Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Hello, my lovelies!
It's been a while, and a lot has changed. I tried my hand at some short horror stories, and whilst a few people were interested, it didn't get as much traction, and I miss having a big audience to entertain. My writing has improved, and I'm so proud — especially of my smut scenes. Before, I struggled to keep the tone, and oftentimes the scene would drag out, but now, I've managed to create scenes so special, so filthy, and so perfect. I'm so excited for you to read them!

Before you dive in, a few ground rules:
💋 No Underage Characters. I will NOT be writing scenes with BEN, Sally, Lazari, etc.
💋 Respect boundaries. Do not demand or guilt-trip for specific kinks, pairings, or scenes. Requests will only be taken when I open them.
💋 About kinks: I don’t mind exploring certain kinks — I enjoy pushing creative boundaries — but I will not write anything illegal (underage, incestuous, bestial, etc.). Darker themes like CNC may appear, but they’ll always be handled with care and clear context.
💋 Be kind in the comments. Don’t be weird, and don’t attack others for what they enjoy.
💋 Don’t repost or steal my work. Sharing links? Fine. Copy-pasting my writing? Absolutely not.
💋 This is all fiction. I don’t condone or romanticise anything harmful. The line between fantasy and reality matters.

I’ve also set up an Instagram for this book! You’ll find updates on upcoming chapters, request posts, sneak peeks, and other fun community events there. @ravenwrites_creepypasta - See you there!

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🖤 How to Request 🖤
When requests are open, you can drop them in the comment section here or on Instagram, or DMs (if I specify they’re open).

Please use this layout when you send it:
→ Ship/Characters:
→ Kinks or Themes (optional):
→ Small detail or mood you want included: (e.g. “they can’t touch but want to”, “post-mission tension”, “obsessive dynamic”, etc.)

🩸 Boundaries 🩸
– I’m open to exploring a wide range of kinks, but I will not write anything illegal (underage, incestuous, bestial, etc.).
– Darker content (CNC, possessive dynamics, etc.) may appear but will always be handled with care and respect.
– Be polite, patient, and respectful. I’m doing this for fun, not obligation.
– I’ll choose what inspires me most; not all requests will be written, but I always appreciate them.
– Keep it creative. If it feels like something you’d whisper, it probably belongs here.

🥀 Bonus 🥀
If you’d like to be tagged when/if your request is written, let me know in your submission!

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Evan Jackson, the Chosen Son of Chernabog, slumped into the ornate throne-like chair in Kagekao's private chambers. The room was a cavernous space carved from obsidian stone, lit by flickering hellfire torches that cast long shadows across velvet drapes and ritual altars. As a newer demon, the weight of his high-class responsibilities pressed down on him like chains forged in the abyss. Endless rituals to oversee, alliances to forge, and the constant scrutiny from elder demons — it all gnawed at his sanity.

Kagekao lounged on a massive bed piled with silken sheets stained from past indulgences, his form draped in a loose robe that hinted at the power coiled beneath. As the Antichrist, he carried his own burdens, but he wore them like a crown, revelling in the chaos. He watched Evan with those piercing eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. "You look like you've been wrestling hellhounds all day, Evan. Spill it — what's got you so twisted up?"

Evan ran a clawed hand over his face, the tar-like substance that served as his vision dripping slightly. "These rituals... they're endless. Chernabog expects perfection, and I'm still figuring out how to summon a proper infernal storm without scorching half the realm. And don't get me started on the council meetings. Those old bastards love to nitpick every decision." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, his muscular frame tense under his dark, tattered cloak.

Kagekao chuckled, sliding off the bed to pour two goblets of brimstone wine from a decanter that bubbled ominously. He handed one to Evan and settled beside him, their shoulders brushing in that familiar, comforting way. They'd bonded over shared vibes — dark humour, a love for pranking their friend group with illusions of exploding souls or fake apocalypses. "Sounds like you need to unload, Ev. Responsibilities are a bitch, but that's why we have each other. Remember that time we tricked Satan's aide into thinking his dick had turned to stone? Lightened the mood for weeks."

Evan took a swig, the wine burning down his throat like liquid fire. "Yeah, good times. But seriously, Kage, it's stressing me out. I feel like I'm one wrong incantation from getting demoted to imp duty." His voice dropped, vulnerability cracking through his demonic facade.

Kagekao's smirk softened into something more intense, his hand landing on Evan's thigh with deliberate pressure. "Then unload on me. I'm not just here for jokes. You know I want this — want you to take it out on me." His fingers traced upward, teasing the edge of Evan's belt, eyes locked on the blackened sockets as if he could see straight into the demon's soul.

Evan hesitated, divided. Kagekao was no submissive pushover; he was a switch through and through, always demanding more and controlling the pace, even from beneath. It thrilled Evan, but it also challenged his need to dominate after a day of deferring to others. "You sure? I might not hold back."

"Try me," Kagekao growled, pulling Evan into a fierce kiss. Their mouths crashed together, tongues tangling with sharp teeth nipping at lips. Evan tasted the wine on Kagekao, mixed with the sulfurous tang of demonic essence. Hands roamed — Evan's gripping Kagekao's waist, yanking him closer, while Kagekao's nails raked down Evan's back, shredding fabric.

They broke apart, breathing heavy. Evan shoved Kagekao back onto the bed, climbing over him. "Take it off," he commanded, voice rough. Kagekao obeyed but with that defiant spark, shedding his robe slowly, revealing grey skin marked with ritual scars that glowed faintly. His cock stood hard, thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum.

Evan shed his own clothes, his body a sculpted mass of muscle and shadows, his cock emerging heavy and throbbing, black as midnight with ridges from his demonic heritage. He pinned Kagekao's wrists above his head with one hand, the other sliding down to grip that hard length, stroking firmly. Kagekao bucked up, moaning, "Harder, Evan. Don't tease."

Divided between yielding to Kagekao's demands and asserting control, Evan squeezed tighter, pumping his fist while leaning down to bite at Kagekao's neck, drawing a hiss of pleasure-pain. "You think you can boss me around right now?" But even as he said it, he felt the pull — Kagekao's energy making him want to push further, to match the intensity.

Kagekao twisted his hips, freeing one hand to grab Evan's ass, pulling him down so their cocks ground together. "I know I can. Fuck me like you mean it, bitch." His voice was a challenge, legs wrapping around Evan's waist.

Evan growled, releasing Kagekao's wrists to spread his thighs wide. He spat into his palm — demonic saliva slick and warm — and coated his cock, then pressed the tip against Kagekao's entrance. No prep, just raw need. He pushed in slowly at first, feeling the tight heat clench around him. Kagekao arched, gasping.

Thrusting forward, Evan buried himself to the hilt, the ridges on his cock dragging against inner walls. Kagekao cried out, hands fisting the sheets, but he immediately rocked back, setting a demanding rhythm. "Faster, Evan. Fuck me."

Evan obliged, hips snapping hard, skin slapping against skin. He gripped Kagekao's hips, bruising the flesh, pulling him onto every thrust. Sweat beaded on their bodies, mixing with the ooze from Evan's face that smeared across Kagekao's chest. "Fuck, you're tight," Evan grunted, divided pleasure surging as Kagekao clenched deliberately, milking his cock.

Kagekao reached down, stroking his own cock in time with Evan's thrusts, eyes half-lidded in ecstasy. "That's it — give me everything. All that stress, right here." He tightened his legs, forcing Evan deeper, controlling the angle so the head of that ridged cock hit his prostate with precision.

The power dynamic twisted Evan inside out — he loved topping, slamming in with brutal force, but Kagekao's commands made him harder, more feral. He flipped Kagekao onto his stomach, yanking his ass up and re-entering from behind. One hand pressed between Kagekao's shoulder blades, holding him down, the other fisting his hair. "Take it," Evan snarled, rutting deep and fast.

Kagekao pushed back, meeting every thrust, moaning loudly. "Yes — harder! Make me feel it." His body trembled, ass clenching rhythmically, drawing Evan closer to the edge.

They moved like that for what felt like hours — Evan pounding relentlessly, Kagekao demanding more, their bodies slick and heaving. Finally, Evan felt the coil snap. "Gonna cum," he warned, thrusting erratically.

"Inside — fill me," Kagekao ordered, his own hand flying over his cock. With a roar, Evan slammed in one last time, cock pulsing as he unloaded thick ropes of cum deep into Kagekao's ass. The sensation triggered Kagekao, who came with a shuddering cry, spilling over the sheets.

Evan collapsed beside him, pulling Kagekao close. They lay tangled, breaths syncing as the aftershocks faded. "That... helped," Evan admitted, tracing a scar on Kagekao's arm.

Kagekao nuzzled against him, smirking. "Told you. Now, about those rituals — next time, we'll prank the council during one. Loosen them up."

They rambled late into the night, voices low in the hellfire glow. Evan vented more about responsibilities — the pressure of being Chernabog's son, the fear of failure. Kagekao shared Antichrist woes: tempting mortals without tipping the scales too soon, balancing chaos with control. Jokes slipped in — ideas for scaring their friends with fake possessions or illusory orgies.

As dawn's crimson light filtered through cracks in the stone, they drifted off entwined, bodies spent, bond stronger in the demon realm's endless night.

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The 'Slender Forest' loomed like a living nightmare, its twisted trees clawing at the foggy sky, branches whispering secrets to the wind. Rouge (Heather) and Wilson the Basher were supposed to be on duty, scanning for intruders or any sign of the tall, faceless entity that haunted these woods. But Heather had other ideas. She was the confident one, the rogue who wore her desires like a badge, and when she spotted Wilson's brooding form trudging ahead, she decided patrol could wait.

With a predatory grin, she quickened her pace, her boots crunching over fallen leaves until she caught up. Before he could protest, she shoved him back against a massive boulder half-buried in moss and vines, the rough stone scraping his jacket. "Heather, what the — we're on duty," Wilson grumbled, his voice a low rumble, but his eyes betrayed him, darkening with that familiar mix of reluctance and hunger.

"That's why it's fun," she purred, dropping to her knees in the damp earth. Her hands were already at his belt, yanking it open with practised ease. Wilson leaned back against the rock, arms crossing over his chest as if to feign indifference, but he didn't stop her. Heather tugged his pants down just enough, freeing his cock — thick and half-hard already, twitching in the cool air. She wrapped her fingers around the base, stroking once, twice, feeling it swell in her grip.

Leaning in, she dragged her tongue along the underside from balls to tip, tasting the salt of his skin. Wilson hissed, one hand dropping to fist her hair — not pulling her away, just holding on. "This is stupid. Anyone could come by." His words lacked conviction, coming out breathy as she swirled her tongue around the head, lapping at the bead of pre-cum there.

Heather hummed in response, the vibration making him jerk. She took him into her mouth then, lips stretching around his girth as she sucked hard, cheeks hollowing. Her head bobbed steadily, taking him deeper with each pass, her free hand cupping his balls and rolling them gently. Saliva slicked her chin, dripping down as she worked him, the wet sounds echoing faintly in the forest's hush. Wilson's hips bucked involuntarily, a groan escaping despite his best efforts.

"Fuck, Heather... slow down," he muttered, but his fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her rhythm just a bit. She pulled off with a pop, grinning up at him, strings of spit connecting her lips to his throbbing cock. "You love it. Look at you, so hard for me already." She stroked him firmly, twisting her wrist at the top, watching his face contort in that grumpy pleasure he tried to hide.

Before he could snap back, she surged up, crashing her mouth against his in a deep french kiss. Tongues tangled fiercely, her tasting of him as she pushed past his lips, exploring with bold strokes. Wilson kissed back hungrily, one hand gripping her waist, the other sliding up to cup her breast through her shirt, thumb circling the hardened nipple. She moaned into his mouth, grinding her hips against his thigh, the friction sending sparks through her core.

Breaking the kiss, Heather nipped his lower lip. "Pants off. Now." Wilson grumbled something about 'damn bossy woman,' but he complied, kicking off his boots and shoving his jeans down. She stripped her own bottoms quickly, revealing her soaked pussy, arousal glistening on her thighs. The semi-public thrill heightened everything — the distant rustle of leaves could be footsteps, the fog hiding potential eyes, but it only made her wetter.

She pushed him back against the rock again, turning him so his chest pressed against the stone. "Bend over a little," she commanded, her voice husky. Wilson braced his hands on the boulder, ass out, cock jutting back toward her. Heather positioned herself behind, one hand on his hip, the other guiding her fingers to his entrance — no, wait, she wanted him inside her. Shifting, she lined up his cock with her pussy, rubbing the head along her folds to coat him in her slickness.

"Sink in," she whispered, praising already. "You're so good for me, Wilson. Give me that thick cock." He pushed in with a growl, sliding into her heat inch by inch. She gasped at the stretch, walls clenching around him as he filled her. "Yes, just like that — perfect."

Wilson thrust forward, burying himself deep, but Heather set the pace, her hands on his hips pulling him back harder. "Deeper, baby. Fuck me like you mean it." He grumbled, "Stop with the sweet talk," even as his body obeyed, hips snapping to meet hers. The rock scraped his palms, but he didn't care, pounding into her with growing force, the slap of skin against skin cutting through the forest's quiet.

She reached around, fingers finding her clit and rubbing in circles, the added pressure building her toward release. "God, you're hitting it so right. My strong man, taking care of me out here." Wilson groaned, pretending annoyance with a muttered "Shut up," but his thrusts grew erratic, cock throbbing inside her. The risk of duty — of Slenderman or his proxies stumbling upon them — added urgency, making each drive more desperate.

Heather leaned over, kissing his neck sloppily, tongue tracing his pulse. "Cum for me, Wilson. Fill this pussy up." Her words pushed him over, his body tensing as he slammed in one last time, spilling hot cum deep inside her with a stifled curse. The sensation triggered her own orgasm, walls fluttering around him as she cried out softly, biting his shoulder to muffle it.

They stayed locked like that for a moment, panting, before she pulled off, his softening cock slipping free with a wet sound. Cum trickled down her thigh as she straightened her clothes, smirking at his flushed, grumpy face. "See? Duty calls, but so did I." Wilson zipped up, shaking his head but pulling her in for one more quick kiss. "You're trouble, Marshall."

As they resumed patrol, the forest seemed a little less ominous, their secret heat lingering in the air.

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The old manor creaked under the weight of forgotten sins, its walls stained with the echoes of violence. Nina and Jane had crossed paths again, fate — or misfortune — rapping them in the same dusty bedroom during a storm that rattled the windows. Nina, with her wild black hair and painted smile, paced like a caged animal, her knife glinting in the dim lamplight. Jane stood by the door, arms crossed, her porcelain mask pushed up to reveal sharp features twisted in disdain.

"You think you can just waltz in here and claim this spot? This is my hunting ground," Nina snarled, stopping inches from Jane, their breaths mingling in the charged air. Her eyes, smudged with black liner, burned with defiance.

Jane didn't back down, stepping forward until their chests nearly brushed. "Your hunting ground? You've been sloppy, leaving trails for the proxies to follow. I clean up your messes." Her voice was a low hiss, laced with years of rivalry — Jane the vigilante killer, Nina the chaotic fangirl turned murderer.

Nina laughed, a sharp, mocking sound, shoving Jane's shoulder. "Sloppy? At least I have fun. You're just a bitter ghost haunting everyone." The push brought them closer, bodies heating despite the chill. Jane grabbed Nina's wrist, twisting it just enough to pin her against the wall, the impact knocking a framed picture askew.

"Let go, you— " Nina's words cut off as Jane's face hovered near hers, lips parted in anger. The proximity ignited something raw, the argument's fire twisting into a different kind of blaze. Nina's free hand came up, not to strike, but to grip Jane's shirt, pulling her in. Their mouths crashed together in a bruising kiss, all teeth and fury, tongues battling for dominance like their knives would in a fight.

Jane released her wrist, both hands slamming against the wall on either side of Nina's head, caging her. The kiss deepened, sloppy and desperate, Nina's tongue pushing past Jane's lips to explore, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood from an earlier scrape. Nina moaned into it, her body arching forward, hips grinding against Jane's thigh instinctively.

"Fuck you," Jane muttered against her mouth, but there was no venom left — only hunger. She broke the kiss to trail bites down Nina's neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, her hands yanking up Nina's tank top to expose pale skin and black lace bra. Nina's fingers tangled in Jane's hair, pulling her closer, urging her on.

"You already are," Nina gasped, shoving Jane back toward the sagging bed. They tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, clothes shedding like inhibitions. Nina straddled Jane's waist, grinding her soaked panties against Jane's stomach, the friction making her clit throb. Jane's hands roamed up Nina's thighs, thumbs digging into the soft flesh before hooking into her underwear and ripping them down.

Nina lifted her hips, letting Jane strip her bare, pussy exposed and glistening. "Touch me," she demanded, voice husky, but it came out as a plea. Jane's fingers slid between her folds, parting them to circle her swollen clit with firm pressure. Nina bucked, a whine escaping as Jane dipped two fingers inside, curling them against that sensitive spot.

"So wet for the enemy," Jane teased, pumping her fingers faster, thumb still working Nina's clit. The wet sounds filled the room, mingling with Nina's ragged breaths. She leaned down, capturing Jane's mouth again in a heated french kiss, tongues sliding together as her hips rode Jane's hand.

Not one to be outdone, Nina reached down, fumbling with Jane's pants until she freed her hand, shoving it aside to palm Jane's pussy through her jeans. "Your turn," she growled, unzipping and pushing the fabric down. Jane was slick, folds puffy with arousal. Nina plunged her fingers in without preamble, matching Jane's rhythm, scissoring inside her tight heat.

They moved together, bodies slick with sweat, the bed creaking under their frenzy. Jane flipped them suddenly, pinning Nina beneath her, fingers thrusting deeper while her mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking and biting the hard peak. Nina arched, her free hand clawing at Jane's back, leaving red trails.

"Harder," Nina begged, her own fingers twisting inside Jane, thumb flicking her clit. The tension coiled tight, arguments forgotten in the haze of lust. Jane added a third finger, stretching Nina wide, pounding into her with relentless force. Nina came first, walls clenching around Jane's fingers as she cried out, body shuddering, juices soaking Jane's hand.

The sight pushed Jane over the edge. She ground down against Nina's thigh, her own release crashing through her, pussy spasming as she flooded Nina's fingers with her cum. They collapsed in a heap, panting, limbs entwined. Jane pulled her fingers free, bringing them to Nina's lips; Nina sucked them clean, eyes locked on Jane's in a moment of raw vulnerability.

For now, peace settled over them like a blanket. Jane rolled to the side, pulling Nina close, their naked bodies pressing together. "This doesn't change anything," Jane whispered, but her arm draped possessively over Nina's waist.

Nina smirked, nuzzling into her neck. "Yeah, tomorrow I'll hate you again. But tonight... you're okay." The storm outside raged on, but in the room, they found a fragile truce, bodies warm and sated, drifting toward sleep in each other's arms.

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Dust mites danced in the faint light filtering through cracked windows, the air thick with the scent of mildew and decay. Masky and Hoodie had slipped away from the group during a lull in their patrol, ducking into the cramped confines of the old shack. The space was barely big enough for two, walls pressing in like a coffin, but that only heightened the urgency. They needed this — quick, silent, a stolen moment amid the endless grind of proxy duties.

Hoodie's gloved hands were already under Masky's hoodie, palming his chest, thumbs circling nipples until they pebbled. Masky leaned back against a rickety shelf, breath hitching as he fumbled with Hoodie's zipper. "Quiet," Tim muttered, voice a low growl, but his fingers wrapped around Brian's thickening cock, stroking firmly from base to tip. The shaft pulsed in his grip, pre-cum slicking the head, and Hoodie bit his lip to stifle a groan, hips bucking into the touch.

"Not enough," Hoodie whispered, eyes dark with need behind his hood. There wasn't time for more — no stripping down, no bending over — but his cock throbbed, demanding release beyond a hurried handjob. He grabbed Tim's shoulders, pushing down with insistent pressure. "On your knees. Suck me."

Tim resisted at first, muscles tensing, his free hand shoving weakly at Hoodie's thigh. "The fuck, Brian? We're gonna get caught. No time for this shit." His voice was gruff, laced with that perpetual grumpiness, but the objection lacked real fire. He was weaker here, always had been against Brian's unyielding strength, and deep down, the rough demand sent a forbidden thrill through him. His own dick strained against his pants, betraying any protest.

Hoodie didn't relent, fingers tangling in Tim's hair, guiding him lower until his knees hit the grimy floor. "Shut up and open," he hissed, voice strained with restraint. Tim glared up, but his mouth parted, lips brushing the flushed head of Hoodie's cock. He took it in slowly, tongue flat against the underside as he slid down, hollowing his cheeks to suck. The taste of salt and skin filled his mouth, Hoodie's length stretching his jaw.

"Yeah, like that," Hoodie murmured, one hand braced on the wall, the other controlling Tim's head with shallow thrusts. Tim grumbled around the intrusion, vibrations humming along the shaft, but he didn't pull away. His hands gripped Hoodie's hips for balance, sucking harder, bobbing his head to take more — saliva dripping down his chin, wetting the base where coarse hairs tickled his nose. Hoodie's breath came in sharp pants, muffled by his sleeve, cock twitching as Tim's tongue swirled the sensitive ridge.

Tim's objections faded into wet slurps and his own stifled moans, the act turning him on more than he'd admit. He worked faster, lips sealed tight, hand joining to pump what he couldn't swallow. Hoodie's thighs trembled, control slipping. "Gonna cum — swallow it," he ordered, thrusting deeper. Tim's throat convulsed around the head, but he took it, eyes watering as hot spurts flooded his mouth. He swallowed convulsively, taking every drop until Hoodie sagged against the wall, spent.

Pulling off with a gasp, Tim wiped his mouth on his sleeve, standing on shaky legs. "Asshole," he grumbled, but zipped up without real anger, adjusting himself. Hoodie smirked, tucking away and fastening his pants, both scanning the dim room. Clear. They shared a quick, heated glance — satisfaction buzzing between them — before heading for the door, convinced they'd pulled it off unnoticed.

The door creaked open, and laughter exploded from the shadows. It was Toby. He was doubled over, hatchet dangling from his hand, his twitching shoulders shaking with unrestrained cackles. Beside him, Shadow leaned against the frame, her lithe form cloaked in darkness, a sly smirk curling her lips. Her eyes gleamed with amusement, arms crossed over her chest.

"Oh man, did you see his face? Tim looked like he was choking on a bad pill!" Toby howled, voice cracking with glee, pointing at the pair. Shadow chuckled, low and teasing. "Yeah, and Brian's all 'swallow it' — real romantic. What, no turn for you, Timmy? Or was that your idea of teamwork?"

Tim's face burned under the mask, grumpiness flaring into fury. "Shut the fuck up!" He lunged forward, Masky's instincts kicking in, grabbing for Toby's collar. Hoodie snorted, but followed, both proxies scattering with more laughter. Shadow dodged nimbly, flipping Tim off as she bolted into the night, Toby stumbling after her in hysterics.

Masky chased them a few yards, cursing under his breath, before halting at the treeline. The mockers vanished into the woods, their jokes echoing back. Hoodie clapped a hand on his shoulder, still chuckling. "Worth it?" Tim shot him a glare but didn't shove it off. In the chaos of their world, yeah — maybe it was.

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The dim glow of the proxy cabin's single bulb cast long shadows across the wooden walls, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and lingering gunpowder from their last patrol. Toby slammed the door behind him, his six-foot-four frame vibrating with barely contained rage, messy brown hair dishevelled under his hood. He whipped around, goggles pushed up on his forehead, revealing wild hazel eyes locked on Raven, who stood by the rickety table, arms crossed over her chest, her five-foot-seven body taut like a coiled spring. She was deadly silent as usual, but her green eyes burned with that unamused fire that always set him off.

“You fucked up out there, Toby,” she snarled first, voice low and cutting, stepping closer with a predatory grace. “Charging in like a goddamn bull, nearly got us both caught by that patrol cop. What, too busy twitching to think straight? Or were you just showing off for the girls? Bet they loved watching your sorry ass stumble.”

Toby's jaw clenched, tics jerking his neck as he advanced, towering over her. Obsession clawed at his gut — she was his, even if she didn't know it yet. The thought of anyone else even glancing her way made his blood boil, but he'd be damned if he let her see that weakness. “Me? You're the one who hung back, playing fucking games like some wannabe ghost. Afraid to get your hands dirty, princess? Or too busy eye-fucking the boss to cover my flank? Slender's gonna ditch your lazy ass if you keep slacking.”

Raven's lips curled in a sneer, but her cheeks flushed just a touch — jealousy twisting inside her like a knife. She'd seen the way those girls looked at him, all wide-eyed and eager, and it made her want to claw their faces off. She hated how he got under her skin, how her crush made her stupid. “Eye-fucking? That's rich coming from you, twitch-boy. You're the one who can't keep it in your pants around anything with tits. Bet you'd hump a tree if it batted its branches at you. Pathetic.”

He barked a harsh laugh, stepping into her space, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. “Pathetic? Look at you, all bark and no bite. Hiding behind that tough act 'cause deep down, you're just a needy little bitch waiting for someone to put you in your place. Go on, keep talking shit — see if I don't shut that mouth for you.”

Her breath hitched, but she shoved his chest hard, nails scraping through his hoodie. The contact sent sparks up her arm, and damn it, her next words slipped out sharper, laced with something unintended. “Oh yeah? You'd love that, wouldn't you? Pinning me down, making me scream. Bet your cock's twitching just thinking about it, you obsessed freak.” The flirt edged in, her voice dropping huskily, eyes flicking to his mouth before snapping back up.

Toby froze, catching the shift — the way her insult twisted into invitation, her body language screaming want even as she glared. His obsession roared to life, possessiveness flooding him. No one else got to see her like this, vulnerable and fiery. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her closer until her back hit the wall with a thud, his free hand slamming beside her head to cage her in. “What the fuck was that, Shadow? You're flirting now? After all this shit-talk? Think you can tease me and walk away? Spill it — who've you been eyeing out there? 'Cause if it's not me, I'll make sure they regret breathing.” His voice was a growl, interrogation laced with fury, but his hips pressed forward instinctively, grinding against her thigh.

Raven's heart pounded, jealousy flaring at his accusation even as a thrill shot through her. She hated him — hated how he owned her thoughts, how jealous she got over nothing. She twisted in his grip, but didn't pull away, her free hand fisting his shirt. “Fuck you, Toby. Like I'd waste my time on those losers. You're the one always staring, acting like you own me. Jealous much? Or just can't handle a woman who doesn't spread for you on command?” Her words dripped venom, but the flirty undercurrent deepened, her thigh rubbing back against him deliberately.

“Jealous?” He snarled, releasing her wrist only to grip her jaw, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb pressed her lower lip, rough. “Damn right I am. You're mine to look at, mine to break. No one else touches what's mine.” The fight ignited fully then — no more words needed. He crashed his mouth onto hers, teeth clashing in a brutal kiss, tongues battling like the war they waged. She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, tasting copper as she shoved him back, but he was faster, spinning her around and slamming her chest-first against the table.

“You fucking bitch,” he hissed, yanking her pants down her thighs in one violent tug, exposing her ass — pale skin begging for marks. His hand came down hard, spanking her cheek with a sharp crack that echoed in the cabin. She yelped, arching back, pussy already slick from the adrenaline and hate. “Gonna mark this ass red, make you remember who owns it.” Another smack, harder, her skin blooming pink under his palm.

Raven gasped, pain mixing with pleasure, her crush fueling the fire. “Bastard — hit me again, I’ll make you fucking beg.” She pushed back, grinding her ass against his crotch, feeling his cock rock-hard through his jeans. He obliged, spanking her three times in quick succession, each one stinging deeper, her folds weeping arousal down her thighs.

Toby unzipped, freeing his thick cock — veins throbbing, tip angry red — and shoved her legs wider with his knee. No prep, no mercy; he spat on his hand, slicking himself once before slamming into her pussy from behind. She cried out, walls stretching around his girth, the burn exquisite as he bottomed out, balls slapping her clit. “Take it, you jealous slut — feel how deep I go? This cunt's mine, clenching like it knows.” He pulled her hair, yanking her head back, pounding relentlessly, the table creaking under them.

“Fuck you — harder, you possessive prick!” Raven spat back, pushing onto him, her nails scraping the wood. Obsession burned in her veins; she wanted his marks, his claim, to erase any thought of others. He flipped her suddenly, shoving her to her knees, cock glistening with her juices. “Open up — suck it like you mean it, or I'll face-fuck you till you choke.” She glared up, but parted her lips, tongue flicking his tip before he gripped her hair and thrust in, hitting the back of her throat.

She gagged, saliva dripping, but hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard as he fucked her mouth — rough, no rhythm, just dominance. “That's it — gag on my dick, Shadow. Bet you've been dreaming of this, crushing on me like a pathetic whore.” Drool slicked her chin, tears pricking her eyes, but she moaned around him, hand sneaking between her legs to rub her clit.

He pulled out with a pop, hauling her up and bending her over the table again, spanking her ass once more before plunging back into her pussy. “Gonna cum inside, fill you up — mark you from the inside out.” His thrusts turned erratic, hips snapping, one hand reaching around to pinch her clit. She shattered first, screaming his name in venomous pleasure, walls milking him as she squirted around his cock.

Toby roared, burying deep, hot spurts of cum flooding her, claiming her. He didn't stop, grinding through it, spanking her lightly now as aftershocks hit. Bites followed — teeth sinking into her shoulder, her neck, leaving bruises that screamed possession. She twisted, sinking nails into his arms, drawing blood in return, marking him as hers.

They collapsed against the table, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat and fluids. Hate lingered in the air, but so did the obsession, the unspoken crush binding them tighter in the cabin.

Chapter Text

Hi again!

This is a temporary chapter — it’ll vanish soon, like a shy side character exiting stage left.

I want the next few chapters to be requests which means, I’m asking you to leave your requests!

If there’s a dynamic, trope, scenario, kink, or emotional beat you’ve been silently manifesting with every page… now’s the time to drop it!

Want:
• slow-burn tension that snaps?
• post-mission exhaustion and cuddles?
• obsession in a dark hallway?
• power dynamics?
• soft forehead kisses after nightmares?
• “they can’t touch but want to”?
• jealous, possessive, desperate energy?

YES. PLEASE GIVE ME THE DETAILS.

Leave your request with:
→ Characters/ship
→ Themes or kinks (optional)
→ Small mood/detail you want
(examples: “desperate eye contact”, “strained breath”, “hands pinned”, “gentle voice”)

I’ll be writing and publishing them tonight — so the sooner you drop yours, the sooner I can update!

This chapter will disappear once requests close, so don’t be shy.

Feed me your ideas.

I’m ready.

Chapter Text

The dim glow of candlelight flickered across canvases splattered with blood and dark ink, Helen's makeshift studio tucked away in the underbelly of the abandoned warehouse. The Painter sat cross-legged on the worn floor, palette knife idle in his hand, his pale eyes fixed on John — The Puppeteer — lounging against a stack of crates. John's golden strings shimmered faintly in the low light, ethereal threads that danced from his fingertips like living silk, capable of ensnaring souls or puppets alike. Helen had always been fascinated by them, but tonight, curiosity twisted into something darker, more intimate.

“Those strings,” Helen murmured, setting his knife aside and crawling closer on his knees, voice soft but edged with hunger. “They're not just for control, are they? What else can they do?” His fingers brushed John's wrist, tracing the faint glow where the threads originated.

John's lips curved into a knowing smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement and challenge. He extended a hand, and a single golden string uncoiled, hovering inches from Helen's face. “Curious, artist? They bind, they lift... they can make you feel things you've only imagined.” Without warning, the string looped around Helen's wrist, tugging gently but firmly, and pulled his arm up, pinning it to the wall behind him. Helen gasped, the sensation cool and unyielding, like liquid metal tightening just enough to hold without pain.

“John—” Helen started, but another string snaked out, wrapping his other wrist and hoisting his arms higher, stretching him against the rough brick. His body arched instinctively, shirt riding up to expose the skin of his abdomen. The strings hummed with energy, vibrating subtly against his skin, sending tingles straight to his core. His cock stirred in his pants, thickening as the novelty of restraint ignited his nerves.

John rose fluidly, closing the distance, his hands roaming Helen's sides as more strings emerged. One coiled around Helen's ankle, yanking his leg sideways to spread him open, while another bound his thigh, lifting it slightly off the ground. Helen dangled now, partially suspended, weight distributed between the wall and the threads — light bondage turning into effortless suspension. The position left him exposed, hips thrust forward, pants tenting obviously. “See? They hold you perfectly. No knots, no escape unless I say.”

Helen's breath quickened, cheeks flushing under his usual stoic mask. He tugged experimentally, but the strings only tightened, the vibration intensifying like a lover's tease. “Fuck... It's like they're alive,” he whispered, eyes locking on John's as desire pooled low in his belly. John pressed close, mouth claiming Helen's in a bruising kiss, tongue thrusting deep while his hands worked Helen's belt free. The zipper rasped down, and John's fingers wrapped around Helen's freed cock, stroking the hard length from root to tip, thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum over the slit.

Helen moaned into the kiss, hips jerking into the grip, but the strings kept him immobile, amplifying every sensation. John broke away, trailing bites down Helen's neck, sucking marks into the pale skin as another thread slithered between them. It wrapped loosely around the base of Helen's cock and balls, a gentle squeeze that made him buck futilely. “Tight enough?” John murmured against his collarbone, pumping faster, the string pulsing in rhythm with his hand.

“Tighter — god, yes,” Helen panted, head falling back against the wall. The suspension pulled him higher now, strings adjusting to lift his torso slightly, leaving his feet barely touching the ground. Vulnerability surged through him, mixed with thrill — he was John's puppet, strung up and played. John dropped to his knees, his hands guiding Helen's hips forward as he swallowed Helen's cock in one smooth motion. Lips sealed around the shaft, tongue lapping the underside while he bobbed, taking him deep until his nose brushed coarse pubic hair.

Helen cried out, the sound echoing in the space, strings muffling it slightly by tightening around his throat like a collar. John's mouth worked relentlessly — suck, swirl, hollow cheeks pulling hard — while the threads vibrated, one teasing Helen's entrance, probing shallowly without penetrating. Pre-cum leaked steadily, John humming around the intrusion, vibrations shooting pleasure up Helen's spine. “John... close-”' Helen gasped, thighs quivering in their bonds.

John pulled off with a wet pop, standing to grind his own erection against Helen's thigh through his pants. He freed himself quickly, thick cock slapping against Helen's length, strings intertwining them loosely to rub together. Precum slicked the friction as John thrust shallowly, hands gripping Helen's ass to spread him. A new string, slick with some lubricant, circled Helen's hole, pressing in slowly — inch by inch, filling him while John stroked them both.

The dual penetration — string in his ass, John's hand on their cocks — pushed Helen over. He came with a strangled shout, ropes of cum splattering John's shirt, body convulsing in the suspension. John followed seconds later, grunting as he spilt between them, hot seed coating Helen's stomach. The strings loosened gradually, lowering Helen to the floor in a boneless heap, John catching him before he crumpled.

They slumped together against the wall, breaths ragged, golden threads retracting. Helen nuzzled John's neck, a rare smile breaking through. “Other uses... definitely.” John chuckled, fingers carding through Helen's hair. In their world, this was art.