyond the glass. Watching. Waiting. The rain drums against the glass in relentless, hollow beats.

That's silly, you're on the third floor. You're safe.

You do the only thing you can think of to cure your anxiety. Clear the browsing data, clear the weird messages, and turn off your laptop. And pray that ignorance truly is bliss.

Yet, after that night, your dreams shift - warped, sultry, laced with an undercurrent of something dark, something forbidden. They are not just lewd; they are visceral, consuming. Heat coils deep in your core, an unbearable, molten ache spreading through your limbs like liquid fire. A ghostly touch slithers over your thighs, fingers tracing invisible patterns against your fevered skin.

You dream of hands - strong, commanding, fingers digging into your flesh with an intimacy that feels earned. A hand muffles your moans, palm pressing against your parted lips, smothering the sweet, desperate sounds escaping your throat. The other hand - oh, the other - grips your hips, forcing you to take more, to stretch around something thick, something impossibly deep. The pleasure is suffocating, overwhelming, drowning you in wave after wave of raw sensation.

A voice - low, velvety, dripping with amusement - whispers against your ear.

"You take me so well, little dove."

The words reverberate through your bones, sinful and possessive, curling like smoke in your mind. Your body trembles, teeters on the edge. You wake with a sharp inhale, your sheets damp, your skin flushed and dewy with sweat. Your pulse flutters wildly beneath your ribs, your thighs still trembling with phantom pleasure. Yet, there is no trace of your dream lover, no proof of his touch - except for the unmistakable wet patch on your panties, sticky with your own arousal.

Your stomach clenches. This isn’t normal. You must be ovulating. That’s all it is. Just a silly little rut, a needy, desperate craving clawing its way through your veins. Nothing more. And what do silly, desperate college girls do when their bodies betray them?

They fix it.

So, with a flick of your thumb, you download Tinder.

The screen glows in the dimness of your bedroom as you scroll, eyes scanning profiles with detached efficiency. A few swipes. A few teasing messages. You’re not looking for love - just release. Just someone to fuck this unbearable heat out of your system.

And then - you find him. A man sculpted by the gods, as if chiseled from marble itself. Sharp jawline, piercing eye, a mature man. A man who promises a good fuck. That smirk of his dripping with sin, with promises of pleasure so deliciously depraved it makes something low in your stomach tighten. His confidence oozes through the screen, his words smooth, teasing, effortlessly seductive.

Perfect.

This should be easy. But as your gaze lingers on his face, on the sharpness of his cheekbones, the familiar curve of his lips - unease prickles at the base of your spine.

Why does he feel… familiar?

A strange déjà vu claws at the edges of your mind, elusive and taunting. No. You’re just anxious.

That man was probably dozens of miles away. You’re just horny - needy and restless with an ache you don’t care to analyze too deeply. Put on your big girl panties, send your location to a friend, and go get this insatiable heat fucked out of your system.

So you do.

His apartment is pristine, a blend of modern luxury and something deeper - something curated. The air is rich with the scent of leather and faint spice, like cologne that lingers long after someone leaves a room. Dim lighting, warm, casting golden shadows over his immaculate furniture.

He’s charming. Handsome. A man sculpted from sin, his presence intoxicating before he even lays a hand on you.

"Wine?" His voice is a soft purr, rolling over you like smoke. "I have this vintage red from my travels."

There’s a teasing lilt beneath the words, something indulgent, like he’s savoring this moment as much as he plans to savor you. Your legs press together as you sink onto his couch, fingers toying with the hem of your dress. A strange warmth spreads through your chest, an anxious energy you can’t quite place.

"You're a bit older than your profile," you murmur, watching his muscles as he pulls the cork from the bottle with an effortless twist. "You said you were twenty-one."

He hums, low and thoughtful.

"Just a few years older. That’s not a problem, is it?" He tilts the bottle, the wine slipping into a delicate crystal glass - deep red, almost black under the dim light. "Now, wine or no?"

Then, a chuckle - low, velvety, teasing.

"You’ll be tasting it on my lips anyway, little dove. I just thought it’d help calm your nerves."

Little dove.

The words curl around your throat like an unseen hand, a phantom touch pressing into your chest. Your fingers tighten slightly against your thigh, a cold sensation trickling down your spine despite the warmth of the room.

That name.

That exact name. Like an echo from another life, a thread connecting something unseen. It's just a coincidence. It's a common pet name. A common pet name older men use.

The glass is cool against your fingertips as you take it from him, willing the thought away, willing yourself to lean into the heat, the distraction. The first sip is unexpected - sickeningly sweet, cloying in a way vintage wine should never be. There’s a fizz on your tongue, fleeting but noticeable, dissolving into something warm that spreads slowly through your limbs.

It doesn’t matter.

Because the moment the glass leaves your lips, so do his.

His mouth claims yours - slow, intoxicating, coaxing rather than taking. His lips part against yours, the taste of wine mixing with something deeper, something familiar. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling into the soft strands as he pulls you against him, large hands sliding down your spine, gripping, exploring as he pulls you onto his lap, a hardness pressing against your heat.

A breathless moan escapes you as he tugs- gently at first, then firmer - tilting your head, exposing your throat to him. His lips trace along your jaw, down your neck, a slow, teasing descent that sends shivers skittering through your body.

The room feels warmer.

No, hotter. The air thickens, viscous and cloying, pressing into your skin, sinking beneath it. Your mind wavers, distant like a detuned radio caught between stations, static buzzing at the edges of your thoughts.

A soft click.

The atmosphere shifts.

The golden glow of the room vanishes, swallowed whole, replaced by something darker.

A deep, pulsing red.

The breath stutters in your throat, as his tongue claims the struggled sound escaping your lips.

Red room.

Your body stiffens, muscles coiling tight, but the warmth laced through your limbs makes it slow, sluggish, like fighting through water. A slow dread bleeds into the haze of pleasure, creeping, insidious. Your heart pounds against your ribs, but your limbs feel heavy. His lips ghost over your ear, voice dipping into something silkier.

"We’re going to have a lot more fun, little dove."

A tremor ripples through you, a grotesque tangle of heat and dread, sinking deep. His grip tightens around your waist, his fingers sinking in deeper, bruising to the skin.

"Just couldn’t get you out of my mind, little dove. And now that I have you..." His breath is warm against your skin, the words a whisper, a promise, a noose tightening around your fate. "I don’t plan to let you go."

Characters: JJK: Geto, Toji, Sukuna, Kenjaku AOT: Zeke, Eren, Kenny HxH: Chrollo, Hisoka, Illumi

[ghostiesnightmare]

Your writing is EVERYTHING - from the details to the plot, I cannot describe how you can do that !

Request ;Michael sparing your life when you do something that makes him curious and excited - like kneeling in front of him or something like that ! I writed something like this on another account, but you write so good you have to do something with this !

With blood, knife Play, choking, some very very brutal Mikey, Pain kink-

Sorry for my bad english, my first language is french 😘

Salvation

Pairing: Michael Myers x Female Reader Summary: You were never supposed to survive him. You could have fled and buried the haunting memory of that fateful night– yet something draws you back to the ruins of faith and blood. Back to a place where your fear turns into something more like devotion. TW: DARK content, heavy religious influences, dubcon, blood, gore, knifeplay, choking, foul language, BLASPHEMY, unprotected sex, rough sex, vivid descriptions of pain, power imbalance, abuse, and more. Read at your own risk Word Count: 8,081 MDNI-NSFW A/N: This fic is HEAVILY reliant on Christian influences, so please read at your own risk. I recommend listening to Christian Woman by Type O Negative, which I had on repeat while writing this fic. I really struggled with this one, ngl... enjoy!

-----

They say fear is the oldest and strongest emotion– primal and unrelenting.

It’s an instinct woven into every creature, the deciding factor between life and death. The fear of the unknown is the greatest thing of all, or so Lovecraft once claimed. Yet, something about the quote never sat right with you. Fear is a fleeting thing– it tends to lack depth. It’s a faceless ghost– the sensation of goosebumps prickling against skin, the jitter in your bones as you shiver from adrenaline.

But no matter how hard you tried to picture it, to show it, the emotion evaded you. 

You groaned, fingers moving instinctively across the page of your sketchbook as you tried to capture the essence of the scene before you. The town square was buzzing with movement– costumed figures prowling through the streets, faces covered in an assortment of masks and bodies disfigured under layers of fabric.

Children clutched worn pillowcases, bounding from vendor to vendor in order to get their hands on a new sweet treat, parents following closely behind. Haddonfield’s annual Halloween Jamboree was nothing short of tradition, the mid-sized town throwing a lavish festival the Friday before the week of Halloween, something about being family friendly– as the mayor had said a few years back.

The event itself was always a hit, with college students flocking the scene from the nearby campus once the sun had fully set and the adults could come out and play. The festivities, as cheerful and decorative as they were, hid a much darker secret. 

As Halloween approached, so did the threat of death.

As much as people tried to ignore it, no matter how close parents held their children, no matter the curfews or buddy systems– death always came to collect. A heavy exhale escaped you, thumb smudging the shadows of the sketched scene, darkening the edges– there, it almost looked real. Almost alive.

Gazing over the sketch of haunting figures parading down the sidewalk, something caught your eye. A frown caught on your lips, brows furrowing. Holding up the sketch to the darkened sky, you glanced upwards, comparing fiction from reality. A muddled shape etched into the background of the town square– had you meant to draw that?

A smudge… no, a figure, so faint it was nearly swallowed up by the charcoal shadows, standing just in front of the treeline– watching.

“You’re doing it again.” The sound nearly made you jump out of your skin. Whirling your head around, the sketchbook clattered onto the wooden bench, now forgotten. Tiffany leaned over your shoulder, brow cocked in amusement at your jumpy state. Rolling your eyes at her antics, you quickly scooped up the sketchbook, frustration bubbling in your stomach.

“Jesus Tiff, you scared the shit out of me–” Your gaze caught the shape of the charcoal pencil on the concrete, “–ugh, my pencil! You owe me a new one.” You huffed out, gingerly rolling the ruined utensil between your fingers. Tiffany mumbled out an apology while moving around the bench, the scent of cigarettes invading your nostrils as she collapsed next to you.

“Seriously babes, it’s almost Halloween– not some art critique.” Her nose scrunched at that, and you shoved her shoulder halfheartedly. She squealed at your assault, shoving you back before continuing. “...Can you put down the creepy sketches for one night? Jennifer and I skipped the callbacks afterparty to be here.” She pouted, those damn doe eyes burning into you, guilt gnawing in your stomach. 

You sighed, tucking the sketchbook into your backpack. “I know, I know… I’m just–” “–Being a little weirdo like always?” Jennifer cut in, plopping into the open spot to your right on the bench. She grinned at you, pushing a beer bottle into your hand, the other gripped around another glass. You instantly took a swig, grimacing as the warm taste of stale beer invaded your senses.

“C’mon, this is like the last Friday we have together before rehearsals start! We have to do something fun.” She mused, Tiffany nodding along absentmindedly while she fiddled with her jeans. “This is fun!” you protested, but you couldn’t help but smile at them, knowing they had already won you over. Tiffany and Jennifer were your vices– they could convince you to do just about anything, no matter how much you disagreed with them. That’s what made your friendship so strong, they pushed you out of your comfort zone, and you kept them from going off the deep end. 

Something about tonight, however, felt different.

The Halloween Jamboree was too loud, too bright, too crowded. The air buzzed with anticipation of an unnamed influence, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. Jennifer drained the last of her drink, tossing the bottle haphazardly behind her with a smirk. She straightened suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked you and Tiffany over.

“You know what we really need?” She questioned, and your stomach dropped a bit. The last time she uttered that phrase it resulted in you being banned from half the frats on campus after she stole the composite pictures from Lambda Chi Alpha. You chuckled slightly, the image of her drunkenly tackling a pledge like a linebacker with the picture cradled in her arms flashing in your mind.

Tiffany cocked a brow, apprehension coating her response, “What?” Jennifer flashed a wolfish grin, plucking the beer from your hand, ignoring your whines. She took a swig, contemplating her words before speaking, “–We need a real scare. I say we do something actually terrifying…”

She glanced at the costumed children in front of her, brows furrowing before she added, “-None of this kiddie haunted house bullshit.” Tiffany was instantly intrigued at the prospect, but you were less assured. “Like what?”, you questioned, yanking the beer bottle back into your hands and taking a sip.

Jennifer shrugged, but Tiffany’s eyes gleamed– an idea popping into her head and she grabbed your shoulder. “I mean… There is that old church just outside of town.” She mused, Jennifer quickly taking the bait. “That’s perfect! You’re a genius, Tiff.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion. The church. 

You had heard the rumors, the stories. Some said it had been abandoned for decades after the fire ravaged the building, leaving the charred remains scattered along the forest floor to rot. Others said it never had been abandoned, the decaying steeple housing something much more sinister.

Whispers of the couple that was brutally murdered earlier this year quickly fluttered through your mind, their warped corpses draped over the altar. “Demon worshipers”, the sheriff had said, but you weren’t so sure. The church was your secret– having been obsessed with the dark ruins that seemed to swallow you up every time you walked through the doors. You had sketched it from memory countless times, the skeletal archways and dusty pews burned into your brain.

Something about it always called to you. 

Jennifer’s grin only widened, and you fought to keep your expression neutral. “What do you think, scaredy cat?” She mocked, the beer turning sour in your mouth at the taunt. “–Think you can handle it?” You swallowed thickly, debating saying something. You wanted to say no, the idea of having your friends trample around your safe space making your stomach churn. ‘It’s not safe’, you wanted to plead, ‘–it’s dangerous’.

Instead, you found yourself pulling your backpack over your shoulders. “Let’s go.” You mumbled, causing an excited squeal to erupt from your friends, who were hot on your heel. You quickly finished the beer, tossing it into a stray trash can as you passed, a heavy sigh building in the back of your throat.

Three girls exploring a haunted church a few nights before Halloween… what’s the worst that could happen?

__

The church was always grim at night.

Like an icon to broken faith, it loomed over the treeline– the charred steeple cutting through the horizon like a knife. The rusted iron gate stood ajar, the hinge groaning as you pushed it further open, like a mouth leading into darkness. The wind howled in the distance, whipping through the shattered windows– making the building sound as if it were breathing.

You shivered against the cold, braving onwards. Leaves crunched under your boots as you walked, Tiffany and Jennifer following closely behind. Weaving through the asymmetrical headstones of the cemetery, you paused at the entrance of the church, Tiffany tripping over her feet as she glanced upwards. The wood of the heavy doors had deteriorated over time, moss and mushrooms sprouting from the ground upwards.

You leaned against the heavy door, pushing one open with a grunt. The wood gave way, the rusty hinges screaming as you opened the door. Stepping inside, the three of you gaped upwards, taking in your surroundings.

“I need a cigarette.” Jennifer mumbled, eyes trailing the stained glass depicting different saints and angels. The moonlight streamed through the gaping holes in the ceiling– the rafters in various stages of decay as your eyes adjusted to the lack of light. Sidestepping a fallen pew, you made your way forwards, navigating through the familiar maze of stone and wood.

The air was thick with rot and dust, hanging heavy around you like a weighted blanket. Your hand traced the ornate carvings of a confessional booth, the wood now splintered and covered in graffiti. A place once considered to be holy– now desolate and abandoned. Jennifer rammed into the overturned pew, obscenities flying from her mouth.

Ushering the duo over, you pulled them to the back of the church, the cracked marble of the altar glowing faintly under the moonlight. The air stilled here, a chill seeping into your bones as you stared forward. Tiffany straightened, swallowing thickly. “Is... is that where–?”

You nodded, the gruesome crime scene photos from the newspaper flashing in your mind. Jennifer, ever fearless, moved forward. Brushing her hand against the altar, she hopped up, legs swinging as she sat on the resting place of two unfortunate souls. Your stomach boiled at the disrespect, but you held your tongue. “Ya know…” She started, fishing out a cigarette from her pocket. Lighting it, she took a drag before continuing. “Some say they saw the devil before they died. That’s why the police never found their killer.” Tiffany shuddered at the statement, eyes catching a drop of dried blood hidden underneath the altar.

You rolled your eyes.

“Their friends were drunk. I mean…” You gestured around yourself to the decaying church, “-Who else comes to a church to play the Ouija board? They were seeing things.” Jennifer pushed off of the altar, heels clicking against the dusty floor as she took another drag. She exhaled, blowing the smoke into your face– your eyes stinging as a cough ripped from your throat. 

You snatched the cigarette from her fingers, anger building.

“Whether you believe in it or not, go smoke outside. You’re being rude.” Jennifer’s brows furrowed, an angry pout building on her lips as she glowered at you. “Jeez, someone’s got their panties in a twist tonight.” She huffed out, taking the butt of the cigarette from your hands and moving towards the front door. “I’ll be a minute…” She called over her shoulder, eyes meeting yours with a twinge of irritation. “–Don’t wait up.” Her footsteps retreated outside, and

Tiffany sank into a wooden pew– trying to steel her nerves. Your fingers twitched, itching for your sketchbook. You wanted to capture the essence of the church, something about it so harrowing it stayed with you every time you left. The cracked altar, the rusted candelabras, the splintered organ shoved into the corner– it whispered to you, begging you to explore, to dive into the depths. 

You glanced at the altar once more, trying to imagine the final moments of those who came before you.

The hiss of spray cans against stone, the clink of beer bottles and the smell of cigarette smoke. The whispers to a wooden board, the shrieks of excitement as the planchette moved. An unexpected visitor– a struggle, a piercing shout– then nothing. Was the violence in a place deemed sacred the reason for your obsession? Or was it something darker, a force calling you from the bowels of the church?

Did they pray to a god they didn't believe in as they were slaughtered, or did they know that they were forsaken? Your mind spun with the possibilities, fingers burning to sketch the outline of the saints etched into the wall. They had to have seen, they had to have known, yet nothing saved them… why? 

A gurgled scream tore through the stale air, causing your spine to stiffen.

Your head whirled, eyes meeting the frantic Tiffany, who shot out of the pew. You both turned towards the noise, fear settling in the pit of your stomach. Jennifer. Your throat dried, heart pounding in your chest as you called out– a piece of you begging, pleading for a response. Nothing. The silence seemed to swallow you whole, your feet anchoring you in place. God, that scream– the sound seared into your brain as you gaped at the door.

Tiffany bolted towards the front door, feet skittering across the assortment of debris littering the floor. Your brain yelled at you to move, to run and follow Tiffany, but you were frozen in place. Stumbling forward, she reached the expanse of the open door, darting out momentarily. Your heart leaped within your chest, mouth opening to speak– but any semblance of words died on your tongue. You looked upwards. The iconography of forgotten saints glaring down at you in the haze of night, solemn faces weathered by time.

Is this how it felt to feel the wrath of God?

Tiffany rushed back inside, slamming the wooden door with a force so strong it made the church tremble. Deathly pale, she stumbled over the debris, collapsing in a heap a few feet from the doors. The smell of vomit filled the air, and you flinched. The sight of her– broken, trembling, driven half mad– snapped you from your trance. You whispered across the darkness, arms beckoning her towards you, but she remained rooted in place. 

“What… What did you see?!” Tiffany choked on a sob, breath hitching. Snot ran down her face, and she whipped her face with her damp sleeve. “Tiffany–” Your voice hardened, urgency rising like bile in your throat. “–Where is Jennifer?” At the mention of her name, Tiffany went rigid. She shook her head violently, as if the words themselves would summon something terrible.  

“She’s…”, Her fingers dug into the floorboards, clawing for something solid. “Oh god– she’s dead.” 

The words hung in the air– and a piece of you begged that it was some kind of joke. But nothing about the trembling girl in front of you seemed staged, it was all terrifyingly real. You swallowed hard, straining your ears for any sound of movement. Adrenaline began to flood your senses, your heart feeling like it was going to burst from your chest.

The church was quiet– too quiet– the only sound coming from the wind whipping through the rafters.

The heavy door shuddered slightly as it was pushed open once more, the shriek of the hinges catching your attention. The open doorway was a gateway to the void, no matter how hard you squinted darkness met your vision. Hope rose within your chest, pushing your shaking legs forward– one step, two. Maybe Jennifer had gotten hurt, maybe Tiffany saw the blood and panicked, maybe– just maybe your mind was playing tricks on you.

A shadow passed through the threshold of the doorway, thick and oppressive.

Tiffany let out a pitiful whimper, shrinking further into the floor, refusing to look behind her and into the doorway. You squinted against the darkness, trying to make out the shape you swore you saw move into the entrance of the church.

The stale air in the church thickened, and you swallowed dryly, eyes tracing the doorway. A stream of moonlight broke through the battered steeple, cutting through the darkness– and then you saw him. That godforsaken pale mask you had only heard of in ghost stories, those hollow eyes that burned into your skull. Like death itself, the boogeyman of Haddonfield had come to pay his due.

Michael Myers.

A part of you knew, deep down that Jennifer wasn’t coming back. Whatever had made her scream had already decided her fate, and even worse– you were next.

The church seemed to tighten around you, the air growing suffocatingly thick. Your knees locked in place, fear crackling through your veins. You should have known better, that there was no salvation in a house of God– not here, not tonight. Michael stepped further into the church, breaching the line of sanctuary, and you knew– no prayer would save you now.

Tiffany tried to run, she really did– but nothing could keep her foot from catching on the edge of an upturned rock. She stumbled, a frantic yelp ripping from her throat as her twisted limb crumbled beneath her. Her fingers clawed at the floor, desperately trying to drag herself from the shadow looming over her. Gasping for air, she outstretched a hand– praying, begging for salvation.

Like a lamb sent to slaughter.

Your mouth went dry at the absolute irony of it all– hunted down in a revered sanctuary. Mentally you screamed at your legs to move, to give out, to do anything other than stand there and gape like a deer caught in headlights, but your feet remained rooted to the floor.

“God, please help me–” Tiffany sputtered out, calling out your name like a lifeline, tears streaming down her face as she writhed like an overturned bug. “... I don’t want to die–”. The pitiful words pounded in your skull, yet you couldn’t tear yourself away from the scene. Michael refused to stop, hand gripping the back of her hair and pulling her head upwards off the floor. Her eyes met yours, and the blood drained from your face.

The saints loomed overhead, their engraved expressions frozen in silent judgement, empty eyes watching, waiting. Their lips did not move to save her– for she was already damned.

The knife came down in a single, unceremonious slice, severing the fragile skin of her throat. Her prayer gurgled on her tongue, blood spilling over her hands as she clawed at her throat. Tiffany convulsed, her eyes bulging from her skull as she choked on her own blood before deteriorating to the dusty floor. 

Silence fell over the church once more, and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your knees buckled beneath your weight, a dull pain stabbing into you as you collapsed. The stone needled through the denim of your jeans, and your hands trembled, barely supporting you. Michael moved onwards, a shadow cast by the hand of God– silent, inevitable.

His gaze burned into you, scorching your flesh as you stared, unable to look away. The sickening dribble of blood, a calculated step, two. And then– slowly– you lowered your head. Your fingers curled into fists as your head dipped, breaths coming out in frantic huffs as you knelt, body possessed by something ancient, something primal.

His overwhelming presence bore down on you, the outline of his boots barely visible under the curtain of hair pooling from your head, obstructing your view. Another deep sigh came from Michael– your judge, jury, and executioner– the knife, your penance, gripped tightly in his fist. 

“Please,” the word slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself, voice hoarse, resolve shattered.

You couldn’t decipher what you were pleading for… the finality of your punishment– or deliverance? Your prayer echoed around the space, the weight of his gaze bearing down against you. The church walls stood, unmoving. The saints did not weep– the grounds did not split, swallowing you up into the depths of hell– just silence.

You remained frozen, head bowed to the floor like a deranged sign of reverence. You didn’t dare to raise your gaze, not when you could feel him standing over you, his presence practically suffocating. Michael did not move, motionless above you. You could have sworn you heard him breathing– slow, steady, somehow human– but everything else surrounding him embodied the unnatural. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, time itself faltering around him, heavy and stifling. 

Then, footsteps– slow and calculated.

You squeezed your eyes shut as they receded, the jostling slam of the wooden door swallowing his form into the night. The cold rushed through your lungs as you gasped for air, shuddering as you released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. Just as soon as he appeared, he was gone. For the first time since his untimely appearance, you forced your body to move– hands flattening against the floor as you shakily pushed yourself upwards.

Blood coated the soles of your boots as you stumbled towards the entrance of the church, and you forced yourself to look. Tiffany’s motionless body lay mere inches from your laces, lifeless eyes staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling– eerily mirroring the saints glaring down at you.

 You knew Jennifer wasn’t going to be any better, another lost soul put in the wrong place, wrong time. Your fingers dug into the splintered wood of the door, and you pulled the door open, the frigid nighttime air biting into your skin.

They were dead, but you– you were alive. Your stomach lurched, a strangled sob ripping from your throat as you dry heaved against the doorway. Your body shivered, wracked with fear, with grief, and something much worse.

Something that burned in your chest like shame– something that felt like gratitude. 

__

The funeral was a blur.

Jennifer’s family was a wreck, her mother sobbing openly as they lowered the casket into the ground. She clawed at the wooden box as if to drag her daughter back into the light– to life. Tiffany’s parents were more solemn, her father silently watching the scene unravel as he held his wife to his chest.

There’s a saying you read in a book once, that parents only feel true sorrow when they bury their children within their lifetime. Seeing it all now, however, the saying was all the more horrific. You stood at the back of the service, nails digging into the palms of your hands– leaving crescents in their wake. The questions from the officers interrogating you just days before still swirled in your head, voices muffled against the sobs of the funeral party. 

We just wanted to explore, you had said. They ran– but I don’t know why I didn’t, too. You expected disbelief, the fragmented pieces of information you remembered painting a picture of the boogeyman you were sure had been blamed for many other crimes. In the end, the weight of two bodies– killed days before Halloween– seemed to be enough evidence that mirrored your claims.

You didn’t cry– you couldn’t, not when you had survived.

The guilt gnawed at you, clawing through your ribcage to the point where you felt like you couldn’t breathe. It was immeasurable, but there was something else growing within you– something darker. Michael had spared you, not due to mercy or luck, but from something you couldn’t quite place. He had watched you– stood over you with your life practically balanced between his fingers– and he walked away.

Your mind couldn’t let it go, replaying the moments like a broken record, trying but failing to analyze what could have been your saving grace. 

You had stopped sleeping since that night.

Every time you closed your eyes, he would be there, towering over you– a silent threat. You dreamed of him, not as the brutal murderer that ripped the life from your friends, but as something far from human. He was always there, lurking in the back of your mind like a shadow. Throughout the restless nights, you would toss and turn, the events of that forsaken night playing in an endless loop.

The church. The knife. The screams. But most importantly, the haunting silence that followed.

The air always felt heavy during the night, as if you were being watched– the hair on the back of your neck standing straight up as you tried to force your bloodshot eyes shut. You tried everything to relieve the stress: chamomile tea, lavender lotion, weighted blankets, a noise machine. Yet the sweet solace of sleep never came, the only semblance of rest coming from the daydreams that followed your every waking moment. 

You became withdrawn from school, the days bleeding together after the funeral into a mess of smeared memories. Your classmates assumed you were grieving the loss of your friends, the trauma uprooting your life in a way that left you… different. If only they knew the truth, the nightmares plaguing you at night, the guilt of it all, weighing down on you like a wet blanket.

He consumed your life, from the moment you dragged yourself out of bed to the second you shut your eyes. It was as if you missed him– the thought alone made you feel sick. But it was there, those dark thoughts crawling within your chest, feelings you could only describe as a fucked up gratitude. Michael had spared you, leaving behind nothing but unanswered questions.

And no matter how hard you tried to push the feelings down and snuff out the curiosity, you wanted to find out why. 

The darkness manifested itself within your work. At first, you didn’t even notice– mindless doodles on your notes as the professor lectured in class, sketches charcoaled in your notebook during the nights you dreaded sleep. Somehow, he always managed to take form.

The curve of the blade of the knife, the angle of his shoulders, the hollow outline of his mask.

As your mind wandered, the page would fill with details you only could have imagined– the sharp curve of a nose, a widow’s peak of dark hair, steely eyes. Fingers would haphazardly turn the page, having a mind of their own as you zoned out. One page, then two, then three. By the time you looked down, snapping out of your haze, the paper was riddled with him.

Your paintings began to darken– landscapes draped with shadows, an outline of a figure in the distance at the focal point. Images of the icons within the church became anything but saintly– empty sockets sunken into withered heads, the sight ghastly morbid. Clay sculptures related to broken bodies filled with deep slashes, hands outstretched for any semblance of mercy. 

During class critiques, even your professors noted the sudden change in your content– casting worried looks your way as their eyes scanned your work. “This feels… heavy. Haunted, almost.” You brushed the comments off, lying through gritted teeth. Some bullshit excuse on the study of trauma– yet you knew that it was further than the truth.

But when you returned to your room, you found it transformed into a gallery of him. The paintings, the sketches, the sculptures burning holes within you– calling to you, taunting you. He was everywhere, like a stain you couldn’t scrub away. And although you hated to admit it, a part of you knew you couldn’t if you tried. 

You started to confess.

Not to a priest or a therapist– but to your bathroom mirror, the warped reflection in the glass being your only comfort. Your fingers would trace the cool surface, hushed whispers filling the dim space. “I should have died–”, breath fogging up the glass as your dark confession echoed against the tiled walls. Voice shaking, you added: “... with them.” They were sane, choosing to scream and run in order to try and beat death.

But you, you had knelt– and for that, you lived.

Your nails dug into your palms so hard it drew blood, the dull needling through your skin in a way that made your head spin– the pain buzzing through you like a draw of a cigarette. You barely recognized the individual that stared back at you: skin flushed, hairline beaded with sweat, hands clammy. But the most unnerving was the look in your bloodshot eyes, swimming with a darkness you couldn’t quite place. 

It was wrong– falling into the abyss of sin, playing back the memories of that night with an almost obsessive admiration.

You should have moved on by now, gone to therapy, maybe started medication and begun to pick up the shattered pieces of your life. Instead, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, chanting your own damnation like a prayer– fingers subconsciously tracing the shape of his mask against the glass. Images of you on your knees in the church flickered through your mind, and your chest tightened with something far more sinister than fear.

Something worse… something reverent.

You could still feel the weight of his gaze when he towered over you, encompassing you so thoroughly you could feel it in your soul. Tearing your gaze away from the mirror, the damp skin of your forehead pressed against the cool glass for comfort, mantras swirling in your head like a broken record player.

There is no salvation in a house of God. 

You flicked your gaze to the bathroom door, an idea seeming a little too much like temptation sprouting within your mind. Maybe– just maybe– if not salvation, there was clarity found only in the place you had sunk to your knees all those nights ago. Pushing yourself away from the mirror, determination began to stir within your gut. You had to go back– to see.

You couldn’t run away from your demons, you had to confront them. Slipping into the night air, a chill settled within your bones, an unknown force spreading goosebumps across your skin. As you trudged through the dark, you thought back to the pivotal moment: the scrape of the stone against your knees, the sound of his ragged breaths, the crushing tension crackling in the air like wildfire. It had felt– holy, the sensation gnawing at your stomach, clawing into your throat in a way that made you question your own sanity. 

No… not holy. But something dangerously close. 

__

The church loomed over you, eerily identical to that night.

A sleeping beast– the rusted gate resembling a gaping mouth to the pits of hell, inviting you inside. You stepped through the threshold, the crunch of gravel the only noise as you approached the heavy doors. A part of you cursed your actions, the idea of coming back being nothing short than madness. You were chasing answers that were ghosts, fueled by trauma and grief– not by reasoning.

And yet, you pushed onwards, hands steeled against the heavy wood. In your peripheral a small pool of dried blood painted the stone walls of the church, hosting the last moments of your friend’s life. You refused to look, swallowing thickly as you finally pushed the door open. The church welcomed you with open arms, the pull so heavy you felt as if you were possessed. 

Moonlight crept through the open ceiling, casting the interior in a ghostly haze. The church seemed frozen in time since your last visit– the cracked marble altar glaring back at you in an almost inviting manner. Your knees ache at the memory of kneeling there, a subconscious feeling of guilt burning against your throat, pulse quickening as you retraced your steps. Approaching the back of the church, the familiar scent of dust and rotting wood filled your nostrils– along with the undertone of something metallic.

Your jaw clenched at that, eyes wandering to the broken pew that resulted in Tiffany’s death. The stale air suddenly shifted, and then you felt it– the weight of a presence behind you. Your breath caught in your throat, yet you refused to turn, already knowing the source.

His boots scraped against the uneven stone, measured, calculated.

The sound sent an electric current down your spine, causing you to stiffen beneath his gaze, eyes trained forwards towards the altar. A small part of you had imagined this moment, the possibility of returning to the scene fueled by the same darkness invading your artwork, your life.

But the reality of him standing there, mere feet away from you was too much, consuming you whole. Your fingers twitched at your sides, forcing your body to move, to look– and there he was. Michael Myers stood behind the last row of pews, the moonlight casting his shadow across the church like death, untouched by time.

The mask that plagued your dreams caught the light, its hollow eyes drinking in your frozen form, the call of the void. The knife was gripped loosely in his hand, dangling at his side– a stark reminder of his sins. You should be terrified, but for reasons you couldn’t even begin to explain, you weren’t. Something buzzed against your skin like an unspoken prayer, and you found yourself speaking before you could stop yourself.

“I… I knew you would come back.”

Michael’s head tilted ever so slightly, silent at your words. He never spoke, you knew that much, but you felt his response– the action in itself almost mocking you. You could feel him, his presence so thick with tension it coiled around you like a snake, poised and ready to strike.

You swallowed thickly, body betraying you as your knees buckled under his gaze, and before you could stop yourself, you were sinking to the floor. The cool stone dug into your knees, the familiar sensation almost comforting against your skin. A trembling breath escaped you as you knelt before him, unable to do anything but watch.

Michael took a step forward, then another– the air thinning as he approached, boots halting inches from your knees. You craned your neck upwards, stomach churning as you gaped at the silent killer. He was so close you could feel his warmth, the scent of metal and something much more primal seeping into your senses. Your lips parted, but any semblance of begging died on your tongue. 

Instead, you whispered a confession– one that would seal your fate.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” You don’t know the things you do to me. There was a pause, a shift in the air as Michael looked down at you– studying you. The cold metal of the knife brushed your cheek, yet you did not flinch, your body rooted in place, entranced. You felt chosen– a sacrificial lamb that should have died all those nights ago, but somehow didn’t. But now here you were, offering yourself to him willingly.

The knife nicked your cheek, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the sting, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Your heart hammered in your chest, threatening to crawl out of your throat. Would he end it now and finish what he started? Or– your eyes shifted from the blade to that unholy mask– would he let you live? The decision was his alone, his cross to bear. The knife inched closer, pressing into the cut so suddenly a whimper bubbled in your throat, leaving you waiting– wanting. 

The knife never strikes.

Instead, it traces along your cheek, the tip ghosting along your jaw. Your breathing is shallow, uneven puffs filling the cool air as the metal pressed ever so slightly into your skin– a warning. You tilt your head upwards, bearing your throat to him– your offering. The action causes the tension in the air to snap, you feel it in the way the air becomes too heavy you feel as if you were suffocating.

Michael doesn’t speak– he doesn’t have to, you know what he wants, what he has always wanted, and what the devil inside of you wants too.

Forgive her, for she knows not what she does.

Heat pools like hellfire in your stomach, and your tongue darts oh so subtly to lick your chapped lip. He moves at that, inevitable. A hand wraps around your throat, pulling you upwards with strength that seems far from human. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, fighting the urge to struggle against the touch as your toes scrape against the stone, begging for leverage.

His fingers wrap around your neck so forcibly your jaw groans from the pressure, thumb pressing against your hammering pulsepoint– beating for him. Your pulse flutters against his skin, throat bobbing as you try to breathe. You should be struggling, should be fighting, but something about the way his hold makes you feel owned ignites fire across your skin.

His hold softens ever so slightly, and you greedily gulp in a breath, thighs clenching as something sinful churns in your gut.

He leans down, mask scraping against your forehead as you drown in his gaze. The light catches, and a ghostly blue devours you, your blood turning to ice at the sight. His breath comes out in ragged huffs, escaping through the holes in his mask– washing over you like a baptism.

You were drowning in him, but it was anything but holy; it was something much worse. 

You don’t know who moves first. All you know is that one moment you are gasping for breath in his hold, and the next he has his fist wrapped in your hair, dragging you towards the altar. Your scalp screams for relief under his hold, your legs struggling to root yourself as you are all but practically thrown on the altar. The marble is cold against your back, sinking through the thin material of your top– but not as cold as his touch.

His hand wraps around your throat once more, holding you in place against the altar as goosebumps erupt across your skin. The knife trails down your chest– and before you can protest, the blade is cutting through your top, slicing the flimsy material into shreds. Your nipples harden against the frigid air, chest heaving as you look helplessly upwards.

The tip of the knife traces over your left breast, tapping slightly against your pebbled nipple, causing a shudder to rip down your spine. The knife trails to the valley of your breasts before halting at the flesh above your heart, digging into the skin slightly. You grit your teeth at the sensation, a droplet of crimson rising to the surface from his ministrations.

It was so wrong– knowing you were mere inches from death, yet the fire licking at your stomach left you spiraling towards sin.

You clenched subconsciously, skin feeling suddenly too hot as the knife retreats from your skin. Thrown to the side, the knife clatters loudly against the marble, Michael’s hand cupping the abused mound roughly. His thumb dips into the blood, smearing it against your skin– tainting you. The hand around your throat squeezes teasingly, and your hips buck ever so slightly at the sensation.

Your breath stutters as he paws at your breasts, rolling the sensitive flesh beneath his fingers. You shudder, a whine building in your throat from the pressure, tears pricking your eyes at the needling pain. You had never felt this way before– the pain coating your skin in a way that left your head spinning, thighs clenching around nothing as you squirmed against his touch.

His fingers brush down your naval, crudely unbuttoning your jeans before ripping them and your panties down your legs, leaving you naked against the marble. Your breath stutters, spine aching against the hard surface as Michael slots himself between your parted thighs.

Your body is an offering– a sacrifice for the taking as your sins are laid bare.

Michael’s fingers dig into the fat of your ass, hauling you closer to the edge of the altar, pressing your flesh against the scratchy denim of his jumpsuit. Your jaw trembles as your clit scrapes against the jumpsuit, sending overstimulating sparks up your spine. You jolt at the contact, Michael brazing onwards, groping, prodding at you like an unwrapped gift.

His fiery touch was anything but gentle, his calloused fingers digging so hard against your skin you moaned weakly, wincing at the realization that bruises would be left in their wake. Michael let out a huff, seemingly pleased with your body laid out before him, hand retreating from you to unbutton his jumpsuit. Still held in place, you squirmed slightly, back screaming as you moved against the unpolished marble, chafing your skin. 

Every movement resulted in an intoxicating pain that sent you reeling, your penance.

The worn stained glass cast a kaleidoscope of colors on Michael’s mask, the saints above watching in silence. Do the saints weep at your sin? Do they turn away? Your thoughts are torn away when the tip of his cock brushes against your folds.

You panic, trying to push yourself upwards, babbling nonsense with his hand around your throat. You aren’t ready, you don’t think it will fit– but Michael is undeterred. Jutting his hips forwards, his cockhead dips between your folds, stretching you uncomfortably. You realize that it’s pointless to reason with the devil– if he wants something, he takes it.

Your insides are screaming as Michael pushes onwards, driving into you inch by inch. The tears fall at that, stinging as they mingle with the blood on your cheek. You feel as if you are being split in two, thighs clenching so hard you worry you’ll snap. Michael’s hips meet yours, and you swear you can feel him in your throat. 

Leaving you with no room to adjust, Michael bottoms out, snapping his hips forward and starting a brutal pace. All you can do is take it, fingers reaching out to clutch at the fabric of his jumpsuit, the only thing grounding you as his hips stutter forward. You gasp, the stretch feeling as if you were burning from the inside out, tits bouncing as your back scraps against the altar.

You openly sob now, the pace too intense, too rough– so full you feel as if there is nothing left but him. The denim of the jumpsuit brushes your clit again, sending an electrical current across your skin, tearing a broken moan from your throat.

You were melting, skin so hot that you already feel as if you are in the pits of hell.

Michael grunts, cock plunging into your gummy walls with such force your head spins. The sounds of your staccato gasps echo in the church, accompanied by the lewd squelch of your pussy sucking him in. If you were a better woman, you would have felt shame, yet the only thing you could feel was the ache between your thighs. 

With every thrust, the signing pain began to subside, turning into something so intense your mouth gapes. You suck in a shuddering breath, eyes rolling as his tip hits that oh so sensitive spongy spot, causing your toes to curl. The hand around your neck tightens, his grip unrelenting as you gasp for air.

God, it's too much– your head spiraling from the shards of pain shooting up your back from the friction– yet you couldn’t do anything else but moan. “Michael–”, his name is a breathless plea, a wicked prayer as his weight sinks into you. Your body arches beneath him, a sinner consumed by rapture. A sheen of sweat coated your skin, dripping down the valley of your breasts.

Michael’s hips rolled against you like a man driven mad– but you knew better, he was no man. 

The hand wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip released, hips abruptly leaving yours as he pulled out, causing your pussy to flutter around air. Fingers digging into the fat of your hips, you were flipped as if you weighed nothing, tits crushed against the cool marble as you were pushed face down onto the altar.

Your hair was quickly bundled around his fist, forcibly arching you against him as he realigned himself to your leaking hole– pushing himself back inside with ease. Your tongue lolled from your lips at the sudden shift in position, Michael’s cock delving even deeper within you.

Pain shot through your already tender scalp, white sparks flying across your vision as you stared into the abyss of night laid out above you. Stars poked through the gaping hole of the church ceiling, the heavens glaring down at your sin– mocking you.

Oh God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Your hips ground against the stone edge, your legs trembling under the weight of his brutal thrusts. You had long abandoned any semblance of sanity, openly weeping as you fell from grace, utterly corrupted by the way his hips rolled against your ass. You clawed at the altar-top, nails chipping from the force as Michael barred down fucking into you so roughly your breath caught in your lungs.

Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, pussy fluttering as the tension built within you– a testament to your sin.

The action was anything but holy, the scent of sex practically dripping from your shaking form as you were bullied into from behind. The taste of metal invaded your mouth, teeth gnashing against the flesh of your cheek as a pitiful attempt to stifle your moans.

You were his offering– his to take, his to taint, and you were falling fast. Your stomach tightened, tension becoming unbearable as your spongy walls were all but abused. The knife was still there– lying beside your head, discarded as if it was no longer needed.

Then you realized– it wasn’t, he owned you now.

And with that, the heavens collided.

A scream tore from your throat as you came, relief flooding your body as your brain short-circuited, toes curling from the force. Michael fucked you through the orgasm, balls slapping against your clit in a way that left you in a sobbing, overstimulated mess. You clenched around him, his pace beginning to falter as Michael climbed towards his own release. Your knees gave out, your hair being the only anchor keeping you from collapsing.

Michael’s breaths came out in primal huffs, a low growl slipping as he came– thick ropes of cum filling you to the brim. You shuddered at the feeling, mind blank with nothing but the sensation of the shallow thrusts of Michael stilling against you, pushed to the hilt. You struggled to catch your breath, heart practically beating out of your chest as you went lip under his hold. 

Michael pulled his softening cock from your folds, the sensation making you whine. Your lips fluttered at his retreat, cum spilling down your thighs as the void overtook you. Your hair was freed from his grasp, scalp tingling as you limply pressed your temple to the cool surface of the marble. His weight abruptly vanished, yet you were too fucked out to care.

For a moment, you didn’t dare move, skin damp with sweat– with sin.

Every inch of your skin burned, scrapes and bruises coating every surface, the corruption sinking into your soul. You were ruined– and yet you found yourself blindly reaching for him, fingers swiping air. Confusion wracked your form, and you weakly turned, fingers gripping the altar for support– but he was gone.

The ritual was complete, the offering devoured. You had given him everything: body, mind, soul– and now there was nothing left.

Your discarded clothes pooled at your feet, a soulless reminder of the events that had taken place. A raw, broken sound escaped your chest– a laugh bubbling past your sobs. This was your penance, your punishment for offering yourself so willingly to something that would destroy you.

Now, you were alone– utterly and completely at the mercy of God himself.

A shiver crawled down your spine at the thought, knowing he had left you once before, yet you had returned. So what was stopping you from doing it again? Your lips parted ever so slightly, a single prayer slipping past– not to God, but to him.

“Michael…” You knew there would be no response, only silence. But as you slowly gathered the ruined fabric at your feet, you knew deep down that he was listening. He was always listening. And now that you had offered yourself to him, he wouldn’t have to come for you; you would go to him. 

Because there is no salvation in a house of God, only him– and he is the only one left to worship.

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[ 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ]

A collection of every story I’ve written in Sylus’s name—and every one I’m still aching to tell. Each piece is a fragment of him: the silence, the storm, the ache that never really leaves.

This is where he lives now. Between the lines. In the longing.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐭

Sylus locks himself away to survive the dragon’s rut, but when his mate finds him, his restraint shatters. Consumed by instinct and desperate need, he claims her in a frenzy of hunger, worship, and ruin—where love feels as dangerous as desire.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : Explicit content, dark themes, primal/feral rut, knotting, consent/touch starvation, possessive obsession, heavy angst, sacred/profane dynamics. NSFW.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : Completed.

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here! ]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥

In the aftermath of ruin, Sylus faces the shame and tenderness that follow violence made holy. Wracked by guilt, he struggles to accept forgiveness from the woman he nearly destroyed—only to find that her love, raw and unwavering, might be the hardest mercy of all.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : Explicit aftermath/aftercare, deep angst, guilt, self-loathing, consent complex, bruising, blood, heavy emotional themes, dark self-reflection, worshipful but destructive dynamics, hurt/comfort. NSFW.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : Completed.

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here! ]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡

In the crucible of birth, Sylus faces the terror of losing his mate—and the miracle of holding both her and their child at the edge of life and death. Shaken by fear and awe, he discovers a new kind of love: fierce, protective, and humbling, for the family forged in fire and pain.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : Graphic birth, medical distress, near-death experience, explicit emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, intense angst, themes of trauma and healing, dragon family dynamics. NSFW.

𝐫��𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 : Completed

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here! ]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 — 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

What begins as a tense, ordinary night at home unravels into a heated game of questions and answers, as Sylus turns studying into seduction. Each correct answer strips away another layer—of clothing and composure—until intellect, desire, and surrender collide, leaving them both undone by the end.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : Explicit sexual content, power dynamics, mild bondage (wrist holding), consensual predator/prey kink, D/s undertones, orgasm control/edging, mild roughness (biting, marking), praise and degradation, explicit language. Mentions of academic stress and exhaustion. NSFW.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : Completed.

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here! ]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 — 𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬

She finds unexpected comfort and belonging in Sylus’s kitchen, where a midnight dance party, playful banter, and a shared meal with Sylus turn the mansion from a place of intimidation into the beginnings of home.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : Light domestic fluff, mild embarrassment, brief feelings of being out of place/insecurity, playful language, canon-typical snark. No explicit content.

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬 : Completed.

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here! ]

𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 — 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐝

When Sylus stumbles into the hospital, bloodied and half-feral, the last person he expects to find waiting is Zayne—calm, cold, and far too composed. But beneath the antiseptic lights and tension-laced stitching, something unspoken begins to crack. A rivalry forged in fire gives way to something darker, deeper… needier. And when the night finally stills, their restraint does not.

Enemies don’t always stay enemies—especially when desire tastes like blood and victory comes in moans.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : blood and injury, a brief hospital setting, explicit sexual content between two male characters (Sylus x Zayne, SnowCrow), rough sex, biting, mild dominance dynamics, and themes of emotional repression. NSFW

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 : completed.

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Press Here !]

𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 — 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐞

Some days, Sylus carries her. Some days, he simply holds her hand as she winces through the smallest movements, his presence an anchor against the ache. Pain reshapes the boundaries of their world, but never the shape of his devotion. In quiet moments and in touches measured for comfort, Sylus learns the language of her limits—and how to love her fiercely, gently, without ever asking her to be anything but herself.

𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐰 : This story explores life with chronic pain and physical disability, and features gentle, adaptive intimacy within a supportive relationship.

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 : 05th of May

𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐎𝐰𝐧 : [ Yet to be released! ]

Sylus has become my muse in so many ways, and I’m endlessly grateful for all the prompts, ideas, and support you’ve given me. If you have more requests, thoughts, or wishes for Sylus stories, please don’t hesitate to dive into my ask box—I’d love to bring more of him to life for you.

(List will be updated)

xoxo — 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰

[kissesandarsenic]

One favorite fantasy of mine is exploring, walking around a magical forest and getting trapped by tendrils/vines. I love bondage, struggling against restraints, tease, edging and denial, also ruined orgasms, and the idea of being trapped like this and not knowing when I'll be free (if at all)

Treat please Mistress 🎃

Happy Halloween in advance 👻

(If this info is relevant: I'm 28, enby, they/them, clit haver)

You're part of a group of scientists that have travelled to an uninhabited island to research the native flora and fauna.

You're new to the team. Over-excited, frustrated by all the semantics in play and how slow everything moves as your supervisors follow the strict guidelines in place. You're constantly being scolded for skipping steps, for peeling off without alerting anyone and putting the party at risk.

Despite their warnings, it doesn't stop you from wandering out alone into the wilderness one night to sate your nagging curiosity.

You don't tell anyone where you're going. That's mistake number one.

Mistake number two comes when you venture out further than you intended. You're too caught up in your own world to notice something watching you. You figure the shudder crawling up your spine is merely the breeze and not a primal instinct. An inate warning.

The third and final mistake comes when you don't start running when the first tendril curls around your leg.

You trip, but are hoisted high up into the air before you can hit the ground. You try to scream but something thick and firm pushes into your mouth, gagging you. Every protest is muffled, and your mouth floods with the taste of bitter green vegetation. A vine. They writhe on the ground beneath you, shifting and bloating. Too many to count. Far too many to fight off.

The vines coil tight around your wrists and ankles, leaving you feeling off balance as you try to wriggle free. Another separates from the pile and makes quick work tearing at your clothing. In seconds, you're naked and utterly vulnerable.

And despite the fear, you're starting to become aroused.

You always were a fan of restraints, and maybe watched a few too many hentai clips. You could blame it on the cool air against your exposed body if you really need an excuse.

But that desire is made worse when a tendril slithers up your leg and rubs at your clit. Slowly at first, but building more and more. More tendrils rise and graze against every erogenous zone on your body, tearing what feeble reservations you have to shreads.

Heat floods your face and those muffled screams for help suddenly veer off into moans. Fuck, this is mortifying. But it feels so good to be held in place and fondled in the dark by sentient, alien plantlife.

A familiar feeling coils in the pit of your stomach and you close your eyes, leaning into that fast approaching release that'll maybe set your brain in order. Let you think properly and plan an escape. But just as you're reaching your finish, the vine on your clit pulls away.

You're left teetering on the edge. Needy, unfulfilled and so fucking foggy with want.

After a minute, the vine returns to rubbing you, building you right back up to that edge. It does it over and over. Ignoring your struggle, your moans and somehow always knowing the exact second to stop before you tumble towards completion.

With the last of your wits about you, you consider what would be worse:

Being found in this desperate, humiliating state by your coworkers, or being enslaved by the vines forever.

Trick or Treat Ask Game! Send in a fantasy with a "Trick" or "Treat" attached and I'll elaborate on it!

[sophswritingthings]

Can we get a Mizu thing in like the soulmate universe? I don’t really care what soulmate trope it is, but reader and Mizu are soulmates and also complete and utter opposites

pairing: soulmate au!mizu x fem!reader

warning(s): light swearing

a/n: me running through ideas in my head, trying to find out if the red string of fate also pertains to japanese legends and low and behold

summary: mizu never believed in soulmates, never believed in the little red string around her pinky. that was, til she met you.

word count: 953 words / 5,164 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

mizu never believed in "soulmates", per say, she always believed that you chose who you loved. love was set in stone, to her, love was made and festered from a bond.

not that she thought that could ever happen to her.

but she still didn't believe in it; no matter what the red string around her finger said or not.

"I will not be tied to... some string."

that's what she would always tell everyone, when they told her how lucky she was, that she someone out there--waiting for her to find them.

even though she didn't believe in it, she did sometimes wonder to herself: was this person she was so "destined" to be with, actually out there?

she didn't think they were, until she met you.

she'd stumbled across you during her travels, when she stopped on her way to tanabe island.

you were a woman, first and foremost. to which, she expected.

the thing that stunned her more, though--

--was that you were married, settled down with a child.

she knew it was you, because the string had stopped stretching. the strings length had shortened--and stopped right at your feet.

your eyes were wide as you looked at her, sparkling. your baby was cradled in your arms, your heart pumping underneath your kimono as you looked at her.

you never thought your husband was your soulmate. you always knew your soulmate was someone else; and yet you'd settled down with him, because that's what was best, wasn't it?

the cord connecting you had always been tangled, representing the boundaries that lay between the two of you. your marriage. her vow.

yet the cord would never break; and, maybe someday, the cord would untangle.

"hello," you whispered softly. your voice was soft; it was kind, it was gentle. "this--this is weird."

"I agree," her breath was short and a bit rapid, her voice raspy. she hadn't expected her string to be connected to such a beautiful woman.

"so.. my soulmate is a samurai," you nod to yourself. "and.. what is your name?"

"mizu," she replied.

"water. wave," you murmur to yourself. the meaning of her name seemed pretty fitting, given the situation. "(y/n)."

"well, it is nice to meet you, (y/n)," she bows to you. "but I must be on my way."

your eyebrows furrow, a bit, at her words, "you're going to leave? but were--"

she puts her hand up, stopping you mid sentence, "I know what we are.. considered, but I don't have time for any of this. I am dedicated to other prospects, and you seem to be settled down, even without your "soulmate". I must go."

you had just found your soulmate, your ticket out of your loveless marriage--the person you had been waiting for, for all these years, and she was just going to leave you?

"may I inquire what's so important?" you narrow your eyes, gently rocking your child in your arms.

"my vow," she slowly slides ff her glasses, to reveal the pools of blue that rest under them, "I have vowed to kill all white man at the time of my birth."

you take a few steps back.

she was half white; what you had been taught to be an onryō your entire life. and she was connected to your string.

she wasn't scary. she didn't seem all bad; dedicated, is all..

"right," you whisper, holding your young child close to your chest. it isn't that you thought mizu would hurt your child, but it was that instinctive and primal fear that you had, deep down.

seeing you worried that she'd hurt you, or your child, made her wince deep down. on the surface, she showed now reaction--she was used to it, at this point.

but for some reason, she cared what you thought about her. she had never been so concerned of her perception until this moment.

"maybe I will see you another time," she took steps backward, keeping her distance from you. "for now, this is our goodbye."

you took in a little breath, retreating back into the guarded fence of your house. it reminded her of her old home, a little. and she saw a little of herself in you.

but she supposed that made sense. you were connected to her by a little string.

"goodbye," you murmured, hearing your husband ruffling around in your house. you glanced over your shoulder, "I better go, then. before he sees me talking to you."

"right." she sighed. her feet were hesitant to leave you; for some reason she didn't want to. that damn string was doing something to her mind; she had the frustrated urge to snap it in half. but she knew it wouldn't break, no matter how hard she tried. "go on."

her blue eyes watched you retreat back into your house, sliding her glasses back on her face and making her way down the road.

her thoughts swirled with the image of you. that child held in your arms, your almost scared expression when she revealed her demon blue eyes.

she didn't want you to be scared of her. not in the slightest. for some reason, her heart dropped into her gut at the idea.

why did she all of a sudden care about this fucking string?

why did her heart drop thinking she could never have you? because she couldn't.

the string was tangled, the string would always be tangled, a knotted mess. a mess of knots that you, nor her, would ever be able to untangle.

there was so many things in your way; in her way to, maybe, having someone who cared for. and someone she could care for.

you'd just... have to wait and see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: gonna make a part 2 cuz my ass has ideas

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Nu carnival kinks ♠️

Mostly just spicy but Karu and Morvay are a bit explicit

Yakumo

Ok ok, hear me out… bondage. He is scared of intimacy and also scared of his own power, so what better way than to symbolically take away his power. He knows if he asks then you'll stop immediately, but something about the soft bindings holding his wrists above his head and having someone else be able to take complete control is very enticing to him. Soft words and firm actions coming from his partner is definitely what he enjoys the most.

Edmond

Praise kink. Both giving and receiving. He's got a need to please and if you whisper how good he makes you feel in his ear he's going to have to struggle not to cum instantly. Even though he loves knowing how good he's doing, he also loves hair pulling. He loves a partner who can be a little dominant, and the feeling of you lacing your fingers through his long hair and giving a slight tug drives him absolutely crazy.

Olivine

He's a masochist. This isn't even a headcanon, it's just canon. He's more of a fan of getting his nipples pinched and choking than he is spanking. There's something exciting about the amount he has to trust somebody to let them do this to him. He also enjoys a fair amount (or unfair amount) of teasing. Really build up his longing before you finally let him do anything about it.

Quincy

Primal play and all the perks that go with it. This includes marking, biting, domination, ECT. He doesn't let himself indulge in his instincts for fear of hurting his partner. Most of the time sex with him is slow, careful, and loving. It will take some work but you can convince him to let out more of his primal side. Despite his fear of losing himself he can still snap back to reality if he thinks he's pushed you too far. It will take a few sessions for him to actually be able to let himself go completely, but when he does he's not going to stop until you are both completely spent.

Kuya

He has a thing for watching you contort in pleasure. The way your eyebrows knit together and your mouth gapes open like a silent prayer because of him. He loves it so much. To get in the mood he loves to watch you play with yourself before he finally jumps in. Bringing a mirror into the bedroom also really gets him going because he can watch you from every angle. He also loves teasing you and may make you watch yourself in the mirror as he fucks you before he lets you cum. Toys and orgasm denial are also huge turn ons for him. Basically he loves to tease you and the more reactions he can pull from you the better.

Blade

Not so much a kink but he loves if you set the mood. He doesn't quite realize that he enjoys being pampered. Soft blankets and fluffy pillows beneath him, the soft glow of lamplight, it all makes him feel loved and that love turns to excitement.

Garu

Not sure if this counts as a kink but he loves when you moan his name. To him it's the sweetest sound in the world and makes him so hard. To him a vocal partner is a happy partner and he loves to make you happy!

Karu

Breeding kink. I still think he's verse so either he wants to fill your guts with his seed or you fill his until it's dripping down his thigh. Just the anticipation of it is enough to make him a bit feral. If that doesn't work for you though he also has a secret soft spot. His ears and tail are extremely sensitive and if you even just brush your hand over his fur he'll just melt. Nip his ears if he denies it and watch how red his face gets

Dante

The idea of getting caught excites him, but not quite to the point of exhibition. This mostly manifests as marking each other. Scratch marks down his back and hickeys on your shoulders and neck. The way you get flustered if anybody asks about the “bug bite” on your neck gets him all sorts of riled up. Same if he notices anybody noticed the scratches on him, his people are smart enough not to mention it but the idea that they know gets him excited. Sometimes he'll make sure to leave the door unlocked just to make you nervous. He knows nobody's going to dare disturb him in the limited down time he gets, but the thought that someone might…

Rei

Dirty talk and overstimulation. Dirty talk is self explanatory, but preferably he wants dirty banter between the two of you. Being honest about every dirty thought that goes through your head. Letting each other peek into the others desires. With the overstimulation, that's for him. He loves the feeling of his orgasm building and denies himself release until he truly can't hold back. This can be a bit frustrating for you if he tops because suddenly he'll just stop moving so he can get down from the edge, but when he does stop he's going to lean in real close and tell you exactly how he's feeling in the filthiest words you have ever heard.

Eiden

Yes. Eiden is well practiced in most kinks, and so far he hasn't found one he didn't enjoy at least a little. Being a switch also gives him opportunities to try more things. His only real turn off is when someone is being genuinely mean. Teasing and finding his partners' limits are both big turn ons for him though.

Aster

Unpopular opinion but Aster is a dom who loves presentation. Get into something skimpy with barely a gift ribbon covering your crotch, and sit on the bed ready and waiting for him. Maybe throw some rose petals around to help the mood. Aster lives for pageantry, and loves having you completely willing and eager for his touch. The sense of ego it gives him is unmatched.

Morvay

Cum play and whatever you enjoy most. He's very adaptable and because of his status as an incubus he gets so much physical pleasure from his partners physical pleasure. He wants your cum on him, he wants it in his mouth, in his ass, anywhere you want. If you let him cum in your mouth he will kiss you just to taste himself on your lips. Any cum that gets on you, whether it's yours or his, he will lick clean. Never wanting to waste a single drop.

[yandere-fics]

♡ Eliza Fear Play ♡

Running through the forest with bruises on your hands and knees, as a vicious predator toyed with you and hunted you for sport had not been nearly as fun or as sexy as you had pictured it would be, it set your heart racing but not in the good way, Eliza was so out of it that you worried she might actually eat you just so her mate would be with her forever. You really should have listened to her when she called you a 'silly puppy' for thinking being her prey when she was completely feral would be even the slightest bit erotic, silly is what you were and you just had to deal with the consequences of that decision. You knew it was futile, this was a vicious werewolf who would one day be the alpha of her pack, she'd killed people in front of you before but you did somewhat hope you'd manage to keep running just long enough for the side effects of the drug to wear off though that might just be you being delusional, the drug was marketed as lasting hours before the effects faded, there was no way a human like you would manage to outmaneuver her long enough for her to come to her senses, this was an extremely stupid plan, you should have picked a weaker drug but you had declined it when it was offered, you wanted the full thrill of being hunted, if only you could go back in time and scream at your past self for making such bad choices.

You'd taken her out into the forest for a date and slipped a bit of it into her food, a drug that was supposed to cause a werewolf to go feral and only be able to follow their most primal instincts, only sold to people who could prove they were the mate of a werewolf because then they'd deal with the consequences of their own actions instead of any poor innocent souls who hadn't been involved at all, still it was only for people who were extreme and wanted a real thrill which you thought had been you until you saw what that entailed, your girlfriend pouncing on a deer and ripping it's heart out to give to you but then growling when you didn't want it, nipping at your leg for not being a very well trained mate, the bell she wore around her neck jingling as she circled you, trying to drive you back towards the campsite you think. Your Eliza could be a bit on the bitey side but it had been kicked up as you ran through the woods with her occasionally coming up beside you to nip at your legs, trying to trip you up, you were pretty sure she had taken some flesh off your calf with how much it stung at the moment but you didn't have the time to bother looking down. You were sure when Eliza came to her senses she'd be apologetic, you just had to survive until then.

"E-eliza! P-please stop! Y-you're scaring me!" You knew she wouldn't respond, she couldn't, in this state you doubted she was capable of doing anything but barking or howling though today she at least refrained from howling, likely because you were her prey alone. Nothing you could say would get her to come back to her senses though, you were a disobedient mate and you needed to be punished for that, you had rejected the feral Eliza' mating gift and so she was going off of pure instinct telling her that you were going to leave her so she needed to mark you which normally you would have been fine submitting to but you didn't trust her anywhere near your neck at the moment, she'd rip it out if she even tried! You really didn't have much say in the matter though because it only took you pausing to breath for a moment for her to pounce on you, her cock rutting against your pant leg as drool dripped onto the back of your head. Actually you hadn't though any of this through, she was going to completely shred your clothes, she had already shredded hers, apart from that bell that she still insisted on wearing, the thing that had taunted you the entire night as she chased you, and you hadn't packed any replacements, she was completely right, you were silly and if she told you not to test werewolf instincts, you would believe her from now on, she might not be the smartest but clearly her judgement was better than yours.

"Please I-I was being s-silly! I w-won't do it again!" You were struggling to think of things you could say to appease her, it was hard to think when she was rapidly shredding your clothes to bits, leaving you cold and exposed to the air with the only thing left to warm you being her body heat, the threat of her teeth ripping your neck out only growing closer.

"Mate..." That was it! Perhaps if you leaned into the mate instincts then she would calm down, maybe you could ask her to hunt for you and she would even get off of you long enough for her to calm down though in the back of your mind you were fully aware she wasn't going to get off of you until she was entirely satisfied that you wouldn't leave her, meaning marking you again.

"Yes! Yes! I'm your m-mate! Yup! All y-yours so why don't you just get off me-" She growled as you tried to persuade her to get off you, seemingly understanding exactly what you meant, her growling made you tense up which in turn only made the growling worse because she was now absolutely certain you were trying to leave her. In this state you weren't entirely even sure if she wanted to fuck you so you'd stay or eat her whole so you could never try to leave again, you hadn't realized it but you were shaking heavily waiting to see what she would decide to do, ultimately though after a long pause, she sunk her teeth and her cock into you, huffing in satisfaction as she left her seed in you. You were never going to do this again. This was a horrible way to spend your night.

[sukuna-pyonie]

2. A Predator’s Claim : JJK Sukuna x OC

Cover + Table of Contents || <<Previous Chapter || Chapter 2

Trigger Warning! Chapter contains scenes of n0nc0n/r4pe. Note that this story is purely fictional. Actions, behaviors, or events described in this story should not be replicated, imitated, or taken as a reflection of reality. This work is only a fanfiction and intended for entertainment purposes only.

Disclaimer : All Jujutsu Kaisen characters, settings, and storylines belong to its author Gege Akutami. Pyonie, Takeru Ren and extra characters featured in this story are mine. Any resemblance to real people, other fictional characters, or events is purely coincidental. *** Title: Cursed To Love You  (Sukuna x OC fanfiction) Author: Peonnywise Summary: A cursed pendant transports Pyonie back in time to the Heian period. What happens when the King of Curses falls in love with a pure-hearted lady from the modern day era? A tale of lüst turned to love that transcended time and space.  ***

Chapter 2. A Predator’s Claim

As Sukuna's eyes roamed over Pyonie's delicate features, he couldn't help but admire her beauty. The way her long, silky hair danced in the breeze, the smooth, flawless skin of her face and neck, the gentle curve of her body beneath her white dress - it was all so captivating.

There was an innocence in her sparkling purple eyes that Sukuna found particularly intriguing. Unlike the women he was used to, who were often jaded or scheming, she carried an air of pureness that drew him in.

"You are... different," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Different from any woman I've encountered before." He reached out, his fingers ghosting along the side of her face, tracing the line of her jaw.

Pyonie's breath hitched at his touch, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She wasn't used to such intimate contact.

"I... I don't understand," she whispered, her eyes wide and uncertain. "What do you mean, I'm different?"

Sukuna's lips curved into a smile, his four eyes gleaming with interest. "You possess a beauty that goes beyond the physical," he explained, his voice soft. 

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "You intrigue me, Pyonie. I find myself wanting to unravel the mysteries that lie within you."

Her heart raced at his words. She wasn't sure what to make of his attention.

"I'm sorry... I don't know what to say," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly. "New experiences can be thrilling, can they not?"

As her eyes met Sukuna's, she saw a raw, primal hunger that sent a chill down her spine. The way he looked at her, his pupils dilated and his breath coming in short, harsh pants, made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

She could feel something stirring inside her, a fluttery sensation in her stomach that she couldn't quite identify. It was both chilling and terrifying, and her instincts screamed at her to run.

"I... I think I should go," she whispered, taking a step back.

Sukuna's smile widens, "Run then. Make it interesting for me."

Ancient trees loom overhead as Pyonie plunges deeper into the forest.

His laughter echoes through the trees as he pursues at a leisurely place. "Yes, run faster! I can taste the fear dripping from you. It's delicious..."

She stumbles over roots, her breath coming in gasps. "Please... just let me be."

But Sukuna was quicker, blocking her path, his four arms reaching out to grab her.

"Did you really think you could outrun the King of Curses? How adorably naive," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Little morsel, you're not going anywhere."

Pyonie struggled against his grip, her heart pounding in her chest. "Please, let me go!" she cried, but her pleas fell on deaf ears.

Sukuna pulled her close, his body pressed against hers. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his muscles as he held her in place.

"You're mine now, Pyonie," he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear. "I won't let you leave until I've had my fill."

Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized the danger she was in. She knew she had to do something, anything, to escape this terrifying man.

But Sukuna was too strong, his grip unbreakable.

The rough grass scraped against her back as Sukuna's two arms pinned her down, his weight pressing her into the earth. She thrashed and struggled, but his grip was ironclad.

"Please, stop!" she sobbed, her voice raw with terror. "Someone help me!"

But her cries were swallowed by the eerie silence of the forest. Sukuna's other two hands moved with a will of their own, tearing at her dress until it lay in tattered shreds around her.

Pyonie felt the cool air on her exposed skin, the vulnerability of being laid bare before this monster. She tried to cover herself, but his arms held her wrists firmly.

"Look at you," he growled, his eyes roaming hungrily over her body. "So pure, so untouched. You're a feast for the eyes."

He leaned down, his lips crashing against hers in a bruising kiss. Pyonie tried to turn her head away, but he held her fast, muffling her screams with his mouth.

His hands roamed her body freely, exploring every inch of her soft skin. She shuddered and whimpered, tears streaming down her face as he touched her in ways she had never been touched before.

Sukuna's breath came in ragged gasps as he positioned himself between her legs. Pyonie's body tensed, bracing for the inevitable pain.

"No, please," she whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

But Sukuna was beyond reason, consumed by his lust and hunger. With a guttural moan, he thrust into her, tearing through her innocence in one brutal stroke.

Pyonie screamed, the pain searing through her body like a white-hot knife. Sukuna's hips moved relentlessly, driving into her again and again as she lay helpless beneath him.

Tears flowed freely down her face, her body shaking with sobs. The world around her faded away, leaving only the agony of her violation and the cruel, mocking smile on Sukuna's face as he took his pleasure at her expense.

His eyes glinted with a sick satisfaction as he surveyed the aftermath of his conquest. Pyonie lay beneath him, her body limp and trembling, her once pristine white dress now nothing more than tattered remnants.

With a twisted smile, he reached out and tore a piece of the ruined fabric, using it to wipe away the evidence of her lost innocence. The cloth came away stained with her blood, a visceral reminder of the violation she had endured.

Sukuna brought the cloth to his nose, inhaling deeply. The coppery scent of blood mingled with the unique fragrance of Pyonie's fear and anguish. He slipped the cloth into his pocket, a trophy of his dark triumph.

Pyonie watched in numb horror as Sukuna licked the remaining blood from his fingers, his tongue swirling obscenely. The sight made her stomach churn, bile rising in her throat.

Before she could react, Sukuna was upon her once more. His rough hands parted her thighs, forcing her to expose herself to his hungry gaze. Pyonie tried to close her legs, but his strength was overwhelming.

"No, please," she whimpered, her voice weak and broken. "Don't touch me again."

But Sukuna paid no heed to her pleas. He leaned down, his tongue snaking out to lap at the blood that coated her inner thighs. Pyonie cried out in revulsion, her body shuddering at the vile sensation.

Sukuna's tongue delved deeper, probing at her tender flesh. Pyonie screamed, the pain and humiliation overwhelming her senses. She could feel him trying to force one of his fingers inside her, stretching her already abused walls.

"Stop, please stop!" she begged, tears streaming down her face. "It hurts, it hurts so much!"

For a moment, Sukuna hesitated. He looked down at Pyonie's broken form, at the tears that streaked her face and the desperation in her eyes.

Then, with a grunt of effort, he scooped her up in his arms, carrying her like a rag doll. Pyonie clung weakly, trying to cover her bare body with her hands.

As Sukuna carried her through the forest, Pyonie couldn't help but wonder what new horrors awaited her. The cursed pendant that had brought her here now felt like a cruel joke, a twisted fate that had delivered her into the hands of a monster.

To be continued... <<Previous Chapter || Next Chapter>> Cover + Table of Contents

[skmhlml]

hello! i was thinking about herobrine’s smut!🫠it was so well written and all, that’s why im asking if you’re interested in doing more of that?🫣 (plus: if u want to ofc!)

Herobrine x f!reader

Date asked: June 10

Note: sighhhhhh. I dreaded doing this ask…Alright, time to mentally regress. I hope your pillow is hot on both sides at night. I hope your AC goes out on the hottest day. You whore. Enjoy!!!😊

Warning: NSFW / Explicit smut (vaginal sex, rough), Semi-public setting (wilderness/cave), Supernatural elements (Herobrine being inhuman), Light dubcon (Herobrine initiates, overpowering presence), Dominant male / feral behavior, Slight degradation, dirty talk, monster-like behavior

▾ divider made by @sister-lucifer

You knew better than to wander too far from your camp at night.

But something called you—something old, something hungry. The trees whispered warnings, but your feet moved anyway, driven by a presence that slithered behind your eyes like smoke. When the wind stopped and silence crushed the forest, you realized: you weren’t alone.

A blink.

And he was there.

Herobrine.

Eyes glowing with the white fire of an abandoned god, staring straight into your soul. He didn’t move like anything human—he appeared, blinking in and out of vision, corrupting the space around him. Your heart pounded as your body froze, but the heat rising inside you wasn’t entirely fear.

It was something else.

“Lost, little mortal?” His voice was gravel, dark and low, curling around you like vines. “Or were you looking for me?”

You stumbled back, but his body blocked the path behind you in an instant—towering, broad, shirtless, scarred. His breath was hot, unnatural, brushing over your skin like fire.

“I’ve been watching you.”

Calloused fingers grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him. You should have been terrified. You should have screamed.

But your thighs pressed together.

“You’ve been teasing me,” he growled, voice dripping with something possessive and primal. “Walking around in that little excuse of armor. Building with your hands all day. Did you really think I wouldn’t come claim what’s mine?”

Your lips parted to protest, but he was already pushing you back—your shoulders hitting cold stone as you were pinned to the wall of a cave you hadn’t realized you were inside.

The kiss wasn’t gentle.

Teeth. Tongue. Dominance.

Herobrine devoured you like he hadn’t tasted warmth in centuries. His hands ripped your clothes apart with ease, like paper, and you gasped as the cold air licked over bare skin—your chest, your thighs, your cunt already soaked from just his presence.

“Dripping for me already,” he murmured darkly, dragging his fingers through your folds. “You pretend you’re scared, but this little pussy knows who she belongs to.”

He shoved two fingers into you, rough and fast, curling them just right as your back arched.

“So fucking tight. You were made for this.”

You cried out when he pulled his cock free—thick, heavy, leaking at the tip—and without any more warning, he pressed it against your entrance.

“You want it? Beg.”

“Please,” you whimpered, gripping his arms, nails digging into hard muscle. “Fuck me, please.”

He snarled—satisfied—and slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

Your scream echoed into the cave walls, legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. Herobrine fucked like a force of nature. Hard. Relentless. Possessive. Every stroke bruised your insides, every grunt vibrated through your bones. His hand wrapped around your throat, not choking, but holding—owning.

“That’s it. Take it. Take all of me.”

You were soaked, ruined, gasping for breath as he kept pounding into you, his pace merciless, like he’d waited a thousand years for this moment. Your orgasm tore through you without warning, clenching around him so tight he growled something ancient and slammed in deeper.

“I’ll fill you up, little human,” he groaned against your ear. “Breed this sweet cunt. Leave you dripping with my cum for days.”

You whimpered, overstimulated, mind gone—his words, his size, his raw need pushed you to a second climax, your walls fluttering wildly around him.

With a guttural snarl, Herobrine buried himself to the hilt, thick ropes of cum spilling into you, hot and overwhelming. He didn’t stop moving—slow, possessive thrusts to push it deeper.

When he finally pulled back, you were ruined. Marked. Claimed.

He smirked.

“Now you really belong in my world.”