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“yes, it’s your time to bloom. don’t worry about who misunderstood your seasons and who stopped watering you before your roots grew strong; your growth was never meant to make sense to those who only admired you when you were easy to hold.”
Yes, it's almost time to bid farewell to this year! Twelve months filled with ups and downs, laughter and tears, goodbyes and hellos. Let's end it with gratitude -Alhamdulillah = Praise be to God! May the new year be filled with love, mercy, forgiveness, and renewed hope. 🌟🌿🌺🌈🌻🙏
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
⦻ Characters: Eyeless Jack x User (Reader), Ticci Toby, Jeff The Killer, Slenderman, Masky.
- User/Reader [you] is fem!pov, User/Reader [you] is 18+
⦻ Warning: STABBING, GRAPHIC INJURY, BLOOD, WOUND CARE DETAIL, SCARRING, JEALOUSY, SELF-HATRED, MONSTER/HUMAN CONTRAST, POWER IMBALANCE, AGE GAP VIBES (implied), INTIMATE/STRADDLING SCENES, FLIRTING, POSSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, CAUGHT IN COMPROMISING POSITION.
⦻ Words: 1.7k
⦻ Note: I had this idea cause I wanted to test out a persona for this and like best decision I've made and im not gatekeeping my crazy weird ideas or that wouldn't be me. I really imagine this 6ft eldritch man cuddling a small user, yall see the vision (pls do) cause that's cute. Imagine him trying his best not to squeeze user's guts out while grabbing their waist. I cant- He's such a big cutie. Madoka was inspired if you couldn't tell from the fem description in the first scenario. I love magical girls!
⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧
The forest edge always smelled like wet pine and copper after a hunt, but that night it carried something sweeter—vanilla body spray and strawberry lip gloss cutting through the rot like a knife through cake.
Slender had never recruited anyone like you before.
You stepped out of the black van in a cloud of pastel: soft pink babydoll dress with white lace trim, thigh-high socks striped in baby blue and cream, platform Mary Janes that clicked against gravel like tiny bells. A oversized bow sat crooked in your hair, ribbons trailing down your back. Mascara smudged just enough to look artfully fragile. You looked like you belonged in a Sanrio café, not standing in front of a faceless entity that collected killers like trading cards.
The proxies stared.
Masky muttered something about “this has to be a joke.” Hoodie just tilted his head, camera lens reflecting your glitter-dusted cheeks. Toby’s shoulders twitched so hard his goggles nearly fell off.
Slender simply extended one long, too-long arm and pressed a single tendril to your forehead. You didn’t flinch. You smiled—small, sweet, deadly—and said in a voice like spun sugar, “I can make them come to me. They never see it coming.”
And you did.
You were perfect bait.
Men (and women) followed the soft click of your shoes down dark alleys, the flutter of lace, the way you’d turn and blink up at them with wide, innocent eyes and ask for directions in a whisper. They never noticed the way your manicured nails hid switchblades, or how your pout hid teeth. By the time they realized, it was too late—you’d already lured them straight to the others.
Jack hated you at first sight.
Not because you were weak. Because you weren’t.
He watched from the treeline the night you dragged in your first solo catch: a frat boy twice your size, grinning like he’d won the lottery, until you spun on your heel, skirt flaring, and buried a glitter-pink butterfly knife in his throat. Blood sprayed across your white stockings. You didn’t even blink—just wiped the blade on his shirt, adjusted your bow, and waved cheerfully at the shadows where Jack stood frozen.
You were everything he wasn’t: soft, delicate, untouched by scars. Your skin looked like porcelain under moonlight. Your body—small, curved, fragile-looking beneath layers of tulle and cotton—made his own feel monstrous by comparison: tar leaking from empty sockets, gray skin stretched too tight over sharp bones, claws that tore through everything they touched.
So he ignored you.
Completely.
Until the night it went wrong.
The target snapped—manic, high, cornered. Instead of following your swaying hips like the others, he lunged. The knife went in low and deep, right through the baby-pink babydoll dress, splitting lace and flesh in one wet motion. You gasped—high, startled, almost childish—before your knees buckled.
You hit the pavement in a puddle of tulle and crimson.
Jack was there before anyone else could move.
He shoved Toby aside mid-sentence, pushed Jeff back with a snarl that rattled the trees, and scooped you up like you weighed nothing. Your blood soaked into his black hoodie immediately, staining the tar-like residue that clung to him. Your head lolled against his shoulder; ribbons tangled in his fingers.
In the medbay he tore the ruined dress away with clinical precision, exposing the soft, pale stomach now marred by a vicious red slit. You whimpered—soft, broken sounds that made something ugly twist in his chest.
He’d wished worse on you. Silently. Jealously. Wished the world would mark you the way it had marked him so you’d stop looking so… clean.
Now the wound was going to scar. A thin, ugly line forever cutting through all that pastel perfection.
“I’m sorry,” He rasped—voice like gravel dragged over broken glass—as he stitched. You were barely conscious, lashes fluttering, but you still reached up with trembling fingers and brushed the edge of his mask.
“S’okay… Jackie,” You mumbled, voice syrup-slow. “You’re not a monster.”
He froze. Needle hovering.
No one had ever called him that. Not without mockery.
Over the next week the wound kept weeping—random, stubborn bursts of blood that soaked through bandages faster than they should. Slender ordered bed rest. You stayed in the medbay, small and out of place among steel trays and blood bags, surrounded by pastel plushies you’d dragged in from your room to “make it less scary.”
Jack never left.
He told himself it was duty. Monitoring vitals. Changing dressings.
But he started lingering.
Bringing you strawberry milk in glass bottles with paper straws. Sitting closer each day until the cot dipped under his weight. One afternoon you were too weak to sit up alone; he slid behind you without asking, pulled your back to his chest, arms caging your waist. Your frilled skirt rode up your thighs. Lace against black denim. Soft against hard.
You squirmed—half ticklish, half flustered—cheeks going candy-pink.
“Jaaack,” You whined, voice high and sweet. “You’re so warm. Like a big mean heater.”
He huffed—a sound dangerously close to a laugh—and tightened his hold just enough to feel your heartbeat stutter against his ribs.
“You’re gonna ruin my reputation, doll.”
“Good,” You whispered, tipping your head back until your bow brushed his jaw. “I like ruining things.”
The flirting escalated in inches.
A brush of claws along your hip under the blanket. Your fingers tracing the seams of his mask. Him murmuring filthy promises against your ear while he pretended to check stitches. You straddling his lap one evening—ostensibly so he could re-bandage the wound from a better angle—your thighs bracketing his hips, hands braced on his shoulders, looking impossibly small and impossibly wrong perched on top of a cannibal demon who smelled like copper and pine.
He loved the contrast. Loved the way you looked like you’d break if he squeezed too hard… and the way you arched into his touch anyway.
They caught you on day nine.
Toby burst through the door first—goggles askew, twitching—Jeff right behind him, knife already half-drawn because they’d both been worried sick. You’d been the only one who ever asked how their days went. Who patched their hoodies with little embroidered hearts. Who didn’t flinch at their scars.
They froze.
You were straddling Jack’s lap on the medbay cot, skirt hiked to dangerous levels, arms looped around his neck. His clawed hands were locked around your waist, holding you flush against him. His head was tilted down, mask brushing your collarbone like he’d been about to kiss the bandage there.
And he was smiling.
A real one—sharp, stupid, unguarded—stretching across what little of his face showed beneath the sockets.
Toby’s mouth opened. Closed. Tick-tic-twitch.
Jeff blinked. Then snorted.
“Well… fuck me. Didn’t see that coming.”
Toby stared another beat—then backed out, yanking Jeff with him. The door clicked shut. Locked from the outside.
`Click.`
Inside, Jack didn’t even flinch.
He just looked down at you—his pretty doll still perched in his lap like she belonged there—and let the smile widen.
“Guess we’ve got the room to ourselves now,” He murmured, voice low and rough.
You giggled—soft, breathless—and leaned in until your gloss-sticky lips brushed the edge of his mask.
“Then don’t waste it, Jackie.”
His grip tightened.
And for once, the monster didn’t feel like one at all.
Thank you for reading!
If you want to interact with this scenario go to my janitor!
શ્રી ગુરુપાદુકા સ્તોત્રમ્: આદિ શંકરાચાર્ય રચિત દિવ્ય સ્તોત્રનો ગુજરાતી અર્થ અને મહત્વ
श्री गणेशाय नमः |
ॐ नमो गुरुभ्यो गुरुपादुकाभ्यो नमः |
अनन्तसंसार समुद्रतार नौकायिताभ्यां गुरुभक्तिदाभ्याम् ।
वैराग्यसाम्राज्यदपूजनाभ्यां नमो नमः श्रीगुरुपादुकाभ्याम् ॥१॥
અનંત સંસાર રૂપી સમુદ્રને પાર કરવા માટે હોડી સમાન, ગુરુદેવ પ્રત્યે ભક્તિ આપનાર, અને જેનું પૂજન માત્ર જ વૈરાગ્યનું સામ્રાજ્ય પ્રદાન કરે છે, તેવી શ્રી ગુરુદેવની પાદુકાજીઓને વારંવાર નમસ્કાર કરુ છું.
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